history, Patience had read hundreds of articles about these pioneer women and studied dozens of photos. Like the barrel racers of today, they were flashy dressers, their bright satin embroidered shirts and split leather riding skirts outrageous by early nineteenth century standards. They wore bloomers, colored boots, big-roweled silver spurs, and extravagant, wide-brimmed, high-crowned hats that made the Stetsons of today look bland in comparison.
Often competing in the same events as men—riding broncs and bulls, calf roping, and running relay races, they were the feminists of their day, women like Kitty Canutt, Prairie Rose Henderson, Tillie Baldwin, and dozens of others.
Annie Oakley was one of the first, back in the Wild West Show days. Scores of women followed over the years. It was exciting to know that Patience’s great grandmother had actually been one of them.
Patience sat down and opened the faded tapestry cover of the journal. The pages were tattered and frayed and a number of them were missing. Though her cousin had never finished reading it, Betty believed there might be at least one more book, since this one seemed the continuation of a story already started.
Patience looked down at the faded blue writing. The first yellowed page was dated June 18, 1912. From Charity’s genealogical work, Patience knew Adelaide Holmes, at that time unmarried and using her maiden name, would have been eighteen.
What a day we had. Kitty scored high in the saddle broncs and my team won the relay races, which made the colonel happy he had picked us. After the show, I met a cowboy named Sam Starling. He asked me out to supper but I said no. Kitty warned me he was a terrible skirt chaser and she ought to know. But he surely was good-looking.
Patience laughed. Maybe times hadn’t changed as much as she thought since 1912. For the next half hour, she continued reading the journal. Though the pages were loose, missing, and often not in order, the information was incredibly valuable to her work.
One of the girls on the relay team quit today. Said she was sick of traveling. Said she wanted to go back home. The colonel’s gotta find a replacement. Since we all need to make some money, I surely do hope she can ride.
The colonel was Thaddeus Howard, producer of Colonel Howard’s Wild West Show. Patience read on, beginning to feel as if she were getting to know Addie Holmes. She took some notes and read some more. As she set the pen back down on the Formica-topped table, a page fluttered out from farther back in the book.
Patience’s eye caught on the writing as she bent to pick it up.
He was out there again today. I saw him when I got ready to race. I don’t like the way he watches me. Sometimes when I go into town with some of the gals, I feel like he’s there behind us. I keep telling myself I’m bein’ a fool. Surely I am. I guess it doesn’t matter. It won’t do a lick of good to worry about it.
Patience’s skin crawled as images of Tyler Stanfield crept into her head. It was silly. The writing was nearly a hundred years old. The entries didn’t have the least similarity to what had happened to her. Still, she searched through the journal, trying to find the spot where the page had come loose, but none of them were numbered. She couldn’t help wondering who the man was and what had happened, and started reading madly again.
She read for another half hour, but couldn’t figure out where the page fit in the journal and she refused to spoil the fun of getting to know her grandmother by leaping way ahead. Then Shari showed up and it was time to get over to the rodeo grounds. Reluctantly, Patience set the journal and her glasses aside and went to put in her contact lenses.
She wondered if Sam Starling would reappear in the pages, or if perhaps he was the man Adelaide Holmes had begun to fear.
A hot Texas sun beat down, the temperature lessened only by a few clouds drifting overhead. In the distance, ripples of
Often competing in the same events as men—riding broncs and bulls, calf roping, and running relay races, they were the feminists of their day, women like Kitty Canutt, Prairie Rose Henderson, Tillie Baldwin, and dozens of others.
Annie Oakley was one of the first, back in the Wild West Show days. Scores of women followed over the years. It was exciting to know that Patience’s great grandmother had actually been one of them.
Patience sat down and opened the faded tapestry cover of the journal. The pages were tattered and frayed and a number of them were missing. Though her cousin had never finished reading it, Betty believed there might be at least one more book, since this one seemed the continuation of a story already started.
Patience looked down at the faded blue writing. The first yellowed page was dated June 18, 1912. From Charity’s genealogical work, Patience knew Adelaide Holmes, at that time unmarried and using her maiden name, would have been eighteen.
What a day we had. Kitty scored high in the saddle broncs and my team won the relay races, which made the colonel happy he had picked us. After the show, I met a cowboy named Sam Starling. He asked me out to supper but I said no. Kitty warned me he was a terrible skirt chaser and she ought to know. But he surely was good-looking.
Patience laughed. Maybe times hadn’t changed as much as she thought since 1912. For the next half hour, she continued reading the journal. Though the pages were loose, missing, and often not in order, the information was incredibly valuable to her work.
One of the girls on the relay team quit today. Said she was sick of traveling. Said she wanted to go back home. The colonel’s gotta find a replacement. Since we all need to make some money, I surely do hope she can ride.
The colonel was Thaddeus Howard, producer of Colonel Howard’s Wild West Show. Patience read on, beginning to feel as if she were getting to know Addie Holmes. She took some notes and read some more. As she set the pen back down on the Formica-topped table, a page fluttered out from farther back in the book.
Patience’s eye caught on the writing as she bent to pick it up.
He was out there again today. I saw him when I got ready to race. I don’t like the way he watches me. Sometimes when I go into town with some of the gals, I feel like he’s there behind us. I keep telling myself I’m bein’ a fool. Surely I am. I guess it doesn’t matter. It won’t do a lick of good to worry about it.
Patience’s skin crawled as images of Tyler Stanfield crept into her head. It was silly. The writing was nearly a hundred years old. The entries didn’t have the least similarity to what had happened to her. Still, she searched through the journal, trying to find the spot where the page had come loose, but none of them were numbered. She couldn’t help wondering who the man was and what had happened, and started reading madly again.
She read for another half hour, but couldn’t figure out where the page fit in the journal and she refused to spoil the fun of getting to know her grandmother by leaping way ahead. Then Shari showed up and it was time to get over to the rodeo grounds. Reluctantly, Patience set the journal and her glasses aside and went to put in her contact lenses.
She wondered if Sam Starling would reappear in the pages, or if perhaps he was the man Adelaide Holmes had begun to fear.
A hot Texas sun beat down, the temperature lessened only by a few clouds drifting overhead. In the distance, ripples of
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