Images and extracts.

I thought I'd post a few extracts from the novels with images that relate. Here is the first from The Prairie Companions.

I'll post others on Pages.

From The Prairie Companions.
The next day, after what Pat considered an inadequate breakfast of fluffy bread and coffee, they went in search of an automobile. After a fruitless search around the old town they found a place marked Ventes de voiture de Peugeot. The owner said he sold only new ones and could not tell them where a used vehicle might be found. They went back to the market square and were sitting having coffee and a lunch of bread and cheese when Clara pointed across the square and said, "There is one set there with a board attached saying, 'en vente,' for sale, but it is rather large."

Pat bolted her baguette and positively flew across the square holding her skirt in a most undignified way. When Clara had settled the bill and walked over, she found Pat laid on her back beneath the motorcar with just her boots sticking out at the rear.

"Really, Patricia, this is most undignified. You are embarrassing me."

"Well, go wait at the coffee shop and pretend you do not know me. But I will need you back when I complete the inspection so you may translate the sign and negotiate with the owner. Off you go; I will need fifteen minutes."

Clara walked back feeling miffed and wanting to have a strop but she was still too giddy from the night of bliss to allow such feelings to survive long. She turned back and read the sign, noting the address in her little notebook from her bag. She was about to find someone to ask when a road sign affixed to the wall above her head caught her eye: the motor was parked outside its owner's house.

When Pat had finished Clara helped dust her down. When Pat had ceased enthusing about the machine and using words Clara had no knowledge of, she said, "That's nice, Pat dear, the owner lives right here." She turned and pointed at the shiny black painted door up some steps behind them.

Pat walked over and stood on the bottom step looking up. "Clara, do you suppose that wreath on the door means there has been a death here? If so, that may explain why the automobile is for sale. We must be delicate but this may be a perfect opportunity to get a bargain. Please translate exactly my dear and don't embellish. Bother, I wish the sign had given a price so we could gauge the likely success of this enterprise. That is a ten horsepower Panhard, Clara. A most prestigious motorcar. And I would judge it to be no more than two or three years old, so it may well be beyond our means. But if we can get it at a good price, we could make a most handsome profit."

Pat went up the steps, waited for Clara, and then yanked the bell pull. A servant opened the door and Clara introduced themselves and stated the purpose of their call. The old houseman raised his eyebrows in surprise but showed them into a rather dark and sombre drawing room and went to fetch the person Clara understood to be the mistress of the house. A few moments later a surprisingly young looking woman joined them obviously still in mourning dress. Clara passed polite condolences and discovered that this lady was the daughter of the Panhard's former owner. He had been buried just three days before. She asked if they would like to take coffee with her. At first, Clara made to refuse. But Pat corrected her saying, "Merci, Mademoiselle, celle apprecited."

When the lady went to the bell pull, Pat whispered, "Please, Clara, say only what I tell you and don't answer any question without asking me first."

After coffee was brought and served, they engaged in polite chat and the lady tried out her English a little. She seemed glad of the company, which is why Pat had said yes to coffee. After an hour they got to business and the lady admitted to having little idea of the value of the automobile and simply wanted to be rid of it, as her father had died from injuries received while driving it. He had fallen from it while intoxicated and cracked his head on the cobbles. He never recovered. There was an awkward silence for a time and then Pat got out her purse and began to count out gold sovereigns onto the coffee table. She stopped when she reached ten and looked to the lady in black; she shook her head, so Pat counted out five more and then put her purse away. The lady called her servant and said something in fast French that Clara couldn't completely follow. The manservant returned with some papers, which he laid on the writing table. The lady rose, signed several, and then wished them a bon voyage before she left the room. The servant gathered the gold and handed Pat the papers, then showed them out.

Once outside, Pat and Clara stood looking at the large Panhard and giggled nervously.

"Was that as cheap as I think?" asked Clara.

"I would say that was about one tenth of the true value of the machine, Clara. We are going to make a huge profit on this. I would have expected to pay at least twice or three times that. Now let us see if we can get the beast running. Those papers, do they include an operating manual?" Pat handed the large bundle of papers to Clara and climbing into the driving seat. "We are looking for starting instructions."

Clara found the manual and began studying it muttering about strange terminology. Pat sat drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. She had been reading up on motorcars avidly for months and had taught herself enough to know roughly what she should be doing. She set the ignition, found the fuel tap and enrichment device, and got Clara in the driving seat with the instructions. Then she went to the front of the machine to the starting handle.

Pat cussing!

Ten minutes later Pat stood with sweat pouring from her brow. "Damn it to hell, you accursed contraption, start. We must be doing something wrong. Think girl, think." Pat walked around the large machine until she found the fuel tank. She opened the cap, found a dipstick attached, and discovered it was bone dry. There was a can strapped by the spare wheel. She took it off and stormed away, still muttering, "Stupid, stupid, motor-spirit. It needs motor-spirit."

Clara sat bemused, watching Pat stride away across the square and felt eyes upon her as a small crowd of locals, mostly elderly men, had gathered and were enjoying the spectacle of the two jeunes filles struggling with the monster automobile. They made themselves comfortable, lit pipes, and waited for the second round. Pat returned very quickly, trotting across the square. The large can was obviously heavy and now full. There was a muttering in the crowd: Elle est formidable. Pat filled the car, ran to the front, gave the handle a mighty heave, and then bundled Clara out of the driving position as the machine roared into life belching smoke over the gathered crowd. There was a clanking and crunching from within the cloud and, when it cleared, the machine was gone, surging down the hill with Clara waving and Pat hunched across the wheel trying to keep the thing on a straight course. There was applause and cheering amid the coughing and smoke flapping. Several horses were startled in their nosebags and shied from the noisy machine as it hurtled past heading downhill toward the harbour. Clara began to grow alarmed as they neared the junction with unrelenting velocity. "Hold the wheel, quick," shouted Pat, and then, using both hands, she pulled hard upon the hand brake. The rear wheels locked and the machine juddered to a noisy, smoky stop with its nose several feet into the junction. Pedestrians stopped and stared and several wagon drivers shook their fists and shouted insults that Clara's French couldn't translate. Pat composed herself with the words, "Calm down, Pat," then set off with only a slight lurch, in the wrong direction and on the wrong side of the road.

They had travelled only a mile before they realised their mistake and stopped, but there was then the problem of finding the reverse gear in order to turn around. Clara searched the manual without success until Pat lost patience and snatched it from her hands. Clara decided she'd had enough of Pat's bad manners and climbed into the rear compartment, determined to have a huff. But there she found a large wicker basket on the floor and delved into it. After a few moments she stood and shouted, "Hurrah, we are equipped to be intrepid automobilists now!"

Pat turned to find Clara wearing a long, sturdy coat complete with hood and a flap portion that came across the face. She had goggles on covering her eyes and was unrecognisable. Pat jumped over the seat and found a similar coat for herself but once she had it on she moaned, "Oh bother, I am swamped in this. It must have been made for an Amazon or large chap."

Clara laughed so much she almost fell backward out of the machine and Pat had to grab her. "Careful, that's how the owner came to grief. It's a long way down. There are all sorts of goodies in here, spare thingies and puncture repair kit and oils and grease-pusher-inner, what's names? Yes, greasegun, and tools of all kinds. How splendid, we are ready for our journey. But we must return to the pharmacy and get the tank filled with motor-spirit, and the spare tank. Then tomorrow, when I have taken a few feet off the sleeves and hem of this coat, we shall set off on an exploration."

"Yes, dear, assuming this road runs in a circle back whence we came."

"Oh yes, sorry about being abrupt, Clara. Please forgive my rudeness," said Pat clambering over into the front. But the huge coat tripped her and she tumbled nose first into the foot-well, cursing like a trooper. Again, Clara laughed; but this time, she sat on the large rear seat and put her hand to her mouth to stifle her titters as Pat struggled to right herself. She was growing increasingly entangled in the levers and controls sprouting in profusion all over the machine. "Oh, shit upon it!" roared Pat as she fought to get out of the coat.

Clara was now in hysterics in the back and slipped to the floor holding her ribs. "What a sight we must be," she gasped between laughs. She looked up in time to see the huge coat descending over her, thrown with another curse by Pat. There was a lurch as the machine set off backward and Pat shouted, "Ah ha! Got you, you stroppy Frenchie. Clara, for goodness sake, rise and look over the back and make sure there is nothing in that lane I might crush."

Clara did as instructed and leaned over the rear seat and squeaked in alarm when she saw how high it was. The rear portion was raised several feet above the front. There were steps down the back of the machine and she thought she must be seven or eight feet up. "It's all clear, and jolly well done, but I think you should turn the round thing now to make the corner or we will be past… too late, you're past."

Pat stopped and, in another fit of cursing, lurched forward and tried again. It took three attempts to make the reverse turn, as she got confused about which way to turn the steering wheel. As they headed back, Clara sat high in the rear feeling regal and still tittering. Pat swore as she crunched and ground, trying to figure out the gear selection process. When she got into the top gear, the big Panhard had reached a great velocity. Clara was becoming alarmed; she felt the force of the wind and saw the scenery rushing past at a dizzying pace. She shouted, "Pat, please slow, you had trouble stopping before. Don't be foolhardy. It would be a shame to damage our investment before we even get it home."

Pat eased back the speed control and slowed, but failed to change down to a lower gear in time and the machine shuddered to a stop, stalled. Pat's temper was becoming frayed and as she was about to leap down, Clara stood, took hold of her shoulders and rubbed them. "Pat, my dear, you are doing terribly well but you must calm yourself and think clearly, rather than becoming agitated so."

Pat reached back and laid her hand upon Clara's and took a deep breath. "Yes you are right. I must resolve to solve this driving problem by careful practise and deliberation. Sorry for the vulgarity and fearful temper tantrums." She reset the controls and dismounted. One big swing and the motor came back to noisy, rumbling life. Having settled herself and spent some time examining all the controls and testing what they did, she set off again at a sedate pace just above walking speed. They made their way back to the pharmacy in the main street where Pat had purchased the motor-spirit. She stopped outside and then sat looking at the controls on the wheel and low on the dash and said, "I wonder which causes the motor to cease?" She decided on the lever she knew to be the one that controlled the ignition and moved that. The motor roared and she pulled quickly the other way and the thing stopped with a huge bang that had horses skittish and pedestrians muttering for miles around. It took four trips in and out to fill the tank and the spare. Afterward, Clara complained about how foul Pat smelled. She had splashed motor-spirit on her skirts and the stench lingered as they drove back to the hotel without further incident. There was, however, another resounding crack as the car backfired on being stopped incorrectly. "We must study and translate that instruction pamphlet tonight," said Pat as she dismounted.

"Yes, dear, but only after a bath. You are disgustingly soiled and foul smelling," added Clara as she took off the great coat and climbed down the rear steps.