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’t repeat. Ugly things. Filthy, slanderous things against our people. Slurs. Lies. Blood libels. He spat hatred at Jews like it was his birthright. And he did it—on my land, outside Ima Evelyn's door, on Shabbat.

I told him to stop. I told him he wasn’t welcome here—not if that was what lived in his soul. And when he turned his venom on me—a Jewish mother, a woman who’s done nothing but try to build peace in this Valley—I looked him in the eye and drew the line.

The moment he did it, I knew: there’s no room in this Valley for that kind of poison. I told him so, without flinching. Brigs is taking the matter to the folks in Austin. This land might be wild—but it isn’t lawless, and it sure as hell isn’t godless.

I’m still rattled—not out of fear, but from the betrayal of having let a man like that come near my home. I thought he was just rough-edged. That maybe he had a code of his own, like some men do. But I was wrong. He brought filth and fire—not justice.

Still, aside from that nastiness, the week held sweeter things too.

As always, I didn’t sew on Shabbat—though I’ll admit, it’s always a struggle not to reach for the thread and needle. But, I've been working on little girl dresses to take into El Paso, probably after this Shabbat, to see if a shop there might sell them. I made full outfits—hats, bows, the works. I hope they’re not too provincial for city tastes. They’re inspired by life out here—Native and Tejano patterns, desert colors and sturdy fabric.

I’ve been working so much in the shop lately that on Sunday, Jadon and Joseph slipped out the side gate—the one that leads down to the spring—and came to fetch me home. It was all I could do not to laugh at how firm they were:

“Babies need Mama. NOW.”

And just like that, I set the sewing aside and let them escort me home, a task they took very seriously.

Later that day, Jadon got into one of his moods. He refused to sit for dinner, made me chase him with three different spoons before he’d eat, and then had a full fit when it was time for bed.

When I sent him to time-out, he up and wandered off to play with his cat Snow instead. I had to put him back in the chair twice. The boy’s got steel in him—just like his father.

When Brigs got home Monday evening, it was the usual: we came down from our moment alone, and he called out,

“Boys! The warden’s taking a head count!”

I laughed and kissed him, then got serious and answered,

“All the boys are present and accounted for.”

But when I told him about Jadon testing every nerve I had, Brigs got real quiet. Then he called Jadon to him and said,

“If you keep defying your Mama, I’ll take that cat on the next cattle drive to El Paso and leave it halfway to nowhere in the desert. And your brothers will wonder why you can’t sit down.”

Brigs may joke, but the boys know—he always has my back.

Now that Evelyn’s back in the Valley, I’ve invited her up for Friday night candle-lighting and Shabbat dinner. It means the world to me. Here’s to a restful Shabbat for all of us.

And maybe, just maybe, this Saturday night I’ll sit down and write to my Ima in New York, and to my two younger sisters. It’s been too long since I filled them in. I know they’ll all have something to say about the Ranger. I want to hear what trouble Shira’s gotten into (I half-expect she’s still trying to sit with the men in shul), and what quiet wisdom Tamar’s been up to (she could give the Rabbis a run for their money, if they’d let her).

All right. Off to finish the challah and finish tidying the house for tonight.