Jack’s medals were in there, his watch, his wedding ring, and my brooch. I sat Mrs. Lady on top of the box, to guard it from intruders, and her worn and faded dress spread out across the top, her little patch of tangled hair flew around her head. Then I kissed the little old portrait of us from our wedding trip, and I washed my face and dried my eyes.
The other Elliot men came in noisily for supper, talking about the ranch, and the sun was setting fast as we ate. Every now and then I could hear Jack’s voice in someone’s from the table, just a word or a tone, but Jack was alive in these men around me.
Every now and then I look at Mrs. Lady and smile at her, and I know she appreciates the treasure she guards.
Jack Elliot, you are a sore trial and a wonder.
June 30, 1901
This morning I paid two men from town to move the coffins of my husband and my children from town to their resting places here, and put up a pretty carved headstone for each of them. And I planted a little tree called a jacaranda at their heads. It is a tiny stem, with only three little branches, but all the branches have a shoot of flowers on them, and Chess says that in Texas these trees get as big as a house, and will shade the entire hill eventually.
The air now is balmy and cool, and while the days are warm they are not as fiercely hot as during the worst of the summer. In the twilight here from the porch I can see, rising in the clear summer sky, a brilliant star, brighter than any other in the heavens. Every night it joins another one and the moon in a triangle, and makes a journey across the sky and sets in the hills. I have stayed up sometimes well towards midnight to watch it.
I have named the star Jack’s Star. It is beautiful and bright and gives me joy when it is here and pain when it is not, and every year as the summer approaches, I have seen it coming over the hills. I used to think that maybe someday I will learn what educated people have called it and why it is only here sometimes, but now I think it wouldn’t matter. It is Jack’s Star, and they have only to ask me and I will tell them its name.
They will have to ask the star itself where it goes and why it is not content to stay.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my family and friends for their encouragement and support; my daughter, April, for keenly recognizing the good and bad in my work; my son, Sterling, who listened and laughed in the right places; and my husband, John, who refused to cast opinion until I asked, and was there for the rejection as well as the acceptance.
None of this would have appeared in print without the hard work of a patient yet tenacious literary agent. John Ware has proved himself beyond the call of duty in every respect.
I extend special appreciation to those faculty members of the Writing Department at Pima Community College, Tucson, Arizona, whose goal is the fanning of the flame. Otis Bronson first told me I was a writer and sent me to the forge. Meg Files, a remarkably gifted writer and quite likely the most extraordinary teacher I’ve had the pleasure to study under, showed me how to refine the blade and polish the edge, and cheered me onward at every turn.
About the Author
NANCY E. TURNER is the author of several works of fiction, including The Water and the Blood and Sarah’s Quilt. She has been a seam snipper in a clothing factory, a church piano player, a paleontologist’s aide, and an executive secretary. She lives in Tucson, Arizona, with her husband and two children.
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Praise for
These Is My Words
“Clear, at times lyrical prose…providing vivid, colorful characters and historically accurate backdrop.”
—Washington Post
“This is a beautifully written book that quickly captures readers’ attention and holds it tightly and emotionally until the end.”
—Library Journal
“A vivid picture of one woman’s true grit on the frontier.”
—Dallas Morning News
“Jack and Sarah are as delicious a couple as Rhett and Scarlett. The three-hankie ending to their long love affair will definitely make you give a damn.”
—USA Today
“These Is My Words belongs on your must-read list. In her first book, Nancy E. Turner approaches the fine qualities of Larry McMurtry’s Pulitzer-winning Lonesome Dove. The two books share unforgettable characters, a grand sweep of history, adventure, love, and emotion so real that you feel it…. A book not to miss.”
—Omaha World-Herald
“An entertaining—at times harrowing—reading experience.”
—Fort Worth Star-Telegram
“A compelling portrait of an enduring love, the rough old West, and a memorable pioneer.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A lushly satisfying romance, period-authentic, with true grit.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Nancy E. Turner has spun a frontier novel that teeters on the fine edge of truth and fiction…. Simply place an 1880s map of the Southwest next to the book and enjoy the ride.”
—Arizona Republic
“Says more about America than Gone with the Wind…. I’d put it up there with To Kill a Mockingbird. It is moving, funny, and rings very true.”
—Mary Stewart, author of The Crystal Cave
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THESE IS MY WORDS. Copyright © 1998 by Nancy E. Turner. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Mobipocket Reader May 2008 ISBN 978-0-06-166306-2
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About the Publisher
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Table of Contents
Begin Reading
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Praise
Copyright
About the Publisher
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These Is My Words: The Diary of Sarah Agnes Prine, 1881-1901 Page 41
