Madeline

Dennis Black

Description

At the age of fourteen, Madeline is a part of the 1889 Oklahoma Land Rush. Unfortunately, both her parents die within two years, and Madeline, after a year’s stay at a neighbor’s home, leaves and fends for herself at the age of seventeen. She travels west to Holbarth and tries to start a new life, but a loss of a friendship and the death of her husband fails to bring happiness. She travels to New City as a Mail-Order Bride, but once again, her new life fails until she meets Henry Strictman.

Sujets

• Westerns
• Western (genre)
• Fiction
• Western

Informations

• Publié par: Outskirts Press
• Date de parution: 07 juin 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781977265661
• Langue: English

Extrait

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Madeline Her Story Before Abandon Hope All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2023 Dennis Black v2.0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Outskirts Press, Inc. http://www.outskirtspress.com
Cover Photo © 2023 www.gettyimages.com . All rights reserved - used with permission.
Outskirts Press and the "OP" logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Table of Contents
Chapter One : The Rush
Chapter Two : Early Days
Chapter Three : The Soddy
Chapter Four : School
Chapter Five : An Empty Nest
Chapter Six : Gone
Chapter Seven : Friendly and Not So Friendly
Chapter Eight : A Large White House
Chapter Nine : A Marriage Proposal
Chapter Ten : Who Knows?
Chapter Eleven : The Ordeal
Chapter Twelve : Assault
Chapter Thirteen : Another New Beginning
Chapter Fourteen : Another Proposal
Chapter Fifteen : Six Months
Chapter One
The Rush
My name is Madeline. I am fourteen years old---fourteen years in which I have lived in five different places. Dad is unlucky. Every job he has had dried up, whether he worked in the field for some farmer or clerked at a dry goods store. It isn’t that he didn’t work hard, and it isn’t that he did a poor job working, but somehow, someway it didn’t pan out. So, Dad believed the next town might produce a job that would last, and we moved.
Mom didn’t grumble. She told me that when she married Dad, she knew he was a bit of a vagabond. She admitted to me she also was one herself, so she didn’t mind packing up our goods in the wagon, bundling up Victoria in warm clothing, and directing me what to do once I was old enough to help.
I have light red, wavy hair and blue eyes. I must have gotten them from Dad although his hair is dark red and curls so tightly it looks like a ball of red yarn after a cat had played with it. He’s taller than most men, and he must be careful when walking beneath Blackjack timber so he doesn’t bang his head against a branch. Mom would need a ladder to reach the limb that Dad might rap his head against. Looking at Mom, no one would believe she had given birth to two girls because she is as slender as a goose’s neck. Her hair and Victoria’s are dark brown. Mom ties her hair in a bun on the back of her head, but when she lets it down to comb, it falls below her waist. Victoria is a smaller version of Mom.
Because Dad never could settle in one place, we made the journey to Oklahoma. Dad had learned about the land grab, and he decided that he could take up farming instead of working for other people. It was an April day when Old Goldy and our buggy joined other prospective land grabbers near Guthrie, Oklahoma. The sky was practically cloudless. A stiff breeze came from the south. Up and down the line I checked out the activity. Prairie schooners loaded with plows, children, and wives braced for the soldier’s trumpet blow. Sleek men awaiting the signal sat on sleek thoroughbred horses which pawed and stirred. The stagecoach next to us had its paint peeling, and it tilted slightly forward and to the right. I feared it might topple on us because it was stuffed inside and on top with men and women who hollered at the driver to have the mules ready for the go sign. A wagon on the other side of us had black folks loaded in it. One of the black men yelled "Let’s get goin’. We’ve got a new town to build." Another man, dressed in a brown suit and situated between us and the stagecoach, tugged on his matching brown derby and braced himself on his bicycle preparing for the sudden burst. Several men were afoot between wagons and horses. What these men and the man on the bicycle hoped to accomplish was beyond my thinking.
I sat alongside Mom and Victoria in the back of the black buggy Dad had bought in Ark City. Dad, upfront, held the reins tightly. Our Belgian was used to pulling plows, not buggies, but Dad held him at the ready. A soldier on horse inspected the line to keep order. A pistol hung on his belt and a trumpet on the saddle horn. I waved at the passing soldier who ignored my smile and my hand waving.
The restless movement of wagons, horses, and men formed dust clouds. I took a handcloth to cover my face, but I sneezed anyway. Soon the wildflowers dressing the green prairie would be chawed up by the stampede, and dust would bury the figures of men, horses, and wagons.
"You three stay low when the bugle blows," said Dad for a second time. "Old Goldy will yank the wagon hard, and I don’t want anyone surprised or hurt."
"We know that!" bellowed Mom. "You’ve told us that before."
"I just worry. That’s all," said Dad. "You have the stakes with you, don’t you?"
"Yes," Mom said.
"Good. Be ready."
"We’re ready, Dad," I barked out through the handcloth.
"Good."
Up and down the line bugles blew and pistols rang out. Old Goldy jolted and pulled the buggy at a steady, plowing the field pace. I heard voices yelling and screaming from the stagecoach as it slowly passed Dad and our buggy. I glanced out the backside of the buggy and noticed the bicyclist and the men on foot falling behind. I turned about and watched the horsemen leading the way. Prairie schooners followed behind them. Dirt raised by horse and wagon filled the blue sky. Mom and Victoria buried themselves on the floorboards of the buggy, but I could not resist peering through the grime in the air and watching our progress.
"Whoopee. Ain’t this fun," said a man whose beard slapped at his cheeks. He flashed a howdy sign as he drove his swayback pony past us. I, again, looked back through the clouds of dirt and watched hundreds of women and children at the starting line waving and urging their men onward. I smiled a wicked smile when I spotted a hay wagon drawn by a slow-footed nag trailing behind. The driver whipped his nag, but they could not catch up. Soon after, I noticed in the distance a dot in the dust growing larger, and I saw an outline of a man reeling on a horse. He tumbled off his saddle and barrel-rolled on the ground. Drunk, I thought.
Victoria screamed with each bump, and Mom yelled "Merrick" whenever the buggy swayed left or right. Old Goldy plodded along steadily unaffected by the commotion nearby. I grabbed the back of the seat where Dad sat. "Anything I can do?"
"Stay low. Watch for any varmint who comes too close and let me know. I have my rifle ready if needed." Dad’s shoulders raked forward as he urged Old Goldy on. I leaned forward to pat Dad’s shoulder as a signal that I understood, but the buggy hit a rut in the ground and tossed me backwards. My skirt flew up across my face as I bounced between Victoria and the wall of the buggy. Dad’s revolver, hanging in a holster on the inside of the buggy, jabbed me in the ribs and I howled.
"Stay low back there," thundered Dad. I slid the skirt back over my knees and settled so I could see over the rear of the buggy. "We’re okay," I said. Victoria flashed a glare of protest at me.
The massive surge from the starting line had begun to disintegrate, the dust clouds had become more distant, the sun hastening toward the western horizon was more visible. Old Goldy’s progress was steadfast as if he was still plowing the field late into the day. I slackened my vigilance because no horseman, no wagon, no other human being had been seen for a while.
Daylight was yet in the sky as Dad pulled Old Goldy near a ravine that trickled rivulets of water. No stake had been planted near the cornerstone marker designating the 160 acres. Dad climbed out of the buggy, drove the stake bearing his name into the ground, and squared his shoulders with satisfaction.
Mom and Victoria clambered out of the buggy, shook the dust off their dresses, and ran fingers through their hair. I began handing down a pair of small trunks loaded with clothes to Mom and Victoria. Pots and pans followed. Dad retrieved some water from the ravine for Old Goldy, took a hand brush to curry the Belgian, and sang soothingly "Four Little Curly Headed Coons".
"Hey, buddy. Whad ya think you’re doin’?" rasped the voice of a hulking man holding a rifle.
Dad turned and faced the barrel of the gun pointed at him.
"Laying claim to this section of land," said Dad.
"No, you’re not. This land belongs to me."
"I didn’t see a marker."
The man thrusted his rifle in the air. "This is my marker, buddy. I’ve been here a day and a half, so move it."
I stared at the man and said scornfully, "So you are one of those Sooners. You have no right to this property."
"I have all the right I need in my hands, Missy." He pointed his rifle towards Mom and Victoria. "You two gals and you mister join the Redhead in that buggy and find some other ground."
"And if we don’t?" I came back.
"Then I’ll have some new graves on my ground," said the man as he leveled his rifle in my direction.
"Merrick, let’s go," said Mom.
Dad slowly turned about and headed for the buggy. "You’re not going to get away with this," said Dad as he climbed into the buggy and grabbed the reins.
The man lowered his rifle and laughed. "Oh, really?"
"Really," I said. I pointed Dad’s Colt revolver at the Sooner and pulled the trigger. The man staggered a few feet backwards and fell into the ravine. Water eased by h