A pounding headache awakened me this morning. Outside I could hear rain pounding. Vivid flashes of lightning were punctuated by loud booms of thunder. I could not pull myself from bed. I went back to sleep. And then... I was awakened by a thunderous pounding on my shop door.
Glancing at the clock on my wall I realized that my shop was supposed to be open a half hour ago. I flung on my wrapper, and dashed down the stairs, doing my best to ignore the violent pounding of my head.
Opening the door slightly to hide my state of dishabille I discovered Lucille Butler and her three small daughters, Alexa, Bertie, and Willie. Now my head was REALLY pounding.
In her most snippy tone Lucille said, "Are you sick? We can't risk catching any disease from you."
I wished to slap that smug, snotty, superior look off her face. I knew that I can not afford to lose her business. So I said, "No, you can not catch my headache. Come in. I will just rush upstairs, dress, and then I will be back to help you."
Lucille did not utter one single word of condolences for Celeste's pounding head. She sniffed in her most unattractive manner. "I suppose that will have to do. Such poor business practices are hard to accept!"
The next hour was torturous. Lucille pulled out each and every bolt of cloth. She chose the fabric for her daughters. Then her daughters proceeded to have a temper tantrum. Not just one Bond daughter but each and everyone of them.
At the height of the madness, Blake Calkin strolled in. Celeste noticed that he hesitated when he saw the Bond girls screaming and wailing. He smiled briefly, "Lucille, girls." Blake lifted his hat to each of the Bond's.
"Excuse me ladies but I must speak to Celeste, privately." Blake took Celeste's arm and led her into her kitchen.
"Thank you Blake. I simply can not express to you what a blessing it is to have a distraction from the screamers."
Blake said, "I wanted to invite you out tonight."
"Out?" Celeste asked.
"It's such a beautiful day. I thought we could go out to Carter's Creek and have a picnic. I will bring the food. I'll pick you up at six?"
Celeste sighed, "Blake it sounds divine. I have a migraine headache and the Bond ladies are NOT helping the situation."
Blake moved forward and began to massage Celeste's neck, head and shoulders.
The sensation was so marvelous that Celeste felt as though she would melt into the floor. After only a short time Celeste stopped Blake. "Blake this feels like Heaven but I can't afford to lose the Bond's patronage."
Blake said, "I'm going to stay while you assist them. I think they may be a shade kinder if I'm witnessing their actions. Then I'm going to massage you and get you some headache powders. I will just spend the day with you. Do you agree to that?"
Turning Celeste gently around so that she was facing him slowly, deliberately, he leaned down and kissed her gently.
The kiss was gentle but Celeste's reaction to it was anything but gentle. She was certain that she could hear fireworks, drums, perhaps an orchestra or two. "Yyyess Blake, I would love to have you spend the day with me."
Lucille called out in her most nasal tone, "If you have no interest in assisting me, I can take my business elsewhere!"
Blake whispered in Celeste's ear, "I will NEVER understand how a good man like Willard Bond married th tha thattt Lucille!"
Hand in hand they walked out into the shop.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Monday, August 18, 2014
Anchors for good, or for bad?
Anchors have been used for a very long time. They provide a way of holding a boat in place. This is a good thing for many reasons. It's helpful if you need to stop in one place to fish. It's helpful if you need your boat to stand so that you can rest for a while. There are many useful applications for an anchor.
Anchors are extremely heavy. Not only does the ship pull at them, but they are buffeted by wind, rain, and ocean currents. The above picture is an anchor from the 1800's that was rescued and now plays the part of a reminder of time gone by.
Why did I choose the title for my series, "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch?" Why choose an anchor to name a landlocked ranch? Well, actually, it's not really landlocked, the Columbia River is on part of the property.
Blake Calkin, the founder of the Drifting Anchor Ranch, is shanghaied at the age of 14. He rises to become a ship Captain, and owns his own ship by the young age of 20. He has reached an age, 22, when he wants to build his own ranch, and start a family. He looks all over the world and just can't seem to find the right place to build.
One night he has his 2nd in command take over so that he can get some much needed rest. They are very close to the junction of the Columbia River, and the Pacific Ocean. This is a very dangerous place to be. The currents of the ocean, reaching the current of this great river creates a dangerous shifting of sands. Even the most experienced of captains struggle to navigate this portal. It has been named "The Graveyard of the Pacific," for a very good reason. There have been myriads of shipwrecks in this space that have been recorded.
Running aground Blake is astonished at the beauty of the area that they have landed in. He spends an hour walking around looking at the land. He realizes that he has found the place that he wishes to make his own.
The crew fix the minor damage to the boat, and Blake commands it to Astoria. There he goes to the land filing office. He is very nervous that the area has already been sold. He is ecstatic to discover that he can purchase five thousand acres, even ten thousand if he wishes. He has wisely saved his money. He sells the boat to his second in command and travels back to his new home. He travels the ten thousand acres for a week before he finally determines where he will build his log cabin. When trying to find a name for his ranch he remembers what led him here. Drifting Anchor Ranch it is!
An anchor can actually be a negative thing. If not set properly it can drift, pulling us off our life's course, and even running us aground. It is good to have your life anchored to something positive, like having faith in yourself, your family, and your God. On the other hand, if you do not set that anchor properly, by choosing to fill your time with shallow choices, you may find yourself run aground.
Anchors are hugely trendy in fashion right now. I love it. I have two anchor purses, an anchor phone case, anchor necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. Wearing these often gives me the opportunity to speak about my series. So, if you see a red headed lady with lots of anchors on, that just might be me!
Ripple or Chevron...you choose
When I was young I made a bunch of afghans. One pattern that I enjoyed crocheting was called the "Ripple" afghan. During the late 80's, 90's and into the first of the 21st century this pattern fell into disgrace. People saw it as something only Grandma's would appreciate.
I was challenged one day when my daughter asked me, "Mama will you make me a Chevron afghan?" I asked her to repeat the question. Then I said, "What's a Chevron?" She went to Google and showed me Chevrons. I guess the British renamed the pattern and it became renewed, something trendy and desirable.
Not only are Chevron's big, they're REALLY BIG! Chevron's on beach balls, clothing, towels, shower curtains, etc. etc. etc. Sometimes the pattern all over women at church makes me slightly dizzy. I really like this pattern, but in small amounts.
It also reminds me of a trim that was used on clothing in the 60s and 70s. It was called "Ric Rac." This was sewn on clothing, towels, etc. etc. It came in varying widths of Chevrons.
I know that in the 1800's crocheting and knitting was not something done as a hobby. The products that were created were used as bedding, clothing, etc. Knitting and crocheting were a satisfying method of clothing and warming your family.
I am not certain that either the Ripple or Chevron afghans were made then, but they may have been. In the mean time they are just downright fun to create. I will include links here on how to crochet or knit the things.
http://mosierfarms.blogspot.com is a grand Chevron afghan pattern that is knitted. I have made seven and they are absolutely lovely.
http://allfreecrochet.com gives some lovely variations of ripple afghans to make.
Christmas is coming, far too rapidly. These make lovely gifts, especially in the cold winter months! I know that any of the characters in my series, "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," would love to curl up in one of these beauties and read a good book in front of a warm fire, or just put it over them at night to go to sleep. Happy creating!
I was challenged one day when my daughter asked me, "Mama will you make me a Chevron afghan?" I asked her to repeat the question. Then I said, "What's a Chevron?" She went to Google and showed me Chevrons. I guess the British renamed the pattern and it became renewed, something trendy and desirable.
Not only are Chevron's big, they're REALLY BIG! Chevron's on beach balls, clothing, towels, shower curtains, etc. etc. etc. Sometimes the pattern all over women at church makes me slightly dizzy. I really like this pattern, but in small amounts.
It also reminds me of a trim that was used on clothing in the 60s and 70s. It was called "Ric Rac." This was sewn on clothing, towels, etc. etc. It came in varying widths of Chevrons.
I know that in the 1800's crocheting and knitting was not something done as a hobby. The products that were created were used as bedding, clothing, etc. Knitting and crocheting were a satisfying method of clothing and warming your family.
I am not certain that either the Ripple or Chevron afghans were made then, but they may have been. In the mean time they are just downright fun to create. I will include links here on how to crochet or knit the things.
http://mosierfarms.blogspot.com is a grand Chevron afghan pattern that is knitted. I have made seven and they are absolutely lovely.
http://allfreecrochet.com gives some lovely variations of ripple afghans to make.
Christmas is coming, far too rapidly. These make lovely gifts, especially in the cold winter months! I know that any of the characters in my series, "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," would love to curl up in one of these beauties and read a good book in front of a warm fire, or just put it over them at night to go to sleep. Happy creating!
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Celeste - Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch
I had a grand book opening re-scheduled twice for my newest book in the series, "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch". The first postponement was because my beloved Mama passed at 95 years of age. The other happened because my venue closed down. So the birth of my 2nd book in the series, "Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," fell flatter than bread without yeast, lower than a snake's belly, lower than the lowly earth worm. Accompanying sound effect would sound like this....slow hiss of escaping air from a tire.
That does NOT mean that the book isn't interesting. It does not mean that I no longer have any of the books for sale. I actually still have many of them here in my humble abode. If any one lives in the Davis County area of Utah and would like a copy of "Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," that can be arranged through comments on this blog, Facebook or email.
It's time for a delicious recipe. I've searched for the one that sounds most delicious to me...here it is!
FUDGE
2 cups sugar
1 1/2 squares of chocolate
3/4 cup of milk
1 tablespoon of butter
Mix together, stir briskly until sugar is dissolved and chocolate is melted. Let boil until soft ball stage, turn into platter, and let it cool. Nuts may be chopped up and added before it hardens as well.
Fudge is my favorite food. I love all the myriad kinds of modern fudge. I rarely eat it because I don't want ONE PIECE. Doesn't satisfy me. I want a pound or so...all to myself!
Sugar was not as common in the 1800's as it is today. It was really expensive. Honey and molasses were still very commonly used sweeteners. An estimate has been made that we, in the 21st century, eat about 500% more sugar than we did in the 1800s. Our bodies have not evolved fast enough to deal with our sugar overload.
So, make fudge, and only eat it once a week, right? Am I right? Well maybe you should not eat an entire pound of fudge once a week. Half a pound would probably be better!
That does NOT mean that the book isn't interesting. It does not mean that I no longer have any of the books for sale. I actually still have many of them here in my humble abode. If any one lives in the Davis County area of Utah and would like a copy of "Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," that can be arranged through comments on this blog, Facebook or email.
It's time for a delicious recipe. I've searched for the one that sounds most delicious to me...here it is!
FUDGE
2 cups sugar
1 1/2 squares of chocolate
3/4 cup of milk
1 tablespoon of butter
Mix together, stir briskly until sugar is dissolved and chocolate is melted. Let boil until soft ball stage, turn into platter, and let it cool. Nuts may be chopped up and added before it hardens as well.
Fudge is my favorite food. I love all the myriad kinds of modern fudge. I rarely eat it because I don't want ONE PIECE. Doesn't satisfy me. I want a pound or so...all to myself!
Sugar was not as common in the 1800's as it is today. It was really expensive. Honey and molasses were still very commonly used sweeteners. An estimate has been made that we, in the 21st century, eat about 500% more sugar than we did in the 1800s. Our bodies have not evolved fast enough to deal with our sugar overload.
So, make fudge, and only eat it once a week, right? Am I right? Well maybe you should not eat an entire pound of fudge once a week. Half a pound would probably be better!
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
New Book...Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch
I don't know if I've even posted the fact that you can now purchase my new BOOK, as in old fashioned pages to turn. We have not yet finished the process to offer the book in Nook or Kindle. That will be coming. Lulu.com is the company that carries my books.
Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch is a character that I have fashioned after so many, many women. I envision her as looking like a young Naomi Judd, with Reba Macintyre around the edges. She's also patterned after a beloved friend who helped me to become an "Indie Writer." That's Independent Writer if you do not understand that particular abbreviation. I took all of my favorite red heads and put them together, and SHAZAM, out came Celeste.
Then there is the detail that I call the "Celeste," factor. In high school there was a girl that stood out to me from the crowd as though there were a spotlight over her head. She was quirky (which usually is a BAD thing in high school, and a COOL thing in college), and she didn't seem to be phased by the persecution of her peers. We weren't close friends, but we were friends.
Forty years passed, a 27 year marriage was ended by my husband's death, and many moves later I wound up living a block away from Celeste. THE Celeste that astonished and inspired me by her ability to just simply be who she was, NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE ELSE DID!
The day that we first became friends I told her about finishing the first draft of my novel Celeste. At this point we had figured out that she was the High School Celeste that I had admired, and that had inspired me to choose the name Celeste for my character in the first place!
Isn't life interesting with it's canyons of twists, turns, and hair raising drops? There I was meeting a friend that I had not seen in forty years who had inspired me to name my character Celeste, on the day that I finished my first draft of the book? That seems a little more than coincidence. However what some would call coincidence I prefer to see as "Synchronicity." A moment when the past and present aligns to give you a new start for the future.
Celeste (the book) does begin in a rather raw way. At the tender age of 14 Celeste is trapped into sexual slavery. All my tales are stories of redemption. I know that life has the gift of redemption waiting...right there...but sometimes we have to reach...just a bit higher...and then higher...AND THEN HIGHER STILL! The important thing is to know that none of us is beyond redemption!
Please enjoy the book Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch. Soon it will also be published in digital format.
Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch is a character that I have fashioned after so many, many women. I envision her as looking like a young Naomi Judd, with Reba Macintyre around the edges. She's also patterned after a beloved friend who helped me to become an "Indie Writer." That's Independent Writer if you do not understand that particular abbreviation. I took all of my favorite red heads and put them together, and SHAZAM, out came Celeste.
Then there is the detail that I call the "Celeste," factor. In high school there was a girl that stood out to me from the crowd as though there were a spotlight over her head. She was quirky (which usually is a BAD thing in high school, and a COOL thing in college), and she didn't seem to be phased by the persecution of her peers. We weren't close friends, but we were friends.
Forty years passed, a 27 year marriage was ended by my husband's death, and many moves later I wound up living a block away from Celeste. THE Celeste that astonished and inspired me by her ability to just simply be who she was, NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE ELSE DID!
The day that we first became friends I told her about finishing the first draft of my novel Celeste. At this point we had figured out that she was the High School Celeste that I had admired, and that had inspired me to choose the name Celeste for my character in the first place!
Isn't life interesting with it's canyons of twists, turns, and hair raising drops? There I was meeting a friend that I had not seen in forty years who had inspired me to name my character Celeste, on the day that I finished my first draft of the book? That seems a little more than coincidence. However what some would call coincidence I prefer to see as "Synchronicity." A moment when the past and present aligns to give you a new start for the future.
Celeste (the book) does begin in a rather raw way. At the tender age of 14 Celeste is trapped into sexual slavery. All my tales are stories of redemption. I know that life has the gift of redemption waiting...right there...but sometimes we have to reach...just a bit higher...and then higher...AND THEN HIGHER STILL! The important thing is to know that none of us is beyond redemption!
Please enjoy the book Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch. Soon it will also be published in digital format.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Discouragement
I am quite frankly discouraged. I have been writing this blog for several years now. I post recipes, knitting patterns, sewing patterns, things that were relevant to life in the Western United States of America from 1860 to 1890. I can't seem to draw any readership. For a while people got a little more interested, and then nothing...nada, nee, nine, neit...bupkis. It's enough to make a writer quit. Oh how I am tempted. I think I'll go find a white flag, put it on my front door, and SURRENDER!
Why am I working so hard to find a readership? The dishes stand tall in my sink, and on my counters because I would rather write than wash dishes. I have felt that writing fulfills me, but why would I be fulfilled when I know that nobody is reading? I should just wash those dishes and quit writing...STOP!
I have declared a full on "WHITE FLAG DAY!" That means that I will not think that I can ever write to earn money. I will resign myself to being a disabled woman climbing her way up the hill to old age. I remember as a child hearing the phrase, "Over the hill," in reference to elderly people. Personally I don't think old age is OVER any hill. As I approach that nebulous part of life I find that it's the hardest, steepest climb that I have ever experienced, and I have done some powerful climbing in my life.
So...today, I fully disclose that I hurt, my lungs are on fire, and I wish to go back in time about 5 years ago. My husband was alive, and I could get a hug, each and every time that I wanted or needed one. He was a giant of a man, in every way possible. His hugs were magical. He didn't just hug me, he engulfed me with love.
After he died, I began writing as a way to feel a need to get out of bed in the morning. Life felt so flat without him sharing it with me. I don't know why I continue to try to write something that might lift someone else. Today, I would just like to write something that would lift, me, myself and I upwards. I need to inspire ME! Yet even that seems impossible to find.
So, knowing that there WILL be better days ahead, I apologize for my ranting whine today. SIGH...guess I'll go do the dishes!
In case you trip across this post sa you read my blog let me assure you that there HAVE been better days since then. I still am not making a living with writing, but that is no reason to give up. After all, as a disabled senior I'm not even making a LIVING...doing ANYTHING!
I vow never to give in, give out, or give up. I WILL give love, give hope, and give laughter. I may definitely have some "White Flag Days," ahead when I will surrender but it will only be temporary. I will then stand my bulky self upright and keep putting one foot in front of the other, or possibly, rolling the wheels of my wheelchair forward!
Why am I working so hard to find a readership? The dishes stand tall in my sink, and on my counters because I would rather write than wash dishes. I have felt that writing fulfills me, but why would I be fulfilled when I know that nobody is reading? I should just wash those dishes and quit writing...STOP!
I have declared a full on "WHITE FLAG DAY!" That means that I will not think that I can ever write to earn money. I will resign myself to being a disabled woman climbing her way up the hill to old age. I remember as a child hearing the phrase, "Over the hill," in reference to elderly people. Personally I don't think old age is OVER any hill. As I approach that nebulous part of life I find that it's the hardest, steepest climb that I have ever experienced, and I have done some powerful climbing in my life.
So...today, I fully disclose that I hurt, my lungs are on fire, and I wish to go back in time about 5 years ago. My husband was alive, and I could get a hug, each and every time that I wanted or needed one. He was a giant of a man, in every way possible. His hugs were magical. He didn't just hug me, he engulfed me with love.
After he died, I began writing as a way to feel a need to get out of bed in the morning. Life felt so flat without him sharing it with me. I don't know why I continue to try to write something that might lift someone else. Today, I would just like to write something that would lift, me, myself and I upwards. I need to inspire ME! Yet even that seems impossible to find.
So, knowing that there WILL be better days ahead, I apologize for my ranting whine today. SIGH...guess I'll go do the dishes!
In case you trip across this post sa you read my blog let me assure you that there HAVE been better days since then. I still am not making a living with writing, but that is no reason to give up. After all, as a disabled senior I'm not even making a LIVING...doing ANYTHING!
I vow never to give in, give out, or give up. I WILL give love, give hope, and give laughter. I may definitely have some "White Flag Days," ahead when I will surrender but it will only be temporary. I will then stand my bulky self upright and keep putting one foot in front of the other, or possibly, rolling the wheels of my wheelchair forward!
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Angela
Slowly she awakened. Stretching she reached as high as her arms would reach. She yawned hugely. Then she realized, Henry was gone. She was not frightened. Delight streamed through her body. Henry terrified her on a continual basis.
She had witnessed how coldly he had shot the woman who he had hired to help him carry off his ruse to adopt her. He told Angela that the woman had to die because she could identify them to the police. Henry loved to use this as an example to keep Angela in fear.
Angela never considered trying to run away from Henry. He was a master at tracking and hiding his tracks. She knew that he would find her. She also knew that if she proved to be too much trouble for Henry, he would kill her and find another orphan to be his slave.
Caves were Henry's favorite place for them to live. A cave kept them away from society. Henry had no desire to interact with humanity. He believed that he was far superior to any other human being. As a superior person he eschewed any habitation that would connect either of them to other humans.
They would stay in a cave for a month or two while Henry sent Angela out on a crime spree. By day he would do research about the town's people. At night Henry would send Angela into homes to steal money, or precious gems. Henry would then take them to another city where he would sell them to pawn brokers. He used different pawn brokers for each town that they had plundered.
They had lived in the Midwest for awhile. Minnesota, Michigan, Ohio, Iowa, Nebraska, they moved swiftly across that part of the country. When the law grew a little too close to them for comfort, and winter's unbelievable icy chill spread across the land, Henry stole two horses and away they rode.
He headed to Portland. He had grown up there, an illegitimate child of a maid. He felt justified in stealing from the town that had made his growing years so hellish. Through the years he had plundered Portland many times.
Henry was a master of disguise. He knew how to change his features completely. He used this skill set to keep from being recognized.
One day Henry told Angela, "I don't care if YOU are recognized. You are completely disposable. A throw away orphan that nobody gives a damn about! I can easily get another throw away orphan. The only reason that I keep you now is because I don't want to go through the work to train someone new!"
It was a long trip across the country to Portland, Oregon. Angela had been abandoned in Portland as a baby. She had spent six long, lonely years in an orphanage. Sometimes she wondered to herself which had been worse, the orphanage, or being Henry's slave. She could never decide. It seemed as though they were both equally awful.
Angela had enjoyed traveling through the Midwest. It excited her to see new things, and new people. She was frightened by people. Having no experience of normal interaction with humans had left her frightened to simply speak to them. Henry never allowed her to attend school. He did not attempt to educate her himself. He did train her to steal in many difference manners. She was expert at picking pockets. Cracking a safe was rarely a challenge for Angela. She had two qualifications. Her hearing was excellent. Her fingers were nimble, agile, and able to perform whatever functions she required of them.
Henry came striding into the cave holding a piece of paper. "Damn and double damn those Pinkerton's! Life was so much easier before they started their business."
Angela remained quiet. She had learned from long experience that when Henry wanted to rant about something it was best to let him rant, until he was finished.
"It's getting so that a body can't steal anywhere and escape notice. Those damn Pinkerton detectives use the telegram to send messages all the way across the country."
Henry threw the sheet of paper at Angela. Carefully she picked it up. She made certain that she didn't rip the paper, or wrinkle it. Both of those actions would result in her not eating for a meal, maybe two.
Staring back from the paper was her own face. She was in a plaid shirt, baggy trousers, and had a cowboy hat on top of her head. The wanted poster labeled her as, "Kid Mysterious." Henry was simply labeled as "Henry Butler."
"Damn and double damn." Henry strode up and down the cave. "I wanted to stay here awhile. There are more people to rob, and this is a grand place to live. Now we'll have to move."
"Where will we go Henry?" Angela spoke in a very soft voice. She was extremely careful to keep her tone from sounding like a whine. Henry loathed whining, unless, of course, HE was the one doing it!
The coast. They still are fairly primitive. Maybe the Pinkerton's won't be able to follow us there. After we gain enough money, we'll escape to Mexico. Nobody will catch us there. I heard that Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid went there to run from the law. The law will expect us to head to Canada. That's another way to escape the U.S. law. We'll fool them and head to Mexico."
Angela said softly, "May I go to school in Mexico Henry? I've a powerful hankerin' to learn how to read and write."
"Yeah, yeah. We'll get you learnin' when we get to Mexico. Now pack up. The coast of Oregon will not even know what hit them!"
Angela began the tedious job of organizing and packing their things.
She had witnessed how coldly he had shot the woman who he had hired to help him carry off his ruse to adopt her. He told Angela that the woman had to die because she could identify them to the police. Henry loved to use this as an example to keep Angela in fear.
Angela never considered trying to run away from Henry. He was a master at tracking and hiding his tracks. She knew that he would find her. She also knew that if she proved to be too much trouble for Henry, he would kill her and find another orphan to be his slave.
Caves were Henry's favorite place for them to live. A cave kept them away from society. Henry had no desire to interact with humanity. He believed that he was far superior to any other human being. As a superior person he eschewed any habitation that would connect either of them to other humans.
They would stay in a cave for a month or two while Henry sent Angela out on a crime spree. By day he would do research about the town's people. At night Henry would send Angela into homes to steal money, or precious gems. Henry would then take them to another city where he would sell them to pawn brokers. He used different pawn brokers for each town that they had plundered.
They had lived in the Midwest for awhile. Minnesota, Michigan, Ohio, Iowa, Nebraska, they moved swiftly across that part of the country. When the law grew a little too close to them for comfort, and winter's unbelievable icy chill spread across the land, Henry stole two horses and away they rode.
He headed to Portland. He had grown up there, an illegitimate child of a maid. He felt justified in stealing from the town that had made his growing years so hellish. Through the years he had plundered Portland many times.
Henry was a master of disguise. He knew how to change his features completely. He used this skill set to keep from being recognized.
One day Henry told Angela, "I don't care if YOU are recognized. You are completely disposable. A throw away orphan that nobody gives a damn about! I can easily get another throw away orphan. The only reason that I keep you now is because I don't want to go through the work to train someone new!"
It was a long trip across the country to Portland, Oregon. Angela had been abandoned in Portland as a baby. She had spent six long, lonely years in an orphanage. Sometimes she wondered to herself which had been worse, the orphanage, or being Henry's slave. She could never decide. It seemed as though they were both equally awful.
Angela had enjoyed traveling through the Midwest. It excited her to see new things, and new people. She was frightened by people. Having no experience of normal interaction with humans had left her frightened to simply speak to them. Henry never allowed her to attend school. He did not attempt to educate her himself. He did train her to steal in many difference manners. She was expert at picking pockets. Cracking a safe was rarely a challenge for Angela. She had two qualifications. Her hearing was excellent. Her fingers were nimble, agile, and able to perform whatever functions she required of them.
Henry came striding into the cave holding a piece of paper. "Damn and double damn those Pinkerton's! Life was so much easier before they started their business."
Angela remained quiet. She had learned from long experience that when Henry wanted to rant about something it was best to let him rant, until he was finished.
"It's getting so that a body can't steal anywhere and escape notice. Those damn Pinkerton detectives use the telegram to send messages all the way across the country."
Henry threw the sheet of paper at Angela. Carefully she picked it up. She made certain that she didn't rip the paper, or wrinkle it. Both of those actions would result in her not eating for a meal, maybe two.
Staring back from the paper was her own face. She was in a plaid shirt, baggy trousers, and had a cowboy hat on top of her head. The wanted poster labeled her as, "Kid Mysterious." Henry was simply labeled as "Henry Butler."
"Damn and double damn." Henry strode up and down the cave. "I wanted to stay here awhile. There are more people to rob, and this is a grand place to live. Now we'll have to move."
"Where will we go Henry?" Angela spoke in a very soft voice. She was extremely careful to keep her tone from sounding like a whine. Henry loathed whining, unless, of course, HE was the one doing it!
The coast. They still are fairly primitive. Maybe the Pinkerton's won't be able to follow us there. After we gain enough money, we'll escape to Mexico. Nobody will catch us there. I heard that Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid went there to run from the law. The law will expect us to head to Canada. That's another way to escape the U.S. law. We'll fool them and head to Mexico."
Angela said softly, "May I go to school in Mexico Henry? I've a powerful hankerin' to learn how to read and write."
"Yeah, yeah. We'll get you learnin' when we get to Mexico. Now pack up. The coast of Oregon will not even know what hit them!"
Angela began the tedious job of organizing and packing their things.
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