Well, I said, did you all ever catch up to those fellows you were after?
He shook his head. Never even got a trail, he said.
I went back to drying dishes while he made some coffee. I’d never say it to him, but it seems to me soldiers can sometimes act like a pack of coyotes, and just go out in a bunch and howl up a storm and traipse around making a lot of noise, getting nothing at all accomplished. Well, at least he is home again. Handsome and ornery.
January 30, 1892
We attended church Sunday as a family, and it was an even balance as to who was harder to keep still, the four Elliot children or Captain Elliot himself. Jack kept up a stream of secretive winks at me in a most suggestive fashion, which made me blush despite the fact that I desperately tried to maintain my composure. Two year old Suzanne squirmed in my lap but was still for him, so he bounced her quietly on his knee. The boys, true to their deeply spiritual natures, snored softly through the entire sermon, and April sat still but looked out the windows, bored and restlessly shifting in her seat.
Jack waited until the preacher came to a particularly poignant story of death and despair, and he poked me in the ribs. It was terribly embarrassing to have to pretend to be moved by the preaching and cover my eyes with my hanky. Jack just sat back and grinned his secret smile, prouder than ever of himself to have yet again taken away my serenity.
I do not know why I love that man so. He tries me to the last, and torments me mercilessly sometimes. He conspires with the children and tells them to mind the General, meaning me, and the five of them all salute in a mocking way when I scold them about washing their hands and such. Thank goodness for his steady head and nurturing way with the children or ours would be a truly low and sordid life.
February 22, 1892
My life is so full of wonderful things right now. My children are happy and healthy, my husband loves us truly, and we are about to build a wondrous new house for them to grow up in. Almost every heifer on the ranch is carrying a calf, and birthing season starts next month and will get into full swing during the two months after that. I expect the herd will increase by a third to half again at least, if all of them come to term. I’m sure we’ll lose a few to coyotes. I asked Mason to be especially on the watch. Savannah lost another baby but she is expecting again. Albert is losing some hair in the front of his head like Papa did. Their farm is all in blossom and heavenly.
Mama told me to make a special point to remember the best times of my life. There are so many hard things to live through, and latching on to the good things will give you strength to endure, she says. So I must remember this day. It is beautiful and this seems like the best time to live and the best place. The sky is clear but cold, here in the fort. The dust is settled, though. All seems peaceful and well inside my home, and I am anxious to move into the new one.
Jack is home for a while. He has been gone on Army business a couple of weeks. We are a noisy and blessed little family. I have made him a gift, for no real reason at all. It is a fine new cambric shirt and vest for when he is not on duty. He is real proud of them, too.
March 1, 1892
Today we went to Sergeant Lockwood’s wedding to a lady named Adelita Muñoz Obregon. I don’t know her at all, and when Sergeant Lockwood brought her by to introduce her yesterday, she seemed mighty stiff and unfriendly to me, although it wasn’t anything I could put a name to. I hope he will be happy. He deserves some happiness.
March 22, 1892
Mrs. Sergeant George Lockwood seems to be a fitting addition to life here in this raggedy adobe fort. She fits right in with the scorpions and centipedes and poison spiders and all. Their arguments began within a week after their marriage. Poor Sergeant Lockwood looks so pained all the time now, and I am sure it will be just a few more weeks and he will be begging the General to please send him to be tortured by Apaches.
April 7, 1892
I have gotten a letter from a place called The Royal Office of Emigration and Classification all the way from Norway. It is not good news for Melissa, because it seems that Raalle is not a common name and the Minister of Emigration suggests that Mr. Raalle changed or shortened it when they came to the States. This is a fine looking letter, though, with a grand stamp and a gold seal all official looking. I will save it in my things until I can hand it to Melissa personally.
April 8, 1892
I went to Adelita Lockwood’s house today. Even though she puts people off right away, and I know she torments poor George, I feel like I owe him still, so I thought if I could just break through to her maybe she would soften up towards him a little. She didn’t really want me to visit I could tell, but I just sort of made myself at home, and talked a blue streak until she finally gentled a bit.
Later that night, I told Jack and he laughed a little, kind of pitying Sergeant Lockwood. He wanted a strong woman like you, he told me.
I said, Well, I hope I am not that cantankerous.
No. There is a difference in strong coffee and bitter medicine. Poor George!
April 12, 1892
What a surprise. Adelita Lockwood knocked on my door this morning. I made some coffee for us and in the middle of getting Suzanne’s hair braided, we had a little talk. She told me she has been terribly unhappy here, and I said I thought as much. No one is friendly to her at all, she said, even though several people had told her they thought highly of her husband. Then she said it was all George’s fault she is so unhappy.
I asked her, Why? Didn’t you know he was a soldier when you married him?
She said it wasn’t that, but that he didn’t love her and he was a spineless coward.
Well, I stood right out of my chair. One thing I know for certain, I said, is that George Lockwood is not a coward. He is a brave and loyal man, and he saved Jack’s life heroically.
But, she said, it is true he doesn’t love her.
That, I said, is not something I have any knowledge about. I felt myself blushing, and went to get some more coffee. What is it that makes you say he doesn’t love you? I asked her.
Well, she began to tell me, and it turns out her mother had told her any man who really loves her will not let her do foolish or bad things, and will teach her not to be foolish. I asked her what did she mean by that, and she says, He has not once so much as raised his hand toward me, even though I call him a coward right to his face. If he was a real man, and if he loved me, he would not let a wife say those things. Adelita was wringing her hanky in her hands, saying those things.
I told her if George Lockwood was found out to be beating his wife, he would likely hear from my husband for it. She should be thankful he will take all her worst insults and not raise his hand to her. Many men I know would have belted her like she was a man for saying those words.
Adelita looked real confused.
If all you want is a good licking, I told her, I’ll take you out to see my Mama. She can lay a peach tree switch into your backside like you never felt before. I believe my Mama could whip the tar out of anyone alive if she chose to. Adelita laughed. Then she didn’t look so mean and angry, either. So I said, If you are just trying to back him into a corner to see which way he’ll strike, then you have a lot to learn about men. Sergeant Lockwood is much too clever and too proud to stoop to brute force. He wants to talk to you on a higher plane, more like he respects you and you respect him, and you can disagree without having to force your ways on each other.
I declare, but it was like she had never given that any thought before at all. She at first said, No, no, that is not the way of things. Then she got quiet and her face turned dark red like I thought she might bust out crying, but she stood up suddenly, just like she came, and said goodbye and left. I called out to her to come back any time. That woman tries my spirit, but every time I think of being rude to her, I think of arrows piercing Jack’s chest, and I am not inclined to do anything hurtful to those people.
April 14, 1892
Sergeant Lockwood stopped here with a basketful of
treats, little presents for everyone in the family, plus a sack of candies, a sack of good coffee, and a box of ribbons and lace for me. He had a nice smile on his face, and said Thank you, thank you, Mrs. Elliot, for befriending Adelita, thank you so. You’ll never know what it means, he said, and then let the words trail off as his eyes went around the ground. Thank you, he said again, and took off.
May 25, 1892
Our new house is well under construction and appears to be a fine place. I have so much to do. Feeling somewhat ill, also, and I expect it may be a fifth Elliot child approaching. Albert and Savannah have seven children now. All pretty spunky, too, and when all these little cousins are together, it is a noisy and wondrous time of quarreling and love and ornery tricks on each other. They have added onto their house also, and it is a big rambling place that reminds me of Chess’ spread in Texas.
This house in town we are building is nothing like that, but it has a fancy feeling to it. Mrs. Page helped me decide on some things so it is very formal and fancy looking. She came from a wealthy family and knows about things you can have in a house that I never heard of before. She has a way with things that I like and suggested many nice things I wrote to Harland to include, and she doesn’t go in for fussiness but says real richness can be displayed in simplicity. I do like her special little touches of what Harland called artistic aristocracy, but nothing shares the homey and welcoming goodness of Savannah’s scrubbed clean and simple place sprawling across the rocky ledge and filled to the brim with life.
Mama has not added on to her little place, and it suits her, she says. The ranch house isn’t changed except we have added a brick fireplace besides the cookstove, and there will be warmer winter nights this year. We have moved some of the old furniture back into it and will be buying new for the house we are building. The children and I have made the ranch our second home when school is out. The herd is up to four hundred now and beef prices are high, but rustlers are everywhere. Mason even caught one of our own hands driving off a head or two each week to a canyon where his partner took them and sold them off.
May 30, 1892
Jack told me today that Sergeant and Mrs. Lockwood are expecting. He grinned real big at me and said, After you became friends, she sort of got the knack of married life. I want to know what you told her.
Nothing, Jack, I said. I don’t want to know about the private side of other people’s lives. But I know there have only been a few fights since I talked to her, and not the daily torment as before. He just laughed.
June 2, 1892
Went to see Adelita today. She seemed edgy and purely nervous. I told her it is just the coming baby, and not to worry, as I am on my fifth now, and I know all about it.
Later on, Jack and the children and I were just sitting down for dinner when Sergeant Lockwood came by. Something is wrong, he said. She is out of her mind. He said he was afraid she would hurt herself or the baby or something, even him.
June 19, 1892
Jack is taking the boys fishing today. There are places close by, but to make it more special, he called it the Men’s Day Without Mama. They are riding three or four miles down the Santa Cruz to try to catch some fish. I told them that is fine with me. April and Suzanne and I are taking the wagon and heading for the end of town to teach April how to shoot, and we will have a little picnic and learn some embroidery stitches. We are all looking forward to the fine day and the mild weather, in addition to a little vacation from the headaches of construction.
I am glad to be away from the fort. Adelita Lockwood has gone plum crazy. She is not just staring and numb like my Mama was for a while. She seems all right one minute and the next she takes to shrieking like a wounded mountain lion. George took all the knives out of the house, and the scissors, and everything he could find with even a piece of glass she could use to cut with. He is horrified with her. I suspect that in his mind is the idea of having her put away somewhere too, but he wants to wait for the baby. Mama and Savannah have both told me they knew of women who go insane from having a baby. Some of them it is before the baby is born, and some right after. It isn’t the same as having a houseful of crying children and no clean diapers left, that is a different kind of crazy. Adelita is off somewhere in a terrible place in her head.
June 20, 1892
My brave little Gilbert got a fish hook caught in his hand and his Papa cut it out with his knife. I made him wash it and wash it until he was purely aggravated. I was perturbed with Jack for letting him stay out and fish for hours without some antiseptic on it, but Jack says he will be fine. He asked me how was the target practice, and so I told him April doesn’t seem to be able to manage it yet at all. She is too afraid of a gun to be safe with one. But at any rate, we had a nice picnic, and she did some fine embroidery. It is strange to have this little girl who is my flesh and bone, and yet she seems so separate from me.
We are going to be sure all our children learn to ride and shoot and throw a rope, besides being able to read and cipher and put down a proper sentence with good spelling.
September 1, 1892
Imagine that. Here is a story in the Weekly Citizen about our new house. A fellow from the paper came by last week as we were moving in, and asked around and wanted to see every nook and cranny. He wrote here about the new gas lights, which he says adorn and make lustrous few of our town’s homes, and about the good design which Harland did, and the portico and the mock gables and everything. The article describes our house as “an impressive red brick structure with painted stucco around the second floor. The gabled third floor windows overlook town through gingerbread balustrades. The roof is of the latest in scientific advances with tar and slate and hammered lead gutter plates, and will not leak in heavy rains nor blow away in a storm.” He even did a whole paragraph dedicated to the designed, two-colored, hardwood floors.
And there is two paragraphs about the indoor convenience. Well, that is purely embarrassing, as if we wanted everyone in the state to know about our toilet set up. He described the bathtub, and the water pump, and even the well we drilled and the small pipe. That is a fine idea, though, to drill a hole with a tool instead of with shovels. That way we are left with a small hole that no people or animals can fall into, and there is just a pipe coming out leading to the pump house. All I have to do inside to get water is work the handle, there will be no hauling of buckets in here, even to fill the bath. I am proud and embarrassed all at once. I imagine there will be a string of folks lined up now to see where we take a bath.
November 21, 1892
Besides the fact that tomorrow is my birthday, I am hurrying to clean this house because Ernest is coming day after tomorrow, and the day after that will be Thanksgiving. I feel every one of my twenty-nine years today. Jack should be home this afternoon some time and will stay around if I have any say at all. Rudolfo and Celia are here already with their two children. They are so much fun to have around. What a good husband Rudolfo is. And Celia is learning some English so she can be more independent. We have spent hours catching up on everyone’s families, in between dusting and sweeping. I told them to please let me finish and they were my guests, but they said they came early to help, and if they were going to be insulted by being called guests they would leave. They both said this with a smile, but I know their feelings are too sincere to ask them to be merely guests.
November 24, 1892
The morning dawned slowly and bright, but a wind started up as soon as the sun was clear of the mountains. After leaving the children at school, I went to the Depot at 8:45, but the train didn’t arrive until 9:15. In the Territories, being only fifteen minutes late is generally considered early. I waited as more and more people poured out of the cars, and I began to think Ernest had missed the train, when I heard someone holler, Sarah!
There was Ernest, swooping around me and picking me up in a bear hug. He has filled out a little, but mostly he just looked wiry and strong and lean. He also had a big, deep looking scar down one side of his jaw to
the neck, and I said right away, Ernest, what happened to you? Well, I knew it was rude to say such things right out, but he is not a stranger, and since we were children, we were always able to tell each other everything.
It’s nothing, he said. Just had a little disagreement with a Sioux warrior who wanted a piece of scalp. I’m so glad to see you, Sarah A. Why, wait ’til you see the surprise I’ve brought you!
Oh, Ernest, I said, that can wait. I’m just so glad you’re here. Let’s get your bags and get to the house.
No, oh no, he said. This surprise can’t wait at all. Come here, Sarah. Come right on over here. He started pulling my arm, and we bustled through some people and came up to a little stack of bags and parcels, where a woman was standing right in the middle of them. Here, Sarah, he says. Here is my big surprise. I’ve brought you a new sister. I want you to meet Miss Felicity, Mrs. Felicity Prine. The woman turned around when he said that and fluffed out a parasol over her head.
I know my mouth opened and nothing came out for a full minute. My eyes opened even wider. The woman put out her hand as if I was a man and would take it and kiss it, but I just shook hands very quickly. I tried to smile, and she just beamed as if she was the happiest person on earth. Standing before me was a woman the likes of which I have never before seen. She had gussied up hair in curling tassels, and a huge hat covered with ruffles and bows and little dried roses tucked into the band. She had tied it in a great big sash bow under her chin like a little child in a sunbonnet. Her face was plump and shiny looking, and flushed as if she had just run in the summer time, although it was chill out. And for a girl with plain brown hair, she had the darkest, blackest eyebrows I have ever seen.
These Is My Words: The Diary of Sarah Agnes Prine, 1881-1901 Page 35