Excerpt

“Damn bloody heathens,” Molly Andrews, the widow of a well-respected lawyer and the co-owner of the Black Hills Pioneer newspaper, said with a hand over her heart. Still startled by the ruckus, Emily placed the biscuits and butter Molly had purchased into a burlap sack, her hands still trembling. “If that Sheriff of yours would clean up this town as promised, we wouldn’t have to deal with these sidewinders in our town. Maybe then you’d get more business and would not be in such dire circumstance your husband had left you in. It’s not right for a woman to be working two jobs. Why, I’ve never heard such a thing,” Molly rudely expressed as she snatched the bag from Emily’s hands.

“I do what I can,” Emily assured her.

Had it not been for the meager income Molly paid her to tailor her dresses, she’d…spit on her.

She would have argued against the old, chauvinistic crone, but despite Emily’s opinion of the woman, Molly was not wrong on either count. When the new sheriff came into town, he had promised a lot of things and not one of them had he fulfilled.

Deadwood had been a lawless town for so long, folks around here kept hard to old traditions. Following the law wasn’t one of them.

As reluctant as she was stubborn, Emily knew she needed the help. With her husband dead, she was left alone to tend the farm. It angered and pained her, but life was not kind to unmarried women.

In the beginning months, she thought her motivation would carry her through the summer, but with each passing day her faith dwindled. She hated the thought of moving or selling her home, but if things did not turn around, she may have little choice in the matter. Her work as a seamstress was not bringing in much for income and Mr. Smith could only afford to pay her in textiles and goods, though she was grateful. At least she wouldn’t starve. She had to believe the Lord would provide and would not give her more than she could handle.

Emily walked inside the Black Hills Pioneer office. The press operator George, an elderly man with thinning black hair, greeted her as she walked in.

“I would like to place an ad please,” she informed him.

“Fill this out and I will make sure it is published in tomorrow’s paper. You do know how to read and write, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

The man handed her a piece of paper and a writing utensil. He waited quite impatiently, tapping his fingers on the counter as she hurried to finish writing the ad. Never submitting an ad before, she fumbled on her words, uncertain what to write. She wanted it to be brief and straight to the point.

WANTED – A sober, dependable farmhand to tend the stable and care for the horses. Other duties may include repairs and winter preparation. Food and board provided. Apply to Ms. Taylor at Smith’s Mercantile.

A sober man was important. She did not want some unreliable drunk unsupervised on her land caring for her horses and plowing the fields. It was bad enough she was there alone. She did not like the idea of hiring a stranger. She warred with indecision, but winter was only around the corner, and it would be foolish of her to think she could do all the repairs herself. There was simply too much that had to be done. She may have been stubborn, but she was not naïve.

About Author A.K. Holthaus…