The Royal Geographical Society

By Kristy McCaffrey

Established in 1830, the Royal Geographical Society (RGS) is the United Kingdom’s professional body for geography and the advancement of geographical sciences. It began as a dining club in London, where select members held informal dinner debates on current scientific issues and ideas. It was long associated with the ‘colonial’ exploration of Africa, the Indian subcontinent, the polar regions, and especially central Asia.

The Society was a supporter of many notable explorers. Here are a few.

Charles Darwin

Charles Darwin (1809-1882) was a naturalist, geologist and biologist, and is best known for his theories on the science of evolution, specifically that all species of life have descended over time from common ancestors and natural selection.

Richard Francis Burton

Richard Francis Burton (1821-1890) was an explorer, geographer, translator, writer, soldier, orientalist, cartographer, ethnologist, spy, linguist, poet, fencer, and diplomat. The RGS contracted him to explore the east coast of Africa, and he was one of the first Europeans to search for the source of the Nile River.

David Livingstone

David Livingstone (1813-1873) was a Scottish physician, Congregationalist, a pioneer Christian missionary, and African explorer. Taking up where Burton left off, he also attempted to locate the source of the Nile, although he too never pinpointed it. His meeting with Henry Morton Stanley was the source of the famous phrase, “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?”

Sir Ernest Shackleton

Sir Ernest Shackleton (1874-1922) was a polar explorer who led three expeditions to the Antarctic. He lost the race to the South Pole to Roald Amundsen, so he focused on a sea-to-sea crossing of Antarctica, which he unfortunately never achieved. He is most famous for a daring ocean crossing in lifeboats after his ship, the Endurance, became trapped in ice.

Percy Fawcett

Percy Fawcett (1867-disappeared 1925) was a geographer, artillery officer, cartographer, archaeologist, and explorer of South America. At the age of 39, he was contracted by the RGS to map a border area of Brazil and Bolivia. After seven expeditions to South America, he became certain that a great city lay lost in the jungle. In 1925, he made his last attempt to find the Lost City of Z, but disappeared, along with his son and a family friend. Theories abound that local Indians killed them or that they died from natural causes.

Sir Edmund Hillary

Sir Edmund Hillary (1919-2008) was a New Zealand mountaineer, explorer, and philanthropist. In 1953, he became the first climber, along with the Nepalese Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, to reach the summit of Mount Everest.

Today the Society has over 16,500 members and its work reaches millions of people each year through publications, research groups and lectures.

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Recipe Swap--Because it's cold outside!

As I sit writing this blog post, the snow has stopped, the wind is rising and the temperature is dropping. This weather makes me long for a fire, my fuzzy blanket and a big bowl of chili. So, in

acknowledgment of my cravings, let’s talk comfort food.

Complete this sentence:  A cold, snowy day is a perfect time to make—

We may all get some good ideas for dinner this week.

In “Her Christmas Wish” Katie makes Will’s favorite Irish Christmas Cake. In the anthology, “Wishing for a Cowboy,” I included a recipe for Old-Fashioned Pound Cake. And, trust me, it’s delicious! Hmm, maybe that’s what I should make…

Tracy

Available Now from Prairie Rose Publications--WILD TEXAS HEARTS

Book review: A Restless Knight by Deborah Macgillivray

Blurb:

Had the music stopped, or had she just ceased to hear it? All she could do was stare into the dragon green eyes. Drown in them. This man was her destiny. Nothing else mattered. He removed the netting from her grasp and then dropped it.

Shaking, Challon took her face in both hands. The hunger in his eyes rippled, tangible. So strong, it nearly robbed her of breath. With a need, tempered with reverence, he took her mouth with his. Lightly at first. Then deeper, more desperate, more demanding. The primitive male desire to mate unleashed. Beneath it all was his need for her—in ways she knew he did not begin to understand.

She smiled. He would.

Lost in the power, Tamlyn was not aware of the hundreds of other people around them or their celebrating. To her, the world stood still, narrowed, until there was nothing but the star-filled night.

And Challon.

“Deborah writes as if she’s been in Medieval Scotland and can somehow, magically, take you back there with her to stand amidst the heather and mist of another time. This is breathtakingly beautiful, award caliber writing.” — New York Times bestselling author, Lynsay Sands.

My review:

*closes the book and feels rudely jerked back to the 21st century.*
Whew!!  What a trip!!  After a few moments to let go of reality and immerse myself in the Scotland highlands of the late 1200s, I also became a captive of the Dragon of Challon and didn't want to escape my captor. haha!

I loved how Deborah Macgillivray painted the world around me with her words - it was almost like standing there and watching the words grow and bloom a new reality all around me -- I could sense the heather and apple blossoms, see the waves of flowing grass, hear the startling cry from the crows, feel the cool misty fog enveloping around me... then add in the emotions of the characters and I was enraptured!  Toss in the smallest touch of mystic and a knight who's armor is not shining because he knows how to use it, and I'm enchanted.

Tamlyn charmed my heart with how strong and brave and defiant she was, but at the same time, she held a regal vulnerability, a softness, a gentleness to her.  I loved being in her head as she encountered Julian and fell for her man.  She truly was the perfect compliment to him, giving him the peace and calm and healing he so desperately needed.

Julian - the Black Dragon of Challon - his intensity, power, loyalty, determination, and protectiveness, along with his scary roughness, physical strength, and mental fortitude, overflowed from the pages into reality, gifting me with my favorite kind of hero - just with a sword and armor.  Oh, and the way he shows his love and affection and devotion to Tamlyn?  Watching it grow from an interesting challenge to intense love made me swoon over and over again.  And feeling his arms wrap around me..... er.. Tamlyn?  I'll take more of that, please. (so will she, I'm sure!)

This felt like the perfect never-ending story (said with much love and appreciation) - there was so much to Tamlyn and Julian's story that it could keep going on and on... and in fact, I still found myself wanting more.  Hopefully in future books in this series we'll get to keep tabs on the couple.  I also enjoyed how some famous historic characters were weaved into the story, making this feel as it was a true piece of history, and not simply a tale to while away a winter storm.

If you're a fan of epic and beautiful medieval tales, this is one that'll sweep you away!

Purchase links:

     

THE DEVIL'S IN THE DETAILS--CHARACTER DESCRIPTION by CHERYL PIERSON

Are you the kind of reader who likes to have a detailed description of the hero or heroine in romance books? What about other secondary characters? And do you feel the same way about characters in books of genres other than western historical romance, or romance in general?

To me, there is a big difference in how much character description is needed in romance novels versus other genres, and here’s why.

When we read romance, we put ourselves in the story, empathizing with both the heroine and the hero. Of course, we need enough description to let us be familiar with them both, but this might be a case of “less” being “more.”

In our personal lives, we have preferences in how our romantic “leading men” look, speak, behave, and so on. If our preferences are toward the tall, dark, and handsome hero, it will be hard for us to be vested in a story with a hero who’s short, fair, and ugly. Or one who has habits we personally don’t find attractive.

I knew a woman who didn’t like blond heroes. If he had blond hair on the cover, she’d color it brown or black with a marker. In the book, if “blond” was mentioned, she’d mark through it and write whatever color of hair she’d decided he needed. I asked her about the heroines. “They’re all me,” she answered. “I don’t pay attention to their descriptions.”

It made me wonder how many others felt this way.

Stephen King had mentioned at one time in his book ON WRITING that “description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.”

https://amzn.to/2EdXjVy

And in genres other than romance, character description is different and maybe more important, because the reader doesn’t have any preconceived expectations of the story, such as romance readers do.

When I taught creative writing classes, this description was one I used to illustrate how so much could be packed in to a short amount of words without being an info dump.

https://amzn.to/2T4bXZU
This is the beginning of St. Agnes’ Stand, by Thomas Eidson, who also wrote The Missing. Take a look:

He was hurt and riding cautiously. Thoughts not quite grasped made him uneasy, and he listened for an errant sound in the hot wind. His eyes were narrowed—searching for a broken leaf, a freshly turned rock, anything from which he could make some sense of his vague uneasiness. Nothing. The desert seemed right, but wasn’t somehow. He turned in the saddle and looked behind him. A tumbleweed was bouncing in front of the wild assaults from the wind. But the trail was empty. He turned back and sat, listening.

Over six feet and carrying two hundred pounds, Nat Swanson didn’t disturb easy, but this morning he was edgy. His hat brim was pulled low, casting his face in shadow. The intense heat and the wind were playing with the air, making it warp and shimmer over the land. He forced himself to peer through it, knowing he wouldn’t get a second chance if he missed a sheen off sweating skin or the straight line of a gun barrel among branches.

And then this, a couple of paragraphs down:

He had been running for a week, and he was light on sleep and heavy on dust and too ready for trouble. He’d killed a man in a West Texas town he’d forgotten the name of—over a woman whose name he’d never known. He hadn’t wanted the woman or the killing. Nor had he wanted the hole in his thigh. What he did want was to get to California, and that’s where he was headed. Buttoned in his shirt pocket was a deed for a Santa Barbara ranch. Perhaps a younger man would have run longer and harder before turning to fight and maybe die; but Nat Swanson was thirty-five years that summer, old for the trail, and he had run as far as he was going to run.

I absolutely love this. Can you feel that you’re right there with Nat Swanson as he’s riding? There are no wasted words, and this is just such an eloquent, masterful description of not only Nat, but the situation and the physical place he’s in as well as the dilemma he’s faced with.

Another excellent way of describing a character and setting the scene at the same time is from another character’s POV. This passage is from Jack Schaefer’s iconic classic, Shane—from the eyes of Bobby Starrett—when Shane first rides into his life.

https://amzn.to/2BWlIin

This is just the very beginning of the book—there is more physical description of Shane a few paragraphs later, but I chose this passage because it lets us know what’s going on in a few short sentences—and that is real talent.

He rode into our valley in the summer of ’89. I was a kid then, barely topping the backboard of father’s old chuck-wagon. I was on the upper rail of our small corral, soaking in the late afternoon sun, when I saw him far down the road where it swung into the valley from the open plain beyond.

In that clear Wyoming air I could see him plainly, though he was still several miles away. There seemed nothing remarkable about him, just another stray horseman riding up the road toward the cluster of frame buildings that was our town. Then I saw a pair of cowhands, loping past him, stop and stare after him with a curious intentness.

He came steadily on, straight through the town without slackening pace, until he reached the fork a half-mile below our place. One branch turned left across the river ford and on to Luke Fletcher’s big spread. The other bore ahead along the right bank where we homesteaders had pegged our claims in a row up the valley. He hesitated briefly, studying the choice, and moved again steadily on our side.

This is tough, because we’re seeing it through two “lenses”—Bobby is nine years old, and this is what he sees, but it’s filtered by the adult Bobby who’s now telling the story of what happened all those years ago.

In writing the story this way, the reader gets the full impact of experiencing the fears, the situation brings, the joy of having Shane there, and the anguish of his leaving all through the eyes of a nine-year-old boy, with the adult overview that lets us know that Shane was not a hero—but he was to Bobby and those small time settlers who needed one so desperately. Yet, leaving was the only thing he could have done and kept Bobby’s view of him untarnished and intact.

Because we don’t know how the story will end, and we don’t know what to expect, we are learning about Shane’s character right along with Bobby so we are actively looking for details and descriptors the author might give us along the way—it will affect our opinion of Shane and let us know if Bobby is a reliable narrator, and it affects the outcome of the story.

I bring this up because in romance, seldom does the description have such a direct effect on the story itself, unless our main characters have scars, afflictions, or disabilities that might have some direct bearing on the story and its outcome.
So what do you think? Do you like a lot of description and detail about the WHR heroes you read about, or would you rather “fill in the blanks” for yourself?

As far as heroines go, most people I’ve talked to are not as concerned wither physical description (maybe because each person sees herself in the heroine?) but are more concerned with her personality traits—is she likable? Is she determined?

If she is not a fierce match for the hero, the story line is doomed.

And what about our hero? Though he can get away with more “questionable” traits, he has to be endowed with almost superhuman strength to overcome everything that’s thrown his way, and that is description that must be thoroughly detailed—not left to the reader’s interpretation.
(I apologize for the Amazon links being all over the place--I could not get them to "stick" under the book covers.)

New Release -- Blinded by Grace (Cotillion Ball Saga Book 5) by Becky Lower

New York City, 1858

Halwyn Fitzpatrick thinks he's off the hook for attendance at the annual Cotillion Ball. He has no sister to shepherd down the grand staircase this year, and no real desire to go through the rituals of courtship and betrothal himself. Besides, he'll know the right girl when he sees her—especially now that he has new spectacles. But his mother has other plans for him. At twenty-seven years of age, her son is in dire need of a wife.

Grace Wagner needs a husband by July in order to inherit the trust her father has left for her. Her stepfather, though, has plans for the money that don't include Grace, and the last thing he wants is for her to find a husband before she turns twenty-one, thereby fulfilling the terms of the trust. She's been in love with Halwyn since she was thirteen, but he hasn't noticed her at any of the balls they've been at over the years. 

With the aid of his new glasses, he spies Grace from across the room and they share a dance. Grace decides to present him with a business proposition that will satisfy them both. But can a clueless knight in shining armor and a desperate damsel in distress find a way to turn this marriage of convenience into something more?

EXCERPT

     Grace rose from her seat and smoothed the skirt of her lilac gown. The dress was several years old, but she was still fond of its tiered skirt with bands of deep purple satin ribbon at the edge of each tier, and the beadwork of the bodice. Her mother gave her a sidelong glance as she lazily fanned herself.

     “And where do you think you’re going, dear? The waltz has already begun and you have no partner. Sit back down before you cause a scene.”

     This was the year, and Halwyn was her target. She would not sit quietly on the sidelines any longer.

     “No, Mother, I won’t sit. I’m tired of sitting. I want to dance. I suggest you go find your husband and do the same.”

     She took a deep breath, and began to walk toward Halwyn. It may be a presumptuous act on her part, but she had no more time to waste. She wove her way through the dancers and the onlookers, stopping to say hello when she passed an acquaintance so it wouldn’t seem as though she was making a mad dash in his direction. She’d just casually stroll around the room and run into him. Her plan was in place.

     When Grace finally made it to the side of the ballroom where Halwyn had been, he was no longer there. She scanned the room quickly, to see where he had gone. Now he was over on the side where she had just come from! Blast and damn! Should she return to her lowly chair and to her mother, or wait where she was in hopes he’d return? She chewed her lower lip and toyed with the pearls around her neck as she pondered what move to make next. This was turning into a silly parlor game of musical chairs.

     At that precise moment, they locked eyes across the room. She put the fingers of one hand to her stomach to stop its sudden fluttering. His smile flew across the room to her, evoking warmth and excitement in her at the same time. He gave her a small wave and began to walk with purpose toward her.

      

THE IRISH REVOLUTIONARY AND HUMANITARIAN, COUNTESS CONTANCE MARKIEVICZ By Sarah J. McNeal

Countess Constance Markievicz (Middle Figure)

In honor of women’s history month and the Irish which are customarily celebrated in March I would like to present one of the most outstanding Irish revolutionary and humanitarian, Countess Constance Georgine Gore Booth Markievicz. I recently discovered her while doing research and was astounded that I knew nothing of this remarkable and courageous freedom fighter.

Born on February 4^th 1868, Constance Gore-Booth was the oldest of five children whose father was a landowner in County Sligo, Ireland. Before Constance became involved in Irish politics, her first passion was art. In 1892 she went to London to study painting. While there her political beliefs began to take shape and she joined the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies (NUWSS). She moved from London to Paris in order to continue her art studies. It was there that she met her soon-to-be husband, a Polish Count, Casimir Dunin-Markievicz.

Constance and Casimir on their wedding day at Lissadell

They married in 1900 and she became the Countess Markievicz. Together they returned to Ireland and settled in Dublin. In 1901, at her family’s estate in Lissadell, their only child, Maeve Allys, was born.

Constance and Casimir at home in Ireland

Constance began to gain a reputation as a landscape artist. She became one of the founding members of the Dublin-based United Artists Club, which drew together creative people from across the city to celebrate Irish culture. Now this is where Constance’s life took an historic turn because through this club she began to meet people who would have an enormous impact on her thinking, including a woman named Maud Gonne who, along with Constance, would go on to be a key leader in the fight for Irish independence.

Fate can play a major role in our lives and so it did with Constance when she rented a cottage just outside of Dublin in 1906. By chance, she found some old newspapers called The Peasant and Sinn Féin left in the cottage by the previous inhabitant. As she read about the struggle to free Ireland from British rule she was captivated, and in her own words said, “I read then of what a few were trying to do actually at the moment, and, like a flash, I made up my mind I must join up.”

From that fateful moment her life became almost entirely dedicated to a single cause—a free Ireland. In the coming years she proved her dedication to the freedom of Ireland by risking her life and spending much time in jail for her part in the struggle to that end.

In 1908 she joined Sinn Féin, the Irish party leading the struggle, whose name means ‘we ourselves’ in Irish. She also joined Inghinidhe na hÉireann (Daughters of Ireland) a women’s Irish nationalist group led by her friend, Maud Gonne.

In 1909 she wrote: “The first step on the road to freedom is to realize ourselves as Irishwomen – not as Irish or merely as women, but as Irishwomen doubly enslaved and with a double battle to fight.”

Countess Constance, second in command of the Irish Brotherhood 

While her passion for a free Ireland became her main focus she hadn’t forgotten her suffragist beliefs. In a slight foray from her political life in Ireland she returned to England, to Manchester to visit her sister Eva Gore-Booth, who had also become a political activist in her own right. (You have to wonder what the sisters’ parents must have been like to have so influenced their daughters to become such leaders. I also wondered what Constance’s husband must have been like to support her political views and activities.)

The Suffragettes there were attempting to stop Winston Churchill from becoming elected as MP for the area because he opposed women getting the vote! (If I had known Churchill’s views on suffrage I don’t think I would have liked him as much. Just sayin’…) Constance stood against him in the by-election and drew attention to the suffragist cause when she rode through the streets of Manchester on a carriage drawn by four white horses. When a man from the crowd heckled her by asking whether she could cook she responded without hesitation. “Yes. Can you drive a coach and four?”

In 1911 Constance was jailed in Ireland for the first time after she spoke at an Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB) demonstration. After her release she joined James Connolly’s Irish Citizen’s Army (ICA).

In 1913 many poor Irish workers tried to unionize and over 20,000 were shut out of their workplaces in what became known as the ‘Lock Out‘. 

Constance operating her soup kitchen

During this time Constance worked tirelessly with the ICA to organize food for those unable to work. She funded much of this effort herself – selling her jewelry to pay for the food. She also ran a soup kitchen to help feed the City’s poorest school children.

She went on to design the uniform for the ICA and famously gave the fashion advice for other women in the republican movement, “Dress suitably in short skirts & strong boots, leave your jewels in the bank, and buy a revolver.” (Ya gotta love her.)

Constance being arrested after the 1916 Easter Uprising

Perhaps Constance became best known for her part in the 1916 Easter Rising. During this violent stand-off  between the Irish and the British forces she held the position of Second in Command to Michael Mallin in St Stephen’s Green, Dublin. They held out for six days before the leader, Patrick Pearse was forced to surrender. It is said that when the Countess was arrested she kissed her revolver before handing it over. Constance was arrested and taken to Kilmainham Gaol along with the others involved in the uprising. Along with all the male leaders she was tried and sentenced to death by firing squad. However, her sentence was later revoked ‘on account of her sex’. When the court told her of this decision she said “I do wish your lot had the decency to shoot me.” But shoot her they did not, and her career in politics only grew stronger.

After spending time in prison in England she was released in 1917 and returned to Dublin, but she soon found herself in prison again for protesting against the conscription of Irish men during the First World War.

Constance was one determined Irish woman because, from her prison cell, she ran in the upcoming general election! In 1918 she was became the first woman ever elected to the British House of Commons. She was one of 73 Sinn Féin MPs who were elected, all of whom refused to take their seat. Instead they formed the first Dáil Éireann or Irish Parliament. She became the first ever Irish Cabinet member when she served as Minister of Labor (and only the second female cabinet member anywhere in Europe!)

Constance in her garden

Constance had also been an active member of Cumann na mBan (League of Women) since its formation in 1914. After the Rising she helped to revitalize the group and lead the women who formed it in their political activities.

He career in politics, and her episodes in jail continued in the following years. She fiercely opposed the Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1921 and became active in the Irish Civil War which followed.

Constance joined the newly formed Fianna Fáil party in 1926 and was elected to run as a candidate in 1927. In a sad twist of fate, before she could take her seat, she died in the hospital in Dublin due to appendicitis. Her funeral was held publicly. A massive 250,000 people gathered in the streets of Dublin to say goodbye to the woman who had inspired them so greatly.

Funeral of Countess Constance Markievicz

Now that I have discovered this courageous Irish woman I will never forget her.

Sarah J. McNeal

Diverse stories filled with heart

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The Waning of Mrs. Moon

The Waning of Mrs. Moon 

by C.A. Asbrey

The Moon Mausoleum, Caddo, Oklahoma

Molly Moon must have been a remarkable woman. At least we assume she was, despite knowing very little about her in her lifetime. We do know that she committed suicide in 1904, while her husband was away on a 'hunting trip'. We also know that her husband liked her to wear expensive clothes and jewelry. Perhaps she was lonely. By the time her husband returned to Caddo, she had been dead and buried for a full two months.

We know that there had been domestic troubles between them and that he left hurriedly on the hunting trip. While he was away she drank an ounce of carbolic acid. She had turned back the covers on her bed, but never made it there. She was found on the floor by neighbors. In the note she left, she stated that she was of sound mind and felt justified in the actions she had taken. She also felt sure that 'He', with a capital 'H' would forgive her and would be the final judge. Apparently her husband took that to mean himself.     

Mr. Moon had been generous to his wife, financially, if not with his time. When he arrived back from the hunting trip, he came back with two expensive dresses, traveling implements, and gifts of jewels. The bereaved husband was said to have sent them back unopened.

Mr. Moon was distraught. He asked a local undertaker if she could be embalmed. He was doubtful, after such a long time underground, but Will Hatton, a fellow businessman and undertaker, agreed to take a look.

     
Mr. Moon wrote to The Cincinnati Enquirer  asking for a retraction of their initial reporting of the circumstances surrounding his wife's death and burial. They published Mr. Moon's letter along with an accompanying letter from Denison funeral director and embalmer, W.H. Halton. It's clear from the letter that Mrs. Moon was unhappy and mentally unwell. True to the times, Mr. Moon found any suggestion of poor mental health to be unedifying. He sought to project a different image of his late wife.

Whether his next actions were due to guilt, undying love, or a mixture of both, we will never know. W.J. Moon built a brick mausoleum. It wasn't pretty, and would later be compared to industrial installations such as telephone exchanges or electricity sub stations.

Inside the mausoleum was a glass coffin, where the now embalmed Mrs. Moon  was placed. She was dressed in the beautiful gown he had bought for her birthday. He appealed to the respectable women of the town, and succeeded. They assisted him in taking his wife from her grave, washing the body, and re-dressing her in a way he saw fit.

The locals saw him as a grief-stricken husband, and looked on in sympathy as he brushed her hair, attached jewelled pins, and laid her in as grand a manner as he thought possible.

All a little strange, but this is when it got even stranger. In a week or so he repeated the process. Then he did it again, and again, and again. It became a regular ritual, and was seen as so strange that the white people of the town refused to assist him any longer. He then paid poor black women. They also found the whole thing very uncomfortable, and complained of the spooks and spirits. They also eventually backed off, despite the money being very good. The mausoleum had a good through breeze, and the drying wind was perfect to mummify the corpse. There were small windows though which the body could be viewed, but the walls were twelve inches thick and the building had steel doors. He employed a caretaker who wound his wife's watch, took people on tours, and cared for a bunny he kept there. Once the bunny died he closed the building.

W.J. Moon then continued these rites on his own. He washed and redressed the body until it ended up mummified. He had been a successful local businessman, but he was reported as being obsessed with his late wife, and could talk of little else. It wasn't long before he was being avoided, and very soon after that he was ostracised.         

Moon Hotel, Caddo

William Judson Moon never got over his wife's death. There are some who say that he was not hunting, but on an extravagant and hedonistic buying trip for his stores. The dresses and jewels he brought back might support this version of events.

Despite his apparent obsession, W.J. Moon married again only two years later. That marriage to Pearl Bedtelyon, of Michigan, ended in legal action when it broke down, and he claimed she had married bigamously. It's notable that Pearl accused him of beating her and that "he forced her to go on her way to the home of her parents in the State of Michigan, and so insufficiently was she supplied with ordinary and necessary wearing apparel in which to travel in a public conveyance that she was forced to stop at the town of Muskogee on her way to the home of her parents and from lady friends borrow the necessary clothing in which decently to travel on the railway."

In this report we may have some inkling as to why he felt so guilty about Molly's suicide. We also have to bear in mind that while his in-laws left his sons with him, they insisted in taking his daughter and brought her up themselves.

He tried to prove that Pearl's divorce wasn't valid as residency requirements weren't met. A judge found against him and awarded Pearl alimony of $1,000 a month. Quite a sum back in the early 1900s. He was, however, a rich man. He owned a number of stores and a large hotel.

He was then met Lula Mae and married her in 1909. They moved to Dallas and opened a store. He died of cancer in 1923. Lula Mae had his body returned to Caddo and had him interred beside Molly.

Older residents of Caddo still say that they have seen Mrs. Moon's body. It's a mummified skeleton with long flowing hair. It was seen as a rite of passage for local youths to pluck up the courage to look at the corpse, for a time. Nowadays the windows are opaque and dirty. Molly Moon gets to rest in peace at last.

This tale only proves that there are some stories you can't make up.

Innocent Bystander EXCERPT

A vacant-looking man with prominent yellow teeth walked into her field of vision, striding beyond the blinding sun and dragged her roughly from the horse. She had expected to be searched and had ruthlessly bound her body with bandages to try to flatten and conceal her breasts, but the man merely patted down her sides before turning his attentions to her jacket. He pulled out the pistol which had been loosely placed in her pocket and slapped his way down her legs. She was instantly glad she had foregone the Derringer she usually wore at her ankle. A concealed weapon was too risky.

“He’s clean.”

“Well, boy. It seems like you’re gonna get your wish, but if you’ve been messin’ with us and you ain’t Quinn’s kin, you’re gonna regret it. He don’t like to be messed with.”

Abigail felt her arms grabbed as she was roughly turned around and her carefully dirtied hands were bound behind her back, the rope biting deeply into her skin as it was pulled tight. They must have seen her wince as it provoked a chorus of laughter which rang in her ears.

“Looks like this life’s a bit too rough for you, sonny.”

 A thick, smelly bag was thrust over her head, obliterating the world, before she was lifted back onto her little colt and she felt herself led off to face the rest of the gang.