Travel to Western Frontier? Only The Hardy need Apply by Linda Carroll-Bradd

Two blogs are undergoing an identiy crisis today. Linda Carroll-Bradd's and Vintage Vonnie. I'm at her place and she's at mine. And here's the kicker, we've both written historicals set in Wyoming with strong heroines arriving to their destinations by stagecoach. My MAN FOR ANNALEE released yesterday. Hers will release soon, too. Please show Linda some love today and leave a comment for she's giving away a pdf copy. Then stop by her blog http://blog.lindacarroll-bradd.com to visit me. Woot! 

In the mid-1800s, people needed determination and patience to travel from one side of the country to the other. Stagecoaches ran on a weekly or bi-weekly schedule. A trip from St Louis to San Francisco involved about 25 days of travel. The coaches were drawn by six horses and stops were made every 12 miles for fresh teams. Depending on the terrain, coaches covered between 5 and 12 miles per day—running day and night. Passengers were grateful to get hot coffee, biscuits and jerky at these stops; on rare occasions, hot meals were available.

True, the Transcontinental Railroad was completed in the summer of 1869 but that line served a route of the most-populous cities. How was someone, like my character Ciara Morrissey raised on the East Coast, to travel to an out-of-the-way location like Bull City, in northern Wyoming Territory? The Union Pacific Railroad ran through southern Wyoming and from Cheyenne a small-sized coach, most likely a Concord coach (built with sturdy braces for a more comfortable ride), ran a north/south route.

The suggested items to travel with would have filled a large satchel or three. In addition to their clothing, passengers were admonished to pack 6 pair of thick socks, woolen underdrawers, blankets—one in summer and two in winter, 3-4 towels, heavy overcoat, light coat, hat and their choice of pistol or knife for personal protection. Imagine being a well-bred lady from an upstanding Massachusetts family reading that list.

Once she got inside the stagecoach, she would have had her choice of window or middle position (approximately 15” in width) on either a forward or backward-facing bench seat. As she set out on her journey, she could read the rules about men forgoing swearing and smoking in a lady’s presence, but tobacco chewing was allowed, as long as the chewer spat downwind. I would hope so. Or if the person (presumed to be a male) couldn’t refrain from drinking alcohol, then he must pass the bottle around. Yum. Snoring loudly or using another passenger’s shoulder as a pillow were frowned upon. Improper advances toward a woman could get the male kicked off the stagecoach in the middle of nowhere. Forbidden topics of conversation were stagecoach robberies and Indian uprisings. Sounds like a smart rule. Shooting at wildlife (Wyoming had a huge population of pronghorn antelope) was prohibited. Passengers were encouraged not to jump from the stage in case of runaway horses so as not to be left victim to the weather, hostile Indians or hungry coyotes.

Like I mentioned, Ciara had a purpose and she looked at all these strictures as part of her great adventure. She’d made a deathbed promise to her mother to seek out the father she didn’t remember, and Bull City was his last known location. Not only does she have the “excitement” of the trip, her stage is attacked, a passenger dragged out and the driver shot. She arrives at her destination, hands locked tight around the leather reins. That’s the first time Sheriff Quinn Riley sees her and the story of Dreams of Gold begins.

 

 

Dreams of Gold is available on Kindle. http://amzn.to/VcKxbp

More information on Linda Carroll-Bradd can be found at www.lindacarroll-bradd.com, http://blog.lindacarroll-bradd.com, Twitter @lcarrollbradd, and Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Linda-Carroll-Bradd-author/44081494263528

 

*** Linda will be giving away one pdf copy of her book to one lucky commenter. So please include your email address in your comment, so she can contact you.

She Was a Graduate of Miss Feather's School for Refined Ladies of Culture and Proper Decorum by Vonnie Davis

      Annalee didn’t know which was more disconcerting: the fact she’d fainted on the stagecoach or that the marshal now held her like a baby. She shifted in his arms, nervous at being held this close. Her burns throbbed so badly, she could barely think. “I can walk, you know. I only fainted.”

       “You might have hit your head. Caused an injury.” He tilted his head to the side and stared at her, an unsettling warmth in his brown eyes. “No need to frown like that. You’re not heavy. As soon as the doc’s through with your shooting victim, I’ll carry you inside.”

       “I did not shoot the driver.” She pursed her lips and glared at him. Up close, the marshal had an interesting face. A bump on his nose indicated it had been broken, probably in a brawl or two. His square jaw proclaimed stubbornness—something she could relate to—and a scar from the corner of his lower lip to the cleft of his chin no doubt signaled a life of violence. Dark, wavy hair hung over his jacket collar and nearly brushed his shoulders.

       Boone cleared his throat, arching one dark eyebrow. “Are you through with your examination? I could take my boots off so you can count my toes.”

       Her hackles rose at his remark. “Put me down, you annoying man.” She shoved at his hard chest. His hold tightened, increasing her pain. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out.

       The lawman tilted his head to the side again and his eyebrows furrowed in thought. “I wonder…”

       “What?”

       “Were you born cranky or have you been practicing on a daily basis? Frankly, I’ve never met a more peevish woman. Now Widow Morrison, she’s a mite cranky, but rumor has it she’s got trouble with her bowels…”

       Annalee gasped, her cheeks heating with the blush of embarrassment. “Shut up. I’ll have you know there’s nothing amiss regarding my disposition. Why, I’m a graduate of Miss Feather’s Finishing School for Refined Ladies of Culture and Proper Decorum.” She gave an imperial sniff and hiked her chin a notch.

       He grinned, a sight that made her insides flutter, before he inclined his head and whispered, “You flunked that part, didn’t you?”      

       His warm breath against her ear caused her toes to curl in her black leather, high-button shoes and a shiver to race through her system, reactions she found troubling. She pierced him with an imposing glare. “I beg your pardon?”

       “The decorum part. You flunked that, didn’t you?” The corners of his mouth twitched as if he were fighting a smile. “Because every time you get riled, your mouth turns as nasty as a cowpoke with saddle sores.”

       He had her there. Her “devil tongue,” as Miss Feather called it, had earned her more demerits and kitchen duty than she cared to admit. Thus she’d been dubbed with the disparaging title of the “Demerit Damsel.”

       She’d not share that morsel of information with this infuriating stranger. She shot the marshal a sideways glance. For some reason, he grated on her nerves. “You, sir, have a brainless tongue that goes off half-cocked with what little sense God gave you.”

 

 

BUY LINKS:

Still Moments Publishing Library: http://www.stillmomentspublishing.com/2013/02/a-man-for-annalee.html

 

Still Moments Publishing eBook Store: http://www.stillmomentspublishing.com/p/ebook-store.html

Still Moments Publishing Print Library: http://www.stillmomentspublishing.com/p/print.html

 

http://www.amazon.com/A-Man-for-Annalee-ebook/dp/B00BHK7ZW8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1361256339&sr=8-1&keywords=a+man+for+annalee