Thursday, October 25, 2018

Wildest Place in the West

Wildest Place in the West

Fort Griffin, Texas was a U.S Cavalry fort established in 1867. It was one of a series of forts designed to protect settlers and ranchers. It was also used as a staging point for westward expeditions.

Situated on the West Fork of the Trinity River and the Clear Fork of the Brazos, it is near present day Albany, Texas.

 In 1870, a small town called the Flat, sprang up north of the fort. The town became a starting off point for cattle drives headed north to      Dodge City, Kansas.                                                                     
During this time, the soldiers were busy fighting Indians and law in the town disappeared giving rise to notable gunfighters and outlaws.  Including: Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, Dave Rudabaugh, Bat and Jim Masterson.

After the Red River War of 1874, the Comanche and Kiowa threat was lessened so that settlement swept through the area and the fort was disbanded in 1879.

TODAY: You can attend the Fort Griffin Fandangle in June. It is the oldest outdoor theater in Texas and relates the history of Fort Griffin and the surrounding area. 

Enjoy the history of Texas.

You can also enjoy history told through the interesting characters you'll find in the historical novels that the authors on this blog write.
Have a blessed day,

Patricia PacJac Carroll
My latest book is Lawfully Engaged.

You can find my books on Amazon
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Friday, October 19, 2018

Once Upon a Western ~ 1989

Once Upon a Western ~ 1989

 By Barbara Goss

After devouring a hundred Grace Livingston Hill books, I realized there weren’t many Christian romance books on the market.  Before I became a Christian, I read more explicit books by writers like Rosemary Rogers, Kathleen Woodiwiss, etc.  After, I could no longer read them.  I knew they were the wrong thing for a Christian to read.  A friend from church pointed me to Grace Livingston Hill’s books, and I went through them all but was still thirsty for good clean romance. At the same time, I was praising God and asking, “What can I do for You?”  I'd always wanted to be an, why not?

My first book was a contemporary and very rough, but my friend from church loved it as I was giving her portions at a time to read. One night, she knocked on my door very late asking if I had the next chapter.  That’s when I knew…I could hold an audience.

 I never attended college and was told I could never be published without a degree, but that didn’t stop me.  I joined the Christian Writer’s Fellowship in Titusville, FL and worked with some brilliant authors via mail. Mary Harwell Saylor was my mentor.  My first western,  Forbidden Legacy, was my lesson.  I tapped away on my electric typewriter and when the manuscript was finished, my friends urged me to send it out to publishers.  I sent it to every large Christian publishing house and collected a drawer full of rejection slips.  I was crushed.  I really thought this is what God wanted me to do.  If so, why weren't the doors opening?
Then, a notice from the Writer’s Fellowship came in the mail announcing a writer’s conference in Titusville.  I lived in New York and it would be expensive, but after urgings from friends, I borrowed from my credit union enough money to pay for the trip. I packed my bags and told my family, “If this doesn’t work, I’ll give up on writing.”
Sometimes things go wrong for a reason.  The airlines lost my luggage.  I arrived with just the clothes I’d worn during the long trip…and had to wear them for two more days in front of everyone at the conference.  But, it brought attention to me as the woman whose luggage had been lost.  Attention is sometimes a good thing, although I didn't think so at the time.  Then my book won first prize in the fiction contest.  I had to accept the award wearing the same clothes!

I tried to cover the creases in my slacks in this picture as I was presented my award.

   Finally, my suitcase arrived. Thank the Lord.

Each night the authors sat at tables eating dinner with editors or publishers.  So, we all got to know each other.  Several publishers took a copy of my manuscript overnight to read, and three of them bid for it.  I chose Fleming Revell, and ended up with two 2 book contracts. At the time my name was Barbara Masci.

I’m telling this story to introduce myself and to show that miracles still do happen and God is definitely involved in romance writing.
However, I much prefer being an Indie Author.  I have so much more freedom.  It takes months to get a book published with a publisher, at least it did back then when we had to mail the manuscript back and forth.
Before embarking on writing a book, I was published in Moody Monthly and Vibrant Life Magazines which gave me the encouragement to storm ahead.  I took twenty-two years off writing to work full-time before gaining my book rights and uploading them to Amazon.  When the books sold well, I decided to write a few more.
This is the story I tell to beginner writers: never give up.  The three publishers who bid for my book were the same ones that sent me rejection slips.

                                     My 36th romance book was released on Oct. 18th:

Thursday, October 18, 2018

Authenticity of Old West Towns

by Cyndi Raye

Working on a new series, I wanted to be as authentic as possible to bring the feel of the Old Western towns alive. Most times it winds up to be the characters that make a town authentic. While researching, I ran into some interesting facts and fodder that I'd like to share with you. 

In my upcoming book, A Bride for Abel, the town's setting lies a few miles south of Alder Gulch, which most people know as Virginia City, Montana. I didn't want to use the actual town of Virginia City in my own story since building my own town is much more fun. So, I took bits and pieces from history to build a fictional place called Pistol Ridge.

One interesting story I read about is concerning a notorious dirty sheriff. Starting in 1863, and throughout the following years, there were many shady characters typical of a boom town. One particular lawman, Henry Plummer, was supposedly as crooked as the day is long. He was alleged to be the brains behind the road agents (a group of criminals who robbed stages, freight wagons and anyone using the road from Virginia City to Nevada City). Mostly, the road agents were men who were too lazy to mine for gold or find legitimate work. Instead, they found other ways to make their fortune. 

In my own story, I had planned to use a sheriff who was not as honorable as the townsfolk thought. When I started doing my research, I was surprised and delighted to find the sheriff of Virginia City also had quite a reputation. 
What do you think? Does he look innocent or guilty?

 Henry Plummer

Since one of my first scenes start out in a saloon, I wanted it to be authentic. The interesting thing I found out and didn't know, was a dance hall girl and a soiled dove are two different people. While proper ladies look down their nose at a dance hall girl, she would never associate with a prostitute. So, what is the difference? 

A dance hall girl doesn't have to become a prostitute. She is hired by the owner to offer dances to the patrons, charging .75 to $1.00 per dance. Afterwards, she steers the patron to the bar, where she talks him into buying them a drink, earning commission on the drinks, also. The irony is her drink is usually tea or colored sugar water since she isn't allowed to imbibe while working. The patron is paying the price for alcohol on both drinks. Does it sound like he is being duped? 

Dance Hall Girl

What about the rules of common courtesy and decency? 

Interestingly, this can get quite complicated. If a man walks into a saloon and begs for a drink claiming he has no money, someone almost always will buy him a drink. On the other hand, if he orders a drink and then tells the barkeep he has no money, he may get himself beat up. 

A man walks into a bar....truly, if he walks into a saloon in the 1800's, if there is a customer standing next to him, he had better buy that man a drink. Did you ever watch an old western and notice how they always seem to buy the man beside him a shot? It is actually considered common courtesy to do so. Now, if the man walks in and ignores the patron beside him, it is also considered bad manners. Men in the old west don't stand for disrespect. 

On the other hand, if a customer is standing at the bar (no bar stools back then), and the patron next to him wants to buy a drink, he had better accept. Refusing can cause harm. It's been told a man or two have been marched through the streets to several different drinking establishments to teach a man some manners. Not sure what this entailed but I'm certain is wasn't pretty.

If you are interested in learning about Virginia City, MT, Laura Joanne Arata, a student at Washington State University wrote a thesis for her Masters of Art. It has tons of information (284 pages) if you like reading history. It can be found here: Thesis of Virginia City, MT

I hope you enjoyed my first post. If you'd love to be introduced to a new series, my book, A Bride for Abel, is set in a town much like Virginia City in 1875. It includes quite the adventure and a rotten sheriff as well. A Bride for Abel is due out November 1st, but you can always check out the other books in The Proxy Bride series awhile.  As of this writing, three of the books are already live. 

Take a look at our exciting new series:

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

LYRICAL DESCRIPTION #WomenAuthors #SweetAmericanaSweethearts

For many writers description can be painful or enjoyable. For me, it's a bit of both. When I read a beautiful passage I think, will I ever paint a picture as beautiful as that?

As I continue to research women from the 1800s I find myself transported by the writing of those early women. Is is verbose? Sometimes it is, yet there is a beauty to those words I admire. This post is composed of examples that have stuck a chord in me. All were written in the early 1870s as these women traversed the area between the Mississippi River and the Pacific Ocean. I hope you  enjoy them as well.

From Isabella Bird in her book "A Lady's Life in the Rocky Mountains"

There was a most curious loneliness about the journey up to that time. Except for the huge barrier to the right, the boundless prairies were everywhere, and it was like being at sea without a compass. The wheels made neither sound nor indentation as we drove over the short, dry grass, and there was no cheerful clatter of horses hooves. The sky was cloudy and the air hot and still. In one place we passed the carcass of a mule, any number of vultures soared up from it, to descend again immediately. Skeletons and bones of animals were often seen. A range of low, grassy hills, called the Foot Hills, rose from the plain, featureless and monotonous, except for streams, fed by the snows of the higher regions, had cut their way through them. Confessedly bewildered, and more melancholy than ever, the driver turned up one of the wildest of these entrances, and in another hour the Foot Hills lay between us and the prairie sea, and a higher and broken range, with pitch pines of average size, was revealed behind them.

Grace Greenwood from her book "New Life in New Lands: Notes on Travel"

I suppose these lands of the Platte Valley can hardly be called "plains"; but though not arid and desolate, they are sufficiently lonely and somber. We learn that this was the very "Valley of the Shadow of Death" to thousands of poor immigrants in the early days of California emigration, and in the fearful cholera times. It may be that before the locomotive came to invade with irreverent noise and hurry this haunted ground, to mock at poor perturbed spirits, and whistle them down the wind, a seer might have beheld, any dreary, starlit night, ghostly trains, moving silently, slowly along by this low, dark river. Might have seen white, still faces looking out of ghostly wagons, drawn by ghostly horses and oxen, noiselessly treading over the old track — over the lonely graves.

Helen (Hunt) Jackson from her book "Bits of Travel at Home"

As I looked up the ford to the mouth of the canyon, I was reminded of some of the grand old altar-pieces of the early centuries, where, lest the pictures of saints and angels and divine beings should seem too remote, too solemn and overawning, the painters used to set at the base, rows of human children, gay and mirthful, leaping and laughing or playing viols. So lay this sunny belt of sparkling water, glistening sand, and joyous blue blossom, at the base of the picture made by the dark mouth of the canyon, where two great mountains had recoiled and fallen apart from each other, leaving a chasm, midway in which rows a smaller mountain of sharp rocks, like a giant sentry disputing the way. Forests of pines fill the rift on either side of this rock, and their dark line stretch high up, right and left, nearly to the top of each mountain. Higher and ruggeder peaks rise beyond, looking as if they must shut the canyon sharply, as a gate closes an alley; but they do not. Past them, among them, in spite of them, the creek took its right-of-way, the mountains and rocks yielded, and the canyon winds.

Each of these authors has a unique style, yet, you get the sense of being there with them. While most would find the excerpts too wordy, they each have a beauty of their own. For more about the amazing lives of these women, you can read about them here. Isabella Bird  Grace Greenwood  Helen (Hunt) Jackson

While perhaps not as lyrical, here is an excerpt from the novella "Angel of Salvation Valley", the story of a man who has made a deal to get out of prison, only to have second thoughts.

To purchase ebook from Amazon

Now here he was, looking at a piece of heaven. If he'd had something like this, he wouldn't have been riding around searching, in the wrong place at the wrong time, and ended up in prison. He'd do anything to have a place like this. Maybe someday, when all this was over he thought.

Moving back from the entrance, he headed for higher ground to get a better view of the whole valley. If he didn't strain too much, Drew knew he's make it to the top. A slow five days since leaving prison as they traveled over the mountains, avoiding towns and people. Drew puzzled over that, but figured Luke knew what he was doing. Fortunately the additional time gave Drew the chance get most of the poison Old Harold had given him out of his system. The intervening hours between the ingestion of the poison and his leaving prison, were one remaining mystery. Drew was not sure he'd ever know the truth. The pieces of memory didn't make sense. Luke, telling Harold that he's might have wrecked everything by his actions. The bump of his head against the walls. Harold screaming he was sorry as he burst into flame. None of these made any sense and only made the pain in Drew's head worse. Drew finally gave up trying to remember, and putting a damper on those thoughts when they surfaced.

Doris Gardner-McCraw -

Author, Speaker, Historian-specializing in
Colorado and Women's History
Member of National League of American Pen Women,
Women Writing the West,
Pikes Peak Posse of the Westerners and
Western Fictioneers

Angela Raines - author: Where Love & History Meet
For a list of Angela Raines Books: Here 
Photo and Poem: Click Here 
Angela Raines FaceBook: Click Here

Monday, October 15, 2018

The Pinkerton Matchmaker

By Sophie Dawson

My almost eight-year-old granddaughter has decided she wants to be a spy when she grows up. For her upcoming birthday I’ve gotten her a trench coat, Sherlock Holmes hat, and a magnifying glass. She has spies and detectives a little bit mixed up in her head. What does this have to to with 19th US century history? 


Allan Pinkerton, a Scottish immigrant, began the Pinkerton National Detective Agency in Chicago in 1855 as a security guard and detective agency. They were bodyguards, hired by companies and individuals as well as detectives. Their reputation for honesty, for the most part, along with their toughness was augmented with ruthlessness when needed.

Since they were a private ‘police’ force, they weren’t encumbered with restrictions of state and local jurisdiction. They could cross county lines as well as state lines in order to catch their quarry.
Were they perfect? No. They were heavily involved in attempting to squash the labor movement of the late 19th century. They were also one of the first companies to hire women. And thus comes the basis for a new Multi-Author Project.

The Pinkerton Matchmaker Series follows the exploits of the couples in marriages arranged by Archibald Gordon. He’s the head of the Pinkerton Agency in Denver. (This is all fiction, of course.) He’s been ordered to hire women detectives. Not believing these women should go on cases by themselves he orders his agents to marry and train the women to be agents. If they want an annulment at the end of the case, and it’s still an option, it will be arranged. These are romances, so you can guess how each story ends. There are bumps and stumbles along the way, however. That’s what makes the reading fun.

 The Pinkerton Matchmaker Series Launch Party is being held on Tuesday, October 16 from 6-9 PM EDT. The thirteen authors will be there telling about themselves, their upcoming books, giving away prizes.

Join us for the fun. The books will be released once a week, so you won’t have to wait long between. They will all be sweet reads with HEA endings. Each book is a stand alone complete story, though some characters will cross over.

The first book The Pinkerton Matchmaker by Christine Sterling and Marianne Spitzer tells how the idea of these marriages of convenience between a seasoned agent and the newly hired female come to be. The Pinkerton Matchmaker is available on Amazon, for .99 and KU.

Sophie Dawson is an award winning author of sweet romance.

Friday, October 12, 2018

The 19th Century Newspaper Office

By Kathryn Albright

Composing sticks, tympans, and friskets…Oh My! What do these all have in common? 

They are all parts that make up a newspaper office.
When I decided to write Abigail White’s story as the last addition to The Oak Grove Series, my research into the early newspaper office of the 1880's took me back to my local “living history village” where I was able to glean information on American small-town newspapers from our local historian and docent.

For a town like Oak Grove, situated on the Kansas plains, paper was ordered and arrived on large rolls by wagon or by train. Once delivered, it was cut into the desired size.

Upper and Lower Case type
Type was made of a composite of cast iron and steel. The most common were Wisconsin type and Hamilton type. Type was stored in type-cases – large drawers with many different sized compartments. The higher or upper case held capital letters. The lower case held… you got it…lower-case type.

The compositor or typesetter (or in my story – Abigail or her brother, Teddy White) – removes a piece of type from one of the compartments of the type case and places it in the composing stick. Not so difficult until you realize this had to be done working from left to right and bottom to top, placing the letters upside-down! Can you tell what this type says? (Answer at bottom of post.)

Composing Stick ~ Photo by Wilhei [CC BY 3.0] from Wikimedia Commons

The composer stick was the width of the column that would be used in the paper. The one at Midway Village was manufactured in Chicago by the H.B. Rouse Company which was a common national supplier of these devices in the U.S. The type would first be arranged in this and then transferred to a large frame. 

For pictures, the newspaper office would purchase a few etchings from a factory, and then used them in numerous ways. For example – an etching of pine trees to be used at Christmastime or a fancy United States Flag etching to be used on National Holidays such as the Fourth of July. Local companies that used the newspaper for sale announcements would have their own etchings made and supply them to the newspapers to be used frequently over the years.

Printer’s ink was oil-based, thick and tarry. It won’t spill if turned upside down. On cold days, the ink didn’t flow well and would become so thick that it would create a blob on the letters and thus on the paper if used. A blade would be used to scoop it up and spread it on a flat plate. Here you can see the round, disk-like flat plate.

Oak Grove Gazette Printing Press
The plate would be pressed against the letters and then against a piece of paper. A rhythm would start up, and if not very careful, the plate could easily smash fingers. For newspapermen, it was the middle two fingers that most often were smashed or severed.

With the linotypes of the 1870s and 1880s, “printer’s disease” was a danger.  It was contracted by working with lead in the linotype. The workers would absorb the lead through their skin and get lead poisoning. These types of printers were in the larger cities and so I didn’t make mention of it in Christmas With the Outlaw.

A “galley proof” or test copy was always made before any further papers were printed. This was to ensure that the type had been set accurately. A piece of type could accidentally be stored in the wrong case and as rapidly as the apprentice had to work, it could end up being placed back into a composing stick. The metal type, being comparably soft, could also become damaged or worn.

Once the galley proof was checked and last-minute corrections were incorporated, the type would be fixed in the frame to ready it for printing.

A rope stretched across the length of the newspaper office so that once printed, pages could be placed over the rope for drying. Once the ink was dry on the “front,” the back side of the paper could then be printed upon.

It was a dirty job and as you’ve read…could be dangerous. The large paper cutters could easily cut off fingers that got in the way! Newspaper men had ink-stained fingers and they often worked overnight to get the paper out in the morning.

In Christmas With the Outlaw, siblings Teddy and Abigail put out a weekly paper so the pace is do-able. They inherited their printing press from their parents and transported it by wagon to Oak Grove, looking for a fresh start in a growing new town. Abigail is also the town reporter and takes her job seriously.

Oh yes! And the answer to the above type in the composing stick is:  

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog and feels
as if he were in the seventh heaven of typography. 

Connect with Kathryn!

Thursday, October 11, 2018

Pendleton Woolen Mills by Shanna Hatfield

The Pendleton Woolen Mills trademark blankets and brand are synonymous with the American West and quality goods.

Their story began in 1863 when British weaver Thomas Kay traveled to Oregon and went to work in a mill in Salem. Before long, he opened his own mill in Salem, then a second in Brownsville. 

He brought is oldest daughter, Fannie, into the business. After learning the operation and management of the mill, she became her father's assistant. In 1876, she wed a merchant by the name of C.P. Bishop. The marriage proved to be a  boon to both Kay's mills and Bishop's enterprises by combining manufacturing and retail sales. 

The couple had three sons: Clarence, Roy, and Chauncey. 

In 1909, the family packed up and moved to Pendleton, located in northeastern Oregon, and took over a woolen mill that had operated briefly before shutting down. The original mill had been a wool scouring plant where raw wool was scrubbed and packed before being shipped out to textile mills. In 1895, the mill was enlarged and converted into a textile mill then soon began making Native American trade blankets. 

European contact with Native Americans meant the introduction of trade goods. A trade blanket replaced hide robes and handwoven blankets previously used for trade. These blankets were and are made of intricately woven patterns and bright colors. 

Trade blankets are used by Native Americans as gifts to commemorate important milestones or achievements, as giveaways to show honor and respect for important positions, and at powwows worn and used as part of the attire of dancers. 

When the Bishop family took over the defunct woolen mill in Pendleton, they began production of the Native American trade blankets, only their design featured square rather than rounded corners. 

The town of Pendleton welcomed the family and encouraged their business venture, particularly when the Bishop family took over the name of Pendleton Woolen Mills. Eastern Oregon was sheep country and having wool producers near the mills allowed the mill to significantly cut production costs. With Pendleton's location as a major railhead for the Columbia River Plateau, it allowed for convenient shipping for a growing business. 

Photo from Oregon Encyclopedia

The Bishop family built a new plant with the help of the town which issued bonds for the plant's construction. Before long, they were producing blankets that soon became coveted not only by Native Americans, but many others. They expanded their business from local tribes in the Columbia River region to include the Navajo, Hopi, and Zuni peoples of the American Southwest.

To do this, they hired designer Joe Rawnsley, who visited tribes to learn their customs and color preferences. Considered to be a talent with a jacquard loom, Rawnsley would interpret the ideas he gathered during his research with the tribes into blanket designs. Using the latest technology available, he could express pattern ideas in much greater detail and strikingly vivid colors than could ever be achieved by traditional weaving methods. 

The company opened a weaving mill in Washougal, Washington (near Portland, Oregon) for the production of woolen fabris used in suits and other clothing in 1912.  By 1918, Roy, the second oldest son, left the business to form his own company, the Oregon Worsted Company.

But the oldest son, Clarence Morton Bishop (known as C.M.), envisioned a clothing line for men. Up until then, most woolen shirts were considered work shirts and came in subdued colors, primarily gray. Wool shirts were warm, durable, and drab.

C.M. pictured a different kind of fabric for a man's woolen shirt, based on the sophisticated weaving technology used in the vibrant trade blankets. 

In 1924, the company began production of the Umatilla shirting fabric. The rich colors in their woolen plaid shirts were completely new to the market. The response was positive and immediate not to mention enduring. 

Chauncey, their third son, died in 1927, leaving C.M. with sole responsibility for management of the Pendleton Woolen Mills. 

During World War II, the company devoted most of its production to blankets, uniforms, and clothing for the U.S. military services. 

After the war, they added a wool clothing line for women, including the popular 49er jacket and a reversible pleated skirt. 

In the 1960s, a singing group called The Pendletones formed. The name was adopted in honor of the popular "surf uniform" of the day consisting of Pendleton shirts worn over T-shirts with khakis. Before long, the group's name was changed to The Beach Boys, but you can see them wearing their Pendleton shirts in publicity photos. 

In the 1970s, the company expanded gain, introducing non-wool garments for men and women. 

The story of the Pendleton Woolen Mills is one of innovation, exploration, and opportunity. They've become a hallmark of beauty and quality woolen goods for more than 100 years. Family-owned and operated for more than six generations, the original Pendleton Woolen Mills plants in Pendleton and Washougal are among the few woolen mills in operation in the United States today, and the only mill in the country still weaving Native American trade blankets. 

If you find yourself in Pendleton, stop by the woolen mills and take a tour. Explore the small museum set up there, and let the rich history of an amazing company warm your soul.


Convinced everyone deserves a happy ending, USA Today best-selling author Shanna Hatfield is out to make it happen, one story at a time. Her sweet historical and contemporary romances combine humor and heart-pumping moments with relatable characters.
When this hopeless romantic isn’t writing or indulging in rich, decadent chocolate, Shanna hangs out with her husband, lovingly known as Captain Cavedweller.
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Tuesday, October 9, 2018

Welcome to Wimberley, Texas

Have you ever had one of those vacations despite careful planning nothing turned out as expected? This summer we took a detour as we traveled in Texas Hill Country and made an unexpected stop along the banks of Cypress Creek and the Blanco River, in Wimberley, Texas.

Like most tourists, we were attracted by the beautiful views, rich history and the thought of dipping our feet in the spring-fed Cypress Creek.

Founded in 1848 as a trading post, the local grist mill was sold to Pleasant Wimberley in 1874. As the settlement transitioned to a town in 1880 a post office was established under the name Wimberleyville, the application was granted but shortened to Wimberley.

We were intrigued by the many unique shops and the 50 large boots painted by local artists scattered throughout the town of "Bootiful" Wimberley. 

Started as a way to highlight the arts in Wimberley, “Bootiful” Wimberley now sports over 50 colorfully painted boots spread around the city.

Unexpectedly and quite happily we stumbled back in time to a replica of a working mid 19th Century town.

By the 1880s the cattle boom was over. Severe weather, locust, bitter range wars played havoc on the economy. Many communities during the late 19th century worked together to give the railroad a right of way in hopes of boosting the faltering economy.

In my debut novel, Rebecca’s Hope, I had pictured the fictional town of Carrie Town Texas, much like this. The plan some called a T-town, was designed and built on one side of the tracks and boasted a post office, blacksmith, general merchandise, barber shop, gristmill, and livery stable.

Our heroine, Rebecca benefited from a forward thinking and unorthodox education not typical for a young woman in the late Nineteenth century. Armed with skills that most would covet, yet she lives in a boarding house much like this one, works as a waitress and struggles financially.

Although Rebecca lives on her own at the boarding house, she is surrounded by wonderful friends, and innovative young women, one of which owns a dress shop, which could have looked much like this one.

During the late 19th century, due to a shortage of unmarried women in the west, most single women didn’t stay single long. Most, but not Rebecca. The one man she had said yes to was dragging his feet. After a disagreement, she begins to think that he regrets proposing.

The townspeople all agree she is in need of a husband. The young girls in her Sunday School Class take it upon themselves to write an ad in the paper for the very thing.

Wanted: Husband for Rebecca Mueller. **Must be handsome, nice. like children and live within walking distance of Carrie Town School. 

Will her circumstances change and allow her to hold out for true love?

Fans of western historical romance will enjoy this beautiful story set in the late 19th-century of love and forgiveness. As the unfortunate circumstances of Rebecca's childhood unfold, we discover a heroine who is both resilient and kind. Rebecca and Sam's love story will have readers rooting for their happy ending. 

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