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...