July 27, 1875 What a week this has been. Brigs, as usual, has been working himself to the bone making sure the ranch is in fine form. He’s been working the cattle and looking toward a drive this fall. I know last year he took them west to El Paso, but he ended up staying a couple of weeks trying to get a decent price. This year, we’d talked about maybe heading toward the San Antonio/Stockdale area to see if he might have better luck there. It’s a gamble every time he rounds up the herd and heads out. There’s no guarantee he’ll get a fair price, and the dangers along the trail are considerable. Last year’s drive was the first—and it came right on the heels of having the twins. At that time, it was just the twins and Jadon. I would sit in the rocker, nursing one child, rocking the crib with the other using my foot, while Jadon played on the floor nearby. And all the while, I whispered prayers for their father. The words that came to mind were from my own childhood: Shomer Yisrael, shemor...
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July 18, 1875 The sun is beginning its slow dip behind the hills, and soon I’ll strike the match and bring in Shabbat. The table is laid, the children are bathed (well, clean-ish), I thought to take a couple minutes to write about this week. We were finally able to get a doctor to come out here. What made it all the more surprising was that it was a lady doctor—and not just a medicine woman, but a truly trained physician. A rider came up to the house on Monday with a short note, clearly written in haste: Hello Mr. and Mrs. Pinkerton, my name is Kani. I am an apprentice of Dr. Ella Green Ware. We serve the community of Stockdale, Texas. I have been sent to care for your children and should arrive just before sunset. Please forgive me for my late arrival, as the carriage wheel needed to be mended. While we waited for the stage to come in, I fetched the map of Texas, since I hadn’t heard of Stockdale before. It turns out it’s a small community southeast of San Antonio. I can understa...
Scorpion Valley – Friday Night, July 4, 1875 I feel a little guilty, but this is the first chance I've had to sit since sunup. Today is the Fourth of July, but there is no parade or feast here—only the slow, steady work of keeping the Valley going. Out here, the holiday passes quietly, with fewer folks around to mark it, and even fewer to celebrate. So here I am, writing by the light of the Shabbat candles. G-d forgive me—but I need to get my thoughts down. What to say about this week in the Valley? Brigs has been working hard, as always. When I fuss at him and beg him to "take care of my husband," he’ll either get that serious look and tell me someone has to keep the roof over our heads—or he'll flash that wicked twinkle in his eye and ask, "When do I get to meet this husband of yours?" Then I’ll giggle and kiss him and say, "You never know when he’ll show up." I think I saw Natives in the Valley again. There’s that couple that passed through no...
June 28, 1875 Before bed, Motzi Shabbat. Brigs safe at home after several days on the range and all the children are asleep. ****************** A young girl came to the ranch Friday night, after the babies and the boys were in bed. She's someone I recognized — a young lady who is, I think, at least part Native. She comes to the Valley now and then, following the game she hunts. I've heard her called Bear, though I don’t always see her as a mama bear. More like a cub still in need of love. She was scared, this young Bear. I offered her some of the herbal tea I learned to blend from Elle, with herbs that soothe both the body and the soul, and asked what was troubling her. The first thing she asked, as she sipped the tea and the chill began to leave her — which may sound strange in the heat of late June in West Texas, but she truly seemed chilled to the bone — was, “So, you are Jewish, yes?” When I told her I was and gently asked why, she leaned in and whispered that she was afra...
June 20, 1875 It's been mostly a quiet week in the Valley, but a couple things have happened. First, Ima Evelyn was approached by the saloon girl Edie. Young Edie was wondering about organizing some gatherings for folks from the surrounding ranches. I know she's hoping to stir up some business for herself, but it would also be nice to see neighbors more often. Back when we still lived in Colorado, we used to travel from Durango over to Silverton once a week for their social night in the saloon there. I talked to Brigs about it, and he's thinking it over. With no Rangers in the Valley, we'd need to make sure we could keep things from getting too rowdy. Then, Evelyn came to me this morning and told me she might know of a young lady who plays piano who would be interested in coming to the Valley. What prompts her to come out to the middle of nowhere, I have no idea, but Gd knows she will be welcome. Evelyn did mention that the girl was concerned that, if she did perform a...
June 6, 1875 So, as the challah rises—and before the boys come help me braid the loaves—I wanted to set down a few thoughts. It’s been a quiet week overall, which is always a blessing. Well. I say that. There was an incident last Shabbat that still has me a bit shaken. I went down to visit Ima Evelyn on Saturday morning. She’d gotten back late from El Paso (yes, I know—she rode on Shabbat, but it’s hard to get here any other way sometimes). We were fussing around, and I was showing her the little horse barn Brigs built for her, when that Ranger, the one who passes through the Valley now and again, showed up on the ranch. Honestly, I don’t know why he came. But I know Evelyn was not pleased to see him. She’s always had her suspicions about him, and I know Brigs shares them. Evelyn asked him, plain and direct, if he was a man of law and truth—or just another bully hiding behind a badge. What came out of his mouth after that… I still feel sick thinking about it. He said things I won’...
May 26, 1875 It’s been a busy week so far in the Valley. Over the weekend, some workers Brigs hired out of El Paso came and built a crypt near the cliffs closer to the house than the barn. There’s a marker now — it reads Elle Pinkerton , the name she was denied in life but now bears in death. Brigs had it commissioned that way. Quietly, respectfully, with no fanfare. I took the boys down with me and they “helped” while I planted sunflowers. They were Elle’s favorite. The ground was dry and stubborn, but we got them in. The boys were solemn for once, helping me press the seeds in and cover them up with their little hands. Xavier asked if sunflowers go to Heaven when they die. I told him, I think maybe they just bloom again in a better place. Then — some brighter news. Evelyn, who first joined our wagon train back in Colorado but never truly settled, has finally decided to put down roots here in the Valley. Over this past year and a half, she’s become like family to us. I call her I...