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 not long after we moved south—the man, Anunka, is an old friend of Brigs. His woman, Aisen, I’ve met once. Brigs calls her that—Anunka’s woman—though I think she’s his wife in truth, whatever ceremony they hold to. We don’t see them often. Brigs says they travel and do things I’d best not ask about when it comes to other settlers. From what I remember, he said they are Shoshone—not a people known for peace, though Anunka has always shown Brigs respect enough to leave us alone.

But this week, I saw another pair slipping through the Valley, heading out toward the Badlands. I wonder if they were Apache—who seem to move through this land as if it’s theirs, which perhaps it still is—or Comanche, maybe, looking for refuge. Either way, we’ll be keeping a closer eye on the stock and the children. And I do need to get back out and practice with the shotguns. I keep them clean and oiled, but I haven’t fired one in too long.

In addition to the Natives, there was an interesting young lady—her name escapes me just now—who came into town this week and spent a night in the hotel. The next morning, she rode up to the ranch and asked if she might settle in the Valley. Brigs and I showed her the little house next to Joaquin's carpintero shop, and as we walked, she explained that she was an inventor—and that her last shop had exploded (!). She swore it wasn’t her fault, that the young man working with her had gotten into her still.

Brigs laughed and told her he had a still too, and that somehow I’d managed to coax a few scraggly grapes out of the earth to make a little kosher wine. She smiled, sort of softly, and said Brigs wouldn’t want to drink what came out of her still. Apparently, it was a black sludge she’d found oozing out of the ground. She asked if we’d ever seen anything like it, and we told her about the old miner’s camp near the edge of the Valley. Brigs said if anything strange was hiding under this land, it’d be there. It will be interesting to see what that girl invents next—and whether or not it explodes.

I wrote to the Ladies Hebrew Benevolent Society in Galveston—the one Ima Evelyn told me about. G-d bless her for thinking of it. It’s been near impossible to get someone out here to see the babies. I sent word to the midwife who delivered Jadon and the twins, but it seems she’s had deaths in the family, and grief has hollowed her out. She hasn’t come back to the Valley. I say prayers for her when I light the candles—refuah shleimah, if that’s still within reach—but I need someone to see to the little ones, too.

Especially Ember.

She’s fifteen months now and still not crawling. She watches us, but not the way the others did. Sometimes she seems to stare past the toys I dangle, like she’s not quite sure where they are. I’m starting to wonder if something’s wrong with her eyes, G-d help us. If there’s something that could help her see better, I want to know about it. I want to believe she just needs time—but the doubt sits heavy.

Brigs headed out this morning to check the fence. He said he was worried some of the cattle might have gotten loose. I hope he’s back before Monday. I do worry when he’s out there. I know better than to say so to him—he’s more than capable, and prideful besides—but the truth is, there’s so much out there that can kill a man. Jazmine told me the other day, “If it doesn’t have horns, thorns, or fangs, it’s not native to this place.” Not exactly the kind of talk that eases a woman’s heart.

I’ll check the babies one last time before bed and try to dream of Brigs’ arms around me. If I’m lucky enough to sleep.

May the One who watched over Avraham on the road, who guarded Yaakov as he fled from Esav, watch over my husband in his going out and in his coming in. Bring him home safely to me, in strength and in peace. Amen.