A few minutes later, Robbins called the team together to explain the situation. “The marker is in the wrong location. According to my modern instruments, Darling fell three miles east of the proper intersection. It looks like we have to go a little farther west.”
The teams loaded up and went on, and Chandler Robbins at last located the coordinates of the 37th parallel and 109th meridian from Washington.
Eliana held her camera on the site as Yiska helped some of the men lower the marker three feet into the ground while others kept watch with their rifles. The marker was set exactly in the place where the four territories intersected. Perhaps someday they would become states in this wonderful, wild land.
As the sun displayed its vibrant colors, Mr. Robbins and the survey team headed out to set up camp. Yiska helped Eliana load her photography equipment onto Sampson. And then he took her by the hand and walked her up to the marker for a closer look.
“Mr. Robbins etched the exact coordinates here, and the name of each territory on the sides.” Yiska pointed to each one. “Utah, Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico.”
Eliana looked with interest at each side of the square column. She tilted her chin and suppressed a smile. “There’s only one problem, husband.”
Yiska placed his hand on his hat and squinted. “What is that, wife?”
“You must decide where to kiss me.” Eliana circled around the tall stone. “Here, here, here, or here?”
“That’s no problem at all. I will kiss you in each territory, here and everywhere else on our journey.”
“And I will hold you to that promise, my love.”
Under the canopy of an Indian paintbrush sky, Yiska kissed Eliana. Again. And again. And again. At that moment Eliana knew the memory of this day would remain engraved on her heart forever, the perfect reward for the shadow catcher’s daughter.
Dear Reader,
Love’s Compass is my debut novel from 2012, originally titled The Shadow Catcher’s Daughter. What an adventure it has been! I hope you enjoyed traveling along with Eliana and Yiska on their romantic journey as much as I did. Though their story is fictitious, the actual 1875 survey of the Four Corners was real, so I decided to have my characters tag along. Using the latest technology at the time, surveyor Chandler Robbins set the boundary for the corners and discovered the earlier survey at Shiprock, NM, was incorrect. A recent controversy indicated that the monument may not have been correctly placed as measured from the Greenwich Prime Meridian. But prior to 1912, and at the time of the 1875 survey, coordinates were measured from the Washington Meridian (about 3 miles difference). This is inconsequential, however, because the border between the states, as determined in the Robbins’s survey, was accepted as the legal boundary. Today’s monument is exactly where the state lines intersect.
When reading about Chandler Robbins I discovered that he served with photographer James F. Ryder in Ohio’s 86th Infantry during the Civil War. Ryder is famed for capturing the war with his camera; thus I decided to make him John Van Horn’s mentor, which in turn connected the three men as old wartime companions. Ryder stated once that what he saw through the lens of the camera was “faithfully reported, exact, and without blemish.” That is how our heavenly Father sees his children. I do hope you believe how precious you are to Him.
I have a few other “real” characters like Mr. Wilson and Mr. Snowden in my story, but my favorite secondary character is Reverend George Darley. He was known as “missionary to the San Juans” and really did preach in saloons! He and his brother built the very first church on Colorado’s western slope in 1876. For more information about the research involved in this novel and to learn more about George Darley’s extraordinary adventures, please visit me online at carlagade.com.
If you liked this story please leave a review for me at Amazon.com and like my author page on Facebook. I hope you will enjoy the bonus story, Pride’s Fall, by Darlene Franklin which also takes place in the Four Corners.
Love & Blessings,
Carla Gade
New Englander Carla Gade writes from her home amidst the rustic landscapes of Maine. With eight books in print she enjoys bringing her tales to life with historically authentic settings and characters. An avid reader, amateur genealogist, photographer, and house plan hobbyist, Carla’s great love (next to her family) is historical research. Though you might find her tromping around an abandoned homestead, an old fort, or interviewing a docent at an historical museum, it’s easier to connect with her online at carlagade.com.
Chapter 1
Mesa Verde, Colorado
June, 1899
Standing Corn waits at the entrance to her home on the cliff, gazing across the valley floor, looking for a sign that her promised, Killdeer, has returned from the hunt. She hears the call of the horn, announcing his return. Three short blasts followed by two longer blasts announce a successful foray, with plenty of food. The tribe will eat well tonight.
She rushes to the circle of elders to celebrate Killdeer’s return. The women of the tribe grab bells and drums, and together the people go out to meet the men returning from the hunt.
Standing Corn sees Killdeer, the skin of the mule deer draped across his shoulders, leading the hunt party. The remaining hunters carry poles loaded with deer and pheasant and other trophies of the hunt. The juice of berries runs down Killdeer’s beardless face.
Killdeer stops the procession in front of Standing Corn. He points to the bounty of the hunt, brandishing his bow and arrow. She lays an admiring hand on his muscled arm before she clasps her hands together and lifts them to the sky, showing her appreciation for his prowess. The expression on his face doesn’t change, but he opens a pouch around his neck and hands her a necklace made of the teeth of a wolf. She clasps it to her breast and then holds it high for everyone to see. Cheers erupt from the crowd.
So far, so good. Rex Pride had climbed to the second level of dwellings built into the side of the cliffs. From here he could see the panorama of action taking place below him. He had never worked with untrained extras before, let alone a group of Indians. They found their marks; it should work on film.
He focused his eyes on Muriel Galloway, the actress playing Standing Corn. In person, she was an ethereal beauty, with hair dark and luxurious enough that she didn’t need a wig to portray an Indian princess—only a hairdresser—although her pale skin required heavy makeup. When he watched the rushes of today’s film, he feared she would fade into the background and hold little more interest than the dull-eyed women trudging around her.
He’d invite her to watch with him. For an artist who demanded as much of herself as Rex did of the entire crew, she’d feel keen disappointment if his fears proved well founded. Instead of drawing every eye to her when she was on screen, she was lost in the crowd. From this height he gained some perspective. Crowd scenes often presented problems. A frown creased his face. Muriel rarely needed guidance, but she could do better. She must do better—exaggerate her gestures a little more. He’d work out the close-ups with camerist Benny Gruber later.
Women returned from the fields, holding baskets of corn in their arms and crossing directly in front of Muriel, cutting her off from the camera.
Rex raised his voice. “Cut!” Assuming Benny would relay his command, he climbed down the ladder at breakneck speed.
“Cut!” Rex Pride’s voice rang out high above the milling crowd of extras hired for the scene. Muriel scanned the area, locating him scrambling down the ladder.
Muriel sought the coolest spot she could find—a bit of shade underneath a canopy set up over the refreshments—and accepted a glass of lemonade from Frederic Fulton. Fred played the role of Killdeer in their current film project, Ruined Hopes. “What bee got in his bonnet? We didn’t finish the scene.”
“He’ll tell us soon enough. I suspect it was me.” Muriel resisted the urge to wipe away the sweat gathering on her brow. Smudging her makeup would result in time needed to repair the damage and make Rex more frantic. �
��He’s going to tell me that I didn’t project my emotions enough.”
Rex Pride of Pride Productions demanded perfection. He was difficult, make that impossible, to work with, but no one understood the new medium of film better. Her time working with him had turned out to be everything she had imagined and more.
“We’ve got to do it again. You there.” Rex called over Sarah, the Navajo woman who coordinated the extras. “What was that group of gatherers doing coming between Miss Galloway and the camera? They ruined the whole shot. We have to do it again from the top.”
Sarah’s face didn’t reflect any umbrage at Rex’s tirade. The actors endured Rex’s demands because he was the best in the business film industry. But why would people with nothing to gain except a few seconds of exposure on a movie they might never see accept the abuse?
Something flickered in Sarah’s impassive eyes as she nodded. “I will tell them.” The extras clustered around her and listened intently.
“And you.” Rex’s voice brought Muriel’s attention back to him. “Muriel, you are not on a stage. You are acting in front of a camera, and you must draw the camera’s eye to yourself. If you cannot make the transition to film, stick to the stage.”
Muriel bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue. This is not my first film. My last film was well received. “I will make adjustments.”
Rex clapped. “Places, everyone.” He scrambled back up the ladder while everyone returned to their places on the open ground.
Filming in the wilds of southwest Colorado represented a risk compared to working in a studio. Before they began working, Rex had shown them Thomas A. Edison’s 1898 documentary, Indian Day School, filmed entirely on location in Isleta Pueblo, New Mexico. He had convinced Muriel at least that the authentic cliff dwellings would make Ruined Hopes unforgettable.
“Lights.” Rex’s voice boomed from above. Benny signaled his readiness. “Camera!” Another signal.
Muriel sank into Standing Corn’s mind and assumed her pose, waiting for the return of Killdeer.
“And…action!”
They made it through the scene without interruption before Rex called “Cut.”
Muriel breathed a sigh of relief. Unless Rex wanted to film the scene again, always a possibility, they had finished the day’s filming. She wanted to watch both versions later to see what worked better about the second run-through.
The extras must have agreed that the day’s filming had finished, since they streamed away from the staging area in groups of two or three. Their work was done; they didn’t have to look at the film or memorize more lines or listen to Rex’s criticism, as she did.
Rex climbed down the ladder and shouted, “Come back! We’ve got to do it again!” He motioned for Sarah to bring them back while he took one of the hunters aside. “Brent, you’ve got to make it look like you’re carrying hundreds of pounds on that pole, not the paper-mache you have. Muriel, move your hands away from your eyes so that we can see your facial expressions better. And Helen…”
Muriel took a seat in one of the many rooms located along the base of the cliffs and accepted the drink that Sarah handed her. She wished she could remove the heavy makeup caked on her face, but that wouldn’t happen until Rex was satisfied with the scene. Judging from his lengthy instructions, that wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
Muriel didn’t think she would ever grow tired of gazing at the cliffs. An entire civilization had once existed in these strange homes built into the rocks. Some of them were higher than the tallest building she had ever seen, the Tacoma Building in Chicago. She studied the honeycomb-like dwellings and prayed for God’s peace in the middle of yet another difficult day on-site with Pride Productions. The call of “places, everyone” drifted in her direction. Most of the extras had returned, although she could see a cluster of people walking in the direction of their village.
She stood and prepared to go back out into the heat. Rex was striding toward her. The man was a perfectionist, a harsh taskmaster—a genius. He demanded only the best, and a film with Rex Pride would guarantee her pick of any role she wanted to play in the future.
If she survived the filming.
He was shouting by the time he reached her. “Miss Galloway.”
“Muriel.” Any other way was impossible.
“Other directors may allow you to dictate the pace of production, but I am not other directors. When I call for places, I expect—”
“You’re certainly not like anyone else I’ve worked with.”
“—you to respond immediately.” He finished his tirade as if she hadn’t said a thing.
Patience is a virtue, she reminded herself. She recalled the proverb that advised that a soft answer turned away wrath. “I started on my way as soon as you called.”
He looked at her, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. “Then perhaps you should take refreshment closer to the set next time.”
“Pride, the weather is beastly hot. Muriel’s been a good sport,” Fred Fulton said.
Fred was sweet to jump to her defense like that. Movies were the perfect medium for him. The British accent coming out of the mouth of someone dressed to look like an Indian wearing buckskin clothes would ruin the illusion moving pictures sought to create.
From the red hue spreading across Rex’s face, Fred had taken her defense a step too far. She put a hand on Fred’s shoulder.
“I don’t mind, Fred, truly. What matters is that I am here now. Let’s not waste any more time. We need to continue filming while we have the light.” She searched for the small pyramid of pebbles she had used to mark the exact spot where she awaited Killdeer’s return.
“Not there. Don’t you even remember where I placed you?” Rex said crossly. “Move a yard to your right.”
The light had changed, that’s all. Taking a deep breath, Muriel shifted her position.
“No, that’s not right, either.” Pride looked up at the unpredictable sky. “It’s starting to cloud over. Benny…”
Muriel wished she had something to fan her face with…a page of script, a palm frond—not that palms grew in this desert—but Standing Corn held nothing in her hand. The slight breeze swirling from the clouds overhead provided little relief. Perhaps Benny would say the cloud cover wouldn’t work for this scene, and she could escape until the sun came out again. But no, even from this distance Muriel could see that Benny assured Rex all was well. He drew in the sand, probably suggesting the placement of the actors.
“I say, fellows, you can’t just leave,” Fred said.
The extras had called it a day. They carried the props to the storage tent and set off at a brisk pace for their village. All around Muriel, people glanced at the sky and talked among themselves. After storing the props they left, their exodus streaming a mile long on the valley floor.
Lightning split the clouds, and thunder echoed down the walls of the canyon.
“Muriel.” Sarah had changed back into her usual clothing. “You and the other white men must gain the heights. When it rains, the water will flood this place.”
Deafening thunder rolled down the canyon. Frustrated, Rex waited for silence before resuming his conversation with Benny.
With a look at the sky, where dark-lined clouds filled a horizon that was clear only an hour earlier, Benny shook his head. “We have to wait. If we try to film now, it won’t match what we’ve already done. Sorry, Rex.”
Rex scowled at the sky. Everything was against him today, even the elements. “Let’s hope they pass as quickly as they gathered. We’ll wait out the storm and start again.”
“You won’t find that too easy.” Benny pointed to the people scurrying in the direction of their village.
Rex cursed under his breath. Why had he ever decided to work with Indians? Edison and his Indian Day School, that’s who inspired him to use the Mesa Verde setting for Ruined Hopes. But apparently they were more committed to filming a story about their children than to working as extras. If he were anywhere els
e, he could hire a thousand people off the street who’d be thrilled to have their faces immortalized on film.
But he had chosen this location. He was Rex Pride, and his pride pushed him to do more, to try outrageous stunts never done before. With the motion picture industry so new, he found exhilaration in exploring the possibilities, in pushing the limits of what the medium could do. They had only skimmed the surface.
“I should dock their day’s pay. I hope what you have in the can works, that we don’t need to use them again.”
“Rex!” Muriel ran in his direction, sweat forming on her face, creating cracks in her makeup. She should know better. The Indian woman who had attached herself to Muriel followed behind. No emotions showed on her face, but Muriel looked panicked. What nonsense had the women whispered in the actress’s ear?
“You there.” Rex crossed the distance between them in two long strides. “You can tell your friends not to come back.”
The woman, rather heavyset with no spark to make it onto a movie set aside from this project, didn’t react to his threat. “The rains come.”
He didn’t need an Indian to state the obvious. “I know that.”
“When the rains come, the canyon floods.” She spoke slowly, as if to a child.
Rex gawked at the pair of them. “Flood? This place is drier than the Sahara.”
“Rex, listen to her.” Muriel almost dislodged the braids down her back when she shook her head. “This canyon is going to flood. You have to give the order to move. No one is moving without your say so.”
The more she tried to cajole him, the more he resisted. “No one is to leave. We will resume filming when the storm passes over.”
“There is no place else for the water to go.” Muriel removed the bone necklace from around her neck. “I refuse to risk my life or the lives of the crew. I am through for the day.” She tilted her head back calculating the ladder. “The third story should do it.” Glaring at Rex, she called a warning to the others remaining on the canyon floor.
Love's Compass Page 17
