Books - Fearless, A Novel of Sarah Bowman

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	Books - Fearless, A Novel of Sarah Bowman

Fearless, A Novel of Sarah Bowman is a 1998 historical novel by Lucia St. Clair Robson. Sarah Bowman, aka The Great Western, was so tall you had to hug her in installments. People said she had enough sand for a lakefront. In 1845 she came to Corpus Christi, Texas, to work as a laundress for the army that Zachary Taylor had assembled to invade Mexico. Sarah Bowman was an historical figure and much of what is depicted in this novel is based on actual accounts of incidents. Sarah Bowman also makes an appearance later in life in another of Robson's novels, Ghost Warrior.

Plot of Fearless, Novel of Sarah Bowman

Riding tall against the sun-bleached indigo of the Texas sky, Sarah Bowman was a force of nature all her own. Famous for her wit, ready and radiant smile, and shining green eyes, the strong-willed Tennessee woman participated in the Florida campaign against the Seminole. She survived snake-filled swamps, bullets, alligators, and disease, and married a man who admired her boundless spirit.

In 1845, Mexico would not relinquish its claim to Texas, and the U.S. prepared for war. Under the command of General Zachary “Old Rough and Ready” Taylor, Sarah signed on as a laundress and cook and bivouacked with Taylor’s army in Corpus Christi, preparing for an attack by Mexico. Before the war even began, though, her husband was killed. But going home was out of the question. She considered the army her home and its soldiers her family. Nowhere else would her courage and compassion be so much needed and appreciated.

While the battle raged around her, Sarah became a familiar figure through the haze of sulfurous blue smoke and the stench of exploding gunpowder, riding among the flames to retrieve the wounded. Through the long years of bitter battle, she would find love in the arms of a sergeant with eyes as golden as a flame, and friendship in the company of Cruz, a Mexican woman whose personal history encompassed the war in all its passions and horrors.

Excerpt from Fearless, Novel of Sarah Bowman

:Sarah adjusted her bustle and hitched her skirts up, tucking them under her belt. She lay a folded feed sack between her shoulder and the searing heat of the metal rim.

:“Heave!” Sarah braced her hands on the spoke and pushed on the wheel until the veins bulged in her temples and points of light scintillated before her eyes like sparks from a steamboat’s stack.

:She pushed until she thought she would faint, then she pushed some more. A comet of pain seared a rail behind her eyes. The wagon swayed and she eased up, then she shoved, backed off, and shoved again, increasing the rocking motion each time. The wheel began to creep forward, axles shrieking, the rims slicing through the sand until they reached harder ground. Sarah stood up and wiped the sweat from her eyes.

:“I’ve heard stories about the Great Western, but still I’d’ve wagered you couldn’t do it.” The man’s voice was unseasonably jolly.

:Sarah turned to regard him as he stood under an umbrella next to his little Indian pony. He regarded her back with the look of stunned admiration that she’d grown used to.

:The crown of his black silk stovepipe was just tall enough to tickle Sarah’s nose. Its narrow brim didn’t cast much shade. In spite of it and the umbrella, the sun had already burned his face as red and shiny as a freshly skinned rabbit. A tight pair of linen pantaloons encased his stout legs like sausages. Both his trousers and his short linen coat had begun white, but had turned the color of dust overlaid with soot. Gaiters showed above the sand that covered his shoes.

:“My name is Lewis Leonidas Allen.” Beaming he extended his hand. It was plump and moist and soft, but the grip was unexpectedly strong. The spectacle of her at close range so stunned him he forgot to let go of her hand. She disengaged him.

:He tried not to stare but was only partially successful. Her sweat-soaked blouse clung to her. Amusement glinted in her emerald eyes in spite of the mired wagon, the exhausted mules, and the pitiful condition of her passengers and rig.

:“I’m with ‘The Spirit of the Times’,” he finally said.

:“If your shoulder ain’t to a wheel, Mister Allen, you ain’t with the spirit of these times a-tall.”''

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