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THE MARSHAL AND THE SCHOOLMARM

by Jocelyn Cross


Despite the tedium of riding the hard wooden seats of a stage coach that seemed to find every bump and pothole in the dirt road, Marisa Waters was so excited she was tempted to urge the driver to go faster. FASTER! Today was the day her hard work would finally pay off.

Marisa was a 19 year-old young woman on the cusp of an unusual adventure. Unusual for 1888, that is. Miss Waters was a recent graduate of Miss Maple's Finishing School and Academy of Advanced Studies for Women. She was, in fact, valedictorian of her class, and very proud of that fact. Marisa had been made several offers to teach school in numerous locations on the east coast. Miss Maple's Finishing School and Academy of Advanced Studies for Women was located in Providence, Rhode Island and was well known along the Eastern Seaboard.

She could have had her choice of any number of more prestigious positions, but Marisa had an adventurous streak and she had long fantasized about seeing the Wild West. She had responded to an inquiry by a town committee from Bitter Creek, in the Wyoming territory and had received an almost instant offer to establish and teach children in the town's soon to be built school house.

Despite her book learning, she was still surprised at just how far 2,000 miles was. The train trip involved changes in New York City, Chicago, Topeka and Denver before finally arriving in Cheyenne which was then the last stop in the Wyoming territory. From there it was another grueling 250 miles by stage coach to Bitter Creek. But today the stage would arrive in Bitter Creek and she assumed someone from the hiring committee would be there to greet her as she had sent a telegram informing them of her travel plans.

The only way to deal with her nervous energy and excitement was to, yet again, brush the accumulating dust from her skirts and blouse. As she did this, she was reminded of Miss Maple's stern warning, "Young ladies should not travel alone. If you insist on doing so, please be very aware of everyone about you." Indeed, Marisa had to fend off unwanted advances from admirers and leering men at every stop. She had honey-blonde hair that seemed to attract men like flies and she was the picture of health. Her porcelain skin was radiant and she had fully blossomed into a womanhood that was both ripe and irresistible.

Marisa noticed that unwanted advances came more frequently the further west her travels took her. She also noticed the number of women amongst the male population declined with each passing mile. She simply steeled herself to the attentions of the female-starved men and had sharpened her tongue, using her education and resolve to blunt the intentions of even the most ardent admirers. It had been tiring, but she was certain she would be treated with more respect once she arrived at her new home in Bitter Creek.

She felt the stage slowing and then heard the gruff voice of the stage driver yelling, "Whoa!" as he reined in the team of horses pulling the stage coach. As happened at every stop, the swirling dust invaded the confines of the coach and Marisa was forced to brush off the latest layer of dirt.

The door opened and the driver helped her out. On this last bit of her journey Marisa had been the only person on the stage. She stood in the street, hands shielding the sun from her eyes as she looked about for someone to welcome her to her new home. But there was no one paying any attention to her at all.

THUMP!!

Her two suitcases were tossed from the top of the stage without ceremony. "Mr. Jennings!" railed Marisa at the driver. "Haven't I asked you to take care with my luggage?"

"Yes, ma'am," growled the stage driver otherwise ignoring her as he climbed back in his seat and drove the team to the livery stable. He was glad she was at the end of her journey and he would no longer have to suffer any more of her 'back east' sass and correction.

Standing alone in the street with her two suitcases, there was nothing more for Marisa Waters to do but carry her bags up the steps into the ramshackle hotel.


The man behind the hotel counter could be described as odious at best. His hair was thin and greasy and it wasn't exactly clear why he needed the toothpick that hung from his lips as he was missing so many of them. The teeth he did have were stained dark from the omnipresent wad of chewing tobacco. Marisa dropped her bags on the floor, smiled sweetly at the horrid man and announced, "I am Miss Marisa Waters and would like to check into my room, please."



© Jocelyn Cross
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.