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Hearts of Julesburg Pony Express series -- our heroine

Sep 28, 2023

I'm thrilled to introduce my upcoming release, Hearts of Julesburg, book 3 in the Hearts of the Pony Express series. Today, we will learn about our heroine, tomorrow the hero, and in part three, about the history of the Pony Express.


My latest Pony Express book releases tomorrow, September 29th, and it’s titled Hearts of Julesburg. As the name suggests, the story is set in the rough and tumble town of Julesburg, Colorado, in 1861.


My main character, Annelise Harper, an orphan, decides the Pony Express is her answer to her longing for adventure. But, of course, they don’t hire girls. So she cuts her hair, dresses like a boy, and is hired.


Today, in America, there are plenty of opportunities for women to perform work once considered for men only, but not so much in 1861. Particularly in the Wild West. But that doesn’t deter Annelise. Her new persona, Andy Adams, is physically able to keep up with her male counterparts in most areas. Since folks didn’t bathe often in those days, she manages to keep her secret until…


Well, that would be a spoiler, wouldn’t it?


You can pre-order the ebook here: https://www.amazon.com/Hearts-Julesburg-Pony-Express-Book-ebook/dp/B0C7FDMC4

 

About Hearts of Julesburg

Can a young woman who wants more adventure, and a young man running from his past, slow down long enough to allow God to intersect their lives?

 

 

A Peek Inside the book:

Chapter 1

May 6, 1861

Julesburg, Colorado Territory

 

Annelise Harper brushed tendrils back from her cheeks as she studied the notices pinned to a board outside Farrell’s Mercantile. She sighed as she studied slips of paper riffling in the baking afternoon breeze. Hogs for sale. Chicken available. A lame horse needed a good home. She sniffed. Money was scarce enough without taking on another to feed that might never carry its weight—no pun intended.


No new job notices. That’s really what she needed. Working as dogsbody to Banker Adams, his wife, and their five brats was no walk in the park. Sure, she’d headed west to find adventure, and instead she’d basically signed on for room and board and three hours off on Thursdays.


She hefted her market basked from one arm to the other. With the little they paid her, she would be saving up until she was ninety until she had enough to leave this town.

This not very nice town.


To accent her thoughts, a wagon filled with beer barrels careened into town, sending dogs, cats, chickens, and those slow enough to be caught in the dirt bath the locals called Main Street, scattering in all directions. The horses snorted, eyes wide, as the driver slashed their backs to encourage the beasts to go faster.


A dray filled to the brim with building materials and pulled by Clydesdales backed out of the alley next to the lumber yard. The driver of the beer wagon hauled on the reins and jammed on the brake. His horses planted their haunches in the dirt to slow, but not in time.


One barrel rolled from its perch at the top of the load, straight down the front of the remaining barrels like it was going down a snow-covered hill. The driver looked over his shoulder, dropped the reins, and put up his hands.

But he wasn’t quick enough.


The full barrel, likely weighing in at twice the driver’s weight—or more—crushed him as though he were a blueberry.


Annelise’s stomach flip-flopped at both the sound and the sight before her. The horses, unnerved at the smell of blood, reared and bucked until the foursome broke free of the wagon. Nipping and biting at each other, they raced down the street, once again sending those in their immediate locale running for safety.


Bile rose in her throat as others walking the streets, hitching their horses, staggering from the saloon, or sauntering the boardwalks continued past. No doubt about it, the driver was dead. Nobody could have survived that weight rolling from a height.


But still—somebody should do something.


Shouldn’t they?


The door to the sheriff’s office opened, and the lanky man donned his hat and hitched at his gunbelt as he neared the accident.

Recently re-elected to his fourth consecutive term, Sheriff Parker was well-loved and well-respected. If Annelise could have voted, she’d have supported him.


He touched the limp hand of the driver that protruded from under the barrel, then shook his head. “He’s a goner.”


Parker called to three men standing nearby. “Come over here and give me a hand, will you?”


Two shook their heads and walked away, but the third nodded. “Sure, for two bucks, I’ll bury him for you, too.”


The sheriff smiled. “You got yourself a deal.”


The pair wrested the barrel to the ground, where it broke open, spilling its contents into the dirt. A drunk staggered through the doors of the nearest saloon, tripped down the two steps leading from the boardwalk to the main street, then fell face down, lapping at the puddle like a dog.


A couple of boys ran past, swatting at the drunk’s feet with sticks, until the sheriff drove them away with a growl and a shake of a clenched fist. Next he hauled the man up by his collar and booted him on his way.


Annelise turned away, unable to watch the morbid actions. The wind lifted the hair on the back of her neck, relieving her of the cloying stickiness. She inhaled deeply, wishing she were anywhere but here.


Here, of course, being the rough and tumble town of Julesburg, Colorado Territory. Home to gangs and robbers and murderers. And that was just a list of the community’s leaders.


A larger sheet of paper dangled from one corner by a pin, and she flipped the page around so she could read it. Probably another farm auction. Or a death notice.


 Orphans wanted. Wirey. able to shoot.


 Her breath caught in her throat. That described her perfectly.


BOYS ONLY!


Boys? Now what? She’d come west to find adventure. And freedom. Something more than dying a worn-out shell like her mother.


After all, this was 1861, not 1761.


And she was strong. Could do all those things. Well, she’d show them.


Fifteen minutes later, she emerged once again from the mercantile, this time with a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. When Mister Adams discovered she’d charged the items to his account, he’d have a conniption. Hopefully, she’d fool the man doing the hiring long enough to earn back the two dollars to repay the loan.


A young boy loitered past, and she stopped him. “Do you know where Banker Adams lives?”


“Yes, Miss.”


She handed over the shopping. “Take this to him, and tell him his slave just quit.”


“Slave, Miss? You ain’t black. You can’t be no slave.”


“Just tell him. He’ll know what it’s about.”


The boy held out a hand. “You payin’ me?”


“No, he’ll do that. And if he doesn’t, keep the basket and contents. It’s worth more’n a dollar.”


The lad nodded and ran off, the hamper banging against his legs. She cringed, glad eggs were not on the list today.


Now, where to don her disguise?


The train depot drew her attention. That would work. They had a washroom there. Within minutes, she’d exchanged her dress and petticoats for the flannel shirt and dungarees. She slipped off her street shoes and put on the men’s boots. Then she checked her reflection in the mirror.


Never curvaceous, the overly large shirt covered her feminine curves. The pants, cinched at the waist with a length of rope she’d also bought, felt strange as the stiff fabric chafed her skin. Now, her hair.


She’d thought to purchase a pair of scissors, and now went to work, cutting her waist-length tendrils to her shoulders. Her mother—God rest her soul—would be horrified. If she cut more off—no, she couldn’t bear to see all of her reddish brown hair, so painstakingly cared for all her life, go into the trash. Instead, she tucked the rest under her hat, then headed to the pony express station at the far end of Main Street.


As she walked, she considered another dilemma—she needed a new name. Andy. Andy Harper. That should work.

Ahead, a line of about ten boys waited. She stepped into place at the rear of the group, assessing each in turn. They all looked healthy enough. That was one requirement listed on the poster. Orphans? Perhaps. Several were dressed as though they were accustomed to at least one parent looking after them.


She knelt, pretending to adjust her cuff, then when nobody was looking, she rubbed her hands in the dirt and then in the knees, backside, and waistband of her dungarees, trying to make them look older than they were. A swipe of her still-dirty hands around her neck and cheeks. No point in looking like she was fresh out of school.


A gruff older man came out of the stage depot. “You all here for the Pony Express jobs?”


Annelise added her voice to the affirmations of the boys ahead of her, then followed the man’s instructions as he led them behind the depot. Hay bales formed a backdrop for six bed sheets hanging down, each with a bull’s eye painted on it.


The man introduced himself. “I’m Old Jim. That’s it. No last name. None you need to know, anyway.” He held out a pistol. “First, we got to make sure you boys can look out for yourselves.”


He beckoned to the first in line. “You got six shots. At least four has to land inside the big circle. One has to land on the eye.”

The first boy, who couldn’t have been more than twelve—well below the threshold fifteen—could barely hold the pistol level. He missed by a mile, was dismissed, and slunk from the yard, shoulders almost enveloping his ears.


By the time Annelise’s turn came, there was one older boy remaining.


Old Jim handed her the gun. Her mouth went dry. But she stepped to the line he’d drawn in the dirt with his toed boot. Leveled the barrel. Drew a deep breath. Sighted the middle of the target. And squeezed the trigger.


She hit half an inch from the center of the bull’s eye.


Old Jim clapped her on the shoulder. “Good job. What did you say your name was?”


“Andy. Harper.”


There. She’d spit it out. And he wasn’t looking at her like she had two heads or three eyes.


In fact, the ease with which that lie had rolled off her tongue startled her.


Scared her, in fact.


She’d told all of about four outright lies in her life to that point, including this one.


Not that she truly wanted to become accustomed to speaking untruths. But needs must.


“Well, Andy, if’n you hit all six shots in that there center, I’ll give you a five-dollar bonus.”


The only remaining candidate for the job straightened, jamming his hands into his pockets. “What about me?”


“Same for you. But I only got one job. So’s you know.”


 Annelise nodded. She took aim again and fired rapidly, landing all shots inside the center.


Old Jim grinned. “Not sure I could’a done any better.” He reloaded the pistol, handed it to the last candidate, and stepped back. “Your turn.”


The blond-haired boy, freckles dotting the bridge of his nose—though not as many as her own—spread his feet shoulder-width, held the gun in both hands, and sighted.


 Bam! Bam! Bam!


The acrid smell of gunpowder tickled her nose, and smoke burned her eyes.


Old Jim nodded. “Good shootin’, boy. Your name?”


“Clint Baker. Sir.”


“Well, Clint Baker. You got three left. Then we move on to horsemanship, if you pass this round.” He jerked his head toward Annelise.

“He already has.”


Clint nods, resumes his stance, and fires the three remaining bullets.


All within the bull’s eye.


Annelise exhaled.


He’s good.


Before today, she’d have asserted she was better than any boy her age. And she had been, so far.


Was she good enough?

 

 

About Donna:

A hybrid author, Donna writes squeaky clean historical and contemporary suspense. She has been published more than 60 times in books; is a member of several writers groups; facilitates a critique group; teaches writing classes; ghostwrites; edits; and judges in writing contests. She loves history and research, traveling extensively for both, and is an avid oil painter. She is taking all the information she’s learned along the way about the writing and publishing process, and is coaching writers at any stage of their manuscript. Learn more at https://www.donnaschlachter.com/the-purpose-full-writer-coaching-programs Check out her coaching group on FB: https://www.facebook.com/groups/604220861766651

 

 

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