{"id":1090,"date":"2026-02-01T02:35:00","date_gmt":"2026-02-01T09:35:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/?p=1090"},"modified":"2026-01-19T13:30:03","modified_gmt":"2026-01-19T20:30:03","slug":"the-gift-of-randall-sternberger-by-alexander-miller","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/2026\/02\/01\/the-gift-of-randall-sternberger-by-alexander-miller\/","title":{"rendered":"“The Gift of Randall Sternberger” by Alexander Miller"},"content":{"rendered":"\n


Hatty Sternberger poured the last spade full of dirt onto her husband Randall\u2019s grave. She hadn\u2019t yet bought a headstone with an engraving. The local Salinas men who volunteered to lower the casket into the ground had all left, and Hatty was on her own with her two children, Samuel and Patricia, and her younger sister, Deborah. Her bible was still open. Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. <\/em>\u00a0She never could find that part in the scripture. She hammered a cross in the dirty pile, which protruded from the earth like a man\u2019s full belly after a meal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI might have to kill Jorgensen,\u201d Hatty said to her sister. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t do that,\u201d Deborah said, almost yelling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d Hatty fired back. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

They walked through the dirt patch where they buried Randall. As they neared the house, they passed through fields of lettuce, cabbage, and potatoes. In the distance, they could see the cross sitting atop the grave. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Sheriff, the judge, everyone would know it was you that did it,\u201d Deborah said. \u201cAfter they refused to put Jorgensen in jail, they\u2019d know it was you for sure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStill…I\u2019m thinkin\u2019 about it,\u201d Hatty said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Night fell, and they all sat down for dinner at a long wooden table that Randall had built himself. They left the seat at the head of the table vacant. Hatty passed the corn to her sister.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPatty, make sure you eat some corn,\u201d Hatty said to her daughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Patricia looked at her brother. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhen\u2019s daddy coming back?\u201d Samuel said, staring at the corn. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDaddy\u2019s not comin\u2019 back, baby,\u201d Hatty said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hatty, too, missed Randall already, and his voice played in her head\u2013Ye need to know how to do things in case somethin\u2019 happens to me.<\/em> The thought of Randall not being around scared and confused her.  His soldiering in the Union army during the Civil War proved an asset. Before he was killed, he began teaching Hatty about horses and shooting and how to use different kinds of knives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before Randall and Hatty moved to Salinas, Randall recognized Jorgensen one day while they lived in Monterey. Years had passed since Randall last saw Alexander Jorgensen on Harald\u2019s ranch in Yuma. Randall cursed to God through his teeth as to why they\u2019d been brought together again. It prompted him to tell Hatty the story of how Jorgensen came into an ill-gotten sum of gold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jorgensen was a hardened man, and I knew it when I looked in his eyes. There was no life in them. They were stone, and the man was stone too.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

You were so sure about him?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He seen war somewhere. I know it. Carried a pistol, too. Most men did, but there was somethin\u2019 about him carryin\u2019 one that was different.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

During the latter years of the gold rush, Mr. Harald Sternberger, a Prussian immigrant, purchased Randall from a Southern planter to assist him in his prospecting in California. Harald was successful with Randall\u2019s help, and they settled in Yuma, Arizona, where he ran a ranch. The land eventually became Confederate Arizona, and when the war broke out, Randall went off to fight in the Union army. When he returned to Harald Sternberger\u2019s ranch after the war, Harald hired Jorgensen, a ranch hand who’d recently emigrated from Denmark after the Second Schleswig War.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While working for Harald, Randall saw that any abrupt movement by the horses frightened Jorgensen, and that was what cemented his opinions. Cows were slow and had no effect. Randall tried to<\/strong> keep him working with the cows. He always gravitated towards the horses that needed breaking. It seemed to set off something wild in him. He survived a kick from one of them. Randall was amazed at the sight. A man that wouldn\u2019t die, he thought. Maybe he couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Harald’s mother took ill, he traveled to say goodbye to her. He was gone for several weeks, and on the day he returned home, he entered the house to find Jorgensen going through his things while Randall was out with the horses. Jorgensen managed to find a small deposit box with pieces of gold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Was that what you came for all along?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jorgensen\u2019s hand was faster than a light switch. The pistol\u2019s hammer was cocked and released, hitting the back of the bullet primer, and Harald Sternberger\u2019s body dropped. He lay on his bedroom floor, his shirt stained with blood. Randall sprinted toward the house after the shot rang. When he entered to see the body on the floor and Jorgensen standing over it, he ran towards him. Jorgensen\u2019s quick hand cocked and fired dry. His only bullet left in the cylinder was spent on Harald. The two men tussled until Jorgensen grabbed hold of the .22 caliber pistol Harald Sternberger had been carrying on his person for his trip. Randall ran out of the house, escaping the three shots Jorgensen let off. Jorgensen disappeared with the gold he was able to find. Harald\u2019s Will stipulated that the house be left to Randall. Given the tragic event, Randall sold the house and moved to Monterey, where he met Hatty. It was also in Monterey that Randall saw Jorgensen again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPeople fear that man,\u201d he said to Hatty. \u201cHe quiet and stern with most folks. They don\u2019t know what he\u2019s like. Not like I know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They both saddled onto the single horse and looked at Jorgensen who was walking toward his house from the saloon with his back turned. Some of the Monterey locals couldn\u2019t help but stare at the couple atop the horse. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re always afraid of what we don\u2019t know,\u201d she said, holding onto his waist. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOr when white men are quiet and have a lot of money,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou ain\u2019t makin\u2019 a lot of sense,\u201d she waved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet me tell it,\u201d he said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIsaiah 54:17. You remember that one?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI think we can agree on that one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood, I like it. Since we married, you should like it too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Randall smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou ain\u2019t forgave him, have ye?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGod\u2019ll deal with him. It won\u2019t be me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew 6:15 came to mind, but she didn\u2019t say anything. She knew he knew the Bible well, too, and she didn\u2019t want to make their conversation about Bible verses at that moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat you think about movin\u2019 out of Monterey?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy would you want to do that?\u201d she asked. \u201cI thought you liked it here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust think it might be safer. If Jorgensen sees me or finds out that I\u2019m here, it won\u2019t be good for neither of us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She paused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ve heard folks talk about how nice it is in Salinas. We could go there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe could start a ranch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd have horses, and cows, and whatever else. We\u2019d have enough space to grow corn and such, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou got money for a ranch?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got my money from the army, plus what old Harald left me,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know how to run a farm?\u201d she joked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWoman, I know my way around ranches and farms, back to front, east to west,\u201d he said, smiling at her over his shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you say so,\u201d she said, smiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After Monterey, Hatty and Randall moved to the farmlands of Salinas. They visited a Monterey bank to help secure an old house and land where Hatty had Patricia and Samuel. They grew their own vegetables and had cows, chickens, and some sheep, as planned. The house had three rooms, each relatively small, but the space was enough for all of them. It looked and smelled of unfinished wood, having been built not many years before they moved in. She never asked how Randall had the money to buy these things. She just thought that the army paid well enough for him to build a life. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

On a foggy morning, Randall made a trip to the bank in Monterey. Jorgensen caught sight of him coming out of the bank, and they both froze\u2014four boot heels stopped in the California dust. They locked eyes. Randall thought of everything he\u2019d been through to get to that point. The midday sun beat down on them on that summer day. Once a slave, gold digger, cowboy, husband, homeowner. He\u2019d done a lot. In a flash, the town heard two shots fired at the same time, and Randall Sternberger fell to the ground, and the dusty earth comforted him like it were a quilt. No one was willing to testify\u2014a negro man shot dead outside of a bank. The sheriff was the one to tell Hatty, saying several times that Randall fired first. That was the way the sheriff wanted to tell it, and no one protested. No one wanted any involvement, and one less negro, the better for them. Hatty was the last person Randall saw as things faded to black for him. She imagined him lying there, and she desperately wished she could have held him in her arms while he passed, no matter how bad the thought of it was. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hatty put her children to bed and went to her sister\u2019s room to see that she was already asleep.  She went to her room and pulled out Randall\u2019s lever action Winchester long rifle. Need to know about the different kinds of Indians out there too. They not all the same. Shouldn\u2019t treat \u2018em all the same. <\/em>She tried to be quiet as she rummaged around for bullets. She found a box and fed bullets into the loading port, then grabbed a box of extra bullets. She put everything into a bag and slept for a few hours\u2014long enough for it to still be dark when she awoke. Fog descended on the land, and she put on a jacket, loaded up on their horse, and rode to Monterey. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stopped at about the halfway point to rest, building a fire to stay warm during the chilly night. When she awoke, the chunks of firewood were white and gently blew in the wind. A native man stood over her as if he\u2019d been watching her sleep for some time. She tried to get up, but another young native man crouched down to put his arm around her neck and put a knife to her throat. She thrust one boot heel against one of the large rocks used for the campfire, and the young man\u2019s head struck a large rock. The older man, now standing farther back, took out his knife. Hatty quickly removed Randall\u2019s old rifle and fired. She pulled the lever out, and returned, ejecting the hot shell, and delivered another bullet. The second of the two landed. Her heart was beating rapidly. The younger man\u2019s eyes were open, and he was not moving. She walked to the body of the older man, and his breaths were shallow, with his eyes quivering. He was looking up at the sky as if it would give him answers to ease the pain. His head slowly turned to her, eyes still quivering. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI got no way of helpin\u2019 ye,\u201d she said to him. \u201cJesus God, I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She knew he couldn\u2019t understand her, but somewhere in the afterlife, she thought God would get her message to him. The blood from the gunshot wound leaked over the sides of his stomach, forming a small puddle. His eyes focused on the knife strapped to her belt. She pulled it out and knelt next to him, dragging herself closer and putting the blade to his smooth neck. He lifted it for her, and his hand followed to touch hers. Her hand began to shake. She thought of the minutes before when the young man had her hair in his hands, ready to end her life, and she thrust her knife into the old man\u2019s neck and pulled the blade across. She stood up and looked at the life leave his body. The sun was still hidden in the mist, and she packed up her things with shaky hands and continued to Monterey. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She settled into a small inn near the town square. The innkeeper was a stout negro woman that kept a shotgun at her desk for visitors to see. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere\u2019s ye husband?\u201d the woman asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s dead,\u201d Hatty said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The woman looked Hatty up and down\u2014her dress, the bag slung over her shoulder- and leaned to the side to see her horse tied to the hitching post. She told her the cost and beckoned as she walked down the hall to the rooms. Inside, there was a small bed. She imagined Randall sleeping on a bed of similar size in the army barracks. There was one window with a see-through curtain over it. The floors were wood paneled and looked pale from wear. Hatty put her things down and returned to ask the innkeeper where Mr. Jorgensen lived, assuming he\u2019d still been the known man he was. Hatty thought about how she would go over there. She could. She knew it. But she couldn\u2019t just swing her rifle over her shoulder and knock on the door, stand back, and let Jorgensen have it. She left the rifle, wrapped in a quilt, and she left her revolver too, for she couldn\u2019t carry it without anyone noticing. She took one of her knives and sheathed it, and took a lace from one of her shoes and put it through the belt loop of the sheath. She lifted her dress, tied the lace high on her thigh, and walked out of the inn. She crossed the town square and headed over to the Jorgensen house. It was a two-story house 30 paces from the town square. The sun came out, and the fog dissipated. She paused for a moment and looked around at all of the townspeople. No one suspected her while she walked, but the longer she stood there, unattended to, the more people stopped to stare at a negro woman standing alone. Of all places for a negro woman to be standing alone, she stood at the wrong house, in their eyes. She knocked on the door, and a woman answered. It was Daisy, Jorgensen\u2019s caretaker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr. Jorgensen isn\u2019t well at the moment, and he\u2019s not taking visitors,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with him?\u201d Hatty asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr. Jorgensen is ill.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMay I see him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what business do you have with him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was his caretaker once,\u201d she lied. \u201cHe was my owner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Daisy stepped aside and allowed Hatty in. Her heart was bouncing around in her chest like when she fired a gun for the first time. She was tired, but she couldn\u2019t rest. She was shown the room where Jorgensen was lying in bed with his mouth and eyes closed. She examined the expensive curtains over the large window and the decorative bedding\u2014long posts that framed the bed, like Jorgensen was in a king\u2019s chamber. There was a chair, a dresser, and a stool that the helper probably used to feed Jorgensen. Hatty asked if they could be left alone. His eyes opened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all right,\u201d Jorgensen said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hatty shut the door quietly behind her and pulled a small stool next to the bed. She noticed a pitcher of water and a large King James Bible on the bedside table and realized that she\u2019d forgotten hers on this journey. How could she? She thought to herself. In the midst of all her packing, she\u2019d forgotten it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not hiring any help,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve already got somebody, as you can see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not here for that, sir,\u201d Hatty said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo I know you?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked at her, then around the room, confusedly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen what do you want, exactly? Speak plainly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou killed my husband not long ago. I put him into the ground myself. Put the cross on his grave, and now I\u2019m here for you. I rode all the way from Salinas just to sit right here next to you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have any fear anymore since I found out that I\u2019m dying, so you can\u2019t frighten me with anything,\u201d he said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot even death?\u201d Hatty asked, fixing her dress around her knees. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was a different man then,\u201d he said. \u201cOf that I am sure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jorgensen sat up in the bed as Hatty put her boot on the stool. She unsheathed the knife and grabbed the chair by the dresser, wedging it underneath the door handle. Jorgensen\u2019s eyelids crinkled, showing the crow’s feet in his face. She came back to the bed and sat on the stool again with the knife on her lap so that he could see it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re going to do this in my own house in broad daylight?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was shaking her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m Randall Sternberger\u2019s wife. He told me about you and how you came to get all of this. Those big windows, fine furniture in a big ole house,\u201d she said.  \u201cThat gold sure did get you a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He recoiled in the bed when she said Randall\u2019s name and mentioned the gold. His neck quivered as he tried to swallow but couldn\u2019t. He reached for the pitcher of water, but Hatty stopped him. She poured him a glass of water herself. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou sit back,\u201d she said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She handed him the glass, and he drank like a stray dog in the Monterey summer heat. Drops of water escaped at the sides of his mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you have any idea what it\u2019s like, burying the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with?\u201d Hatty asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI never married,\u201d Jorgensen said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you ever think about him? Not like I do, but because you killed him. Do you ever think about killin\u2019 him the way you did? No punishment. Nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI do,\u201d he said. \u201cIt was something of a reflex. I admit I was scared to lose everything if people found out about my past.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what about Harald Sternberger? Do you think about him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t. Not in the way I think about Randall. Old Harald was just a Prussian, and I\u2019ve hated Prussians since I fought against them in the war.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBe that as it may, you\u2019re a killer,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd to you, that means that I deserve to be killed?\u201d he asked. \u201cI did things, those things, at a time in my life. And what do you know of me now, and what my life has been?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was silent. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve come to my home to kill me. Is that right?\u201d he asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve been witness to nothing and only come with accounts from your husband,\u201d he said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho you killed. He did nothing to you but be there and exist. He wasn\u2019t after you. He didn\u2019t threaten you, and you gunned him down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a rattling and a thud at the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy is this door jammed? Are you all right in there, Mr. Jorgensen?\u201d the woman asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, Daisy. I\u2019m all right,\u201d he yelled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not afraid?\u201d Hatty asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGod has been witness to everything I\u2019ve done, and it is he I will have to answer to.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He took a sip of the water. He’d calmed down, and no part of him was shaking anymore. Hatty still sat with her hands holding the knife in her lap. She could not resist an occasional glance at the bible on the bedside table. It plagued her to think that she forgot hers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know that anyone deserves to die. That isn\u2019t for me to decide.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhatever is in God\u2019s plan. And, I suspect you to be a god-fearing woman,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI do still think about Randall. We worked on the Sternberger ranch for some time. He was a good man. Did what he was told. Never gave any problems. I was in a rough time in my life, and he saw me do things I\u2019m certainly not sorry for.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hatty could see the hate in Jorgensen\u2019s eyes when he hinted at doing things in his past that he wasn\u2019t sorry for. She supposed his hate for Harald Sternberger and Prussians was as bad as any white man\u2019s hate for blacks in the deep south.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt is a shame that I had to run into Randall again. I was afraid. That\u2019s all. I really was afraid that he\u2019d compromise the life I had right now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI guess with Randall, you didn\u2019t think about what killin\u2019 him meant, what it would mean to the family he had. We have two children. He was a father and a husband. I bet you thought because he was a negro, that it didn\u2019t matter that he\u2019d be gone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t think about it like that, I swear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, whether you did or didn\u2019t, that\u2019s the way it looked.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Daisy called again, and Jorgensen yelled again to tell her it was all right to leave them. Hatty pulled the chair away, and Jorgensen sunk into the bed as if he was ready to sleep. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI am sorry. I want you to know that. I wish I could go back to that day and not have pulled my pistol.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you can\u2019t,\u201d Hatty said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shook his head no.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd that\u2019s the part that doesn\u2019t sit right with me,\u201d she said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had nothing more to say, and she stared at the floor for a few minutes. She didn\u2019t want to hear his voice either. The sound of him and his remorse irritated her. She could see Randall, as she remembered him, and their little spats when she threw bible verses at him when she felt like he talked a bit crazy. He would give his rebuttal verses until they were tired and silent. She always smirked when they went quiet. She would miss those moments when each of them, temporarily, thought they were right. At the same time, they know that neither was right, or they were both right. They were certain about who was always right and always witness to their love, their squabbles, and everything imperfect about them\u2013God.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hatty gripped the knife and stood up. Jorgensen\u2019s eyes were closed, and she held her words again, just like she\u2019d done so many times with Randall. She took her piece of lace and tied the knife up again. She showed herself out, and Daisy trailed behind, watching Hatty walk across the town square back to<\/a>[1]<\/a>\u00a0 the inn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n


Alexander Miller began writing while attending Florida International University. He loves writing because it helps him further understand what it means to be human through research, creativity, and examination of himself and others. He currently lives in New Jersey and is working on his first novel, as well as a collection of short stories that are exclusively Westerns.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Hatty Sternberger poured the last spade full of dirt onto her husband Randall\u2019s grave. She hadn\u2019t yet bought a headstone with an engraving. The local Salinas men who volunteered to lower the casket into the ground had all left, and Hatty was on her own with her two children, Samuel and Patricia, and her younger … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1092,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1090","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/02\/kenny-eliason-C6TExpu8Znk-unsplash.jpg?fit=640%2C878&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1090","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1090"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1090\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1091,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1090\/revisions\/1091"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1092"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1090"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1090"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1090"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}