Arkansas, Arkansas…’Tis a name dear.

Native born and proud to be an Arkansan.

In 1836, the Federal Government cut a swath of land from the Louisiana Purchase and named it after an Indian tribe that at one time roamed the green hills and mountains of the beautiful, fertile land.

Our state was named for the Quapaw Indian tribe, which inhabited the northern part of the state—from the Mississippi River to the east and the Arkansas on the south.  During the early time of French exploration in the mid 1600’s, this tribe came in contact with the Algonquin tribes from the Ohio Valley.  In the language of the Algonquin, the word meaning “South Wind” was used to name the Arkansas tribe.  In that language, the term for south wind sounded much like our state’s name.

Over the next three hundred plus years, Arkansas took on several names, mostly influenced by  French explorers trying to mimic the Indian language they were unfamiliar with.  In 1673, Marquette and La Salle recorded the name AKANSEA in their travel journals.  La Salle came on the scene a decade or so later and put his French twist on the word and called the area ACANSA.  La Harpe almost got it right when he named the river in the central part of the state Arkansas and the Indians who spawned the word Les Akansas.  Not until Zebulon Pike arrived in 1811 did we earn our R that let us become Arkansas.  Unfortunately, Pike preferred the W at the end, instead of our beloved second S.

The controversy remained until 1881.  At that time the Arkansas General Assembly passed the resolution solving the question once and for all.  They mandated our state would be spelled with its second S —ARKANSAS, but it would be pronounced with the W.  The people approved.  We didn’t want to be AR-Kansas, after all.  Their action honored the original inhabitants of this land we now call home and also the earliest explorers who were among the first Europeans to visit this place.

Unfortunately, by the time of statehood in 1836, few Quapaw remained in Arkansas.  The lands where they hunted and raised their families were rich and ideally suited to plantation development.  The tribe was an obstacle.  Years of turbulence and fighting with the white man and other Indian tribes, which were also being displaced, took its toll.  In 1833, the Quapaw agreed to their final removal from Arkansas, still only a territory.

The tribes mistrust of the government was a major cause of the dissolution the Quapaws.  Many refused to settle on the assigned reservation offered in the treaty.  Some returned the Red River region where they had once lived.  Others went to Texas.  A number of families joined the Choctaws in Oklahoma.  A few even tried to remain in Arkansas. The division of the tribe brought on the eventual demise of the Quapaws.


Thanks to the well- written history of Arkansas by Whayne, Deblack, Sabo, and Arnold, Arkansas: A Narrative History, University of Arkansas Press, 2002.

2017–The Year of the Book!

Last night about 8:00, I finished my last run through of The Dream of Shiloh.  Even after five go-throughs…I still find things I want to change.  I have decided that no one ever finishes writing a book…it is an eternal process of revising, rewording, additions, and subtractions.  Regardless, I am going to put this one in concrete.

On Monday afternoon, I am going to talk to a publishing consultant at Create Space and decide on a time for publication.  The decision came after a lot of back and forth with myself.  I would have loved to have the book published by a Christian book publisher, but I couldn’t cut enough of the story out to make it fit their “parameters” for a historical romance.  I tried and did cut a few thousand words, but I think to remove any more would alter the story I am trying to tell.  So, I’ll publish this one and try to make the next one “short” enough to offer for publication.  I am just vain enough to want to see if I can write a book that someone wants to publish!

I have learned so much since I began this process of writing, editing, and thinking about publishing a book.  I loved the writing part.  At times I could hardly get the words on the page fast enough.  I do believe that the Holy Spirit was pouring out the story for me and I was a scribe.  Of course some of those productive times were followed by the bane of “writer’s block” when I could put two sensible words together for days at a time.  I found real joy living in the world of Mac and Laurel MacLayne in this state I love in the days leading up to the Civil War.  When I found my new home site back in May of 2016, the story took on even more meaning for me, as my new and final home is only a quarter of a block off Old Greensboro Road, which is the Old Military Road I talk about in the Shiloh books.


Moving and publishing The Dream of Shiloh at the same time…truly a dream coming true.  I am blessed.  The Lord gave me a dream and a story.  He also has taught me a lesson.  If I will persist in His calling, He gives me purpose, joy, and a sense of significance.  I wish all of you the same gifts!  Happy 2017!!!  And God bless us everyone.


A Christmas excerpt from ‘Til Shiloh Come

If you have a few minutes, click on the link below and read a Christmas story from the second volume of my Shiloh Saga.  Keep in mind that this takes place in the middle of the story, and Mac and Laurel are celebrating their second Christmas together in their homestead.  At this New Year’s Eve of 1858, they are celebrating the Christmas eve they missed trying to get home from Little Rock.  They are hosting a family supper with Laurel’s Uncle Matt and Aunt Ellie, the two orphaned Dunn Children, Mac’s father Thomas MacLayne and his ward, Andrew.    Please leave me a comment and tell me what you think.  Christmas Blessings, Pat

A Family Christmas at Shiloh     

Laurel came from the second pen, dressed and ready to prepare for the family celebration.  She fairly danced across the walnut plank floor to her husband. “This is the most glorious home in the world. Nothing we have seen in our travels can come close to our home.”

            “Good morning, wife. Merry Christmas.”

            “The same to you and Happy New Year, too. Good morning, boys. So good to see you both.”

            “Run on now boys. Let’s get started.”  Laurel returned to the kitchen to begin breakfast. How fine a thing to be able to knead her bread and cut out biscuits!  Simple tasks like separating the cream from the morning milking did not seem to be work, only a pleasure on that last day of 1858.  Mac built a large fire at the hearth as the oven would need to heat to be ready to bake the bread and the spit would wait for the meat that would supply their delayed Christmas dinner.

            After a quick breakfast, Mac took his rifle from the nook behind the fireplace. “Wife, I’m off to find our Christmas meal while the boys go gather our family. Would you prefer a turkey or a goose?”

            “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you find first will be fine. I’m so pleased to be home, I could eat ham and beans and think it a feast today.”

            Work began to transform the cabin into a festive, cheery home where a family could gather to celebrate Christmas a week late. Laurel decided to join the New Year’s celebration into the same event, so she put a large kettle of black eyed peas to cook with several pieces of pork from the smokehouse. An extra pone would add little to her work load and would make the joint meal complete. She went to the woods after the meal was on the hearth. She searched just beyond the fenced pastures for small branches of holly, an evergreen bough or two and a few sprigs of mistletoe. She’d brought a few lengths of red ribbon in the fall to use in her Christmas decorations.

            When she returned, she displayed the greenery and red holly berries across the mantel and on the dining room table. She placed candles in her mother’s pewter candleholders among the evergreens. The final touch to the table was Mac’s mother’s red crystal lantern. Red bows placed here and there about the room finished the decoration. The cabin took on the atmosphere of Christmas, the sights and smells Laurel remembered from her own childhood.

            Shortly before noon, Roy returned with Cathy. She ran into Laurel’s arms. “Mrs. Mac. I am so glad you are home.”  The girl wrapped her arms around Laurel’s waist and could hardly stand still in her excitement.

            “I have missed you, Cathy. We have work to do to get ready for our family Christmas tonight. Can you help me hang this mistletoe over the doors?”

            “Oh, yes!  I was afraid we’d missed Christmas with you and Mr. Mac this year.”

            “Did you have a nice holiday with Brother Matt and Miss Ellie?”

            “Yes, even Mr. MacLayne and Andrew came to dinner. and Miss Ellie made a fine dinner and we got our presents, but it wasn’t the same without you.”

            “Well, we’re here now and we’re going to celebrate together. We’re just going to pretend it’s Christmas Eve.”

            “Wow!  Two Christmases!  I love that idea.”  She hugged Laurel again.

            Shortly, Mac returned with a large goose he’d found down by the creek. The bird would make a fine centerpiece for their Christmas meal the next day.

            “Cathy, girl!  How pretty you’ve gotten while we’ve been gone!”

            “Oh, Mr. Mac!  I’ve not changed one bit. I think you’re just glad to see me.”

            “Right you are, darling.”  Mac planted a kiss on Cathy’s forehead.

            Just before sunset, Thomas MacLayne rode into the yard with Andy on the front of his saddle. They had come to spend the night and the next day at the homestead. “Welcome, Pa and Andy. I’m glad you’re both here. Now we can start the holiday celebration.”

            “Are we ahavin’ a New’s Year  Eve party, Mr. Mac?”

            “No, Andy. We’re celebrating our family Christmas – just a little late this year.”

            “Goody!  We’ll eat then ‘cos at the Campbells’ we had such good vittles at Christmas. We even had gingerbread cookies Aunt Ellie made. Them was scrumptious.”

            “We’ll have more tonight and tomorrow. Christmas is a special time in our family, Andrew, whenever we celebrate it.”

            As the sun sank below Crowley’s Ridge, the entire Mac Layne family sat at their Christmas Eve dinner table on that New Years’ Eve. Heads were bowed as Mac offered a prayer of thanksgiving for the season, his family gathered around his table, and for the birth of a Savior who had led him to salvation. This room was filled with the sounds and sights of family and home. The scent of the cedar and cinnamon, the sounds of the cracking logs in the fireplace and the wavering light from the many candles added to the essence of Christmas. The family enjoyed the hot beef stew, black-eyed peas, hot corn bread and bubbling blackberry cobbler Laurel and Cathy had prepared for their family supper. Mac sat at the head of the table, more relaxed and rested than Laurel had seen him in a long while. He enjoyed the stories his father was telling of Christmases past and of his childhood back in Maryland.

            “Patrick was the worst at Christmas time. He always wanted to know what he was getting from St. Nicolas. He’d start nagging at me and his ma the first day of Advent. When he was seven, he got it into this head that he’d get a horse. His ma said no because he was too young to be responsible for a horse. We had decided he had to wait a couple more years, hoping a growth spurt would kick in. He was not very big at that age, though you’d not know it now.  Anyway, Patrick’s brother Sean was near grown, and he did need a new horse to ride to school, so we got him one.

            “That Christmas morning, Patrick sneaked to the barn in the early hours and found Sean’s horse. What a fuss he made when we told him the saddle horse was Sean’s!  He tried to climb on the bareback of that stallion, and the feisty animal threw him into a hay stack. Wonder he didn’t break his neck. He got up, brushed the hay from his hair and told his brother, ‘Sean, that old horse is too brown to suit me. I want a black stallion. That horse is a nag!”

            Everyone around the table laughed. Mac nodded, “It was true!  Sean agreed with me when Lancer threw him the very next week, and he got a broken arm.”  Again laughter filled the room.

            Andy spoke up. “It’s fun having Christmas at New Years. This is the best time I ever had.”

            “Andy, Christmas is the best holiday every year. See how Laurel and Cathy decorated our cabin? We had a special supper tonight with all our family. It’s Christmas Eve.”

            “It ain’t really though, is it?”

            “The date doesn’t matter. For us it is. Didn’t you celebrate Chrismas when you were with your mother and grandpa in Tennessee?”

            “Not as I know.

         “Well, it’s high time you got to know about Christmas then. Pa, would you read the Christmas story to us?”  Mac handed his father the Bible from the side table.

            “Which Gospel do you want to hear?”

            “Let’s start with Matthew and we’ll read the others tomorrow and the next couple days while I’m still home.”  So Thomas MacLayne read the first account of the Nativity  from Matthew 1:17 to 2:14. He told them about the birth of the baby in a stable, the bad king who wanted to kill the new baby, and the visit of the wise men bringing gifts. Andy listened intently, but at times a puzzled look came to his face, but he did not stop listening.

            “You tell it so nice, Mr. MacLayne. Did you like the Christmas story, Andy?”  Cathy looked at her playmate. Andy nodded.

            “Well, it’s time to sing Christmas carols now, Mr. Mac. Can we start with Silent Night? It’s my favorite.”

            “Yes, Matt, lead us in Silent Night.”  Matt rose and stood near the fireplace and the family sang. Andy listened again as he watch his family sing about Christmas.

            “That  is about that same story Mr. MacLayne just read to us, ain’t it?
Mac felt a pang of shame. His son knew nothing of Christmas or Jesus’ love or even family life. His wasted years had hurt many people besides himself, and he hadn’t even been aware of the pain he’d cause. Silently he prayed for forgiveness for the damage he’d done. He  would spend the rest of his life trying to make up for the six lost years of Andrew’s childhood. He pledged that not one more day would pass when this small boy would not feel and know all the things he’d been denied before this night.

            “Yes, Andrew. It’s the same story.”

            “What is frankincense and myrrh?

            “Precious gifts for the Christ child, the very first gifts of Christmas. Just like St. Nicolas brings gifts to children on Christmas Eve.”

            “Brother Matt said something about that on Christmas morning, but I didn’t ask about him. I figured he was a friend from his church.”

            “Well, Andy, come over here and sit with me in my chair. Let me tell you about Saint Nicolas.”  Mac pulled the boy into his lap and began to explain.

            “You’re joking me, Mr. Mac. No one gives away things for nothin’.”

            “Andrew, didn’t you have any kind of Christmas at all with your family in Tennessee? Didn’t you get fruit or candy or new clothes?”

            “No ma’am. I don’t think we have that holiday over in Franklin. I’m pretty sure St. Nicolas don’t live over in our neck of the woods. We did have a fine Independence Day every summer, but I don’t remember nothin’ about a winter party like Christmas. In the winter, we mostly just stayed in and tried to keep warm.”

            “Didn’t you hear about it at church, Andy?”  Cathy couldn’t believe he hadn’t ever celebrated Christmas, even at church.

            “No. My grandpa didn’t hold much with church.”

            Laurel looked at the small boy who was so much like her beloved Patrick. Her heart hurt, knowing he’d never experience a real family or the joy of Christmas. Learning to love him would be easy. She smiled at him sitting in his father’s lap. Andrew saw her and he smiled back.

            “Well, Andy. We put a lot of store in church here, and it’s all because of Christmas. Just you wait and see tomorrow after St. Nicolas comes. You’ll see why Christmas is such a great day.”

       The family sang Joy to the World and Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem. The night had been very special for them all. Laurel sighed, thinking, ‘Even a week late, this is a perfect family Christmas.’

            “Family,  before we retired for the night, I want to do more thing. Cathy, Roy and Andrew, you three young people have been a blessing to us. Thank you for becoming a part of this family.”

            “Gee, Mr. Mac. You’re the ones been good to us. I don’t know if Cathy and me could of made it alone when Gran died. You took real good care of us.”

            “Roy, son, you’ve worked hard as any hand I ever had  You’ve more than earned your keep.”

            “But Mr. Mac. I ain’t done nothin’ to help. I ain’t earned nothin’.”

            “Andrew, families don’t have to earn their place. They belong because they are loved. Laurel and I love all of you.”

            “But, Mr. Mac, I ain’t family. That ole lawyer just left me with your pa. I don’t know why.”

            “He left you with your grandfather. Andrew, I am your pa.”  Mac stopped and looked into the face of the small boy in his lap. Andrew didn’t move or say anything. “Is that all right with you?”

       Laurel looked on with tears filling her eyes. Andrew looked first at Mac and then at Thomas MacLayne and back to Mac. He didn’t speak. Mac sat with hope showing in his face. He wanted this boy to accept his place in the family. Laurel could see the confusion that had left Andrew at a loss for an answer. The situation was difficult for a grown person to understand so how could a six year old know how to react?

            “Andrew, your father and I want you to be our little boy. We hope you’ll want to grow up here with Cathy and Roy. If you want us, we will be good parents to you. We’ll be one family, all of us here in this room.”

            “Is this for real, Mr. MacLayne?”  Andrew looked to the man who’d been his guardian for the last six months.

            “Andy, I think you should call me granddad. Would you like that?”

            “Mr. Mac…are you my for sure Papa? For real?”

            “Yes, Andrew. I am your for sure Papa. I hope you’ll want to be a part of my family.”

            “What’d I have to call you, Mrs. Mac?”

            “You can call me whatever you like. I’d be very glad to have you be my son.”

            “Well, golly geez, now I got me a new granddad and a papa of my own. I suppose if I call you mama, that won’t be slightin’ my ma, would it?”

            “No, Andy, I don’t think so.”

            “Can I give you a hug, mama?”  The boy leaped from Mac’s arms and ran to embrace Laurel.

            “You can do this anytime you want, son.”

            Mac watched and was overwhelmed with gratitude for the gift of his family. Was it less than two years ago, he’d all but given up on the idea of ever knowing this life? God had given him his wish, and Laurel had made it all happen with her willingness to love his child. A tear slipped from his lashes. After a while he spoke, “Kids, we are a family. After Christmas, Laurel and I will do whatever it takes to make this all legal. Cathy and Roy, we want to adopt you both, if that is what you want.”

            “Mr. Mac, you want to be my papa, too?”

            “That’s right, Cathy. We want to be your parents and Roy’s too if he wants it.”

            “Gracious me!  Christmas is special, ain’t it?”  With those words, Andrew walked over to Mac, who bent down to pick up the boy. Andy put his arms around Mac’s neck. “I’m glad you’re my papa.”

One More Milestone

     Today was a productive day.  I finally completed the final revision of The Dream of Shiloh, the first part of my Shiloh Saga.  I have decided to self-publish this first installment of the trilogy because after a careful revision, I have not been able to excise enough words to get the book into the preferred length for historical romances.  I tried, but I think to remove any more would change the story I set out to tell.  I will work harder on the next volume to make it fit between the 80,000 and 120,000 words the publishing industry in looking for.

     I will read the manuscript through one more time and after Christmas, I plan to submit the book to Create Space.  I think this is the best option for this book.  I am pleased with the revision.  I believe I have told a positive tale about Arkansas and about the hardy pioneer stock that took this state from a wilderness to a land where thousands of people eventually settle in their “Land of Opportunity.”  I wrote about a woman, Laurel, who grows too.  She struggles to put her past away as the controlling factor of her life.  Through the support of a good man, a loving extended family, a welcoming church, and a growth in her faith in a loving Father God, Laurel loses her need to play the role of the Spinster of Hawthorn.  In her growing, she provides an opportunity for her husband, Patrick MacLayne, to achieve his dreams of family and home in the Shiloh community.

     The completion of this first part of the Shiloh Saga has taken more than four years.  The creation of the story has been the easy part and the part of the task which has been the most enjoyable.  I never realized how difficult editing and rewriting are until I returned from the Blue Ridge Novelists Retreat in October and began the serious task of making the draft of The Dream of Shiloh into a manuscript that can be submitted for self-publication.

      Nevertheless, I am proud of reaching this new milestone.  I have several people who helped me get to this point.  Gretchen Campbell has been my encourager and motivator  for more than three years.  She urged me ever onward with her “demand” for more chapters to read.  Beverly Thompson, a dear colleague from Westside High School, proofread The Dream of Shiloh.  Her help has been invaluable.  So many have supported my project, and I owe all of them a huge hug.  Now I have to get to work on the second revision of ‘Til Shiloh Come, the story of Mac and Laurel’s first four years of marriage and their involvement with the new county of Craighead and Mac’s venture into the political world of antebellum Arkansas.

     I hope that those of you who are reading about my attempt to complete my novel will drop me a line or two.  Your comments are a source of great encouragement.  I look forward to hearing from you all.