Posted 12-06-19
Revised 07-10-22

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Friday, December 22, 1871

After breakfast, Irene was ready to set out for town. She’d be taking most of the holiday baking over to the home of one of the church ladies, the one was collecting the parishioners' food contributions. She and her helpers, which included Irene, would be responsible for setting up the Christmas feast. Myra, meanwhile, was staying home to take care of the chores.

Myra didn’t like anything about chores, but she preferred doing them to being under the eyes of the old ladies of the town – and especially Aunt Irene's watchful eyes.

By hurrying through the tasks that needed doing, the girl was trying to give herself more time to read the remaining letters. Because Irene wouldn't like her doing it, it only made her want to do it more. Getting away with something always gave her a good feeling. A little misbehavior now and then was all the more important because there wasn’t much that she could get away on account of that damned magic.

She went in for lunch and at the end of it, there still had been no sign of George. Now that it was afternoon, it seemed unlikely that the farm boy would be showing up, the December days being so short. Fine. That improved her mood. The more privacy she had, the better.

After reading several trivial letters, Myra opened one sent by Aunt Irene, dated from late April of 1866.

“Dear Addie,

“Your last letter has alarmed me. What can possibly put you into such a sad and nervous state? What are the past misdeeds that you are alluding to? And why are you saying that God cannot forgive you and Edgar because of them? Was it not my older sister who taught me about the saving grace of faith? It was from you that I learned that He can, and will, forgive any evil deed, just so long as it is earnestly repented. I know you are a good and tender person, Addie, and your husband is an honest man. Neither of you could ever stray far enough to be beyond the reach of God's forgiveness. What causes you such anguish? If I understand you, it happened years ago, so why has your sorrow not faded away after years of prayer? Dear one, why did you not alert me sooner to your distress, so that I could have offered you comfort and consolation?

“Whatever has brought you to this state, it cannot be as terrible as you suppose. Your are sorrowful and it is only the good person who beats his breast and pours ashes on his head, not the careless and consistent sinner. The Good Book names very few sins beyond the pale of forgiveness. Surely you have committed none of the abominable acts that St. Paul decries in Romans. Whatever errors you have made, or believe that you have made, the scope of your grief is what tells me that your moral sense is strong and unbroken. The Scriptures constantly affirm with certainty that repentance brings forgiveness. And surely the path of grace is open to Edgar, also.

“You are saying that if the truth were known, you and Edgar would come to scorn and would have to leave the Arizona territory in disgrace. Do I understand correctly that you and Edgar even stand in fear of jail? Search your heart, dear sister. Tell me truthfully, is it is God's scorn that you fear, or is it only the unkind sentiments of your neighbors? If the latter, think not on the opinion of flawed mankind. Think instead on God, who already knows your every misdeed and will judge them fairly against the atonement that you have already done.

“What seems a crime in the eyes of one is not always held to be so in the eyes of another. Wasn't the blameless Stephen stoned to death in Jerusalem merely for celebrating the glory of Christ Eternal? But though Stephen endured a wicked judgment, we can hardly suppose that the Lord denied that sainted man a heavenly home. Remember what is written: 'Fear not them which may kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul.'

“You say that you dare not tell me more of this affair because it would make me ashamed of you. Dear Addie, do you regard me as so faithless? Whatever your shortcomings, I will not give you less love than the good father gave to his Prodigal Son. Whatever you choose to confide in me, I will listen to in the spirit of compassion, not in harsh judgment. I vow to not abandon you, no matter what sin you declare. Until I hear from my sister again, I will be praying for you and Edgar constantly.”

Myra blinked in amazement and looked again at the letter's date. It had been written not long before her mother and father had died!

Hastily, the girl began searching the box for a later letter sent by Irene. When unable to find such a postmark, the girl skimmed all the letters, regardless of dates, but found nothing in them that threw any light upon the mystery.

Myra wanted to know more. What could her parents have possibly done to plunge themselves into such a nervous state? Her aunt had no right to conceal matters that were of utmost importance to other members of the family. She was impatient for Irene to return home, being determined to confront her.

But a moment’s reflection sank Myra into discouragement. If challenged too boldly, her aunt would simply give her the order not to bring the subject up again – not with her, and not with anyone else.

Having no other recourse, Myra went back to the perplexing letter and studied it word for word.

The postmark read April 29, 1866. It would have taken a couple of weeks for a letter to reach Arizona from Pennsylvania. No, it would have taken longer. In 1866, the Union Pacific was still in Nebraska and all mail West was being carried by horse and wagon. Her mother would have received the letter toward the end of May. If her mother had written back swiftly, Irene would have heard from her in the last part of June. If Irene then hurried back a response, her mother couldn't have read it before the last half of July. But by middle July, Myron’s mother and father had already died. That last letter from Irene wasn't here.

Why not? What would the post office have done with it?

Myra knew that the incoming mail to Eerie would go to the postal shelf in Silverman’s store, where the farmers picked up their mail there as soon as they could. But what about mail never picked up? What then? If Silverman knew that the recipient was deceased, the letter would be marked to that effect and returned to Pennsylvania? Was that when Irene had decided to give up on her home town and come to Arizona?She had arrived in early October.

But in August Myron had gotten his aunt's letter, when he was living with the Severins. Probably Silverman knew where Myron was, a would deliver it to the place he knew the boy was staying. Or had the Severins written before that, to tell her the tragic news?

But what would have happened to the earlier letter from her aunt, the one written before she knew that her sister had died?

At that moment, Myra heard the clop of shod hooves on the carriage road. From the window she espied the neighbors -- Singer, Severin, and Grimsley -- dismounting. A growl sounded low in her throat. This was absolutely not a time when she wanted to bother with visitors.

Meeting them outside, she controlled her feelings and called out in even tones: “What news, neighbors?!”

“Bad news,” I would say,” said Tully Singer, a fortyish man with a wide brown mustache and chin beard. “We searched high and low. There's been no sign of your cousin's body.”

Myra didn’t reply. Unable to forget her dislike for Singer, she didn’t want him to do her any favors.

Walt Severin next spoke up. “Is you aunt at home, Miss Myra?”

“No, sir. She's in town. She'll probably be home before dark.”

“Well then, we’ll leave it to you to fill her in. We had no luck. At first we were following the hunch that Thorn was probably killed at the holdup site and the outlaws hid the body nearby. We searched that little canyon first, but nothing turned up.”

“Where else did you look?” Myra asked.

“The way we figured it,” said Grimsley, “the outlaws could have hidden it farther out. They were most likely going west, toward Yuma. They wouldn't have cared to head east, 'cuz that would take them through Eerie. If they went north, they couldn’t make good headway, given all those canyons and mountains. The way south isn’t much better, unless they had a hanker to get over the Mexican border. But if the fellows wanted to have water and food along the way, they’d go west, keeping close to the Gila River.”

“When riding west didn’t lead us to anything, we circled back the Mexico way,” put in Tully Singer. “Same story. No trace.”

“Who knows?” said Walt Severin, “Thorn might have been alive when they left here. If he died on the way to Yuma, they'd have hidden him quite a ways from here. Or maybe he's still alive. Who can say?”

Myra shook her head. “Dead or alive, you can be sure that he'll never show up in these parts again. What outlaw would ride into a town where he'd be arrested in two shakes?”

“We're inclined to agree,” said Singer. “We're durn sorry that we weren't able to bring you ladies better news for a Christmas present.”

“You've done all anyone could expect from good neighbors,” said the girl. “I thank you, and my aunt thanks you, too. Get on home now and rest up. It's the time of year that you should be with your families.”

“Right you are there,” agreed Grimsley. “Take care, Miss Myra.”

“Just a moment,” said the girl. “Would any of you gents know about what happened to the mail that must have come in for the Caldwells during the weeks before Aunt Irene arrived in '66?”

Walt Severin took the question. “That's a long time ago. Why do you need to know that, missy?”

“I'm interested in family history,” she replied.

“Well,” said Severin, “my wife and me were standing in as Myron's temporary guardians. Silverman held out the mail that your legal guardian would rightly have to deal with later – like bills coming due. I put those into your farm house. All the rest, the personal letters, would have been sent back by Aaron, I suppose.”

"What about letters written by Irene?"

"I don't recall that there were any. We did get one sent to our house, It was for Myron.

“How did Irene find out Myron was with you?” Myra asked.

“Well, right after the bad thing happened, my wife sent Mrs. Fanning a letter explaining it all. She knew what town Irene was at because she was friends with your aunt Addie. All she had to do was to address it in care of the town’s post office.”

Myra nodded, looking thoughtful.

Without much more ado, the neighbors wished the girl well and then moved off toward their own homes.

With her privacy restored, Myra went indoors and put away the box of correspondences, while holding out the important letter. She felt low, mulling over the idea that her parents could have been cheats or thieves. All her memories of them were good ones and it riled her that the letter had left muddy footprints all over her recollections. She knew she would never be able to rest easy until she found out what had happened.

The girl sat down and tried hard to remember everything she could about those long-ago days. She recalled that her parents were having trouble about money and often talked about it. Though poor, they they hadn't been gloomy people. Then, suddenly, they had stopped smiling and joking. Myron realized something was bothering them, but they wouldn't tell him what it was. Myra remembered that she had had that on her mind while reading in the newspaper how General Lee had whipped the hell out of Grant at Cold Harbor. That battle had happened in early June in the spring 1864, so Myra had a date for when her parents had started to act differently.

With house getting colder, Myra threw a couple sticks of mesquite into the stove's fire box and then returned to her chair to continue stirring up more recollections. It was about the same time, she recalled, that her folks stopped talkng about debts and bankers. Instead, her folks started talking about bills being paid off and about what improvements they wanted to make -- like putting in the windmill.

And other things had changed, too. The food had gotten better. Ma started buying more canned goods and fresh produce from Ortega's grocery. They got in more hogs and a few turkeys.The rusty and beat-up tools in the shed were soon replaced with newer ones. At the same time, his mothers blackened pots and rusty pans went out to the hen house to serve for grain pans. The kitchen shelves came to be filled with shiny new kettles and utensils. Most memorable of all, they started giving Myron store-bought toys.

Pa had started going into Phoenix more often than he had before, even though it was about sixty miles away. In fact, most of the new things were bought there. Whenever he returned from the big town, he had something flashy to show to his son.

But though the times seemed good, his folks kept talking about hard times whenever visitors dropped in. And they rarely showed off any of their nice things. In fact, his mother and father had asked him to keep his toys out of sight in their box whenever guests were coming. “Visitors'll think we're spoiling you,” was the only reason they ever gave. At the same time, ma would serve the guests using the coffee pot that had so much of its enamel broken off and did the cooking in a black and crusty old skillet instead of a new one from the pantry.

Why such odd behavior? Was it possible that her elders had gotten money from doing something dishonest and didn’t want people asking about how they could be spending so much?

But if her parents were cheating or stealing, where were they doing it? In a poor town like Eerie? Well, sure, there was gold in the mountains and Myra had heard about prospectors being robbed, with some of them being killed. But she couldn’t conceive of her folks doing anything like that. If they had, it would make them no better than outlaws!

At that point, the seventeen-year-old wanted to stop thinking about the old days.

But she couldn’t.

#

Myra gave the cows their second milking a little before the regular time, hoping that busy work would help her stop thinking about things. Afterward, she ate a little, but spent the twilight time mostly staring into the flames she saw in the stove's firebox slits. Before it became really dark, Aunt Irene through the door.

“Haven't you started anything heating for supper yet?” her aunt asked after a quick look-around.

Myra shook her head to clear it. “I – I was sitting by the fire and dozed off.”

The woman shook her head. “Well, we'll have to make up for lost time. Have you milked the cows yet?”

“Yes. But I have to tell you something.”

“What's that?”

“The neighbors came by. They've given up hunting for my body.”

“What exactly did they say?”

“What do you think? They said they couldn't find anything.”

The farm woman sighed. “It's too bad we had to let them waste their time. But I couldn't think of anything that would stop them without making them ask questions."

“Oh, by the way,” Myra said, “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of George all day. I always figured that for all his showing off, he was actually allergic to hard work.”

“Well, maybe he'll come by tomorrow. Everyone gets extra-busy near the holidays. But I have something to tell you, too.”

“Will it make this day even worse?”

“It depends. I was approached by a member of the Ladies' Society at church. They've already talked to to Reverend Yingling about having a memorial service done for you after Christmas.”

“More tomfoolery!”

“I didn’t care for the idea myself, but I couldn’t says no. Instead I told them that our neighbors were searching for the body and suggested that any memorial should wait for that. But now, with the search over, I’m thinking that it will be for the best if we let our friends hold the service. That way the town can get closure about Myron and set their minds on other things.”

“Why can't people just forget about a person they didn't even like and mind their own business?”

“Their hearts are in the right place, Myra. It’s their way of honoring us, just as they would honor any other decent family in Eerie.”

“We're not such a decent family.”

“Are you talking about yourself, or me?”

“They can't possibly care about me being dead. I suppose we’re going to have to pay for the lunch they'll be gobbling down at the service.”

“No, there’ll be a potluck lunch. One good thing in this is that it will be a good chance to introduce you to the community. The sooner we do that, the less curiosity will be direct your way. Just talk polite to people and try to show a decent amount of grief for Myron.”

“How much grief are you feeling?” the redhead asked.

Irene gave her a quizzical look. “I don't know what you mean. You're not dead.”

Myra turned away. “I'm not as sure about that as you are,” she stated.

#

Saturday, December 23, 1871

That night, Myra lay restless on her sleeping mat, thinking – or trying not to think -- about Irene's letter. Though tired, sleep refused to come and time itself seemed to hang around the loft like the dangling cobwebs. The only night sound to be heard was the rattle of the tree behind the house, being shaken by the December wind.

She kept wondering how much Irene knew about the mystery of 1866. She had a hunch that her aunt must have learned more information after her mother's last letter.

Of course, the girl couldn’t be sure that there had been a last letter. Maybe her ma was too broken to write more about what was bothering her. But the odds were that there had been one last letter.

Damn it! thought Myra. If it wasn't for that stupid Indian potion, she could have gone to her aunt and demand answers. But, as things stood, she didn't dare do that.

She kept trying to think of any honest way that her folks could have come into money. Nobody had a lot in Eerie, except the merchants who sold prospectors supplies at high prices. It had seemed that the only ways to get ahead was to find gold or pull a robbery or swindle. But if they had gotten away with a crime, why had she never heard people talking about it?

What a minute! If something big had happened, somebody had to remember! And lot of the locals would be turning up at the Christmas party! If she attended it, she’d be able to speak to almost anyone she wanted to, and do it in a completely innocent setting.

The town function that she had disliked so much up to now had just become an affair that she absolutely had to attend!

Shortly after breakfast, George Severin rode in. From the window, Myra stood watching the youth set up. It dawned on her that the snoopy hired man might know something about the dirty business that went on around Eerie.

Putting on a coat and stocking cap, she went outside and made for the hog yard. “Finally showed up, huh?” the ginger said in way of starting a conversation.

The farm boy stabbed his manure fork into the ground and touched the brim of his straw hat in greeting. “Howdy, Miss Myra. I know I said I’d come by yesterday, but my pa wanted me to fix up one of our old sheds for winter, since he was committed to going out again to look for your unfortunate cousin. By the way, I'm plum sorry that Pa and the neighbors didn’t find anything. Hopefully you and Mrs. Fanning aren't feeling too down about that.”

Myra shrugged. “It hit us pretty hard yesterday, but we've had time to sleep on it.”

“Losing kin is hard,” George commiserated. “Anyway, I wanted to get an early this morning since I’m fixing to go into town and take one of those fancy baths. I’ve even got my party duds packed in my saddle bags so I won’t have to come all the way back home to get them. By the way, are you going to ride your own horse to the party?”

“No, Irene and me will come in on the buckboard.” Now Myra decided to bring up the subject that she really wanted to know about. “George, I've been wondering, was that stagecoach robbery last week the biggest crime that’s ever come off around Eerie?”

The unexpected question made the youth’s eyebrows rise. “Well, now,” he said, “I reckon that it has to be one of the biggest. But Eerie can be a rip-roaring place every now and then. Like, last summer, the Hanks gang rode into town. It seems like they were dead-set on gunning down Sheriff Talbot.”

Myra frowned; the boy might have been angling to bring up the subject of potion girls again! Out on the trail she’d read the story in the papers. But from Molly she’d learned that the outlaws were all still alive and working as saloon women. In fact, she had even met one of them, the so called Bridget Kelly. Damn! If Myron had known that the town had gone crazy, he’d never have come within fifty miles of the place.

“Why that strange expression, Miss Myra?” George asked.

“Nothing. But I’m curious to know why you think Eerie is so rip-roaring. Have there been a lot of robberies? How were things back during the war years?”

“The war years? That's an awfully long time ago, missy. I was only about ten. The big excitement back then was that some folks hereabouts saw some real live Confederates passing buy. A troop of them rode into Phoenix in ‘62, and then skedaddled once the federals started to get close. What makes you so interested? Is it because you’ve been reading too many of those dime novels?”

She gave a toss with her right hand. “I read them sometimes. They make me hope that a person's life doesn't always have to be dull and ordinary.”

“After being kidnapped by the Bertram gang, I’d have thought you’d enjoy having things calm down.”

Her blue eyes challenged his hazel ones. “If you think I'm yellow, I'm not.”

George grinned. “No offense; I keep forgetting how spirited you are. If you like blood and thunder, I've got some magazines at home you could borrow.”

“Sure. Bring them over. Do the things that happen in those books ever happen in real life?”

George shrugged. “Once in a while, I suppose. It just so happens that I know of a few good stories.”

Myra tried to smile, knowing that a girl's smile could make a man warm up quicker than a shot of whiskey. “I really would like to hear about exciting things. I want to hear them all.”

#

George, leaning back against the fence rails, told his employer's niece all he knew about claim-jumping, gun-play, and robberies -- of prospectors, stagecoaches, banks, and assay offices. As it happened, most of what he recounted had occurred at nearby towns, not in Eerie.

Finally, he said, “But the biggest robbery that I ever heard of at Eerie proper was of a mining company.”

“Bigger than the stage hold-up?”

“I'm not sure. But the thief got away with the loot.”

“Who was involved?” Myra asked carefully.

“Just one man. I forget his name.”

“How did he do it?”

“He didn't use a gun. He was more of an embezzler. The company'd taken him on as a clerk and he’d sometimes find excuses to work alone after hours. One night, he opened the safe and cleaned it out completely. As far as anyone knows, the law hasn't lassoed him yet.”

“When did it happen?”

“Several years ago. I don't recall exactly when.”

These vague stories were causing Myra was to lose interest.

The youth, sensing this, said, “I’ve really got to start this job. I'd be fine with chatting with you again at the party tonight.”

“Maybe,” she said without much conviction.

"If you want to know more about the old times in Eerie, they'll be a peck of talkative characters coming to the bash. And I bet the old timers will be able to tell you even better robbery stories than I can.”

“I’ll be sure to ask them what they remember,” she agreed.

#

When George had flung the last forkful of dung into the manure cart, he he hitched up Hazel and led her out into the field. There he forked the mud and hog droppings across the stubbles, where they would serve as spring fertilizer. With the arduous task finished, he put things back in their places and took off for town. He was sorry to miss Mrs. Fanning's dinner table, but he had to get to town before the stagecoach came in.

Outside the depot in Eerie, he tied his mule and sat waiting on the passenger bench. Only a short while later, the Prescott stage could be seen kicking up dust east of town. The kids playing nearby, and even some of the adults, stopped what they were doing and watched it arrive, just as people elsewhere liked to do when a train pulled in.

When the coach had drawn up and braked, George approached it. He’d been informed by the station manager, Matt Royce, of the names of the guard and driver who had been robbed. “Hullo!” he yelled. “Are either of you gents Harry Cole or Robert Moorman?”

A dusty coachmen glanced his way. “I'm Rob Moorman, kid. What of it?”

“Hello, Mr. Moorman. I take it that your driver isn't Mr. Cole.”

“Not today. What's your business, youngster?”

“If you've got a minute...” George began.

The company man scowled. “I ain’t got time for jawing. We have a schedule to keep. One thing I need right now is a real meal, instead of just road dust.” He hopped down and headed for the depot.

George followed the man to the door. “You were the guard on the stage that was held up?” the youth asked.

“I was, lad. Is that important? You don't look like a reporter.”

George already knew what he he needed to say. “My family lives on the edge of town. We were expecting a young lady to come in on last Wednesday’s stage. When our wagon got to town to fetch her, she wasn't at the depot. Stranger still, Mr. Royce told us that he hadn’t seen any such girl get off. The problem is, she’d sent us a telegram from Ogden to let us know she’d be there, and we didn’t get any telegram to let us know that her plans had changed. Was there a girl on your Wednesday run, Mr. Moorman? She's pretty, has ginger hair, and is about my age.”

“A relative, or a lady friend?” the man asked wryly.

George grinned. “She’s my cousin. Ma's beside herself, thinking the gal might be lost somewhere between northern Utah and Eerie.”

The shotgun guard frowned thoughtfully. “No girl was on that stage, not during any part of the run. The only passenger who got off in Eerie was a rough-looking man in his forties. One old lady boarded here, but that’s all there is to say.”

“This is worrisome, mister,” George said.

“Well, I hope the lass is all right. Maybe you'll be getting word from her soon.”

“I sure hope so. My folks aren't going to rest easy until we know she's safe.”

Moorman shook his head. “This is a big country; too big. There's more than enough space for a greenhorn to get lost in. Excuse me now, boy.” He nodded goodbye and went into the station office.

George meandered away, not surprised by what he had been told. It only confirmed his opinion that Myra Olcott had not come in on the stage the week before. But she did in fact show up Eerie about that time, so how in blazes had she arrived, and when?

There was one thing he knew for sure: Miss Myra wasn't a ghost and she wasn't a fairy. She was flesh and blood and had come from some real place. But where was that place, and why were both she and her aunt trying to throw dust into everyone’s eyes?

He shook his head. Mrs. Fanning had always seemed honest and upright, so if she was covering for Myra there had to be a good reason. He wasn’t sure why the puzzle seemed so all fired important, except that mysteries always had an appeal for him. Also, this mystery was especially engaging because a pretty girl was involved, just like they often were in the penny dreadfuls. A touch of mystery somehow made Myra even more interesting than she was otherwise. He smiled, thinking of what she would look like at the party, combed, prettied up, and wearing that yellow dress. It was a nice one, tight in the right places.

But time was wasting and he had to get on with his business. He first had to get a bite to eat and then head over to the bathhouse, otherwise no gal at the party, especially Myra, would tolerate standing next to him for as much as two minutes!

#

Carrying a crate of prepared food, Sheriff Dan Talbot entered the schoolhouse just ahead of his wife, Amy. Behind the two of them their young son Jimmy was stepping through the door.

Dan put the box on the seat of an empty chair next to a table with some room to spare. While Amy unpacked it, Dan stood next to her, thoughtfully looking at their son. Things changed so quickly in everyday life. Jimmy was growing fast, but he and his wife were only getting older. People didn’t consider them a youngish couple anymore; they were middle aged, or soon would be. The day was coming when Jim would be the man who mattered, while Dan would be numbered with those old fellows shuffling along the boardwalk without a whole lot to do. The thought of that coming day was a tough cut of skunk pig to choke down.

Jimmy was moving off, going down the line of tables picking out treats for himself. Then Dan noticed Otto Euler, the brewer, standing with friends on the far side of the room. He decided to say hello to the fellow.

The lawman picked his way through jostling party goers until Euler spotted him coming. “Hallo, Dan,” the German said.

“Howdy,” Dan called up. “Are we going to be sampling any of your fine wares tonight?”

“You vill get all da beer you can svollow, I dink!”

“Say, now, just tonight the missus was wondering about your wife's health. How is she?”

Euler's good-natured grin sobered slightly. “Her cough ist much better, but she vonted to stay home tonight. She didn’t care to risk da season's drafts. But da veather ist much better dis year dan last year. People den vere coming in to get varm at the stove betveen every dance, I recall.”

“Pretty near,” agreed the lawman.

“Oh, and by da vay, Dan, how did da hunt for da outlaws go? I hear dey slipped da noose.”

“They did. Those varmints are young but foxy. They let us ride out after them, then doubled back and made another try at the buried strongbox. I feel damned bad about getting hoodwinked that way.”

“But dat deputy of yours, he got back most of da gold, ja? He ist a good one! Hast Paul come home yet? Last I hear, he vas still oot with anutter posse.”

“That's so. They found the outlaws’ pack horse wandering loose on the way to the Gila River. It's looking like the rascals have hightailed it toward Yuma. They can't have gotten away with much of the loot, though. Paul's posse will soon be heading back. We've already telegraphed Yuma to be on the lookout.”

“The bandits vill get a breather if dey get all da vay to California,” Euler said with a scowl.

“That's the truth. It's touchy business to go chasing outlaws over a state border.”

The brewer glanced toward the door. “Who are doz loverly ladies? From out of town, maybe?”

Dan also looked. “Well, well. That's the widow Fanning and she's dressed up mighty fine tonight. And the young lady with her must be...” Dan tried to remember the name that Shamus had told him. “...Myra. Myra is her niece from back East.”

This was the first time that Dan had ever set eyes on Eerie’s newest potion gal. He remembered what Thorn Caldwell had looked like and the present difference was startling.

“Doz two vill get in a lot of dancing ift dey're villing,” said Otto. “It ist at times like dees that I vish I vasn't a married man. Almost vish, I mean.”

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 5.