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Mrs. Smith—better known as 'The Widow'—was tough as nails. In those days it was a man's world except when it came to The Widow. Children were afraid to look her in the eyes for fear they would be turned to stone. And let's just say that everyone bowed down to the ol' widow queen everywhere she went. Except for Pistol.

Pistol had known women like her in his past. They could chew up nails and spit them out, but under that bluster was a soft woman just wanting to be held. He was sure of it. Pistol had always stood up to a challenge and felt The Widow was a contest to be won.

She owned half the town and another half of the next one, but lived in a large rambling house full of cats and ivy. It was the only house in the old beat up town that had been there since the beginning. It began as a town full of promise. Prospectors coming in hopes of finding some gold in the nearby streams and striking it rich. It began to grow as families started to move there. A mercantile, hotel, and restaurant—along with a few saloons—were hastily built. One building was donated for a schoolhouse and that was how Minville was built. No one knew how Mr. Jonas Smith had gained his fortune but some said he robbed a train and had hidden the cash out in the forest. He just showed up one day with a wife and a baby and built the house The Widow still lived in. Speculation had it that maybe The Widow had something to do with his death, but that was just hearsay. He was up walking around feeling great and going to the bank to check on all his holdings, and the next day he was deader than a doornail. The sheriff said it was “Probably something he ate” and left it at that. The Widow hadn't been very friendly before her husband's death and when her son came of age he'd left the small town to find a better life. The Widow had been left alone and the more alone she was, the meaner she got.

Pistol heard the chatter of the local women at the hotel talking all about The Widow.
“Well, when I went over to clean her house there were actual bones that I found in a box.”

Another told the story of going over to 'be nice' to The Widow, bringing her some homemade mincemeat cookies. And she'd yelled at her for coming up her walk unannounced. “I'll never go there again. She's an old bitty, that's what she is.”

Pistol heard the stories and it made him want to get to know the old woman all the more. He made sure to say hello every time he passed her on her way to the bank but she never uttered a word. She pursed her lips and one time had actually growled. Pete began to wonder if she was an animal. Maybe she was hanging around too many cats.

He began to stake out her place. What else did he have to do in the dead beat town? He would make a point to walk by her place every morning. He could see the curtains moving and the cats sitting in the window sills. He thought he even heard some faint humming but he couldn't be sure. The yard was meticulously groomed yet he never saw her in it, and she even had a guard rooster that would come flying at you with his pointy talons to warn you 'not too close.'

There must be a way, he thought. How long could someone stay mean?
Then he found a window of opportunity one day. He was walking to work and a couple of cowboys rode up on their horses. They came barreling into town stirring up the dust and causing all kinds of ruckus. There was The Widow walking in her dark brown high necked dress toward the bank. The horses were heading straight for her. Pete knew it was his chance to have her 'owe him one.' He ran up to shelter her from the dust. She stepped in front of him and socked the horse right in the nose. It reared up knocking the driver off and spooked the other horse with his rider on his back. She brushed off her dress and just kept walking like nothing ever happened. “Tough as nails,” Pete said under his breath.

“Mrs. Smith! Could I talk to you for a moment?” Pete ran up to her side.

“No, you may not,” she kept walking.

“I just wanted to introduce myself.” He wiped off his hand and put it out. “I'm Pete.”

She brushed his hand aside. “I know who you are. Loved by all,” she said with disgust.

He decided to play her game.

“I know who you are. Hated by more,” Pete said amused.

The Widow bent her eyebrows. “What did you say?”

“You heard me” Pete said strongly.

“That's what I thought you said.” She kept walking then she flipped around.

“What do you want from me? You must want something because everybody else does.”

“Nah, just thought you could use a friend but...”

“I got friends.”

“Yeah, I know...cats.”

“Hmmprh! Leave me be. You don't know me.”

“I do... I used to be you.” She looked him up and down and he continued. “I had a wife and a child and lost them both. I was like you... Madder than hell and didn't want anyone around until I felt so alone I thought I would die so... I moved and changed my way. You're lookin' at a happy cowboy now. You need people. You could do so much for this town yet you sit in your unhappy little house and grieve. And it goes on day after day. I know how you feel. I've done it," Pete declared.

"Thing is, if you get out there and help and get beyond where you are at this very moment, it gets better and easier. When you start taking interest in your town and all the people in it, it gets better and easier. When you start to get a little down you just talk to people and it gets better and easier. Trust me... I know. Now how about coming to the town hall meeting this week?”

“Do you really think your little speech is going to change everything?”

“Nope. I just know that taking one small step forward will start to help.” He picked up her elbow. “Just one little step.”

“Don't touch me, you… you… Masher!” she said with as much acid as she could muster. He held on tight.

“I think this is exactly what you need.” She pulled her elbow away and straightened her white hair. “If I'm going to the town meetin' I need to change.”
Pete smiled. “You got that right!”

“I mean my clothes.”

“What? Are you going to change into yet another one of them dark brown dresses, cuz' I'm telling you, they ain't so flattering.”

“Who do you think you are? Telling me how to dress,” The Widow brought down her eyebrows and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “If you're so darned smart, what color do you think would look flattering on me?”

“Any color but brown.” He thought he saw her crack a smile.

“Like cats?”

“Can't stand 'em.”

“Good, come with me to my house. I won't go unless I go with Pistol Pete, the fastest mouth in the west.”

Pete took her elbow and walked her home. She kicked aside Fluffy the rooster. “I can't stand roosters,” she said.

“Them I like,” Pete chuckled.

They squabbled all the way to the town meeting but no matter. Pistol Pete had won her over and he would never tell her that he really did like cats.
]]> bethandlee<bethandleemccain@nospam.com> Mon, 23 Aug 2010 20:06:13 -0700 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.774.18 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.773.18
People rushed by getting one last hug in before their families would board the train. Babies cried, and women dabbed their eyes with their handkerchiefs as people departed one by one. Aunt Berta had bought the family tickets to come see her. He had never been to her house before. She always came to see their family. This was a special treat and Mother had packed up lunches special for the trip. Cheese sandwiches and a new snack that his Aunt Berta had sent through the mail called graham crackers. When he crunched into those delightful concoctions he tasted a hint of molasses and cinnamon. It had become his new favorite treat.

Mother and Pop came hurrying over. “Let's get it all together, kids. It's train time!” Andy grabbed his toy from his sister and Louise howled. Mother picked her up and wiped off her ruffles.

“Andy, you let her on the ground in her nice white dress!” Mother clucked like a chicken as she picked up her carpet bag next to Andy. Pop took his hand and they all hurried over to a line of passengers waiting to get on the train. The conductor was resplendent in his pressed navy blue uniform and Andy immediately felt respect for this well dressed man. He yelled, “All aboard!” as the passengers made their way on the step box and up into the deep green of the Pullman-Standard coach. Andy wished he could yell that loud sometimes, but to get paid for it seemed like a dream. The conductor helped Andy up the stairs and into the steel monster. Andy could smell the burnt oil of the engine and it excited him no end to hear the hustle and bustle.

Two brothers dressed in derby hats and swallow tail coats climbed aboard the train. They each had decks of cards, flipping them back and forth and enticing Andy to come over.

“Hey, kid! Wanna learn a trick?!” Pop pulled up toward him. “Stay away from them, Andy. They are here to gamble.” Andy had no idea what that meant but it sounded bad so he steered clear of the two red headed men. They found their seats and Pop placed Andy by the window.

“Open it up, son! You'll be able to hear the train.”

“He'll be just as able to hear the train with the window closed as well, Herbert,” Mother chided.

People seemed to be rushing even quicker to get on the train and then Andy heard it: a loud pitched whistle that echoed over the hills. It was so loud that Louise jumped and began to cry. Mother consoled her as the train lurched forward. Their journey had begun.

The Santa Fe train was named The California Limited. Andy didn't know that trains had names until Pop told him the railroads named then "just like ships." The mighty locomotive picked up steam and began its clackity-clack journey to the orange groves of California. Everyone settled in for the ride as Andy kept his eyes glued to the countryside. It whizzed past faster than he had ever seen. It was even faster than when Pop spun him from the rope hanging down from the elm tree in their back yard.

The card-sharking Blott brothers passed by once again and the children in the coach gathered around to see their card trick. Andy pleaded with his eyes.

“All right then. Just this once,” Pop relented.

Andy jumped down and squirreled his way to the front. The brothers had set up a table and were drawing a crowd.

“Who has a penny?” one of the brothers asked. A passenger ponied up a penny and watched as it was placed under a cup. They brought out two more cups and switched around the cups to confuse the watcher.

“Anyone who can guess where the penny is gets every penny that is put in the pot! But if you can't find it then it's ours!”

An old man stepped forward and watched the switching cups.

“THERE!” he pointed. Ben Blott lifted the cup and there was no penny to be seen.

“Who else wants a try?” Kids begged their parents for pennies as more riders gathering, putting their pennies forward.

“THERE!” a strawberry blond young lady guessed. No penny. She looked disappointed as she returned to her seat. The men had amassed quite a number of pennies by now. People were frustrated that no one had won. The pot had grown to two dollars by now and the men were ready to close up shop. Andy wanted a shot at it. His father had fallen asleep with his bowler hat pulled over his eyes and Mother was tending to Louise. Andy pulled out the one penny he had that Aunt Berta had given him for treats on the train. Andy wasn't doing anything wrong. He was using that penny to win more. Certainly that could be considered a treat, right?

Andy had been watching the sleight-of-hand game the two brothers had been playing. He lifted his penny in the air, “I want to try!” He put down his penny and the two brothers looked amused at this small boy. Easy money, the men both thought. Like candy from a baby.

Andy watched as the men collected the penny and placed it under one of the cups.

“Don't take your eyes off of them,” Ben Blott said to Andy. Andy eagle-eyed the cup where the penny was. It was a bit like eyeing a shot in marbles. He kept his focus and watched and watched.

Ben's hands moved faster and faster but Andy's eyes never left the original penny cup. He waited and waited until he yelled, “THERE!” The brother lifted the cup and… No penny. Andy was sure that was where the penny was. Ben patted Andy on the shoulder, “Tough luck, little guy!” He lifted another cup and placed the penny in a bucket with all the other pennies. "Anybody else?"

Andy heard a voice from the back of the crowd. “I'll give it a try.” Pop walked up with a penny in his hand. He placed his penny down and leaned forward to the two brothers and ever so quietly said, “Taking money from my boy, Blott? How about you take MY penny.” Pop laid his penny down. The brothers placed it under one of the cups. “Wait a minute. I want to pick which cup it goes under.” Pop picked up all three cups feeling for their weight. One was just a little heavier than the rest. He placed it aside. He picked one of the lighter cups. “How about THIS one?”

He placed the penny under the cup. “Andy, you want to do it?” Pop knew Andy's marble shooting eye. He knew he'd get it. Ben gulped as he switched the cups. He went for quite a long time this time but Andy kept his eye on the right cup. Andy pointed. “THERE!” The brother lifted the cup and there was Father's shiny penny.

“You won, Andy!” Pop took the bucket of pennies and handed it to Andy.

“Wow...” was all Andy could say. He had never had two dollars before. The brothers closed up shop and took their seats scheming for the next train ride and all the winnings they would get.

“What are you going to do with your winnings, Andy?” Pop asked.

“Well, Mother always wanted to eat in a dining car. Is this enough?”

“It sure is! All the way to California!” Mother picked up Louise and gave Andy a hug. “You're a good boy, Andy.” Mother looked at their picnic lunches. “What are we going to do with these?”

“I know.” Pop grabbed the basket and headed over to the Blott brothers.

“Need some lunch, boys?” They nodded in defeat. Pop handed the basket over.

“Wait!” Andy came running over. “I've got to get something out of there.”

Andy reached in the basket and pulled out the wrapped graham crackers. “These are mine, just like the pennies.”

The brothers groaned as the young boy rubbed it in just a little more. Andy, Louise, and Mother, and Pop walked to the dining car where the aroma was overwhelming. It smelled of fried chicken, bread, and apple crisp. Andy scratched his legs where his knickers had been buttoned. “I have an idea, Pop. How about we ask the boys for double or nothing?” Pop had no idea where his boy had heard that one but they all laughed as the warm bread arrived at the table.

“How'd you know they were scamming me, Pop?”

“Let's just say I've met those kinds of guys a time or two.”

Andy didn't know Pop used to be one of them until his mother had made an honest man out of him. They sat in the diner, listening to the clackity clack of the wheels and eating apple crisp. Life was good for a nine-year-old boy on his first cross-country train ride to California, where the sun always shines—even on Christmas.
]]> bethandlee<bethandleemccain@nospam.com> Mon, 23 Aug 2010 20:01:26 -0700 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.773.18 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.772.16 DealMaker<addadeal@nospam.com> Wed, 18 Aug 2010 17:54:18 -0700 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.772.16 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.771.16 DealMaker<addadeal@nospam.com> Tue, 17 Aug 2010 09:41:26 -0700 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.771.16 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.770.16 DealMaker<addadeal@nospam.com> Mon, 16 Aug 2010 19:49:29 -0700 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.770.16 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.769.30 DealMaker<addadeal@nospam.com> Mon, 16 Aug 2010 17:48:13 -0700 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.769.30 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.768.31 DealMaker<addadeal@nospam.com> Fri, 13 Aug 2010 11:33:30 -0700 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.768.31 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.596.18 DealMaker<addadeal@nospam.com> Thu, 12 Aug 2010 15:59:00 -0700 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.596.18 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.767.31 DealMaker<addadeal@nospam.com> Wed, 11 Aug 2010 18:35:31 -0700 http://www.dealmedia1.com/news.php?item.767.31