The Diary Of Sarah Chandler - 1869
By KArma
Sarah and Queenie meet a farm woman and recruit her to their cause.

Diana:

Here is the next diary entry.  This is from 1869, so it is almost five years after 
we last saw the two ladies.  We do not yet know what has happened to them 
in the meantime, but all will become clear eventually.  This entry is important, 
because it contains Sarah’s best explanation of her concept of the Circle.  

Enjoy - More will come later.  I will try to keep subsequent updates in 
chronological order.

Karma


July 19, 1869

Dear Diary,

Today (or rather, yesterday, as I write this entry after midnight) was another 
long, hot day of riding.  I estimate that we covered about twenty miles, and 
saw very few signs of civilization, mostly sod houses built against the meager 
shelter of a low hill.  Otherwise, it was miles and miles of prairie, followed by 
more prairie.  Late in the day we came upon a small cabin, one that was 
surprisingly built of real wood.  Smoke rose from a rough stone chimney, but 
there was no apparent activity outside, and no one came to the door to see us 
ride up.  We sat our horses, patiently waiting and looking out over the...
What shall I call it?  It wasn’t a ranch, nor was it a farm.  It was just - a 
house.  There was a ramshackle building in back that was, by the smell, a 
stable, home perhaps to a cow or mule.  Queenie pushed her hat back on her 
head and caught my eye.  I glanced down to where she had laid two fingers 
on her saddlehorn.  She flicked her fingers twice, and I casually glanced in 
the direction she had indicated.  Back behind the stable a faint trail was 
visible, perhaps running towards the well.  There, just off the trail, I saw a 
sudden glint of the westering sun reflecting off metal, betraying the presence 
of someone in hiding.  The other person was behind us, according to Queenie, 
and her eagle eyes and uncommon senses were seldom wrong.  I finally 
dismounted and took off my floppy, wide-brimmed hat, shaking my hair free.  
I stood in front of the cabin door, hands hanging loose at my sides.  "We 
mean no harm," I called, keeping my voice even and friendly.  "You can call 
off your guards."  It took another minute, but the door of the cabin opened 
and a woman stepped out.  I sensed that Queenie straightened in the saddle at 
the sight of her.  The woman was tall, perhaps even my height, with broad 
shoulders.  She was wearing a long-sleeved simple cotton dress, and was 
barefoot.  A rifle was held easily in her capable hands.  She looked us over 
for several seconds, then visibly relaxed.  She gave a short two-toned whistle, 
obviously a signal.  Queenie twisted in her saddle and looked directly at a 
spot a hundred feet behind us.  Sure enough, in a few seconds a small head 
appeared, then a young boy stood and began walking towards us.  Another 
boy, also carrying a small rifle, appeared from behind the house.  The woman 
looked fondly at them, then warily at us.  "Like I said," I told her.  "We mean 
no harm.  We are just travelling through, and hoped that we could find a place 
to rest and perhaps have something to eat.  We will share the venison we 
have for a meal."  The woman looked back and forth between Queenie and 
me, then, apparently reassured, gestured us in.  "My husband is in town, but 
should be back shortly.  You are welcome to stay and eat and spend the 
night."  Queenie and I introduced ourselves.  The woman introduced herself 
as Emma Brown, and her two boys as Matthew and Mark.  I grinned.  
"Halfway to a full set of apostles, I guess."  She looked startled, then smiled 
in return.  "Yes, halfway..." Her voice trailed off.  We dusted ourselves off 
as best we could and followed her into the cabin.  It was basically a single 
room, with one corner curtained off as a ‘bedroom.’  A narrow loft extended 
the width of the room, obviously a sleeping area for the boys.  A rudimentary 
stove and a wooden cupboard containing pots, pans and dishes constituted the 
kitchen.  A large wooden table in the center dominated the room, with a few 
chairs around it.  Just inside the door were wooden pegs upon which their 
coats were hung, with work boots underneath.  I casually lifted the man’s 
coat off the peg and then returned it as I glanced down at the boots.  Emma 
instructed the boys to show us where to wash up and turned to the stove.  
Queenie and I went out to the stable to the trough of water and performed our 
ablutions.  The boys kept up a chatter as we washed, and seemed to be quite 
taken with Queenie.  Although she normally speaks only when something 
needs to be said, she spoke more to the boys than I had heard her say all day, 
and smiled at the thought.  Matthew was the older boy, about nine years old.  
He was as quiet and reserved as Mark, who was about seven, was outgoing 
and talkative.  Mark plied us with questions about where we were from and 
where we were going.  Had we seen any Indians and did we have any guns 
with us and...  Queenie humored them much more than I did.  Later, after we 
were cleaned up, we went back inside and sat around the large table, eating 
the venison steaks we had furnished, accompanied by a surprising amount 
and variety of garden vegetables - onions, carrots, rutabaga, beans.  Corn 
muffins and coffee completed what was to us a feast.  During the meal we 
furnished the best gift a lonely woman far removed from society could receive 
- conversation.  We told her as much as we could remember of the gossip we 
had heard a few days earlier in Talbott.  Finally, when Emma was busy 
retrieving more coffee, I turned to young Mark and casually asked, "So, 
Mark, how long ago did your father leave?"  Without thinking and before his 
mother could react, he replied, "Oh, when I was five..." Emma whirled 
around.  "Mark!" she scolded, but the damage was done.  Mouth set in a grim 
line, Emma glared at me.  I shrugged.  "Look, Mrs. Brown," I explained.  
"We want to help.  Let me explain, and if I can figure these things out, others 
can as well.  First, we saw no tracks when we rode in, so, unless your 
husband took a back trail, you were lying to us about him being gone for the 
day.  When I lifted the coat off its peg, the impression of the peg stayed in the 
coat, as if it had been hanging there unused a long time.  Those boots have 
dried mud on the soles, and it hasn’t rained here for two weeks.  When you 
took the dishes down, you took three cups off the front of the shelf, and had 
to reach way back to get more.  With all of this, it was apparent that your 
husband is nowhere around."  The boys were staring at me in rapt fascination.  
Emma shook her head.  "We’ve fooled everyone else who has stopped here," 
she said defiantly.  "In any case, we could handle anyone who suspected."  I 
nodded.  "Yes, that may be so.  But we have a better idea."  I looked at 
Queenie, who immediately nodded.  "We’ll talk more after the boys are in 
bed."

Later, the boys put away in the loft, Queenie, Emma and I sat around the 
table and talked.  Emma, now much more at ease with us, told us her sad, 
familiar tale.  Her husband had just picked up and left, she told us, leaving her 
and the boys with no money.  Afraid to abandon the homestead and cabin, 
they had stayed, growing enough food in their garden to live on.  She sold 
some vegetables and made occasional forays into town, where she took in 
sewing and mending to help earn money.  So, there they were - barely 
subsisting on a meager income, relying on the luck of the weather and the 
help of some trusted neighbors to remain fed and clothed.  I watched her as 
she spoke.  She was yet proud, with no loss of spirit.  She was still young, 
and though her hands and face bespoke her rough life, she had none of the 
fatal listlessness or early aging so common to so many in her circumstances.  
Her gray eyes shone with life, and her face, though far from beautiful, was 
handsome in its way, with her strong chin and wide, determined mouth.  She 
was obviously intelligent, perseverant and determined to do well for her and 
her children, at least as well as she could do.  As if catching my thoughts (as 
she often does) Queenie suddenly spoke.  "Tell her."  Emma was taken aback 
at the peremptory tone in her voice, and looked from one of us to the other.  I 
smiled, and told her our plans.

"There is," I told her, as Queenie sat back to listen, "A large number of 
women here, and further west, who are in difficult straits.  They may be 
widows or orphans of the War.  Their husbands may have been killed out 
here, or got discouraged and left.  These women are easy prey for those who 
would take advantage of their weakened and disheartened condition.  Their 
choices are few - marry, and perhaps spend their lives in a condition of 
virtual servitude to a few acres of land; be a teacher, if they are lucky enough 
to have an education themselves; or perhaps become a whore in some 
bordello, used by any man who wants them.  Yes, some are lucky and marry 
happily and well.  Some make their own mark on the world.  But many are 
easy prey..." I paused.  "When they are alone."  I leaned forward towards her 
and looked intently into her eyes.  Her gaze never wavered, and I saw 
interest, curiosity and dawning apprehension in her look.  "We, Queenie and 
I, are travelling west.  As we go, we are seeking members for our club, our 
guild, our secret society, or, as we call it, our Circle.  Our Circle is a group of 
women of like mind, strong of spirit, soul and body, who lend support to 
others as it is needed."  Emma nodded slowly as the intent of the Circle 
became clearer.  "In reality it is a wheel, rather than a Circle.  Queenie and I 
are the center, the hub, about which all else turns.  Certain others who meet 
our requirements are the spokes, lending strength and support.  Still others are 
pieces of the rim, as important to the overall state of the Circle as any of the 
others."  Emma straightened in her chair.  "Am I to be a spoke or a rim?"  she 
asked.  I looked at her more directly.  Queenie stirred in her chair, then was 
still again.  I kept looking at Emma, and her gaze as it met mine was steady 
and clear.  I said nothing, nor did Queenie, and the silence lengthened.  I 
could feel the tension level rising in the room.  Emma’s gaze never wavered 
from mine as our eyes remained locked.  Suddenly Queenie spoke again.  
"Stand up!"  The again peremptory tone startled Emma.  She stood slowly.  
"Take off your dress!"  Emma’s eyes flickered, then steadied.  She reached 
behind her back and unhooked the dress, which fell in one smooth motion to 
the floor, where it lay around her feet.  I heard Queenie draw a breath.  The 
strength of the woman,  previously only hinted at by her broad shoulders and 
height, was now fully evident.  Her arms were big, even in repose, developed 
by hours of backbreaking manual labor.  Her stomach was flat, with only faint 
marks giving notice of childbirth.  Her breasts were full and high, and were 
loosely bound by a strip of cloth.  I continued looking up at her. "There is a 
criteria that must be met if you are to be a full member of the Circle," I finally 
said.  "I wish to test your strength."  Saying this, I put my right elbow down 
on the table between us, arm held upright.  "Have you ever played the Hand 
Game?"  She looked down at my arm and nodded slowly.  She sat back down 
in her chair, and reached to grip my hand, but then withdrew hers again.  "I 
feel at a disadvantage," she said, as she fingered the fabric of my shirtsleeve.  
"It is a disadvantage because I cannot see what I will be testing against."  Her 
eyes came up to mine again, and I could not stop the smile that spread across 
my face.  I stood and pulled my shirt off over my head.  Emma’s eyes 
widened as she beheld my frame.  Her eyes roved over my body, from my 
breasts, tightly bound as they were, to my arms.  I tensed my muscles so they 
grew and hardened, and Emma’s eyes widened further.  A smile came to her 
face as she murmured, "Well, you are a big girl now, aren’t you?"  We sat 
back down and gripped hands.  I felt her begin to apply pressure and replied 
in kind.  For several seconds we increased our strength.  As we continued a 
tiny frown came to Emma’s face.  I watched her arm as it swelled and 
hardened from the strain until it grew to the point where it may even have 
surpassed my own in its dimensions.  She noticed my reaction and her smile 
grew.  Our locked arms trembled slightly as we battled.  Emma’s smile then 
faded as she felt me unleash my power, and slowly I began forcing her arm 
down.  Believe me, diary, when I tell you it was no easy task!  She was 
strong, very strong.  I eased up a little when I had her partway down, and we 
remained deadlocked there for a few more seconds.  "You... are strong!"  I 
panted.  "So.. are you!" Emma gasped back.  "But not... strong enough!"  
Saying this, she exerted an immense effort, wrenching my arm back to even, 
and then halfway down.  I gasped in surprise and it took all my strength just 
to stop her.  My resistance surprised her as well, and she grunted out loud.  
Suddenly we were both fighting with all our strength, our muscles growing to 
epic proportions.  Queenie had risen and was standing next to the table, 
avidly watching our struggle.  For many more seconds we fought, muscles 
rippling, teeth clenched, sweat forming.  I had underestimated her, and she 
had me at such a disadvantage that I could not recover.  Finally, with a sound 
halfway between a moan and a grunt, she forced my hand the rest of the way 
down, and I was beaten.  Queenie let out a low whistle and grinned at me.  "I 
think she’d make a good ‘spoke,’ don’t you, Sarah?"  I could only nod as I 
gasped for air, and the pride and satisfaction in Emma’s eyes told me that we 
had made a wise choice.

And that, dear diary, is what happened today.  This entry is long, I know, but 
I feel, despite my sore hands and fingers from writing so long, that it is 
important to keep as thorough a record as is possible of all our encounters.  
This one is, I think, among the most memorable.  Tomorrow Queenie and I 
will be on our way.  I will tell you anon of our later conversation with Emma, 
and the decisions that were made regarding the future for her and her boys.   
But now, I must sleep.