A Touch of the Past

Every once in a while, two paths cross: the past and the present.

I've been zigzagging across these paths for a while now and especially over the last few weeks. Following along the Pony Express Trail, passing old stations and land marks known and marked from history, sometimes the past just doesn't seem so long ago.

This past weekend, I came across the preserved cabin built by Porter Rockwell in Eureka, Utah. It stands outside, under a protective roof, like a proud trophy or monument to a remembered hero. While I stood admiring the work that must of been used in order to move and protect this old structure, several other passer-thru's stopped to look as well. Ol' Port still can draw them in!

I snagged a picture and touched the cabin. Although the oils of our hands didn't mix, the act of touching something that someone who died nearly a hundred years before I was born had touched, made that person real and become a part of me.

Within the echoes of the past

Stirs the whispers of the future.

The Lord and Mr. Rockwell

“You know, Brother Rockwell, the Lord would rather that you don't drink.”

“It’s all right.” Porter calmed the situation and offered the lady an explanation. “The Lord would that I not do a number of things I do. I figure, one day I’ll oblige him and do right. For now, I do appreciate your concern.”-Excerpt from AIN'T DEAD YET.

Old Tricks

“The old throw-the-rock-to-my-side-to-distract-me-trick, eh?” Branstorm called out. “I thought you were beyond that sort of nonsense, Rockwell. Did you really think I would fall for that?”

“Not really.” Porter spoke up, standing right next to Branstorm, having approached from the other side, his gun held ready. “But it seems like it always works.”

Excerpt from WIP- "AIN'T DEAD YET". 

Meeting the Utes

“Meeting up with Utes ain’t ever boring, that’s for sure.” Porter quipped to the dog.
The animal acknowledged his voice with a quick lick about his snout but kept his head strained around Porter and his eyes fixed toward the voices.

Excerpt from "Ain't Dead Yet"

“Christina, grab lang riffle! The man called out in his native language.

The Danish farmer’s wife crawled along the one room cabin’s dirt floor, staying low and out of sight. She inched towards the fireplace. Terrified, she forced herself to stand up straight only long enough to reach the rifle hanging over the mantle, as requested by her husband. Once retrieved, she hurried down to the floor and scooted back across it, dragging her dress in one hand and holding the rifle up in the other. Not wanting to stay up higher any longer than needed, she stretched her arm out to hand the firearm to her husband’s reach. She dropped all the way down and searched again for her children.

Far Worse...

“Well, all right,” Jacob relented “but I can only eat enough to get me home and to protect your reputation within the Ward.” He winked at Mary Ann. “Far worse than coming home hungry, is coming home full.” -Jacob Williams, character and neighbor to Orrin Porter Rockwell in my upcoming book: "Ain't Dead Yet".