Excerpt Thursday: Jacquie Rogers

Thursdays on Unusual Historicals mean excerpts! (Forgive that it's Friday!) Here's one from Jacquie Rogers, whose DOWN HOME EVER LOVIN' MULE BLUES is available now from Highland Press. Here's the blurb:

***

It happened in the Idaho desert. The rodeo clown: Brody wants the thrill of bullfighting and the wind at his feet. The actuary: Rita doesn't want anything to do with a busted up cowboy--and odds are, Brody will be. The mule: Socrates understands humans. And love, even if humans don't.

Can Socrates lead Brody to Rita's heart? Will Rita let herself take the biggest risk of all?

***

Grasmere, Idaho

Humans are so stubborn.

But never let it be said that we mules don't take care of our humans. Mine is Brody Alexander. I'm Socrates, master of cogitation and entertainer of both large and small children.

Infinite patience is required to endure Brody's abstinence. Granted, we john mules do have it easier than men. We don't have this hormone thing going on so we don't spend our lives trying to make little mules.

That gives us lots more time to cogitate. And believe me, I can think of a few more species who could do with a little thoughtful uncommon sense.

Human males, for instance. Why, they seem to spend every waking hour thinking about sex, getting sex, or being disappointed by not having sex.

That's how I see it. Except I left one thing out--human males need more than sex. They need love. My human could use a little loving these days. Why, he's been moping around worse than a porcupine on a bad hair day.

That's where the cogitating comes in. If testosterone hadn't clouded Brody's thinking, he'd already know what he needs. Funny thing, those hormones.

The way I see it, my job is to help his brain listen to his other parts--especially his heart. And I have the answer. Yes, sir, I do. I just saw a pretty little filly drive down the road, the very same one who mooned over Brody ten years ago.

It's time for action.
***
Brody Alexander stomped into the house and threw his battered Stetson on the table. "Luke, have you seen that dang mule? He's let himself out of the barn again."

Luke smashed his cigarette in the ashtray. "Nope, but I s'pose he'll show up once he gets a little hungry. Or cold. Old Socrates don't like the cold." Luke slurped his coffee and let out a satisfied sigh. "There's scrambled eggs on the stove."

The phone rang. He nodded toward it. "That might be him now."

"Don't be a smart ass." Brody yanked the handset off the cradle. "Hello."

"Howdy. Your mule's in our pantry eating apples." He recognized the partly annoyed, partly amused voice of Judy Markum, the middle-aged widow from up the road.

"Uh, sorry, ma'am. I'll be right over."

Luke chuckled. "It was him, wasn't it?"

"Smart ass." Grabbing his hat, Brody made for the pickup and hitched up the trailer--the splint on his left arm not making the task any easier, or his humor any better. Sometimes he'd like to kick that dang mule into next Sunday.

Perseus, his Australian Shepherd, hopped into the pickup before Brody had the door halfway open. The old '62 Chevy was already warmed up from hauling feed to the cattle. The heater worked even if the rest of the pickup decided not to--a blessing in the crisp autumn Owyhee mornings. He took off for the Markum place.

Five minutes of bumpy dirt road later, he pulled in front of Judy's white stucco house with yellow trim. Snapdragons and petunias grew along the perimeter of the house, and the tinkle of the wind chimes seemed to smile on visitors.

She stood in the front doorway propped on her crutches, waving him in. At least she had a smile on her weathered face. He got out of the pickup and tipped his hat at her.

"Good morning, Judy."

Her dog, Beauty, ran up and nuzzled his hand. He obliged her with a few quick scratches behind her ears. A late-model tan Volvo was parked beside the Markum barn. He smirked, knowing that no local would have an expensive, foreign car with no ground clearance. Socrates had picked a mighty poor time to work up a hunger for the neighbor's apples.

"Come on in, Brody." Judy seemed quite happy for a woman with a mule in her house.

He took off his hat and trudged in. "Evenin', ma'am. I'm sorry about Socrates. Where is he? I'll get him out of your hair."

"It's my apples I'm worried about, not my hair." She pointed to a curtained room off the kitchen. "He's in there. Probably the happiest miniature mule in the world right now."

Brody made for the pantry, ready to give that mule the what-for. But the obnoxious beast beat him to the punch, sauntering out with a Red Delicious in his mouth. Socrates dodged Brody's one-handed grab for the halter and trotted into the living room.

Brody gritted his teeth. Judy's guests would be in there, and here he had to chase a flea-bitten mule. Oh well, might as well act the clown. After all, he did it for a living.

"I do not want that animal on my new carpet!" Judy hobbled after him.

He held her back and called to the mule, "Socrates, get your tush out here." In two long strides, Brody managed to grab the mule's halter. "What in the Sam Hill do you think you're doing? Let's go home."

"Hello, cowboy." The feminine voice was sultry, and familiar.

Brody stopped cold, took a breath, and turned toward the voice.

There she sat on the couch, little Rita Markum, holding the apple Socrates had brought her. Only she wasn't little anymore. Not that she'd grown taller or gotten fat. Nope, she'd filled out into one helluva woman. He felt a certain amount of compassion for old Adam in the Garden of Eden. If Eve bore any resemblance to Rita, poor Adam never had a chance.

***

You can read all of Chapter One here, or see the book video featuring the music of Justin Saragueta. Stay tuned on Sunday when Jacquie will answer questions and offer a cool contest prize!

Winner: The Romance Studios 5-Heart Sweetheart and PNR Staff Top Pick

Professions: Smuggling

By Lisa Marie Wilkinson

Smuggling is one of the few professions embraced by entire communities during centuries past that still exists and flourishes today. Although the nature of the contraband may have changed (from spirits, lace, fabric, tobacco and tea during the eighteenth century to illegal drugs and firearms in the present day), there are few coastal areas (particularly in the United Kingdom) that cannot boast a rich history related to smuggling and the exploits of those who participated in the trade.

Efforts of the British government to finance costly wars through excessive taxation on imported items such as chocolate, tea and spirits gradually expanded to include basic necessities such as leather, salt and soap. This led to resentment and revolt on the part of those unable to afford items then taxed at up to 70% of their original cost, creating an opportunity for those gangs and individuals willing to undergo personal risk to circumvent the process of taxation and deliver tariff-free merchandise to a public more than willing to do commerce with the lawbreakers.

Tea--considered a luxury by the British government and consequently taxed to the point where it become unaffordable for the average consumer--was also light and easy to transport, making it a favorite commodity of smugglers, many of whom were former fishermen who discovered that "running tea" was a far more profitable enterprise than casting their nets into the sea. This led to the involvement of entire coastal communities in the trade, including merchants with concealed areas in the basements of their shops designed to hide bolts of fabric and casks of brandy.

The southwest coast of England, with its countless networks of inlets and coves and underground tunnels leading to the sea, was a smuggler's paradise. Names such as "Brandy Cove," "Smuggler's Leap," and "Pepper Cove" hint at the nature of the smuggled goods and the activities that once took place there. One village boasted a manor house with a chamber large enough to conceal a dozen men hidden beneath the kitchen floor in the event of a sudden visit from Customs men. Smugglers in Penzance, buoyed by the knowledge that they had the support of the entire community, landed and unloaded smuggled cargo in broad daylight, in full view of any Customs men who might be about.

The end of large-scale smuggling began during the Napoleonic era, when safeguards implemented to ward off a French invasion consequently made smuggling more difficult by cutting off access to beach areas and a series of watchtowers called Martello towers were erected along the south-east coast of England. As duties on imported goods were gradually lowered, smuggled goods became more affordable to the masses, eliminating the need for those who profited from the smuggling of the black market commodities of the era.

In my debut novel, FIRE AT MIDNIGHT, heroine Rachael Penrose comes from a community involved in smuggling. Unfortunately, well-known smuggler Sebastién Falconer erroneously believes it was Rachael who informed on him to the Customs authorities. In the following scene, Sebastién is playing a game of cat-and-mouse with Rachael. His goal is to trick Rachael into admitting she is the informant.

Rachael concluded her story and fidgeted in the chair, waiting for some comment from him. The delightful evening of repartee she had anticipated had instead been an awkward, one-sided conversation. She felt foolish for having been so concerned with her appearance. Why had it seemed so important to look nice this evening? Certainly not for him. She hardly knew him.

He had abandoned his interest in his wine and sat staring at her with an intensity Rachael found unnerving. She felt like a small bird under the rapt scrutiny of a cat with a voracious appetite.

"A curious predicament," Sebastién commented finally.

Her imagination has not been idle during my absence. Yet there was the niggling doubt certain details invited, such as the fading abrasions on her limbs that told of iron restraints, the injury Morgan had received, and the destruction of the Morgan estate. Someone had abused her before she fell into his hands, but an informer would incur the wrath of many. It did not necessarily follow that her story was the truth.

Sebastién kept his plan of interrogation uppermost in his mind. No doubt this hoyden made deliberate use of her physical allure. She had taken pains with her appearance. She was a beautiful woman made more so by the gossamer haze of candlelight. He was not about to become a besotted fool and allow her to emerge victorious in their match of wits, no matter how damned attractive he found her.

"You must be disappointed that Tarry has not visited," he said.

"It is safer for us all if he keeps his distance. Victor is likely to have him followed. The longer I remain here, the greater the risk that Victor will find me."

Was she about to broach the subject of her departure? He was just as determined to deflect any discussion on the topic. "My friend Tarry would never forgive me if I allowed you to risk your safety," he said.

"How did you and Tarry become acquainted? I wasn't aware that he had any friends from across the Channel."

"Are you acquainted with all his friends, then?" he asked. He did not allow his faint smile to lessen the challenge in his tone. It was better to keep her on the defensive; it increased the likelihood that she would trip herself up.

"Tarry has friends at court I have never met," Rachael replied. "He may have mentioned you by name, but I would not have expected a Frenchman. Is it John, or Jean?"

"Call me whatever you like," Sebastién responded in a dry tone. "I am actually part English, but schooled in France." That much of the truth suited him. He marveled at her skillful attempt to draw information out of him. "Penrose is a common name in Cornwall, is it not?"

"Yes. I am a Cornish Penrose." She lifted her brow at the question.

"Then why not remain here? You are safer here than you would be in your own village."

"If I remain here, my presence will endanger you, and my brother will not be safe. I am fortunate that Tarry has a gallant, courageous friend who was willing to come to my aid, but I’ve already imposed upon you enough."

"You give me too much credit, mademoiselle," he said with a dismissive wave. "The Cornish coast is no place for a young woman to travel alone without benefit of a guardian."

"I grew up here. This place holds no danger for me."

"Have you no fear of the fairtraders who roam the coast?" He watched her face for a reaction. Surely she knew she was a pariah among her own kinsmen? Her ingenuous manner was disturbing.

"I have no fear of fairtraders. Fairtrading is a way of life on the coast. Why shouldn't a Bodmin shopkeeper be able to afford tea when a Customs official drinks it with every meal simply because his purse is better suited to pay the duty? I don’t view the fairtrade as a criminal enterprise. I know many who participate in the trade."

"Such knowledge would make you popular with Customs." He resisted the urge to frame it as an accusation.

"The fairtraders are my friends and neighbors. I would never inform on them."

"What happens to those who turn informant?"

"I shouldn't like to think about it—a wise informer would never return to the coast."

Her complexion had pinkened; she either felt guilty or passionate about the subject. She frowned at him as if perplexed by the turn their conversation had taken.

"It seems the risk would far outweigh the gain."

Rachael nodded. "You need have no fear on my behalf with regard to fairtraders. It is unlikely I would be mistaken for a Customs agent." She smiled at him as if the thought amused her.

Was the woman composed of stone? She did not seek to avoid his steady gaze. There was no detectable tic or tremor in her face or hands. She breathed easily. No sheen of perspiration marred the fair, smooth skin of her brow. She remained calm, even smiling while he hinted at the truth. He felt his frustration grow with each verbal parry.

Perhaps she already knew who he was and was enjoying watching him stalk the perimeter of his verbal cage. He was tempted to reveal his identity to her, if only to see her reaction. She was wily, infuriating, and intriguing, and Sebastién was actually enjoying their little game of cat and mouse.

How could he prevent her departure without making a prisoner of her? He noted the high color at her cheeks and the limpid blue pools of her eyes. The fact that she did not seem to find him unattractive was an advantage he might put to good use. After all, this was war and he had to use whatever weapons were available to him.

Professions: The Barrister

By Jennifer Linforth

"You know you're a word slut?"

That was brought to my attention after a speaking engagement I participated in last June. My critique partner, Nina Pierce, whispered them to me as I was conversing with a group regarding the historical use of a colorful word.

I admit it. I can be far too curious for my own good sometimes. So when I innocently inquired of an attorney why they all dream of knighthood with that Esquire-thingy at the end of their names the response was: "I dare you to find out."

I am sure there are dozens of authors reading this blog with raised brows now. One thing you never do is dare an author. Anything you say and do can and will be held against you in one of our novels. Perfect subject for a blog about professions--even if it did stem from a dare.

But first, what the heck is a barrister? The word pops up in historicals all the time. They are legal advisers and court room advocates trained to advise clients on the strengths and weaknesses of their case. They are formally trained experts in their field with knowledge in and out of court that can make or break the outcome of a case. Since the 13th century barristers have been providing expert advice and advocacy on the law. In the past they had a monopoly on representing people in the higher courts.

A barrister is not to be confused with a solicitor! A solicitor has exclusive rights of giving oral or written legal advice. A barrister has the rights of preparing and conducting litigation in the courts.

So now we know what a barrister is and what he does, but that does not satisfy a historical word slut pushed to the bar on a dare.

BAR -- not it is not a place to slug down jello-shots folks! That would make our editors whip out the blue ink of doom and question our historical minded sanity. The famous BAR is named from the two rails in a courtroom, one which separated the judge’s bench from the rest of the court and the other which marked an area for lawyers to engage in their arguments. Speakers or those appearing in court were "called to the bar"--an honor in its day...

Now in historical fiction we use have the word BARRISTER and thus connect it to law: A counselor who is learned in law and admitted to appear at that bar and defend clients. Inner barristers, benchers and readers were admitted to work within the bar as king;s counsel...

The English Crown established in the 1600s a formal registry in London where barristers were ordered to be accredited. The acronym BAR denoted the British Accredited Registry and those members also became members of the IBA (International Bar Association). The first American BAR was created, according to my research, in Boston during the 1700s.

Now there is where I hang Mr. Attorney by his bollocks. Where did the term attorney come from and what are they?

ATTORN: meaning atorner (assign, appoint, etc.) One definition, in law, is to formally transfer one's tenancy, to make legal acknowledgement of tenancy to a landlord. Or if we look historically into feudal law from the Latin ad and torno, it was to transfer homage and service from one lord to another.

Still with me?

ATTORNMENT -- the act where a feudatory, vassal or tenant consents upon the transfer of an estate to receive a new lord or superior, thus transferring homage. Bottom line, through the years attornment means to transfer stuff...much easier just to say that. Write tight you know!

So continuing to beat Mr. Attorney with his gavel we have...

ATTORNEY -- one who transfers or assigns, within the bar, another's rights and property acting on behalf of the ruling crown. Are the readers seeing the pattern there of crown, lords and land? Keep that in mind as we get to those three little letters, ESQ, that made this attorney want to turn me into a whore.

U.S. Attorneys take the post-nominal honorific of Esquire after their names, derived from the British word "squire." Any historical novelist is well aware of the squire, which in Great Britain was the title of a gentleman next in rank to a knight. However, it was also an attendant in court.

The esquire was a young nobleman in training for knighthood and who acted as the shield-bearer and attendant to a knight. Here is where the historical novelist waxes poetic, whether correct or not, on the blatant symbolism in that. Shield = defense. Defense = law.

I so dig it.

An Esquire was also a man of a higher peerage ranking below the knight but also any various officers in service to the king or nobles. Esquires dealt with attornment and transfer of property from the nobleman they served.

Final thoughts?

That tiny mention of Esquire (Esq) at the end of a counselor's name is a reflection of an inner desire to wear tights, follow around their superiors, buy and sell property, and visit history through the imagination of writers of historical fiction.

I don't know why those in the law fascinate me, the just do. Rock on Mr. Attorney. That ESQ is very sexy--but never attempt to dare an author. Our letters are sexy too: ISBN. We will throw the book at you every time.

Professions: Circuit Riders

By Anna C. Bowling

Today, if someone would like a member of the clergy to perform weddings, funerals, baptisms of children or adults, give spiritual counsel or instruction or perform a worship service, the options are endless. A drive through most major cities will result in passing several churches, synagogues, mosques, meeting houses or other such places, and a flip through the yellow pages or a quick online search will bring up dozens of choices even beyond that.

In earlier times, such as the American colonial era or during the western expansion, people had to be a little...or a lot...more patient. Settling a new land or territory, more often than not, happened in stages, and settlers knew going into the new venture that they would have to forgo things taken for granted in their locale of origin. The way one conducted one's spiritual life was no exception.

While a person's faith travels with them no matter who or what is or isn't along for the ride, the way such faith is expressed can definitely be affected. Food, shelter and safety are prime concerns in these situations, with other aspects of life having to sit tight and wait a while. Enter the circuit rider.

Going from town to town, servicing those without a permanent clergy member or house of worship, the circuit rider had to be a spiritual jack of all trades, arriving in each stop on his circuit knowing that he'd need to pack weeks, months, or even years worth of pastoring into a short period of time.

He might find himself using the same ceremony to marry a young couple and baptize their child...or children. In some communities where a circuit rider was the only clergy they could get, this wasn't entirely uncommon, and the couple might actually be considered married by declaration until the preacher came by to make things legal. Memorial services for those buried weeks or months ago might also be on the schedule, and baptisms for any who wished it, from babies to new believers. He might be asked to perform services for denominations other than his own, and depended on the offerings of the communities for his upkeep.

Often without a permanent home of his own, the circuit rider had all the ups and downs of pastoring a regular church...times five, six, seven or however many stops he had on his circuit, not to mention the constant travel. Depending on what he could afford, he might travel his circuit actually riding on beast or wagon, or travelling by shank's mare: on foot. The life of a circuit rider was not easy or predictable, but for those with a true vocation and at least a touch of wanderlust, it could be a rewarding job choice.

I've said "he" in referring to the circuit riders of the past, as prior to the late 20th century, most Protestant denominations did not ordain women. Not so today--I know several modern-day itinerant ministers (what one might call the circuit riders of our day), male and female alike.

RACHEL AND THE HIRED GUN Winner!

We have a winner for Elaine Levine's RACHEL AND THE HIRED GUN t-shirt giveaway:

Shelly McNelis!

Contact Elaine to give her your address. The prize must be claimed by next Sunday or another winner will be drawn. Please stop back later to let us know what you thought of her debut! Congratulations!

Guest Blogger: Jannine Corti Petska

Hello, and thanks for joining up for another Sunday Promo here at Unusual Historicals. This week we're welcoming Jannine Corti Petska as she celebrates the release of her newest novel, CARINA AND THE NOBLEMAN from Eternal Press. Here's the blurb...

***

Forced to the streets after her mother dies, Carina Gallo is desperate to survive and find her long lost sisters. Consumed with locating his missing brother, Count Luciano Ruggero has forsaken his needs. When Luciano catches beautiful and vulnerable Carina stealing from him, he takes pity and cares for her until she's strong enough to work off her crime. Carina is forever grateful to Luciano, yet fears he will learn of her wicked secret and condemn her to burn. Will Luciano and Carina find a way to feed the mutual passions they share, or will heresy and obsession with lost family destroy them both?

***

What makes CARINA AND THE NOBLEMAN an unusual historical?

The location combined with the era is what sets it apart. There seems to be a feeling that readers aren't interested in medieval Italy. CARINA is set in the North in the Po Valley, 1425. Who wouldn't want to be transported back to the country where opulence and growth abounded? The arts, inventions, writings...it is mind-boggling when you read about the contributions Italy has made to the world. But more than that, when you think of Italy, your first thought is romance.

Where did you get the idea for the story?

Originally, I came up with the trilogy for Kensington's Ballad line. At the time, I brainstormed with a writer friend about the books, knowing they had to all connect in some way for Ballad. That's how the triplet sisters came about. I've always had a fascination with people who have psychic abilities, so I decided the sisters would each have a different power. Unfortunately, the line folded before I could get my manuscript to an editor. But I didn't give up. Okay, I did for several years until I decided to pull CARINA out two years ago and revise it!

Is this your first historical romance with an unusual setting?

No, not at all. I love 15th century Italy. I had written a four-book Italian medieval series prior to CARINA. I had also published a romantic suspense set in 1970 in the U.S. and Italy as well as a short story set in Piemonte, Italy, in the 1300s. My fascination with Italy is my parents' fault. They were Italian, and it seemed natural to write stories around my heritage and its fascinating culture. These certainly won't be the last stories I set in medieval Italy.

Can you tell us about the other books in the trilogy?

I'd love to. Book two, CHARLOTTE AND THE GYPSY, is set in Andalusia, Spain. While CARINA had visions, Char (as she is known to the gypsies) is clairaudient. She "hears" what people are thinking. I am having fun writing this story. Because Char is not a true gypsy, she can't do the things the other gypsy woman take for granted. Fortune-telling wasn't her thing. Neither were reading tea leaves or mixing potions. But she had the one thing the gypsies didn't--reading people's minds.

The third book is CALLIE AND THE KNIGHT. This story is set near London. I haven't started research for this book yet, so I can't say much about the story other than Callie is betrothed to a knight with a nasty reputation.

Connecting these stories was a bit tricky. The majority of CARINA is her story, her visions, her romance. Only in the last few chapters does she go in search of the sisters she only recently learned about. In CHARLOTTE, Char will go looking for CALLIE at the end of the book. Then at the end of book three, all the sisters unite and go in search of their beginnings. There's more than just the sisters' individual stories. Their destiny cannot be revealed until they go back to their past. It will all be wrapped up by the end of book three.

Is there anything you'd like to add?

Yes, definitely. My website is going to be revamped. When it's finished, it will be like walking through the history of my books. I can't reveal any more because my webmistress and I are still in the planning stages. Keep checking back!

***

Excerpt:

"Did you come here to ply your trade?"

"And what trade might that be, my lord?"

He forced himself to remain rooted to the floor else he'd throttle the outspoken wench. "Are you a strumpet?"

His directness caused her to blush. She wasn't unshakable after all.

"I fear you have misjudged me, Count Ruggero."

"Then from where did you come? And I'll have a straightforward answer."

She dropped her hands to the folds of the silk gown. To hide her nervousness over speaking of her past? Luciano wondered.

"I worked for the Baldovini," she replied.

His eyes bore into her. Carina read his suspicion.

"If you do not believe me, send someone to the Baldovini to inquire about me," she openly challenged. "I spent the whole of my life on their lands, working the fields these four years past."

He set his goblet down gently and moved closer. "You were a laborer?"

She nodded but couldn't speak with the count standing but a long stride away. His imposing presence commanded attention. Were she not a pauper and he a count, she'd assuredly lure him into a kiss, as improper as it might be. It wouldn't be an unpleasant experience, she'd wager. The only kiss she'd ever received from a man had been from the lecherous, slobbering Signor Baldovini. He had cornered her and tried to snatch more than just a kiss. Miseria! She still cringed from the horrible memory.

"The Baldovini employ only men and boys to work their fields," the count pointed out.

"Signora Baldovini did not allow me to work in her private residence."

He stepped closer. So close, Carina smelled the clean scent from his morning bath and the faint fragrance of wine on his breath. Her heart's pace quickened.

"Why would the signora forbid you from her home?"

"Truth be told, Signor Baldovini had an eye for me. The signora told my mother I tempted her husband. Mamma knew better, for Signor Baldovini has an eye for all women and has many bastard children."

The count's cheeks lined with shallow dimples when he suppressed a smile at her directness. Carmine Baldovini's illegitimate children were a well-known fact, one his wife continually denied.

"Did you tempt him?"

Carina cocked her head and tightened her mouth.

"I will take your silence as an affirmation."

***

Would you like to win a copy of CARINA AND THE NOBLEMAN? Just leave a comment or question for Jannine here, and I'll draw the winner in one week. Best of luck!

Weekly Announcements - 23 Jan 09

If you'd like to vote for Jacquie Rogers' DOWN HOME EVER LOVIN' MULE BLUES, it's up for Favorite 5-Star Sweetheart Award at The Romance Studio. Here's the link, and here's Jacquie's website where you can read a sample chapter and all her great reviews.

***

Join us Sunday when Jannine Corti Petska will be here to talk about CARINA AND THE NOBLEMAN, book one from the "Sisters of Destiny" trilogy, set in 15th century Italy.

***

We'll also draw the winner of Elaine Levine's RACHEL AND THE HIRED GUN. There's still time to leave a comment for your shot at winning!

***

Have a good weekend! If you have an announcement to make for next week, email Carrie. See you next week...

Excerpt Thursday: Jennifer Mueller

Thursdays on Unusual Historicals mean excerpts! Here's one from Jennifer Mueller, whose well-reviewed Kenyan-set novella SAMBURU HILLS has just been reissued by Red Rose Publishing. Here's the blurb:

***

When Celeste Reed steps off the boat in the fledgling colony of Kenya, East Africa she finds out the man that she was to marry doesn't even care to get to know her let alone listen to a word she says. Life is miserable and then he has the nerve to die leaving her to run an estate without any money. It seems he spent all he had to impress the colony and she was just part of the package. Africa is unforgiving to the weak, but it can be the people that you least expect that make it. And then there's Edward.

***

"What is this?" Celeste asked, pointing to a root-like thing at a seller's stand just outside the hotel as she waited for Nicholas.

"Muhogo," the man announced.

That wasn't working. Celeste only shook her head. She wanted to explore, but she knew she would get hopelessly lost in the maze of buildings.

"Una penda tui?" the man asked.

Celeste shook her head, not understanding a word he said.

"Ku nywa," he said and pulled out a wicked looking knife and lopped the top off a coconut to hand over.

Inside she could see liquid and he pantomimed drinking. It was the most exotic thing she had ever tasted. The man smiled back at her. "Una panda?"

Celeste nodded, guessing he asked if she liked it.

"Get your things." Nicholas called as he pulled up in a rickshaw. "The train leaves in an hour."

"What is this, Nicholas?"

He looked at the root faintly. "Hell if I know. You think I'd taste something like that?"

It was a thirty-six hour train ride to Nairobi over rough tracks filled with dust and ash. Leaving the coast, the palm trees quickly disappeared and she stared out the window at the landscape so different from the home she had left behind--huge expanses of grass as far as the eye could see, only a solitary flat-topped acacia tree breaking up the bareness. Once, she caught sight of a lone warrior painted red with ochre walking along the tracks, nothing in miles to show where he came from. The thoughts occupying her mind were why Nicholas was going to marry the gamekeepers' daughter from his family's estate instead of someone else. He was a lord by courtesy, after all. Then a herd of zebra, so large it made the ground shake, passed by and the thoughts of Nicholas's motives vanished.

***

Nairobi, three hundred-odd miles away, was a town filled with color and, more noticeably, people. After the train ride, seeing no one for hours was the most telling of all. Nairobi was a hodgepodge town filled with shanties, bazaars, and stinking swamps. A former camp for the railroad construction, proper English colonial buildings now poked out glaringly. English buildings, with women wearing large hoops all around their heads and no shirts, selling vegetables out front as Indian couples with turbans and saris walked stately by.

"It's race week," Nicholas informed her over the din. "Everyone who is anyone has come for the week. You can meet your future friends. With all of the ranches being so spread out, they fit a year's worth of socializing into one week. I hope you brought better clothes than those."

Celeste could only stare at him. He knew she had nothing; how could he ask such a thing?

"Nick!" The voice made her spin, a woman's voice. The way she hung on his neck was far more friendly a greeting than required. "And who is this?" the woman asked, finally noticing Celeste standing there.

"My fiancée." He made no motion even to introduce them. "Pretty, isn't she?" Nicholas waved to a well-dressed man down the street and left to greet him.

Celeste was left standing alone in the middle of the street. The tears threatened to fall down her cheeks, but Celeste fought them back. She didn't know this man. He wasn't in love with her. He didn't even seem to care to get to know her. She was an ornament, nothing more. One who had to fling herself out of the way to escape being run over by a donkey. She felt as much in common with him as she did with the exotic frangipani, bougainvillea, jacaranda, Nandi flame, and mimosa that grew around the houses and as out of place as the transplanted English varieties.

An hour later, she was married. No one she knew was there. Nicholas was clapped on the back numerous times but little was said to her.

"How did you meet Nicholas, dear?" a woman asked the first to speak to her since she arrived at the club. Well dressed in as fine a gown as she had seen Nicholas's mother wearing, the woman was obviously someone of importance.

"I . . ." Nicholas's hand closed around Celeste's elbow tightly. Too tightly for her comfort.

A smile as oily as he could produce filled his face. "Janet was looking for you but find me later. You will have to tell me of all that's happened since I left India."

The older woman smiled slyly. "Of course, Nicholas," she answered before walking off.

"No one needs to know you were a damned maid," he hissed in her ear.

"I wasn't the maid," Celeste snapped.

Nicholas leveled his gray eyes at her. "If you can't at least pretend you have anything to say then just keep your mouth shut. You were in service. I would imagine you know all the gossip to spread. They'll love that."

Celeste felt the tears forming again. "I was your gamekeeper's daughter. I didn't polish your father's boots." If only she wasn't halfway around the world without a penny to her name, she would walk out on him and his insults, as much as it would break her father's heart. What choice did she have now? She was married and poor.

Nicholas started shaking as someone pounded him on the back. "Nick, I can't believe you haven't taken this vision to your room for her wedding night. What a beautiful woman you've married. Good thing you got the vows out of the way before anyone could steal her away."

Nicholas held his arm out for her, but the look in his eyes showed not one twinkle that he even looked forward to the wedding night.

Professions: The Barber-Surgeon

By Lisa Yarde

For centuries, if a man wanted his hair trimmed or his beard shaved, he went to the barber, as we do today. But if he needed a minor operation performed, such as bloodletting or cupping, a boil lanced, leeches applied, or just to have a pesky tooth pulled, he went off to the barber too. In 1215 when Pope Innocent III declared that it was a mortal sin for monks to shed blood, in their traditional practice as healers, he paved the way for the development of barber-surgeons.

To enter the trade of a barber-surgeon, like most skilled labor, required an apprenticeship. The apprentice gained his training usually in seven years. Typically, a young man's parents paid his master to take him on and learn all the basics. Here's an example of a medieval contract between a barber and his apprentice:

April the thirteenth, in the year of the Lord 1248.

I, William, barber of Sestri, in good faith and without equivocation, place my self in your service and engage myself to work for you, Armand the barber, making my home with you, for learning the art or craft of barbering for a period of two years, at the salary or wage of forty solidi in the mixed money now current in Marseilles, promising to be faithful to you in all things, not to rob you, or take anything away from you, and not to leave you for a greater or less wage for any reason whatsoever, and to give you in good faith whatever money I am able to take, to tell you the truth, and to bear faith to you in all that I do.

I also promise to reimburse you for all expenses you incur on my behalf; and I promise to do all these things by agreement, and under pledge of one hundred solidi in royal crowns, the pledge being forfeited when the agreement is broken. For greater security I swear upon the Holy Gospels, touching them with my hand. And I pledge all my goods, etc., and renounce the benefit of all laws, etc.

And, I, the said Armand, admit all the foregoing, and promise by this agreement to give to you, the said William, forty solidi every year as your wage, and to provide for you, in sickness or in health, food and clothing for two complete years.

Pledging all my goods, etc., renouncing the benefit of all laws, etc.

The training of a would-be barber consisted of preparing unguents and salves. Knives and razors were important tools, but barbers also required lancets, bone saws, drills and bowls for bleeding. He learned some basic medical knowledge, in particular the location of major veins and arteries. He knew how to cut open a vein in the arm to release diseased blood or poor humors from the body, and more importantly, how to control and stop bleeding. In addition, his master trained him to extract loose, painful teeth, lance boils, draw diseases associated with excess blood to the surface through cupping, and apply leeches to suck blood from a patient.

The red and white pole seen outside modern barbershops is an emblem of the trade. It traditionally refers to the blood and bandages associated with a barber's work. The original pole had two brass basins, one at the top where leeches were kept, and the other where blood collected. The barber's patient gripped the blood-reddened staff wrapped in a white bandage which twisted around its length.

In many cities across medieval Europe, barbers formed professional guilds, regulating their wages. By 1462, the Worship Company of Barbers incorporated in London under the provisions of a royal charter. Located at Barber-Surgeons' Hall, Monkwell Square on Wood Street, it is one of the oldest surviving trade associations in the world, with records dating back to 1308. In time, the rivalries between barbers and surgeons who underwent formal training meant that by the 1800's, barbers concentrated on cutting hair while their counterparts provided wound care and healing.

Professions: School Days

Carol A. Spradling

Not so long ago, wealthy households hired private tutors to teach their sons a variety of disciplines. This luxury was intentionally not afforded to their daughters. After all, a highly educated woman was thought an oddity. As unfair as this may sound, girls were not completely overlooked. To help females establish marriage-material status, governesses tutored females in reading and writing as well as various household duties. These were the only skills deemed necessary to allow a woman to maintain her husband’s household. Anything past this basic education was considered of no use.

Business enterprises were an important means to advance a family's social standings in the community. This training began at an early age and in order to advance the family, a young man with means was expected to expand more than his mind and succeed beyond rudimentary occupations. To help in this endeavor, the names of private schoolmasters seeking employment could be found in local papers. Their services offered everything from math, to navigation, to foreign languages. In exchange for these services, parents would provide for the teacher’s material needs. A competent instructor could provide a nice living for his own family.

Middle class families could not afford to educate their daughters in even rudimentary knowledge, and lower classes gave no distinction between educating either sex. Instead of formal education, lessons began with their mother and ended with their father in the fields or barn. These methods were effective enough for what they offered, but generally meant the student had limited resource and little to no interaction with other children outside of siblings.

Socialized education, a predecessor to modern daycare, was dame schools. These schools offered basic education to both boys and girls. Numbers, writing, and basic reading skills were taught by a local woman while she went about her daily routine. Enough comprehension was offered to enable a boy to enter a town school with ease. Since girls were generally barred from town schools, they continued their education with needed skills such as social etiquette, music, needlework, cooking, and nursing.

Although lacking a family, orphans were not overlooked. Apprenticeships not only taught a trade but also included reading and writing as part of the training. Trade-skills in exchange for room and board were deemed a fair exchange.

Since dame schools, tutors, and apprenticeships were limited in the number of students who could benefit from instruction, public schools became a necessity. This usually occurred when a township reached a population of fifty families. Secondary schools were mandated when populations grew to one hundred or more. These community services were not to be provided by the educator for gratis. Funds for a school and teacher were to be guaranteed through private or public monies.

Providing for a teacher was not seen as burdensome since teachers held status among the community. Teachers and clergy were generally more educated than the rest of society and were expected to adhere to a high moral character. Local townsfolk kept careful watch that they did just that. The town got a bargain when hiring a teacher. In addition to scholarly duties, teachers cleaned the school and conducted church responsibilities, even substituting for the minister when necessary.

Whether knowledge was learned from a paid tutor, behind a plow, or in a one-room classroom, teachers provided needed tools to shape families and communities. In return, the next generation was able to continue traditions and change the future.

Professions: Egyptian Gardeners

By Jean Adams

The temples and the rich in ancient Egypt employed professional gardeners to look after their beautiful gardens, while many more enjoyed getting outside and digging their hands into the soil just for the enjoyment of it.

Gardens were much cherished in their day and were kept both for secular purposes and attached to temple compounds. Gardens at private houses and villas, before the New Kingdom, were mostly used for growing vegetables and located close to a canal or the river.

However, they were often surrounded by walls and their purpose incorporated pleasure and beauty besides utility.

Garden produce made out an important part of foodstuff but flowers were also cultivated for use in garlands to wear at festive occasions and for medicinal purposes.

While the poor kept a patch for growing vegetables, the rich people could afford gardens lined with sheltering trees and decorative pools with fish and waterfowl. There could be wooden structures forming pergolas to support vines of grapes from which raisins and wine were produced. There could even be elaborate stone kiosks for ornamental reasons, with decorative statues.

Temple gardens had plots for cultivating special vegetables, plants or herbs considered sacred to a certain deity and which were required in rituals and offerings, such as lettuce to Min, the god of fertility. Sacred groves and ornamental trees were planted in front of or near both cult temples and mortuary temples.

As temples were representations of heaven and built as the actual home of the god, gardens were laid out according to the same principle. Avenues leading up to the entrance could be lined with trees, courtyards could hold small gardens and between temple buildings gardens with trees, vineyards, flowers and ponds were maintained. Plenty to keep gardeners and priest alike, busy.

The ancient Egyptian garden would have looked different to a modern viewer than a garden in our day. It would have seemed more like a collection of herbs or a patch of wild flowers, lacking the specially bred flowers of today. Flowers like the iris, chrysanthemum, lily and delphinium (blue), were certainly known to the ancients but do not feature much in garden scenes. Formal bouquets seem to have been composed of mandrake, poppy, cornflower and or lotus and papyrus.

Due to the arid climate of Egypt, tending gardens meant constant attention and depended on irrigation. Skilled gardeners were much sought-after by temples and households of the wealthy. Duties included planting, weeding, watering by means of a shaduf, pruning of fruit trees, digging the ground, harvesting the fruit, etc.

Flowers and trees known to have grown in ancient days:

Flowers:

The already mentioned iris, chrysanthemum, lily and delphinium. Blue lotus (the blue water lily Nymphaea caerula), white lotus, safflor (Cartamus Tinctorius), calanchoe, poppy (Papaver Rhoeas), hollyhock (Alcea ficifolia), mandrake (Mandragora officinarum), pomegranate and wild ones like buttercup, clover, daisy, cornflower. The water lily and the papyrus, were considered life-giving and had further great symbolical value as the emblem of Upper and Lower Egypt.

Trees and shrubs:

Tamarisk, olive, acacia, willow, date palm sacred to Re and Min, doum palm sacred to Djehuty (Thoth), sycamore, persea, christ thorn, carob, myrtle and other unidentified ones.

An ancient Egyptian garden home:

MURDER & MAGICK Winner!

Sorry about the delay. Technical difficulties!

We have a winner for Isabel Roman's MURDER & MAGICK giveaway:

Teresa!

Contact Isabel to give her your address. The book must be claimed by next Sunday or another winner will be drawn. Please stop back later to let us know what you thought of her book! Congratulations!

Guest Blogger: Elaine Levine

This week we welcome Kensington author Elaine Levine as she celebrates the release of her debut release, RACHEL AND THE HIRED GUN. Here's the blurb:

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Running from a brutal past to the father she's never met, Rachel Douglas must rely on the survival skills of the hard-edged gunman her father sends to guide her across the rugged terrain of the Dakota Territory. But Sager's got another plan...and a blood debt to settle.

Time doesn't always heal all wounds. Sometimes it takes a little vengeance.

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Hi, Elaine! Tell us why you choose to write historical westerns.

Hi Carrie! Thanks for having me here today! As for westerns, they're a fun sub-genre. I'm very pleased to see their reemerging popularity. They are archetypal stories of good versus evil, a battle I like to see waged within my character's own souls as they become aware of themselves and what they want in life.

I especially like the contrasts that are built into the fabric of a western story. Towns can be new and dying. Men can be rough and sweet. Women can be tough and feminine. There's so much emotion available to an author in a western that it's a limitless canvas.

How would you describe your heroine, Rachel?

There's a lot of discussion in the industry about power heroines--women who are warriors or leaders in their fields of expertise. The sky's the limit as far as the roles they can play in the world of romance fiction. I'm proud of that--it shows how far the genre has grown and mirrors the lives women lead in the world today. But sometimes women have a quieter role in life--that of just surviving it, with honor and dignity. In RACHEL AND THE HIRED GUN, Rachel is afraid of almost everything. Yet, with Sager's help, she learns not only how to survive, but how to thrive. It's a very personal journey for her.

Some authors' style their lead characters after celebrities. Is that something you do? And if so, who were your fantasy leads?

I love doing that! It truly helps me envision my characters. So here are my inspirational pics. The first is my model for Sager, singer Jake Owen, and the second is my model for Rachel, actress Sophia Myles.


When did you first become interested in being a writer? Do you write fulltime?

When my middle sister and I were in grade school, we used to write stories at night by flashlight as we made up fantasies about Bobby Sherman or David Cassidy. What heartthrobs! But I didn't seriously think about writing until I was in college. I hit a stretch of time when my school funding had dried up. I was looking at an extended absence and was worried I'd forget how to put a sentence together. I considered keeping a journal to maintain my writing skills, but that was too boring. So I started a historical romance--a long, torturous, awful story that took seven years to write and a minute to trash a decade later.

To pay for my writing addiction, I've built a career developing custom business software in the Lotus Notes platform. I've been fortunate to have some challenging projects and wonderful customers. My current client is so excited about my novels that he's asked have a bit part in my current work-in-progress as the Deputy U.S. Marshal in Cheyenne. Doesn't get better than that!

What are you reading right now, and who are your favorite authors?

I have books open all over the house. What I'm reading depends largely on which room I'm in. Currently, I'm devouring a stack of Louis L'Amour's westerns (nightstand). I have Angela Knight's Master of Swords on my elliptical (she's a great author to read while exercising). The Kiss by Sophia Nash is waiting for me in my living room. I have too many other favorite authors to name them all, but a few of them are Anna Campbell, Joan Johnston, Kristen Hannah, Catherine Anderson, Edgar Allen Poe, Richard Bach, Kenneth Roberts...so many others!

What other books are you working on?

I've just turned in the second book in my "Men of Defiance" series, tentatively titled AUDREY AND THE VIRGINIAN. I'm hard at work on the third...LEAH AND THE AVENGER. I love the characters in these stories. They are fierce and protective, vulnerable and brave. Their unique personalities and quirks always surprise me. They seem so real that it's almost as if they dictate their stories to me--I'm just the fingers on the keyboard.

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Quotes & Reviews

"Elaine Levine is a wonderfully fresh and original voice in western romance. RACHEL AND THE HIRED GUN is full of fast-paced action and powerful emotions. I loved it!" -- Joan Johnston, New York Times bestselling author of A STRANGER'S GAME

"First-time author Levine draws on classic western themes and a rugged backdrop like a veteran of the genre. Her realistic characters leap from the pages yet never supersede the emotionally charged romance. The western is alive and well with authors like Levine." --Kathe Robin, Four Stars from Romantic Times

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Thanks for stopping by today, Elaine!

To celebrate her new book, Elaine is giving away a t-shirt with her book cover on it to one lucky reader who leaves a comment. If the drawing winner sends Elaine a digital picture of herself wearing the tee that Elaine can post on her MySpace, she'll receive an autographed copy of RACHEL AND THE HIRED GUN!

And if you haven't yet, subscribe to the Colorado Romance Writers' free newsletter for news of Elaine's activities and those of all the published authors at Colorado Romance Writers!

Weekly Announcements - 16 Jan 09

The Romance Reader Connection awarded Michelle Styles' VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE 4 1/2 stars and had the following to say:

The depth of characterization combine with the scope of the story and provide the reader with a profoundly rich historical romance experience not always found in the Harlequin Historical line. The author has quite a flair for strong females as well as noble and compelling heroes, each character right for their time and space.

In addition, SOLD AND SEDUCED was released in Greece in November as O EMPHOPOS THS POMHS .

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Elizabeth Lane received the cover for her April Harlequin Historical release, SUBSTITUTE BRIDE, which is set against the backdrop of the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake.

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For her novel STRANGELY WONDERFUL, Karen Mercury received 4-stars from the Historical Romance Club in this review.

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Join us tomorrow when Elaine Levine will be here to talk about RACHEL AND THE HIRED GUN, set in 1867 Dakota Territory.

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We'll also draw the winner of Isabel Roman's MURDER & MAGICK. There's still time to leave a comment for your shot at winning!

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Have a good weekend! If you have an announcement to make for next week, email Carrie. See you next week...

Excerpt Thursday: Amanda McCabe

Thursdays on Unusual Historicals mean excerpts! Here's one from Amanda McCabe, who writes historicals set in a wide variety of time periods from the Venetian Republic to the Regency period. Her recent Harlequin Historical Undone, "Shipwrecked and Seduced," is linked to her January Harlequin Historical release, HIGH SEAS STOWAWAY, which is set along the Spanish Main in 1530.

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Bianca's bedchamber was small, a whitewashed chamber tucked beneath the eaves with room only for a bed, a small table and chair, and her late husband's old sea chest. Balthazar Grattiano, despite the fact that he lay flat on his back, injured, seemed to fill the whole space with his overwhelmingly masculine presence.

Bianca felt more tense, more frightened, than she had even in the midst of a threatened tavern riot.

She drew in a deep breath, and was surrounded by the smell of the tropical night wind from the open window, the wax of candles--and of Balthazar. He smelled of clean linen, leather, salt air, sweat, blood, and that dark, mysterious scent that was his alone. She remembered that scent all too well from years ago.

But she was not that infatuated girl, hanging about hoping for one glimpse of him as he passed by, for one whiff of his cologne. And he was obviously not that young man, either. So beautiful. So angry.

She carefully removed his boots and his leather jerkin and cut away his torn shirt, conscious at every moment of his steady gaze leveled on her. Oh, the beauty was still there, undeniably. As she smoothed the damp cloth over his wound, she couldn't help but notice the lean, sculpted muscles of his torso, the smooth, gleaming skin a light golden color, as if he often worked on deck without his shirt. There were scars, too, pale, thin old ones, and one jagged pink cut along his ribs.

So, presumably the anger was still there, too. That darkness that gave an edge to his angelic beauty, and once made her flee in fear.

But he was in her home now, in her very bed. At her mercy.

She traced the cloth from the wound on his shoulder along his collarbone, lightly over one brown, flat nipple, and down his chest over the light sprinkling of pale brown hair. He drew in a sharp breath, his rippled stomach muscles tightening, but he did not pull away. Did not even say anything. His skin seemed gilded in the candlelight, a taut line arcing down to the band of his hose.

Yes, he was still handsome, the most handsome man she had ever seen. Even after all her travels, she had never found a man to compare. But there was a hard edge to his beauty, a barely leashed violence. She would be a fool to give in again to his fatal allure.

Her gaze trailed the length of his black-clad legs, sprawled across her white sheets, the bulge of his codpiece, his lean hips. Yes, he was handsome, and she knew he was good in bed. All the whores in Venice had sung his praises, and that was long ago. He had now had years to hone his carnal skills to absolute perfection. And she was a widow, who had gone many months without a man in her bed. It was only natural she would be drawn to him now.

But only a fool would give in to lust for a villain. And she hoped she was no longer a fool.

Professions: Old West Gamblers

By Jacquie Rogers

Westerners bet on anything that moved--how fast it could go and how high it could jump. They had foot races, boxing matches, flea-jumping contests, frog-jumping contests, bear and bull matches, dog fights, cock fights, as well as cow-boy tournament events such as saddle bronc riding.

But most of all, westerners like to play the ponies:

Gradually, as wealthy men made a hobby or a sideline of breeding horses, Western races became more carefully orchestrated, the crowds grew and betting flourished. Indeed, gambling and a day at the races became a virtually synonymous. And when Westerners got around to staging formal stakes races the prizes were sometimes much richer than those back East. In 1873 what was billed as "The Richest Race in the World" was run at Ocean View Park in San Francisco. The winner's purse was $20,000 paid in gold. In the same year New York's famous Belmont was worth only $5,200 and Maryland's Preakness a mere $1,800. [GAMBLERS OF THE OLD WEST, p.200]

While horse racing was wildly popular, a close second was boxing. This sport wasn't exactly the refined version we have today. Boxers wore no gloves and round lasted until one of them was knocked down--and no limit to the number or rounds. As long as both fighters could throw a punch, the match was active. The winner took the purse which could be as much as $10,000.

And of course there were the card and dice games. Professional gamblers in the Old West, the really good ones, were called "thoroughbred gamblers." I'm listing several thoroughbreds and sources where you can get more information, as well as a few famous gamblers, not necessarily thoroughbreds, but definitely well-known.

George Devol: Mississippi riverboat gambler, born in 1829, who worked the river for 40+ years and made a fortune on three-card monte, poker, and keno. He wrote a fabulous book, Forty Years a Gambler on the Mississippi, that I used when I researched a story I wrote a few years back. I've never found anything even close to this book as far as explaining how gambling and conning works. Mr. Devol was probably a charming, rough genius from a good family who had no idea what to do with such a rambunctious boy. He won and lost many fortunes over the years.

Elanora Dumont (Madam Mustache): Quoted from American Gambler Online:

In the 1850's Elanora Dumont was a sexy young dealer who attracted love-starved players that gladly lost their gold to this expert player. As she grew in popularity so did her earning. Eventually she owned her own casino, "Dumont Palace," which also prospered, because she enjoyed a reputation for fairness and free food. The mustache appeared suddenly well after she'd made her money. Following a busted romance and a worse marriage which left her broke and alone, she poisoned herself 1879.

Jefferson Randolf "Soapy" Smith: A very colorful character, indeed! Soapy is more in the spirit of con men than traditional gamblers, but his talents certainly can't be overlooked. He was from Southern gentility and was very bright with a keen knack for organization.

Originally running a shell game, he graduated to the soap scheme where he wrapped 5-cent bars of soap with either plain paper, or $20, or $100-dollar bills and sold the bars for $5 a piece. Of course, the only people who actually "won" were on Soapy's payroll.

Always ready to make a buck, Soapy did everything from fixing elections to the more standard job running a poker hall.

While I never did find a biography (book form) of him, you can read more here or here,
and a little about his Scagway adventures here. And here is his death photograph.

NOTE: If you read the comments, you'll see where Jeff Smith, Soapy's grandson, set me straight on a few things. I noticed Jeff has a book coming out this year, so we finally will have access to a biography--great news! To learn more about the real Soapy Smith, information compiled from his how letters and records by his family, go to the Soapy Smith website. There's also a wealth of information about other Old West gamblers at Old West Rogues.

Wyatt Earp: Everything has been written about him, but I'm including him because he was a renowned gambler who owned games/saloons throughout the West. Here's an interesting site about Earp's life after Tombstone, and here's a more complete biography.

Poker Alice (Ivers): Poker Alice was an amazing woman. Outstanding mathematical ability stood her well throughout the years while she made her way quite nicely through a man's world. Here's a really good article about her, and another (although the year of her birth is different).

Martha "Calamity Jane" Canary: Her autobiography is available online, and here's an article that carefully skirts the gambling issue. About the notorious Calamity, I love this quote:

It takes disaster to bring the woman out in a female, even Calamity, who went around like a saint when the smallpox plague struck Deadwood. She nursed back people close to the door of death and didn't ask for so much as a thank you. Even old Doc Babcock had to admit there was a little angel of some sort in this hardboiled woman, yes, even a little bit of heaven itself when she tended children. "oh, she'd swear to beat hell at them," said the Doc, "but it was a tender kind of cussin'."

James Butler "Wild Bill" Hickok (1837-1876): Family History has stats and a brief bio, and here's an article on his life

William Barclay "Bat" Masterson (1856-1921): This is a good article on his life, although his gambling is not mentioned much, as is the case with this one. Here's an article that actually has his gambling mentioned!

And there you have a handful of gamblers--not all of them the thoroughbred variety, but well known, nevertheless. The following is a list of interesting books and sites on the subject.

Forty Years a Gambler on the Mississippi by George H. Devol, originally published in 1887 by Devol & Haines, Cincinnati. Republished by Applewood Books. ISBN 1-55709-110-2. This book is a series of vignettes by Mr. Devol recounting various adventures he had as a Mississippi riverboat gambler.

Gamblers of the Old West, from the Editors of Time-Life Books. ISBN 0-7835-4903-2. This is a terrific book with many fine illustrations the aid in the understanding of gambling in the 19th century. Please bear in mind that the terminology is often modern.

Games You Can't Lose: A Guide for Sucker$ by Harry Anderson and Turk Pipkin, Burford Books, 1989, 2001. ISBN 1-58080-086-6. While not a historical reference, it certainly is an interesting read for anyone who's writing a con artist character.

Card Control: Practical Methods and Forty Original Card Experiments by Arthur H. Buckley, Dover Publications, Inc., 1993 (first published in 1946). ISBN 0-486-27757-7. Need to deal from the bottom or stack the deck? This book shows you how. Not that I got anything but gales of laughter from my husband and friends when I tried cheating . . . (Remember the manual dexterity requirement?)

Gambling in the United States
Famous Gamblers
Western slang and phrases

Enjoy the ride!



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Professions: Wandering Showmen

By Karen Mercury

Circuses and road shows once were the main entertainment in America in the 1800s. Family members traveling about in mule-drawn vans doubled as acrobats ("long-distance double somersault leapers"), jugglers, tightrope walkers ("rope dancers"), or musicians. Marionettists and puppeteers were skilled woodcarvers and costumers making their own "little people" dolls, sometimes figures enacting the story of Orlando Furioso, the travails of Dr. Faustus selling his soul to the devil, or the battles of David and Goliath, the most clever puppets being "figures that fell apart and reassembled themselves."

Sideshow acts were fire-eaters spinning plates, "punch men" who depicted the antics of Punch and Judy with metal diaphragm "swazzles" inserted into their mouths to change their voices, and experts at the "London Ghost Show," an illusion with mirrors. There were rope dancers, trained muzzled bears, human skeletons, roughnecks and razorbacks, and tattooed performers.

Showmen had to build their own sets with hand-stitched curtains of velvet, sequins and spangles of beaten gold. Three-inch curtain fringes were even hand-wrought from gold bouillon, apparently a cheap commodity back then. Entering a town, they would first go to the keeper of the main tavern and arrange for the show, making a deal with the town crier. They would parade up the main street in motley clown outfits, the one-man band loaded down with musical instruments, bells on his ankles, elbows, and head, followed by apprentices with banners that assured townspeople that the shows were "refined in nature" and "on a high moral plane." Food or furs were often accepted as admission on the frontiers of Minnesota, and showmen often hoarded the turkeys and passenger pigeons.

Showmen rarely did matinees, since the filtered sunlight spoiled the effects of the stage. Inside the tent the stage was lit by "lighters," iron baskets filled with pitch pine that burned with a yellow glow and helped hide the marionette strings to prevent the audience from figuring out how they worked--men jealously guarded the backstage area. Audiences weren't too picky about lighting, but sometimes they became irate about other items.

"One Saturday, for example," wrote David Lano, "we were performing Doctor Faustus in Berryville, Virginia. I spotted a big mountaineer who followed the rope-dancing with attention so rapt that I was sure he had never seen a show. With mounting excitement visible on his rough features, he next watched the puppet show. He was mesmerized. In a sense he began living out the play, as part of it. I began to feel uneasy, and sure enough, when Mephistopheles came in at the end to carry Faustus away to Hell, the big mountaineer leaped to his feet, yelled 'Git back, you devil!' whipped out a pistol and whang, sent a bullet at the innocent puppet.

"The audience went straight into a panic, scrambling for the exit. The bullet passed through the backdrop, missed the puppet, but lodged in the shoulder of one of our Negroes helping to hang up the puppets as they came off the stage. The town marshal appeared and took off after the mountaineer, but he galloped away on his long shanks and disappeared before the Law could touch him."

The doctors wouldn't treat a black man, and the marshal, "outwitted by the gun-toting hillbilly, came back, resolved to put on his own show of maintaining law and order, arrested Grandfather on a charge of inciting to riot and made him pay a fine!"

In larger cities, museums often imitated Barnum's famous American Museum in New York, and exhibited permanent collections of "curiosities" such as stuffed mermaids, sea serpents, fetuses in alcohol bottles, and firearms of "The War Between the States." The second floor held living attractions like giants, dwarfs, and fat ladies. The third floor was where the vaudeville theaters would set up.

The advent of the automobile freed people from their farms, and soon even the smallest rural towns had a movie house. The circuses of the gypsy trail were soon gone, and the mechanized semi-trailers of Barnum and Bailey didn't do justice to the wandering showmen of the Far West.