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STAKE YOUR CLAIM


Author’s Note: This is a labor of love for me. Although this fiction is written with BTVS/ATS characters, it is based loosely on my own family history and the history of Wyoming. I am very nervous about posting this here, so please give it a read. Thanks, Luv, Spuf




Prologue:

Elizabeth ‘Buffy’ Anne Summers (Abrams) is a nineteen-year-old widow, now living back in her parents home in Greenville, Tennessee. Her late husband, who would also have been nineteen, Parker Abrams, had been a child hood friend, his father Parker Sr. is still business partners with Buffy’s father, Hank Summers.

The story starts about a year after Parker has passed away; due to a Diptheria epidemic that swept Greenville County. The year is 1881, and although the South is still reeling from after effects of the Civil War, her parents did alright for themselves and gave the girls, including Buffy’s little sister, Dawn, a good life.

The how and why of ‘Buffy’s’ nickname will be explained in detail within the first few of chapters of this fic and you need to know that Buffy is a credentialed school teacher by this time. Well, that’s about the just of it, so let’s get started.


Chapter 1:


Henry, or Hank Summers as he was more commonly known, was lecturing his eldest daughter, Elizabeth Anne, or ‘Buffy’ as she was more known, in his ‘lecturing’ voice. Actually, he was yelling, loudly, in his ‘shouting’ voice, and at the Sunday supper table, no less.

“No daughter of mine is going to travel a thousand miles up North, no less, to try and teach a bunch of dusty Westerners in some backwoods town! My God, Joyce,” he glanced at his lovely wife apparently looking for some support here, “it’s not even a State! A damn Territory, they still have outlaws running around in those horrible so called ‘bluffs’ of theirs!”

Joyce shot her husband a warning look and said evenly, “Hank, please, your language, and if front of our two girls.”

Buffy just sat, eating her sweet potatoes, concentrating on just how she was going to ‘rebuttal’ her father’s tirade; Hank Summers was a very formidable man, especially for being a simple shop keeper.

Finally, just after the Territory and outlaw remarks, Buffy set her fine silver fork next to her plate, gently and looked up at her glowering father.

“May I say something?” she asked quietly, never breaking contact with her fathers deep brown-eyed glare.

“Go on ahead, Elizabeth,” he nodded curtly, using her given name, which always meant ‘trouble,’ “you’ll speak your mind anyway.” He sat back down in his dining chair at the head of the long oaken table and continued to glare at his rebellious oldest.

“Papa,” Buffy began softly, “using her favorite endearment, and her Father’s, for him, “I know I’m ‘your’ daughter and all, but I’m also a grown woman, a widow and if poor Parker hadn’t passed away, I’d probably be a mother by now. I understand your concern for me, I do, but I just feel that my teaching capabilities would be put to better use in a ‘new’ place like Wyoming. Everything is so ‘set’ here. Out there, the locals want their children, boys and girls alike to be schooled and to learn new things. Here, even still, the locals marry their daughters off, sometimes by fifteen-years of age and before you know it, they’re mothers and housewives, never given an chance to ‘do’ anything else.”

“I’m fifteen and I’m not married off yet!” piped in her little sister Dawn, the family magpie, matter-of-factly. Buffy shot Dawnie a dangerous look, causing the tall, blue-eyed beauty to close her mouth and concentrate on the delicious ham, Cellie the cook had produced.

When Buffy looked back at her father, to continue the debate, she recognized, right away, that she had made a mistake in her choice of words. ‘I should never have mentioned widowhood, motherhood and locals in the same sentences,’ she realized, too late, her stomach sinking.

Hank, still upset of course, but much calmer now, smiled slyly at his lovely oldest daughter. Buffy was such a little thing, only 5’1”, not much more and still had the petitest frame of all the ‘belles’ in the County. She was the only female around for miles who had emerald green eyes, mixed with her honey blond hair and pink lips, even her quick mind; she was the apple of Hank Summer’s eye and the pride of Greenville County.

“Therein lies my point, young lady,” he chuckled smugly.

Buffy felt like was talking to General Sherman just before he marched through Atlanta and burned the city to the ground. Hank had risen, once more, from his chair and began to strut around the dining room like a politician on a soapbox.

“Elizabeth,” he began, calmly enough, “you are a beautiful young woman, prettier and more desirable then any of the other belles in, well, probably the State of Tennessee! It does my heart proud to have such rare beauties for daughters. Dawnie there is going to be a heartbreaker when she comes out next season.”

He paused long enough to grin at his blue-eyed youngest and favor her with a wink. Dawnie grinned back sweetly at her Daddy, but rolled her eyes at Buffy and continued on the sweet ham in front of her.

“Now, as for you, young lady,” he continued, once again staring sternly at Buffy, “you could have your pick of any of the available men in this County, including that new Deputy that the Sheriff just commissioned. What’s his name again, honey?”

Hank finally included his wife in the conversation with a nod and a question, “I’m not sure, dear,” Joyce responded quietly. She then caught Buffy’s eye and slightly shook her head, the young woman knew her mother’s ‘tread carefully’ look from past experiences. However, the truth was, Buffy had already made up her mind about this.

“No matter,” Hank huffed and began to pace again, “the point is, Buffy here could have any husband she wanted, just needs to get over this Wyoming nonsense and settle down again with a nice local man and give us grandchildren!”

Buffy had heard enough and slammed her linen napkin down on her half full plate, “alright Papa,” she shouted, “that’s it! I love you Papa, you know that and I love Mama and even Dawnie there, but I’m not going to sit here and listen to you map out my future for me. Let’s be honest, I may have quit wearing my mourning dress months ago, and yes, there have been some men, young and old that have come sniffing about trying to woo me.”

Buffy was now standing, leaning onto the dining room table with clenched hands, “but Papa, let’s face facts, I’m certainly no ‘belle’ anymore as you call us, actually, I’m ‘used goods’ at this point.”

Hank Summers gasped, Joyce sighed loudly and Dawnie burst out into laughter, almost knocking over her water goblet.

“Elizabeth!” Hank yelped, “there’s no need for crudity at the table, or any time. Maybe you better go upstairs and lie down for a nap, I think perhaps you’re overwrought.”

“No,” Buffy sat back down, defiantly, at the dining room table and folded her slim arms over her chest. This was her ‘defense’ stance as she like to call it, alerting the whole family to the fact that she wasn’t going to back down on this one.

Hank Summers looked to his wife, helplessly, counting on her calm demeanor and wisdom to talk some sense into their oldest daughter. Before Joyce could interject, Buffy mumbled, “last time I heard, they’d freed the slaves in Tennessee.”

Joyce heard it and sighed again, “okay, Buffy, darling, now ‘that’s’ just not fair. You know full well and good that Daddy didn’t come from a family of slave holders. I did, but my own Mother destested the travesty and did her best to try and work around it. When I married Daddy, you know my Mammy came with me, but only because she wanted to, we were devoted to each other.”

Buffy just nodded her head, somewhat ashamed that she’d brought such a painful subject up at this time. “However,” Joyce continued calmly, “I know what you’re saying Buffy and I can’t say I don’t agree with you.”

“Joyce?” Hank gasped, “you can’t possibly mean you’re on board with this cockamamie idea of hers and Rupert Giles, not to mention the whole rag tag bunch of Cheyenne City Council!”

Buffy rolled her eyes again, but looked to her mother, this time for her own support.

“Rupert Giles is a fine man, Hank,” Joyce reminded him, “you did business with him once, years ago when he was still situated in London. In fact, I believe that his second wife, Jennifer is originally from North Carolina, one of the Calendar people.”

Her mother glanced over at Buffy and smiled warmly, “besides, I understand that Wyoming is simply magnificent, open, and full of prospects for a young person.”

Hank just looked from his wife, to his daughter, back to his wife again, puzzled, “yes,” he growled, “open and wild, full of rowdy cowboys and God knows what else. Why Elizabeth might not be safe to even walk through town, escorted!”

Here Dawnie piped up again, “oh I wouldn’t worry too much about Buffy, Daddy,” she giggled, “she’s pretty tough in a clinch!”

Everyone stopped and looked at the younest Summers, “you’re not helping, Dawnie,” her father informed her, rather gruffly.

“Papa,” Buffy interjected, “I’ll be fine, I promise. To be honest, I’ve already accepted the position in Cheyenne and will be going by the end of June. It’s all arranged, the City Council has built the new school house, in fact, they’re building me a little place to live, right next door to it. It’s in the town limits, right by Mayor Ethan Rayne and his family’s home. I’ll be fine Papa, honest, I will. You remember the Chase family, don’t you Mama?” she asked her Mother for reassurance.

“Yes, dear,” her mother confirmed, “they have been in Kentucky for a hundred years or so. Didn’t their oldest daughter, Cordelia marry Mr. Rayne?”

Buffy nodded vigorously, “yes, she’s Mrs. Rayne now and from what I understand, she’s the mother of three young children.” Here, Buffy glanced over at her father, hoping he’d catch the hint that just because Wyoming wasn’t Tennessee, didn’t mean that Buffy would never be a wife or mother, just not for a while. That’s all.

Hank sat back down in his big oaken chair and gazed at his beautiful daughters once again, side-by-side, so different in looks and personalities.

“Well, Buffy,” he sighed in defeat, using her nickname again, “I can’t fight both you and your Mother. So, I guess I’ll have to go with your wishes on this, give my blessings,” he looked looked at her with adoration, “but if anything happens to you out there in that God forsaken place? Well, it’ll just kill me, Buffy.”

Buffy Summers had seen her Father cry only three times in her lifetime. The first time was when the family had to bury Buffy’s stillborn baby brother; the second was when her own young husband, Parker died; this very evening, right at their dining table was the third.


A/N: Okay, that’s the first chapter, such as it is. I’m going to ‘get’ Buffy out to Wyoming as soon as possible. Have her ‘meet’ some of the colorful characters that abound in the Territory. Can you guess who all are out there? More importantly, can you guess who Rupert Giles, gentleman cattle baron and his lovely wife Jennifer have for children? Yup, Drusilla ‘Giles’ Rhys-Smythe; William ‘Spike’ Giles, Liam ‘Angel’ Giles and last but not least, Connor Giles. This could get interesting. Thanks, luv Spuf





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