Snark & Sensibility

PLEASE WELCOME

DONNA SCHLACHTER

TO

FICTION FRIDAY

TINA/ A HERO AND A HEROINE

Peek Inside the Book

Tina is one of my favorite stories I’ve ever written. The series premise for “Courting Chaos” is that a woman arrives in a town and must marry one of three men within a short time.

I wanted to write a book featuring my gorgeous and still-in-love sister-in-law Tina and my darling brother Paul. My heroine looks a little like her real-life model, but I think my in-the-flesh Tina is even more good-looking than the gal on the cover.

Tina lives in a covered wagon on a patch of rented ground just outside Loveland, Colorado, in 1882. Her father died years ago, and her mother passes early in the story, leaving her to raise her two younger sisters.

Tina is seventeen and not prepared to be an instant mother, but she promised Mama she’d keep the family together. She loves to sing and especially loves to honor God with her singing. She gets the idea maybe she can get work in Loveland, such as sewing or needlework, that she can complete at the wagon. She is nervous about leaving her sisters alone for long. When that doesn’t work out, she sees a theater sign and goes in. Misunderstanding the manager’s intentions, she hires on to sing that night.

As you can imagine, it’s a fiasco. Between the skimpy costume and her stage fright, she runs off the stage, and the manager refuses to pay her. She owes money for rent and for a damaged sewing item and is desperate.

Christopher Jones comes to her rescue. Except Tina doesn’t realize he’s grooming her for the brothels he runs in Denver.

She had met a nice lieutenant, but he has big dreams, and now he’s off with his company exploring the west to build dams with the Army Corps of Engineers.

Tina gets herself into a pickle but doesn’t know how to get out—and get her sisters out, too.

Can she learn to listen to God’s voice, or will she fall victim to an evil man?

And if the lieutenant cared for her, why did he leave?

So, what does Paul think about all this?

A lieutenant in the US Army Corps of Engineers, Paul has dreams of traveling the country, building dams, and learning from the greatest engineer he knew of: John Wesley Powell. After Major Powell retired from the army, he continued leading exploration parties west of the Mississippi and into California, selecting dam sites to provide water for the fast-growing population in the new state.

He wants to marry—someday. He plans to settle down—someday. But not yet.

When he first meets Tina, he finds her working and singing. She has a lovely voice, almost as becoming as she is. He finds her fun and enjoys her sense of humor, but when he learns of her family situation—an orphan responsible for two younger sisters—he knows he can’t get involved.

Still, he does what he can. He buys the land around the wagon so Tina won’t have to pay rent, and he brings her food every day, providing firewood as needed. And when his company is ordered to continue west, he arranges for another soldier to provide for the girls.

Maybe when he returns, he might be ready to court. Time will tell. But at the ripe old age of twenty-three, he’s still got a lot of country to explore. He writes to her, uncertain where he stands in her affections—if at all. Instead of telling her how he feels about her, he fills his letter with stories about his journey.

Paul is like a lot of men—keeping themselves to themselves. I fashioned him after my brother Paul, who is also an engineer. Shy. Studious. Brilliant. As a boy of about five, he was reading—and memorizing—the Guinness Book of World Records. As a college student, he came out of four years of engineering school with no debt—he participated in a co-op program where he studied one semester and then worked the next. As I said, brilliant.

Lieutenant Paul is different from my brother in that he lives in a time when men were expected to keep their feelings to themselves. My brother is good at sharing what’s on his mind, and he’s a terrific father of two.

ABOUT TINA

In 1882, Tina’s family is so poor they live in a covered wagon outside the brand new town of Loveland, Colorado. When her parents die within two weeks of each other in an influenza outbreak, Tina is left to raise her two younger sisters.

Paul Burton, with the US Army Corps of Engineers, is on his way west with John Wesley Powell to survey sites for potential dam sites. He meets Tina at the café in the hotel and admires her perseverance. When he hears her story, he wants to take care of her, except he’s on a grand adventure and has no time right now for family.

Brokenhearted that Paul is not willing to give up his career for her, and convinced he doesn’t love her, Tina allows another to court her. Except this man has no intention of supporting her sisters—or her. As saloon keeper, he plans to put her to work for him in the upstairs rooms as soon as possible.

Will Tina go from broken home to broken heart to broken reputation—or will God intervene and save her from herself? Will Paul realize too late that his choices affect not only himself—or will his Lord reach into his heart in time?

BUY LINKS for the book and the series 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Tina-Prairie-Roses-Collection-2023-ebook/dp/B0BWGKGYTL

Series: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07R8DSMB4?binding=kindle_edition&qid=1680033081

ABOUT DONNA SCHLACHTER

A hybrid author, Donna writes squeaky-clean historical and contemporary suspense. She has published more than 60 books; is a member of several writers' groups; facilitates a critique group; teaches writing classes; ghostwrites; edits; and judges in writing contests. She loves history and research, traveling extensively for both, and is an avid oil painter. She is taking all the information she’s learned along the way about the writing and publishing process and is coaching writers at any stage of their manuscript development. Learn more at https://www.donnaschlachter.com/the-purpose-full-writer-coaching-programs Check out her coaching group on FB: https://www.facebook.com/groups/604220861766651

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AN EXCERPT FROM TINA

Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all ye lands.

Serve the LORD with gladness:

come before His presence with singing.

Psalm 100:1-2 KJV

Chapter One

May 15, 1882

Tina O’Day sat on the largest branch in the old cottonwood tree that overlooked the wagon she called home. The Conestoga had carried her parents and herself here to this fine piece of rented land just outside Loveland, Colorado, when she was but three years old.

  Goodness, that was a lifetime ago. By rights, she should be married and living in her own home. Maybe with children, too.

But instead, she remained a spinster, loyalty to her mother keeping her frozen both in place and in time. And at seventeen, she was happy to do so.

Oh, Papa. Why couldn’t you have fought harder for us?

A robin twittered in the thick foliage over her head, reminding her of a song they’d sung in church that Sunday, and she hummed the melody. From deep inside, the words threatened to explode, and within a couple of bars, she gave up and succumbed.

“Pass me not, O Gentle Savior, hear my humble cry.” Tears blurred her vision, but she pressed on, swinging her feet in time with the hymn. “While on others Thou are calling, do not pass me by.”

She paused and contemplated the words. Were her petitions and discussions with the Almighty not humble enough? Was that why God hadn’t answered her prayer to make her papa happy again, like he was before he went to war? Not that she could remember that time, but her mama said it was so, and so it must be.

Instead, she and her mother had endured two years and added two younger sisters to their household before he took his own life one dark night.

All of his promises to build them a house had come to naught, and so they still lived in the weather-beaten wagon, freezing by winter, and sleeping outside most of the summer, tormented by mosquitoes and praying a rattler didn’t crawl under the blanket, looking for a warm place to spend the night.

She started on the chorus, the only part to which she knew all the words. “Savior, Savior, hear my humble cry.”

She stilled. There it was again. Humble. Was God speaking to her even now?

Tina tipped her head to one side and listened. If He was, then she should hear Him, shouldn’t she? Isn’t that what the pastor said? Once she’d given her heart to Jesus and determined to follow Him, she would know His voice.

Nothing, apart from the rustling in the leaves overhead. The prairie grass fluttered in the breeze for as far as she could see. The lowing of the farmer’s cows in the far field.

The knot between her shoulders eased a mite as she waited. But when she still didn’t hear anything, she shrugged. Her feet resumed their aerial dance, and she continued singing. “While on others Thou art calling, do not pass me by.”

She thought about the words. What did they mean? Were her supplications and talks nothing more than a bother to Jesus? Was she distracting Him from His real purpose, these others mentioned in the song?

But couldn’t He answer her and those other folks, too, without losing His place or missing somebody? She thought back to the lesson from a couple of Sundays before. The woman who had bled for twelve years. She had hoped merely to touch the hem of His robe, believing He could heal her. And she was. And Jesus commended her for her faith. Not only that, but He paused on His way and talked to her.

Would Jesus do the same for Tina O’Day, daughter of Irish immigrants, here and now?

Tina launched into the second verse, humming where she’d forgotten the exact wording. Oh, to own a hymnal like the ones in church. She’d have the words to sing until her voice went hoarse.

“Let me at Thy throne of mercy find sweet relief. Hmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm, help my unbelief.”

Was that why God hadn’t seen fit to heal her papa? Because she didn’t believe enough?

Tina squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated. “Please God, hear my prayer. Even if you didn’t heal my papa, please, make Mama well. She’s been so sick from the influenza. So hot. Bad dreams. The little ones are scared. Please, God. If you heal her, I won’t ask for anything ever again. I promise.”

The wind churned around in the green canopy above, then settled, but not before knocking a single leaf from its place. The foliage floated down, drifting and swaying side to side until it landed on the ground below her. She stared at it for a time, almost expecting it to reverse its direction and return to connect to the branch that had previously sustained it.

But, of course, it did not.

Now it would die. Turn yellow then brown.

Dust to dust.

Isn’t that what they said at funerals?

Using both hands, she gripped the sturdy trunk she sat on, leaning back as far as she dared to catch sight of the sun. Beams of warmth trickled between the leaves, and she closed her eyes against the glare. Straightening her legs in front of her, she hummed the third verse before concluding with the chorus again.

Tina delighted in her gift—for that is what others called it—to remember melodies and words without even trying. Some had suggested she should consider a singing career. Maybe a large church in Denver. Or Kansas City. Or—might she dare dream?—Chicago or New York City. Those would be the kinds of places where she could do the two things she loved—to praise God, and to sing.

Nothing delighted her more. Nothing soothed her ragged soul more. Living in a covered wagon with her mother and two sisters sometimes wore on her nerves. If she didn’t have music and this tree—well, she could see why her father suffered from melancholy.

No, that wasn’t right. The doctor said he was shell-shocked. Although she didn’t understand completely, Tina knew that the man who returned from the war was a mere shadow of the man who’d left.

According to her mother.

Who now lay in her bed in the wagon, tended by the younger ones, while Tina sought relief and release from the responsibilities of being an adult too young.

Tina sat up straight and opened her eyes. The back opening of the ragged canvas cover released, and Millie, next in age to her at fourteen, tumbled over the tailgate and hit the ground running.

Now what? Could she not enjoy even a moment’s peace?

Tina sighed and slipped from the branch, landing solidly on her feet. She smoothed the skirt on her faded blue paisley dress, then waved to Millie. “I’m up here.”

Not that she needed to waste her breath. Millie and Queenie, who’d just turned twelve, knew where she sought refuge.

Well, what was wrong with a few minutes to herself? Surely, she deserved that, after all she did for the family. Particularly now that Mama wasn’t well.

Millie slid to a stop in front of her. “Mama is asking for you. And for Papa.” Her wild eyes conveyed her concern even more than her headlong rush to bring the message. “What will you tell her?”

It seemed that her mother had lost her grasp on reality during this recent illness. She’d forgotten that her husband was dead and had been for almost twelve years. Tina didn’t want to break that news to her again. When she’d done that two days ago, her mother fell into a stupor so deep she seemed dead.

As if she grieved for him all over again.

Tina laid a hand on Millie’s shoulder and pulled her close as they headed toward the wagon. “We’ll sort it out. Maybe she’ll have forgotten again. Or fallen back asleep.”

“She seems hotter today. I’ve been bathing her face and neck with cool water from the spring, but it isn’t helping.” Millie slowed and looked up at her. “Do you think we should fetch the doctor?”

Tina bit back her reply. They didn’t have money to pay the man, and he knew it. He probably wouldn’t come all the way out here. No point getting their hopes up, either, that he could truly do anything for her. Scores of folks in the area had already passed, some of them in the hospital in town. If a body couldn’t be helped there, it was unlikely that he could do anything out here.

Besides, telling the truth about no money would only cause Millie concern. And place a price on her mother’s life.

No, Margaret O’Day was priceless. Precious to them and to God. She’d not stoop so low as to say she wasn’t worth treating because they didn’t have money.

Tina drew a deep breath outside the wagon. Perhaps she could bring fresh air inside with her. Something to chase away the dark corners, the worn edges of their bedding, the faded hues of their clothing, and the infernal influenza.

She tilted her head toward heaven and tried one more time. “Please, God. I’ll give up pestering You to sing if You’ll heal my mother. Is that too much to ask?”

Surely nothing was impossible for the Creator of the Universe.

But maybe His failure to answer had nothing to do with ability and everything to do with willingness.

Or her worthiness.

~~~

First Lieutenant Paul Burton sat tall in his saddle. He had a lot to be thankful for, particularly on this brilliant day. His platoon sergeant rode alongside him, a man with more years of military experience than Paul had currently lived. A bonus, to be sure.

As for his platoon of twenty experienced men, he was also well-pleased. Polite, honest, hard-working. Some from small towns or hollers with no names. Some from larger cities. All first-time enlistees. No battle-weary soldiers amongst them, which was good.

The only fights they’d face were trekking across the mountains to California, where they’d build dams that would change the face of the state and the nation. His goal was to route waterways to where they could be best used.

And ahead, preferring to mingle with the upper commissioned officers, the leader of their expedition, the infamous John Wesley Powell. The first time Paul met the major, he was surprised that Powell didn’t stand seven or eight feet tall. Seemed to him that a Paul Bunyan-sized frame was more suited to an explorer with a reputation the size of this man’s.

In fact, if he didn’t know better, he might have overlooked Powell in a crowd.

The truth was, though, having met him, Paul knew better than to underestimate the major about any detail of the trip or the job ahead.

Which made this assignment even more exciting. He loved to discover and explore, and he’d learned in his three years in the U.S. Army to appreciate serving with men who knew what they were about. Men who didn’t take foolhardy chances, but who also weren’t afraid to push themselves, those in their command, and their animals and equipment a mite further than any might think possible.

Even if they sometimes pushed harder than was reasonable. Particularly when it came to the horses.

He’d learned his lessons well under previous commanders and expected his time in this division to be just as satisfactory.

Behind him rolled a wagon train of supplies for the journey, ammunition in case of trouble, dynamite for the construction process, and various specialists, including mining engineers, hydrologists who would help with planning the irrigation needs and methods of diverting the water, and civilians who filled the holes in their ranks when it came to skills. Brick masons, stone masons, rough and skilled carpenters, not to mention a cook who concocted some of the best food Paul had ever eaten.

An ox bellowed its complaints from a wagon or two back. The animals were slower than mules or horses, but they ate less, worked harder, and weren’t sticky when crossing rivers or lakes. And, if necessary, they could always eat the beasts that couldn’t pull any longer.

He still marveled that the drovers controlled the animals with their words and whips, not with reins and bits. Unlike the horse beneath him, oxen responded to strange commands such as gee to turn right, or haw for left. These gentle giants occasionally found fault with each other, often wanted to stop before the day was done, but most often let out pained bellowd to express their frustration. All in all, he’d outfit his wagon train any day with good teams of the castrated bulls.

A rider raced up the outside of the train from far behind, and Paul’s right hand hovered near his holster. While they’d not seen an Indian since crossing the border from Kansas a week back, he wouldn’t let his guard down. Sometimes an attack could come from nowhere, the natives were that good at hiding themselves.

The private yanked on the reins, and his horse skidded to a stop, enveloping Paul, his sergeant, and the messenger in a cloud of Colorado prairie dust. Despite the calendar proclaiming spring, apparently, the rain clouds didn’t pay any attention. The area hadn’t had rain for more than a month, leaving the ground dry and parched. At least, that was the report from the locals.

Paul waited until the dust dissipated before addressing the man. “McCarthy, how many times have I warned you not to treat that horse’s mouth rough? You’ll ruin him for anybody else.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant. Thought you’d want to know right away. “

“What?”

“Cookee is feeling poorly. Might be coming down with influenza. Cheeks is red. He’s had to stop a couple or three times since midday to—to—” Now it was the private’s turn for a red face. “Well, you know.”

“Yes, I know. Wait here.” He urged his horse to a quick walk, soon catching up with Major Powell. Although the man hadn’t served in the army for more than twenty years, Paul—and most other folks—preferred to call him by his title. As Director of the U.S. Geological Survey, and having traversed the Colorado River and Grand Canyon, that amount of respect seemed the least he could offer. “Major, the cook is ill. Might we shorten our travels today so we can make camp and feed the men?”

“We’re only about two miles from Loveland. We can camp there. Seeing as we have only a medic and no doctor with us, we should be able to find one in the town if needs be.”

Paul saluted. “Yes, sir.” He wheeled his horse around and returned to the private. After conveying the major’s order, he added one of his own. “Tell Cookee to get in his wagon if he’s walking. You drive. And find one of his assistants. Get him started figuring out what he’ll make. Even beans and cornbread will do us until we see what’s ailing Cookee.”

A sloppy salute—Paul made a mental note to have the sergeant implement daily drills while they camped in Loveland—and the man tore back to the rear of the train. Paul winced at the mess the man was making of his mount’s tender mouth. Perhaps he’d take the beast from his care and make him walk for a few days as a lesson to him.

Up ahead, Major Powell spoke to the two captains riding on either side of him. The pair spurred their horses and disappeared from sight in another cloud of dust. Paul sighed. While he expected the work in the Army Corps of Engineers to be dirty and dusty, he’d hoped his time in the saddle would prove relaxing.

Well, as relaxing as riding through Indian territory for ten to twelve hours a day could be.

Within about an hour, the two captains returned, this time at a more leisurely pace. The major slowed until Paul caught up with them. “There’s a creek about a mile that-a-way.”

Paul smiled. The normally stiff and straight-backed officer had certainly adopted some of the more laid-back language of the area in the months they’d served together. “Very good, sir. I’ll send a messenger to let the other wagons know.”

True to the estimate, Paul crested a small rise, then drew to a halt. Below lay a lush, green valley. A few homesteads dotted the acreage, most within a hundred feet or less of the creek. Cattle and horses grazed side-by-side. A worn path—not big enough to call a road—connected the houses in a drunken manner.

Looked like a great place to call home. At least for a few days.

Paul touched his horse’s sides with his heels, and the chestnut gelding stepped forward, ears pricked. Did the beast smell the grass? The water? Could it know they’d have a day or so to rest while waiting for the cook to heal?

Another hour, and Paul observed as the responsibility for meal preparation was handed over to a wide-eyed private who said he had eleven siblings, and yes, sir, he knew how to cook. Satisfied that whatever the young man came up with for tonight would fill his belly, Paul decided to forgo a dip in the creek and instead rode out to explore.

As he exited a small copse of cottonwoods into a meadow, smoke indicated a dwelling nearby. He patted his arms and chest, knocking dust from the past travel off, then repeated the same with his pants legs. At least, as far as he could reach while still seated in the saddle.

His horse picked up its pace and entered the yard surrounding a covered wagon. He checked the area. No horses, mules, or oxen. Instead, the wagon—a Conestoga, he wagered, judging by the curved front end that made it look like a boat built for land—appeared abandoned. Except for the smoke. As he neared, a voice as clear as a bell and as strong as Samson sang what seemed a sorrowful lament, asking somebody not to pass them by.

He rounded the wagon and discovered the source of the smoke—a woodstove sitting on the ground. And a woman, a few years younger than his own twenty-three years, stirring a pot of something. Her red hair trailed down her back almost to her waist, reminding him of fresh burnished copper.

When his horse nickered, she whirled to face him, one hand holding a wooden spoon like a weapon, the other clutching at the base of her neck. “Oh, my! You startled me.” Eyes wide, she stared at him. Eyes as green as moss. Freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks like the stars in the sky. Captivating, to say the least. “Who are you?”

“Lieutenant Paul Burton, Army Corps of Engineers, ma’am.” He tipped the brim of his army-issued hat, gathered his reins in one hand, and dismounted. “We’re camping just on the other side of the creek. I came out to explore and discovered you here.” He looked around. “You’re not in distress, are you?”

“Well, actually, I am.”

He straightened his shoulders, fingers tickling the butt of his gun. “Have you been abandoned?”

“No, not at all.” She pointed to the pot on the stove. “I added the salt to these beans too soon, and they are still as hard as rocks four hours later.”

He chuckled. “I believe you’re pulling my leg, ma’am.”

“It’s miss, actually.” When two heads popped out of the rear of the wagon covering, Paul’s head snapped in that direction. “Oh, don’t mind them. They’re my sisters. Millie and Queenie.”

Paul nodded at the girls. “So, this is where you live?”

“It is. We rent the land.” She squared her shoulders. “We’re not squatting.”

“No, ma’am—miss, I didn’t think that.” Was this slip of a girl as feisty as she seemed? Or was she merely being protective of her sisters? Three females on their own couldn’t be too careful. He stepped to his horse and remounted. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll tell my men to watch for you. You’ll have no worries about them.”

“Thank you. That’s kind of you. Might you have a doctor?”

“No, just a medic.” He glanced at the wagon, but the two had disappeared inside again. “Is one of you in need of medical care?”

“My mother. Influenza. Might be best if you and your men stay away.”

“I’ll take that into account, miss. Our cook is ill, and it might be the same. If we fetch a doctor for him, I’ll make certain he stops by here, too.”

“Thank you. But we can’t afford—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure his fee is on the army’s bill.”

Rather than give her a chance to refuse his help, he turned and headed for camp. The flat valley floor provided him the opportunity to give his gelding its head, and the beast stretched forward its neck and covered the ground in short order.

As he unsaddled and curried his mount, Paul reflected on his good fortune once again. An already pleasant day had just turned delightful with the discovery of the girl with an attitude as fiery as the color of her hair.

He ran a hand down the chestnut’s foreleg, lifted the foot, and checked the hoof. All looked sound. He repeated the action for the other three legs. A cherry-sized rock tucked against the frog of a hind hoof, which he pried out. After fastening on a feed bag for the beast’s daily grain ration, he tossed on a saddle blanket against the night chill, then headed toward the cook’s wagon.

Already a crowd had gathered, plates in hand, awaiting their food. The temporary cook, red-cheeked, banged on a pan with a large spoon. “Hold your horses. If’n I hear any complainin’, you’ll sleep with an empty stomach tonight.” When the soldiers quieted, he nodded. “Good. I got bacon, beans, and cornbread. With bacon fat drippings, if’n you want ‘em. And coffee. And peach cobbler for dessert. So, file up orderly. Or else.”

Paul smiled. He’d chosen wisely, and the young man had risen to the challenge. He joined the queue, nodding to several, but otherwise kept to himself.

Yes siree, he was a lucky son of a gun. All through college, he’d prayed for direction for his career. The Civil War started, and he’d joined the Corps of Engineers. Building and repairing bridges in the middle of a war zone fulfilled his need for adventure and excitement. Too much, sometimes.

Plus, he felt the Lord had answered his prayers.

And now? Well, he’d asked God to make him useful for the kingdom. Diverting water so farmers and ranchers could expand their efforts was useful. And traveling made him feel like a missionary.

Yes, God had answered his prayers.

In many ways.

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