LouIsa: Iron Dove of the Frontier
by Will Edwinson
Genre: Western Historical Fiction
THE IRON DOVE OF THE FRONTIER...
At twenty-one, LouIsa was already a sagacious woman. She had been privileged to attend finishing schools in the East where she learned the ways of "Ladyship" and studied piano under the tutorship of masters, becoming proficient with the classical works of Mozart, Bach, Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt, and many others.
LouIsa: Iron Dove of the Frontier is a story about a tough, but well-educated genteel woman of quiet strength who, when it became necessary, could get down and dirty and fight as adeptly as the best gutter rats. But also, when necessary, she could don a party dress and be perfectly comfortable with Vassar graduates.
Chapter Two
Dodge City, Kansas
LouIsa sat facing the saloon owner across his desk. She was
pitching him for a job playing piano in his saloon.
“You can’t be serious, Miss Houston. Classical music in a
frontier saloon? I don’t think so. This is Dodge City, Kansas, ma’am. The men
who frequent my place are a bunch of hell raisers. Why. . .they’d shoot you in
the first ten minutes, then proceed to shoot hell out of my saloon. I’m sorry,
Miss Houston, but I don’t think a classical person is what I need. Now if you
can sing and play honky tonk pi ana, maybe we can do some business.”
LouIsa smiled inwardly. I can do that, she thought. Once the
boys get to know me and get comfortable with me, that will be the time to
introduce them to the classics. She stretched her hand out across the desk.
“You’ve got a deal, Mr. Lewis. When do I start?”
“How about tonight?” he asked.
LouIsa shook her head no. “I need a couple of days to get
settled in,” she said. “Today is Thursday. How about my starting on Saturday?”
“Saturday’s a pretty rough crowd, Miss Houston. Wouldn’t you
rather ease into this a bit
more gradual?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Mr. Lewis. I can handle
them.” Her thoughts drifted back to Wichita. She remembered her altercation
with Bart Ricklin, She hoped she wouldn’t have to resort to that sort of thing
again.
*****
Three months had passed since LouIsa had started playing at the
Trail’s End Saloon. Those three months fostered both ups and downs for the
fancy shootin’, rough ridin’, high brow Minnesota born, Montana raised maiden.
She started off playing honky tonk pi-ana for the cowboys, but after a while,
eased them into the classics. They balked at first, but after listening to her
spell- binding spiritual artistry at the piano, they were soon hooked on her
music.
Word spread all up and down the cattle trail about the high
class lady that played high brow music in what had always been known as the
roughest saloon in Dodge City, and cowpunchers were actually enjoying it.
In contrast to this adoration by the cowboys, LouIsa had her
detractors. The Women’s Christian Temperance League was livid that this “cheap
saloon girl” attracted so many men to her lair. Not only were the so called
rough cowboys frequenting the Trail’s End, but so were the local farmers,
ranchers, and merchants.
*****
Buddy... His Trials and Treasures
by Will Edwinson
Genre: Contemporary Historical Fiction
Do you need a little stress relief in your life?
Travel back to the world of Buddy Crawford, a simpler, slower- paced world where Cokes were a nickel, movie tickets were a dime, and ten cents bought you a double dip ice cream cone. These engaging, award-winning stories about a young boy growing up in rural America during the 1940s provide a relaxing respite from today's fast-paced world. They may even revive old memories of your own childhood.
Follow Buddy and Cousin Mont as they gather beer and pop bottles from the roadway barrowpits. Join him and his friends at the river swimming hole for a swim, or go fishing for carp in the irrigation canal. Experience the fun as he tours the countryside in an old Model T Ford with his friends. What better way to spend a relaxing two hours than immersing yourself in these stories.
Buddy is somewhat reminiscent of Tom Sawyer in that he quite often finds himself in hot water. Unlike Tom, Buddy's misdeeds are without forethought. They happen because Buddy is...well...he's just Buddy.
Fishin’
The year was 1944; it was Buddy’s ninth
summer, and today was the first day of summer vacation. Buddy lay in bed
listening to the sunrise symphony of the birds. He had been awakened earlier by
the ringing notes of their singing, chirping, and chortling as the harmonious
tones drifted in through his open window.
He looked forward to lazy days of fishing
and swimming in both the canal and his favorite river swimming hole the
“23.” No one really knew why it was
called the 23, except that someone years ago was supposed to have dropped a
rope down into the pool with a weight tied to the end. When it reached the bottom it was marked, and
it allegedly measured twenty-three feet to the bottom. Buddy still enjoyed going to the fields with
his father, but he also enjoyed these times of just being a boy.
He continued listening under the comfort
of the warm covers. As he did so, he
thought to himself, I wonder if Mont or
Lionel can go fishing with me today, I’d sure like to see if we can catch old
Big Tom.
When he entered the kitchen for breakfast
that morning, his father had already left for the farm. His mother told him, “Daddy decided to let
you sleep in this morning. He thought
you might like to play with your friends. Have you made any plans for today?”
“Well, how about if I go fishing?”
“With whom?”
“I thought I’d go see if Mont or Lionel
could go with me.”
“Okay, but you promise to be careful, and
don’t fool around too much.” Mrs.
Crawfrod knew that the boys would not confine the activities to just fishing,
but would have to get in a little swimming as well. Buddy was a pretty good swimmer by now, but
even so, his mother was still apprehensive of him going swimming with a bunch
of boys, most of whom were older than he.
Buddy finished his breakfast, grabbed the
gourmet lunch consisting of tuna fish sandwiches, bottled peaches, potato
chips, a thermos of milk, and the chocolate cupcakes his mother usually baked
for these occasions; picked up the willow fishing pole his dad had fixed up for
him; and ran out the door yelling, “Ill see you later, Mamma.”
With the bill of his baseball cap tilted
on the top of forehead, exposing a lock of his natural platinum blond hair, he
hurried on over to his cousin Lionel’s house to see if he and his older brother
Monty could go fishing with him. Buddy
really liked Monty. He was a gentle,
kind soul, and though he was several years older than Buddy, he always treated
Buddy with respect, just as if they were both the same age. Some people thought Monty was mentally
retarded; actually, he just hadn’t quite caught up with his peers. He and Buddy got along fabulously, because
Buddy never really paid attention to the fact that Monty was not quite as swift
as the other kids his age. He accepted
him as he was, and there was nothing Monty would not do for Buddy.
Buddy
tore into the room just off the kitchen that was used as Monty’s bedroom. Lionel had left, and Monty was still in bed.
“Good morning, Mont,” Buddy greeted. That’s what everybody called Monty, because
another member of their group was also named Monte, only he spelled his name
with an “e” on the end, instead of a “y”
“How’s about you and me goin’ fishin’ in
the canal today?”
Mont rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Sure, he said. “You bring any worms with you? We’ll need some worms.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I plum forgot about bait.”
Mont threw back the covers. “That’s okay, we can dig some here. My dad watered the garden last night, so
there should be some good worms fairly close to the top.”
“Terrific!” Buddy exclaimed. “You got a
shovel?”
“Yeah, but I gotta get dressed and eat
something first.”
After Mont and dressed and eaten his
breakfast snack of cold cereal and toast, he walked out to the garage and came
back with a spade and a can.
“Good show, Mont. Let’s get to it. You dig and I’ll pick the
worms out of the dirt,” Buddy said.
It was easy digging, so it wasn’t long
before they had harvested a big can full of nice, fat juicy worms. “Boy, these oughta make the fish smack their
lips,” exclaimed and excited Buddy.
“Come on Mont, let’s get goin. I woneer if we’ll be lucky enough to snag
old Big Tom, today.” Big Tom was the
name they had given to an old carp that resided in the canal. They had been trying to catch him for two
summers. They figured he must be at least four feet long and weigh fifteen
pounds or more.
It was a warm lazy day on the canal
bank. Buddy was studying the fishing
pole Mont had brought. “Isn’t that one
of you Dad’s good poles? Did you ask him
if it was okay to use it today?”
“Yes, ii is, Buddy. And no, I didn’t ask him, because I didn’t
know we would be going fishing until you came over to my house this morning and
asked me to go with you. So I didn’t have a chance to ask him.”
“Boy, I hope nothin’ happens to it,
Mont. I wouldn’t dare use one of my
dad’s good poles without asking him.”
“Nothin’s going to happen, Buddy. And besides, we’ll be home before Dad gets’
home, and he’ll never know I borrowed it.”
“Well, okay. It’s your neck, but I’d sure
hate to lose a fishin’ partner because you get grounded for not asking to use
that pole.”
“Will you relax, Buddy? Nothin’s gonna happen. I’ll be real careful.”
***
They had their poles anchored, and Buddy
and Mont were lying on the bank chatting about this and that, not paying much attention
to anything, when Buddy cried out, “Holy smokes, Mont! There goes your fishing pole tearing
lickety-split down the canal. Quick,
grab it. Grab it!”….
Will Edwinson is an award-winning story teller for his fiction, and an award winning columnist. His second book, Buddy ... His Trials and Treasures, won a first place in state competition, and a second place at national. His "A Bit Of Nostalgia" column that he wrote under another name, won second and first place, awards in two separate competitions from the Utah-Idaho-Spokane Associated Press Association.
Edwinson grew up in rural Southeast Idaho during the 1940s. After his college stint, he made his living on the family farm in Southeast Idaho as a dry land farmer raising barley and wheat, always holding onto the dream he had harbored for most of his life-that of being a writer-but still not confident that he had the necessary abilities and skills for such a career. After reaching mid-life, he determined that if he were ever going to be a writer, it was time to begin. His first book was launched when he was in his mid-fifties.
Edwinson is basically a self-taught author. His passion lay toward storytelling, so he began reading fiction of every genre to get a grasp of different writing styles and writing techniques. He also took advantage of the many books and manuals on writing that were available. These are mentioned on his Links & Lists page at his website, www.willedwinson.com. He is also a graduate of Writer's Digest Short Story Writing course.
In his younger years, Edwinson was also a semi-professional singer, performing on stages from Sun Valley, Idaho, to Lake Havasu City, Arizona. He also demonstrates a flair as an inventor. Out of necessity,to teach his two youngest daughters some rudimentary money management skills, he invented and Trademarked a children's allowance management system, "The Child's Checkmaster." which enabled parents and children to keep better track of the children's allowance draws and which also taught the children some rudimentary money management skills.
Will Edwinson currently lives in Tucson, Arizona.
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