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 at the saloon, she might be expected to—how shall I say it—personally entertain the gentlemen. She felt much better once she was assured she wouldn’t be expected to do anything of the sort unless it was her own choice.

Evelyn has set up a bed for her in her little place, but if the girl ends up staying, I’ll talk to Brigs about building a house for her.

Out here in West Texas, we are much closer to Mexico than to Galveston or Dallas, but Jazmine was telling me—as we were doing some mending together—about a celebration happening in those cities, and in the smaller communities of what she politely called "freedpeople."

It seems that June 19th marked the ten-year anniversary of the news of the Emancipation Proclamation finally reaching Texas. I know it takes time for word to travel out here—letters from my mother in New York City usually take about two weeks—but two whole years?

This is something I’ll talk to Brigs about—how we might share it with the boys, and later with Ember and the twins. While it doesn’t touch our household directly, I do think it’s important to teach the children. Every year at Passover, we speak of our own freedom from bondage, and so it feels right to speak of others who were also enslaved and freed. Even though it was an act of government, there’s still that sense of Gd’s hand in it—"with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm."

On the home front:

I took everyone down to the river a couple times this week to fish—both for a good dinner and to put some in the smokehouse. I also wanted to prepare some gefilte fish. I set the babies under the tree nearby—not too close to the water. I had to keep a sharp eye on them, as they’re rolling all over these days, and Ember will belly-crawl toward anything that catches her attention—though more often than not she bumps her head along the way.

The boys love the river. I had to wade in a few times to haul Jadon back before he went too deep. Thank Gd the river isn’t very deep here, but still—it's deeper than that boy is tall in the middle, and none of them can swim yet.

Xavier, Joseph, and Jadon were all covered in mud by the time we headed home, and I told Brigs I was sure Jadon had smuggled at least one frog home in his pocket. Brigs agreed and said he was fairly certain the boy had plans to put it in my drawer with my bloomers.

Well, you won’t be surprised to hear that yes, I found a frog in there the next morning. Not that my husband told the boy to do it outright, but I know his saying it out loud gave Jadon the idea—and the motivation.

It jumped on me when I opened the drawer, and yes, I screamed.

Not surprisingly, when I went to the boys about it, they wouldn’t say a word. They looked at me as serious as a collection of Torah scholars and, in one voice, declared, “Scorpins no rat!”

Though I did notice Joseph kept cutting his eyes toward Jadon. I may need to have Brigs work with Joseph on his poker face.

When I told Brigs—he’d just come back from working the cattle—it was all he could do to keep from laughing. I told him, with that tone in my voice, that I was convinced Jadon had been encouraged by his father. Brigs, with a twinkle in his eye and trying to look innocent, said, “Would I do that?”

I looked him dead in the eye and said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “NEVER.”

He nodded like he’d just won a prize at the State Fair and said, “I’m glad you agree.”

That man!

Well, I need to get the boys rounded up and cleaned for Shabbat dinner. Brigs may not understand the words of the blessings I say on Friday night, but he always loves the dinners I fix.

I’ve started blessing the children, too. I know it’s supposed to be the father, but somehow I don’t think Gd will mind—a devout mother in the middle of nowhere, doing her best.