Hello, wonderful guests! Welcome to the Watch RWISA Write Showcase Tour. The purpose of the blog ho is to highlight the work of nineteen outstanding authors. The RWISA (Rave Writers - Int'l Society of Authors is an elite branch of the outstanding Rave Review Book Club, featuring the best of the best in writing.
Today we feature Wendy Scott.
The Cowgirls of Serratogha.
By Wendy Scott.
A companion scene to my fantasy
WIP, ‘Rainmaker’.
My spirits lifted when I spied
structures rising above the prairie. For the last three days, the landscape had
consisted of uninterrupted cornflower skies above an endless sea of grassland.
Occasionally, a wild cow had burst out of the greenery and trotted alongside
the horses, before abandoning our company to munch on the juiciest shoots
lining the roadside.
I grasped the seat as my boss
snapped the reins, urging the horses to quicken their pace. The wooden wheels
creaked, and the glass bottles in the back of the wagon chinked together, but
Zachery didn’t ease up. Towns equalled business and Dr. Zachery Theopold
Montgomery knew how to charm the purse strings open from even the most
sceptical non-believers.
This place wasn’t like any of the
other towns Zachery plied his lies. Most townships’ main thoroughfares
consisted of churned sludge. A medley of mud and manure, with a few planks placed
precariously over stagnant puddles. Dried splotches marked my breeches from
where I’d previously stumbled into a knee-deep pothole filled with slush I
hoped was only mud and water.
Up close, there were only a
handful buildings, but a freshly painted signpost declared we’d entered the
township of Serratogha. The horses’ hooves clip-clopped on a smooth expanse of
cobblestones. Pastel pink paint coated the hotel, tubs overflowed with rainbow-hued
pansies and white roses entwined the veranda posts. I breathed in the floral
scents. It sure smelt sweeter than any of the other places we’d passed through.
Laughter tinkled from above, and a
feminine voice purred, “Theo, you old snake charmer, about time you came back
for a visit. Ya’ll make sure you mark my dance card.”
A lacy handkerchief dangled out of
another upstairs window. “Forget dancing, come and play tie-ups.”
Zachery straightened and pushed
his shoulders back, but the brass buttons on his red jacket strained across his
chest and stomach. “Gals, no need to fight over me. I plan on being here for a
few days, so plenty of time for us all to get acquainted.”
A blonde head peeked out a third
window. “Don’t be shy. Bring your good-looking friend.”
Zachery’s ginger eyebrows arched
as he coaxed the horses around the corner. “Shame on you, ladies. Harper’s a
mere lad of fourteen.”
“Not for long. We’d make a man out
of him.”
My cheeks reddened, and I slunk
down on the wagon seat.
Window boxes, bursting with
sunflowers decorated the stables, and the same shade of pink paint glazed the
boards. As soon as we pulled up, two teenage girls, garbed in tight legged
chaps, pink and white checked shirts, and cowboy hats darted up to the side of
the wagon. Zachery climbed down and tossed the reins at the tallest girl.
One leather-gloved hand caught
them. “Jersey-Jayne said for you to go on up to the bathhouse first, as she
wants to discuss business. Daisy and I will see to your horses, and we’ll
secure your wagon out back.”
Zachery flicked a couple of brass coins
toward the other girl. “Young ladies, I’m much obliged.”
He unbuttoned his coat, stuck his
thumbs inside his suspenders, and whistled as he pranced towards a third
pink-frosted building. I scrambled after him.
Bells chimed on the door,
announcing our entry. A placard on the wall listed the range of bathing
services available at the ‘Squeaky Inn’. I wasn’t sure what they all meant, and
the lowest price was more than I’d earn in a month. Back home, our mamma had insisted
her seven children all bathe monthly. We had to share the tepid, murky water
and I reckon sometimes I emerged filthier than before I took a dip in the tin
tub.
Beaded curtains swished aside,
discharging a fully grown woman. Under her pink cowboy hat, dark chocolate
plaits swayed on either side of her doll face. Her checked shirt was
unbuttoned, but hog-tied under her breasts, revealing a mountainous cleavage,
and tanned midriff. Zachery licked his fingers and fussed with his ginger
moustache, smoothing the ends until they resembled feline whiskers.
She slipped her arm through his
elbow. “Welcome to Serratogha. I’m Jersey-Jayne, Head Wrangler for the
cowgirls. Come through, and let’s get you all cleaned up before we discuss
business. My girls report that you specialize in elixirs that are beneficial
for enhancing particular social activities.”
“You’re well informed, little
lady.” He patted a bottle-shaped bulge in his jacket pocket. “Fortunately, I
have brought some samples with me. May I be so bold to suggest we partake in a
demonstration where we can mix business and pleasure?”
My face flamed, wishing I’d never
agreed to be his assistant. I shouldn’t have left the family farm. Zachery
turned to me and made shooing motions. “Harper, out back there’s facilities for
the hired help. Go and wash up. I’ll see you at suppertime in the hotel.”
Outside I found tendrils of steam
escaping from a trough of frothy water scented with lavender. I’d never had a
bath all to myself before. No one was around, so I stripped off my stained clothes
and slid into the water. Travel-weary muscles unwound, and I closed my eyes.
Bliss.
“Is that a tattoo?”
A tidal wave sloshed over the side
as I bolted awake. Daisy, the shorter stable girl, peered at the feather shape
on my arm. I was thankful for the camouflaging layer of bubbles.
“No, it’s a birthmark.”
She pulled back her shirt sleeve
and compared the tanned, but unblemished skin on her forearm against my cinnamon
tones. “Are you from the Tribes?”
I shook my head. “I’ve never laid
eyes on a native. Zachery mentioned he’d once taken one on as an assistant, but
he didn’t last long as he was a drunkard. Reckons they’re all horse-thieving
savages.”
Daisy shrugged. “I dunno about
that. Anyways, I brought you some clean clothes and a towel.” She scooped up my
discarded outfit. “If you want, when you’re done, I can show you around.”
I leapt out of the cooling water
and scooted into the garments before she returned. They fit well and were of a
better quality than the ones I’d been wearing. I wondered if I’d get to keep
them. Zachery wasn’t fond of spending coins on anyone but himself.
Five minutes later, Daisy appeared.
“Come on. Follow me, and I’ll show you the real Serratogha.”
A path, well trampled by many
boots, cut through the tall grass and led away from the township. We threaded
past corrals filled with cattle. Further afield, cowgirls on horseback steered
herds of cattle in and out of the larger pastures. Ahead, smoke rose from
several chimneys and mingled with the smell of manure. This settlement was much
larger than the sugar-coated town we’d come from. There were over fifty
dwellings, including a church, and trading post. Bright flags fluttered from
posts, wind chimes swung in the breeze, and cow horns adorned gates.
Daisy grinned. “Most gentlemen
visitors don’t know this place exists. They don’t tend to venture far from the
bathhouse or the hotel.”
High-pitched giggles followed a
horde of barefoot children who skipped around the houses. Their contrasting
shades of hair and skin reminded me of my cavalcade of brothers and sisters. Annabel
and Sue-Ellen, blue-eyed and fair, like our mother. Ginger curls and green eyes
complimented Katie’s pale skin. The twins, Billie and Willie, sported light
brown hair and hazel eyes. Jimbo was the spitting image of our Pa, with his
darker shade of brown hair and grey eyes. And then there was me with my straight
raven-hair and amber eyes.
One small boy with feathers
threaded in his dark hair paused and stared at me. Amber eyes met amber eyes
for a brief second before he raced off and joined his friends. The feather mark
on my arm tingled.
“You sure you’re not part native?”
asked Daisy.
Pa’s leaving words flooded my
thoughts. Is this what he’d been hinting at? Could it be that he wasn’t my real
father? And if he wasn’t, who was?
***
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