Visiting The Alamo ~by Tanya Hanson

After my terrific  cowgirl vacation at the Silver Spur Ranch in Bandera a while back, I  realized I couldn’t leave Texas without a stay in San  Antonio.  “The Alamo,” I told Hubby. He nodded, having seen the structure during his army days at Fort Sam Houston.  “It must be glorious,” I went on.  “Huge and imposing  like Westminster Abbey.  Overpowering the city like Big Ben does London.”

He shook his head. “It’s something to see, but it’s kinda random. Small. Surrounded by hotels and shops. But you’ll love it.” And so I did. Despite its location amidst a bustling city, the Alamo grounds are surprisingly tranquil. Several times a day, I walked through them, sitting down to relax, enjoy, and ponder as well.  The fountain is especially lovely,  its four sides engraved with the names of four of the defenders, commander William Travis, his second cousin James Bonham,  Jim Bowie, and Davy Crocket.

In fact, my hotel was situated on Bonham Street, where a long palisade had once stood.

Before leaving home, I picked a hotel that advertised seeing The Alamo from it. And so I could, looking down from my thirteenth floor. (Yes, thirteenth! Woooooooo.) Because The Alamo is a war memorial, The Daughters of the Republic of Texas, who are the custodians of the edifice, decreed that no man-made structures can cast a shadow on it, and this is now a building code. So I checked whenever I  looked out.

No shadows.

Supposedly at one time, a grove of cottonwoods grew nearby, hence the name, since Alamo is Spanish for Cottonwood. Formal name is San Antonio de Valero Mission, and its purpose—long before its cornerstone was set in 1744—was a place to convert Indians to Christianity and to educate them.

As you may know, the Alamo’s chapel and compound were nearly destroyed in a 13-day battle in March 1836 by Mexican artillery fire against the Texian army of the four heroes mentioned above. Mexican general Santa Anna didn’t want the place to become a shrine to the estimated 190 defenders slaughtered there, so he gave a direct order that the mission be completely demolished. Not one stone was to be left standing.

In spite of his orders, the remaining walls of the chapel were left unharmed. Even though there wasn’t much left, Santa Anna’s direct order was never carried out. Nowhere in any Texian or Mexican war records is there mention that the general rescinded that order. Still, it was never carried out.

Tales and legends from Mexico as well as San Antonio insist that Santa Anna’s men indeed went to the building to carry out the order, but saw something that had them turn and run. “Glowing men with flaming swords” kept them from entering and carrying out the dirty deed.

Well, these guardian angels didn’t protect the mission for long. Or maybe folks reckoned the Alamo would still be guarded by the heroes who died defending her. But for the ten years of the Republic, this shrine to Texas liberty was mistreated, limestone already cut thieved to build other San Antonio structures. The two mostly-intact buildings, the chapel and the “long barracks” began to disappear piece by piece.

By the time Texas entered the United States, the chapel was a ruin, walls in places no taller than waist-high. The façade we know and love today was built by the Army Corps of Engineers in 1840’s when the military needed a warehouse to store grain and supplies and decided the old ruin was just the place.

By the 1870’s, the Army had outgrown this downtown headquarters and established nearby Fort Sam Houston north of town.  No one knows just who “owned” the chapel by now and a private merchant used it for his storehouse. By the 1890’s, it became a quasi-tourist attraction,  but many citizens considered it an eyesore. Both the city of San Antonio and the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Texas claimed the site. After considerable litigation, the courts decided in favor of the church. The state of Texas bought the chapel and grounds it stood on, from the church, but the land surrounding the chapel—the land where the battle actually happened—passed into private hands.

Texas did little to restore the crumbling walls or preserve the building , and when the private industry closed its doors, a young woman named Clara Driscoll stepped in. She’d visited Europe, impressed with the preservation of its old buildings and historical sites, and was outraged at the condition of the Alamo chapel and the battle field. Through her letter-writing campaigns to newspapers  and her membership in the De Zavala  Chapter of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, she began whole-hearted efforts to begin proper preservation of this Shrine of Texas Liberty. This was in 1903.  Her fight to preserve the land around The Alamo, as well as her personal money including the last $500 needed, brought out statewide sympathy.  (Of course Clara’s battle was a lot more complicated and political than this but I reckoned she might deserve her own blog sometime along with her main rival Adina de Zavala.)
  

                                                                                            

The state conveyed the property to the Daughters of the Texas Republic in October 1905, with Clara appointed custodian.  Nonetheless,  Adina de Zavala had possession of the keys, and it wasn’t until the DRT filed a civil action that Clara obtained them.

 I’m sure glad Clara did. The Alamo is a shrine where only five non-military people survived the battle, a touchstone of history. A symbol of unspeakable sacrifice and courage. 

How about you? Any historical site you like that should be preserved? Which ones are you glad have been restored?

Coming this spring from The Wild Rose Press

www.tanyahanson.com

www.petticoatsandpistols.com

Crabtown, Montana

When doing  research for Improper Pinkerton which is set in Helena, Montana in the mid 1880's, I stumbled across some information that didn’t make it into the story but I found interesting.

In 1864, John Cowan, Daniel Jackson Miller, John Crab, and Robert Stanley discovered gold in what is present day Helena’s Main Street.  It didn’t take long for word to get out and the population grew to 3000 and businesses started popping up all through the gulch. 

The original name for the town was Crabtown after John Crab.  But miners from Minnesota started calling the town Saint Helena after a town in Minnesota and the shortened version stuck.

When gold was found Montana became a U.S. territory and by 1875 Helena became the capital of the territory.  A battle was waged when the territory became a state. The “Copper King” Marcus Daly of Anaconda wanted the capital  in his town but his rival, William A. Clark, supported Helena and in October 1898 a new capitol building was erected and Helena began its reign of serving Montana’s government.

Most mining towns diminish or turn into ghost towns when the gold peters out. Not so with Helena. The city continued to thrive due to the fact it was located on several major transportation routes. The Northern Pacific Railroad came to Helena in 1883 helping to establish it as the state capital and preventing the town from disappearing as the gold diminished.

It’s estimated that fifty millionaires lived in Helena by 1888. The area called Last Chance Gulch over a twenty year period produced approximately $3.6 billion of today’s dollars.  When the mining dwindled in Helena they became the hub for the other mining areas around them producing transportation, goods, and agriculture. 

Blurb for Improper Pinkerton

An impetuous Pinkerton agent is out to prove to a righteous US Marshal that she's the best "man" to complete the assignment and the only "woman" who can capture his heart.

Mae Simon is on her first assignment as a Pinkerton operative and determined nothing will stand in her way of accomplishing her task. When the simple assignment turns into a murder and kidnapping, she has to stop hiding behind her disguises and trust a man she’s betrayed.

U. S. Marshal Beck Harlan can’t afford to befriend anyone. Not with a vengeance seeking outlaw killing off his intimate acquaintances. Yet, he falls hard for the French prostitute he talks into being an informant, not realizing she is a Pinkerton operative after the same man.

www.patyjager.net

www.patyjager.blogspot.com

www.windtreepress.com

Sweethearts Guest--Linda Carroll Bradd

LINDA CARROLL BRADD

Behind the Book Details on The Ring That Binds

by Linda Carroll Bradd

Every time I start a new story, I begin with setting. In my process, I have to know where the story will take place before I can populate it with characters.

With The Ring That Binds, I knew I wanted to write a historical holiday story. Years ago, I’d written a story that was set in a fictional mine in southern Colorado and decided I could use the same setting. But when I started researching on the Colorado state website,  I learned the Aspen area had been the lead US producer of silver ore in 1891-92 (population around 10,000). I had my location. My idea was a story set in a smaller town so I went back five years when the mine was just starting to produce, and the population hadn’t boomed.

MINERS

With the mining industry as the financial backbone of the town, I cast my characters in businesses that would have been needed by the mine’s workers. Since few professions were available to women, I thought of seamstress for the heroine.

For her to have her own store, she must have had money at one point. Back to the research. I discovered in 1880, about ten miles from Aspen, a vein of silver was discovered at a place that would become Ashcroft. Within two weeks, a group of 97 prospectors created a miner’s union, built a courthouse, and laid out the city streets. In 1883, the population was 2,000 and the town was settled. But the ore played out and the town was deserted within a year. Perfect.

By placing my heroine and her first husband in that town, I gave them the opportunity to gain wealth and have a reason to arrive in Aspen. Then I needed that husband gone. So I made him crazy for silver, and sent him to Leadville, another famous silver producing area. He left behind debts and got killed almost upon arrival. Now I had my heroine who was also a single mother.

Every town of any size needed a general store and I invented one that was co-owned by two brothers of Basque descent. Purely because I wanted a heritage from which customs and foods would be different for my Irish heroine to experience. In my mind, the hero and heroine would have had business dealings at the general store as an introduction. One of the few social events available to a widow and small daughter would have been church functions. I built the story from there and I hope you will be intrigued by this information to seek it out.

I’m proud to say The Ring That Binds spent 7 weeks on the

Kindle Top 100 western romance list.

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/The-Ring-That-Binds-ebook/dp/B00AM0OQSK

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/The-Ring-That-Binds?store=allproducts&keyword=The+Ring+That+Binds

Prism Book Group: http://www.prismbookgroup.com/TheRingThatBinds.html

BLURB: 1886 Aspen, Colorado--Widow Celina Innes struggles to run her dress shop and pay her late husband’s debts for the sake of her four-year old daughter, Keena. Following his dream for silver was a mistake and Celina has sworn her independence. Co-owner of Toussaint’s General Store, Mikel, wishes to make this proud woman’s life easier. He slips treats to the child hoping to please Celina. When illness strikes Keena, Celina turns to Mikel for help and they work together all night, deepening their friendship. But when the crisis ends, Mikel disappears and Celina learns he wishes to increase his stores. How could she have been so wrong about him? Can a woman sworn to put down roots and a man seeking more riches find happiness?

EXCERPT:
The bell over her door tinkled, and a whoosh of cold air swept inside.

“I’ll be right with you.” Celina glanced over her shoulder and spotted Mikel Toussaint, one of the two owners of the general store. Her heartbeat kicked at the sight of one of the town’s most eligible bachelors. “Oh, hello.”

“Mikel!” Keena ran around the counter to greet the tall, dark-haired man. “See what I made.”

“Ah, a necklace fit for a princess.” He scooped up the little girl in his arms then tickled her tummy before turning to acknowledge the women. “Hello, Mrs. Innes, Mrs. Peabody. How are you ladies this fine day?”

“Fine?” Mrs. Peabody sniffed, turning back to preen before her silvery reflection. “A Colorado winter hardly deserves that compliment.”

“A winter day in the mountains without snow is a fine day, my papa always says.” He smiled, white teeth flashing above his green woolen scarf. “Back in the old country, in Espana, on a day like today, people sit on verandas, enjoying wine and pintxo.” He raised Keena to head height and swung her around, causing her to erupt into a fit of high-pitched giggles. In a flash, a peppermint drop appeared in his hand and he presented it to the little girl.

Mikel’s smile softened his dark, slashing eyebrows, and nose with its hawk-like bend, making him almost good looking. Celina had heard ladies whisper about his older brother Danel’s rakish handsome features. But her preference was for a man who knew how to smile.

Celina shook her head at his foreign word that she’d learned meant some type of tasty food from his Basque homeland.

A throat clearing behind her was a not-so-subtle reminder that she was with a customer. Her stomach tightened with a nervous twist.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Toussaint?”

“Oh, my errand. I forget when surrounded by three lovely ladies.” He set Keena down with a pat on her head, and then reached inside his jacket for a flat brown envelope. “I know you look for magazine with eager eyes each month. All the way from Philadelphia.”

Godey’s Lady’s Book. Her link with the latest in the fashion world was the one item of pleasure in her tight budget. When she accepted the mail, she felt the warmth left by his hands on the paper, and her fingers slid to capture it. “Thank you for dropping by with this.” She jerked her head toward the waiting customer, hoping he’d take the hint and depart.

“I am off to café for early dinner and wish you all a good evening.”

“Bye, Mikel.” Keena dashed to the window so she could watch his exit.

“Yes, yes.” Mrs. Peabody waved a hand in his direction. “Good evening to you. Now, Mrs. Innes, back to my jacket.”

Celina lifted the envelope in a good-bye salute, and then laid it on her desk before crossing to the fitting platform. To satisfy her customer, she etched light chalk marks at the waist and bust line of the jacket, and then stepped onto the platform to ease the garment off Mrs. Peabody’s rounded shoulders. “Those markings will do the trick. I can have this ready by Saturday at noon. Will that suit?” That allowed her another week to work on holiday decorations and presents for Keena.

“Yes, that will do. I want to wear it to church services on Sunday.” She stepped down and headed to the changing area, her boots making dull thuds on the wooden floor. “I’ve often commented to Mr. Peabody on that man’s strange eating habits.”

Strange? Wondering what she meant, Celina folded the jacket and laid it on the wooden display case that held samples of embroidered collars, cuffs, hankies, and aprons she sewed during her evening hours.
~~*~~*~~*~~
BIO: As a child, Linda was often found lying on her bed reading about characters having exciting adventures in places far away. Upon reaching a landmark birthday, she decided to write one of those romances she loved so much. Easier said than done. Perseverance paid out and twelve years later, she received her first call from a publisher and a confession story was published. Now Linda writes heartwarming contemporary and historical stories with a touch of humor, and many have a tie to her previous home of Texas.

Linda currently lives in the southern California mountains with her husband of 34 years and their two spoiled dogs, Shiba Inu Keiko and terrier mix Phoenix.

You can learn more about Linda and her stories at these sites:
www.lindacarroll-bradd.com
http://blog.lindacarroll-bradd.com
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Linda-Carroll-Bradd-author/440814942635289
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1806413.Linda_Carroll_Bradd
 

The Victorian Era-"Too Much is Not Enough"

The Victorian Era in America-1837-1901

By Celia Yeary

 After the Civil War to the turn of the century, wealth increased all across America. By 1870, an enormous building boom increased the number of millionaires to one hundred. With the advent of new money, the call for more of everything reigned among the wealthy.

“Too much is not enough” became the mantra, as the rich constantly sought out new ways to display their prominence in society.

A RESTORED VICTORIAN HOME

From New York to the West coast, a woman of means threw her heart and soul into creating a home befitting her status. This meant building a home that was as festooned as a Christmas tree—inside and out.

 A VICTORIAN PARLOR

She stuffed every room with spindly, feminine furniture, until it overflowed with excess. She decorated with abandon, creating grossly decorated rooms, filled with every knickknack and gimcrack imaginable. A person might feel stifled and claustrophobic in the room.



VICTORIAN LADIES

The ladies, young and old, dressed in the fashions of the day. The outfits were as ornate as the homes in which they lived. Pronounced bustles, unnecessary and odd-looking, was part of every well-to-do lady’s dress. One dress might contain as many as twenty yards of silk and satin, and rows and rows of lace and fringe and ruffles decorated the necklines, hems, and bustles.

A lady strived for the most extravagant hairdo she could manage. She piled it high on her head, tortured it into masses of curls and ringlets, and above all, draped it with all manner of gewgaws to frame her face. All in the name of elegance.

In my first release, All My Hopes and Dreams, a Western Historical set in the Victorian era, 1880 Texas, Miss Cynthia Harrington lives in a big, white fancy house in Nacogdoches, Texas with her banker father.

As she says in the novel, “Nacogdoches is not exactly the social and fashion center of Texas.” However, she strives to be the best-dressed young lady of the small East Texas town. With her loveliness and poise, she manages to attract the attention of visiting horse-buyer, Ricardo Romero.
Of course, they marry, and she soon learns that the Romero ranch on the far Western edge of the Texas Frontier most certainly differs in all ways from her usual lifestyle—and that includes dress. By the third day, she finds herself wearing boots, split skirt, blouse, and gaucho hat.

Read about their adventures and how they fall in love...

ALL MY HOPES AND DREAMS

To escape an arranged marriage, beautiful, proper Cynthia Harrington from East Texas impulsively marries Ricardo Romero, a striking, sensual Spaniard who ranches on the far western edge of the Texas frontier. Innocently, she steps into a hotbed of anger, rivalry, and strong wills. As she struggles to gain a foothold in the hostile household and foreign ranch community, she finds that her biggest challenge is to make her husband love her.

 Ricardo creates his own problems by marrying an outsider, angering his mother, father, and his jealous ex-lady friend. Then, the Texas Rangers arrive looking for a killer, and Cynthia saves Ricardo’s mother in a confrontation with the wanted man. Ricardo realizes that his delicate bride has more grit and spunk than he thought, and his greatest trial becomes a race to pursue his own wife and persuade her to stay with him.

 EXCERPT:

“A ranch? I know nothing of ranching or the West. I would like to live in a city. But you live…”

“Not far from San Antonio,” Ricardo hastened to say. “But it is far enough away that we only go twice a year for a holiday.”

Cynthia lowered her head and looked at her hands. “I don’t know. That seems far out of my realm of expertise. I’m not certain I could do that.”

“Answer this, Cynthia. Would you rather live here until your father finds another husband for you, or would you rather make your own decision? I’m giving you a choice.”

At that moment, they heard heavy, hurried footsteps on the porch. Both knew it was the master of the house. Just as he opened the door, stepped in, and turned toward the parlor, Ricardo gathered Cynthia into his arms. He turned her just so, placed his sculptured lips on her soft, feminine ones, and kissed her with all the passion he could muster. For good measure, he moved one hand to one breast. Instead of fighting, she responded as though she hadn’t heard her father.

“Cynthia Louise Harrington! What the devil are you up to?”

Ricardo and Cynthia pulled back, but they did not jerk apart. Instead, they gazed into each other’s eyes and parted slowly. Without caring if the man was in the room or not, Ricardo placed his palm on her cheek, and kissed her on the other, ever so sweetly and gently. Before he let her go, he whispered, “Will you marry me?”

She nodded and whispered in return, “Yes, I will marry you.”

 My First Published Book

Now, $2.99, reduced by The Wild Rose Press

because it is now six years old.

Happy Birthday, All My Hopes and Dreams!

Please visit Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/All-My-Hopes-Dreams-ebook/dp/B0053HO6SW/ref=sr_1_12?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1364587191&sr=1-12&keywords=Celia+Yeary

***OR***

Barnes and Noble

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/all-my-hopes-and-dreams-celia-yeary/1100069701?ean=2940000155684&itm=1&usri=celia+yeary

 Celia Yeary-Romance...and a little bit 'o Texas

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/celiayeary

My Website

My Blog

Sweethearts of the West-Blog

My Facebook Page 

HISTORICAL HUMOR

by Kathy Otten

While writing my new Civil War novel, I came across a need to research jokes of the period.  I was lucky enough to stumble onto a copy of Beeton's Book of Jokes and Jests, 1880. Though it was published in England, there are many jokes with reference to the Civil War. However odd these jokes seem by today’s standard, here are a couple of jokes from that book. I hope they brighten your day.

                                                           ****

The daughter of the Mayor of Beaune having lost her canary bird, her father instantly gave orders for the closing of the gates of the town.

                                                            ****

A young lover exclaimed, "Oh Julia! The first time you speak to me so as to make me despair, I will kill myself at your feet!"  "And what will you do the second time?" asked the young lady.

                                                            ****

A celebrated American judge had a very stingy wife. On one occasion she received his friends in the drawing-room with a single candle. "Be pleased, my dear," said his lordship, "to let us have a second candle that we may see where the other stands."

                                                             ****

Someone has said, that the greatest corn growers in the civilized world are—tight boots.

                                                            ****

One of the Federal regiments was fiercely attacked by a whole brigade in one of the battles in Mississippi; and, unable to withstand such odds, fell back about thirty or forty yards, losing their flag to the enemy. Suddenly, a tall Irishman dashed from the ranks across the vacant ground, attacked the squad of Confederates who had possession of the captured flag, felled several with his musket, snatched the flag from them, and returned safely to his regiment. The soldier was immediately surrounded by his comrades who greatly praised him for his gallantry, and his captain appointed him to a sergeantcy on the spot.  The hero, however, cut them short by saying, "Say no more about it. I just fetched my whisky flask which I dropped among the rebels, and I thought I might as well bring the flag back with it."

Kathy Otten

http://www.kathyottenauthor.com 
https://www.amazon.com/author/kathyotten

ANOTHER WALTZ   NEW RELEASE (Victorian Holiday Novella)
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=176_135&products_id=4993

He made her fall in love with him, then he took it all away.

The Importance of Family History - Finding Your Roots

Some years ago, my Riley cousins and I decided we needed to get together once a year to go on an adventure. Last year they went tubing down the San Marcos River in San Marcos. Now, imagine a bunch of women in their 60s trying to get out of those inner tubes without landing on their heads. Alas, I didn't get to participate in that activity as I had to help my daughter that day. 

A few years ago, we decided to visit our grandmother Riley's birthplace and discover our roots. Three of us piled in a car and made the trip to Gizzard Cove, Tennessee also called The Gizzard. The log cabin where our grandmother, Martha Comfort Pyburn Riley, was born in the late 1880s is still standing and in use today.

Fortunately, we'd contacted distant cousins in the area, whom we'd never met, and they took us to The Gizzard and showed us around. The house has been added on to several times and is now stuccoed. 

I wish I could remember all of the stories they told us about the Gizzard during the Civil War. I should have taken notes. Check out Wikipedia to learn how the Fiery Gizzard got it's name and also The Fiery Gizzard Trail, a favorite site for overnight hikers.

Martha Pyburn's mother died when she was 16. In that day and time, few men stayed widowers long as they needed someone to care for their young children. When Martha's father remarried, his new wife forced Martha and her older brothers to move out of the family home. She moved to Texas to live with relatives where some years later she met and married John Riley. 

In the picture to the left, Martha was 18 years old. On the right we assume she was in her twenties.

Our great-grandmother was an Anderson and we knew she was buried in the Anderson Cemetery in Gizzard Cove. While there we insisted on looking for her grave. We were warned that it was terribly overgrown because the Cemetery Committee hadn't had its annual clean-up event, but we insisted. We were early in the summer. The heat and humidity were already uncomfortable. I shuddered to think what it would be like pulling weeds and cutting back vines in full summer. 

Against the advice of the people on whose land the cemetery sat, we decided to venture inside anyway to look for our great-grandmother, Lavinia Anderson Pyburn's headstone. Lavinia is pictured to the left. Stepping carefully and stirring the bushes with a stick to avoid rattlesnakes, we trudged through the weeds. Unfortunately, we were unable to find Lavinia's headstone. We ended our search early because our legs started stinging a little. A little turned into a lot. The cemetery was full of bull nettle. We were miserable for a few hours. This was my first run-in with the weed/plant and hopefully my last.


To the right is a picture of our great-great-grandmother Pyburn. She was full Cherokee Indian. I would loved to have had a chance to visit with her and learn what it was like back in her day.

Unfortunately, as young people we didn't listen when our parents and grandparents talked about the past and our ancestors. Now, they are all gone and we have no one to ask. One of our cousins has become involved with Ancestory.com and she's garnered a great deal of information and pictures of the family. We're proud that she's gathering this data for future generations. She's even learned we are related to Shakespeare.  Distantly, of course.        

I'm glad we made the trip to Gizzard Cove and can share our experience with other family members. How about you? Have you searched out your roots? If your parents or grandparents are still living, gather as much information as you can. Encourage them to write names on the backs of pictures so future generations will know who they are.

I love to go antiquing and am amazed at how many old family portraits are being sold, mainly for the frames. What a tragedy their descendants don't have them to share with their children.

Leave a comment and share your experiences with us.

Thanks for stopping by today!

Linda

Julia Bulette of Virginia City, Nevada

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

More has been written about Julia Bulette, both fact and fiction, than any other woman of the Comstock era. She was a member of the ''fair but frail'' sisterhood and a prototype of all the fancy women in the Early West.

While other women of easy virtue drifted into obscurity, Julia was destined to remain a part of Virginia City's colorful history. It may be that Julia became a legend because of her brutal murder, not for her many generous deeds.

Virginia City sprang up in 1859 following the discovery of the fabulous Comstock Lode. It became an overnight boomtown, with the busiest saloons in the mining area. The inhabitants, mostly men under 20 years of age, were robust and free-living. There were very few women, single or married.

At the center was C Street, which consisted of businesses, saloons, and hotels. On the streets above C Street, the newly-made millionaires and elite lived in fine homes. Most of the unmarried miners, the prostitutes, and assorted working men lived below on D Street. The majority of the ''ladies'' could be found on the west side of D Street, in a five block area known as ''The Red Light District'' -- possibly the first use of the now-famous description. The women were required to keep red-colored oil lamps hanging in their front windows.

Julia's cottage was located at a prime spot on the corner of Union and D Streets where the miners and workmen passed daily. It consisted of a parlor and bedroom. The parlor could accommodate as many as a dozen visitors and had lace curtains at the windows, a Brussels carpet, comfortable furniture, and cheery stove. Her bedroom was dominated by a large bed and was darkened by heavy curtains. It also had a trunk for her clothing, a wash basin, and a spittoon. None of the other girls on the ''row'' had such elaborate furnishings. The cottages did not have indoor plumbing or kitchens.

She was exceptionally kind-hearted and had many friends on the ''row,'' but none worked for her. She was an attractive woman and considered a good sport. Very little is known about her personal life. She did know many men intimately and was considered a middle-class prostitute. Julia lived alone in her cottage, and like the rest of the girls, made no plans for her future. She usually saw but one customer a night and did not have to solicit. Men sought her out. Julia chose who she pleased and often received as much as $1,000 a night for her services. Many of her clients were wealthy and appreciated her charms to the extent that they gave her expensive jewelry and furs. A good part of her earnings were spent on clothing, fancy lingerie, and parties.

Julia always had a friendly word for the workers who passed her cottage. Her many kind acts for the hard-working miners and donations to charity earned her a measure of respect and gratitude. She was never too busy to sit by the side of an injured or ill man and help nurse him back to health. Julia cared about them at a time when they had no one else.

The day before Julia Bulette was murdered, in January 1867, was like any other in her life. She slept late, visited with friends, and went to see a performance at the opera house. Women of her class were required to sit in one of the boxes with the curtains drawn so they could see the entertainment and not be seen by the proper ladies. Julia was denied admission because she refused to sit in the section reserved for the ''red-light women." She returned to her cottage early to wait for an appointment with a client.

The next day her body was found lying on her left side with her feet halfway out of the bed. Sometime during the night, she was strangled, shot, suffocated, and severely beaten. Her trunk with all her jewelry, furs, and personal possessions was stolen. Julia was only 35 years old.

The press called her murder outrageous and cruel. The men and women she had befriended mourned her death and sought revenge for the brutal slaying. Her funeral was one of the largest and most expensive Virginia City had ever seen. Even the saloons closed.

Several months later, John Millian, a French drifter, was arrested for her murder. He was eventually found guilty and hanged.

Taken from the Women of the Sierra by Anne Seagraves