Redding Writer

By Ellie Derrick Lewis

A young married couple from Sacramento in the 1950’s, decide to move to a ranch in Shasta County near Redding, California. She sees it as a chance to pursue her dreams to be a writer, and he wants to be a rancher. They are unprepared for the changes this will make in their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Jun 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781489729620

Ellie Derrick Lewis

I have had the opportunity to travel through the scenic Shasta Mountain countryside on several occasions over the years. I love the long needle pines and the stretches of forest and grazing land. I thought it the perfect setting for a fiction story.

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 Ellie Derrick Lewis.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by

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without the written permission of the author except in the case

of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-2961-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-2962-0 (e)

LifeRich Publishing rev. date:   06/23/2020

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Acknowledgments

M y first and most important acknowledgment is to my husband, Jack, who took the time without complaint, to read every line of this story as the first draft came out of the printer. His encouragement and attention to details about ranching and cattle drives kept me writing when I didn’t have the knowledge myself. The cover of this book he also did as a painting from the ideas I had for the setting of the story. The painting hangs proudly above my writing desk right now.

My deepest gratitude also goes to the women authors of the Chrysalis writing group at Clackamas Community College, where I have been a member now for several years. They took me in as an unpublished author with a dream to write, and critiqued, edited, and offered up praise when it was merited. I could not have done this without you, ladies.

I have traveled several times through this mountain country I write about in the story. My first trip in the area was in 1967. I fell in love with the long needle pines and beautiful Shasta Lake. I’ve been lucky enough to go back there for several visits over the years. The last time was in 2015 when Jack and I made a road trip from Oregon City to Sacramento. We traveled through those precious pines once again and reached the gold mining sites we had both read about so many times.

Becoming an author, has led me to some wonderful organizations including the NIWA (Northwest Independent Writers Assoc) and WWW (Women Writing the West). The women’s organization has opened up for me many authors lending a hand through blogs and convention lectures. Their published writings depict western stories, fiction and non-fiction. One such author who volunteered to beta read my story and give me her critiques was Mary Hagen. She is a western historical fiction writer and her books include western and contemporary romance. I thank you, Mary, for all the insights you gave me to blossom my story.

My children, Brian and Amy, always encourage me in my writing endeavors. I have always been a mother first, and never had the time or freedom to sit and write until they had left home for several years. They know this has been a dream for me, to write stories like Patsy, and they are both happy I can now pursue that dream.

Please enjoy this lush, western setting as you read the fiction story of this Redding writer.

Chapter 1

D ry Douglas-fir branches scratched on the glass panes and the bed springs creaked as she opened her eyes in the cabin. It seemed cooler than yesterday, but it was early. The sun’s rays crept up behind Mt. Shasta creating a pinkish glow over the forest scene. Most of the snow on the mountain had melted during the summer, but the peak of the mountain still glistened white.

Patsy pulled the blue and yellow patch quilt from the bed and wrapped it around her five-and-a-half-foot body. Gripping the quilt in one hand, she grabbed her brush and pushed it through her thick, chestnut red hair. An apple box, that was used as a night stand sat upright next to the bed. It held her brush and a bright green ribbon that she tied around her hair at the nape of her neck. She stepped over the moccasins she had brought to wear indoors and walked barefoot across the pine floor. Stirring the coals in the stone fireplace, she added more wood

She’d ridden her horse up to the cabin yesterday after the ranch hands and her husband, Jim, left for the cattle drive. It was only their third year in ranching. It wouldn’t take many days to round up their small herd in the forested grasslands. In her saddlebags, she had packed plenty of food, along with writing supplies, matches, and a couple changes of clothes.

The cabin was her favorite place to write. It was quiet, except for the occasional crow she heard lurking in the pine branches outside. The timbers in the rooms still had a fresh-cut smell. There were no chores to do or cowhands going in and out the back door, at least not till they returned from the cattle drive.

It was the kind of solitude she had dreamed about when she was an advertising copy writer at a busy newspaper in Sacramento. She loved writing. Moving the words around to get different effects. But writing stories for children had always been her dream. Little tales that would help them to learn and grow.

She was becoming discouraged, though, at this life they had chosen and how little time she had for her passion. There were so many chores all the time and the endless cooking.

Last night, she lined up her pads, pencils, large pink eraser, and a sharpener on the desk after unpacking, but nothing seemed to come to her as she sat at the desk. She made several attempts at a new story, but the crumpled papers were still on the floor this morning. She bent over and tossed them into the fire. Today will be a fresh start, she said confidently. No distractions or interruptions here.

The fall sunlight began filling the room as she made her coffee on the wood stove. Her thoughts were already forming a new story. Patsy looked out the window at the front of the cabin and spied two deer headed for the stream nearby.

They had moved to the ranch in northern California in 1950. Jim was strong at six-foot-four and a robust two hundred-thirty pounds. He and the ranch hand, Wes, built the 3-room log cabin that fall with Douglas fir they fell on their land. His muscular arms moved freight for years into the store he managed in town before they bought the ranch. They built the outside frame with the logs and used the larger trees for interior posts to support the roof. The two of them lifted pine trees that had already fallen into a flat-bed wagon, then drove the wagon to the Redding lumber mill. Sawyers at the mill sawed the trees into boards for the floor and ceiling.

The cabin was less than a day’s ride from the main house but gave Jim and the ranch hands a shelter for the night if the slow-moving herd couldn’t make the final stretch to the pasture at the ranch. When the cows were sold, the money was in the weight of the animals. He didn’t want to rush them and burn off the fat that had accumulated through their lengthy summer feeding.

The main room had a small kitchen area with space for an oblong table. Jim put one cupboard on the wall with a standing washbasin under it. A small sitting area was at the opposite end of the room beside a rock fireplace. He brought in two extra chairs from the ranch and a small end table for an oil lamp. There were two windows in the cabin to let daylight in, one on each end of the main room.

When Patsy saw the cabin, she immediately wanted it to be her sanctuary for writing stories. It was away from the business of running a ranch and all the responsibilities that were part of it.

Let me put a woman’s touch to it, she begged Jim when she first saw the cabin. He frowned at first, but her pleading eyes caused him to chuckle. I can write here while you’re gone, and then cook you a hot breakfast when you return. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse, and he brought in a wood stove for cooking.

That year for her 29th birthday, he made her a writing desk and chair out of the remaining knotty pine boards and hauled them to the cabin. Since then, she’d added some red checked curtains, dishes, and cooking pans. While they were out rounding up cattle, she had hours of quiet to create the children’s stories she wanted to write.

In the first four years of their marriage, she had two miscarriages and no children. When Jim first brought up moving to a ranch, she was not willing to agree to the change.

What do we know about running a ranch? She’d asked as Jim pulled the 1948 gray Chevrolet coupe up to the garage beside their house. We don’t even own a pickup. She chuckled.

A change of lifestyle and location might bring us the family we both want. Jim was quick to give her a reason for ranching. Deadlines and meetings are part of our lifestyle here. It’s too much pressure. He continued trying to convince her. Fresh air and our own business are what we need. There’ll even be time for you to write, Patsy, among all that beautiful scenery.

I guess owning and selling cattle would be a business. She agreed.

One of the grocery clerks said he has an uncle who wants to sell his ranch out of Redding. He and his wife want to travel now that they have made good profits from the ranch. One of the ranch hands will stay on to help a new owner get started.

What will it cost to buy the place? she said with a worried tone. I’m not so sure I want to do this. I’ll have to think about it.

Don’t wait too long. He’d said, shoving the gear shift on the steering wheel column into first. The place won’t be for sale forever. I’ll make an appointment at the bank. I’m sure John, the president at the bank, can make the arrangements. I’ve known him for years.

She quickly snapped back at him as he was shutting his car door, I didn’t say yes!

I know. He nodded as he walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle. It will be an adventure! He took her hand as she stepped from the car. His big flashing grin bothered her.

After a call to the bank, John suggested they take a tour of the place before making such a big decision. Both Patsy and Jim thought that was a good idea. They made plans to travel north to see the ranch. Jim had an assistant manager who could fill in for him at the store. Patsy had to find one of her co-workers who was willing to handle her advertising desk at the newspaper.

They met the owner, Buck Davenport, at the Long Needle Ranch the following week. The two-door coupe barely cleared the center of the rutted road once they left the highway. Most of the time, Jim drove with two wheels on the high center ridge and two wheels on the side of the road. Stepping out from the dust covered car, they got their first look at the land and buildings. It was much bigger than either of them had imagined.

Patsy could already see herself riding a horse into the red barn. She had wanted her own horse since she was a child. Growing up in the city, Patsy’s parents found that to be an impossible request.

A short, stubby man, Buck, walked out from the ranch house and greeted them. He was a quiet man who always got right to the point. You must be the folks who want to buy the property. John told me you would be out today. We’ll start with the barn. He shook Jim’s hand and nodded to Patsy as he led the way through the barns’ faded white doors. Plenty of room to stack hay for the winter, and more space up in the loft. There’s a pulley system outside for loading hay up there. Buck pointed to the wooden ladder standing tall and resting on the edge of the loft. You can climb up if you want a look around.

No need. Jim replied, not bothering to look up. Patsy did look up, but she didn’t want to climb the rickety ladder.

I’ve already moved my horses, but the stalls still need cleaning. Buck winked, looking at Jim. Good project for the missus.

"There’s a smaller barn near the bunkhouse that I use for supplies and some of the feed.