Lanky teen, his granny says that he just keeps "eatin an a-growin, growin an a-eatin"
Traits & Characteristics
Quiet but not shy, more of a doer than a talker or a thinker. His sisters taught him how to polka, his Granny taught him how to hunt and shoot, and the school of hard knocks taught him everything else, including how to stay on the top side of a horse. Raised out on the prairie, finds town a little clamorous and discombobulating - but worth it to see all the pretty girls, there.
Wanted to ride with a herd up from Cheyenne this year, but forced to go and stay at his Granny's place as her regular hand up and died of the miseries.
The expected Hunting, Fishing, Riding, Shooting, but also can cook, sew and dance if the situation demands it, but not all at once. Oh, and plowing. Can that boy plow! And plant, and harvest and winnow and make up hay bales and saw and nail and file and mend and make and feed the livestock and milk the cow and paint the barn and string barbed wire fences and, well, everything that Granny needs doing.
Aliases / Nicknames
Granny Miggins' homestead.
Kith & Kin
Two sisters, Jennie and Josephina, and a host of other kin from the vast Miggins progeny. His father, Ernest Lutz passed over to the other side in an incident where he fell through a trapdoor, his mother died of the diphtheria a long time past and he was mostly brought up by his Grandmother and sisters and uncles and aunts.
Born Jacob Lukas Lutz, 17th September 1858 in Council Bluffs, Iowa to Ernst and Geraldine Lutz (nee Miggins)
Ernest was born Ernst Jakob Lütze in Karlsruhe, Germany in the late 1830s.
"Hmmm, very well, but I am trusting you do know the proper boundaries though," Clara just wanted to put that out there though she was not really alarmed, she had faith in the boy.
“Miss Clara Redmond, your boundaries are as safe as a barbed wire fence while I’m around” he assured her, drawing a simile from the piles of the stuff that were stacked up in his Granny’s barn.
He maneuvered her over to where the view of the stars and planets was best on this miraculously clear evening.
"That's Venus." Jacob said simply. "Boy, has she got a lot to answer for!" he added with feeling, squeezing Clara's hand a little .
"Oh indeed? Why do you say that?" Clara prided herself on her education, though much of it had been self taught but she knew very little about the stars and planets.
“Well in ancient times, they named the planets after their Gods” he explained “Jupiter was the King of the Gods, Mars the most warlike, and Mercury was the cleverest; but the most powerful of all was Venus, because she was the Goddess of Love.” He said, still holding onto her hand with their arms entwined.
“Why, that little lady made the Greeks launch a Thousand Ships to rescue Helen of Troy from her lover Paris, she made Mark Antony give up half the Roman Empire and his own life for the love of Cleopatra of the Nile…” he was warming to his subject now “And even in modern times, she makes farm-boys spend their last two cents on a slice of pie, just so they can sit in a diner, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl they’re sweet on.” He said, turning to her now and looking down on the prim but gorgeous face.
“Why, she’s so powerful she can even make that same farm-boy forget the solemn promise he made to respect that same, very beautiful girl’s barb-wire boundaries.” He finished, bending slightly to try and kiss her gently on the lips.
Jacob listened to Clara’s advice on arm-taking etiquette (for want of a better phrase!) with an intensely interested look on his face, like a scholar desperate to be illuminated by wise old professor.
"Well....perhaps you should not in here...in public. We have just met afterall.”
Jacob nodded, and said the words that every woman longs to hear.
Good old sis and her clever advice. He was rewarded by a heart thrilling addendum by the beautiful girl in the blue evening gown.
“But once we are outside I would not mind it," she believed she had come up in a good middle of the road solution.
Bingo! Lutz didn’t dare get too excited about things, though, like that might jinx the good luck he’d had so far.
And with that the pair finished the last of the waltz, nodded to each other and exchanged 'thank yous' before then making their way out the wide barn doors into the cool evening air. Though outwardly calm, Clara's heart was pounding in excitement even nervousness. This farm boy was so much nicer to get along with than those cowpokes. He was literally a breath of fresh air.
His heart was banging too, but he managed to stroll on out of there, hands clasped behind his back, like he was sauntering off on a stroll on his own, not walking along side the prettiest girl in Kalispell, or maybe even the Territories. Or maybe even the World.
Once they had stolen out of the barn and gone a little way away from it, for there were many a folk milling around outside, he shyly put out his left arm and looked at it like it was the first time he had seen it in his life.
“I guess this is how I do it!” he smiled. “My sister says that a gentleman always offers his left arm so that he can draw his sword if he needs to defend his lady.” He added. “Or in my case, the penknife I use for whittling.”
When the moment came to feel her perfectly formed bare arm in his, he took her hand with his spare hand, his sword/penknife hand, as if to hold her safely and securely in place: but really because he just wanted to hold her hand. To be sure, his head was swimming for a moment: he was holding Clara Redmond’s hand! Christmas morning had nothing on this!
He looked down and at her lovely face, her pretty little nose and her beautiful brown eyes: so full of intelligence and yet always, he felt, clouded by a little sadness, too.
“It’s funny, now we’re out here and I’m looking at you; I hardly want to view the moon.” He said, with an air of wonder at just how lovely she was. “But I don’t want you think this was just an excuse to get to hold your hand, so we’d better step over yonder, where there’s a gap in the houses.” He said practically. Indeed, the moon was low and they would need to stroll even further away from the barn to really see it properly.
It was magnificent. It’s position near the horizon made it look enormous. An illusion, of course, but a stunning one. The bright part of the moon was nothing more than a thin slither, like the shard of glass you never see after you accidentally smash a glass on the floor and don’t discover until you tread on the darn thing the one time you walk into the kitchen in bare feet. Inside this silver sliver’s grasp could be clearly seen the round form of the dark moon, like a person hiding in the shadows: there and not there at the same time, a cave of gray black light in clear deep indigo night sky.
Just as beautiful was a bright white star just below, following the Sun which had long dipped below the horizon.
"That's Venus." Jacob said simply. "Boy, has she got a lot to answer for!" he added with feeling, squeezing Clara's hand a little .
“Oh, do you think we should ask him?” asked Jacob.
"No, I do not," Clara gave a quick survey about the barn then added, "I do not even see him right now. Probably having a beer and discussing the spring planting with a few of the other farmers. Now my father is not a drinker but on occasion does enjoy a bit of imbibing. He is entitled for he is a hard worker and a fine family man."
Actually, Jacob would have quite liked to have joined in that conversation: it was his contention that it was still far too wet to plow, and a careful choice of crops would be needed to produce an optimum yield in the present weather. But the choice between that and walking out with a girl of Clara’s beauty, no contest.
“There’s no need to explain” he assured her “I’m sure Mr. Redmond is a model of sobriety, and there’s nothing wrong with a social drink. I don’t happen to touch the stuff because I just don’t like the taste.” He said. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t the drunk and disorderly type. One swig of Granny’s homebrewed ‘Chill Tonic’ when he was nine had given him the cure in that direction.
"Besides....what with all this dancing and the crowd of people I must admit I am feeling a bit ....heated.”
She did look pretty hot, that was for sure. “Maybe a walk outside to view the firmament and then a stop at the drink tent for a lemonade on the way back might be nice.” He suggested, trying to make the jaunt sound as harmless as possible.
“I would truly appreciate a few moments outside to cool off with some fresh air," Clara was not above making something up on the spur of the moment if it aided her cause long as there was no harm done.
He managed to affect a pleased look which stopped short of jumping in the air, shouting ‘wooohooo!’ and springing cartwheels all around the place.
This was it, they were going on a stroll in the moonlight! Plain old Jacob ‘Hayseed’ Lutz and the radiant Miss Clara Redmond. It was sublime and ridiculous all at the same time and he couldn't help being scared that he would wake up any second and it would all just be a dream.
“Clara, can I ask you something?” he said seriously. “I’m a little inexperienced with ladies and don’t want to overstep any bounds. Should I take your arm? Or is that too forward?”
"Good gracious, if we took Arabella along neither of us would get a word in edgewise. No thank you, Jacob. She means well but ...well you know her so you know what I mean," Clara made her opinion clear.
Jacob nodded, he knew that only too well from his visits to the saloon (purely on business visits to the back door, of course, he was teetotal).
“To be honest, I never knew a body have so much to say about so little, bless her.” It was true that she was an annoying chatterbox sometimes, and not much to look at, but she was the nearest thing he had to a friend outside of his sisters, what with living on a remote homestead on the outskirts of the ranch-lands.
"I trust you to be the perfect gentleman and besides, we will be just outside still right in town, my father will understand," Clara buttressed her argument.
Jacob couldn’t help but imagine being the father of such a beautiful and poised girl: and how protective he would be of her and suspicious of any gangly pimpled youth with slikum on his hair and a undersize Sunday suit on, that came a-sniffing round his daughter. In that position, he certainly wouldn’t ‘understand’.
“Oh, do you think we should ask him?” asked Jacob innocently, letting Clara be the one to say no, … hopefully.
"Goodness, they do?" Such was news to her, though Clara had to wonder who he knew that also knew her.
Jacob nodded, Arabella especially came to mind. “The Reb never talks about anything else: ‘Clara says this’, and ‘Clara does that’. Why I’m surprised she hasn’t asked you for a dance herself.” He smiled at the thought. Sure, girls did sometimes have to dance together, but only if there was a dearth of men.
Funny. When he'd told his sister all about ... well, all about Clara, the girl in the pie shop who never seemed to notice him, and Arabella, the girl at the saloon who always wanted to tease him, she had said 'Sounds like your chatterbox friend has a little crush on the pie shop girl, sometimes girls that age develop those on older girls." Well, that had made him laugh and laugh, he'd never heard of such a ridiculous notion in all of his born days.
And when he'd repeated it to Arabella herself, while delivering farm produce to the Saloon kitchen, she'd turned as red as a beet and chased him around the kitchen with a broom, which had made him laugh all the more. Boy, girls sure were strange, lovely critters.
She decided to make a request, "Say, when the dance is finished would you like to talk? Nothing special just a nice conversation?"
Somehow, the conversation turned to a subject that Jacob was more than passing interested in: heavenly bodies.
“Did you notice the way the Moon is outside this evening?” the boy asked.
"No I have not. I had to show up early to help my employer set up the bakery table and the moon had not been up then. Perhaps you can enlighten me?" Clara was more than willing to hear him out.
“Oh, well, I can show you, if you like, that’s even more enlightening! It’s what’s called ‘The Old Moon in the New Moon’s Arms’.” he offered, trying to look and sound like an old sage who wanted to instruct a promising scholar, rather than a young man who just wanted to get a beautiful girl out and under the Moon.
In case that sounded like too alarming an offer to the upright young lady, he added an unappetizing rider: “Of course, we could take The Rebel along with us, if you think that a chaperone would be in order.” He said, pulling a face that he hoped would convey all the verisimilitude of his being passionately concerned about her good name. He was concerned, of course, but other, quite natural, passions were perhaps more to the fore.
“Sorry Miss R... Clara, I’m talking too much; just nervous I guess!”
"Please do not be nervous. I think you are doing just splendidly if perhaps a tad too enthusiastic on the compliments but I have to admire your effort," Clara smiled.
“I’ll try and put a damper on the compliments” he laughed “But when a feller’s dancing with the prettiest and most admirable woman in the room, it’s hard not to let a couple of them slip out, at least.” He said, promising not to compliment her in the most complimentary way he could think of. He hoped that his sister’s advice on how to impress a girl were as spot on as her dancing lessons. She had been pretty clear on the matter: compliment, compliment, compliment.
"Thank you for the 'pretty'...but you do not really know me to decide I am 'admirable' though I appreciate the sentiment."
He shrugged a little (a tricky operation, in the middle of a waltz) “Well now, everyone I know speaks so highly of your manners and your accomplishments, and if I ever met anybody who didn’t, well, I wouldn’t want to know them anyway!” he philosophized.
Suddenly the girl decided to be pro-active and made a quick request, "Say, when the dance is finished would you like to talk? Nothing special just a nice conversation?"
“That’d be wonderful! If you can bear to talk to a feller that doesn’t know much about anything except raising crops and hunting.” He accepted with self-depreciating alacrity. “The only thing I know about besides that is the bible and a little astronomy.”
This was going somewhere.
“Did you notice the way the Moon is outside this evening?” he asked innocently.
“You certainly are a beautiful dancer, Miss Redmond.” He intoned casually.
"Why thank you," she was glad to hear it and returned the compliment, "You are too."
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He smiled modestly and perhaps a little shyly.
Wait! That needed a bit of fixing she suddenly realized, "I do not mean beautiful. But....elegant. You dance superbly. " She was quite certain boys did not want to be called 'beautiful'.
“Having two sisters who are crazy about the pastime will do that to a feller, Miss Redmond.” he explained, and indeed he had spent many an evening waltzing and polka-ing with his sisters, him as their unwilling partner. It had seemed like an ungodly waste of his time when he was younger; but, by crikey, it was sure paying dividends now!
"Oh and please call me Clara....Jacob," she added - Miss and Mister sounded so formal. This was just supposed to be fun.
“All right… Clara.” He said, a little self-consciously, then laughed a little. “Clara, Clara, Clara. That’s certainly a pretty name. Like Clara Barton! Except she isn’t pretty like you; she’s more … ‘admirable’.”
Oh, oh, that sounded like she wasn’t! “Course, you’re pretty and admirable!” he added, then shook his head, laughing at his own embarrassment.
“Sorry Miss R... Clara, I’m talking too much; just nervous I guess!”
"Jacob Lutz, then. I like the name Jacob, quite Biblical," Clara declared then realized he had made a request of her and she needed to answer.
Lutz nodded in agreement. He almost made a quip about that being the ‘genesis’ of the name: but figured she would only get it if she was the religious type, and if she was the religious type, she might approve of quips. As in most situations in life, nothing was just about the best thing for a body to say at this particular juncture.
"Why yes, Jacob, I would like that. Thank you for asking," the brunette nodded as she agreed with her own rather reserved smile.
The gangly seventeen year old smiled that toothy but genuine smile again and proffered an arm whose sleeve was a little too short and showed a mite more of his wrist and even his lower arm than it ought. Oh well, at least his jacket matched his pants, which a growth spurt two years ago had rendered into either long shorts or perhaps short longs. Arabella had laughed her hat off when she’d first seen them that night, ‘Say Hayseed, who’s died? Yer trousers are flyin’ at half-mast!’ was her less than kind comment.
Yep, he knew he looked as ridiculous and bumpkinesque as Clara looked beautiful and sophisticated: but he reckoned if they were dancing close, she couldn’t see a great deal of him anyway. He couldn’t see much of her either, of course, but if there was one thing finer than looking a pretty girl, it was holding one in your arms.
The music was already underway, but Arabella’s promise vis-a-vis Jacob's dancing prowess held true, and the rustic Romeo gently but firmly led the lovely Miss Redmond into the waltz with no mean amount of panache – many years spent as his older sisters’ captive parlor dancing partner paying bigger dividends tonight than those doled out by the Comstock silver mine.
He waited until they’d done a once-around before he ventured to make conversation.
“You certainly are a beautiful dancer, Miss Redmond.” He intoned casually, almost like he was speaking to himself and had just accidentally let slip out what he was thinking.
Brendan’s parting words, probably spoken more in frustration than real malice, had died away as Arabella ran up to Clara dragging behind her a gangly looking youth who was clearly straight off of the farm. Oh sure, he’d managed to fashion some kind of semi-respectable rig-out from his Sunday best and his sister had even managed to fix him up a necker-tie out of some ribbon; and the slickum on his hair made his cow-lick stay in place so firm that even a hurricane would be hard pressed to budge it.
“Clara! Clara!” puffed the Virginian girl as she led in the lugubrious stringbean of a youth.
“Clara! Keep this’n warm fer me will ya?! He don’t say much but he dances like the Devil!” she beamed excitedly “I gotta go pee…owder ma nose!” she explained breathlessly, giving the impression that, if it hadn’t been for so pressing a concern, she would have carried on dancing with lad all night.
She span as she left them, though, remembering Clara’s taste for following the strict punctilios of society; in other words, she thought she’d better introduce them. She pointed at each of them, and carried on walking backwards, announcing: “Clara – Hayseed; Hayseed – Clara. See ya!” She giggled as she turned and hot footed it to the makeshift ‘powder room’.
The boy looked at Clara with an open smile, and why wouldn’t he: she was beautiful! He held out his hand by way of invitation to dance.
“Lutz, Miss Redmond, Jacob Lutz. May I … beg the pleasure of the next dance?” he asked simply and with the kind of slow drawl that gave the impression that he didn’t do anything in a rush.
But he knew her name already. Course he did. Clara Redmond, the sensible and pretty girl who worked at the pie shop and whose Pa owned that homestead slap bang in the middle of the two biggest, fussinest, feudinist ranches in the area.
It was the sensible and pretty bit that was the important part, though.
Sagas of the WIld West is a roleplaying game set in a fictionalized version of the town of Kalispell in Montana territory. Our stories begin in 1875 and are set against the backdrop of actual historical events.Sagas was inspired by the classic television and movie westerns. Our focus is on writing, storytelling and character development.
Connect With Us On
If you would like to join the Sagas' Discord server or are already a member, click the image to open the Discord web application.