835 replies to this topic

[TheKingInTheNorth]

Lol, yeah, I remember those two! I love how you're fitting even the minor characters into this!

[Thore]

Happy birthday to me...and happy birthday to you, because you get another chapter.

Happy Birthday to Thee

Please have some more tea

You write lots of fiction

And Thore sucks at rhymes

[Mara=^.^=]

Lolololol

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[J/C AVA]

Happy Birthday to Thee
Please have some more tea
You write lots of fiction
And Thore sucks at rhymes

Still, you wrote a cool poem.

[underwater]

Eddie wore a self-satisfied expression. “Tex stole that revolver. Once upon a time it belonged to Seamus O’Healy, leader of the O’Healy gang. He and his brothers robbed a string of banks awhile back and popped off a few lawmen. Someone got a picture of him with his gun, and it was all over the papers – “the deadliest six shooter in all Texas”, or some such nonsense. That’s why you’ve heard of it. It was Seamus who gave that green-handled revolver its iconic reputation, not Tex. She took it from him after she murdered him in his sleep. She killed all seven of his brothers too, or so the story goes. You really think a teenaged girl could’ve eliminated a band of eight outlaws without playin’ a little hanky-panky game to get them off their guard? Don’t be a fool. Both you and I know women are only good for one thing, and it sure as hell ain't winnin' gunfights.”

 

Oooh, interesting backstory info on Tex! Assuming Eddie isn't mistaken, of course....

 

 

Corinne

[JimmyxxCindy4EVER]

Exactly what I was thinking... He isn't exactly honest at times, or is that Eustace??

[Mara=^.^=]

You guys will just have to wait a chapter or two to find out if Eddie was mistaken or not

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

... that is just evil, Mara. WHY.

[Mara=^.^=]

Is like...20 pages too long for a standard chapter in this story? If I split it in half, I can post the first half now...or should I finish the entire, giant scene and post it as one installment? I'm worried the amount of information in it might be overwhelming. Decisions, decisions...

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[underwater]

Post it now! Post it now!

 

 

 

 

Corinne

[SweeneyxxTodd]

Whatever you think is best for the story. I'd love to read whatever's finished now, but I also wouldn't mind waiting.

[Katia11]

Is like...20 pages too long for a standard chapter in this story? If I split it in half, I can post the first half now...or should I finish the entire, giant scene and post it as one installment? I'm worried the amount of information in it might be overwhelming. Decisions, decisions...

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

 

GIVE IT TO ME NOW. (just kidding dear- you gotta do what you gotta do) 

[Mara=^.^=]

Whatever you think is best for the story. I'd love to read whatever's finished now, but I also wouldn't mind waiting.

 

As much as I'd like to put out one tidy, neatly-wrapped bundle, I think I'm going to post the first half now. It'll leave you guys with a bit of a cliffhanger, but honestly at this point I think it's more important to keep generating new content, especially on fanfiction.net, where my biggest problem is losing readers due to long breaks between updates. At least this way my audience will have SOMETHING to read while I try to hammer out the last few pages of the second half ('cause with my terrible health, who KNOWS how long that'll take)

 

Anyway, expect the new chapter later today! It hasn't been beta read, so I apologize for any typos and/or formatting errors in advance.

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

 

[Mara=^.^=]

It's finally heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere! I've had the "party chapter" neatly planned since I started this damn fic. And I finally, FINALLY got to start it Enjoy...and comment. Your honeyed words sustain me~

 

************************************************************************************************

 

The town square echoed with the sound of church bells: eight o'clock, and Libby's soir�e was in full swing. Tex and the Sheriff rode up to the Juke Joint, fashionably late. For Tex, this tardiness was by design. She'd been out of sorts all afternoon, and she'd stalled for over an hour when the Sheriff had come to fetch her for the party. She made no attempt to hide her melancholy during the ride. The sky was dark with clouds, and when Tex looked up at them, her imagination conjured a pair of vast, predatory wings. For now, they were content to wait, but Tex could feel their hunger. They were a funeral shroud for the wicked and the wayward, and someday they would descend upon her.

 

"Buck up, Vortex," said the Sheriff, reading her mood. "It's just a party. Try to have a good time � you may find that it suits you." He was wearing a white shirt and a whiter smile, and his words did nothing to lift her spirits.

 

Tex tied Humphrey to the hitching post and headed for the entrance, leaving Mr. Neutron and Goddard behind. The windows blazed gold, and the entryway was a beacon, bright enough to blind. The siding glowed like a tin can lantern; pinpricks of light and laughter spilled from every gap in the clapboards. She pushed through the washboard doors, and radiance engulfed her.

 

Inside, the place was a riot of activity. Britney darted from table to table, refilling drinks and exchanging pleasantries, presumably at Libby's behest. The barkeep, meanwhile, was at the piano, playing a jaunty little tune while Se�or Estevez bounced up and down beside her. Butch was passed out underneath the Wheezers' table, and Bolbi and Ignishka were doing some kind of strange slapping dance in time with the music. Further afield was Injun Nick, whose lounging presence had attracted a crowd of skirt-swishers. One of the bolder ones pitched forward in a giggle fit, and he snaked an arm around her waist to steady her. Tex found herself smirking. Ladykiller indeed, she thought.

 

A rush of air hit the back of her neck as the Sheriff entered the premises. A moment later she felt his hand close over her forearm, and the unexpected touch sent a jolt through her. "This way," he said, leading her through the crowd of revelers.

 

Libby was just finishing up her song when they arrived at the piano. She was all gussied up � cheeks rouged, dressed in a gown of turquoise, with her hair newly styled. She wore it in dozens of thick pleated braids, and they swung and bobbed as she played. To Tex, Libby looked like a princess, a royal from some foreign land where gold and water and prosperity abounded.

 

"Apologies for being late," intoned the Sheriff, dropping Tex's wrist. "I hope we haven't caused any offense."

 

Miss Folfax sprang up from the bench. "Nonsense!" she cried, and threw her arms around them both. Tex stiffened involuntarily. The embrace was warm, solid, rose-scented. The silky fabric of Libby's dress was a far cry from Tex's threadbare coat, and the outlaw felt a pang of embarrassment over her appearance. How long had it been since she'd owned something worth wearing?

 

"I got your usual table ready, Sheriff," said Libby, pulling away. "Go on and get settled, and I'll be over in a minute."

 

Mr. Neutron headed toward a private booth in the corner, a little ways away from the hustle and bustle of the party. Tex followed, inundated on all sides by raucous laughter and clinking glasses. Everywhere people hooted and joked and patted each other on the back; there wasn't a clenched fist or raised gun in sight.

 

"Sit here," instructed the Sheriff, motioning toward the closest seat.

 

Tex ignored him and chose the one on the other side of the table. She wasn't trying to be contrary � it was just the superior vantage point. That was the shape of her world: higher and lower ground, advantage and disadvantage, criminal and victim. It was second nature.

 

"It's better to face the room," she explained without thinking. "No one can sneak up on you that way."

 

To her surprise, his expression saddened. The reason dawned on her quickly. That's pity, she thought. He feels sorry for me.

 

As Goddard curled up under her chair, a couple of townsfolk mobbed the Sheriff, hollering praises and beseeching him to join them at the bar. After a half-hearted protest, he relented. "You'll have to excuse me, Vortex," he sighed. "I'll be back after I make the rounds. Do as you will in the meantime, but try not to make trouble." He turned to leave, then paused. His voice was gentler now. "You're not in danger here�I promise. Try to relax."

 

He gave her arm a quick pat, then vanished into the crowd. It was a kind gesture, but she didn't want his pity or his reassurance, so she pushed it from her mind. Crossing her arms, she settled back against the booth. She propped her feet up against the adjacent seat and tilted her hat forward so that the brim hid her eyes. Now Tex was in her element; she was the watcher, the observer, seeing without being seen. She steered her gaze around the room, taking it all in. She recognized plenty of familiar faces: Wendell the banker, Ike the blacksmith, Nissa the shopkeeper's wife, a couple of farmhands. Only one person seemed to be missing.

 

Looks like the preacher woman had better things to do with her time, Tex smirked to herself. What a shame. I think I might shed a tear.

 

The outlaw rested her hand on her gun, as she often did when surveilling. She traced her finger along the handle, then absent-mindedly popped open the holster and gave the chamber a spin. Whirrrrr click-click-clack. Again. Whirrrrr click-click-clack. It was a soothing, familiar sound, like rain on a canvas tent. For some reason, it reminded her of Mr. Neutron. He was�mechanical somehow. Under her skin, Tex was a witch's doll, made from thistle and dust and tangled briars. But if you cut the Sheriff open, you'd see gears turning at his core.

 

A shadow fell over the table, putting an end to her reverie. Tex knew who it was without looking up; the rose perfume gave it away.

 

"You're a woman of mystery, Miss Deputy," came Libby's voice. "Sittin' here by yourself, click-clickin' away on your gun."

 

Tex lifted the brim of her hat with one finger. "One of my many peculiarities," she winked, moving her legs off the chair. "I like to keep people guessing." Miss Folfax giggled as she sat, and Tex favored her with a genuine smile. "You must be pleased, Libs. Only a year in business, and you've got the whole town eating out of the palm of your hand. Or rather, drinking out of it. Now that's real power."

 

"You bet your ass it is," snorted Libby, with the signature titter of one slightly inebriated. "An' while we're on the subject, can I offer you some refreshment? I'd be a rotten host if I didn't. How about another round of that Mule Skinner you ordered the first time you came in here?"

 

Tex winced. "I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, Libs: I only ordered that gutrot 'cause I was trying to show off. In my line of work, it pays to let the world know how tough you are."

 

"Well. In that case, you can save your bravado for the boys, because there's no need for it around me. Have a fruit tonic for all I care."

 

Tex mimed a toast. "Verily, in a world of beverage-bigots, you are a true progressive."

 

There was a lull in the conversation, and the outlaw pretended to scan the room. "I notice the church mouse isn't here tonight," she ventured.

 

"Church mouse? Oh � you mean Betty. She left at seven. She never stays long at these sorts of things. Says a woman of God ought to abstain from alcohol, set an example for the congregation�why the sudden interest in her whereabouts?"

 

"No interest. Just making conversation."

 

"Mm-hmm." Libby rested her cheek in her hand. "I would think you'd be more interested in the whereabouts of a certain lawman, little Miss Deputy."

 

Tex's sharp eyes flicked in her direction. "And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?"

 

"I've seen you. You watch him like a hawk watches a rabbit. Or maybe he's the hawk, and you're the rabbit. I don't quite have it figured yet."

 

"I do no such thing," denied Tex, sticking her nose in the air. "And I resent the implication."

 

"Resent away. You rode into town on Friday actin' like you'd never met the man, and now you go everywhere together, givin' each other the hairy eyeball the entire time. The two of you know somethin' the rest of us don't, and I want in."

 

This woman is too perceptive for her own good, thought Tex.

 

"If you're a deputy-in-training from Red River County, you must have a reason for coming to Retro Valley. Why seek out our Sheriff in particular? There's more to the story. I'm sure of it."

 

"Are you always this nosy?"

 

"�Yes?" Libby's shoulders sagged. "Look. Here's my situation: I may have sort of�made a wager with Se�or Estevez. We're both dyin' to know what you two have up your sleeves, and whichever one of us figures it out first gets three dollars and a half pound of taffy. Plus eternal braggin' rights, naturally."

 

"I beg your pardon?"

 

"You heard me. I'm a businesswoman, and more importantly, I need to one-up that crazy Mexican, which is why I'm goin' directly to the source. So whaddya say�help a girl out? Give me some insider information, and I'll split the winnings with you 50-50. Assumin' you like taffy, of course."

 

In any other situation, Tex would've admired Libby's considerable pluck. There was so much to like about the barkeep. She had panache, and she had it in spades, but her temperament made her a nuisance. To Miss Folfax, gossip was entertainment. She trotted it out like a fine silk scarf, to be pawed at and admired by those she deemed worthy. The outlaw didn't have that luxury. Tex's secrets weren't breezy accessories; they were weighted chains strapped to her back, ugly and heavy and hidden away.

 

"I'm afraid there's nothing to tell, barkeep," said Tex, re-crossing her arms. "And besides � I despise taffy."

 

Seconds later, there was an enormous crashing sound, and both women whirled toward it. Britney had tripped over Butch's sprawled legs and dropped her entire tray of drinks. Shards of glass littered the expanding purple pool, and the hapless waitress rushed to contain the spill.

 

"Lord's mercy," said Miss Folfax, jumping up. "I need to see to this."

 

Libby hurried away, and the interrogation ended. Tex wondered how Miss Folfax would react if she told her the truth. 'You're right, Libby. I am hiding something. Turns out I'm not a deputy at all; I'm a gun-for-hire. No, no, not a bounty hunter � at least, not anymore. I shoot people. For money. Still want to be my friend?'

 

Tex sighed, and her gaze wandered to the spilled drinks. The liquid had splashed onto Elke's dress, and Mr. Wheezer was down on one knee, dutifully wiping the stains from his wife's hem. When he was done, she pulled him into an embrace so forceful that he almost fell into her lap. He smoothed back her hair, and she planted a kiss on his forehead. Tex looked away, ashamed that she'd spied on their private moment.

 

I was wrong about them, she realized. Elke didn't marry him for his money or for his fancy farm. They actually love each other. Genuinely.

 

The revelation shook her in a way she wasn't expecting. It came on like a sudden headache � a sense of panic, a distress that buzzed in her ears like cicadas in the summer heat. Wrong, they hummed, getting louder by the second. You've been wrong this whole time. You're wrong about everything.

 

Tex pushed away from the table. She needed air. The back door, she remembered. She wanted to run, but she forced herself to walk. Her pulse quickened with each step.

 

The back room was nothing like the bar area; it was roughhewn and cramped, with crates of booze stacked under the staircase. She cracked the door open, and a gust of wind threw back her hair. She took a deep breath. The temperature had dropped, and the cool evening air felt marvelous against her skin. The panic was gone.

Tex stood there a long while, gazing at the evening sky. The clouds were even darker now, and she heard thunder rumbling in the distance.

 

I'll be damned, she thought. It is going to rain. All that hogwash about cirrus clouds�the Sheriff was right.

 

Tex felt a presence behind her. She assumed it was Mr. Neutron, so she jumped when she saw Nick Dean standing there instead.

 

"Didn't mean to startle you," he smiled, running a hand through his jet black hair. "May I join you?"

 

She shrugged, and he swaggered over to the doorframe and leaned against it. He angled himself within her line of sight, so she couldn't look outside without seeing him.

 

"What brings you here, trapper?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

 

"Same thing as you, I imagine," he replied, looking her up and down. "I'm here to admire the scenery."

 

He was so attractive, she was willing to forgive a line like that.

 

"You're not from around here, are you?" he went on. "I wouldn't forget a woman who looks like you. I saw you the other day with the Sheriff, and you've been on my mind ever since."

 

"My manner of dress does set me apart, I'll grant you that."

 

"No, not your clothes. Your eyes. I've never seen that shade of green before. Those eyes are like something out of the fireside tales our elders used to tell � tales about magic spirits who prey on men."

 

"Perhaps that's what I am. A being who preys on men."

 

"Well then," he grinned. "What would you say to a willing victim?"

 

He reached out to touch her cheek, and she let him. Over the years, plenty of men had propositioned Tex. Usually, she responded by pointing a gun at their heads. But she was safe here, in this saloon, and she knew it. There was no harm in letting a handsome man fawn over her.

 

"You seem like the kind of woman who doesn't let tradition tie her down. A free spirit. I suspect that you and I have a lot in common."

 

Tex wasn't sure what kind of woman she was, but it didn't matter. Nick wasn't really trying to get to know her, and that was fine.

 

He leaned closer. "Let's you and me get out of here, what do you say? Go somewhere a bit more private." He glanced at the staircase. "Or, if you'd prefer, there's a guest room upstairs. You decide."

 

It was a straightforward offer: no mind games or hidden agendas. Tex mulled it over. It would be easy to sneak away from the party. The Sheriff would notice her absence, but he had no right to tell her what company she was allowed to keep. Nick was a womanizer, but he wouldn't harm her, and he wouldn't ask questions. Is that what she wanted? A man who wouldn't ask questions? To forget who and what she was, if only for a night?

 

"Ahem," came the Sheriff's voice from behind her. "Am I interrupting something?"

 

Mr. Neutron stood in the entryway, backlit by the glow of the saloon. He had his hat in his hand, like a man come to call, or a penitent about to receive a blessing.

 

"That depends," returned Injun Nick. "The lady here hasn't given me her answer."

 

Tex looked back and forth between them. Nick was all smiles and easy charm; the Sheriff was expressionless. Tex bit her lip. She could say yes to Injun Nick. She could run from herself, the way she always did. There was nothing stopping her.

 

"I�can't," she said at last, shoulders slumping. "I thank you for the compliment, Nick, but I need to get back to the party."

 

"If that's what you want. You know where to find me if you change your mind."

 

Injun Nick limped back toward the bar. He had to squeeze past the Sheriff, who didn't bother moving to accommodate his passage. Tex kept her gaze on the floorboards.

 

Once Nick was out of earshot, she spoke up. "If I had said yes�would you have tried to stop me?"

 

"�No. It's your life. All the same, I'm glad you turned him down. I told you before, and I meant it: he's no good."

 

"I'm no good either, Neutron," she said softly.

 

He didn't reply. He just stared, frowning slightly, scrutinizing her. Finally, he redonned his hat and headed back toward their booth. Tex followed mutely. Shame burned her cheeks as they walked, though she couldn't say why.

 

She was so caught up in her private turmoil that it took her a full thirty seconds to register the sound of Libby's voice coming from the stage. The barkeep was up there, fiddle in hand, belting out a spirited rendition of The Yellow Rose of Texas. A few of the rowdier patrons were singing along. Sheen's delivery in particular sounded like someone forgot to grease the wagon.

 

There's a Yellow Rose in Texas
That I am goin' to see,
No other soldier knows her,
Nobody, only me.

 

Tex smiled faintly as the lyrics sailed through the air. It was a song she remembered from childhood; most Texans did. The war had been a great evil, but nobody could deny the beauty of its music.

 

Mr. Neutron was watching politely from his seat, and Tex took the opportunity to study his profile. His cheeks were still sunburnt; his white shirt drew attention to the splotches. I prefer him in blue, she mused absently, then frowned at herself. Why should she care what color he wore? And yet, once she'd tread upon that road, she couldn't keep her mind from wandering down it. Another question rose, unbidden: if the Sheriff had been the one to ask for a dalliance, would she have said yes? Tex guillotined the thought.

 

You may talk about your dearest May
and sing of Rosa Lee,
But the Yellow Rose of Texas
Beats the belles of Tennessee!

 

Libby leapt down from the stage, performance finished. She held her fiddle aloft as the crowd cheered, then disappeared into the bar area with a toss of her hair. What a waste, thought Tex. Such talent, and the only audience she'll ever get is a bunch of yokels. The world was filled with uncountable cruelties: some outrageous, some subtle. One could experience a lifetime of blessings, or ceaseless hardship, all because of an accident of birth.

 

Obviously, Miss Folfax didn't share Tex's cynicism. She reappeared, grinning from ear to ear, carrying a silver plate in one hand. To the outlaw's surprise, she made a beeline for their table.

 

"This is for you," winked the barkeep, setting the plate in front of her, "seein' as you and taffy ain't on friendly terms."

 

Tex looked down to see a slice of pie. Pecan pie, to be exact.

 

"House specialty," said Libby. "Pecan ripple. And you just got yourself the very last piece."

 

Tex blinked. "That's my favorite flavor."

 

"Excellent. I strive to keep my bribes custom-tailored."

 

The word 'bribe' caught Mr. Neutron's attention; he gave Miss Folfax a funny look, and she mistook it for vexation.

 

"My apologies, Sheriff. I would've offered you half, but I thought you hated pie."

 

"I do," he grumbled. "Reminds me of my father."

 

Tex ventured a taste; it was buttery, dense, and sweet. It may be a bribe, but it was a delicious bribe. She dug in with gusto.

 

"Pace yourself," grinned Libby. "We wouldn't want you to choke."

 

"I'll take my chances. Death by pie wouldn't be such a bad way to go."

 

Miss Folfax laughed and turned to leave, but Mr. Neutron caught her by the arm. He motioned her closer, and she leaned over so that he could whisper into her ear. Hushed words passed between them, and Tex watched on with interest, fork raised halfway to her mouth. Libby nodded once, then again. Straightening, she headed off toward the bar on whatever errand the Sheriff had sent her on.

 

"What was that about?" asked Tex, in between mouthfuls of pecans.

 

"Just wait. You'll see."

 

When Miss Folfax returned, she was carrying a pitcher of alcohol and a pair of shot glasses. She set them on the table one by one; the liquid sloshed and the glasses clinked as they made contact with the wood. Finally, she produced a deck of cards from the crook of her arm and handed it to Mr. Neutron.

 

"Will that be all?"

 

"Yes. Thank you, Miss Folfax."

 

The barkeep gathered up the empty pie plate, waggled her fingers at Tex, and went off on her merry way. Tex threw Mr. Neutron a puzzled look.

 

"I assume you have an explanation for this."

 

"I do. I think it's high time you and I got to know each other better, Vortex. To that end, we're going to play a little game."

 

He was staring at her very intently, and the effect was unsettling. Why was he so damned hard to read? "Go on," she hazarded.

 

"A drinking game."

 

She flopped back into the curve of the booth. "I thought I told you, dunderhead. I don't get drunk with people I don't trust. Buzz off."

 

"I remember." He turned the deck over in his hand. "But I think you may find this particular game to your liking."

 

Tex couldn't help it; her curiosity was piqued. She allowed her eyes to swivel back toward him. He removed the cards from their pack and began to shuffle them. He moved with precision and ease � the mark of a practiced dealer. Tex wasn't intimidated. She was an accomplished cheater.

 

He spread the cards into the shape of a fan. "Poker," he said. "5-Card Draw. Each hand, the winner gets to ask the loser a question�any question. The loser can either answer, or take a drink. It's as simple as that."

 

She raised an eyebrow. "In other words, spill your guts, and you're fine. Keep your secrets, and end up getting plastered. That puts me at the disadvantage. You have nothing to hide."

 

"�Haven't I?" The words came out low and enticing. Her heart skipped a beat.

 

"Forget it," she said.

 

"There's no risk to you, provided you win," he pressed. "I assume you're a skilled player. And even if you're not � even if you lose every round � you still needn't drink a single drop. All you have to do is answer my questions, and you're off the hook."

 

"What incentivizes me to tell the truth? I could lie. We could both lie. There's no guarantee that we won't just fabricate everything."

 

He continued on as if he hadn't heard. "If for some reason you do get drunk, you can stay the night with Libby. I won't try anything. I won't attempt to disarm you. I give you my word."

 

"I don't trust you."

 

"You don't have to."

 

"What's the point of this?" she snapped. He was being terribly persuasive, and it angered her.

 

"The point, my dear, is twofold. First, to learn. Second, and more importantly, to win."

 

A delicious chill stole over her. There it was again: her old, unquenchable vice. Competition. She struggled to maintain her resolve.

 

"You see," he said, "I've explained the rules, but I haven't told you the best part � the part that makes the whole exercise worthwhile. The game within the game, if you will."

 

He pulled a card from the stack and placed it in the center of the table.

 

"Ace of Spades. The death card. Right here, in full view � ours for the taking. Either one of us can try to snatch it away during play, but if we're caught, we have to put it back. Whoever has it in their possession tomorrow morning wins. If I win, you have to count it toward my 'impress the assassin' tally. If you win, I'll show you what I keep in the room under my house. How does that deal strike you?"

 

Tex felt as though she were being tempted by the devil himself. He leaned in closer, and she found herself mirroring his action. They huddled together over the pitcher, faces nearly touching.

 

"Come on, Vortex," he whispered. "Drink with me."

 

There was something profoundly seductive in those words. It made her dizzy. This man, this town, this contract - the strands of her life were unraveling.

He's dangerous, she reminded herself.

 

Yes, agreed the little voice in her head. But you can beat him.

 

"All right," she said. "I'll play."

 

 

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I figured that, since Cindy's favorite flavor of ice cream is "pecan ripple", Tex's favorite flavor of pie is probably the same. Also I must have been hungry and thirsty when I wrote this chapter, because by GOD I talk about food and drink a lot

 

HISTORICAL SHIT AND BULLSHIT SHIT

- The song Libby performs, The Yellow Rose of Texas, is a famous American oldie with unfortunate roots. There are like, 4567875 different versions of the lyrics, but the earliest known rendition was published in Christy's Plantation Melodies No. 2 in 1853. The song was popularized (and re-worded) during the Civil War, when it became a favorite among Confederate soldiers, especially those serving in the Texas Brigade. It's difficult to tell from the sparse bits I included, but the song is actually about a black man's love for a biracial Texan girl ("yellow" rose, referring to the color of her skin). In the 1850s, it was performed in minstrel shows by white actors in blackface (big yikes); it was later adopted by white troops, whose enthusiasm for the material is just beyond ironic. I mean, here you have these super racist Confederate soldiers (soldiers on the side of slavery!) singing the praises of a mixed race woman and declaring her to be superior to the society dames of Tennessee. People certainly are something. Anyway, you can listen to the song on youtube if you like. I like the Roy Rogers version, which swaps "cowboy" and "fellow" for soldier There's even a cover by Elvis...except his version is about a blond-haired, blue-eyed woman
- On the subject of taffy, here's a weird tidbit: from the 1840s through till at least the 1870s, people would throw "Taffy Pulls", a type of social event centered around the pulling of taffy. The host would prepare the taffy recipe by melting molasses and sorghum or sugar with a mixture of water; participants would then coat their hands with butter and, with the aid of a partner, pull the hot mixture apart, fold it back together again, and repeat. This process would add air to the candy, resulting in a soft, chewy texture. Yeah. People really did get up to all sorts of hijinks in the era before television...

 

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

 

 

NEXT PART -> First Manassas

[Katia11]

OH, I am just in heaven right now. 

 

I just can not tell you how much I adore this story and how much I adore you for writing it. It's like I'm really there with them and it's just so atmospheric that it almost hurts.

 

And the romance gets me swoonin'

 

You are one master storyteller, Miss Mara. I hope you know that. 

[Mara=^.^=]

I just can not tell you how much I adore this story and how much I adore you for writing it. It's like I'm really there with them and it's just so atmospheric that it almost hurts.

 

Creating the atmosphere is my favorite part of writing this story. Trying to conjure up that old west vibe REALLY pushes me to consider my word choice carefully. It's good practice.

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

Well, you have much to be proud of my dear.

 

Because every word is perfection. 

[Mara=^.^=]

I also enjoy trying to create sexual tension that isn't...I dunno, the typical sort found in romance novels? It's fun when characters notice or are attracted to stuff beyond "chiseled jaws" and "gentle curves" or whatever.

 

Tex is so smitten. She just doesn't know it yet

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

Oh, don't even get me going on the sexual tension. I love the way it's just sort of little things. The way she notes that she likes him in blue, or the way she notices how the sunburn looks on his cheeks. I just squealed internally for about three minutes after reading that little snippet. 

 

Yeah, she's totally smitten. And I am too.