New Release: “Grace on the Open Plains” by Eunice Macy Ruttinger

Eunice Macy Ruttinger, a descendant of Wyoming homesteaders, started researching her grandmother’s 1900s homestead near Old Fort Laramie Wyoming. She discovered Bertha Barnard’s interesting stories. They took place before and after Bertha came by train from Canada to Wyoming at fifteen years old, under false pretenses; during her time living on the plains in a sod cabin for many years; and while experiencing life and relationships around Fort Laramie. Eunice explored how Bertha maintained her humor and grace through hardship and loss, while enduring the Wyoming winter weather. Wyoming and national history set the stage and enriched the tale.

Eunice believes that we all have a lot to learn about resilience, courage, and faith from the everyday people who experienced hardship while building lasting communities. She invites writers to look for those individuals in their communities and families and share their voice, emotional intelligence, and values by telling their stories. 

Eunice found writing a book about someone she loved helped bring them closer and gave her a deeper understanding of who they were and why they impacted her so powerfully. A secondary gift was reaching out to extended family for information and making those new connections for the future. It was a sweet journey that started as a simple genealogy research project and became a mission, a published book, and a life worth living.                                                

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Excerpt from Grace on the Open Plains

HEADING TO IDAHO SPRINGS, COLORADO-AUGUST 1901

The stagecoach was waiting for her to board. She could not believe her eyes. The vehicle, though sturdy, bore faded paint and numerous straps seemed barely to hold it together. The driver, who introduced himself as Billy, sat in his high perch, holding harness lines to the team of four horses. His rough appearance equaled the coach’s: a three-day scruffy beard, dust-covered shirt, and a straw hat well past its prime. Noticing Bertha’s hesitation and concern at the condition of the coach, Billy reassured her, “It’s a good day to travel, Miss. This old coach has seen plenty of miles but is safe as can be. Even the U.S. government trusts it to carry the mail.” Bertha smiled but had her doubts.

 She saw stacks of boxes and U.S. mail sacks piled unceremoniously around Billy, filling every available space and nearly up to his armpits. The mail sacks flowed into the passenger area where passengers were tucked in as in a fragile-cargo hold. Billy explained that they would stop every ten to fifteen miles so that passengers could step out and stretch and the horses could rest, which would add to the journey’s length. He emphasized that he would try to stop at scenic spots to make the trip more pleasant and said they’d change horses when they stopped for the night in Medicine Bow.

She had heard from Spencer boarders about rugged stagecoach experiences but nothing could have prepared her for this harrowing, bumpy, and jarring trip. Every mile felt like an eternity as her body was tossed up and down on the hard bench, her bones practically rattling. The old wagon wheels squeaked loudly and groaned as they dipped in every gully along the way. The coach could hold nine passengers but thankfully only six were aboard. She’d been lucky to arrive early so she could claim a window seat. There were three benches, a front, middle, and rear, with middle being the least desirable. Bertha sat in the front, next to an older man who, after a brief introduction, promptly fell asleep. That would have been fine, except he snored loudly and reeked of tobacco and cheap liquor. She braced herself not to be thrown on top of him.

On the middle bench sat two rowdy preteen boys, who spent most of the trip wrestling and bickering. Their embarrassed parents, seated in the back, occasionally yelled at them to settle down and behave. Despite everyone exchanging greetings at the start, the rough ride kept real conversations at bay. A small, slightly open window with a leather cover let in some fresh air mixed with dust.

Bertha felt queasy both from the motion and the unpleasant smell of the passenger next to her. Some of the viewing locations were a welcome relief, allowing her to stretch her legs and breathe fresh air. Other stops were for delivering mail and there would be locals waiting for the stagecoach, excited to hear news from home.

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