Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

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librarian_7
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Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

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AN: Okay, I was going to wait a day or so before posting this, since I just posted a story yesterday. However, I've been working on this for a long, long time, and I'm just so excited that I can't stand to wait any longer!

This is chapter 1 of 7, and yes, all 7 chapters are written, although my adorable beta, Allegrita, is still toiling over the last few. (And as ever, she's due HUGE thank yous for her work!) That said, I'm calling this one complete. To keep the suspense going, I'll be posting a new chapter every week, for your enjoyment. And now, a few words about the story...

This is a little bit different than most Moonlight stories. It features a character who never said a word of dialogue, but who is such an important facet in the past of one of our beloved vampires. We don’t really know that much about Josef’s Sleeping Beauty. We know her age, what she looked like, that her father was a powerful man. Some of us have wondered what the “something special” was that Josef saw in her, when they first met. What made this 20 year old girl so fascinating to an ancient vampire. She was beautiful, of course. But Josef had met many beauties, in his long life, and none of them affected him like Sarah did. I’ve tried to build a character for her, in several stories, but I’ve never really gone much before they met. This story is not about Sarah in love, or Sarah wanting to become a vampire, like her lover. It’s not about the woman sleeping the decades away, unchanging, in that townhouse on Waverly Place. It’s about a young woman who is still finding herself, looking for love, and hope, and destiny, and just as unsure about her future—and even her present—as any young woman her age. I hope you’ll enjoy this one; warning, though, it contains no vampires. Not a one. Give it a try anyway, please! Usual disclaimer applies. The year is 1953, and the place is somewhere close to….



Taos

Chapter 1

Ranchos de Taos


The wind sweeping down from the nearby blue mountains was dry to begin with, and in its journey across the flat floor of the valley, playing among the sage and ocotillo brush, it picked up a dusty heat. Sarah Whitley pushed back the broad-brimmed straw hat that protected her from the sun, and mopped in her forehead with a red bandanna. Her mother would be appalled, if she saw Sarah being so unladylike, but riding in the New Mexico desert wasn’t exactly like sitting down to tea at the Waldorf Astoria. No white kid gloves here, she thought, glancing down at the serviceable tan leather gauntlets protecting her hands.

Her friend Betty Wells pulled even with her, riding a pretty Appaloosa mare. She pointed off into the distance, where Sarah could just distinguish a small cluster of adobe buildings. “Ranchos de Taos,” Betty said. “We should be there in time for lunch.”

“Good thing,” Sarah replied, laughing. “I’m starving!”

“Not quite like the Central Park bridle path, is it?” Betty grinned, with a toss of her blonde curls.

Sarah put her hand up as a stray guest of wind threatened to snatch her hat. “Not quite.” She must have jerked her rein hand, because the chestnut gelding she was riding snorted, and shook his head. It’d been a bit of a challenge, getting used to the heavy western saddle. Quite a change from the flat English saddle she’d learned on. On the other hand, she was finding that what she most enjoyed about this visit out West to see her college friend was the freedom of riding here. The lessons she learned at home in New York, around and around a training paddock, or cantering sedately on a manicured bridle path, were all about appearances and expectations. She’d never ridden to actually go someplace before, and today when Betty had awakened her early and suggested they ride a few miles down to the old town of Ranchos de Taos for lunch, she leapt at the chance. No riding coach watching her, telling her if her posture wasn’t perfect, or if her hands were positioned just right. The chestnut was a good mount, well-trained but not complacent, and she was finding a lot of pleasure under the perfect, blue, cloudless New Mexico sky in just being. It was hot, although the heat was tempered by the altitude, and the dry breeze. A strong branch of ocotillo scraped its thorns across the khaki jodhpurs she wore, not quite piercing the fabric, but enough to make her shift away quickly. That was another difference. In the ring you never had to watch out for underbrush.

“I think Rob is going to drive out and join us for lunch,” Betty said casually. “He didn’t have time to make the ride with us.”

“Oh, really?” Sarah was a little uneasy. Her friend’s brother was a fine young man, she supposed, smart and handsome—a Yale man, even—and he was obviously attracted to her, but she just didn’t feel any spark. She felt bad about it, truly, but she wasn’t going to pretend any feelings she didn’t have. Not even for a friend like Betty. Still, the attention was nice, she supposed. Back home, it was often hard to tell if a boy was more interested in her, or her dad’s real estate empire. Even girl chums were hard to find.

Betty was different, though. They’d first bonded over a chemistry study group. Most of the girls in the class were just hoping to eke out a passing grade, but Sarah and Betty had taken it a little more seriously. They’d started meeting, first to compare notes, and then discovered that they had many things in common. The New Yorker and the New Mexican became fast friends, and even Sarah’s father had been unable to object to his daughter spending time with a rancher’s daughter sent East for her college education. At least not much.

Betty had once confided in her, “Mother really wanted me to go to Radcliffe, but I couldn’t stand the idea of spending four years with those Boston snobs. I insisted on Columbia. New York is so much more—alive!”

When she’d invited Sarah out to spend a few weeks at her home, however, John Whitley had been adamantly against it, at first. Flying to Albuquerque was out of the question, and traveling that sort of distance on the train, unchaperoned, well…it had taken some persuading from her mother, before Sarah’s trip was allowed. And even then, it was with a whole raft of lectures on not talking to strangers, not wandering up and down the corridors of the train, not getting off at stops, et cetera, until Sarah was about ready to scream. She had promised faithfully to stay in her compartment, except for meals, and not to be seen in the club car.

Really, it had been a very safe and staid journey. She’d sat alone in her little compartment, looking like a picture from a fashion magazine in a neat brown suit with white trim, and matching hat and gloves, and watched the miles unroll before her, the landscape changing. But now she was here, and riding free across the desert in the bright August sun. And everything was wonderful.

Betty pulled up, suddenly, her mare snorting and prancing. They were on the edge of a dry arroyo, a channel cut in the earth by some long-vanished stream.

Sarah reined in her horse, and looked at it in dismay. “How are we going to get across that?” she asked. “Can we go around?”

Betty laughed. “Oh, we’re tougher than that out here in the West,” she said. “Come on, follow me. Your horse will know what to do.” She reined her horse around until the little Appaloosa was standing obliquely at the edge of the arroyo. “Okay, Prolly,” she said, flipping the reins encouragingly against the horse’s neck. “You can do it.”

The mare’s ears swivelled, as she studied the terrain. Then, one delicate step at a time, she began to pick her way down the side of the gulch, sliding a little here and there.

When they reached the bottom, Betty looked back over her shoulder, and motioned to Sarah with her free hand. “See? It’s easy. Just let Clabber do it.”

Sarah bit her lip and tried to follow Betty’s example. She needn’t have worried. The horse was surefooted, and found his way down the steep bank without incident. Scrambling back up out of the arroyo was a little bit more difficult, but both horses were well up to the task.

For the first time, Sarah was thankful for the heavy Western saddle, with its suede seat that kept her from slipping back off the cantle, and the swelled pommel that she was able to clamp her knees on as her horse scrambled. She was laughing and gasping as they crested the rim, feeling proud of herself that she hadn’t had to grab the saddle horn to stay on. Betty was waiting for her, a congratulatory grin on her face. “Told you!”

“I thought for a second there we weren’t going to make it,” Sarah said, leaning forward to pat Clabber on the neck. “He’s good horse.”

“Of course he is,” Betty said. “Almost as good as Prolly.”

“Okay, I’ve got to ask – where in the world did you get these horse names?”

“It’s simple, really. It’s Jeff Cutter, for the most part.”

“And who is he when he’s at home?”

Betty laughed again. “He was a cowboy, he used to work for my dad. Real old character. And somehow, he always made some comment about every horse we got, and the names just stuck.”

“Okay, ‘Prolly’?”

“Yeah. Well, a few years ago, my dad bred his beautiful little Appaloosa mare, Missy, and he promised me that if the foal was a good one I could have it. So when Missy finally foaled, I asked Jeff what he thought, since he was the horse expert on the place. And he looks that newborn filly over, giving me the answer in one word, ‘probably.’ Only he pronounces it “Prolly.” Hence the name.”

“That’s all? That’s all he said?” Sarah was laughing, too.

“Yep. ‘Prolly,’ was all he said.” She grinned. “It’s Jeff, all over.”

“Okay, now I really want to know about Clabber.”

Betty guided her horse around a big patch of sage. “Well, Clabber was born on the ranch, too. His dam was one of the meanest horses I’ve ever seen. But she usually threw good foals. So Dad kept her.”

“And I’m guessing Jeff had something to say about it?”

“He sure did. He said, that mare was so sour that her milk probably all curdled in the bag, and the colt got nothing but clabber.” Betty giggled.

“He sounds like quite a guy.”

Betty nodded. “He’s always telling crazy stories. He was born over at Las Animas, in Colorado, and when he was a really young kid there was a lot of excitement of there. I actually looked it all up in a history book after he told me about it. Some crazy man was trying to raise a private army and take over Colorado and make it into this, I don’t know, religious cult or something. Anyway, from what Jeff said, two men and a woman escaped the crazy man’s encampment, and somehow made it about 50 miles into Las Animas to raise the alarm.”

“That sounds like it’d make a great movie, but doesn’t seem all that odd,” Sarah commented.

“You haven’t heard the good part yet. Jeff says that years later he talked to one of the troopers who went on the raid. They were out of Bent’s old fort. And Jeff said there were always rumors about these guys, rumors that they found something strange. Anyway, this old trooper told him, that while they were on their way out to the camp, they needed to water the horses, and went to a place where they knew there was a good spring, and they found,” she paused lowering her voice a little for emphasis, “the remains of about eight men, who’d obviously followed the people who’d escaped, and they were all dead. And the trooper said there wasn’t a bullet hole in a one of them.”

Sarah felt a little frisson, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. “Okay, that is weird.”

“Yeah,” Betty said. “Cold winter night, and Jeff could spin that story out to make it a lot scarier. He never really said what he thought might’ve happened. Left it to our imaginations, and that was just scarier.”

“I wonder what really did happen,” Sarah commented. “I’m sure there’s some reasonable explanation.”

“Sometimes it’s more fun when things are mysterious,” Betty replied.

By now, they were no more than half a mile from town, and they could see the tall, severe lines of the massive adobe church towering over the surrounding buildings. Betty shot Sarah a mischievous look. “Race you to town,” she said. “Last one there’s a roughneck!” She clapped her heels to Prolly’s sides, and the Appaloosa was off like a shot.

Sarah followed suit, urging Clabber on with the slap of the rein ends to his withers. “I don’t even know where we’re going,” Sarah called out to Betty.

Betty looked back over her shoulder. “There’s only one café in town,” she laughed. “And it’s right on the square.”

Galloping across the desert, Sarah thought she’d remember this moment forever. Leaning down low over her horse’s neck, her hat flying behind her, held only by the string around her neck, she was laughing from the sheer exhilaration of it all. As they came pounding into town, she realized she needn’t have worried about spotting the café on the square.

The men going about their daily business paused to look at the two girls racing in, and the trail of dust rising behind them. And in front of the row of adobe buildings dominating one side of the square, Rob’s big black Lincoln convertible was as out of place as Sarah’s prim jodhpurs. She and Betty were neck and neck, the horses evenly matched, and Sarah thought if it were not for the bulk of the car, she could pass Betty in a few more feet. But as it was, pulling up to avoid a collision seemed like the thing to do. Rob was lounging back in front seat, waiting for them, as they both hauled back on the reins, the churning feet of their horses raising a cloud of dust.

“Hey! You hooligans are getting my car covered with sand,” he sang out.

Betty flung herself out of the saddle, kicking free of her stirrups to slide, laughing, to the ground. “You’re just jealous because you didn’t get to ride,” she said.

In one smooth movement Rob vaulted out of the car. He was casually dressed today, a crisp white cotton shirt open-throated over a pair of worn Levi’s and even more worn cowboy boots. He looked, Sarah thought, utterly natural in this environment, utterly confident of his place in the world. She had to admit it was an attractive trait. Coming around the end of the car, he caught Clabber’s reins, and offered a hand to Sarah to help her dismount.

“Thanks,” she said, but ignored his hand as she swung her leg over the horse’s back and kicked out of the stirrup to slide to the ground. She patted the bay on the neck. He had worked up a good sweat, on the last run into town, although he wasn’t breathing too hard. She thought she hadn’t done him any harm. “Good boy,” she said. “Good boy.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a horsewoman,” Rob commented. “We’ll have to take a ride out to the Rio Grande Gorge.”

She smiled at him as she disentangled her hat string from around her neck. “Sounds like fun.”

Before they could say anything else, Betty jumped in. “Rob, can you get her horse tethered? I’m starving.”

Rob smiled down at Sarah, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little. “My little sister, the delicate flower,” he said.

The restaurant was cool and dim, and redolent of the aromas of spices and cooking meat. They took a seat at a table near the window. A minute or two later, a woman came by and looked expectantly at them. Sarah wasn’t sure whether she was Hispanic, or Indian, or a mixture of both. A plait of dark hair with a few strands of gray snaked over her shoulder.

Betty looked up at her and smiled. “We want iced teas and two stuffed sopaipillas plates,” she said.

The woman nodded, and asked, “Red or green?”

“Christmas.”

“I’ll have the same,” Rob added, striding in through the door. “And make it easy for you,” he added with a smile.

The waitress nodded and moved away.

“Okay,” Sarah said. “I hate to sound like such a tourist, but what in the world did all of that just mean?”

“It’s pretty easy,” Betty said. “Sopaipillas are like fried bread. They put a shredded beef stuffing inside, and it’s very good.”

“And the whole red, green, Christmas thing?”

Rob smiled. “She wanted to know what kind of chili you wanted. Red green or –”

“Let me guess: some of each.”

“You catch on quick.” His smile was a trifle crooked, and his eyes warm. Sarah was willing to bet it had melted more than one girl’s heart. Pity she’d seen that move before.

After Betty and Sarah had both excused themselves to the tiny ladies room to wash the dust off their hands, though, he had a more interesting announcement to make. “By the way, I was supposed to let you know that we’re having company this weekend.”

“Oh?” Betty was all attention. “Who’s coming?”

“Miss O’Keeffe, over from Abiquiu. And Bakos and his wife up from Santa Fe. The art crowd.” Rob’s voice was dismissive.

“You mean—Georgia O’Keeffe?” Sarah asked. “The Georgia O’Keeffe?”

“Yeah.”

“But—she’s famous!”

Betty piped up. “She’s an old friend of Mom and Dad’s. Been coming here forever.” She gestured at the front window of the café, at the church across the way. “She loves to paint that church.”

“Wait.” Sarah peered out the window, tilting her head to one side to see better. “I—I think I’ve seen a painting of hers, of that building. I had no idea! She’s a great artist.”

Rob waved a hand. “Yeah, but one thing I’ve noticed is, all the artists around here, they mostly want to hit Dad up for money.”

“Don’t you like artists?” Sarah asked, curious.

Rob shrugged. “As people, they’re okay, I guess. But there’s always someone sniffing around my folks, looking for a handout.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Betty replied. “You are going to love Teresa – Mrs. Bakos – she’s such a sweetheart. She runs the best art gallery in Santa Fe. Her husband has never asked Dad for a dime. Rob is just parroting Dad.”

Rob took a long swig of his iced tea, sending Betty an irritated glare. “Well, he has a point. Maybe Bakos hasn’t hit him up for sponsorship, but plenty of others have. Besides, if it weren’t for that mysterious patron we hear all the rumors about, I’m sure Bakos would be--”

“That is such old news, Rob,” Betty glowered at him, then turned to Sarah. “There used to be a lot of gossip that some friend of Teresa’s had put a lot of money into her gallery. And her husband’s art group, too. I don’t know whether to believe it or not.”

About then, the food arrived, and conversation turned away from the economics of art to Betty’s joyous appreciation of the cuisine. Sarah’s first bites were tentative, but, with coaching from her table mates, and liberal doses of sopaipilla with honey to quiet the burn from the chili, she started to appreciate the complex flavors. She enjoyed the food, but a part of her wanted to be on the way back to the Wells’ hacienda, getting ready to meet the famous artist.

She indulged herself in a brief fantasy where she dazzled Georgia O’Keeffe with the brilliance of her dinner conversation, her intimate knowledge of the New York art scene, and her comprehensive and sensitive understanding of Art with a capital A. Then she sighed to herself, acknowledging ruefully that such an occurrence was unlikely, since, if her art history grade was any indication, her nuanced appreciation of art, capitalized or not, was a bit lacking. As for the other, she’d never been to so much as an art gallery opening, and while she dined regularly with her father and his guests, she’d been instructed that they were talking about important, masculine business, and she was there to be decorative, to listen attentively, and to open her mouth only to take suitably dainty bites of the excellent food.

She had done that very well, but she really wanted to hear some talk about art, or music, or literature. Pretty much anything but business. Especially real estate business.

Rob cleaned his plate long before either Betty or Sarah, mopping up the last bits of chili with the corner of the last sopaipilla. He signaled for the waitress, handing her a few bills from his wallet to cover their check, and waving off an offer of change.

“Gracias, Señor Wells,” the woman murmured.

After she retreated to the kitchen, Rob grumbled. “The prices are outrageous,” he said. “$2.50 for a sopaipilla plate?”

Betty blinked at him. “Everything’s gone up, the last few years. And this is nothing to prices in New York.”

Sarah was struck by the way the waitress knew him. Even her father – well, sure, there were a few exclusive restaurants in Manhattan where the maître d’ recognized him – but he couldn’t walk into any place in the city and get the same kind of natural recognition. She mentioned as much to Betty on the ride home.

“Oh, that’s not a fair comparison,” Betty countered. “My family has had the ranch for over 100 years. They were known around Taos before Kit Carson ever came to town. Didn’t I hear you say your dad grew up in the Midwest somewhere?”

Sarah had to concede that was true. As much as her father was a force to be reckoned with in the City, it was still true that he was a relative newcomer. Around here, the Wells were old money, so to speak. She had to smile to herself. About the last thing her father would appreciate would be hearing himself referred to as nouveau riche, even if it were technically true. “Do you think the horses are up for a gallop?” she asked Betty, putting a hand up to pull her hat down a little more firmly. The afternoon sun was starting to blaze, and the ride was not quite as pleasant on the way home as it had been on the way out. “It’s going to take some time for me to get my hair in order.”

Betty laughed. “I wouldn’t worry,” she said. “This isn’t New York, and these are old family friends.” Nevertheless, she obligingly gave her mare a press of her heels, and the two girls took off across the fragrant sagebrush plain.
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Re: Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

Post by allegrita »

Yay! :hyper2: I'm glad you didn't wait to post this. It's a wonderful look into the person Sarah might have been... someone with amazing potential, but who was just on the verge of becoming who she was destined to be. And I love all of these wonderful characters you have given us. :hearts:

So off we go on a thrill ride (on a horse!) of a different sort. But it's definitely got thrills, and excitement, and lots and lots of Lucky goodness. :clapping:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

Post by Lilly »

Lucky, there is NO ONE who can set the tone and draw a reader into her world like you can. :notworthy: Your opening sentence is gorgeous -- the phrasing and the rhythm are perfect. The first few paragraphs draw us in, and even if we had no clue who this Sarah was, we would still be compelled to read on and learn more about her.

I absolutely adore the way you've depicted her here. She is obviously young, and eager to spread her wings, but she already knows her own mind and has very charming confidence about her. To be honest, I never imagined a friend like Betty Wells in Sarah's life, but Betty is delightful and she provides the perfect opportunity for Sarah to see beyond the confines of her father's world and get a taste of "freedom."

I love the nod to "Dust" (http://moonlightaholics.com/viewforum.php?f=403) here and that you have always maintained a consistency throughout your historical Moonlight stories. (I like to think of it as Librarian_7 canon. :teeth: )

I love everything about this. :heart:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

Post by darkstarrising »

I'll echo Lilly and alle's comments, Lucky :hug:

First chapters are always a challenge, as they set the stage for the rest of the story. Not for you, though. :rose: I found myself transported to Taos, seeing the desert setting you so wonderfully describe, feeling the heat and appreciating, through Sarah's eyes, the very different landscape around her.

Sarah finally has a life, one which she's expanding beyond the stultifying societal confines of New York. Visiting her friend, Sarah is getting her first taste of real freedom, away from John Whitley's control. In the desert, Sarah is beginning to bloom.

Looking forward to the remaining chapters to see where Sarah's new found freedom takes her. Loved the nod to 'Dust' as well.
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Re: Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

Post by librarian_7 »

Alle, Lilly, dsr, thank you so much for the kind comments! I was a bit worried that the total lack of, well, fangs in this story might make it seem a bit less interesting than some others.

I'm hoping this will be a good summer read.
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Re: Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

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As always you set a beautiful stage. I love this peek into Sarah and look forward to seeing it unveil.
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Re: Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

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librarian_7 wrote:I was a bit worried that the total lack of, well, fangs in this story might make it seem a bit less interesting than some others.
Lucky, your characterizations of Mick and Josef are always spot on, but you know I've always been a champion of your original characters. NO ONE brings them to life the way that you do. Sarah Whitley is a clean slate, and for all practical purposes, she is an OC here. Even though I do know what's waiting for her back in New York, but I'm thrilled to be able to get to "meet" her. I love that we're doing so out of the city and in the bright sunlight. We know the vamps will be there when we get back. :winky:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

Post by francis »

I love everything about this, it's like a Western movie without the testosterone. :laugh:
Love the way you paint the place and the people with words. That's always one of your strong points in any story. I can see them right before me and there's not a word out of place or unnecessary.
I love how much Sarah is her own woman, thinking deeply about everything she sees and hears. Love the connection to Georgia O'Keefe. I love her paintings, too.
And I guess there's some kind of connection to a certain vampire in that gallery owner Teresa. :hearts:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

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Ah, thank you, francis. You might remember her from her younger days, in Camino del Monte Sol? :winky:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

Post by Shadow »

A very interesting new look at Sarah! It's wonderful that you've pulled her out of New York and set her loose in this brilliant New Mexico setting. The descriptions of the landscape are mesmerizing, and you can really feel the way that Sarah is coming alive here. Her memories of her life in New York with her father are so terribly constrained.... thank goodness she met Betty and discovered this different world.

Intriguing that Georgia O'Keefe will apparently appear in this story. That's especially neat for me since I just spent some time in Abiquiu, very much in the heart of Georgia O'Keefe country. It was very fun to see Abiquiu mentioned in the story as well.

Love the richness of the detail here, from the feel of crossing an arroyo on horseback to Betty's stories about how the horses got their names. I'm very curious about what will happen with Sarah in this story. Will be back to read more soon!
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Re: Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

Post by HotMicks »

Okay, I've been 'threatening' to read your stuff for like, forever, I know. :eyeroll: And the title intrigued me (sooo want to make it to NM someday). Then I saw "no vampires" :gasp: and I almost skipped back out of this one to the rest of your library. But then that title appealed again... and I'm very glad I didn't. This is the perfect summer read!

I could taste the dust and feel the breeze. Fantastic descriptions... of the terrain, the horses, the town. Very sensory. And I had to laugh, having gone the opposite myself — from Western to English, at Sarah's difficulty adjusting to the different riding style. :snicker:

And what New Mexico story could be complete without that famous resident? :biggrin: I'm intrigued to see how she fits into the story.

But the portrait of Sarah that you've already painted in just this one chapter fully justifies why she would draw Josef's attention. She may have been constrained in NY, but here she is bursting with life. I can already see how she would bring this sense of adventure back with her, never to allow herself to be bound up again. In fact, I would pay good money to see her tell John Whitley to his face that he's merely "new money." :rolling:
librarian_7 wrote:"Rob is just parroting Dad.”
Love this. Rings so true to a family dynamic. :laugh: I like Betty... and I think she's gonna be good for Sarah.

I can see why everyone raves about your stories, Lucky. :yes: Now I just have to find more time for reading....
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Re: Taos, Chapter 1 - PG-13

Post by librarian_7 »

Aw, thanks, HotMicks! I am a little behind on posting this one--I thought I was done, and decided to shoehorn in an extra chapter...

If I might make a recommendation, a couple of my other historical Josef stories sort of inform this one. You might want to check out "Dust," set in 1870's Colorado, and "Camino del Monte Sol," about Josef's 1923 visit to an artists colony in Santa Fe.
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