Teaser:
The adventures of the ladies of the Eerie Saloon continue. Jessie tries something new, Trisha fights for her rightful place, and Maggie discovers a rival for Ramon's affections.

* * * * *

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change - Autumn
By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson (c)2005
Part 3 - December

Sunday, December 3, 1871

Trisha stopped a few feet from the entrance to the schoolhouse. The building was filling with people come for Sunday worship.

"What's the matter, dear?" Kaitlin asked.

Trisha sighed. "I'm just not sure about wearing these women's clothes to church." After much arguing, Kaitlin had managed to convince Trisha that her poorly fitting men's clothes were not appropriate for Sunday services. Trisha was in a navy blouse and skirt, her long, blonde hair tucked under a matching cap.

"I know it was a bad idea," Emma said, self-consciously touching her kelly green dress. "Can we go home and change outta these duds?"

Kaitlin shook her head. "No, we'd miss the service." She glanced down at her own dark brown dress, almost the same color as her hair. "Besides, it's bad enough that you two insist on wearing men's clothing all week. I'll not be disgraced by having everyone see you looking silly in such clothes here in church on the Sabbath."

"I suppose... since we're already here." Trisha started forward, not wanting to continue a fight she felt she'd already lost.

A few people noted them as they walked in. One or two nodded their heads in greeting. A tall, ruddy-faced man that Trisha didn't recognize leered at her until she glared back at him. Penelope Stone, Yully's mother, and Lavinia Mackechnie stopped in mid-conversation to say hello to Kaitlin. Tommy Carson pointed at Emma and laughed behind his hand.

No one spoke to Trisha, although several people pointed at her. When Stan Becker tried to take a step towards Trisha, his wife firmly put her hand on his arm and shook her head.

They stopped near the front of the room. "We'll sit here," Kaitlin said, pointing to an empty bench. "You go up with the other elders." She squeezed Trisha's hand. Neither of them was comfortable with any more intimate physical contact than that since Trisha's transformation.

"Enjoy the service," Trisha told Kaitlin and Emma. She waited while they began sliding down in the row, then turned and walked to the front of the room. As she reached Nancy Osboune's desk, now redone as the altar, she noticed that something was different. "Where's my chair?"

Judge Humphreys stood and took a step towards Trisha. "There's been a... question raised about you, Patrick... excuse me, Trisha."

"Purest grade bull - excuse me, Rev. Yingling," Rupe Warrick broke in, "fertilizer, if you ask me."

Horace Styron, President of the Board of Elders rose to his feet. "The elders of this church are men. She..." He pointed dramatically at Trisha. "...is hardly that. I say that, by her change, she had forfeited the office." Styron was a stocky man with thinning gray hair.

"That's the point, Trisha," the Judge said. "Until this is resolved --"

"Until this is resolved, I'm a member of the board," Trisha said angrily. "Now get my damned --"

"There, you see," Styron said. "Emotional, just like any other woman."

"I'd say she has a right to be angry," Rupe said.

"Damn right, I do," Trisha added.

"But not a right to blaspheme in my church." Reverend Thaddeus Yingling rose slowly to his feet, his expression stern. He was a tall, well-built man with a shaggy mass of curly gray hair framing a long, angular face. His voice was deep and measured. "I may not agree with the impromptu decision, but I will not have it argued in this place and, worse, on the Sabbath. 'Blessed be the peacemakers,' the Book says. Trisha, I ask you to be a peacemaker now, and to take a seat this day with your family."

"We'll get this all sorted out at the board meeting on Wednesday, Trisha," Rupe said. "You'll see."

Trisha made a face. "I'll do it, Rev. Yingling, since it's you that asked, but..." she looked sharply at Styron. "...this will be settled on Wednesday." Without another word, she turned and marched back to where Kaitlin and Emma has sat watching the incident. As she took her place besides Kaitlin, she could hear whispering from throughout the room.

* * * * *

Dolores Ybaá±ez looked at the late afternoon crowd that filled the plaza below the Church of Guadalupe Hidalgo, several miles northeast of Mexico City. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people were lined up to enter the basilica and hear the mass being said almost continuously on this Sunday, just ten days before the national day of prayer to the Lady.

"Be careful," a man's voice called out from near the ground.

Dolores looked down to see that she had almost walked into an elderly man. He was walking on his knees in a dirty white cotton shirt and matching pants. His hair was gone, his skin the tawny leather that skin becomes after a lifetime of work in the sun. "I am sorry, seá±or."

"You should be," the man said angrily. Then he looked up at her closely and smiled.

Dolores was a tall, willowy woman in her early twenties. She wore a yellow blouse low over her shoulders and a long green skirt. A matching green scarf fluttered loosely around her neck. Her dark, straight hair hung halfway down her back. "Have you come far?" she asked, trying to make conversation.

"Over a hundred kilometers," the man said proudly, "and all of it on my knees. The crops... this year was not a good harvest, and I have come to ask la Virgencita for help for my family and my village on her day."

Dolores nodded, understanding. "I have also come to ask her help."

In 1531, the Virgin Mary had appeared to a poor Indian there at Tepeyac. She'd appeared, not as the classic European woman, but with the coloring and costume of a Mexican peasant. In the years since, the site had been venerated, and the Lady of Guadelupe, as she was known, had become the patron saint of Mexico. Throughout the year, but especially on her holy day, December 12, pilgrims came from throughout Mexico - even from the lands that were now a part of the United States - to ask for her help.

"A pretty, young maiden like yourself," the man said, "I am sure that she will help you."

"I hope so, but it is not me that needs her help?"

"Who then... your lover, perhaps?" The man teased her gently.

Dolores blushed and shook her head. "My... my cousin, Arnoldo. His mother writes to me that he is very troubled. I thought that a cross or a pilgrim's medallion, blessed here at the Church of Our Lady, would help him to find his way in the world."

"That is easy; talk to him... over there." The man pointed to a small covered table near the edge of the plaza. A tall man, perhaps as old as she was and wearing the tunic of a novice, sat on a chair behind the table eating an empanada, a pastry crust filled with chopped meat, salsa, and spices. "The holy brothers of the basilica blessed such things in the Lady's name and sell them here in the plaza."

Dolores looked about. Yes, she could see three... no, four other tables in various spots. 'And "Brother Empanada" over there is closest,' she thought. She thanked the kneeling pilgrim and walked over to the table. 'I just hope the cost is not too high.'

* * * * *

Trisha kept silent throughout the service. She could see the elders talking among themselves. 'Talking about me,' she thought. And why did Rev. Yingling seem to be scowling every time Trisha looked at him?

"Don't give them the satisfaction of seeing how upset they got you," Kaitlin told Trisha as they started back to their house after the services.

Trisha put a finger to her lips. "Tic-a-lock." It was the last thing she said the rest of the way home and all the way up to the bedroom. Then..."Do you believe them," Trisha stormed as she fidgeted with the buttons on her blouse. "Without so much as a by your leave, they decide that I'm off the board." She pulled off the blouse and threw it onto the bed.

"No they didn't," Kaitlin said. She picked up Trisha's blouse and hung it on a hanger in their closet. "They said that there was a question raised - at least, that's what you told me."

"That's what they said," Trisha replied with a grumble.

"Then you go to the board meeting on Wednesday and answer it." Kaitlin had hung up her own "church" dress. She was putting on an older frock, one more suited for housekeeping. "That should solve everything."

"Will it?" Trisha scowled. "Somebody had to ask that question - Clyde Ritter or one of his friends, most likely. Horace Styron's the president, and he and Clyde are as thick as thieves. I answer one question, they'll just find another to ask." She stepped out of her dress and let it fall to the floor. She sat on the bed and began to unbutton her shoe.

"Perhaps they will, but there's nothing you can do about it now."

"There's not much I can do anything about." Trisha looked down at herself. "Not like this. I..." She shook her head. "I ruined myself for sure when I took that damned drink." She closed her eyes and sighed. She looked ready to cry. "What the hell ever possessed me to do it?"

"You were trying to save your son's life, for Heaven's sake. What you did might not have been the wisest way to do that, but no one can fault your motives."

"My motives... no, I guess they can't." She pulled off the shoe and began working on the other. "But my plans, they can certainly put those off track."

"What do you mean?"

"The church, for one thing. Dwight Albright and I were talking about starting up a building fund - yes, I know it saves money to use the schoolhouse, but it's cramped in there. We can't use it much on weeknights, and we've no place for the Sunday school that the parents want, or for that office Rev. Yingling keeps hinting about." She took off the other shoe and stood up.

"Those are fine ideas. I don't see the --"

"Kaitlin, I ran for the board to push those ideas. If I get thrown out, so do they. Dwight's a banker. Anytime he talks about saving or investing money, there's people that say he's only interested in the extra business, not what's best for the church." Trisha took a pair of brown workpants out of the closet and stepped into them.

"Do you have to wear those?" Kaitlin asked. "Look at the way they look, how they pool at your ankles."

"You going to shorten them?" Trisha looked sharply at Kaitlin, who shook her head, "No". Trisha shrugged. "Then I'll just roll them up like I've been doing."

"I think it's a shame. You looked so pretty in that outfit you were wearing."

"I don't want to look pretty," Trisha said through gritted teeth. "When people look at me, they shouldn't be seeing a pretty girl. They should be seeing a... a person of substance, somebody that they'd listen to. Somebody that they'd respect. Not..."

"They respect you."

"Oh, yes, throwing me off the board certainly showed respect." She took a yellow cotton shirt out of a dresser drawer and put it on.

"I'm sure that will all be straightened out on Wednesday."

"Will it?" Trisha began to carefully button the shirt. Patrick had been a slender man. His shirt hung straight down from shoulder to waist. There was little room for Trisha's ample bosom. "My own brother doesn't even respect me any more. A couple days ago, Liam..." She made a broad gesture. "Oh, hell." The button that was even with her breasts had just broken loose.

Kaitlin shook her head. "I'm not sewing that either."

"I can't wear shirts with missing buttons, especially one that shows my... corset."

"Well, then, until you can sew on a button, I'd suggest that you put on one of those new blouses we bought you."

"Oh, yes, wearing a blouse is sure to get their respect.

* * * * *

Bridget was sitting with Cap on a red and white checkered blanket. They were in a clearing about a half-hour north of town, at the foot of the Superstition Mountains. She put the remnants of a fried chicken leg down on her plate and wiped her hands in a white muslin napkin. "My compliments to your Mr. Tuck. That was some of the best chicken I've ever had."

"I'll tell him you said so," Cap said. He leaned back against a log. "Would you like some more wine?" He lifted a bottle from an ice-filled cooler.

"No, as much as I hate to say it." Bridget waved a hand over her almost empty glass. "I'll need my wits about me when I get back to town. There's always a few folks looking to play some poker, and I'm not about to close up my game."

"We don't have to go back right away." He grinned. "We don't have to go back at all today."

"Are you kidnapping me, sir?" She looked into his eyes daringly, a tight little smile on her lips.

"Not unless you want me to."

"Hmm, maybe another time. Right now, I'd like to sit back and enjoy this lovely day."

"It is a nice one. It's hard to believe it's December. It's still warm down here in the lowlands."

"I know. Davy Kitchner came down from his claim last night. He said that there was already snow at his mine."

Cap shivered. "And he's welcome to it. Is he going to winter up there?"

"He said he hadn't decided."

"He will soon - or the snow'll decide for him and trap him in up there."

"I suppose. I'd just as soon not think about it. I'd rather enjoy the sun down here." She leaned back next to him. "That was a delicious lunch. I almost feel guilty not having brought anything."

"Now what do you mean by that?"

"Cap, you brought the horse, the cart, the food, and the wine. Even this blanket is yours."

"Maybe so, but you brought the one essential thing I needed to make this picnic a success."

"What? What did I bring?"

"You brought you." Cap put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him.

Bridget reached up and lightly touched his cheek. Her mouth opened slightly as their lips met and she felt his tongue dart in to play with hers. It surprised her to be on the receiving end of such an intimate kiss - she'd kissed more than one woman that way when she'd been Brian - but she didn't startle so much that Cap could notice. She could feel his body against hers. His other arm was around her waist. Her breasts were pressed against the muscles of his chest, and she could smell the tang of the bay rum he'd slapped on after his shave.

A warmth moved through her body that had nothing to do with the mid-afternoon sunlight. She felt a sense of longing, surrender, and deep pleasure that almost made her ache.

After a time, they had to break the kiss. "That was nice." It was more of a sigh than spoken words.

"It surely was," Cap answered softly.

Her rather dazed expression turned to a sly and avid smile. "Could... could we do it again?"

"Weren't you saying something about having to get back to town for a poker game?" He was teasing now.

Bridget pouted and moved her head back towards his. "Maybe we could stay... just for a little while."

"Long as you want." Cap pulled her close. "We can stay as long as you want."

* * * * *

Monday, December 4, 1871

Trisha hurried across the empty street to the Feed and Grain. As usual, Liam was already at work inside. That was easy for him; he lived in a small apartment above the store. The business wasn't officially open for another half hour.

She slipped inside. Liam looked up when he heard the sound of the door closing behind her. He looked at her for a moment, a wry smile on his face.

"All right, all right, say it already." She stared back at him.

Liam obliged. "That's a very pretty blouse you got on, Trisha. How come you're wearing it?"

"I've popped a button or two on every shirt I own. Kaitlin says she won't sew on new ones. She's got some sort of crazy notion about getting me into women's clothes. It was either wear a blouse or put on a shirt that showed... more than I wanted to."

"You've already been doing that, giving a show every time you popped one of those buttons."

"You mean --"

"Most folks tried not to look - at least, not too long. Mateo chewed out Luis for staring."

"That bastard. I'll fire his ass right now."

"No, you won't. You can't fire a man for looking at a pretty woman, especially when she's walking around giving a show to anybody that cares to look."

"Why didn't you say anything, tell me everybody was looking at me like that?"

"I did, a couple of times, in fact. Both times, you just mumbled something and kept right on with what you was doing." He paused for a moment. "What's the matter with you anyway?"

"What's the matter with me? I got turned into a damned woman, and I don't like it. What the hell do you think is the matter with me?"

"What I think is that it's time you started getting over it. You can't spend the rest of your life trying to pretend it never happened."

"Why shouldn't I? What does it matter to anybody how I act?"

Liam pursed his chin. "You know, you're right. Why there's even people that are happy you're acting the way you are."

"Happy? Why the hell should I be making anyone happy?"

"Why shouldn't Horace Styron and Clyde Ritter be happy? They thought that they were stuck with you as one of the elders till the next election - maybe longer. The way you've been acting lately, making a spectacle of yourself, you've practically handed Clyde your office on a silver platter."

"Figures you'd have heard about that." Trisha seemed to sink down into herself. "What the hell can I do? Maybe I should just give up and let him be on the board."

"Well, now, I don't know about Trisha. A fool woman like her just might do just that."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence."

"On the other hand, my brother, Patrick, he'd fight like those East River rats we used to kill for the bounty, just to keep his seat."

"Maybe he would, but I... Everything just seems to be slipping through my fingers. I want to fight, but I don't know that I can."

"The board meeting's Wednesday night, Trisha. You've got three days to decide."

* * * * *

The older students in the class were working on a story from McGuffey's Fourth Eclectic Reader.

"The dishonest merchant was now very much frightened. What was to be done? The mill would not stop grinding; and at last the ship was overloaded, and down it went, making a great whirlpool where it sank. The ship soon went to pieces; but the mill stands on the bottom of the sea, and keeps grinding out 'salt, salt, nothing but salt!' That is the reason, say the peasants of Denmark and Norway, why the sea is salt." Phoebe McLeod finished her portion and sat down.

"Very good, Phoebe," Nancy Osbourne said. She looked at the small clock on a corner of her desk. "I believe that's enough for today. Please put your readers away. After recess, we'll --"

Several students started for the door.

Nancy clapped her hands for attention. "Recess will start once everyone has put their books away and not one moment before." The impatient students walked back to their seats. Students fidgeted, waiting till all the readers were inside the desks. "Now, you may go." Nancy said, setting off a rush for the door.

Tomas Rivera sat and watched his classmates hurry out. Emma was as eager as any of the others, but she stopped, then walked over to his desk. "Why're you still sitting there?" she asked him.

"My arm." He looked down at it. It was still in the plaster cast and hung low in the yellow, red, and green sling he wore around his neck. "Everybody was in a hurry. I did not want to get bumped as they ran out."

Emma looked at him thoughtfully. "Then I guess you won't be playing ball with us neither, will you?"

"Not for a while. I cannot run as fast with the cast on my arm. It hurts if someone bumps or pushes me. And I cannot throw or catch the ball very well with just one hand." He sighed. "I will sit on the steps and watch you all play."

Emma nodded. "See you later then." She started towards the door, then stopped and looked back at Tomas, who was slowly walking towards the door. Outside, she could hear Stephan Yingling and Bertram McLeod, the captains this week, yelling for the boys to get into a line, so they could choose up teams.

She took another step forward, then stopped and looked at a small wooden crate in the corner near the door. The game ball was usually stored there, but it was already out in the yard. All that was left were some toys and games that that the students used on days when the weather kept them inside during recess.

"You know," Emma said, walking over to the box, "you beat me too darn easy when we played checkers on Saturday." She took a checkerboard and a box of men from the crate. "I-I think I want a rematch - if you ain't afraid o'course."

Tomas blinked. "You... do not want to play ball with the others? You told me how hard you had to fight to get in the game last week."

"Yeah, and I won that fight once. I can win it again if I have to." She held out her hand, so Tomas could see the palm. "Just 'cause the scar ain't there no more don't mean we ain't still blood brothers."

* * * * *

"Ain't that just like a girl," Clyde Ritter jeered as he caught the ball. He pointed at the school steps. "Emma makes such a fuss about playing ball with us last week, and now she just sits and plays checkers with Tomas Rivera."

Stephan Yingling glanced over. "She's been friends with him for quite a while. Seems to me, she's just being loyal, keeping him company 'cause he can't play ball with that busted arm of his." Stephan shot out his hand and knocked the ball out of Clyde's grasp. He grabbed it on the first bounce and passed it to his teammate, Yully Stone, a few feet away. "Can't fault somebody for being loyal to a friend"

* * * * *

Frank Carson looked up when the bell over his door rang. "Yes, sir, Mr. Slocum. What can I do for you this fine day?"

"I need a telegram sent," Abner told the man. The rancher reached into a shirt pocket for a folded piece of paper. "And I don't need anyone else knowing about it - or about the answer, when I get one."

"Confidentiality's part of the service," the telegrapher assured him. He took the paper and began counting. "Twenty-two... twenty-three words. That's be... a dollar thirty."

"Add 'Regards to you, Opal, and children,' if you would."

"Twenty-nine words; a dollar sixty. Who's it going to?"

"Issachar Bailey; Office of Veterans Affairs; Texas Department of Military Affairs; 317 Fifth Street; Austin, Texas." He said the address slowly, so Carson could write it down on as he said it.

"That's another two bits, sir. It's a long address."

Abner put a two-dollar gold piece on the counter. "Keep the change, and remember, confidentiality."

"Not a word, Mr. Slocum, not a word."

* * * * *

Tuesday, December 5, 1871

"C'mon," Emma said, "you gotta jump me, or I take your man."

Tomas sighed and moved his red checker to jump Emma's black one. "All right, do your worst." He took the black piece from the board.

"Glad to." Emma jumped over the checker that Tomas had just moved, then shifted and jumped a second red man, landing in the far row of the board. "King me."

Tomas placed the checker he'd just taken atop Emma's man. He shook his head and looked carefully at the board. He had three pieces left to Emma's seven, and one of hers was now a king, which could move either forward or backward. 'Now what do I do?' he though ruefully.

"Excuse me," a female voice said. "May I join you?" Emma and Tomas looked up from the checkerboard. Ysabel Diaz was standing a foot or two from the schoolhouse steps where they were sitting.

Tomas gestured at a step, glad for the distraction from the game he was losing. "Have a seat."

Thank you." Ysabel gathered her dress behind her and sat down. "I'm sorry to interrupt your game, but I was wondering about those pants of yours, Emma."

Emma made a face. "I got taller when I... ah, changed, and all my pants were too short. Mama said she'd fix 'em, sew on some extra cloth. She fixed 'em all right."

Emma looked down at her legs. Her brown pants only came down to mid-calf. Kaitlin had sewn on a band of bright calico that reached to Emma's ankles.

"Looks just like a little dress," Ysabel noted, "the way the cloth flares out like that, especially with that... petticoat sticking out at the bottom."

"It ain't a petticoat," Emma said. "Just a strip at lace at the bottom that looks like one."

"Your momma has a good sense of humor," Tomas said.

Emma shook her head. "My ma has a rotten sense of humor. She done this to every pair of pants I own."

"What are you going to do about it?" Ysabel asked.

"Wear 'em, I guess." Emma said. "I tried cutting the cloth off the first pair she gave, and she yelled to beat the band, took away my mumbly peg knife, too." She sighed. "I think she's gonna do the same thing to my shirts."

"Dresses and petticoats on your shirts?" Tomas chuckled.

"I hope not," Emma said, grimacing. "No, I figure she'll put on cuffs and such, like Ysabel has on her dress there." She pointed at Ysabel's sleeves, which ended in a blue lace cuff.

"You know why she's doing it, don't you?" Ysabel asked.

"I think she's trying to get me used to wearing girly stuff." Emma said.

"You are a girl," Ysabel said. "No matter how much you don't want to admit it."

"I know what I am," Emma said stubbornly. "But that don't mean I gotta start dressing and acting like one, does it?"

"Not if you don't want to," Tomas said firmly, trying to support his friend.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to - not as far as I'm concerned," Ysabel said. "But if you do want help with anything about being a girl - even just to talk about it, I'll be happy to help you."

"Why you saying that?" Tomas looked at Ysabel suspiciously.

"Because I have been watching Emma. It was very brave, the way she fought to play with the boys. I don't know that I would be as brave." She turned to face Emma. "But to stay that brave, Emma, a person needs friends --"

"She got a friend," Tomas interrupted. "She's got me."

Ysabel nodded. "And you're a fine friend to her, Tomas. I don't want to take your place. I want to stand there with you, helping her to learn how to be the person she is now." She offered her hand.

"Well..." Tomas shrugged and shook her hand. "...I guess you know more about being a girl than I do."

"I'll shake your hand, too, Ysabel" Emma said with a smile. "Just in case either of you wants to include me in this conversation. I figure right now I need all the friends I can get." Besides, Emma thought, she truly admired the way Ysabel had stood there smiling when Hermione and Eulalie found that garter snake in the desk.

* * * * *

"Are ye ready, Jessie?" Shamus asked. "It's almost time for ye to start."

Jessie was sitting quietly, more quietly than usual, in a corner near the door to the kitchen. "I... is it time?" She looked up at the big wall clock and fidgeted with her hands. "I... I guess I'm... ready."

"Are ye sure that ye want to be doing this? Thuir's not many as knows ye're going to sing for me. We could just -"

"...call it off?" She shook her head. She was as nervous as an old bull in fly season, more nervous than when she'd robbed that stagecoach, but... "I ain't never backed away from nothing in my whole life, and I ain't starting now." She stood up and untied her apron, almost surprised at how steady her hands were. She dropped it onto her chair. "You go introduce me."

Shamus walked over and stepped onto the small portable stage that was normally set up only for the band during the Saturday dances. He clapped his hands several times for attention. When that didn't work, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out with a loud, harsh whistle.

"What's up, Shamus?" Roy Fitzmartin asked.

"It ain't free drinks," someone answered. "That's for sure."

Shamus let the laughter go on for a bit before he motioned for quiet. "No, it ain't," he said, "but it's almost as good. As a lot of ye know, Jessie Hanks was doing some singing at the dance here last Saturday. More'n a few of ye was asking me of she was gonna be doing it again." He paused for the effect. "Well, she is and... right now." He gestured over to where Jessie was standing. "So let's be bringing her on with a big hand, gents... Miss Jessie Hanks."

Jessie walked out to a mixed round of applause. Some people just didn't appreciate having their drinking interrupted.

"My thanks t'all of you that was clapping, and I hope I change the minds of those of you that wasn't." She waited for a reaction that didn't come. "To... ah, tell the truth, I'm a little nervous about singing by myself for all of you folks."

"Not with your clothes on, anyway." Roy Fitzmartin remembered the fight Jessie had caused last summer, the one that almost wrecked the bar. Shamus had made her strip down to her camisole and drawers and sing for the men. Fitzmartin had been there. He'd gotten knocked out by a thrown spittoon. Now he saw a chance to get a little back from Jessie for causing the fight.

More than a few men laughed at his joke.

Jessie tried to go along with it. "Shamus ain't paying me enough t'sing like that again."

"How much do you want?" Someone else yelled.

"More'n you all have," she answered.

"Here's a start." Fitzmartin tossed a quarter at the stage. "C'mon, boys, let's see how much it takes." A few more coins landed near Jessie.

Jessie stamped her foot. "You stop that, stop it right now."

"Hear that, boys?" Fitzmartin yelled. "We can stop now. Guess it don't cost that much to get Jessie Hanks out of her dress after all."

Jessie picked up a few of the coins and threw them back at the crowd. "You can all go to hell!"

"Jessie!" Shamus' voice rang out. "Why don't ye just ignore these here yahoos and be singing something for them that want t'hear ye."

"Uh... okay, Shamus, I-I thought that I'd start with 'The Man on the Flying Trapeze' like I did on Saturday, just for luck."

"Don't ye be telling me, lass," Shamus said. "Tell them."

Jessie nodded. "Like I just said... 'Oh, once I was happy, but now I'm forlorn.'" Her voice rang out loudly, if just a little shaky at first.

The room was fairly quiet, although bits of conversations could be heard here and there in the room. Jane was on duty as waitress. Someone at table motioned for her to come over for their drink order. She glanced toward Shamus. He motioned for her to go, but he also put a finger to his lips as if to say, "do it quietly."

Jessie kept singing. She rocked back and forth slightly as she sang, her arms hanging loose at her sides. When she got to the second chorus, a few of the men joined it. That threw her off stride for a moment, but she caught up with them. When they joined in again for the third chorus, she waved her hands as if leading them. Somebody laughed, and the voices mostly followed her for the rest of the song.

There was a good round of applause at the end of the song, but some of it was for the men who'd joined in, rather than for her. She sang "Bluetail Fly" next, and the applause wasn't quite as loud.

"Try singing something different," Shamus whispered to her.'I'd rather try singing somewhere else,' Jessie thought. It reminded her of the one time she had sung somewhere else, the Tylers' ranch. Why not that song? She took a breath and began. "Hush, little baby, don't say a word."

"What the hell is that?" Fitzmartin taunted.

Paul Grant had just come in from making his rounds as deputy sheriff. "It's a song," he called out in a commanding voice, "and a good one, if you'll be quiet and let her sing it." He winked at Jessie and took a seat at the nearest table.

"Thanks, Paul," Jessie said, smiling at him before she picked up the song. "Mamma's gonna buy you a mockingbird."

There was more conversation during the song. One man stood and walked out. Jessie took the hint. She finished the song with a flourish and added, "Thanks for listening, folks. I hope you enjoyed it, and I wish you a good evening." She bowed low and stepped down off the stage to more mixed applause.

"It will be now that you're finished," Fitzmartin bellowed.

"That does it, you dirty son of a bitch." Jessie's hands balled into fists, as she started towards the man.

Paul was suddenly in front of her. When she tried to step around him, he moved again to block her. "Be a lady, Jess."

"You try anything, Jessie," Fitzmartin said, "and I'll have Paul there arrest you for assault." He chuckled. "We can already charge you with disturbing the peace. I got a room full of witnesses."

"That's more than enough, Fitzmartin," Paul said, "or I'll be taking you in for starting a fight." He turned back to Jessie. "Now let me buy you a drink to get the taste of Roy there out of our mouths."

"If I throw it in his face, will you buy me another?" Jessie found that she liked Paul defending her, though she'd been used to handling her own problems her whole life.

Pail shook his head. "No, but while you drink it, you can sit and listen to me tell you how much I enjoyed your singing."

Jessie smiled, but she was thinking about making one last try to get at Fitzmartin, when Red Tully came over. "Nice singing, Jessie. Could you do 'Camptown Races' next time? I always liked that tune."

"Uh... sure, Red." Jessie let out a sigh, her anger deflected now by Red's compliment. "All right, Paul. You can buy me that drink."

Paul took her hand. "Fine, and we can talk for a while before I have to go back on duty." As he led her towards the bar, he whispered, "And we'll... talk some more later... in private, okay?"

Jessie felt her cheeks warm. "Sounds good t'me. After what I just went through, I could use some good... talking."

* * * * *

Jessie looked out onto the quiet street. The quarter moon hung low, not giving much light. The street was empty, as far as she could tell. She turned back to the closed door and knocked three times

The door opened a crack. "Jess?" Paul whispered. "C'mon in." He opened the door just wide enough for her to slip in, then closed it quickly behind her. They looked at each for a moment, then Paul took her in his arms and kissed her fully and deeply.

Jessie moaned softly and pressed in closer to him. Her arms went up around his neck, and she opened her mouth to let in his tongue to play with hers. As they kissed, she closed her eyes and thrilled to the feelings he aroused in her.

"Now that was real nice," Paul said, as they finally broke the kiss.

Jessie sighed. "Glad I did something right tonight. I sure as hell messed things up at the Saloon."

"I enjoyed it."

"You come in when I was almost done. You didn't have to suffer through all of it like the others."

"Aw, Jess, you weren't that bad."

"I musta been. That bunch made me feel about as welcome as a wet dog at church social."

"Okay, so a couple of them razzed you. Fitzmartin's been after you since last summer."

"It ain't just him, the polecat. I... nobody was listening t'me. I've gotten more attention singing to a herd of cows."

"Who'd you ever work for as a cowboy?"

Jessie grinned. "I never said I was working... or whose cattle I was singing to." Then her smile faded. "And stop trying to change the subject. I got no more claim on being a singer than a bullfrog does."

"You've got a fine singing voice, and we both know it, Jess."

"Fat lotta good it'll do me. Shamus ain't gonna let me get up there a second time and drive more of his customers away."

"He'll let you if you ask him nice. I think he wants you to be a success, just like Bridget and Maggie already are."

"Maybe so, but they knew what they was doing. T'tell the truth for a change, I'm about as sure of what I'm doing as kitten on a cattle drive."

"That's because you need a teacher to show you what to do."

"A singing teacher? Where the hell am I gonna find me one of them?"

"You're singing's fine, Jess, just like I keep telling you. But a girl has to be tough if she's going to sing to a barroom full of whisky-soaked men. You're tough enough to do just about anything. What you need is somebody that knows how to get the folks' attention, so they'll sit there and listen to you." He thought for a moment. "If Shamus gives you a second chance, and I'm pretty sure he will, you need to go ask Wilma for some help."

"Wilma? Now why the hell should I ask her? She's got a voice that'd drive a coyote t'kill himself. At least, she did when she was Will. That's how folks could tell we were brothers, same good looks 'n the same rotten voices, like two gut-gored buffaloes."

"Because when you're singing at the Saloon, you're singing for men, Jess, and Wilma knows a lot more about getting a man's attention than you do."

Jessie's hand moved down to gently stroke Paul's manhood through his pants. "I know a few things."

"You surely do, but, unless you're gonna do that to every man in the room, you might want to talk to Wilma."

* * * * *

Wednesday, December 6, 1871

"Jessie," Shamus said softly, "can ye be coming into me office for a bit?"

"Umm... sure, Shamus." Jessie put down the tray of dirty glasses she was carrying and followed him to the storeroom that doubled as his office.

Shamus sat down behind his makeshift desk. "Shut the door if ye would and have a seat." He motioned for her to sit in the chair near the desk. As soon as she had, he continued. "Ye didn't do all that well last night, did ye?"

"No," Jessie nodded in agreement. "I still got some things t'work on."

"Aye, that's for sure." He shook his head. "Ye was like a dead fish out there."

"Thanks... thanks a whole lot. I thought you liked the way I sang."

"Ye've got a sweet voice, Jessie. That's why I asked ye t'be singing for me in the first place, but thuir's more t'being a singer than having a sweet voice. It's them other things ye need t'be working on before ye sing again."

"Ye'll let me have another crack at it, then?"

"Are ye sure want one? Ye were pretty shaky last night - before and after ye was singing."

Jessie knew she had to be careful. If she let on that she was so eager to take another try at singing, she'd end up doing it for table scraps. "I'm game for another go. I ain't gonna let FitzMartin and them others stampede me."

"Ain't ye?"

"Damn right. They had no call t'be yelling them things at me."

"A man's got a right t'his opinion - and t'be shouting it out if he wants to."

"Yeah, but it ain't mannerly."

"Oh, and ye've always been an expert on what was mannerly, ain't ye."

"Are you trying to get my goat, too, Shamus?"

Shamus smiled. "Maybe a little. Heckling ye like they done is a risk anybody takes when they get up to sing or dance or whatever in front of folks. You must have been in enough saloons to know that. If ye can't take that risk, then ye got no business being up there."

"I... no... I can take it. Hellfire, I've had men shoot at me. Having somebody - what'd you call it; heckle? - having somebody heckle me ain't near as bad."

"No, no it ain't. And ye can 'shoot' back at them if ye want. Throw the joke they made back in thuir faces; like ye tried t'do last night, when Roy spoke of ye singing in yuir unmentionables."

"I remember. I said that you weren't paying me enough t'do that. But that didn't stop 'em. They just threw some money at me."

"Aye, and ye lost yuir temper. What ye should have done was said something like, 'And ye ain't paying me enough, either', or tossed them coins back and told them to be throwing gold eagles."

"Yeah, like they'd do that."

"O'course they wouldn't, but, when they didn't, ye could've said how they was so scruffy they looked like they'd never even seen a gold eagle, and that they never would."

"I-I think I se what you mean, sass them back. I can do that."

"Ye've sassed me often enough, so I know ye've got it in ye.

Jessie grinned. "Sassing you's good practice."

"Well, ye can save yuir practicing for when ye're up on that stage of mine." He paused a moment. "And don't ye be thinking that sassing a heckler is all there is to it."

"Okay, then, what else is there?"

"Once ye've got them t'stop heckling ye, ye've got t'make them want t'be listening to ye."

"How do I do that?"

Shamus shrugged. "I don't know. It's different for everyone, something they got to figure out for themselves."

"Not me." Jessie tried not to sound smug.

Shamus eyed her skeptically. "And since when do ye know how t'be doing it. Ye surely didn't have no idea how to be about it last night."

"I don't know how, but I know who. I'm gonna ask Wilma for some help on that score."

Shamus thought about what she'd said, then laughed. "Now that just might work. Only be sure that all she teaches ye is how to be making the men want to listen to ye."

* * * * *

"What the hell are you doing here, O'Hanlan? - excuse me, Miss O'Hanlan." Horace Styron arrived at the schoolhouse an hour early for the church board meeting, only to find that someone had gotten there even earlier.

Trisha looked up from the step she was sitting on. "Waiting for you, Horace. As board president, you're the one with the key to the place."

"You planning to make trouble for the board at the meeting?" He dismounted and led his horse into the corral.

"I'm on the board, Horace. Why should I make trouble for myself?"

"You're a woman; you can't be on the board any more." He closed the corral gate and walked towards the school building.

"The hell I can't." Trisha stood up angrily. "And who are you to say that I can't?"

Styron pulled out a key ring that was attached to his vest by a small metal chain. "I'm board president, that's who I am," he said with a smile as he found the key to the schoolhouse and unlocked the door. "After you - what is it you're calling yourself now, oh, yes, after you, Trisha." He pushed the door open.

"Why thank you, Horace." Trisha's voice was like silk. "And I see just the seat I want, too."

The desks had been pushed against the walls, leaving just the benches. Nancy Osbourne's desk was pushed back as well and replaced with a long table that had seven chairs set up behind it.

Trisha walked towards the front of the room, humming "Columbia, Gem of the Ocean." She slowed once or twice, as if to sit, but kept walking. She reached the front of the room and, with a wry smile, took a seat at the table.

* * * * *

Styron knocked twice on the table with a small gavel. "I hereby call this meeting of the board to order. Rev. Yingling, would you please get things off to the proper start with a prayer?"

"Gladly." Yingling stood slowly, gesturing with his arms for the others to stand as well. When everyone was on their feet, he lowered his head and began. The Reverend wasn't a member of the board, but his opinion was often sought and usually followed. His prayer, as usual, was short, a plea for wisdom in the board's deliberations, that ended with, "...in Jesus' name, amen."

"Amen," the crowd answered and sat down.

"Before we start," Styron said, "I'd like to say that I'm glad to see so many folks at this meeting. I hope a few of you will stay around for awhile, and, maybe, we can even talk some of you into serve on one of our committees."

There were more than twenty-five people in the room, far more than usually came to a board meeting. A few even laughed at Styron's joke.

Parnasses Humphreys was a board member and now he raised a hand. "Mr. President, I move that we suspend the normal order of business."

"Now, what does that mean, Judge?" Styron asked, scratching his head.

"Horace," the Judge explained, "most of these people came to see what we're going to do about Trisha, nee Patrick O'Hanlan. I just moved that we skip everything else for the moment and get right to that."

"Und I second," Willie Gotefreund said, raising a hand. Willie, a slender man with close-cropped blond hair and a matching walrus mustache, owned a small ranch east of town. He was a board member at large and chairman of the social activities committee.

Styron shrugged. "Why not? Might as well get it settled. All in favor..." All six board members raised their hands. Styron raised his, as well. "Just to make it unanimous." He looked around. "Now who wants to speak first?"

"She's a woman," Clyde Ritter yelled from the audience. "The church bylaws say men only."

"Perhaps they do," the Judge said calmly, "but perhaps they don't." He looked out into the crowd. "Is Milt Quinlan... ah, there he is. Come up here, Milt." The Judge motioned for Milt to join him. "I asked Milt, as the church's lawyer, to take a look at what the bylaws said on that very point."

"Him," Clyde sputtered. "He's keeping company with --"

Milt had been walking towards the table. He stopped and looked directly at Clyde. "My personal life is my own business, Mr. Ritter, and I will thank you to keep your nose out of it... unless you want said nose reshaped, that is."

Ritter was about to answer. Then he saw the look on Milt's face. He glared at Milt, but he sat down and let the younger man pass.

"As the Judge said," Milt continued once he had reached the front of the room, "I examined the church bylaws. Article Five, Section Three says that, 'any man elected to an office of the board shall serve a term of one year.'"

"Hah," Clyde said. "There, see, a woman can't serve on the board."

"No," Milt said. "As the rule now stands, a woman can't be elected to the board. Miss O'Hanlan was a man when she was elected. There's nothing to say that a man has to stay a man to remain on the board."

"Sounds like a lawyer's trick to me," Styron grumbled.

"Perhaps," the Judge said with a chuckle, "but that's what the bylaws say."

"No one ever figured that something like this would happen," Styron said. "How could they?"

"They couldn't," the Judge told him. "No law can ever handle every circumstance. That's why we have to keep writing new ones."

Styron looked at the other board members. "Are the rest of you gonna accept this mumbo jumbo?"

"I am," Rupe Warrick said. "Seems t'me, Horace, you're a mite too anxious to get Trisha off the board and put your own man in."

"And your actions smack a little of 'mumbo jumbo', too," Dwight Albertson added.

"All right, all right." Styron threw up his hands. "Is there any way to get somebody off the board?"

Milt picked up his recitation. "Article Eight, Section Two says that a board member can be removed for 'malfeasance in office' or upon conviction of a crime. I don't think that applies; being a woman is hardly malfeasance and it certainly isn't a crime. Article Eight, Section Four says a board member can resign for personal reasons, but I don't think that Miss O'Hanlan came here to resign."

"So... nothing applies?" Styron could hardly keep the disappointment from his voice.

"Well..." Milt said sourly. "The church membership can be polled on the fitness of a board member to continue to serve... Article Eight, Section Five."

"How do we do that?" Clyde asked quickly.

Milt sighed. "Five members have to make a motion in writing. The board then calls a vote, which must be held no less than two weeks from the date the motion is presented to the board."

"Thank you, Milt," Styron said. "I think we'll just move on to other business, then."

"Hey, wait a minute," Trisha said. "This isn't settled yet."

The Judge touched her gently on the arm. "No, but it will be in a minute." He pointed to Ritter, who was furiously writing something on a piece of paper. "Milt, if such a motion is made, what's the status of the board member involved?"

"Let me check." Milt looked at his folded copy of the bylaws. "He... or she is still in office' there's no suspension. He... umm, she still does her job and still votes at board meetings."

Ritter ran over to the table. "Horace, Mr. President, I've got a motion here that says Trisha O'Hanlan should get booted off the board." He handed Styron the paper.

"Signed by four... five members, just like the bylaws say," Styron said, counting the signatures at the bottom. "All right, I accept this. The election --"

"Ha," Ritter said. "She's a woman; she can't run for election. Case closed."

"This isn't an election," Milt answered. "It's a referendum, and she certainly can be involved in it."

Styron frowned. "Whatever it is, it'll be held here, in the schoolhouse, two weeks from tonight." He looked at Jubal Cates, Secretary. "Jubal, you set it up with the teacher."

"I will." Jubal Cates was a surveyor, tanned and muscular from the time he spent working outdoors. "I'll talk to her tomorrow."

Roscoe Unger stood up. "And I'll put a notice about it in next week's paper. It'll be standing room only in here."

"Whatever," Styron said, not happy about the delay. "Can we get on to other business now?"

* * * * *

Trisha stood by the school corral, watching people riding off and savoring her victory over Styron and Ritter. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and spun around.

"A word with you, Trisha." It was Rev. Yingling.

"Any time," Trisha answered. "What would you like to talk about?"

"About what happened this night, and what will happen here in two weeks."

"The vote? Certainly. I hope I can count on your support in this."

"I will not say whom I shall support. As minister, I should stay neutral in matters related to the board."

Trisha looked at Yingling. "But..."

"Yes, I do I have a 'but', as you so inelegantly say."

"But you don't think a woman should serve..."

"I have seen women on boards at other churches. All of us may serve our Lord in different ways, and I will not speak against a woman on the board. I would ask though that you serve as a woman."

"What do you mean, Reverend?"

"It is written that a man should not dress as a woman, nor a woman as a man." Yingling snorted. "Yet, look at you, a woman's blouse and a man's pants. It is not right... Trisha."

"Are you saying that I should... should wear a dress?"

"I am saying that you should wear what it is fit that you wear."

"I... uhh... a feed and grain's no place for a man wearing a skirt. They'll just get in the way."

"And the board of my church is no place for a woman wearing pants. It just isn't the way."

* * * * *

Thursday, December 7, 1871

Jessie followed the tall man from the front door of La Parisienne. He stopped at the closed parlor door and knocked twice. "Wilma, you have a caller."

"It's a mite early in the day," Wilma said, as she slid the door open, "but bring him on in." Her expression changed from eagerness to surprise. "Well... Jessie, now what brings you over here?"

"I... I came to... to ask you for help, Wilma." Jessie bit her lip nervously. "Maybe... maybe it was a mistake."

Wilma put her hand on her sister's shoulder. "No mistake about it, Jess. Your mistake is waitressing over at the Saloon. We'll get you outta that dowdy dress and fixed up into some pretty unmentionables and... why - hellfire - you're gonna be almost as popular with the menfolk as I am."

Wilma wore a tight lavender corset that more than displayed her ample breasts, with a border of matching ruffled lace that just barely covered her nipples. Besides that, she wore a pair of ivory-colored silk drawers trimmed in white lace and stockings the same color as her corset. Her black hair was a mass of curls that hung down around her shoulders and trailed on down her bared back.

Jessie hated to admit it, but, in comparison, she felt like a winter sparrow in the pale yellow blouse and brown skirt she was wearing. Still... "I didn't come here for that kind of help." She took a step back.

Wilma frowned. "Still think you're too good to work in a place like this, eh? You must really like slaving for old Shamus, toting drinks to drunks and cleaning up after them."

"I thought we had a deal," Jessie said with a sigh. "I don't badmouth what you do with your life, if you do the same for me, okay?"

"Can I still tease you about it... just a little." Wilma's eyes flashed with mischief.

Jessie grinned. "Like I could ever stop you? We got us a deal?" She offered her hand.

Wilma took it and shook it hard. "Deal." She paused a beat. "All right, then, what do you need help with?"

"My singing. Last night, I did a show over at the Saloon --"

"How bad were you?"

"Who says I was bad?"

"Jess, if you was any good, you wouldn't have come over here asking for my advice, would you?"

The air seemed to flow out of Jessie, and she sank down into a chair. "I stank like a sheepherder's socks."

"Can't be your voice." Wilma scratched her head. "You sing sweet as a lark in the spring. What... what was you wearing when you was singing?"

"Pretty much the same as now, a blouse and skirt. I... uhh, took my apron off before I started, though."

Wilma nodded. "And put it back on right afterwards, I bet."

"Of course, I put it back on. I was on duty that might, and there was drinks to serve."

"And maybe that's why they treated you more like a waitress than a singer. Come t'think of it, what'd you sing?"

"I sang 'Man on the Flying Trapeze', 'Bluetail Fly', and 'Hush Little Baby'."

"Okay, then, show me how you sung that first song. Do it just like you done it the other night."

"Umm, okay... oh, once I was happy...." Jessie sang softly, but with the same inflection and tone as she had Tuesday night. Her arms were at her sides, and, after a short while, she began the same nervous rocking movement. "When I got to the second chorus," she interrupted herself, "a few of the men joined in, and I played like I was leading them." She started waving her arms in tune with the music, as she sang the chorus."

"Now what the hell is she doing?" Daisy's voice rang down from the stairs. She had stopped about halfway down from the second floor, carrying a basket of dirty linens.

"Hush up," Wilma answered.

"She don't sing too good, do she?" Daisy said.

Jessie stopped singing. "What do you know? You ain't no singer."

"Neither're you, missy," Daisy told her. "You may got a good voice, but you'se could be a wooden Indian outside a cigar store the way you just stand there. Saints alive, gal, haven't you ever seen a good saloon singer liven up a room?"

"I think Daisy's right, Jess," Wilma said. "If you just stand there like you don't care about what you're singing, why should anybody else?"

"I... I care. I like that song. I was just nervous and didn't know what to do with my arms." Jessie wasn't sure what else to say.

"Why?" Daisy asked. "Why you like it?"

Jessie shrugged. "I don't know. I... it's... nice enough, I guess."

"Oh, that surely says something," Wilma said.

"What's it matter why I wanna sing it?" Jessie began to feel like it was two to one against her.

Wilma thought for a moment. "Why? 'Cause if you don't give a damn about the song, why the hell should anybody else?"

"I think I see what you're saying," Jessie admitted, "but 'Man on the Flying Trapeze' don't really mean that much t'me?"

"Then don't you be singing it." Daisy said. "Sing a song that do mean something to you... if they's one that does."

"Yeah," Wilma asked. "Is there a song like that?"

Jessie thought for a bit. "Well, there's 'Lorena' that song that was so popular during the War."

"I knows that one," Daisy said and began to sing. "The years creep slowly by, Lorena, the snow is on the grass again."

"That's the one," Jessie said, smiling, "but I can't sing it, 'Lorena' is a man's song, singing for his lost love."

"Can't a gal have a lost love?" Daisy countered. "I'se heard songs 'bout things like that all the time."

Wilma nodded. "You could sing... 'my darling' instead of 'Lorena'. It fits the music." She began to sing "...creep slowly by, my darling, the snow is on the grass again."

"Only sing it, sing it sad, gal," Daisy added. "Sing it like you really does miss that lost man o'yours."

Jessie nodded and began to sing, trying to sound unhappy. She worked at it for over an hour. Daisy set down her basket and helped. The tall man, Jessie found that his name was Herve, came in to listen for a while. He was smiling when he left.

A tall, Mexican woman, Wilma called her Beatriz, came downstairs with a heavyset man who was tucking in his shirt as they walked down. The pair of them stood listening for several minutes. "Thank you very much for the song, Miss," he said with a slight bow before Beatriz led him away.

Beatriz came back a few minutes later. "Diego wanted to know if the song was extra," she said with a smile. "The Lady said it was just part of the service. After he left, she said for you to keep up the good work... and to come see her of you were ever looking for a place to sing." She winked and headed down to the kitchen for coffee.

"You working here now, Jessie?" Ira Fulton, a regular at Shamus', asked her a short while later. Jessie blushed so fiercely that Wilma began to laugh.

Beatriz appeared at the doorway. "I thought that I was your lady love, Ira." She pouted, somehow looking sad and sexually eager at the same time.

Ira swallowed hard. "You is... you surely is, Beatriz, darlin'. I-I was just... just curious, that's all."

"Let us go upstairs then," Beatriz purred, "and I will try to satisfy your... curiosity." She took his hand, as they walked to the stairs.

"So this is your sister." Wilma stopped laughing as both she and Jessie turned to face the speaker, a short, very pretty blonde. "Aren't you going to introduce me, Wilma?"

Jessie could see that there was little love lost between the two soiled doves. "Oh, sure," Wilma said. "Rosalyn, this here's my sister, Jessie. Jessie, this is Rosalyn, the gal I told you about a while back."

"Only good things, I trust." Rosalyn didn't offer to shake Jessie's hand.

"All Wilma told me was how she saved your hide from that man that was trying t'burn you."

Rosalyn's hand moved up as if to shield her ample bosom from sight. Jessie's eyes followed. She couldn't see any scar or burn mark in the firm, round, milky white flesh above Rosalyn's lime corset.

Rosalyn's eyes narrowed. "She told you that, did she?"

"I did," Wilma said, "and as a matter of fact, I wanted t'talk to you about that and about you doing a favor for Jessie here."

"And why should I want to do any sort of a favor for her?" Rosayln asked coldly.

"Rosalyn," Wilma began, "you never liked me, and it galls you no end that I saved you from being scarred, and that, now, you owe me. Well, this is your chance t'pay up. Jessie's gonna be singing over to the Eerie Saloon, and you're gonna loan her one of your dresses - that dark red one, I think, it'll go with her hair."

"Let her wear one of your own damn dresses," Rosalyn spat.

Wilma shook her head. "She's too small for my stuff, but she's just right for yours. You got so many real nice clothes... just like a lady should have. Be a sport, let her borrow that one outfit... just t'get me off your back."

"Wilma, I got --" Jessie began to interrupt.

"...nowhere the taste in clothes that Rosalyn here does," Wilma finished for her sister. "C'mon, Rosalyn, what do you say?"

"And this'll make us even?" the other woman asked cautiously.

"Even as two rows of corn," Wilma said, smiling that the deal was done.

* * * * *

Shamus came over to meet Jessie as she soon as she walked into the Saloon. "And just where were ye for the better part of this afternoon, Miss Hanks, and what sort of mischief was ye getting into?"

"You never was my pa, Shamus, and ye ain't my keeper no more."

"No, but I'm yuir employer, and I got a right t'be expecting ye here when I'm paying ye good money for it."

"If you gotta know, I went over t'Wilma's; just like you told me to."

"Like I told ye... and just when did I say that ye should be wasting yuir - no, wasting me time over at that cathouse?"

"You said I should get help with my singing, remember, and I told you that I was gonna ask Wilma for that help."

Shamus gave her a critical look. "And she helped ye, did she?"

"She did, a whole lot, I think." She waited a moment. "And, if you don't mind, I'll be heading back over there for an hour or so the next couple o'three days, so's I can work on a few more things about my act before I sing again next Tuesday."

"If I let you sing, you mean."

Jessie smiled. "You'll let me, if only t'see if I know what I'm doing... and I do."

"Ye're that sure of yuirself, are ye? Ye think that I'll give ye another chance, and that Fitzmartin and them others'll let ye sing."

"You're damned right I am." She almost glared at Shamus. "I'll make them - and you - forget all about the other night. You just watch'n see if I don't. What you've got to worry about is that if you don't offer me enough afterwards, I'll take my talent elsewhere." After all, Cerise had just offered her a job; not that she'd ever really want to sing in a bawdy house.

Shamus smiled, admiring her determination. "Well, if ye're that certain, then who am I t'be standing in yuir way? Ye'll get that chance, but it's gonna be yuir last, so ye'd best be making it a good one."

"I will, Shamus, and thanks."

"If ye want t'be thanking me, go put on an apron and get busy waiting on me thirsty customers."

* * * * *

"I'm home," Trisha yelled as she came in the front door. She walked on through to the kitchen.

Kaitlin was busy at the stove. "Welcome home, dear. How was your day?"

Trisha kissed her on the cheek and sat down at the table. "Not too bad. Where's Emma?"

"In her room doing homework before the light fades. You can call her when supper's ready."

"I will. How was your day?"

"Nothing fancy. We're having roast chicken and parsnips, by the way. How was your... " She turned to glance at her transformed husband. "Trisha, I told you not to sit like that."

"What? Oh, sorry." Trisha had been sitting with her legs wide apart, stretching the fabric of the green skirt she was wearing.

"I hope that you didn't sit like that at work."

"No chance of that, not the way everyone was staring. I was right to wear the skirt, though. Clyde Ritter came by mid morning - to check on his weekly order, he said. He always sends somebody else to do that."

"And did he come by?"

"Reverend Yingling? Twice, once not long after Clyde left and again late in the afternoon. The second time, he said that he was pleased that I had listened to him."

"It's a good thing that you did. I like the reverend, but sometimes I think he acts like the Good Book was addressed to him by name."

"He's a stickler, all right, but he's a good man. He wouldn't come out and endorse me - at least he said he wanted to be neutral, but I think that it would've been a different story, if I hadn't decided to wear this skirt..." She picked up a bit of the fabric in her hand. "...today. I... I guess I'll be in skirts from now through the vote." He sighed at the thought.

Kaitlin turned back to her parsnips, just boiling on the stove, so Trisha wouldn't see the smile on her face.

* * * * *

Friday, December 8, 1871

Shamus stood silently behind the bar, watching Arnie Diaz walking towards him. The boy had been in almost every day. "Well, ye're coming in honest these days instead of hiding like ye done that time before, but I'll still not be serving ye any alcohol no matter how often ye come in."

"I don't want your beer, Mr. O'Toole, not today, not ever." Arnie looked him square in the face, then he grinned. "If sarsaparillas' good enough for Bridget... Miss Kelly, then it's all I care to drink.

He turned and looked over at the table where Bridget was playing poker. She saw him looking at her, and nodded a greeting before getting back to the game.

Arnie turned back to the bar, his face wreathed in a broad grin. Shamus put the non-alcoholic drink down in front of him and he took a quick sip. It wasn't the beer he really wanted, but... "Yes, sir..." He took another sip. "...whatever she wants to drink is more than good enough for me."

* * * * *

With only the waning crescent moon for light, Maggie didn't see that someone was sitting there on her front step until she and the children were almost to it. "Ramon, I... did I forget that were you coming here tonight?"

Ramon shook his head. "No, no, this is a surprise visit. Besides, I am not here to see you. I came to see Lupe."

"Me?" Lupe's face broke into a bright smile. "You came to see me, Uncle Ramon."

"Sá­," Ramon stood up. He took a large package from the shadows next to the step. "I have brought you the wings you asked me for."

Ernesto scratched his head. "What do you want wings for, Lupe? Are you going to try to fly away?"

"Ernesto!" Lupe said. "I need wings for the posada parade. Not everybody gets to march with the burro like you do. Some of us have to be angels."

"That was not a very angelic thing to say to your brother," Maggie cautioned. "Perhaps I should ask Ramon to take the wings back until you deserve them."

"He started it!" Lupe whined.

Maggie answered her. "And I am ending it. Now. Let us go inside and see these wings that Uncle Ramon made for you." She took the key from her purse and unlocked the door.

"Allow me." Ramon lit a match by running it against the wall. He used it to light the oil lamp Maggie kept on a small shelf near the door.

Maggie lit a long taper from the lamp and used it to light the lamps in the main room. "Come in and show us these wings."

Ramon came in carrying his package under his arm. It was oddly shaped, about two feet long, and wrapped in tissue paper. He sat down and began to untie the string that was holding the paper in place. When he was done, he spread the paper out on the table.

The package had held a pale blue vest that looked to be Lupe's size and two long, curved pieces of wire. The wires were covered with a net of gauze and tissue paper that made them look like the wings of a large bird. Strands of tinsel were laced through the netting.

"They are wings," Lupe said with delight, "muy beautiful wings. How... how do I wear them?"

Ramon smiled back at her. "You put on the vest and button it tight." He turned the vest around. Two narrow tubes ran down the back just a few inches apart. "The wing wires go in here. There is a small hole at the end of each wire that you tie down with the cords there at the bottoms of the tubes." He pointed to the leather cords.

"Can I try it now? Can I?" Lupe could barely contain herself.

"That is why I brought it over." Ramon handed her the vest. "Go ahead."

Lupe quickly put on the vest. "It feels so soft... and I have a skirt the same color, my best skirt, too."

"I know," Ramon told her. "I picked the fabric to match it. Button it and turn around, so I can put in the wings." Lupe did as she was told. "Now hold still," Ramon said. He slid in the wing wires and tied them off.

"Are they in? Are they in?" Lupe asked.

"Try to walk... slowly at first," Ramon told her.

Lupe took a deep breath. Then she stepped forward. The wings moved slightly. As she began to walk around the room, they picked up the rhythm of her steps.

"They're flapping!" Ernesto said in surprise.

Ramon chuckled. "Sá­, they are. Do you like them?"

"Oh, yes!" Lupe ran over and hugged Ramon tightly, almost knocking him over.

"Be careful," Maggie said. "Do not hug poor Ramon so hard."

Ramon laughed. "I am fine, Margarita. A hug from a pretty seá±orita cannot hurt me." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You are more than welcome to try it yourself if you do not believe me."

* * * * *

Saturday, December 9, 1871

Wilma heard music coming from inside Lady Cerise's office, the Lady's kalliope music box. The box used interchangeable metal disks, sounding like a set of bells was playing the melody. Wilma listened to the music swelling towards a crescendo as she opened the door. "You wanted to --"

"Shh!" Cerise hissed. She waved her arms as if conducting the music, as it ended in a series of short notes.

"That's pretty," Wilma said. "What is it?"

"L'opera Guiliame Tell," Cerise answered, "the story an archer who lived many years ago in Europe told with music and singing. The part what you have just heard was Tell and his bowmen going off to the battle."

"It sure didn't sound like no men with bows and arrows t'me. It sounded like... like a man on a horse, a big, strong horse, riding real fast, like he was in a race or chasing somebody."

Cerise shrugged. "Perhaps... mmm, perhaps it does, but I do not think that anyone else would ever hear it that way. It most definitely is not what Maestro Rossini had in mind when he wrote his overture."

"Maybe not. Anyway, Herve said you wanted to see me about something, and I don't expect it was t'talk about music."

"Non, ma petite, it was not. Close the door, s'il vous plait."

Wilma shut the door behind her and sat down. "All right, then, what's up?"

"You have done very well here, Wilma. Your gentlemen... and I have been most satisfied with you."

"Thank ya, Cerise." Wilma smiled a happy smile that was almost a leer. "It's easy t'do a good job, when you love the work."

"Which you most assuredly do, but that is not all that I am talking about."

"What do you mean?"

"I know of your past and the sort of... man you were. When you came to work here, I, naturellement, worried very much about how you would fit in with my other ladies."

"Seems t'me, fitting in's something the gentlemen do." She giggled at her pun until she saw Cerise's scowl.

"Perhaps, but what you have done is... impressive. You managed in a short time to become friends with most of the people here at La Parisienne; that is something that is not easy for the new person in any situation. Then, you jump in fearlessly to protect the one member of this house who is not your friend. That, ma petite, says much about you, and all that it says is good."

Wilma looked down at the floor suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. "Shucks, Cerise, it really wasn't that big a deal."

"Yes, yes it was, but what my Herve tells me you did yesterday, that is - as you say - a bigger deal."

"What I did yesterday?" Wilma looked confused.

Mai oui, yesterday you talked Rosalyn into helping your sister. And in the process you convinced her to like - well, at least, not to dislike you so much. That... that is what I truly call impressive."

"I... thanks, I guess."

"Do not guess, Wilma, know; know that I see the way you have with people, and I want to use that gift."

Wilma raised an eyebrow. "No offense, but I don't like people saying they wanna use me."

"No, no, not like that. I wish to make you my... mm, my assistant, to have you help me to run my establishment."

"Me? You want to make me your second? What're the others, Beatriz and Mae and Rosalyn - especially Rosalyn - gonna say t'that? They ain't gonna like it when the new gal gets made their boss."

"First, I am their employer, you will only be assisting me. Second, part of your job will be to make them like it. If you cannot, then it may be that I have chosen the wrong girl."

"Can I think about it?"

"Certainement. I would be disappointed if you did not ask. Is... umm, a week time enough?"

"More'n enough. I'll let you know by next Saturday at the latest."

"And I will be most anxious to hear your answer."

Wilma started to leave, then she added. "Whatever, I finally do decide, Cerise, I just wanna say that I'm right proud that you asked me."

* * * * *

"So, tell me, Davy" Edith Lonnigan asked, "are you going to be staying up at your mine for the winter?" They were sitting at a table at Maggie's place waiting for their dinner.

"Davy Kitchner shook his head. He'd grown a beard, but the mass of brown-gray hair was neatly trimmed. "Not likely. It's already December. Them that're going to stay at their claims all winter are already holed in."

"You were up there all last winter? What made you change your mind this year?"

"Last two winters was pretty mild; they didn't have more'n five feet o'snow between 'em."

"Yes, but you're old enough to know how much things can change from one winter to the next. If there was a bad storm, you could be trapped for days - weeks, perhaps - do you have enough supplies in the event such a storm hits?"

Davy gently put his hand on her. "Don't you worry 'bout me, Edith. I got more'n enough food cached away. I been doing this for a few years, y'know."

"I suppose you have. You must think that I'm just an old biddy worrying about you like that."

"You ain't nothing of the sort, and I like you worrying about me. Fact is, the reason I ain't staying up on that mountain is 'cause I like hearing you worrying about me, and I didn't wanna go a whole winter without the pleasure o' your company."

* * * * *

"Hello there, young lady. If I give you this ticket, I get to dance with you. Ain't that right?" Arsenio winked and handed Laura a ticket.

She put it in her apron pocket. "Yes, handsome stranger, that is how it works." She smiled and stepped into his arms. "You're an odd duck tonight; what's on your mind?"

"I was just thinking how pretty you look." The band started playing, a waltz, and they began to move to the music. "It's true what they say about how a pregnant woman sort of glows."

"Flattery like that will get you anywhere."

"It already has." He lightly touched her stomach.

"Mmm, I remember." She put her hand on his for a moment, then moved it back to his shoulder.

He moved his arm, putting it behind her back and pulling her closer. "I wonder how much longer I'll be able to hold you this close before 'Junior' gets in the way? You got any ideas about that?"

"None. I'm as new to this as you are; newer, really." She bit her lip. "And still plenty scared. I think the next thing I've got to do is get me some new clothes."

Arsenio grinned. "Seems just like the sort of thing a woman'd say no matter what was going on."

"Well, thank you very much. You were the one who started talking about how 'Junior' was going to make my middle bigger. Don't you think I'll need new clothes for that?"

"I guess. You... ah, want me to go with you?"

"If you want to... just don't hold your breath waiting. Rachel Silverman's gone to San Francisco to see her new grandbaby, and she made me promise not to go shopping for - what'd she call 'em - 'maternity clothes' till she gets back."

"Didn't she think you could do it without her?"

"Hell, no. Remember our wedding, Rachel was 'mother of the bride' same as Molly was. She wants to have the fun of picking out the clothes, and I'm one 'daughter' who doesn't want to disappoint her." She sighed. "I just hope I don't start getting too big too soon."

"Why's that?"

She laid her head on his chest. "'Cause it's so nice being in your arms like this."

* * * * *

"I think this is my dance," R.J. said, handing Bridget a ticket.

"I thought that you couldn't leave the bar to dance." She put the ticket into the pocket of her apron.

"I can if it's important, and I decided that getting at least one dance with you tonight is important."

Bridget raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?" The band began playing a polka and they stepped off into the dance.

"Because I can't very well ask you to have supper with me Monday night while I'm standing behind that bar there, can I?"

"Are you asking me out to supper?"

"That's what it sounded like to me. Would you like to - have supper with me, I mean."

"Why not? You're a good friend; why shouldn't I have dinner with you?"

"Is that why you went on that picnic with Cap; because he's a friend, too?"

"I... R.J., you're both my friends. I wish you'd get that through your heads."

"Just asking," R.J. said, spinning her to the beat of the music. But in his thoughts, he added, 'and we both want to be more, and I think we both wish you'd get that through your head.'

* * * * *

Sunday, December 10, 1871

Father deCastro looked out at his congregation. "Before the final prayers, a few announcements. First, I am most happy to report how well the preparations are going for the posada celebrations. I am told that this year, the party here at the church on the eve of the Navidad will be among the best ever held. If the many, happy faces I see working on the food and the decorations are any sign, then I know that this is true. This is most surely the true Christian spirit."

"And in that same spirit, many of you are helping those who will be the host of posada parties in their own homes. This is the spirit of the comunidad, the communal sharing that our Lord spoke of and of the spirit of our Lady of Guadalupe, whose feast day is this Tuesday. There will be a special Mass said in her honor at 6 PM, and I am sure that I will see many of you here at that time.

"Finally, let me say a word about the posada marches themselves. Last year, there was much confusion with the children. It is good that there are so many blessed young ones in our town, but it is not as easy as one would wish to control so many happy, eager, young souls. I am asking this year that at least one parent march with each child this year for the full length of the procession. I will not ask in advance who will come with each child, only that one parent be there at 4 in the afternoon when the children assemble here at the church to begin."

* * * * *

"Before our next hymn," Rev. Yingling said in his deep voice," Horace Styron, President of the Board of Elders, has asked to make an announcement." He stepped away from the altar and motioned for Horace to come over.

Styron, rose from his chair, which was off to the right and next to Rev. Yingling's, and walked to where the minister had stood. As he walked, he took a folded sheet of paper from a jacket pocket.

"Thank you, Reverend," he said, nodding to Yingling. He unfolded the paper and began to read. "As many of you already know, Patrick O'Hanlan drank a dose of that potion Shamus O'Toole makes, and he was turned into a woman. In the opinion of many - including myself - Trisha O'Hanlan, as she is now known, is no longer eligible to be a member of your board of elders. She is only sitting here amongst us..." He gestured to the chair at the far left where Trisha was sitting. "...until she is formally removed by a vote of the congregation at a special meeting here at the --" He stopped as Trisha stepped up next to him.

Trisha had stood up as soon as Styron had said, "including myself." She walked up to Horace and grabbed the paper away from him. "Nobody said you could make a speech about it, Horace."

"I have the right as President," Horace said firmly.

Trisha raised a fist. "I got a right, too. You wanna try it?" She saw the look on Yingling's face and lowered her fist. Then she turned to face the congregation.

"Folks, I got changed like this trying to save my son's life, and now Horace and a few of his cronies want to use it as an excuse to kick me off the Board you all elected me too last September. It's like they wanted to punish me for trying to save Elmer. Milt Quinlan says they gotta ask you what you think about that before they can do it. I say I still got a right to the job you - not them - you gave me.

"The vote's a week away, on Wednesday, the 20th, right here, starting at 7 PM. And I hope you'll all come and tell these... folks what you think." She turned and smiled sweet as honey at Styron, who was glaring at her. "There y'are, Horace. Your announcement's made, and we can get back to what we came here to do, praying to our Maker."

* * * * *

Maggie didn't say a word all the long walk home. Finally, Ernesto asked her. "Mama, what is the matter?" They were alone, since Ramon had to be at Silverman's as soon as church let out.

"Nothing... nothing at all," Maggie answered. She glanced over at Lupe, who was walking a bit ahead, then turned away. '4PM,' she thought. 'How can I leave the restaurant that early? There is too much to be done that Jane could ever begin to do. And if I cannot be there, will Fr. deCastro let Lupe march?'

* * * * *

Monday, December 11, 1871

Emma sat down on the top step next to Tomas and began setting up the checkerboard. "You want red or black?" she asked as she set another piece down.

Tomas watched her for a moment before answering. She was talking to him, but she kept glancing over to where the boys were lining to choose sides for the ball game.

"Go play ball," he finally said.

Emma blinked in surprise. "What? C'mon, red or black?"

"You are a good friend to me, Emma, and I would not be your friend if I kept you from the ball game."

"Tomas, it's... it's okay; I don't mind," she answered halfheartedly.

"No it isn't," Ysabel answered for Tomas. She'd been standing in the doorway while the two had talked. "You know that you want to go play with the... with the other boys." When Emma started to respond, she added. "Besides, after I watch you two play all last week, I want to learn how to play checkers."

"So?" Emma looked at her not quite understanding.

Ysabel smiled. "So... how can I learn if you and Tomas are playing. If you go play ball..." She tilted her head towards the boys. "...he can teach me."

"Well... I suppose, if you really... really want to learn... It... it wouldn't be fair for me to keep playing."

Ysabel nodded quickly. "No... no, it wouldn't."

"Ve... get going," Tomas said with a big grin on his face. As he watched, Emma jumped to her feet and ran over to the boys.

* * * * *

"Well, looky who's back," Tommy Carson said with a laugh, when Emma walked to the end of the line of boys waiting to be chosen by one or the other captain.

Clyde Ritter just sneered. "What makes you think you can play... Emma?" A few other boys muttered in agreement.

"You got some reason why she can't, Clyde?" Stephan Yingling asked. He and Jorge Ybaá±ez were the captains for the week by virtue of winning a penny-pitching contest in the schoolyard that morning.

Clyde looked over to Jorge, who just shrugged. "She did good enough when she played the week before last."

"But she's a girl," Clyde whined.

"A girl that whupped you," Yully Stone observed. "If she ain't good enough to play, maybe you ain't neither."

Clyde glared at Yully then at Emma. "We'll see who whups who, once the game gets going."

"Fine," Stephan said, looking at the entire group of boys. "Since Clyde talks like he wants Emma to play, let's get started. Yully..." He pointed at the tall boy. "... you're on my team."

* * * * *

R.J. stepped up to the poker table. "Any idea how soon you might be ready, Bridget?"

"Soon as this hand is over," Bridget answered without looking up from the table. "I believe it's your play, now, Enoch."

Enoch Ryland ran his hand through his brown curls. He sighed and laid his cards down on the table. "I don't think that a pair of nines are going to be worth a damn; I'm out."

He leaned back in his chair to watch the fight between Bridget and Joe Ortlieb. Mort Boyer, the fourth player, had folded in the previous round of betting.

"Well, then I guess it's just you'm me," Joe said. "I'll see your quarter, Bridget, and raise you another quarter." He put four bits down in the pot in the center of the table.

Bridget cocked an eyebrow. "That and two bits more." She casually tossed in her own money and looked over at Joe.

"Call." Joe matched her bet. "Can you beat three sixes?" He laid down his cards for her to see.

"Not with three fours," Bridget said. Joe started reaching for the pot, when she added. "Of course, with them and these two tens, it's a whole different matter." She showed him the full house she held.

Joe tried to smile. "Thought I had you that time."

"Maybe the next hand... which will be after I take some time to have dinner." She raked the pot into the cash box she kept with her at the table. Her cards and the box of chips followed. She closed the box and stood up. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

The three men nodded and stood. "Enjoy your supper," Mort said.

"I intend to," Bridget said. She turned to face R.J. for the first time. "Well, now, don't you look nice."

R.J. was wearing a dark blue jacket and matching string tie. His hair was combed and tied in a long ponytail by a thin blue band, and Bridget could smell the bay rum on his freshly shaved face. "So do you." He smiled at her.

Bridget brushed down the front of her dark green dress. She wore a matching Eton jacket, with a pale green handkerchief carefully arranged in the pocket. Her hair was formed into a long ponytail by a piece of dark green cord.

"Shall we?" He offered her his arm. She took it, picking up her cash box as they walked away from the table.

Bridget glanced ahead towards the tables that served as "Maggie's Place." Every one was filled with diners. "Looks like we're in for a wait," she said with a tone of regret.

"Not likely," R.J. told her. He guided her towards the door to Shamus' storeroom.

"Are we eating in here?" she asked as he opened the door.

R.J. shook his head. "Shortcut." They walked into the room. "You can leave that in here." He shut the door behind her and locked it.

Bridget set the cash box down on Shamus' desk and followed T.J. to the double-locked back door. "It's been a warm day for this time of year, so I thought that we'd eat outside." He unlocked the door and held it open for her. "After you, please."

Bridget bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement and walked out into the yard beyond. A few feet in front of her stood a table set for two. Poles were driven into the ground at the four corners of the table. Blue paper lanterns, each with a lit candle inside, hung from rope strung between the poles.

Jessie had been sitting in one of the chairs next to the table. She stood as soon as Bridget walked through the doorway. "'Bout time you... " She stopped at the sound of R.J. clearing his throat rather theatrically. "...excuse me. Good evening, I'm Jessie, your waitress for tonight. Is this table all right?"

"It's fine, Jessie," R.J. answered. He led Bridget to the table and pulled out a chair. Bridget sat down, and R.J. pushed her chair in. Then he took the other seat, across from her.

Jessie handed them each a menu. "I'll just give both you a minute or three to look those over." She walked over and sat on a bench some feet away.

"However did you manage all this?" Bridget asked in amazement. "I never noticed anything going on."

R.J. grinned, happy to have surprised her. "Shamus owed me a couple of favors that I called in. Setting things up was easy. When you're playing your sort of serious poker, you wouldn't notice an Indian attack - at least, not as long as the massacre was in the next room."

Bridget was looking at her menu. "That much noise would interfere with the betting." She gave R.J. a quick smile. "I'm sure I'd notice it by the second raise."

Nothing was said after that, while the pair perused their menus. After a couple of minutes, R.J. raised his arm and motioned for Jessie to come over. "The lady will have the beef brisket, sweet corn and..." He looked over at Bridget. "...peas?"

"Uhh... Yes," Bridget answered, a surprised look on her face. It didn't feel right, somehow, to have R.J. order for her, even if he'd pretty much ordered what she liked most. Maybe what really surprised her was the fact that he knew her well enough to correctly second-guess her on the type of meal she most wanted.

R.J. turned back to Jessie. "And I'll have the meatloaf, a baked potato with sour cream, and... I'll also have peas." He handed Jessie his menu, then reached over to take Bridget's and hand it to Jessie, as well. "Oh, and bring that bottle of wine I asked Shamus to set aside for me."

Bridget shook her head. "No wine for me please, R.J. I've got a game to run the rest of the evening. I can't be getting drunk at dinner."

"I'm not asking you to drink the whole bottle, Bridget," R.J. said. "Just have a little with the meal. It's a good, fruity red wine that'll compliment the meat we'll be eating." He turned to Jessie. "Bring the wine now, please."

"Right away," Jessie said and hurried off towards the door to the kitchen.

"You sure know a lot about food and wine, even for a bartender."

"My papa had a restaurant back in Philly. I grew up working there."

"How did you come to be out here in the middle of nowhere?

R.J. shrugged. "I wanted to see some of the world before I settled down. Besides, my older brother, Agostino... Gus, wanted to run the place, and it just wasn't big enough for two bosses."

"You could've always gotten your own place."

"I suppose... if I'd wanted to, but it turned out that there was something more important that I had to do."

"What was that? The War?"

R.J. leaned forward and took her hand. "I had to be here... to meet you."

"Now you're making fun of me." Bridget felt her face warm. She was smiling now, and it hadn't occurred to her to pull her hand away from his.

He shook his head. "I've never been more serious. Don't you believe in fate?" They heard a door slam. "And here's the wine. We can toast the fate that brought us here tonight."

Jessie walked over and set the bottle down in front of R.J. She put a glass in front of each of them and tried to hand R.J. a corkscrew.

"No, no," R.J. waved he hand away. "You open the wine." He paused a beat. "You can use a corkscrew, can't you?"

Jessie smiled, recalling pleasant memories. "I've seen it done once or twice. She pushed the pointed metal into the bottle's cork stopper and turned the handle until it was even with the top of the cork. When she pulled, the cork came out with a loud "pop".

"Now..." R.J. held up his glass. "...pour a little in here." He waited until the glass held about two inches of liquid. "That's enough." He moved his hand over the glass.

Jessie looked puzzled. "Now do I pour some for Bridget?"

"That's what we're about to find out." R.J. held the glass up so that the light from one of the lanterns shone through it. "Good color and... no cork. Very good work, Jessie."

R.J. swirled the glass, watching the wine move along the sides. Then, he held it up to his nose.

"You gonna smell it?" Jessie said in surprise. "You gone loco, R.J.?"

R.J. shook his head and smiled. "Just a quick check." He sniffed. "Yes... this has a fine bouquet." He tilted the glass and took a long sip, sloshing it back and forth in his mouth before swallowing. "And an even better taste."

"You can fill Bridget's glass, now, please, Jessie, then fill mine."

Bridget held up her glass for Jessie. "What was all that about?" If he wanted to show off about wine, she'd decided to let him.

"Just showing off a bit," R.J. told her. "A gentleman always samples the wine before he allows it to be served to a lady. Gus and I were waiters as soon as we were old enough. Some of papa's very knowledgeable customers taught us both how to judge wine."

Jessie had filled both glasses. She set the bottle down. "I'll be back in a while with your suppers." She turned and headed back to the kitchen.

"It's very good," Bridget said, taking a sip. "And thank you for that little show you just did."

R.J. nodded in reply. "You're very welcome, but it wasn't a show. A lady should be pampered like that."

"I'm not a lady. You said so yourself, the night we... umm, the night I paid off that bet we made."

"I'm very pleased that you remembered that night, but you are a lady, Bridget. And, like any real lady, you know when you don't have to act like one." He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

"Aren't you going to swirl my hand and sniff at it first?"

R.J. kissed her hand again. "I already know the quality of your kisses, Bridget, and I have every hope of getting reacquainted with their flavor."

"Oh, do you now?" Bridget raised an eyebrow.

R.J. moved to her side. "Yes... I do." He gently pulled Bridget to her feet. "You have some sort of problem with it?" He put his hand under her chin, tilting her head to look up at him.

"Well..." Bridget found herself staring into his dark brown eyes. What was it Wilma had said once? "A gal could get lost in those eyes."

As their lips met, Bridget decided that getting lost like that - just for a little while, of course, she told herself - wouldn't be such a bad thing. Then she closed her eyes and just concentrated on the kiss.

* * * * *

Tuesday, December 12, 1871

Liam O'Hanlan walked over to the store counter where Trisha was sitting and put a folded newspaper down in front of her. "Trisha, I... uhh... I think you oughta see this." He unfolded the paper.

"What exactly am I looking for?" Trisha asked, picking up the paper.

"Page 3, in with the ads at the bottom of the page, the spot where Clyde Ritter puts an ad every week."

Trisha made a face. "He got some new horses to tell lies about?" She scanned down the page. "Why that lousy son of a --"

"Ah, ah, that isn't very ladylike." Liam barely hid his smile.

Trisha crumbled the paper and threw it to the floor. "Screw 'ladylike'. Did you see what that thing said?"

"'Course I did. Why else do you think I showed it to you?" He picked up the paper and carefully unfolded it. "The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

She looked at him carefully. "We?"

"Trisha, I'm your brother. Of course, I'm on your side. Besides, I don't like the game Ritter and Styron and the rest are trying to play." Liam looked down at the paper and read the offending text again.

Big Meeting! Fried Chicken Luncheon!

This Sunday at the Eerie Methodist Church
Right After the Service!

Horace Styron and the Board of Elders of the Eerie Methodist Church invite the entire congregation to a short meeting to discuss the problem Trisha O'Hanlan has caused by her refusal to abide by the rules and to resign from the Board of Elders.

Everyone is invited to stay after the meeting for a fried chicken luncheon being prepared by the Women's Social Committee, Mrs. Cecelia Ritter, President. A small donation will be requested for the luncheon.

* * * * *

Just before 8 PM, R.J. fetched a guitar out of the storeroom. He carried it over to the small, makeshift stage and set it down so it was leaning against the chair he'd put there several hours before.

"I'll say one thing for Jessie Hanks," Roy FitzMartin hooted. "She's got guts, trying t'sing for us again after that goose egg she laid last week." Several other men joined him in the laugh.Red Tully didn't. "Why don't you give her a chance, 'stead of ragging on her?"

"'Cause I'se having too much fun t'stop."

"Maybe so, but Jessie, ain't."

Roy gave a rude laugh. "Why, Red, I do believe you're sweet on her."

Before Red could answer, Shamus hopped up onto the stage and clapped his hands for quiet. "Gents... customers, here she is again t'be entertaining ye --"

"Or to die trying," Roy shouted.

Shamus looked sharply at the heckler. "Quiet, now, and give a listen to our own, 'the Lark of Eerie, Arizona'... Jessie Hanks." He started applauding, and most of the others in the crowded room joined in, as he quickly stepped off the stage.

Everyone, even FitzMartin and his friends, looked expectantly to the stage. When Jessie hadn't appeared after a minute or so, he let out another horse laugh. "She must've finally figured out just how bad she --"

"The years creep slowly by, my darling,
The snow is on the grass again."

The words drifted down slowly from the second floor.

Everyone looked up. Jessie stood at top of the stairs there in a tight little dress with an ox blood skirt and a bright right top. She wore white silk elbow-length gloves and rested one hand on the banister.

"The sun's low down the sky, my darling;
The frost gleams where the flow'rs have been."

Jessie started slowly down the steps. Her hand slid along the banister as she descended. The long slit in the side of her dress gave quick flashes of her black silk stockings. Her voice was high and clear, but with a note of sadness.

Aside from Jessie, there wasn't another sound in the room. When FitzMartin stood up to yell something, a hand on each shoulder forced him back into his seat.

"We loved each other then, my darling,
More than we ever dared to tell.
And what we might have been, my darling,
Had but our loving prospered well --"

Many of the men in the room had fought in the War. The "rebs" knew the song as "Lorena", the sweetheart song, sung over their campfires for much of those four years. The "feds", those who'd fought on the Union side, knew it as the song they heard from distant camps, from men on the march, and from prisoners. It meant sadness, and sacrifice, and lost loves to them all.

"Yes, these were words of thine, my darling,
They burn within my memory yet.
They touched some tender chords, my darling,
Which thrill and tremble with regret.
'Twas not my woman's heart that spoke;
My heart was always true to thee:
A duty, stern and pressing,
Broke the tie which linked your soul to me."

Jessie reached the foot of the stairs. She stopped and glanced around the room. Every eye was one her. Bridget leaned back in her chair and gave a mock salute. The poker game had stopped while she and her players listened. Shamus at the bar gave her a smile and a "thumbs up" as she started walking towards the stage.

"There is a Future! O, thank G-d!
Of life, this is so small a part!
'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod,
But there, up there, 'tis heart to heart."

She reached the stage as the song was coming to an end. She sat down just as she came to the last line. Jessie looked upward, raising one hand plaintively as she sang "there, up there", then she sang the last few words and looked downward towards the floor, her hands on her lap.

The room exploded in applause. Several men fired their pistols. A dozen coins and more landed on the stage at her feet. "More," the crowd yelled.

Jessie waited till the noise had settled, then looked up, a great smile on her face. "You really want more?" she teased.

The crowd roared that it did. Jessie picked up the guitar and strummed a chord. "All right then. This next song is dedicated to Roy FitzMartin, who was so sure about me last time." She strummed another chord, then began.

"Hush, Little Baby, don't say a word."

Her voice was loud, clear, and happy.

And it was almost drowned out by the laughter.

"I get your point," FitzMartin yelled. He held his hands up as if in surrender.

Jessie nodded. She finished the song, then moved right on to "a request from an old friend, 'Camptown Races'." She sang a couple more Stephan Foster songs, finishing up with "I Dream of Jeanie" - she changed it to - "Jimmy With the Light Brown Hair", so she could sing it from a woman's point of view.

"But them's all eastern songs," she said, resting the guitar on her lap for a moment. "I'd like to close with a song about folks moving on west." She strummed a chord and began.

"Oh don't you remember sweet Betsy from Pike,
Who crossed the wide prairie with her lover Ike."

She sang the long version of the song, encouraging the crowd to join her in the chorus,

"Singing dang fol dee dido, singing dang fol dee day."

The men listened in good spirits until she got to the last verse.

"Long Ike and Sweet Betsy got married, of course,
But Ike, getting jealous, obtained a divorce.
While Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout..."

Then everyone joined in with Jessie and just roared the final line.

"Goodbye, you big lummox, I'm glad you backed out!"

The room was filled with laughter and a thunderous applause; even FitzMartin clapped. Jessie stood and bowed low, showing a good bit of creamy breast in her low cut red gown. More coins tinkled at her feet.

That just started the applause going again. A number of men rushed up to the stage, blocking her way off it. Paul pushed his way through and offered his hand. "Let me help you, Jessie."

"Thank you, Paul." She smiled, took his hand, and stepped down.

While she let the crowd surge in around her, she saw Shamus picking up the coins and putting them into his bowler hat. "We'll be divvying these up later," the barman said, with a happy wink.

* * * * *

Wednesday, December 13, 1871

"Hey, here comes 'Little Miss Patches'," Hermione Ritter called out, pointing at Emma, who was just walking up to the schoolhouse steps. A few others looked and laughed.

Emma stopped and glared at Hermione. "You talking to me?"

"Well, I'm sure I don't know who else I would be talking to." Hermione sneered. "You're the only one who's dressed so stupidly."

Emma wore a pair of dark blue jeans and a checkered blue and gray flannel shirt. As with all of Elmer's clothes, Kaitlin had sewn on very feminine extensions. A doll-sized, pale blue pleated skirt, with a small strip of white lace at the bottom that looked like a petticoat, covered the space between her pants cuff and her shoes. A frilly pink tube of soft muslin reached from mid arm to her wrist.

"You look like one of them... one of those patchwork quilts my mother has on our beds, bits and pieces of cloth that don't mean nothing." Hermione laughed. "One can't even tell if you're a boy or a girl."

"Maybe she doesn't know herself," Eulalie Mackechnie suggested, chuckling under her breath,

"You take that back, Hermione Ritter; you, too, Eulalie." Emma's hands balled into fists. "You take that back right now."

Eulalie stepped back. "She... she wants to hit me. I-I said she thought she... she was still a boy." She turned and ran into the schoolhouse.

"You stay away from me, you... you... patchwork ruffian." Hermione took a step back away from Emma.

"Not till you apologize," Emma said taking a step towards her.

Clyde was suddenly between the two girls. "You got a problem with something?"

"Your sister," Emma told him. "She keeps calling me 'Patchwork'?"

"'Course she does," Clyde answered. "That's all you are." He let out a laugh. "My pa says you and your pappa is - if she still is your pappa - are just bits of fluff that look funny and don't mean nothing." He laughed again.

"You stinkin..." Emma's hands balled into fists again.

"What you gonna do, Emma?" Clyde said sarcastically. "You gonna hit me with your purse?" When Emma took a step towards him, he added, "You best be careful, girlie. Starting a fight with me ain't gonna help your... your Trisha none." Clyde made a face as he said the name. "...ain't gonna help her at all next week when the grown-ups vote."

Emma raised her arm and was about to step forward, when Tomas grabbed her arm. "Do not do it. He is right; I am afraid. You would beat him, but it could do your papa no good."

"Maybe not, but it'd do me a whole lotta good t'stomp him."

"And what would you tell your papa when she finds out?"

Emma sighed and lowered her arm. "I..." She pulled her arm loose from Tomas and walked away.

"Yellow!" Clyde called after her. "What's the matter, Patchwork; you afraid you'll get them clothes of yours dirty?"

"I don't see what she's worried about," Hermione added triumphantly. "Anything that happened to an outfit like that would be an improvement."

Emma stomped into the school, the laughter ringing in her ears.

* * * * *

"Now that was a good breakfast," Shamus said, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. He looked across the table. "Jessie, might I be speaking with ye for a wee bit?"

Jessie had been enjoying a last cup of coffee. "Sure, Shamus, what d'you want to talk about?"

"I'm thinking that ye already know, but let's be taking the conversation into me office if ye don't mind." He stood up, still looking at her.

Jessie took one final sip and stood up. "All right, then; lead the way."

Shamus turned and walked over to the storeroom that doubled as his office, with Jessie following close behind.

When they were both inside the room, he took a seat behind his desk. "Close the door, if ye please, and have a seat." He motioned to the chair near his desk.

"Thanks, Shamus." She pushed the door shut and sat down. "This is about my singing, ain't it?" She looked at him intensely.

Shamus smiled. "It is. Ye did well last night - much, much better than ye did that first time ye sang."

"Thanks. I get better with practice, I guess."

"And with yuir sister coaching ye, I'm thinking."

Jessie shrugged. "No point in denying it. She was one big help."

"It wasn't her dress ye was wearing, though. Ye're a lot smaller than she is." He glanced down at her chest for just a moment. "Most places, anyway."

"You watch yerself, Shamus," Jessie teased, "or I'll tell Molly on you."

"I'm just stating a fact... and asking a question. Ye didn't charge that dress t'me over t'Silverman's, did ye?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Borrowed it from... from one of the other gals at La Parisienne. I got to return it in a day or two."

"Well, that's one bill I don't have t'be paying." He faked a sigh of relief. "But thuir'll be others like it."

"What do you mean?"

"Ye do want t'be singing here for me, don't ye?"

"'Course I do. But what's that got to do with Rosalyn's dress."

"Part of the reason ye were such a big hit last night - a small part, I'll grant, but a part of it - was the way ye looked. Ye gonna pay for dresses like that out of what I'll be paying ye?"

"I am, but I figured - after how well it went last night - you'd be paying me more than the $7.50 a night we agreed on."

"Are ye now? Ye that ready t'go back on yuir word t'me? We agreed on $7.50 a day, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but like you said, I done real good last night. I figure I can ask for more money."

"Ye can ask for more, Jessie, but we shook hands on $7.50. Ye did get more, though." He leaned over and took a rolled up kerchief out of a box behind him. Jessie heard the clink of coins when he set it down on the desk.

"This here's the money them boys tossed onto the stage. I couldn't find ye last night to be giving it to ye."

"I... I was lying down for a while." Jessie felt her face flush. She and Paul had gone back to his room to celebrate her success the best way they could think of.

Shamus raised an eyebrow. "Ye weren't upstairs; I sent Jane up t'check on ye. Still I suppose ye could have been resting someplace else." He wouldn't ask where - or with whom - though he thought that he knew the answer to both questions. He hadn't seen much of Paul that evening either.

"Thanks, Shamus. How much is in there, do you think?"

"Let's be finding out." He untied the kerchief and let the ends fall onto the desk. He began to sort the coins with one finger. "Twenty-five... fifty..." He continued for a while before announcing, "All told, it comes to $5.72."

"Almost as much as you're paying me... not bad."

She reached for the kerchief, but Shamus put a hand over it. "We ain't settled on how we split yuir tips. For that matter, we ain't settled on what I'm paying ye. Let's do that first, if ye don't mind."

"I suppose that we did shake on $7.50." She paused and saw Shamus nod. "And I do owe you something for giving me a second chance after I done so bad the first time I sung." She spat on her palm and stuck out a hand. "7.50 it is."

Shamus spat on his own palm and shook her hand. "Done. Now, most places, the split on tips is 50-50. That sound fair to ye?"

"I suppose... 75-25'd be better, but I'll take a 50-50 split." She shook his hand a second time.

"Good, but I'll be letting ye have all of this first night's tips."

"Thanks, but why're you being so generous all of a sudden?"

"It ain't generosity; it's an investment. Ye take that money over t'Silverman's and get yuirself another dress like ye wore last night."

"I don't think they got anything like that at Silverman's."

"Then ye'd best be talking to the Rylands and see if they can't be making ye one like it."

"The Rylands? They make suits for men."

"They make clothes. They've done dresses for other women, I'm told, and they can make something for ye. Ye just be watching out for Enoch Ryland, Natty's brother."

Jessie laughed. "I know about Enoch from the dances. His hands... wander some, but I think I can take care of myself, especially now that I ain't got that damn potion of yours t'hold me back."

"I'm sure ye can. Is there anything else, anything ye need t'talk about, or are we done here?"

Jessie thought for a moment. "Two things."

"Two!" Shamus looked at her suspiciously. "One ain't enough?"

She shook her head. "Nope, but hear me out before you get on your high horse."

"All right. I asked the question, so I suppose I should be listening to the answer. What do ye want?"

"First off, it takes a long time to get all gussied up like that. I want off on the nights I sing, say... from 5 o'clock on. That'll gimme time to eat, rest up, and get ready." She thought for a moment. "And, ya know, we never did on how many nights a week I was gonna sing, did we?"

"No, we didn't. I just told ye to be getting a fancy dress, so it only seems fair t'give ye the time to get fixed up right in it. If I give ye that time, how many nights will ye give me?"

"That's the other thing I wanted to talk about. I was thinking two, Tuesday and... Thursday?"

"Ye got yourself a deal, Jessie. Two nights it is." They shook hands a final time. Jessie gathered the coins and retied the kerchief.

* * * * *

The teasing of Emma continued at recess. A boy was always running near her, chanting, "Patchwork... patchwork." He yelled the word at odd moments, distracting her. She missed a couple of passes and even managed to trip over her "skirt".

Stephan Yingling took her aside as they were all coming back inside at the end of recess. "They were giving you a pretty hard time today," he said.

"They surely was."

"And it got to you. I never seen you play worse."

"I'll do better tomorrow."

"I hope so, 'cause I've got no place on my team for a player who keeps messing up the way you did today." He walked past the stunned girl and into the classroom.

* * * * *

"Uncle Ramon," Ernesto said, as he opened his front door, "have you come to help, too?"

Ramon stepped through the open doorway. "Help with what?" He mentally answered his own question when he saw that the boy was wearing an oversized apron. "Why does your momma need so much help with her baking?"

"Because his momma does not seem to be able to say 'No' to anyone." Maggie walked in from the kitchen. She was also wearing an apron, only hers had flour and sugar spilled onto it. She had a small flour smudge on her cheek, too.

Ramon smiled. "You have said it often enough to me, Margarita. Perhaps I should ask my question again."

"Ramon, please." Maggie's expression darkened, and she looked down to the floor, feeling tired and disappointed. Dreading what he might say, she added, "Lupe... Ernesto, please go and check on the batter in the kitchen."

After the two children had left, Ramon gently cupped her chin and raised her face, so that she was looking directly at him. "And my question is, how can I help you? Did Miss Osbourn talk you into making more cookies for her class?"

"No, I told Carmen that I would help her with food for the posada party at her house. She told Seá±ora Rivera, who also asked me to help because her son liked what I baked for Miss Osbourne so much. Then some one told Seá±ora Velasquez, and she also asked me to help, and..." She sighed. "I am baking for five parties, including the one at the church."

"I hope that you do not have to buy all the materials yourself."

Maggie shook her head. "Oh, no. Carmen just said to give her the bill. Seá±ora Rivera and Seá±ora Velasquez gave me what they thought I would spend. I am paying for what I cook for the church, but I could never ask the church for money." She quickly crossed herself.

"I understand," Ramon said, "But to be baking so early. Won't everything go stale by next week?"

"Tonight I am baking chorreadas, hard cookies that will keep for days and days. Monday, I will bake two or three other kinds of pan dulce for Carmen's party on Tuesday, and the one at the Velasquez' house on Wednesday. And for another party at the school. Thursday, I will bake for the other two, the house party on Friday and the one at the church on Sunday."

"Thursday? Is that not the night that Lupe and Ernesto are supposed to march?"

"Madre de Dios, it is! How can I march with them, when I need the whole night to bake?"

"You must pick one or the other."

"And to who do I refuse? Lupe or Father deCastro?"

Ramon saw the concern in her eyes. "You are always the one for living up to your obligations." He took a breath. "Who will you disappoint? Neither. You stay home and bake. I will take care of Lupe and Ernesto at the posada. Father deCastro is an old friend. I am sure that he will accept me being there in your place."

"And you don't mind doing this? Marching with all those children."

"I made Lupe's wings. I wanted to be there to see how they looked. Besides, a man does such things for a woman he..." He saw her body tense. "...for a woman who is such a good friend." He waited a moment. "Now, do you have another apron? I always wanted to learn how to make chorreadas."

* * * * *

Thursday, December 14, 1871

Kaitlin looked over at the table. Emma was sitting quietly, working on her arithmetic homework. "Would you mind taking a break, dear?"

"No, ma'am," She put down her pencil and shifted in her chair to read the clock on the mantle piece, "but isn't it a little early to set the table for supper?"

"It is. In fact, I'd like you to help me make that supper."

"Cook! Ma, I... I got homework to do."

"I know, and you'll have more than enough time to do it after supper. Right now, though, you'll help me cook. You need to learn --"

"I don't wanna learn how to cook." She frowned and crossed her arms.

Kaitlin was tempted to tell Emma how feminine she looked, especially the way she was holding her arms just below her budding breasts. No, it wasn't the point she wanted to make. "This isn't a 'girlie thing', as you and Trisha have been so quick to say."

Both of the new females had used the term any time they thought that Kaitlin was trying to get them to act in a female manner. It was also, they had found, a way to sometimes get out of the new chores she had given them.

"It surely is. Women cook, not men."

"Men don't cook? Then tell me, Emma, when have you ever heard of a woman on a cattle drive or up in the mountains with the miners? For that matter, how many women ride with the Army out on the range patrolling against Indians?"

"Uhh... none, I guess." She cautiously lowered her arms.

Kaitlin handed her an apron, a plain, white muslin one - no sense starting her off again. "Fine, then; put this on, and we'll get started. Trust me, there's no shame in being able to cook. Why, I'll bet there'll be a day when you'll be happy for what you're about to learn."

* * * * *

"And here's a fifth card to you, Mr. Hersh, Fred, Carl, Mr. Parnell." Bridget dealt a card to each man as she named them. "And one to me."

Parnell, a ruddy-faced man in brown work clothes picked up his cards. "Please, Bridget, Mr. Parnell is my father. Call me Quint." He looked at his cards for a moment, arranging them in his hand as he did.

While he did, everyone tossed their dime ante into the center of the table.

"No, thank you... Mr arnell," Bridget answered. "This is an honest game, and you and Mr. Hersh won't be playing it any longer."

Hersh, a tall, nattily dressed man, raised an eyebrow. "Is there some problem, Miss Kelly?"

"Aw, she's just mad 'cause you and me is the big winners tonight." Parnell said, then laughed. "Don't you worry none - Bridget, was it? - don't you worry none, Bridget. Your luck'll change." He reached over and gently patted her arm.

Bridget pulled her arm away. "Luck's got very little to do with it. The pair of you are working together. You flash each other your hands, then bet the stronger one. I think you've been whipsawing, too, to fatten the purses."

"Nobody calls me a thief." Hersh pushed back his chair and stood up. "Least of all some little bit of fluff like you."

Now Carl Osbourne stood up. "That's my friend you're insulting, mister."

Parnell just sat and smiled. "Fellas, c'mon, this here's just a friendly, little game. Miss Bridget is a little confused; that's all. Still, if she's thinking that way, why Mr. Hersh'n I will just take our money and go." He reached over for the stack of coins in front of his place at the table.

"You two most certainly will go," Bridget said, putting her hand atop the pile of coins, "but your money will stay here, Mr. Hersh's money, too. You both've been cheating all night, and most of it belongs to the others at the table."

Parnell drew his pistol and pointed it at her. "The hell it will. We earned that money and we're taking it. Bill, get the cash. All of it."

"Sure, boss." Hersh nodded. He grabbed Bridget's cash box and shoveled all the money on the table, including the other men's stakes, into it. "Thanks for the donation folks," he said as he closed the cash box and drew his own pistol from a coat pocket.

"You're too pretty to kill," Parnell said, studying Bridget, "but maybe a bullet in that hand of yours'll teach you t'keep your - Yoww!"

He dropped his pistol and stared at the knife sticking in his own arm. A red stain was growing in the cloth around it.

"Nobody move, or I'll shoot her myself," Hersh said, pointing his pistol at Bridget.

"No, you won't." Arnie Diaz threw himself onto the gambler and wrestled the taller man to the ground, pinning his hand - and the pistol - under his body.

Men ran over to the table. Shamus had been in the storeroom, and he had to push his way through the crowd to where Carl Osbourne and Fred Norman were holding Parnell in a chair.. "I heard a scream. What sort of mischief is going on in me saloon?"

"Them men was cheating Miss Bridget," Arnie answered. He was sitting on Hersh, who was sprawled out face down on the floor, holding the man's arm tightly behind his back. "When she called them on it, that one pulled a pistol. He got hit with a knife, and I jumped this one before he could shoot her."

"Somebody..." Shamus looked around. "...Red, go get the Sheriff." Red Tully nodded and ran for the door.

"Better get the Doc, too." R.J. said. He braced Parnell's arm with his left hand and pulled out his knife in a firm, steady motion. He wiped it clean with a napkin from the table and put it in a sheath hanging from his belt. Then he used a second napkin to fashion a crude tourniquet to slow the man's bleeding.

"I will go for the doctor," Hans Euler replied.

"Tell him to meet us at the jail," said R.J., still glaring at his victim. "I want this jasper to be nice and healthy for his trial."

* * * * *

"Here's something t'be settling yuir nerves, Bridget." Molly smiled and handed her a shot of rum. "I know it always works for me."

Bridget was still sitting in her chair. She took the drink and tossed it down. Then she closed her eyes and concentrated on the warmth growing in her stomach.

"And just how often do you get robbed at gunpoint, Molly?" R.J. asked pointedly as he sat down next to Bridget. "You did just fine," he told the lady gambler, "and we're all proud of you." He took her hand and held it firmly.

"Of course, we are," Shamus added. "But tell me, Bridget. Them men was pretty good at what they was doing. How did ye come to catch them at it?"

Bridget allowed herself a slight smile. "Jessie... that is, I got suspicious while she was singing."

"What do ye mean?" Molly asked.

"After she sang 'Oh, Suzanna', Hersh tossed her a quarter from his winnings."

"Why would that make you suspicious?" Carl asked.

"Because Parnell frowned at him, and he looked back at Parnell like he'd done something wrong. It happened real fast. Everybody else was watching Jessie, but I caught it. The only reason for Parnell to frown and Hersh to look guilty about spending his own money was if they were working together and pooling their stakes. After that, it was just a question of watching them till I saw how they were doing it." She sighed. "I didn't think that things would get out of hand like they did."

"Tis a good thing R.J. was here," Molly said. "Arnie, too. I always knew ye were a good boy, Arnie."

Arnie blushed at the compliment. "It wasn't much. I just couldn't let them hurt Bridget."

"It most surely was something," Shamus said, "and it just might be I was wrong about ye."

Might be?" Arnie said.

Shamus snorted. "I probably was. Is that any better?"

"A little." Arnie smiled. "But just a little."

"Well, I'm very glad he was there." Bridget took his hand in her free hand. "Thank you, Arnie. Thank you very, very much." She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it gently. Arnie's face got several shades redder.

"Don't I get a thanks, too?" R.J. teased.

"Of course, you do," Bridget said. She raised her other hand, the one he was holding. When it was close enough, she kissed his hand, as well.

R.J. smiled. "To tell the truth, I was hoping for a lot more than that."

"R.J.!" Molly said. "Shame on ye."

"Shame on you, Molly. What I was hoping for," R.J. said, winking at Molly, "was that Bridget would have supper with me tomorrow... out in the yard, like we did the other night."

Bridget considered for a moment. "That... that would be... nice."

She glanced over at Arnie, who looked like his dog had just died. She knew about the crush he had on her. Bridget also knew that he had very little money. 'I'll have to find a way to thank him that won't hurt his pride,' she told herself.

* * * * *

Friday, December 15, 1871

Molly carefully put a final glass into the tray. Satisfied that it was as full as she could manage, she took a breath and lifted it from the bar. She was halfway to the kitchen when Shamus saw her.

"Ye needn't be doing that heavy work, me Love," he told her. "We got the help t'do it." He took the tray from her. "And I'll take this one in meself."

"Aye, we got help, Shamus," she answered, willingly handed him the tray, "but not as much as we had. Wilma's long gone. Bridget has her card game, and Maggie works in the kitchen, now, when she ain't at home with her wee ones."

"We've still got enough help."

"Do we? Ye just gave Jessie two nights off t'be singing for the crowd."

"She wasn't that much help with the heavy lifting anyways."

"No, she wasn't, but she could do other things, so somebody else was freed t'do the heavy work."

"I see where ye're going. That leaves us Jane and Laura. Jane works as much for Maggie as she does for us, and Laura's... well, we may not want her to be doing any heavy work in a little while."

Molly smiled. "We're back t'what we had. The two of us sharing the work between us." She gently touched his arm. "Not that I ever minded sharing things with you."

"Nor me with you." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "But it has been nice having somebody else t'help with things." He laughed. "Maybe one of them two sharps'll decide t'take me potion instead of going to prison."

"Maybe... and maybe not. Are ye sure ye even want the Judge to make them the offer? They don't know about yuir potion, and maybe it'd be better to leave things that way."

"Let sleeping dogs lie? Aye, it might. Let me think about that."

"While ye're think about it," Molly said with a laugh, "ye'd best be getting them glasses into the kitchen."

* * * * *

"That's surely a lot of cabbage," Arsenio said. He was leaning against a chair watching Laura. She was working on the third cabbage. The shredded remains of the first two were in a heap on the kitchen table. The fourth was besides the pile, waiting its turn along with two onions and a small bunch of carrots.

She stopped chopping. "I... uhh... didn't hear you come in, Arsenio. I'm... uhh... I'm making cole slaw."

"That's what it looks like, all right." He chuckled. "A whole lot of cole slaw."

She looked a little hurt. "Don't you like cole slaw?"

"Not that much, I don't." He sighed. "I guess I should've expected it, though. I've heard about how some pregnant woman'll get cravings for the strangest things. I'll just be glad if they don't get any stranger than this."

Laura looked down at her stomach. It was still sometimes hard for her to believe that there was a new life growing inside her. "Cravings? Yeah, I guess that could be it." She gently rubbed her belly.

"In that case," Arsenio said, "you just go ahead and make all the cole slaw you want." He pulled her close and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

* * * * *

Shamus walked over to Bridget's table. She was alone, playing what she called "Maverick Solitaire", trying to arrange twenty-five cards dealt at random into five good poker hands.

"If ye put that three of clubs and the five of hearts with them three cards over there..." he pointed to other cards a few inches away, "...ye'll have one of them - whacha-call-it - straights."

Bridget looked up at him. "I know, but I don't really like these fancy new hands, straights and flushes. A full house or four of a kind is plenty good enough for me."

"Do ye allow them in yuir game - when ye're playing for money, I mean?"

"I do, if most of the other players ask for it." She shrugged. "Better to play a game I don't like than not to play at all."

Shamus chuckled. "I know what ye mean, and I'd be guessing that ye're good enough to take thuir money either way." He pulled out a chair and sat down.

"I can, but it doesn't quite seem like real poker with those new hands."

"I suppose it doesn't, but I don't think that poker hands is what ye wanted t'be talking t'me about. What can I do for ye?"

"I wanted to ask you about Arnie."

"Him? I'll admit he came in real handy last night, but I still got some doubts about the lad. Besides, I gave his mum me word that I wouldn't let him touch a drop of what she called 'devil's brew' in me saloon."

"How about letting him touch an empty glass? Or, at least, a broom?"

"What are ye asking, Bridget?"

"How about giving him a job? I heard you and Molly talking about how you were getting shorthanded around here."

"He's not pretty enough t'be serving drinks in me place."

Bridget laughed at that. "No, but how pretty does he have to be to carry dirty glasses back into the kitchen... or to wash them for that matter?"

"Ye... ye got a point. Let me think on it a bit."

"Then you'll really ask him?"

"I'll think about it, and - since ye'll be making an old man out of me with yuir pestering if I don't - I'll tell ye me decision either way as soon as I know it meself."

* * * * *

Bridget took a sip of wine and put the glass down on the table. She and R.J. were back in the garden having dinner. "So tell me, R.J.," she asked, "where exactly did you learn how to throw a knife like that?"

"Are you sure you want to know such a dark secret?" he teased.

Bridget smiled. "I didn't think you could have a secret that dark?"

"Ahh, but are you willing to risk finding out?" He raised an eyebrow, trying to look menacing.

She felt fixed to the table by his stare. "I... I'll r-risk it."

"Fine then; let it be on your head." Then he broke into a smile. "My papa fought the Austrians back in Italy. He... ah, used a knife sometimes. When mama told him that... that Gus was on the way, they ran off to America and opened the restaurant. He taught Gus and me both all about knives. Gus wasn't very good at it, but I... ah, I was."

"Well, I'm certainly glad that you kept in practice."

He looked down at the table. "I didn't. Until a few months ago, I hadn't thrown a knife in years."

"What made you take it back up?"

"You did." He took her hand in his.

"I did? How?"

"I never saw a gambler that didn't get in deep trouble every once in while. I didn't think you were going to be an exception, and that scattergun Shamus has under the bar wouldn't have worked in the spot you were in yesterday."

She looked at her purse. It was on the table near her other hand, the one he wasn't holding. "I have a pistol, a derringer, in my purse. I was about to get it out when you threw that knife."

"With them both watching you? I don't think you would have made it. You needed my protection."

"Your what?"

"My protection." He raised the eyebrow again. "That's what a man does. He protects the... he protects his friends."

"Especially me?"

"Any woman that needs his help. That's what a man does." He lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

Bridget leaned back in her chair, emotions racing, not sure what she was feeling or what she should say in answer.

* * * * *

Saturday, December 16, 1871

Finny Pike sat down at a table and took a sip from his beer. "Nice dance," he said, trying to start a conversation.

Angel Montiero took the bait. "Be nicer if we were out there dancing, no."

"Ain't that the truth," Finny said. "Could be worse, I guess."

"Si, we could be riding line with Cap Lewis, taking extra supplies to the men who will be spending the winter in those cabins, watching his uncle's herd."

Finny shivered at the thought. "There's probably six inches of snow up there already. Being here, nice and warm with the beer and the women is one helluva a lot better." He sighed. "Too bad there ain't a few more women here, though."

"You could always drink that stuff Shamus has and become one yourself."

"And dance with the likes of you? No... way... in... hell." He looked around. "At least some folks bring their own gals." He pointed at a couple dancing nearby. "Why don't you go cut in on him?"

"The Sheriff? I do not care to anger any man who can jail me if he wants to. You go cut in on him."

"When pigs fly," Finny said. "I wonder what he's doing here, though. Him and his wife don't come to these dances too often."

"Who knows?"

Finny took a green kerchief from pocket. "You wanna put this on your arm 'n dance with me?"

"You are kidding, amigo?" Angel laughed. "This dance is almost over. I am going to try and dance with Jane next time. I will have no chance, if I am out on the dance floor with you, when the music stops. There will already be too many men around her with the same idea."

* * * * *

"Seá±orita Bridget, may I have this dance with you?"

Bridget looked up from where she was sitting. There was too much noise for her game, so she was back dancing as a favor to Shamus. "Arnie? What are you doing here?"

"Asking you to dance with me." He showed her the ticket in his hand.

She stood up. "I know that. It's just that I don't think that I've ever seen you at one of these dances before." She took the ticket, putting it in the pocket of her starched, white apron.

"Before... I didn't have the money before, and I... I was not sure that Shamus would let me dance, even if I did." He grinned. "Tonight, I know he'll let me dance." He led her out onto the dance floor.

"How'd you know that he'd let you tonight?" she asked.

Once they were among the other couples, he took her right hand in his. Then, he stood there, looking at his other hand and at her and trying to figure out where to put it. Bridget gently took the hand and put it on her waist.

"First, because I'm a hero... just ask anybody." He grinned again. The music, a waltz, began.

"And why else." Bridget was getting curious.

"'Cause Shamus offered me a job. If I can work here, I figure that I can dance here, too."

Now Bridget smiled. "I knew you'd take that job. I knew it as soon as I --"

"So that's it! You told Shamus to offer it to me." He stopped dancing and looked at her angrily. "I don't need anybody's charity."

This was male pride, something Bridget knew a lot about. "It wasn't charity, and it wasn't my idea," she began carefully.

"I don't need Shamus' charity neither."

Arnie, please. It... it wasn't charity. I heard Shamus and Molly talking about how they might hire somebody because they don't have as much help as they used to. All I did was tell Shamus that you should be the one he hires."

"Sounds like charity to me." He frowned. "Much as I like you, I still don't need you helping me."

Bridget thought quickly. "Arnie, please... If I was trying to help anybody, I was trying to help me."

"Help you?" He snorted. "How does me working for Shamus help you?"

"You should know that better than anybody," Bridget told him. "What happened yesterday could happen - probably will happen - again." She thought about that for a moment. It probably would happen. Few men would have stood up to Brian; he had looked like he could handle himself in a fight. Now it was different. Too many people assumed a woman was easy to frighten or intimidate. "And when it does," she continued, "I figure that it won't hurt to have a friend around that I know I can count on."

She smiled and put his hand back at her waist. "I can count on you, can't I?"

His grin was back, broader than ever. "Damned right, you can."

* * * * *

Sunday, December 17, 1871

Horace Styron was just tying up his wagon when Clyde Ritter rode up to the stable.

"You're here early today, Horace," Ritter said, climbing down from his horse.

"So're you," Styron replied. "Where's your wife and kids?"

"Around the back of the school with the other women frying chicken - at least Cecelia and Hermione are. You know my Cecelia; it don't get done right unless she's there t'make sure. Winthrop's inside with Clyde, Junior, making sure the boy don't get dirty."

The two men started walking towards the schoolhouse-church. "We don't want nothing to go wrong here today, do we?"

"This chicken fry was a good idea, Clyde. Feed the folks, make a speech or two, and Trisha's as good as off the Board."

"And good riddance to her, I say."

Styron laughed. "I wonder if she's even going to come to church this morning."

"If she does, she can skip the services and fry up some chicken - same as the other women." By now, they were at the steps.

The door suddenly opened in front of them. "Me... cook?" Trisha said. "I'm afraid I can't do that; not today." She was standing in the doorway wearing a pale blue dress. Her blonde hair hung loosely around her shoulders, catching the morning light. "I'll be sitting up in front along with you and the other elders... where I belong."

The two men stared. She had a yellow ribbon pinned prominently to the dress. In large, dark blue letters, the words, "Keep O'Hanlon" were printed on it in a fine hand.

"See you inside." Trisha smiled slyly at the two dumbfounded men, turned, and walked back into the church.

* * * * *

"Well, now," a smiling Arsenio Caulder said to Styron and Ritter a few minutes later, "and what are you two unrepentant sinners doing here, outside the church?" He'd walked around from the far side of the schoolhouse. He wore a brown suit, his jacket draped over his arm.

Ritter smiled back at the joke and extended his hand. "I might ask you the same, Arsenio. Seems like the only time I ever seen you in church was Christmas and Easter and not always then."

"You know it is," Arsenio said, shaking the man's hand. "Things change when you get married. Laura joined the Ladies's Social Committee. She's over helping with the cooking."

"The ladies can always use another pair of hands," Styron said. "You're both more than welcome." Arsenio certainly was. As a member of the town council, he was a powerful potential ally.

Arsenio laughed and kept talking. "She made a ton of cole slaw at home the other day, and we brought it all over here for the party... thank the Lord."

"You don't like cole slaw?" Styron asked.

Arsenio shook his head. "Not when she's made enough to fill a bath tub."

"You'll eat it, but you won't swim in it?" Ritter laughed at his own joke.

"Not if I can help, I won't." Arsenio looked at his pocket watch. "I think I'll go inside, get me a good seat."

Styron nodded. "They're all good seats in the Lord's House. See you inside."

"I'm sure you will." Arsenio put on his jacket. He had a ribbon just like the one Trisha had been wearing pinned to the front. He smiled and walked past the pair and up the steps to the door.

* * * * *

"I wish you could have seen Cecelia Ritter's expression when you three drove up," Phillipia Stone told Kaitlin. "She looked like she'd swallowed a frog." Phillipia was a tall, athletic woman, whose curly, jet-black hair hinted at her mother's Greek origin.

Kaitlin smiled. "I can imagine." She finished sectioning another chicken and put the pieces on a tray. "She probably never expected us to come to church today, not with this chicken fry her husband planned, and she must have had kittens when Laura showed up handing out these ribbons."

"Take this over to Laura... Mrs. Caulder, please, Emma." She handed her daughter the tray, which was now covered with chicken pieces. Emma nodded and carried the tray to the next table, where Laura and Amy Talbot stood waiting.

Kaitlin and Phillipia both wore "Keep O'Hanlon" ribbons on their aprons. So did Emma, Laura, and Amy.

"Thank you, Emma." Laura took the tray from Emma and began dunking the pieces one at a time into a large bowl of buttermilk. She handed each piece to Emma, who was standing next to her now. The girl rolled the piece in flour and gave it to Amy, who put it in a wire rack. When she'd filled a rack, Amy carefully lowered it into a large, very hot pot of bubbling oil. There were already five racks in the pot, perhaps with room for three more. About a dozen pieces of freshly fried chicken were draining on a spread of old newspaper.

Laura glanced over at Kaitlin and Phillipia. "What're your mama and Mrs. Stone laughing about?" she asked Emma.

"These ribbons," Emma answered. "How'd you think up the idea, anyway?"

"I saw people wearing campaign ribbons and such for every election back in Indiana. We wear ribbons at the Saloon, too, mostly so folks can tell my sister, Jane, and me apart. When your Uncle Liam told me what was going on, I asked Molly - she's the one who makes them - to make a bunch up for me to help your... to help Trisha stay on the board.

"I wouldn't have thought of them," Laura continued, "if your... if Trisha hadn't come over to the Saloon and asked for some help. I guess she figured that folks who were used to somebody being changed like she was would want to help. What they're saying about her, they're saying about us, too"

"It was good of you to lend a hand help," Kaitlin said. "It was good of Miss Kelly."

"You can call her Bridget," Laura told the other woman. "Everybody does."

Kaitlin restarted. "It was good of Bridget, then, and of Mr. O'Toole - or should I call him Shamus - to contribute the money for the extra ingredients." She took a breath. "And of your husband to offer to pitch in."

"Just try and stop him once he thought Ritter was insulting me." Laura beamed with pride. "And Arsenio brought in Whit and the sheriff." She turned back to Emma. "We all heard Trisha needed some help, and we wanted to give it."

"Well, I'm glad you did. Clyde, Junior, and his friends've been telling me all about how Trisha was gonna get throwed off the Board. If... when she don't, I'll have me the last laugh."

"I don't believe Cecelia is very happy," Amy said. "She didn't even want to work with us after we pinned the ribbons on." She pointed to a group working some feet away, Cecelia Ritter, Lavinia Mackechnie, and several other women were busily making their own fried chicken. As Amy pointed, Cecelia Ritter glared back at her. Amy shook her head. "That woman; she isn't happy unless everybody's doing things the way she wants." She chuckled. "Well, we'll just set up our own table - right next to theirs - for the chicken and for that cole slaw you made, Laura, and we'll just see whose food gets eaten faster."

"I don't know about the chicken," Laura said, "but I expect that my cole slaw's going to be gone pretty quick."

Amy cocked an eyebrow. "I must say, I admire your confidence."

"Confidence doesn't have as much to do with it as the beer I made it with. Molly gave me the recipe, and Shamus gave me the beer. If I do say so myself, it turned out pretty good."

* * * * *

"What're we gonna do about them damn ribbons," Styron muttered. He and Ritter were standing under a tree close enough to the door to watch people enter, but not close enough to be overheard.

Ritter sighed. "I don't think it's that big a problem. Besides Arsenio, there's only been two-three men, tops, wearing them."

"Yeah, but one was the Sheriff and the other was Whit Whitney."

"Whit hardly ever comes to church; what with that greaser wife of his... last time was Easter, and he didn't stay the whole service."

"Still, that's two-thirds of the town council; probably all three of them are against us. That sheeney Silverman and his wife are damned friendly with O'Toole and his ladies." Styron sighed. "It's gonna be a lot harder fight than I thought it was."

Ritter scratched his head for a moment. "I wonder... have you heard Rev. Yingling say anything about how he felt?"

"No, come t'think of it, but he don't like to get mixed up in the Board's fights."

"Maybe, just maybe, we could get him interested in this fight, interested and on our side."

They nodded in agreement and walked over to the steps. Rev. Yingling stood smiling, shaking the hands of his congregation as they filed past him into the church. "Finished your little talk, gentlemen?" he asked as they approached. His warm ministerial smile was still on his lips.

"Not quite, Reverend," Styron said. "We was just wondering where you stand on this business with Trisha O'Hanlon."

"That is a matter for the board and the congregation to decide," Rev. Yingling answered. "I have no wish to take sides."

"But this is a moral issue, and the congregation needs your guidance," Ritter said.

Yingling raised an eyebrow. "Moral?"

"Indeed," Styron told him. "That the potion of O'Toole's is evil. It's not natural for a man to change into women."

Yingling considered the statement. "No, it isn't natural, but lives were saved. How many would have died the day that the Hanks gang rode into town if not for that potion? Could anything else have saved Elmer O'Hanlon?"

"No," Ritter answered, "but what about when Wilma Hanks took that second dose? We all know what she became. Where was the good in that?"

"And what about Trisha?" Styron added. "There was no reason for her to change."

Yingling nodded. "No, there wasn't. Her change was an accident. Would you have a man leave the Board because he lost his arm or his leg in an accident?"

"Accident or not, it happened," Styron said, "and she lost a lot more than her arm or leg. It's... it's just not the natural order of things for a woman to be on the board, to have dominance over men? The Bible says so."

"Our Lord, Jesus, put much faith in women," Yingling said.

"Yes," Styron replied, "but he didn't make them disciples?"

"No, he didn't," Yingling answered. "The disciples were priests, and, no, a woman cannot be a priest. But you elders aren't priests, either; you're the caretakers of the church, and a woman can be a caretaker."

Ritter frowned. "Then you're taking Tisha's side."

"I take no one's side," Yingling said. "I only pray that the congregation has the wisdom to do what is right - what is G-d's will."

"Well, we can't ask for more than that," Ritter said, smiling wryly. "His will be done." He nodded to the minister and walked away, almost dragging Styron with him.

Styron glared at him, when they stopped about ten feet away. "Why'd you cave in to him like that?"

"Because he was getting mad," Ritter explained, "I can tell. Much more of our arguing, and he'd have come out for Trisha just to spite us."

* * * * *

With a loud "Amen", the choir finished the hymn and quickly, quietly took their seats. Rev. Yingling stood and looked out at his congregation. "Horace Styron wanted to make a short announcement, but you all know Horace and his short announcements." He stopped and waited for the laughter to end.

"So, in the interest of time... and because I can smell that fried chicken, too, I'll just remind you that there'll be a picnic out in the yard after church today. You're all invited, of course. It'll cost a small donation to help pay for the food and a bit of your time listening to some speeches. I hope that you'll come anyway." The Reverend glanced quickly over at Styron and Ritter. Both men were trying very hard to look like they were smiling, when they really didn't want to.

"And now," he continued, "if you'll all turn to page 205 in your hymnals..."

* * * * *

"Well, folks," Rupert Warrick began. Rupe was Vice President of the Board. Since Horace Styron was going to speak, he got to do the introductions. "You had the good - all that delicious food that the ladies cooked up. Now, you gotta take the bad - the speeches. It's just gonna be Horace and Trisha, so the pair of you come up here now."

He stepped off the stump he'd been standing on just as Styron and Trisha walked up to him. "Only fair way to see who goes first," he said, pulling a half dollar from his pocket. "Trisha, why don't you call?" He flipped the coin high into the air and took a step back.

"Heads!" Trisha yelled. She watched the coin spin, then took a breath and let it fall to the ground.

Styron looked down. "Tails!" He let Trisha and Rupe look at the coin. "I'll go first, thank you."

"Go ahead," Trisha answered. She walked over and sat down at a nearby picnic table.

Styron smiled, confident in his ability to persuade. "Any of you men want a woman to hold sway over you?" A few people laughed at the suggestion in his question, particularly the men long married. A few others, led by Clyde Ritter, yelled "No!" Styron kept on talking in that line. "I've got nothing against Trisha O'Hanlon; I'm sure that she's a fine young woman. But that's the problem. You didn't elect 'a fine young woman'; you elected a man, Pat O'Hanlon. He ain't here any more, and I say that means that he ain't on the board any more."

"The board's there to make the tough choices, and the board needs - this congregation needs the sort of tough-minded men who can listen to the facts and make them choices. Not some woman who's toughest choice is whether she wears the green dress or the blue one." He pointed at Trisha, who was wearing the very fashionable, pale blue dress Kaitlin had persuaded her to don that morning.

Styron talked for about five minutes more, citing Scripture - not always correctly - to argue that it was wrong for a woman to be in any position of responsibility. There were more than a few catcalls, some of them from women, but there was also more than a smattering of applause, when he ended with, "That's what I think, folks. You all be sure to come back this Wednesday to vote and show what you think."

"Now it's Trisha's turn," Rupe called out. Styron stepped back and bowed very low and very theatrically as she walked to the stump.

"That's right, folks," Trisha said. "You all come on Wednesday to vote, especially all you women. Horace may not think a woman can be on the Board, but he can't do nothing about that fact that you can vote on who does serve." It was true; the Bylaws let all members aged 18 or older, man or woman, vote.

"I don't see why he doesn't think a woman can make a tough decision. Women do it every day. And I don't just mean the ones like Minnie Haldeman, who owns the dairy, or Jo Beth Smith at her Triple S ranch. I mean every woman that runs her house and raises her kids. This is the West. A woman has to be tough just to survive out here.

"Now, Horace - and some others - say I lost the right to be on the Board 'cause I changed. I don't quite see why, unless it was because I was dumb enough to drink that potion in the first place." She smiled. "Doing something dumb doesn't mean a man can't be on the Board. If it did, that speech Horace just gave ought to get him kicked off." She paused, enjoying the congregation's laugh.

"I admit it was a dumb thing to do, but I was desperate. My boy, Elmer, was dying. Is there a father here that wouldn't do whatever dumb, desperate thing came into his head to save his son's life? Is there a mother here who wouldn't be just as dumb and just as desperate to save her child? I don't think so.

"I saved Elmer, even if it meant he got turned into Emma, and I got turned into... into this." She made a broad gesture with her arm. "And now Horace says that cause that happened, I shouldn't be on the Board. He wants to punish me for saving my child. I say that's wrong." There was a look of anger and determination on her face now. "I say I can do the job as good as ever. And I hope that you'll all come out and agree with me on Wednesday."

She started to step back, then stopped. "Oh, yeah, and if you want to show that you agree with me, then come see me or Kaitlin or Laura Caulder or... or any of the folks you see wearing these ribbons and get yourself one."

* * * * *

Monday, December 18, 1871

"Morning, Enoch," Jessie said as she walked into the Ryland brothers' tailor shop. "Is my dress ready?"

Enoch Ryland was behind the counter. He smiled slightly and shook his head. "Not by a good bit, Jessie."

"Then why'd you tell me to come by for it today?"

"I think you misunderstood me. I told you to come in this morning for a fitting. You have to try it on, to make sure that it fits right, before I can finish it." He took a breath. "It's just the same as for a man's suit."

"I never had a man's suit made special for me like you're doing with this dress. I'd just buy me one off the rack." In her mind she added, 'or just take it.'

"It's different for custom-made - man's or woman's wear. You pay the extra money, and I take the extra care." He stepped out from behind the counter. "I asked you to come in this morning, so I could be certain to have it ready for you in time for your show tomorrow night."

Jessie looked around the store. "Where is it anyways?"

"In back, hanging up waiting for you." He offered her his arm. "Let me show you the way." Jessie took his arm, and he led her through a curtained doorway into the back of the store.

Enoch's brother, Natty, was sitting at a sewing machine, working on the seam of a man's frock coat. It never failed to amaze people how much alike the two men were. The only difference between them was Enoch's mustache. They shared the same stocky build, the same brown curls and round face. And the same long, supple fingers that were moving the fabric effortlessly past the whirring needle. "'Morning, Jessie," Natty said, not looking up from his work.

"Morning, Natty," Jessie answered.

"Would you mind going out front, while I'm doing Jessie's fitting?" Enoch asked.

Natty nodded. "Just let me finish this seam." He worked the foot pedal even faster, sliding the fabric like a skater across a frozen lake. "There," he said, taking the coat out of the machine and cutting the thread with a small knife.

"Nice seeing you, Jessie," he said as he stood up. Without another word, he walked through the curtains into the front room.

"Well, he ain't talking much today, is he?" Jessie said, feeling a little insulted.

Enoch smiled. "Natty? No, he just doesn't like there to be no one out front for very long. When you get that dress on, we'll go out and show him how you look. You just watch how much he talks then."

He led Jessie over to a pair of curtained-in fitting rooms. The dress was on a hanger between the two curtains. It was a long gown, a rich blue fabric with a metallic finish. "It... it's beautiful," Jessie said.

"And you will make it even more so." Enoch took down the garment and handed it to her. "You can go in either room and change. Oh, and don't forget to take your camisole off. That dress is cut too low for you to wear anything under it besides your corset."

Jessie smiled. "I know; I'll get more tips that way. B'sides, I ain't wearing a camisole. I figured it'd save time." She took the hanger and walked into the room on the left, sliding the curtain shut behind her.

In a few moments, she was in just her corset, and drawers. She put the dress that she'd worn on a hanger and hung it on a hook next to the new one.

"So beautiful," a voice behind her said.

Jessie turned quickly. "Enoch! I... I ain't ready yet."

"That's all right." Enoch leaned back against a wall and crossed his arms. His eyes trailed up and down Jessie's body. "I can wait."

"You can get the hell out."

"Jessie... Jessie, I'm a professional tailor and dressmaker. All I'm concerned about is getting the dress to fit as well as possible. If you were..."

"If I was what?"

"A woman, one who's had clothes made for her before, would know that it helps for me to watch you... umm, dressed like you are now. That way I get a better idea of your body and how it moves. That lets me better allow for such movement in the finished dress."

Jessie raised an eyebrow. "All you want is to... study me, so's I'll look better in that dress?"

"Believe me, Jessie. All I want is to know your body... for the dress."

"Well, I... I guess that makes sense." She paused while she considered the notion for a moment. She didn't want to look like some poor, ignorant soul just off the farm. "Okay. I'm sorry if I snapped."

"Perfectly all right. You just put that dress on - carefully; there are a few pins in it yet - and we'll get started."

Jessie nodded and turned away from Enoch. She felt embarrassed and avoided looking at the tailor.

"Let me help you with that," Enoch said as she stepped into the dress and began to pull it towards her waist.

Before she could answer, he stepped behind her, so close that she could feel his body against her own. He reached around and put his hands over hers and tugged at the fabric along with her. He was leaning down over her, and she felt his warm breath on her neck.

The gown was tight around Jessie's hips. Enoch seemed to be helping, but at the same time, Jessie felt his hands slid across her buttocks. She shivered at the sensation.

"I suppose that was a surprise, Jessie," Enoch said confidently. "But it's the easiest way to get the dress over your hips. After all, we can't put too much strain on the fabric until the last seams are set."

She nodded in agreement. "No, I guess not." Once the dress was past her waist, Jessie put her arms through the twin shoulder straps and pulled it the rest of the way up.

"Let me see how it lies," Enoch said. He smoothed the front. In the process, he managed to slide his fingers across her crotch and to squeeze her upper thigh.

Jessie bit her lip and kept silent. Finally, she asked, "Could you help with the buttons back there?"

"First, let's be certain that it's on you right. There's not much holding it up." Enoch's nimble fingers moved across Jessie's shoulders. They "walked" down her front, pulling here and there at the fabric. A hand moved under the dress and began to gently caress, almost squeeze, her right breast.

Jessie shivered again as she felt a finger playing with her nipple. 'How do women put up with this every time they need a dress?' she wondered to herself. 'It don't seem worth it.'

"The fit seems almost perfect," Enoch said, withdrawing his hand. "I'll check it again once you're buttoned up." He began to fasten the back of her dress. His head moved down, and she felt his breath on her skin.

Then he moved closer and kissed a spot on the side of her neck.

"What the hell was that?" Jessie spun around to face him.

"I... uhhh... the-the strap - yes, that's it - the strap --"

"Bullshit!" Jessie yelled, "Natty, you get your ass back here."

Natty Rylands came running to the back of the store. "Is something the matter, Jessie?" His glance kept shifting from her to his brother.

"I trust you, Natty - at least you never give me cause not to. When a woman's getting a dress fitted, is the man doing the fitting supposed to see her in her unmentionables? And does he keep... touching her in all sorts of places while she's puttin' on the dress?"

"Aw, hell, Enoch." Natty looked at his brother and scowled. "You said you wouldn't do that anymore."

"Do what?" Jessie asked.

Natty sighed. "Enoch likes to play a... trick on some of our more... innocent female customers."

"Let me guess. He touches 'em in places where a lady ain't supposed t'be touched and tells 'em it's just t'make the dress fit better."

"Right in one." Enoch grinned. "Shall we continue?"

Jessie's jaw dropped. "You want me to let you keep going?"

Enoch shrugged. "Well, you know the game now, so I won't do it any more..." He looked at her and leered. "...unless you want me to. It can be a lot of fun if the woman...helps. And a lot of them do want to help." He leered at her as if expecting her to tell him that she might be the kind that wanted to play.

"Why you lousy son of a --" Jessie eyes darted around the fitting room for something - anything - big or nasty enough to do the sort of damage she wanted to do to the man.

Natty stepped between her and his brother. "Jessie, he's - we're both very sorry. I'll be glad to take over for Enoch." When she still looked too angry, he added, "and, of course, we'll just take...half off the price of the dress." Natty cringed at the loss he'd just offered.

"And he'll apologize," Jessie continued, "and he won't do it no more."

Natty glared at Enoch. "He'll apologize - won't you, Enoch?"

"I will. I do. I..." He suddenly looked as if he'd sucked a lemon. "...I apologize."

"And you better not do it any more neither." Jessie said. "'Cause if I hear that you did, I'm talking to Shamus and the Sheriff." She looked him in the eye angrily, her eyes no more than narrow slits. "That happens, you may wind up with your own tits and pussy t'play with."

* * * * *

"So it is true."

Arnie Diaz looked up from the sink full of dirty glassware. Pablo Escobar was standing in the half-opened doorway that led to Shamus' yard. He leaned against the doorframe, smiling, his arms crossed in front of him.

"What do you want, Pablo?"

"Nothing much," the other boy answered. "I heard you got a job here washing dishes." He took a step towards Arnie. "It ain't much, but I guess it is a step up from washing their dirty underwear, like your mama."

"You leave my mother out of it, Pablo."

"Sure, sure. After all, there's no shame in a woman doing woman's work. It's only when a man - or a boy - starts doing it --"

"There's no shame in doing an honest day's work."

"No shame," Pablo answered, "but no great honor either."

"What do you know about honor? You spend your days helping Clyde Ritter sell them broken-down nags of his for a lot more money than they're worth."

Pablo shrugged. "That's business, something you'll never know - not cleaning out Shamus' spittoons, you won't. Or do you have to work your way up to cleaning spittoons?"

"Anything's better than shoveling shit for Clyde Ritter."

"Oh, yeah?" Pablo took another two steps towards Arnie. His hands were balled into fists.

Arnie stepped away from the sink. "Yeah!" His body tensed, waiting for the other boy's attack.

"What the hell's going on me kitchen." Molly's voice boomed out from the direction of the barroom door. She closed the door behind her and walked over to the pair.

"We... we was just talking, Seá±ora O'Toole," Pablo answered.

Maggie looked suspiciously at the two boys. "Aye, and I'm the Queen of the May." She took a breath. "Arnie, we don't pay ye t'be talking to people. We pay ye t'wash beer steins - so get to it."

"Yes, ma'am." Arnie stepped back to the sink.

"And ye, me boyo," Molly pointed at Pablo, "we don't pay ye at all, so I'll be thanking ye to leave."

Pablo sneered. "Just like you, Arnie, hiding behind a woman's skirts."

"It don't look t'me like he's hiding behind anything. He's doing his job - which is more than I can say for ye... whoever ye are."

"Pablo," Arnie told her, enjoying the situation. "Pablo Escobar"

"Pablo," Molly finished. "Now get out of here before I throw ye out."

Pablo flared at the pair of them. "I'm going. I'm going, but this ain't the end of it, Diaz, not by a long shot."

* * * * *

Paul Grant looked up when he heard the door to the Sheriff's Office open. "Afternoon, Jessie," he said with a broad smile when he saw who'd walked in.

"Hey, Paul." She glanced around nervously.

"We're alone, Jess." Paul told her.

Jessie bit her lip. "I know, but people can... come in. I'd just as soon nobody heard what I got to say."

"We can go in back, if that's what you want." When she nodded, he stood up from the desk. "Put that 'Out' sign on the door and lock it. No sense having people coming in and surprising us." He pointed to a small wooden sign dangling from a cord on a hook next to the door.

Jessie opened the door and quickly hung the sign on the outside. Paul and the Sheriff used it mostly when they left the office to walk around the town and keep an eye on things. "Done," she said softly, closing and locking the door behind her.

"Now what's your problem," Paul asked.

"I went over to the Ryland's store this morning - you know how they's making me a new gown for when I sing."

"I know. I'm looking forward to seeing you wear it."

"Well, I went over and... and Enoch... he..." She felt her face redden. Her eyes stung. 'Damn,' she thought. 'I hate it when I cry like some helpless gal.'

Paul walked over and took her hand. "Are you all right?"

"Yes... no... I... I guess I just need to talk t'you."

"And in private, like you asked." He took her arm now and led her back to the storeroom he used as his living quarters. Paul sat on the bed and motioned for her to sit in the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room.

She shook her head. "I... I think that I'd rather stand. I'm... I'm just too dang mad at Enoch t'sit still while I talk about him."

"Didn't he make the dress like he said he would." Paul doubted that the cause of Jessie's anger was anything that simple.

"Not make the dress right!" she exploded. "The dirty SOB! That was what he kept saying he was trying to do." She shook her head. "I shouldn't have listened to Natty. I... I should have gotten one of them tailor's scissors and cut Enoch's pecker off!"

Paul stepped close and put an arm around her. "It's all right, Jess; it's all right." He could feel her tremble with rage. "Take a deep breath and calm down."

It took two or three breaths. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "I don't know if I'm madder at Enoch for what he done, or at myself for getting talked into letting him do it." She sighed. "The old Jesse Hanks wouldn't have let him get away with anything like that."

"Enoch wouldn't have wanted to do anything like what I think you're talking about to the old Jesse Hanks." He tried very hard not to smile.

"No... I guess he wouldn't have." She chuckled - just a little, and her body relaxed for the first time in hours. "Even if he wanted to... he wouldn't have dared."

"Do you want to talk about it - tell me what Enoch tried to do to the new Jessie Hanks?"

Jessie stepped away from him and looked down at the floor. Her anger was giving way to another, a different, emotion. She bit her lip nervously as she considered her answer. "No," she said, looking up and smiling shyly, "but - if you got the time - I'll... I'll show you what he done."

"Well... I suppose..." Paul grinned. "Purely in the interests of justice, you understand."

Jessie grinned back. "Interests of justice... of course." She looked quickly around the room. "He give me the new dress and told me to go into the fitting room and change."

She pointed, tracing a line across the center of the room. "This side's the fitting room. I went in..." She made a gesture as if closing a curtain. "...and took of my dress - this dress."

Paul nodded.

Jessie began undoing the buttons on the dress. She slid it off her shoulders, and lowered it down past her waist. "The new dress is too low cut on top for a camisole, so I didn't wear one t'day." She stepped out of the garment and carefully draped it over the chair.

Paul took a breath. All she wore above the waist was a sea-green corset that clung tightly to her curves. Her milky-white breasts were well displayed. A row of lace ruffles at the top rose just high enough at the top to hide her nipples.

"Before I could get that other dress on, Enoch came in. I said he shouldn't be seeing me like this, but he says it's all right. He said if I was a real woman, I'd know that he needs to see how my body moves in my unmentionables so he can fit the dress better."

Paul raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound right."

"I didn't think so either, but I didn't know. He sounded so sure of what he was saying that I went along. Hell, he had me dead t'rights. I wasn't a gal till last summer. What did I know about how they got their dresses made?"

"So what'd you do then?"

"Like I said, I went along with him. I stretched..." Her arms rose gracefully above her head. "...and I bended and I... walked. I even danced a little bit." Jessie repeated each action as she said it, showing off her body in an erotic display. One moment, her corset strained to contain her full breasts; the next, her drawers were pulled taut against her teardrop buttocks. All the time, her body swayed as if to some unheard music.

Paul watched intently, feeling himself growing harder.

Jessie suddenly stopped, her back to Paul. "When I started to put that new dress on..." She looked back over her shoulder at him. "...he come right up behind me. He said it was to help me get the dress on."

Paul hesitated. "Was it?"

"You just come here," Jessie chided him, "and I'll show you what sort of help he wanted t'give me."

Paul stood up and walked up behind her. Their bodies were close, less than a foot apart. "Now what?"

"He leaned over and kinda breathed on my neck."

Paul moved a half-step closer. He pursed his lips and blew a stream of warm, moist breath at the nape of her neck. "Like that?"

"Uh... uh-huhn." Jessie shivered and moved closer yet. She bent over and pressed her buttocks against his crotch. She shivered again when she felt his maleness against her.

Then she took a step forward and bent down, so that her hands were at her ankles. "When I pulled it up past my knees, he started in touching m'butt. He said it was t'help me get the dress up to my waist without getting stuck on any..." She stopped and looked up at Paul. "Go ahead. It's okay."

Paul reached down and gently ran a finger along her right buttock. When she nodded, he moved the other hand down and began to squeeze her cheeks, massaging them with his hands.

"Yeah... yeah." Jessie's breath caught. "That... that's good; r-real good."

She pretended to slide the dress past her waist, and on upwards. Imaginary straps went over her shoulders. "When I got the dress on, he put his hand here..." She took his right hand in hers and placed it on her breast.

"...And did something like this, I'd guess." Paul ran a fingernail along her breast. He moved slowly down until his finger was slipping under the top of her corset to play with her nipple. It was stiff, pushing its way out to meet him. He tweaked it once in greeting, then twisted it gently between two fingers. He waited a moment then brought his other hand around to do the same to her other breast.

Jessie moaned softly, almost like a purr, and rested her head on his left arm. "Mmmm, that's a lot better than what Enoch done."

"What'd Enoch do next?" Paul leaned in and whispered in her ear.

Jessie's hand reached up and stroked his cheek. "He kissed me... right on the neck 'bout where you breathed on me."

"And what did you do?" There was surprise - and not a little anger - in Paul's voice now.

Jessie spun around. "I yelled for Natty t'come in, and we made Enoch explain himself. Natty told me that it wasn't the first time Enoch had pulled something like that on a customer."

"Why didn't anybody report it?"

Jessie shrugged. "For one thing, Natty said they'd gimme that dress for half off by way of an apology,"

"From what you told me about that dress," Paul said with a wry smile, "it's already got half off... and I can't wait to see you in it." He thought for a moment. "You said 'one thing'; what was the other?"

"Enoch said it was 'cause a lot of the gals like what he was doing."

"But not you."

Jessie leered at him. "Oh, I liked it... some. I just liked it a lot more when it was you that was doing it."

"Well, that's certainly good to hear."

"Yes, Enoch was hoping that I'd do something like this when he kissed me." She put her hands on either side of his face and pulled him down to her. Their lips met. She glided her arms down around his neck.

Paul's hands moved around to grasp her firm buttocks. He pushed himself closer to her.

Jessie moaned and opened her mouth slightly. Paul's tongue slid into her mouth and played with hers. He felt her body pressing against him.

After a while, they reluctantly broke the kiss. "What... umm... what else would Enoch have wanted you to do to him?" Paul asked her.

Jessie's eyes gleamed. Her face was flushed, and she had an eager smile on her lips. "I... I think that me being... like this, and him... you... still have all your clothes on... you... he'd have wanted me to... t'undress him some." She reached up and began to unbutton his shirt.

Paul's hands went down to his belt. He was about to undo it, when Jessie's hand covered his. "No, you... you let me do it. Just... just like you wanted."

"All right, Jess." His hands dropped to his sides. "If that's what you... if that's what you tink I want."

She smiled dreamily, caught up in this game she was playing. "Ain't it? I can stop if you don't like it."

"A man'd be a fool not to like it. You go right on ahead."

She nodded and went back to his shirt. She had it off almost at once and tossed it onto the floor. Then she began to pull at the red union suit top he was wearing underneath. "And I'd be a fool not to want to run my fingers through that mat of hair you got on your chest."

Paul cooperated and his undershirt joined his shirt. He reached for her corset, but she slapped his hand away.

"You just wait. I ain't done with what I'm doing yet."

"Am I supposed to just stand here buck naked in this cold draft all day?" he asked in exasperation.

Jessie chuckled. "You ain't gonna stand - believe me on that. I got plans for you - especially one certain part." Her fingers stroked his member through the tightly stretched fabric of his jeans. "And it's standing up tall and proud right now."

"Can't imagine wh." Paul pulled her close and kissed her again.

She waited a moment, enjoying the kiss, then pushed him away. "If you keep distracting me like that, all we're gonna get t'do is kiss." Her hands fumbled with his belt for a moment before she opened it. She undid the buttons on his pants and yanked.

Paul's pants slid down, stopping just above his knees. He was about to bend down to get them the rest of the way off, when Jessie knelt down. "'Course, there's all kinds of kissing." She giggled and kissed his member through the material of his red union suit drawers. "Mmmm, more'n ready."

"Not if you keep doing that." Paul stepped back and began pistoning his legs up and down to get off his boots.

Jessie stood watching him. "Hup... two... three... four," she said with a laugh, matching the words to his movements.

Paul's left leg lifted out of his boot. The right leg did the same a few moments later. "That's better," he said, stepping out of his jeans. "Now..." His gaze ran up and down her body. "My turn now." "Your turn at what?"

"Undressing you." His fingers began working the small hooks at the front of her corset.

"Hey, wait a minute here."

"Shhh... I'm busy." He leaned over, and, as he opened each hook, he moved the corset aside and kissed the exposed flesh. Jessie shivered as the kisses moved down from her cleavage to the flat of her stomach. When her navel was exposed, Paul let his tongue swirl inside it. She moaned, and Paul could smell the musky, sweet scent of her arousal.

Paul undid the last hook and slid the open corset away from her. He tossed it onto the pile of clothes and began to work at the small, green bow that held her drawers in place.

"St... stand up," Jessie said in a husky voice. "I... I'll d-do yours, while... while you d-do mine."

Paul stopped long enough to stand up.

Jessie's fingers moved to the knot at his own waist, while he resumed working on hers. There was a good bit of fumbling as each managed to get in the other's way. It happened that they got both bows undone at the same time.

"One... two... three!" Paul said firmly. At three, both yanked. A moment later, their drawers were puddled at their feet.

Jessie smiled, then looked very serious. "B'fore we go any further..." Her voice trailed off, as her eyes drifted to a drawer in the cabinet next to the bed.

Paul turned and looked at the same drawer.

"You promised." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Every time."

Paul nodded. "Yes, I did, and... if a tailor got us in here today, I guess it's only fair that I wear a coat in his honor." He reached into the drawer and took out a small, pink object.

"I'll do the honors." Jessie took an English riding coat, one of the condoms she'd gotten from Wilma. She knelt down and slid it onto Paul. When it was on him, she used a thin, blue ribbon to tie it in place. "There... nice and tight."

Paul helped her to her feet. "So are you." He kissed her quickly on the lips.

"Then let's get to it!" Jessie jumped into Paul's arms. Her arms were tight around his neck. She kissed him deeply. Her legs rose, wrapping themselves around his waist.

Paul put one arm around her waist to give her extra support. He used the other to guide his member to the cleft between her legs. Jessie's eyes opened wide as she felt him slide into her.

He turned quickly, so that her back was pressed against the wall. Then he began to move, slowly, teasingly in and out of her. Jessie broke the kiss. She moaned and panted. Her head moved, almost wobbled, back and forth. "Yes... yes... oh, ye-YEEESSSSSS!"

Her ragged movements set him off. He growled deep in his throat, as he felt himself pumping into her.

Paul staggered backwards, and he fell backwards onto the bed. Jessie was atop him. He lay there as she regained control of her body.

"Now that was different." She said it in a breathy voice, a satisfied smile on her face. "Fun, too."

"It was that." He felt his erection soften as it slipped out of her. She slid off him and onto the bed next to him. He used a finger to move a lock of her hair that was drenched with sweat and clinging to her cheek. "Here's a little more on account." He leaned over and kissed her, as his arm moved around her.

* * * * *

Tuesday, December 19, 1871

Jessie used the small bronze cherub to knock on the door of La Parisienne. A slot opened in the door. "Mam'selle Jessie," a deep male voice said. "One moment please." The slot closed, with the door opening almost immediately.

"Bonjour." It was Herve Navetier, Lady Cerise's man. At six-two, he towered more than a foot over Jessie, as she walked past him into the reception room. "Your sister has a... visitor as the moment. He closed the door behind her. "May I, perhaps, be of some service?"

Jessie's eyes ran up and down the man. She noted his dark, curly hair, broad shoulders, and a shirt that was half-unbuttoned to show a mat of hair almost as thick as that on his head. She was devoted to Paul Grant, but that didn't mean that she couldn't look - or that she didn't now appreciate what she saw when she did look.

"Mmm, I just bet you could be of service, but I'm here to see Rosalyn - if she don't have a 'visitor' that is." Jessie shifted the package she carried under her arm. It was large, carefully wrapped in white paper, and tied with string.

"I believe that she is available - at the moment. She is in the parlor with Mae and some gentlemen. Shall I bring her to you?"

Jessie shook her head. "That's all right, Herve. I know the way." She walked past him towards the open door to the parlor.

Rosalyn and Mae were sitting on a couch, surrounded by four men, two in suits, the other two in work clothes. The two women wore only corsets, silken white drawers, and stockings. Rosalyn's corset was a deep red, Mae's was lavender. They were sharing a stereopticon, a kind of hand viewer that converted two-dimensional cardboard slides into an apparently three-dimensional image.

"The Lady just got these in from France," Mae said. She was a tall, voluptuous woman with long, auburn hair. She raised the viewer to her eyes and one of the men put in one of the new slides. "Oh, my," she said with a gasp. "I didn't think a man and woman could be so..." she giggled. "...flexible."

The man who'd just inserted the slide spoke. "Mae, darlin', I'd wager that you could be just as flexible - with the right partner." He put his hand on hers. "And if you'd care to go someplace more... private. I'd be more'n happy to find out."

"Sounds like a fine idea," Mae said, handing the stereopticon to Rosalyn. As she did, she noticed Jessie standing in the doorway. "Your sister's upstairs, Jessie."

The others turned to look at Jessie. She could read the appreciative stares from the men. She also saw Rosalyn take the hand of the man sitting next to her on the couch. "What say we go to examine our own flexibility, Francis?" She put the viewer down on a nearby table. "Jessie can keep your friends here company while she waits for Wilma."

"Actually," Jessie said, "I come t'see you, Rosalyn." She held up her package. "I brung your dress back."

"Why is it wrapped up like that?" Rosalyn asked suspiciously. She picked up a small, ivory-colored enamel bell and rang it twice. "If it's damaged..."

"It ain't damaged," Jessie answered. "Miz Diaz, the Mex who does the laundry for the Saloon, just brought it back wrapped up this way."

A very pretty black woman in a dark blue dress with a white apron came in through a side door. "Y'all rang for me?"

Rosalyn held up the bell. "I did, Daisy. Miss Hanks is returning the dress I loaned her. Please take it down to the washroom and put it on a hanger."

"Yes'm." Daisy took the dress from Jessie and left through the same door, closing it behind her.

"It was good of you to have the dress cleaned before returning it." Rosalyn was trying to be gracious.

Jessie shrugged. "Just doing what Wilma told me I should."

"Wilma." Rosalyn's eyes widened. "She told you to have it cleaned?"

Jessie nodded. "She did. She said that you set great store in them dresses. Since you was good enough t'let me borrow one, she said it was only right t'get it all cleaned and pressed before I brung it back."

* * * * *

Josiah "Whit" Whitney stood just outside his front door looking up the street towards the Church. "I don't know why I gotta keep watch," he muttered. "This ain't my Christmas custom."

"No, it is your wife's custom." Carmen had been close enough to hear. "Unless you want to come inside and help with putting the food out or with hanging the decorations."

Whit smiled. "Now that I think on it, I guess keeping watch is sort of up my line."

"Just so you remember that it is a group of children you are keeping watch for, not that white whale your Uncle Herman keeps ranting about."

"Aw, Carmen, it's been almost a year since he came through, and he is - wait a minute." He took another look. "I see them. They're just coming to the Diaz place. You better be ready, Love."

"I am." Carmen came to the door. She wore a long, blue dress trimmed in green and yellow. She carried Felippe, now almost a year old, in her arms. Their older boy, Jose, stood next to her, pulling at the tie his mother had made him wear.

Laura and Arsinio stepped up behind them. "You were explaining what this is all about," Laura reminded Carmen. "You better hurry if you're gonna finish before that crowd gets here."

"That crowd is Joseph and Mary and angels and shepherds all on the way to Bethlehem for the baby Jesus to be born." Carmen explained; she pronounced the name "hay-soos".

"Only they can't find a place to stay," Whit added. "They stop at a house - there they are at the Diaz place - and sing a song asking if they can come in. They all sing Joseph's part."

"Sá­, but the people in the house," Carmen continued, "they all sing the part of the person whose house it is, and he says no. Then they come to our house. They sing who they are and ask to come in." She paused for effect. "And we invite them in."

Whit finished for her. "And that is when the party begins."

"I'm glad that you invited us," Laura said. "It's surely a different way to celebrate Christmas than what we're used to."

Carmen looked at Laura, her eyes trailing down to the bulge just becoming visible below her stomach. "Maybe in a few years it will be your little one in that crowd."

"I don't know," Laura said. "It's not my custom either, but it sounds like a good one. Who knows?"

Ramon walked in from the kitchen. "There is always hope." He looked out the open door. "They're starting to move again. I can see a few people coming out of the Diaz' house and joining the crowd."

As they watched from the doorway, the crowd came down the street, gathering a few feet from their door. The children in the crowd carried lit candles. Gracia Lopez was costumed in a white dress as the angel. Enrique Diaz was Joseph, leading a burro with a clay figure representing Mary perched on its back.

When they reached Whit and Carmen's house, about a third of the crowd, mostly adults, split off to stand by the door. Father deCastro stepped forward and led the group still in the street in song.

"In the name of Heaven, I beg you for lodging.
She cannot walk, my beloved wife."

Ramon led the response in his fine tenor voice. The others in the house and those standing near the door joined in.

"This is not an inn, so keep going.
I cannot open; you may be a rogue."

The crowd answered.

"We are worn out coming from Nazareth.
I am a carpenter, Joseph by name."

The back and forth continued for several more verses, until Ramon and the others finally sang.

"Are you Joseph? Your wife is Mary?
Enter pilgrims; I did not recognize you."

Whit and Arsenio opened the doors wide as the crowd filed in, singing.

"May G-d repay, gentle folk, your charity.
And thus Heaven heap happiness upon you."

They continued through the double doors and out into the garden. Carmen had set up tables with food and drink. At the far end of the garden, a piá±ata swung from a long, angled pole.

A woman paused for a moment as she walked in. "Hola, Ramon." She smiled and continued into the house. Ramon couldn't help following her with his eyes. She was a tall, willowy woman about his age. She wore a gray skirt and a navy blouse that showed off her figure nicely. "It has been such a long time."

"Who is that?" Ramon asked Whit. He pointed to the woman who was now passing through the double doors into the garden.

Whit shrugged. "I don't know her." He chuckled, "but then I don't know half the people here. Maybe Carmen does."

The whole crowd was now inside. Whit and Ramon closed the front doors. Whit went towards the kitchen to see what Carmen needed him to do next. Ramon decided to head out into the garden.

The woman was standing near the door. "We meet again.' She held a glass of ponche, sweetened fruit punch, in each hand. "I thought that you might be thirsty." She offered him a glass.

"Thank you." He took the glass and sipped. Yes, this was the ponche with the piquete, the "sting" of a bit of rum.

The woman smiled mysteriously. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"I... ah, you are..." He gave up with a wry smile. "No, I am sorry, but I do not." He nervously took another sip of the ponche.

The woman nodded. "You always did love ponche. I remember at my quincea ±os, when we managed to get some with piquete." She chuckled at Ramon's confusion. "We sat on the back steps and drank it down quickly, before we got --"

"Dolores?" Ramon's eyes went wide with recognition. "Is it you?" The woman smiled at her name. "When did you get back... where are you staying... are you staying long?"

The woman laughed softly at his garbled questions. "Yes... yes, it is me, Dolores Ybaá±ez. I am staying with my cousin, Teresa Diaz, and her family. As to how long I am staying. I have not decided yet." She looked him in the eye. "Do you have any suggestions?"

* * * * *

Wednesday, December 20, 1871

Dan Talbot was making his afternoon rounds, when Tommy Carson caught up with him. "Telegram, Sheriff."

"Thanks, Tommy." Dan took the telegram and handed the boy a nickel. He started to open the envelope, when he noticed... "What're you still hanging around here for?"

Tommy shrugged. "Curious, I guess. Last time you got a telegram, the Hanks gang came t'town. I wanna know who's coming this time."

"If it's anybody you need to know about, I'll be sure to tell you. Now git!" Dan walked towards the telegraph office, a couple of blocks away. He waited until the boy was about a half block off before he finally opened the telegram and began to read.

* * * * *

The Eerie Saloon was mostly empty when Talbot walked in. It was mid-afternoon on a working day, and only the most dedicated barflies were present. He walked over to the table where Laura was sitting. "Afternoon, Laura. How are you doing these days?"

"A little tired," Laura answered, looking up at him. "You must remember how it is from when Amy was pregnant."

He nodded. "I remember."

"Can I get you something?" She started to stand.

He shook his head. "No, please. In fact, is there anything I can get you while we're waiting?"

"Waiting?"

"Yes. I... I got a telegram that... Let's wait till Arsenio gets here. This concerns him, too. I sent word for him to meet us here."

"Now you've got me curious... and a little scared. What is it?"

"Let me get you something from the bar. I'll tell you when... There he is." Dan waved his arm. "Arsenio! Over here."

The smith smiled and walked over. "Hi, Laura." He kissed her on the cheek and sat down next to her. "What's the problem, Dan?"

The Sheriff took an envelope from his pocket and sat down. "I got this today." He handed Arsenio the telegram.

Arsenio opened it. He and Laura read the message, while Dan went to the bar for their drinks.

"December 20, 1871 - Uniontown, Indiana

To: Dan Talbot, Sheriff; Eerie, Arizona Territory.

Thanks for information on brother-in-law, Leroy Meehan's, death. Wife and I arrive Eerie six weeks to take body home for final burial. Please make any necessary arrangements. Will reimburse reasonable expenses. Theo Taft."

"Shit," Laura said when she'd finished. "Now what do we do?"

"What do you mean 'we', ma'am?" Arsenio asked calmly. He smiled till he saw the look on her face. "Just kidding... honest." He squeezed her hand. "Whatever happens, Laura, we're in this together."

Just then, Dan came back from the bar. He'd brought a beer for Arsenio and lemonade for Laura. "I'd say your first step might be to talk to the Judge or Milt Quinlan."

"Good idea," Laura said. She looked around. "But Milt and Jane rode up to Jane's claim this morning. They won't be back till tonight. I haven't seen the Judge around for a while, either."

"The Judge is in Prescott," Dan told her. "He'll be back tonight, but he's got that meeting at his church. I wouldn't expect him around here till some time tomorrow."

"And that's when we'll talk to him," Arsenio said.

* * * * *

"Anybody got any corrections to the minutes?" Horace Styron asked. The schoolhouse was once again serving as the church meeting room. Horace and the other members of the Board of Elders, including Trisha, were sitting at a long table where Nancy Osbourne normally sat.

They waited a few moments to see if anyone had anything to add or change. When no one did, Rupe Warrick raised his hand. "Move t'approve 'em as read."

"Second," Dwight Albertson said quickly.

Horace looked out into the crowd seared before him. "All in favor." The room was a sea of raised hands. "Opposed." Three or four hands were raised.

"Motion passes, and thanks again to our Secretary, Jubal Cates." Jubal, a muscular man with a short beard, nodded and sat down.

"Now before we..." Horace stopped as Milt Quinlan rose to his feet. "Yeah, Milt?"

Milt looked quickly at Horace. "Move to, ahh... to suspend the normal order of business and go directly to the question of Trisha O'Hanlan."

"What the hell does that mean?" somebody yelled.

Horace sighed. "Explain it to them again, Milt."

Milt was sitting near the front. He turned to face the people behind him. "Normally, there's some other things we'd get to before we vote on Trisha, committee reports and such. The problem is that some of those things might need a board vote. I just moved that we skip ahead of all that and go straight to the vote to see if she stays on the Board."

"Sounds fair and proper to me," Judge Humphreys said. "Second."

"All in favor?" Horace asked. Every hand in the room seemed to be raised. When he asked for "nays", not a single hand was raised.

"I abstain," another voice yelled from the back of the room. "Just to be a son of a bitch." That brought a short burst of laughter.

Horace laughed along with the rest. "All right, then. We've a whole bunch of 'ayes', no 'nays', and one 'son of a bitch'." There was a second burst of laughter.

"Motion passes," Horace said when the laughter stopped. "We're talking about Trisha not being on the board anymore. Who wants to go first?"

Trisha, sitting at the end of the table, raised a hand but didn't wait to be recognized. "Excuse me, Horace, but --"

"Now, Trisha," Horace interrupted. He spoke in a gentle voice, as if to a child. "You gave a speech on Sunday. You can't just jump up and talk again. You should know that."

"I know it," Trisha answered, ignoring the insulting tone. "And I know that you gave a speech on Sunday, too. From what you just said, it sounds like you're trying to give another one."

"I am running the meeting, you know - or you should know."

Rupe took the hint. "Maybe you shouldn't be running it, Horace, seeing as you're one of the ones made the motion to kick Trisha off the Board." He turned to Milt. "Ain't that right?"

"Well," Milt replied, getting to his feet. "When the one presiding at a meeting makes a motion, the usual way of it is for him to let somebody else take over while the meeting considers that motion."

"Thanks, Rupe," the Judge said. "I was about to point that out myself. You'll have to give Rupe the gavel, Horace."

"Only seems fair," Dwight Albertson added.

Horace frowned. He hadn't counted on this. "All right, all right." He handed the gavel to Rupe. "You want to take my chair, too?" he asked sourly.

"Nah, this one's fine," Rupe told him. "Like Horace said, who's first?"

Several hands shot up. "Hmm, ladies first," Rupe said. "The chair recognizes Cecelia Ritter."

"Thank you, Rupert." Cecelia stood and took a breath. "Speaking as the chairwoman of the Ladies' Social Committee -"

"No, you aren't." Phillipia Stone jumped up. "The Committee never talked about Trisha - except how much help she was at the chicken fry. We have no official position. In fact..." she waved a "Keep O'Hanlan" ribbon. "...a lot of us think she should stay on the Board."

"But... but... I'm the chairwoman," Cecelia sputtered.

Amy Talbot rose to her feet. "If you think that being chairwoman gives you the right to set policy without consulting the rest of us, Cecelia Ritter, you won't be chairwoman for very much longer."

"Well, I..." Cecelia glared at Trisha, her face beet red from anger. "Do you... do you see what you've done, Miss O'Hanlan. You... you're an evil, evil woman, a corrupting influence, and you have no business being on the Board." She sat down quickly.

Amy looked around the room. "I... I seem to have the floor, Rupert. May I continue?"

"I don't think I could stop you, Amy," Rupe said, "and I'm not sure that I want to try." He waited a moment. "Go ahead."

Amy smiled at him. "Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, there may be a reason for removing Trisha O'Hanlan from the Board, but I don't know what it is. She's the same hard worker for the church that we elected last fall. We all saw that on Sunday, the way she pitched in to help clean up. A lot of people, if you ask them to work, they'll say they can't, that they haven't got the time. Trisha's somebody who wants to work for the church so hard that she's fighting to keep from being turned away. That's the sort of dedication that we need on the Board, and I say that we should keep her there."

"Sure, she worked on Sunday," Clyde Ritter said, once he'd been recognized. "She cleaned up the place, just like any other woman. If she's so all-fired eager to help, my Cecelia'll be glad to find something for her on the Social Committee. Let her be a 'helpmate' like it says in the Good Book, but leave the man's work - like the Board - to men."

Liam raised his hand. "Anybody says Trisha can't do a man's job is welcome to come over and watch her at our store. Sure, she ain't as strong as she used to be, but what does that prove? Rupe and Jubal are probably a lot stronger than Dwight Albertson and the Judge. I don't remember anything about having to lift weights to be on the Board. It's strong minds the Board needs, not strong backs, and Trisha's mind is as strong as it ever was."

Joel Keenan was next. "Stand up please, Trisha." When she did, he asked her to turn around slowly, then sit down. "Ain't she pretty, folks? Sweet young gal like that is just the sort you want to go sparking with, or take to a dance. Maybe you'd even want t'take her home t'meet your parents, maybe settle down, and have a couple a kids.

"All well and good," Joel continued. "But we don't elect the Board of Elders t'look pretty and sweet and young and marriageable. We elects them to advise us, t'give us their wisdom, and t'represent our church to the rest of the town. Trisha don't look like she could advise us on much except what dress to wear, and the only place I can think of for her t'represent us is at a church social. Let's say thanks and goodbye to Patrick O'Hanlan and find us somebody that can do his job proper."

Several more people spoke, mostly just repeating what had already been said. Finally, Rupe looked out at the crowd. "Anybody got anything new t'say either way?" The hands that were up went down. Rupe waited, but no one else raised a hand.

"Fine," he continued. "Let's do this serpentine. Everybody in favor of the motion that Trisha O'Hanlan be removed from the Board, stand up." A good many stood, including Horace and Willie Gotefreund at the table.

Clyde Ritter was standing in the first row. "Okay, Clyde," Rupe said. "We'll start with you. Say '1' and sit down. Cecelia, you say '2' and sit. We go on like that from person to person till we get a final count. Does everybody understand?"

"This is hardly the first time we've done this," Cecelia said angrily.

"Just making sure," Rupe answered. "Okay, Clyde, start."

The final count was 27 ayes. Horace was smiling up until the nay vote went higher, with a number of people still standing.

"The final vote," Rupe repeated for the record, "is 27 ayes, 41 nays, and the same damn son of a bitch as before abstaining. Trisha, it looks like you keep your seat on the Board."

"And it's a damn sight prettier seat than anybody else on the Board has," the self-proclaimed son of a bitch called out.

* * * * *

Thursday, December 21, 1871

"On the twelfth day of Christmas," Nancy Osbourne and Inez Ortega sang, "my true love gave to me... twelve drummers drumming." Inez was the youngest child in the school, having turned six only two days before the term started that September.

Nancy pointed to Zenobia McLeod. "Eleven pipers piping," the fourth grader sang out. Zenobia pointed to her big brother, Bert.

"Aw, Nobbie," Bert whined. "Ten lords a-lea-PING..." His voice cracked at the last note. It had been cracking much too often for his taste the last few weeks. Bert pointed to Hector Stone.

Hector Stone didn't realize that he'd been picked until Constanza Diaz nudged him with her elbow and whispered, "Nine... ladies... dancing."

"Nine daisies lamping," Hector said, pointing quickly to Ruth Yingling.

Ruth giggled at Hector's mistake before she sang her line correctly. The game continued until the entire class joined second grader Luis Gonzales in singing, "and a partridge in a pear tree."

"Very good," Nancy said smiling at their efforts. "Shall we sing another carol, or is it time for the food you all brought for the party?"

It was an easy choice for the hungry children. "Food!"

"I agree," Nancy said. "It all looks and smells delicious." She clapped her hands. "Now form a line by grade... youngest first."

The food was spread out on two long tables against the west wall of the room. Bread, sliced meat, and some devilled eggs were on the first table. Punchbowls filled with iced herb tea and lemonade and several trays of cookies and cakes were on the second. A stack of wooden plates and a stack of cups were together in one corner of each table. The children lined up as Nancy directed. She waited a moment until everyone was in line. "Fine, Inez," she said to the young girl who had sung with her, "you may start."

* * * * *

Ysabel Diaz watched Emma walking to the back of the line. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Why are you limping like that?"

"My feet're all swoll up," Emma told her. "I barely got my shoes this morning."

"Maybe you are just growing."

Emma shrugged. "I don't know. I feel tired, and my..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "...my blouse feels kinda tight, too."

"I think I know what it is, but I can't be sure."

"What do you think it is?"

"I'm not sure. Don't tell anybody - except Miss Osbourne and then only if you have to. Your momma can explain it all to you tonight."

"Why are you being so mysterious, Ysabel?"

"Because... oh, it's just hard to explain. Ask your momma tonight."

Emma agreed, not seeing any real alternative.

* * * * *

"I say, Trisha, might I have a word with you?" Trisha looked up from her reading to see Reverend Yingling facing her across the counter.

"I... I'm sorry, Reverend. What can I do for you?"

Yingling looked at her closely. "Are you all right, Trisha? You were staring at that magazine as if you were entranced."

"I..." She glanced down. She'd been reading that same page in the McCormick's farm equipment catalog for... she didn't know for how long. "I'm all right... just... out of sorts... can't seem to keep my mind on anything today. I-I don't know why."

"I can come back if you would prefer..."

She shook her head. "No... no, you took the trouble to come here. The least I can do is talk to you about whatever you came for."

"If you're sure." He gave her a moment to respond. Then he pulled up a stool and sat down. "The first thing I wanted to do is to congratulate you on keeping your place on the Board. I'm glad that you won."

Trisha raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Thanks, but it would have been an easier win if you'd come out for me."

"I've told you - and others - that I didn't want to take a stand. I don't believe it's useful to take a stand in a Board disagreement. After all, I still have to work with whichever side wins." He paused. "I especially don't want to take sides in a purely political issue like this one."

"Political my Aunt Hortense."

"Yes, political. For all his high talk, I believe that Horace Styron's primary motive was to get you, his political rival, removed from the Board."

"If you couldn't get involved, what was all that talk about me wearing dresses?"

"I truly considered that a moral issue."

"What? How can what I wear be a moral issue?"

Yingling frowned. "Deuteronomy 22:5 The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth into a man, neither shall a man put on a woman's garments: for all that do so are abomination unto the Lord thy G-d."

"Do you have the whole Bible memorized, Reverend? Seems to me that there verse came to mind awful fast."

"In this town - with O'Toole's potion - it is a verse worth remembering."

"Oh, is it? Well, you might want to think about this: I say I'm really a man, so the abomination would be to wear women's clothes."

"And yet, you wore - you still wear... woman's garments."

"Part of that is your doing. You threatened me - hardly the actions of a man of peace, to my thinking - if I didn't wear a dress. Besides, my... my old clothes don't fit very well, and Kaitlin won't cut them to fit." She took a breath. "What d you say to that, Reverend Yingling?"

The man held up his hands. "I say that I did not come here to fight you, Trisha. I seem to have upset you, and I'd like to apologize and change the subject."

"Afraid you're losing? - oh, he... heck, I'm sorry. I just seem to be on edge today. Apology accepted. What else did you want to talk about?"

Yingling looked around. Except for the two of them, the store was empty. Liam had headed for the storeroom when Yingling came in, so Trisha and the reverend could talk in private. "If you don't mind my asking, I was wondering how you and Kaitlin are getting along these days?"

"What do you mean?" Trisha eyed him with suspicion.

The Reverend's face colored slightly. "I was wondering about... well, ahhh... you... you are hardly the man Kaitlin married."

"We're... I-I don't know." Trisha fell her anger rise, even as she felt her eyes starting to burn. "Damn it to hell, I don't know." She sniffled. "What'd you have to go and bring that up for?"

"I-I just thought that you - you and Kaitlin both - might need help. If you did, I... I just wanted to you to know that I was offering."

"So when there's something in it for you, you will help."

"In it for me? What could possibly be in it for me?"

Trisha by now felt tears tickling the corner of her eyes. "Go... just go, dang it. When I figure out what's got me running off like a damned rabid coon hound, I-I'll talk to you then, okay?"

"I'll go." He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and put it on the counter. "Here, maybe this will be of some help for the time being." He made a motion as if tipping a hat and started for the door. "Please keep my offer in mind."

* * * * *

Nancy Osbourne reached for her cup of lemonade. 'Empty,' she thought. 'And those devilled eggs the Ortega children brought are spicier than I expected.'

She stood and walked towards the two long tables where the refreshments were set up. The walls she passed were covered with pictures of Christmas being celebrated in different countries. It was an old teachers' trick. There was a map of each country and a picture of its flag next to each picture, making each set a small geography lesson.

The decorations were more than pictures on the walls and the tables. Nancy had made wreaths in the English style. One hung on the front door of the school, the other was on the front of her desk. The Ybaá±ez children had brought in four poinsettias, la flores de nochebuena, flowers of the Holy Night, the Mexican children called them, in clay pots. Two pots sat on each window ledge on the sunny side of the room.

Next to the picture of a Greek Christmas hung a small metal triangle and a clay drum. The Stone children had brought these in, gifts from their Greek grandmother to their mother when she was a girl. Ruth Yingling's wooden shoe, filled with hay and sugar cubes, was next to the Dutch Christmas, and there was a tray of bannock cakes that Mrs. McLeod had sent in.

There was a small pine tree at the center of the table with the drinks and deserts. It was covered with paper rings and had a few small candles on some of its branches. The Christmas tree had become popular in Britain and America since Queen Victoria's German husband had introduced the custom a generation earlier.

Nancy stopped to admire the nacimiento, the Mexican nativity scene, at the center of the table with the meat and bread. "It is pretty, isn't it, Miss Osbourne?" Tomas Rivera asked her.

"Yes, it is," Nancy said truthfully. "It just looks more like a cave than a stable, though."

"It is a cave. My pappa says that the innkeeper used a cave for his animals, and that is where he put Joseph and Mary."

Nancy pointed to a dark clay figure hiding behind a tiny tree outside the cave. "Is that one of the kings? It doesn't look like a shepherd."

"Oh, no," Tomas said, trying not to laugh. "That is the Evil One, Satan. He watches, but he cannot get close to what is going on inside the cave."

"Satan at Christmas, that's certainly different."

"Sá­, but it is just as true as the rest of the tale."

* * * * *

"And I know," said Bob, "I know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was; although he was a little, little child; we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it."

"No, never, father!" they all cried again.

Nancy Obourne read on from the night of the Ghost of Christmas Future in Dickens' story.

Emma felt her eyes filling with tears. She lowered her head and hoped no one noticed. 'It's just a dang story,' she told herself, 'and one I've heard before. Why am I so ready to bawl like some little baby? What the Sam Hill is happening to me?'

* * * * *

"Let's go get some cookies before the spelling bee starts," Ysabel suggested. Emma nodded and followed her friend. Her feet still hurt, though, and she fell behind.

Most of their classmates were finishing up a second helping of dessert. A few had gone out to use the necessary, not wanting to leave while Miss Osbourne read the story.

Suddenly Yully Stone was standing in front of her. "Ah... umm, hi. You... ahh, having a good time."

"I guess." Emma was confused. Why was he so nervous just talking about this, the school Christmas party?

Yully shifted nervously and looked around. "It's kind fun learning how they celebrate all around the world."

"Ah, yeah. I liked what you said about Christmas in Greece."

"My gramma's from there. She told me - told all us kids - all about it." He looked around again. "I kind of like the way they celebrate in England, though."

"You mean the tree and the wreaths?"

"No," he pointed upwards. "I mean that."

Emma looked up. Miss Osboune had managed to get a friend back east to send her a few sprigs of mistletoe. One was hanging from the rafter a few feet above Emma.

Before Emma could react, Yully put his arms on her shoulders as if to steady her. Then he leaned in and kissed her lips.

Emma jerked her head back in surprise. Then she stopped. She felt a rush of warmth through her body. There was a sort of a vague tingling in her chest and down... down there between her legs. She froze, uncertain what to do.

"Why the Sam Hill did he do that?" she demanded. Emma's mind was whirling. 'Change the subject and quick before he tries it again.' Aloud, she asked, "You... ah, think anybody saw us?"

Yully made a face. "Fraid so." He pointed off to the side. Eulalie Mackecknie was staring at them, her eyes wide with surprise.

* * * * *

The boys versus girls spelling bee was the traditional end of the Christmas party. The winning side got the reward of a smaller set of assignments over the holiday break.

They were down to five girls and three boys. "Hermione," Nancy said, "your word is treachery. It means --"

"I know what it means," Hermione interrupted. "Treachery. T... R... E-as in Emma... A... C... H... E... R... Y. Treachery."

"Correct," Nancy said. "Though I do not approve of insults. Another example of such behavior, and you will have lines to write over the vacation." She turned to the boys. "Bertram McLeod, your word is 'librarian'. One who works as an assistant to the patrons of a library."

The contest continued. Bert misspelled his word and was out. Penelope Stone and Jorge Ybaá±es both spelled their words correctly.

Now it was Emma's turn. Nancy gave her the word, "maturity".

"Maturity," Emma said. She knew the word, but, all of a sudden, she felt tired, flustered. "M... A... ummm, C-H... U... R... I... T... Y. Maturity."

Nancy shook her head. "I'm sorry, Emma, but it's m-a-t-u-r-i-t-y. Please stand down."

"Such an easy word," Hermione whispered as Emma walked past her on the way back to her seat. "But I guess that you have to have it to be able to spell it." She spoke just loud enough for Emma to hear.

* * * * *

The Judge came in about for a drink about 2:30. Laura hurried home to get Arsenio, while Shamus made small talk to make certain that he didn't leave.

"All right," the Judge said when he saw the pair come in the door and over to his table. "What's so all-fired serious?"

Arsenio handed him the telegram. "This. I think we got a problem, Your Honor."

"Let's find out." The Judge motioned for Arsenio and Laura to sit down while he read. His face grew more and more grave. When he finished, he closed his eyes in thought.

"Well?" Laura blurted out.

The Judge nodded. "It's a problem, all right, and not just for you, Laura."

"For the two of us," Arsenio corrected him, taking Laura's hand in his. "This is our problem."

"It's also mine and Hiram's; Shamus', too, and Dan's and... let's just say there's more than enough of us to share the thing."

Laura was confused. "What do you mean? I'm the one who's supposed to be dead."

"And Hiram Upshaw is the doctor who supposedly pronounced you dead. Shamus and Dan gave you the potion, and I gave you a new identity. Oh, and don't forget Nick Varrick, he reported it all." He sighed and looked at Laura. "But that's all really moot unless your sister and brother-in-law make an issue of it." He waited a moment. "Will they?"

"I... I don't know. Elizabeth never was good at being surprised --"

Arsenio chuckled in spite of himself. "And finding out that her dead outlaw brother is now her live and pregnant sister will surely be a surprise. What about her husband - what'd you say his name was?"

"Theo... Theo Taft. He's a bookkeeper."

Shamus had joined them while the Judge was reading the telegram. He groaned. "And one o'them 'every i dotted; every t crossed' sort of laddies, I'll wager."

"I... I'm afraid so." She bit her upper lip and looked nervously about, ready to bolt.

Arsenio raised her hand to his lips, and gently kissed it. "I guess we've got two choices," he said without letting go of her hand. "Either we tell them the truth, or we come up with one bodacious lie." He laughed. "I don't suppose we could find a body to pass off as Leroy's."

"That would solve everything," the Judge said. "We do that, and we'll all be in the penitentiary by the time Laura's sister gets here."

"Sounds like a 'bodacious lie' ain't an option," Shamus said.

"No," Arsenio said. "It still is. I just hope that we have enough time to think of one."

* * * * *

Kaitlin spooned lima beans onto a plate next to the stew and handed it to Emma. "And how was school today?"

"Uh, okay," Emma answered with a shrug. She took a forkful of stew.

Trisha looked up from her own meal. "Wasn't today your school's Christmas party? How did that go?"

"Okay." Emma had spoken quietly, almost without emotion.

Kaitlin tried another tack. "Did the other children like those cookies I baked?"

"Mmhmm." Emma nodded once and took another forkful of stew.

"Blast it," Trisha snapped. "Answer your mother when she's talking to you."

"The cookies were fine!" Emma snapped back. "The party was fine! I'm fine!" She threw down her napkin and stood up. "May I be excused? Without waiting for permission, she turned and ran from the table and up the stairs. Seconds later, Trisha and Kaitlin heard her door slam shut.

"What the hell was that all about?" Trisha asked, sounding annoyed.

"What did you have get so sharp with her like that for?" Kaitlin replied. "Couldn't you see that something was bothering her?"

"That's no... oh, hell, I'm sorry, Kaitlin," Trisha said with a sigh. "I've been spouting off at the least little thing all day." She sighed again. "I guess it's from my shoes getting tight on me all of a sudden." She took a breath. "And my... my corset, too... up top, I, uhh, mean."

Kaitlin seemed lost in thought for a short time. "I wonder... I'll wager that Emma's feeling just the same way."

"Do you want me to go talk to her?"

"No, she'll still be mad at you." She stood up. "You take your shoes off and rest your feet. I'll see her."

* * * * *

As Kaitlin neared Emma's room, she thought that she heard sobbing. She stopped at the door and knocked.

"Go 'way!" came a voice from inside.

Kaitlin knocked again. "Please," she whispered. "I'm not going to yell."

"P-promise?"

"Cross my heart."

"Oh... oh, come in then."

Kaitlin walked in. Emma was sitting on her bed, crying. "Is it that bad?" Kaitlin asked.

"I-I'm sorry, Ma. I don't know what's happening to me today. It scares me."

Kaitlin nodded and sat down next to Emma on the bed. "It scared me the first time it happened."

"What? This... this happened to you, Ma?"

Her mother smiled. "Let me run down the list: you're on pins and needles, ready to yell or cry at the drop of a hat." She ticked off each item on a finger, as she said it. "Your... breasts feel, well, tender; they may have swollen up a little, too. Your hands or feet may have swollen some as well. You feel tired, distracted." She paused a beat. "Did I get it right?"

"Right down the line. What... what is it, Ma? What's happening to me?"

Kaitlin stood up. "The same thing that's happening to Trisha, I expect; that's why she yelled at you. Let's go downstairs, so I can explain it to you both at the same time." When she saw Emma hesitate, she added, "I don't think she's going to yell - except maybe at me."

"O-Okay." Emma sniffled and stood up. She slowly followed her mother back down the stairs.

* * * * *

Trisha was still sitting at the table. She had both shoes off and was rubbing her left foot. "'Bout time. You ready to --"

"Shush," Kaitlin said firmly. "The both of you just sit there and listen."

Emma sat down. She and Trisha were looking uncomfortably at each other.

"This better be good," Trisha warned.

"Oh, it's good," Kaitlin answered, "but I don't think that you - either of you - are going to like it." She took a breath and began. "Trisha, we've been married twelve years, right?"

"Twelve years, yeah, what does that have to do --"

"Twelve years, so you know that sometimes - about once... once a month or so - I get... out of sorts."

"Yeah, moody, kind of --" Trisha's eyes opened wide. "Shit! Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I'm afraid I am." Kaitlin put her hand on Trisha's. "You're showing all the signs, from the quick temper to the sore feet."

"What!" Emma interrupted. "What are you talking about? What ain't you telling me?"

Kaitlin looked at Trisha. "The... 'father and son' talk is your job... was your job, Trisha. Did you do it yet?"

"No, and I won't to do it now." Trisha fixed her jaw stubbornly. "Besides, I think that what Emma and me need to hear about is more in your line."

"All right," Kaitlin said. "Emma, do you know where babies come from?"

Emma nodded, not sure of the connection. "Uh-hunh. They grow in a momma's belly, then they come out her belly button when they're ready." She swallowed hard. "I... I ain't gonna have a baby, am I." She looked ready to panic.

"No, no, dear." Kaitlin put her other hand on her daughter's and smiled. She'd have to have that talk with Emma - and soon. "What's happening to you right now... and what's going to happen shows that you aren't having a baby."

"You know what... what went away... down there between your legs," Trisha asked, "when you changed, I mean, and what you've got down there now." She paused while Emma nodded nervously, then she continued. "Down there... that's where the baby comes out when it's born."

"How... how does the baby get inside the momma t'begin with?" Emma asked in a small voice.

"That is a story for another time," Kaitlin said. "What you need to know tonight is that, if she isn't gonna have a baby, a woman has... we call them our monthlies."

"Is that what's happening? My feet swelling up and all is my monthlies?"

Kaitlin shook her head. "No, your feet hurting and you getting mad like that is because your body is getting ready for your monthlies, same for Trisha."

"What's gonna happen - and it'll happen to us in a day or so - is a whole lot worse." Trisha made a sour face.

"Worse?" The panic was still in Emma's voice. "What could be worse than what happened... what's happening to us right now?"

Kaitlin tried to reassure them both. "I won't say that it's worse. It's... well, unpleasant... a bit messy, too. To be honest, I hadn't realized it was going to happen to you. Let me get some things, I'll... you'll need, and I'll explain it all to you both tomorrow night. Is that all right?"

"Uh humh." Trisha was looking at Emma, rather oddly. "What do you mean 'what happened', Emma? Did something happen to you? Something in school today?"

"No! Nothing happened... nothing happened." Emma looked down at the table, not wanting to meet the eyes of her parents.

"Would you like to try that again?" Trisha asked impatiently.

"I told you --"

"Yes, now tell me the truth." The pair were glaring at each other again.

"Nothing happened. Nothing... happened."

Kaitlin gently put her hand on Emma's arm. "It's all right. You don't have to tell us."

"Don't you baby her," Trisha said angrily. "Tell us what happened."

"I... I got... kissed." Emma's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, and almost without any emotion. "Yully Stone... kissed me."

Trisha exploded. "That bastard! That... that nancyboy! Who the hell does he... I'll... I'll kill him."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Kaitlin said firmly. "Emma, what happened... exactly?"

Emma looked up at her mother. "Miss Osburne hung up some of that - what do they call it - mistletoe that somebody sent her from Pennsylvania. She told us about it, how folks'll kiss --"

"I know the custom," Kaitlin interrupted. "What about it?"

"Miss Osbourne was getting ready t'start the spelling bee. Me'n some of the other kids went over to the food table t'get some cookies and such t'eat between turns. Yully Stone come over. We talked about the decorations some. Then he... he put his hands on my shoulder, to steady me, I guess. I didn't know wh-what he was doing, so I let'em stay there. And... and he... he leans in and k-kisses me, kisses me right on... on my mouth."

Kaitlin had an odd smile on her face until she saw how scared Emma still was. The smile vanished.

"You slugged him then," Trisha said eagerly. "Let him have it in the chops for doing something like that to you, right?"

"No, I..." Emma saw Trisha's angry expression. "Yes, 'm. I slugged him."

Kaitlin raised an eyebrow. "You hit him? Is that what really happened?"

"Of course, it's what happened," Trisha said proudly. "What else could happen?"

Mother and daughter's eyes met. "Emma... what else could happen?"

"It... I felt kinda... I-I was so mixed up; I d-didn't know what... what I was doing."

"Emma," Trisha asked, desperate not to hear what she somehow knew was about to be said, "what else could happen?"

"I think she's going to say that she didn't feel like hitting him." Kaitlin said it almost matter-of-factly. Emma nodded up and down quickly a few times then looked back at the tabletop.

Trish shook her head. "No! My son did not let another boy kiss him."

"Your son wouldn't," Kaitlin said, standing her ground. "But your daughter seems to have done just that." She took a short breath. "It wasn't really her fault, though."

"Not my fault, Ma?"

Kaitlin nodded. "For one thing, he took you by surprise. For another, a woman's monthlies - and you are a woman now, Emma - her monthlies can make a woman more... more... umm, receptive, you might say... more interested in a man's attentions to her."

"Makes her horny," Trisha muttered under her breath.

"What's that mean, Trisha?" Emma asked.

Kaitlin shot Trisha an angry look. "Never you mind what it means, young lady. The important thing is that what happened wasn't your fault. You have no need to feel guilty because no one blames you for how you acted."

"Yes they do," Emma said. "Hermione Ritter blames me. Eulalie Mckecknie saw us, and she told Hermione. Hermione got nasty about it twice during the spelling bee."

"No doubt," Kaitlin said, trying not to smile. "Cecelia Ritter's been boasting for weeks about how her daughter had the Stone boy all locked up. Looks like she was wrong."

Trisha did smile. "I'm none too happy about any of this, but somehow, the Ritters getting the short end of the stick on something makes it feel a little bit better."

* * * * *

Friday, December 22, 1871

Trisha sat back in her office chair. What was it Kaitlin had said? "More receptive to a man's attentions." It had certainly happened to Emma. She'd actually kissed that boy. 'And if it happened to her,' Trisha thought, 'will it happen to me?' She closed her eyes and lowered her head, as if trying to escape even thinking such a thing.

"Trisha... Trisha, are you awake." Liam stepped up behind his sister and put his hand lightly on her shoulder.

Trisha's head lifted, but she didn't turn to face him. "I'm all right... just thinking, that's all." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

"I suppose that's better'n yesterday. You went around all day ready to bite somebody's head off."

"I-I wasn't really that bad, was I?"

"You surely were. You let into Mateo for not sweeping the floor fast enough. What was the matter with you, anyway?"

"Same thing that's the matter with me today, to tell the truth."

"Well, you're surely handling it better than you did yesterday."

"Am I?" She turned around in her chair. Now Liam could see that her eyes were dewy.

"What's the matter? Are you all right?"

She laughed - or tried to; it seemed to catch in her throat. "I'm fine; healthy as a horse... as a mare, ac-according to Kaitlin." The tears had grown heavy enough to start running down her cheeks. "That's... that's what's the matter." She began to sob.

Liam took her in his arms. He rocked her back and forth, stroking her head and making soft, crooning noises, as if trying as best he could to comfort his distraught little sister.

* * * * *

A goodly crowd was already gathered in front of the church by the time Ramon arrived with Lupe and Ernesto. "I hope we are not too late," Ramon said to Father deCastro.

"No, certainly not," the priest replied. "I have only just sent Juan to get Rosaria, my burro." He looked down at Lupe who wore a white linen blouse and a long blue skirt. "Are you ready to be the angel?"

Lupe nodded happily. "Si, my wings are all ready for me." She pointed to a package under Ramon's arm. Ramon knelt down and opened the package. He handed Lupe the vest, which she quickly put on and buttoned.

"Now turn around," Ramon told her. When Lupe did, he took a wire and paper wing and carefully slid the wire down a tube in the back of the costume. He did the same for the other wing and tied them both with thin leather straps attached to the vest.

Father deCastro smiled. "Very impressive, Ramon. Lupe, you look just like a cherubs in a painting."

"Do you really think so, Padre?" Lupe asked. She turned slowly so both men - and everyone else could see how she looked.

"How soon do we start the march?" Ernesto asked impatiently.

"Very soon," the priest answered. He pointed to Juan, the church caretaker, who had just brought a burro from its small stable behind the church. The burro was covered with brightly colored ribbons. A large rag doll in a simple blue gown was strapped to the saddle, the representation of Mary.

DeCastro looked at the burro, then back at Ernesto. "Do you think that you can lead this burro today, Ernesto?"

"Me, Padre?" The boy was grinning. "Sá­, sá­. I can lead it all the way to the true Bethlehem."

DeCastro laughed at the answer. I think the few blocks to the Fernandez house will be far enough for today."

* * * * *

"Can I have some more cobbler?" Emma asked.

"May I have some more cobbler," Trisha corrected her.

"Are you correcting Emma or asking for yourself," Kaitlin teased.

Trisha thought for a moment. "Both. I never could resist your cherry cobbler."

"In that case," Kaitlin answered, smiling at the compliment, "you both may have another piece." She spooned some onto each of their plates. "After dinner, though, I want to talk to the both of you. Trisha, you go upstairs and get ready, while Emma does the dishes.

Emma frowned. Washing the dishes after dinner had been a chore of Elmer's, too, and she didn't like it any more now that she was Emma.

"Upstairs and get ready," Trisha asked. "What do you mean?"

"I'm certain that you both remember what I said last night," Kaitlin replied. When Trisha and Emma both nodded, she continued. "After the dishes are done, I'll tell you two more about a woman's monthlies and how we handle them - how you will deal with them - than you ever expected, or wanted, to know."

"And..." Trisha asked suspiciously.

"And," Kaitlin told her, matching stubborn for stubborn, "when I do tell you, I want us all to be upstairs and for you and Emma to be in just your camisole and drawers."

Emma almost dropped her forkful of cobbler. "You-you're joshing us, ain't you?"

"Do I sound like I'm joshing?" Kaitlin took a forkful of her own cobbler.

* * * * *

Ramon leaned against the back wall of the house and watched the children playing in the yard. That night's host, Miguel Fernandez, had hung a piá±ata from a tree, and the children were taking turns swinging at the clay pot with a long pole.

"Dale!" some children shouted at the young boy whose turn it was, "Hit it!" Other children yelled "Phoenix" or "Santa Fe", telling the boy to swing to the west (left) or east (right). The pi ±ata was decorated to look like a seven-pointed star to represent the Star of Bethlehem.

The boy swung again. He hit one of the points, almost knocking it off. The piá±ata spun wildly, but it didn't break. It must have been the boy's last try. He took off his blindfold and handed it and the pole to a tall girl who was standing nearby.

"How many years ago was that us over there?" Dolores had come up beside him.

Ramon smiled at the memory. "It doesn't seem like as many as it is." He took a breath. "Two of those little ones are the children of people we played with."

"No?" she said in surprise. "Which ones?"

Ramon pointed. "That boy in the green shirt sitting under the tree, his mother is... was Inez Rivera."

"Inez always did like... children." Her voice was soft. "The way you are watching them, is one of them yours?"

Ramon shook his head. "No, I am not married. Two of the children, the little girl who was the angel today, and the boy who led the burro, I... I know their mother."

"Ah, and you two are..." her voice trailed off.

"Friends... only friends, that's all." He didn't seem happy with his answer.

Dolores rallied. "As we are friends... good friends, too, I think."

"We are." He wasn't sure what else to say.

She touched his arm gently. "Miguel just mixed up a batch of ponce, his special ponce with the tequila piquete. Why do we not go and have a toast to our friendship?"

"Why not?" Ramon shrugged. He took her hand and let her lead him away. He just glanced back for an instant when he heard a solid "Thunk!" and a child's voice yelling, "Hit! A good hit!"

He didn't see the piá±ata shatter, spilling candy and fruit. Most of the child ran forward, eager to grab their share. Some of the younger children couldn't make their way into the throng. Miguel Fernandez was standing nearby. He came over and handed each a small bag of the same sweets.

Ramon also didn't see Ernesto and Lupe, standing where they had been before the piá±ata burst and watching a lady that they had never seen before walking Uncle Ramon back into the house.

* * * * *

Trisha walked into her bedroom, all but slamming the door behind her. "Do I sound like I'm joshing?" she muttered, imitating Kaitlin. "Do I sound like I'm joshing? I'm going crazy. My son is kissing boys, and she says it's natural."

She began to unbutton her blouse, stopping to look down at her breasts. "Damn, I think they are bigger." The buttons at the level of her breasts were pulled tight. She moved carefully. "I popped enough buttons on my shirts; I'm not gonna pop these, too."

"There." She took off the blouse and tossed it onto a chair. As she did, she noticed the bottle of Irish whiskey perched atop the armoire, where Kaitlin - and now she - kept her dresses. The bottle (and the two glasses that were up there with it) had been for Patrick and Kaitlin's "private celebrations."

"Now that's an idea," she said as she reached for the bottle. "I could surely use a drink now." She managed to get it down, but she was too short to even touch - let alone get a hold of - either of the glasses. "The hell with it; I just need this." She pulled the cork out of the bottle and took a long drink.

The whiskey burned a bit, but she just stood and let its liquid warmth move down to settle in her belly. "Ahh,' she sighed, setting the bottle down on the table. "Damn, that's good."

"Skirt first, then another drink." She unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She stepped out of it, picked it up, and tossed it onto the chair, covering her blouse. "Now another drink."

She took another swig of whiskey and put the bottle back down. She felt a little unsteady but ignored it. "Corset, too." She unbuttoned the garment, which was soon resting atop the skirt and blouse.

"Feels good to be outta all that." She absentmindedly began to scratch her ribs. As she did, her palm slid across her left breast. It was... interesting. She shifted her hand, so that she was caressing her breast. By accident, her thumb brushed against her nipple. "Oh, Lord." She shivered, surprised at the intensity of the sensation.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Damn, that feels good." She was using both hands now, sliding them into her camisole to cup and caress her breasts. Her eyes were closed. She saw herself as Patrick again, making love to... "Oh... Kaitlin, you... you feel so good."

Trisha's breathing grew heavy. She could feel her nipples stiffen beneath her fingers. She leaned back, her head almost resting on her left shoulder. Her breasts felt warm, almost hot. It was a wonderful sensation, and it seemed to be flowing like honey through her body. "K-Kaitlin... I... oh!... Kait-Kaitlin!"

One hand moved down from her breast. It was following that flow of pleasure to the furnace between her legs. A hand slipped down into her drawers. She drew a nail up along the lip on one side of her slit, then down the other. She felt weak; her bones were melting from the heat in her breasts and at her crotch. She collapsed backwards onto the bed. "Kait... Kai... K... K... uhh... uhhh."

Her whole body trembled. One - no, two fingers slid into her. It was a penetration that she'd never wanted, but, at this moment, she needed it more than she had ever needed anything. All she could do was moan. A finger found that small nub inside and began to pluck it like a banjo.

Her legs moved together. Her hand was trapped. She had to keep moving that finger against herself. It seemed as if that hand - and the part of her that it was touching - were the only things in the universe. She was dripping with sweat, and her hips jerked in time with the motion of that finger. Something, some glorious thing, was building inside her, taking her higher and higher, growing like one of those carnival balloons.

Then it burst. A blast of pleasure, like a wind racing off a forest fire, flew through every part of her. She shook from the force of it, her eyes flung open wide as if in surprise. "Ah... ohhhhhh!"

She was still on the bed, her feet on the floor, and her legs so very wide apart. The last waves of sensation washed over her. Then, it was like she was sliding down into a cool lake. She could breath again. Her hand came out of her drawers, fingers wet with her own fluids, and slid across her stomach. Her camisole was pushed up out of the way, coming down to just below her breasts. Her other hand still was caressing her breasts.

Suddenly, her mental image shifted. She was herself, Trisha, on her back, her legs spread, and looking up into the face of... "Ohhh," she said without thinking, "ohh... P-Patrick... that... that was wonderful."

"What the hell?" An angry voice came from the doorway. "What've you been doing up here?" Kaitlin asked.

Trisha raised her head. From the look on her face, Kaitlin knew exactly what Trisha had been doing.

And she didn't like it, not one little bit.

* * * * *

Maggie opened the door on the second knock.

"I believe that these belong to you." Ramon stood on her doorstep holding Ernesto's hand. He was holding Lupe "piggyback" style. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted sideways atop his, sound asleep.

Maggie held the door open wide. "They are; bring them in. I was beginning to wonder where you were."

"Miguel had fireworks set up in his yard. They wanted to stay to watch."

The talking woke Lupe. "They were so pretty, Mama, like flowers in the sky."

"Flowers in the sky," Maggie said. "What a pretty way to say it. My daughter is a poet, Ramon."

Lupe giggled at the compliment. She tapped Ramon on the shoulder. "Please put me down, Uncle Ramon."

"Anything for you, my little poet." He lowered his arms and Lupe slid gently down to the ground.

"Sá­, but a sleepy poet," Maggie added. "And a sleepy brother, too, I think. Say thank you and goodnight, and then up to bed."

Ernesto stood ramrod straight. "Good night, Uncle Ramon. Thank you for taking us to the podesta." He reached out and shook Ramon's hand.

"And a good night to you, seá±or." Ramon chuckled and patted the boy gently on the back. It was as close to a hug as Ernesto would allow.

Lupe did allow hugs, and she gave him one now. "I had so much fun. Thank you, Uncle Ramon."

"It was fun for me, too." Ramon hugged her back. Maybe it would give Maggie some ideas. "But now, your mama wants to put you to bed, so I will say goodnight." He bowed low.

Maggie acknowledged the bow with a tilt of her head; no hug from her this night. "Good night to you, as well, Ramon, and thank you for all your help."

"For you, Margarita - and the children, of course - any time." He smiled and left, closing the door behind him.

Maggie looked down at the pair. "You..." she pointed to Ernesto, "off to bed. I will be up soon to hear your prayers."

"Sá­, Mamma." Ernesto nodded and ran up the stairs.

Lupe was next. "Turn around, so I can get those wings off you."

"You... you are not going to throw them away, are you?" She turned around slowly, as if to protect the paper wings.

Maggie knelt down. "They are much too pretty. I thought maybe... maybe we could hang them on your wall. Then, when you see them, they will remind you to act more like an angel."

"That is silly, but thank you." Lupe yawned. "I had so much fun at the party."

"I hope that you and Ernesto were no trouble for Ramon."

She shook her head. "Oh, no. Mostly we just played with the other children. Sometimes, we saw Uncle Ramon watching us."

"Good, I'm glad he took some time to enjoy himself."

"Oh, he did. He and the lady had a lot of fun."

Maggie looked up from the knot she was working on. "What lady? Who was she?"

"I don't know, Mamma, and Ernesto said that he didn't know her either."

"Maybe I know her. What... what does she look like?"

"She is young and very pretty. She wore a yellow dress with ruffles on it, and she had long hair; it went way down her back." Lupe took a breath. "Do you know her, Mamma?"

"No," Maggie said, an odd expression on her face, "but I think that I want to."

* * * * *

Saturday, December 23, 1871

Kaitlin was sitting on the side of Emma's bed when the girl woke up. "Ma, what's the matter?"

"Nothing, dear. I was wondering how you felt this morning."

Emma sat up. "I - ow! My... my... it started t'hurt some during the night." She reached down and rubbed her stomach. "Is... is this what you told us about yesterday?"

"It is? Do you have the pouch I gave you?"

"I do." It's right over there." She pointed to the top of her dresser. A long, rectangular strip of cloth with cloth strap at each corner was hanging there, half on, half off.

"Seems to me, that should be someplace else, shouldn't it?"

"Do I gotta, Ma?"

"Yes, you gotta. I want that on you and I mean now."

Emma made a sour face. "Yes, ma." She climbed out of bed and took off her nightgown. There was no sign of any blood yet. She draped the cloth between her legs and quickly tied it off.

"Very good," Kaitlin said. She reached into an apron pocket and pulled out a roll of white cloth. "Put this in. I want you to be ready."

"Yes'm." Emma put the cloth into the pouch. "It feels kinds weird, but not... too bad."

"Good," Kaitlin said. "Get dressed now and go downstairs. You can set the table, while you wait for Trisha and me to come down."

"Is she wearing one of these things, too?"

"Not yet," Kaitlin admitted, "but she will be soon enough. Hurry now, no dawdling." She was out the door while Emma was still getting into her drawers.

* * * * *

Kaitlin found Trisha sitting in a chair staring at her pouch like it was some sort of dead animal she'd just found in her dresser. "I suppose that I have to wear this." She held it up by one strap.

"After last night, I'm not sure I care... Oh, hell, yes, yes, you do. You'll wear it unless you want to be a smelly mess for the next few days." She waited a moment. "I just had Emma put on hers."

"And I have to be in mine, then, even if I --"

"Right now, Trisha, I don't care what you want or think or whatever. You'll put that pouch on, and you'll do it right now or so help me..."

"All right, all right." Trisha stood up and took off her own nightgown. In a few minutes, she was tying the last two straps together over her left hip.

Kaitlin handed her a roll of cloth, and she very carefully placed it in the pouch. "Feels awful strange," she said.

"Probably still tender from that workout you gave it last night." Kaitlin frowned. "Just what did you think you were doing?"

"Kaitlin, come on, I-I was drunk half out of my head. I... I didn't know what I was doing. It just... just felt so..." Her voice trailed off. Her breathing was a little husky.

"...so good?" Kaitlin finished the thought. "Made you want to do it over again, didn't it?"

Trisha blushed. "Y-yes." She said it in a soft voice, barely loud enough to be heard.

"So, it was all right for you to be doing it, then, and I shouldn't be mad?"

"Yes... no... no, you shouldn't be mad."

"And is it all right for Emma to do it, then? She's got the same... features down that there that you do, and she's having her monthlies now, just like you."

"Emma? Hell, no, it wouldn't be right. She's... she's just a kid."

"And you're a grown-up, so it's all right for you to be playing with yourself like some common whore."

"I... damn it, Kaitlin, I couldn't help myself."

"Just like she couldn't help herself when that Stone boy kissed her."

"It-it's not the same thing."

"Oh, yes, it is. It is exactly the same thing. You've both got new bodies - new feelings - you never had before, and you're both having a hard time learning how to live with them."

"A damnably hard time." She looked at Kaitlin. "How do you... how does any woman deal with them?"

Kaitlin smiled. It was the first time Trisha had even come close to calling herself a woman. "You begin," she stated firmly, "by not letting them make an animal out of yourself the way you did last night. I won't stand for it if you do, either of you."

"No, ma'am. What else do I need to know?" Trisha sounded like she really meant it, like she really wanted to know.

"You respect yourself - and you expect that same respect from others. I think Emma did that yesterday with the boy. And with that Ritter girl."

"You make it sound kind of easy."

"It isn't, believe me it isn't." She looked Trisha in the eye, and it's going to get a lot harder the next few days. That, m'girl, is what you're wearing your pouch for. Now get dressed and come help me with breakfast."

Old habits died hard in Trisha. "Make breakfast, that's women's work."

"So it is, and if there's any qualification for being one to do women's work that you don't meet right now, I don't know what it is." She gave Trisha's bare rump a slap that was only partly playful. "Now get moving."

* * * * *

"Dance, Jessie?" a voice asked.

Jessie looked up to see Enoch Ryland standing there, smiling, and offering her a dance ticket.

"You got your damned nerve, Enoch."

"Never said I didn't." He offered the ticket again. "You gonna dance with me?"

Jessie frowned, but she took the ticket. "You try anything funny, and you'll be searching the room for your balls."

"If you're that eager to play with my balls, I'll be happy to talk about it later. Right now, I came to apologize."

"You apologized on Monday." The band started a polka, and they moved out onto the floor.

"I apologized on Monday because you were screaming like a banshee and waving a shears not two feet from my crotch. I want to apologize now because I was wrong."

"So you admit what you done was wrong?"

"No, I apologize because my judgment was wrong. There are many women who enjoy my games. I thought you were one of them, and, sadly, you aren't."

"That's not much of an apology."

"Jessie, you threatened my physical manhood with a shears and got yourself a gown at a big financial loss to my brother and me. That's as much of an apology as you're going to get."

* * * * *

Ramon smiled as he and Maggie moved to the music. "I always enjoy dancing with you. Margarita, but I think I enjoy it most when we dance to a waltz."

"What about her, Ramon?" Maggie asked, trying to keep in her anger. "What kind of dances do you like to dance with her?"

"With her? Who... oh, you must mean Dolores. Who told... how did you happen to hear about her?"

"I want to know why I didn't hear about her from you? Who is this Dolores, Ramon?"

"Dolores Ybaá±ez, a friend... a childhood friend and nothing more. Her family moved to near Mexico City years ago. She came back up to visit for Navidad, for Christmas. She wanted to see as many of her friends as she could, so she... she went out on all the posadas... yes, all of them. I saw her briefly at Whit and Carmen's and again last night at the Fernandez' house. We talked some... about when we were children, that - that is all."

Maggie raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Is it?"

"Margarita, take a close look around. Who is it that I am here dancing with?"

Maggie smiled wryly. "That is very true." She rested her head on his chest, but she didn't sound totally convinced. He just hoped that she didn't notice the slightly guilty look on his face.

* * * * *

Sunday, December 24, 1871

"Time to close, I think." Aaron Silverman locked the front door to his store and turned around the small sign posted on the door, so that the "Closed" side faced outwards.

Ramon looked at the clock on the wall behind the cash register. "Aaron, it is not yet 5:30. Why are you closing so early?"

"You see any customers come in here - any at all - for the past hour?" He swept his arm out to the empty store. "As they say, 'Time flies faster than the light at sunset', too precious to waste keeping this store open when nobody's coming in to shop." He paused a moment. "Besides, there is some sort of a party at your church tonight, no? A - what do you call it - a pastooda?"

Ramon chuckled at the mispronunciation. "A posada, Aaron," he pronounced the word slowly for his friend and employer, "a party to celebrate the birth --"

"So go... celebrate. Me, I'm going upstairs to celebrate that mine Rachel is back from San Francisco. Like a teapot, she is, too, bubbling over with stories about our new grandson, Avram."

"I could stay a while... get things ready for tomorrow."

"We're closed tomorrow, and you know it." He looked close at his employee and his friend. "What's the matter that you don't want to go to a party?"

"Dolores --"

Aaron raised an eyebrow "Dolores? Not Margarita?"

"Dolores and Margarita, then. Dolores' full name is Dolores Ybaá±ez, since you must know. We grew up together, and... I guess everyone expected that we would marry when we were old enough. Then, about a month after her quinceaá±os - you know, the celebration when a girl turns 15."

Aaron nodded. The store sold dresses and decorations for two or three such celebrations each year.

"Anyway," Ramon continued, "about a month after her quinceaá±os, she and her family moved to Mexico City. Now, she is back - just for a visit, she says - but it seems as if she wants to continue as we were."

"And you, do you want things to continue as they were?"

Ramon sighed. "I do not know. Dolores is pushing very hard. She is a muy... a most beautiful woman... and an old friend besides."

"And Maggie... Margarita?"

"Aaron, you know how I feel about her. And I think - no, I am certain that she feels the same about me, but she will not do anything about her feelings. Her children must come first, she says, and nothing and no one can interfere." He took a breath. "And Dolores comes, and she has feelings, also, feeling that she wants to act on, and I... I wonder..."

Aaron nodded as if suddenly understanding. "And they'll both be there tonight, at the... the posada won't they?"

"Sá­. There have been posadas all week, but the one tonight at the church is the biggest. There will be food and dancing, games and songs, silly plays and fireworks. And it will all lead up to the Misa de Gallo, the Rooster's Mass, at midnight."

"Well, Ramon, as the sages say, 'trade may make a man a king, but it robs him of his leisure.' I'll not tell you to stay for a while and work on Christmas Eve, but I'm going upstairs. If you were to think of something that had to be done after I left - who's to stay that you couldn't stay for a while to take care of it." He started for the door that led to the steps to his apartment above the store.

"Thank you, Aaron, and Felice Na... and congratulations again on your new grandson."

Aaron chuckled. "Don't be so quick with the mazel toivs, the congratulations. Remember, there's always lots of things to say congratulations about with a new baby. You work for me, so you'll have to say it over and over... and sound sincere each time."

"I am sure that I will mean it each time."

"So am I, Ramon; you're a mensch, good man. Just one thing, though. Don't stay too late. The sages also say that putting off a decision, not making it, is also a way of making it."

* * * * *

Four-year old Josiah Whitney III, Jose to his mother, had run ahead with his friends, Lupe and Ernesto. Now he hurried back to where his parents were walking into the church courtyard, carrying his baby brother, Felipe. "Mama, Papa, they have empanadas... panaderias, too. Can we have some?"

"I... suppose," Carmen said, shifting Felipe in her arms. "Go run back and get in line for us."

The boy nodded and turned back. "Lupe and Ernesto are already in line for us."

"You sure this won't spoil their supper?" Whit Whitney asked his wife.

Carmen shook her head. "Their real supper - and ours - will not be until after the Mass. Let them have something now to tide us over. Just be sure that they have tamales with corn atole filling or meat empanadas, instead of fruit empanadas or sweet pan breads. You and I can eat now, as well, or we can wait for Margarita and Ramon to join us."

"Are they coming together?"

"Heavens, no. Seá±or Silverman closes his store about 7. Margarita serves food at her restaurant until 8, and she will probably be busy tonight. I would guess that she will not join us until almost 9, hours from now."

* * * * *

Satan made a mystical gesture. "Greymalkin, come forth."

There was a puff of smoke, and an attractive female demon stepped forth. "What dost thou wish of me, Oh, King of Liars?"

"Soon comes the Angel to tell these fool shepherds of the Holy Birth. I would not have them hear such tidings. Better that they should seek a ram gone astray than their Savior." He laughed. "And it falls to you to lead that ram astray."

Now the female laughed. Her laugh was low and full of sexual promise. "Leading rams astray is what I do best." The demon, Lucinda Gomez in a long black dress and with blackface and wooden horns, reached behind her back and pulled out a long, white wig that looked like a fleece. She put it over her head. "Baaa!" Hips swaying invitingly, she walked offstage behind the makeshift curtain.

Satan, who was really Edmundo Riaz in black pants and shirt, his face blackened and wearing faked horns and tail, laughed a practiced wicked laugh. "And what male, on two legs or four, could ever resist the likes of you, my Greymalkin?"

"The same play every year," Dolores said.

Ramon turned in surprise. "Ho-hola, Dolores. I did not see you standing there."

"I was walking around - looking for you, I might add. When I saw you watching the pastorela, the shepherd's play, I came over." She put her arm around his. "You always did like this play even if it is the same, exact play that we saw as children."

"But it is funny," he protested. "The way the shepherds flail around looking for the lost ram..."

"The humor of little boys."

"But the ram and Greymalkin."

"That is the humor of little boys who think they are grown men. The way --"

"Shh," he cut her off. "It is starting again."

Gaspar Gomez, Lucinda's husband, played the ram. He wore whiteface except for the blackened tip of his nose, a fleecy vest, and an over-elongated pair of wooden horns that were an unspoken pun. He was lounging on a rock, eating a large, sugar crystal flower when Lucinda appeared from stage left.

They had been performing the scene for some twenty years and knew how to get the most laughs from each line, each stage direction. Even Dolores chuckled - quickly covering her mouth - when Lucinda kissed Gaspar's cheek. He pretended to blush and pulled a small, hidden string that made his horns stand straight up instead of pointing out to the sides. After that, his face was an eager smirk as he happily followed her off stage.

The rest of the play was predictable. The Angel was upset that the shepherds were too worried about the lost ram to listen to his news. After admonishing them with what were actually a colorful string of Biblical quotes, he helped them find the ram. Satan and Greymalkin were dealt with. The Angel defeated Satan after a short, if fierce, battle with wooden swords. Greymalkin did her sensual best to convince the shepherds to let her stay until a long, black hook pulled her offstage. The shepherds then drove their wayward ram back to the herd with their staffs.

One of the staffs was special. The "business end" was actually two boards connected by a hinge. When the shepherd swung his staff and hit the ram's, Gaspar's backside, the two pieces came together with a loud "smack". Gaspar yelped and jumped into the air, grabbing for his rump as if in terrible pain each time the slapstick - as it was called - hit.

The Angel gave his news to the shepherds, and they decided to seek the Child. After a bit of consideration and some very earthy reminiscences about Graymalkin, the ram decided to go with them. Arm in arm in arm, the two shepherds and their ram set off towards Bethlehem, as a silvered star rose on a string in the east.

The crowd applauded and a few tossed pennies at the actors.

"Do you want to stay for the next play?" Ramon asked.

Dolores thought for a moment. "Mmmm, I think that I would rather walk around with you - if you do not mind, of course."

"No, no, that sounds like a fine idea."

She took his hand as they started walking. "It's nice to be back here, to see the old church and my friends and all after so many years. Everything is exactly as I remembered it."

"Everything?"

"Well, certain people have gotten taller... and more handsome, I think."

"And others are even more gracious... and lovely."

"One other thing has changed." Her face broke into an impish grin.

"What is that?"

"Father deCastro will let us drink the ponche that has the piquette, the sting, now." She gave a quiet laugh. "We will not have to try to sneak some the way we used to."

"It is just as well. We never did fool him. Now that we can drink the piquette, we should take advantage of the privilege. Shall we try to find some?" He offered his arm. She took it and let herself be led into the crowd.

* * * * *

"Who wants sparklers?" Maggie asked cheerfully. She had come up quietly behind Ernesto, Jose, and Lupe, who were watching a pastorela about a man who tricked two shepherds into giving him their prize ram. Even now, the ram was begging to be returned to his "true, sweet masters". Gaspar was overplaying his lines and getting howls of laughter for his trouble.

The children spun around. "I do, I do."

"Do not hold them too close to your faces," Maggie said. She lit the long sticks on a nearby torch and handed one to each child. "Now, do we stay and watch the end of the play or do you show me all of the sights?"

"The play," Lupe said with a giggle. "It is so silly." The two boys wanted to walk around.

Maggie gently took her daughter's hand. "This is not the last play, and, if we walk, we have a better chance of finding your Uncle Ramon, no?"

"I suppose," Lupe said with a sigh, giving in. "I do want to see everything that is here." Maggie nodded. "Jose, you are welcome to come with us."

"Of course he is," Ernesto answered, ever the "man of the house." He took the younger boy's hand, and they set off with Maggie.

* * * * *

Ramon and Dolores were standing at the fence surrounding the nacimiento, the live nativity scene set up near near the edge of the church courtyard. The fence was to keep the livestock that were a part of the nativity, a cow, three sheep, a burro with a saddle, and a pig, from straying.

"Who is Mary this year," Dolores asked. "She looks familiar."

"She should," Ramon told her. "That is Inez Gonzales and her little girl."

"Inez... the ram's little daughter? She is a year younger than I... than us."

"Sá­, she performs, too, but this year, she has a quieter part to play."

Just then, Ramon saw a familiar face - four familiar faces coming towards the nativity, Maggie, her children, and his older nephew. 'The moment of truth,' he thought to himself. 'Be brave, Ramon. You can only die once." He swallowed then answered himself. 'Too bad it will not be tonight.'

He gently took Dolores' hand. "Dolores," he began, "I have enjoyed our time here tonight."

She looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, Ramon, as have I."

"But I am afraid that it must end. I... I promised to meet someone... to spend the posada with... with her, and I see her coming just now. So I must say goodbye to you." He took a breath. "I am sorry."

Dolores tried to hide her disappointment. Men didn't like a woman who was jealous. "I am sorry, too, Ramon, but you did promise. Will you also promise to see me again sometime?"

"I will." This seemed too easy, but he wasn't going to ask questions just now. He kissed her hand and slowly released it.

Dolores watched him walk away from her. He circled the crowd and came up from the other side of the nacimiento. A tall woman in a pale blue dress met him. She had three small children with her, but she seemed to have the fresh look of a young maiden, rather than the haggard look so many mothers had.

Ramon kissed her hand, too. Then he hugged the little girl and the smaller of the two boys. He shook the other boy's hand before he led them all away towards a booth selling panaderá­as.

"This will not be as easy as I had hoped," Dolores whispered to herself.

* * * * *

Arnie Diaz walked over to a pair of familiar faces. "Seá±or Shamus, Seá±ora Molly, what are you doing here?"

"Same as ye are," Shamus answered, "looking at all the pretty girls - only I already got meself the prettiest of the lot." He winked and gave Molly a quick peck on the cheek.

Molly dimpled. "Och, such blarney. We come for the Midnight Mass, Arnie."

"Ye come for the Mass," Shamus argued. "I come t'be with ye." He looked around at the activities in the church courtyard. "I can't never get used to the way they celebrate like this before the Mass. It ain't exactly the way we did things back in the Auld Country."

"The Mass is the same," Molly countered. "That's what's important. And besides, when did ye ever object to people having thuirselves a good time?"

"When they ain't having it at me saloon. Half our regulars must be here. That's why we could be letting ye leave so early, Arnie." He looked serious for a moment, then smiled, "Still, I ain't never seen no bar so full of life on Xmas Eve as this. I left R.J. t'handle them what's over thuir, and took part of the night off with me best gal."

"Then stop taking up this boy's time, and be showing yuir 'best gal' around," Molly teased. She took Shamus' arm and led him away.

Arnie stood for a moment and watched them. He smiled at the thought that two people who seemed ancient to him were still still teasing and flirting with each other like couples his own age.

"Even here, you play up to those gringos," a voice behind him said.

He spun around. "Pedro... what do you want?"

"To have a good time here at the posada," the other boy said. "I was having one, then you showed up and gave a foul smell to the air."

Arnie stiffed as his hands balled into fists. "May I should help you on your way, then."

"Fine," Pedro said, "We cannot fight here in the courtyard. Where...?"

"Beyond the gate, near the stable. No one will bother us there."

"That is because I will bother you here." Father deCastro stepped between them. "To speak of fighting here on the holy ground of a church and tonight... this night of love and joy, with only an hour or so to the Misa de Gallo, the Rooster Mass, at midnight."

Pedro pointed a finger at Arnie. "He started it, Padre."

"Me?" Arnie raised a fist. "I was just standing here and you --"

"I don't care how it started; it is over," the priest said firmly. "There will be no fighting tonight. Is that clear?"

"Sá­, Padre," the pair said, almost in unison.

"Do you both promise that... promise by the Holy Mother, by our Lady of Guadalupe?" Both youths nodded. "Fine. Whatever else you two hotheads are, I know that you will keep such a promise. Now go, enjoy the posada, and I had better see the two of you at Mass." The short priest hurried off.

Arnie looked daggers at Pedro. "I will keep my promise; will you?"

The other nodded. "Of course. We will not fight... tonight."

"No, not tonight."

* * * * *

Monday, December 25, 1871

"Emma," Kaitlin called up to her daughter. "You have company." Emma walked out of her bedroom and looked over the railing. "Ysabel! Hi... and Merry Christmas. C'mon up."

"Hola," Ysabel said as she climbing the stairs. "And Merry Christmas to you, as well."

Moments later, they were in Emma's bedroom. Emma sat on the bed, giving her visor the only chair.

Ysabel looked around. The room was painted a light brown and sparsely decorated. The bed was covered by a deeper brown blanket that had the words "U.S. Army" lettered on it in yellow. The window curtains were the same color as the blanket. A cow's skull, horns and all, hung on the wall above a low, dark brown dresser. The only things on top of the dresser were an enameled pitcher and bowl and a man's brush and comb set. A small mirror in a plain brass frame was nailed to the wall to the right of the dresser. A red and yellow paper kite hung from the ceiling near the opposite wall, its long paper tail pinned along that wall. There were some toys, a ball, a set of lead soldiers, and a checkerboard on a set of shelves. The lower shelves held some books and a few neatly folded blouses.

Three dresses and a couple more blouses were on hangers on a wooden clothes rack along the wall with the door. Two sets of the boy's shirts and pants that Kaitlin had added feminine flourishes to were also on hangers. 'Except for the clothes,' Ysobel thought, 'this is still Elmer's room.' Aloud, she asked, "How is your Christmas?"

"Not too bad," Emma answered. "Ma and Trisha gimme girl presents." She looked like she'd just sucked raw lemon. "A new dress and a broach. I think Ma did the shopping, and Trisha just went along with what Ma got. Ma said she might have t'take me into Silverman's soon for a corset 'cause I'm starting t'... t'show." She looked down at the small bumps of her new breasts and frowned again.

"Uncle Liam, he got me a book on Napolean and his wars." Her voice lowered to a near whisper. "He got me a new penknife, too. He had t'wait and give it to me when Ma wasn't looking. She wasn't too keen on me having a knife even when I was..." Her voice trailed off.

Ysobel jumped into the silence. "I got a blouse from Mama and a box of handkerchiefs from my brothers and sisters. My cousin, Dolores, came up from Mexico City to visit, and she gave me these earrings... See." She pulled back her hair to show a pair of dangling turquoise earrings.

"Real pretty," Emma told her. "They look good on you, too."

"I think you got the best present."

"The knife? Yeah, it's got a mother of pearl case and a spring action blade. You wanna see it." She started to get up.

Ysobel shook her head. "Not the knife, Emma. The best present you got was the kiss from Yully Stone."

Emma's face reddened. "I... I don't want t'talk about it."

"You don't? Madre de Dios, if... if Stephan Yingling had kissed me, I would want to shout it from the rooftops."

"Stephen? You like him?"

"Sá­," she sighed, "but what can come of it? His father is the padre at your church, and I am just a poor Mexican girl... and a Catholic, at that."

"You're my friend, Ysobel, and I don't want to hear you talking like that. Nobody can know what's gonna happen in their lives." She looked down at herself. "I'm surely proof of that."

"Sá­, you are. Yully Stone kissed you."

"That wasn't what I --"

"What was it like?" Ysobel leaned forwards, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"What do you mean? You saw it." She thought of Hermione and frowned. "All sorts of people saw it."

Ysobel shook her head. "No, no, Emma. How did it feel? I read some of the dime novels my brother buys. In Death at Commanche Pass, the school teacher, Miss Rose, feels 'a heat like a prairie fire' when Sheriff John Slaughter kisses her. And in Brock Cody and the Highland County War, Ernestine 'trembled and felt her limbs go weak' when Brock Cody kissed her. Tell me, then, how did you feel when Yully kissed you?"

"Embarrassed. I ain't no dumb girl for him to kiss."

Now Ysobel frowned. "You say 'dumb girl' just the way Clyde Ritter and the other boys said it, when they would not let you play ball with them."

"I... I didn't mean nothing like that. I just meant that I wasn't no girl, and I didn't want Yully to kiss me."

"May not, but you enjoyed the kiss. I saw that, too."

"I... I didn't know what I was doing. My - Ma calls 'em my 'monthlies' - they was coming. She says I was crazy and didn't know what I was doing."

As she spoke, Emma realized that she was beginning to feel the same vague tingling in her body that she had felt when Yully kissed her. "I-I don't wanna talk about it any more."

"But --"

"Ysobel, please. I just... I don't wanna..."

Ysobel saw the panicked look on Emma's face. "All right, then. We will talk of something else, of Christmas, maybe." She put her hand on Emma's arm. "But if you ever do want to talk about such other things, I will be there to listen."

* * * * *

Cerise raised her wineglass and tapped it gently with her fork. "Attention, attention, s'il vous plait." The crowd around the table quieted. "I wish to make a toast, so, if you would all fill your glasses." She waited while the group complied; then, she began again.

"Mes amis, my friends, we are gathered together here on this day of hope and joy. Working with you this past year has been a joy, and I hope that we shall be together in that same joy for the next year. And so, to you all: to Beatriz, Mae, Rosalyn, and Wilma, my delights; to Daisy who takes care of us all, and to her husband, Jonas, who takes care of our lovely home; and to mon coeur, my love, Herve, who takes such good care of me; to you all I wish a Joyeux Noá¨l, a Merry Christmas, and a most Happy New Year."

They all clinked glasses with Cerise and proceeded to drink some of her most expensive wine.

Now Jonas stood and refilled his glass. He was a tall, thin black in his early 30s, looking a bit uncomfortable in the suit he wore instead of his usual overalls. He might tend bar on occasion, but working with his hands was his true joy in life. That, and his wife, whose hand he held, even as he began to speak.

"My Lady," he began. "I thinks I speaks for us all when I wish you the same. You is the prettiest boss me and Daisy ever worked for, and the best thing o'all is that your prettiness ain't skin deep like the saying goes. No, ma'am, in you that prettiness, it done go all the way down to your soul." He raised his glass. "I say, here's to the Lady, and may her year be filled with all them good things she deserves."

"To the Lady," everyone echoed, drinking deeply.

Cerise wiped a tear from her eye. "Jonas, all of you, thank you so much. I am truly blessed in you, my friends and in the vie douce, the sweet life, that we all enjoy. And..." she took another sip of her wine. "...with that in mind, I want to make an announcement. Life is too sweet not to be enjoyed. There have been times this past year, when so much was happening that I did not have the time to share in that enjoyment. I have decided that this should not be."

Mae was the first to speak. "What exactly are you saying, Cerise?"

"You are not leaving us?" Beatriz asked.

Cerise shook her head and laughed. "Non, non. I am not leaving. Since I wish to share the fun, I have decided to share the work. Wilma, please to stand."

"Sure, Cerise." Wilma stood up slowly, bracing herself for what would follow.

"From now on," Cerise said, "Wilma is my... assistant. She will still have her gentleman - as if I could stop her - but now some of the duties of managing La Parisienne shall be hers. And so, a toast to mon brave, my brave Wilma, who does not know what she is getting herself into."

Cerise looked around the table. Herve, Daisy, and Jonas had joined in the toast. So had Mae. Beatriz and Rosalyn were just staring at Wilma.

"You may sit down now, Wilma," Cerise finished. She waited while Wilma did just that. "Daisy, while some people remember to close their mouths, would you be so kind as to bring in those lovely strawberry crepes that you made for the dessert?"

* * * * *

Edith Lonnigan took a last sip of wine. "My, I don't know when I've had a more pleasant Christmas day."

Davy Kitchner smiled back at her. "Same here. It must be the company."

"Thank you, Davy," Edith said. I am so glad that you decided to spend the winter here in town."

"Well, now, I may have to go back up... just for a while, mind you. The law says I lose my claim if I don't work it some now and then, and I can't stop just 'cause there's snow on the ground."

"You wouldn't have to be up there for very long, would you?"

"Prob'ly not. It'd depend on the weather. O' course, if I found me that rich vein I been looking for... well, I'd want to stay for a while to work it."

"Then I hope that you don't find it," she said firmly. Then she smiled. "At least, not until the spring."

"You know, you could always ride up there with me. There's room for two in that cabin." He gave her a sly wink.

"Oh, I-I couldn't. It would leave Hiram - Dr. Upshaw - in the lurch. He depends on me so."

"Hiram, eh? I shouldn't be jealous of the Doc, now, should I?"

Edith's face flushed. "I'll have you know that my relationship with the doctor is purely professional; thank you very much. I'm his nurse. I help in his practice, and I work in his office... keeping his records and such. That Mr. Kitchner is the some total of it."

"Well, I am truly glad to hear that. I like the Doc too much t'want to do him in." Davy slid his finger across his throat. Then he gave a laugh to show that he was just teasing.

"He's a fine man and an excellent doctor. I'm proud to be working with him. Besides, right now there are several pregnant women in town. I'm a trained midwife, so I do much of the work on such cases."

"I always knew how important you was to me, Edith. I'm right proud to hear you're important to everybody else." He paused a beat. "But I will miss you whenever I do go back up to my claim."

"As I shall miss you."

"So let's enjoy ourselves while we's still together." Davy leaned over and kissed her bare nipple.

Edith smiled in expectation. Her hand reached down under the coverlet and found his manhood. 'Hard again,' she though happily. 'For a man his age, he certainly recovers quickly.

* * * * *

Tuesday, December 26, 1871

"Good morning, Miss O'Hanlan... Mr. O'Hanlan," Roscoe Unger said as he walked up to the counter at the Feed and Grain. "And a Merry Christmas to you both."

Liam nodded. "It's a day late for that, Roscoe, but thanks, and a Happy New Year to you. What brings you over here this morning?"

"I asked him to come over," Trisha answered. "I wanted to put a special ad in next week's paper."

Liam raised an eyebrow. "Special ad? We having a sale or anything you forgot to tell me about?"

"No," she said. "I... I thought it'd be nice... be a good idea to use our regular ad space to wish everybody a Happy New Year."

"Wish everybody... Why, for Heaven's sale?"

"If you'd like to talk about this, I can come back," Roscoe said cautiously.

Trisha gave Liam a hard look. "I don't think that we need to talk about it. We never have before."

"I think I'm entitled to an answer, though," Liam said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Fine," Trisha shot back. "People all year gave us their trade, even when there was the... question at the church. What's wrong with saying, 'Thanks', and hoping that they'll do the same next year?"

Liam thought for a moment. "Not a thing, I suppose. I just would've liked to know about the idea in advance, that's all."

"It's a good idea," Roscoe said, trying to spread oil on troubled waters. "In fact, I was coming over here anyway to do the same thing."

"How's that?" Liam asked.

"A drummer gave me the idea when he came through last month," Roscoe began. "Of course, he gave me the idea to make a sale, but I thought it was a good one."

Roscoe had come in with a brown leather valise. He hefted it onto the counter and opened the clasp. "These are for you."

He opened it wide and pulled out two small packages wrapped in white paper. "Trisha." He handed her the one with a pink bow. "And Liam." The second package had a blue bow.

"Ooh, what is it?" Trisha asked, pulling at the pink ribbon.

"Yeah," Liam said, "What's in here?"

"Mr. O'Hanlan, yours is a bottle of bay rum," Roscoe told him, "And yours is rose-scented toilet water, Miss O'Hanlan. It's my way of saying, 'Thanks and Happy New Year' to all my customers for standing by me when I took over the paper - and the print shop - from Mr. Pratt."

Trisha had unwrapped her present, being careful not to tear the paper it was in. She opened the bottle and took a sniff. "Smells nice. Thanks, Roscoe."

"I think that drummer saw you coming, Roscoe," Liam said. "This must've set you back plenty."

Roscoe shrugged. "Not as much as you may think. I bought fifty some bottles and got a pretty good deal. Besides, as far as I can tell, the business is doing all right. People could've cut back on their ads - cut back their paper orders, too - when Mr. Pratt left things to me. Almost nobody did. They had faith in me, and I want to thank them for it."

"I'm not saying it's a bad idea, Roscoe," Liam said, "and I do thank you for it. I just hope he didn't charge you too much."

"He didn't, at least, not as far as I can tell." He pushed the valise almost closed. "Well, I have other stops to make. Do you want that special ad after all, Trisha?"

Trisha looked at Liam, who nodded. "From now on, I just want to know when you're going to do something like this, okay."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm supposed to be your partner in this business, and I... I figure I should be pulling my weight more."

"I suppose you have a point," Trisha said, still a little suspicious. "Okay, Roscoe." She reached under the desk for a folded sheet of paper. "Here's the advertisement I want."

Roscoe took the paper and opened it. "Hmm, around the border, you want, 'We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for days of Auld Lange Syne...' That's a song, isn't it?"

"Actuually," Trisha told him, "It's from a poem by a Scotsman named Robert Burns. It's about remembering good friends."

Roscoe read on. "And the main body of the ad is 'O'Hanlan's Feed and Grain thanks its customers for their patronage and wishes them a healthy and prosperous new year.' Is that right?"

Liam laughed, "That's it, live long and prosper? Well, I suppose that it won't do any harm."

"Might even do some good," Trisha added.

Roscoe refolded the paper. "It's as good as any other copy - that's what we call any material we're going to use - for next week's paper. In fact, it's better than most." He put the paper in the valise and closed the clasp. "Well, like I said, I have to be going." He nodded a "Goodbye" to them both, said, "Happy New Year" and left.

* * * * *

"'Bout time you came by."

Arnie had been walking back to the Saloon after super at his mother's house. He was still savoring her stew in his belly. Now, he turned at the words. "Pedro, what do you want?"

"I want to beat the shit out of you, Diaz," Pedro said, stepping out of the shadows. "The Padre may have stopped us the other night, but he ain't around now to save you."

"I don't need his help... not with the likes of you."

"Big words; let's jut see if you got anything to back them up." He swung at Arnie.

Arnie dodged and jabbed at Pedro's stomach. He hit, then jabbed again, but Pedro shifted out of his way. Pedro got in a couple of quick, painful shots at Arnie's ribs, but when he closed, Arnie countered with a blow to the head.

Pedro staggered back. Then he growled low in his throat and charged. The two teens grappled for a bit. Arnie tried to break the lock of Pedro's arms. He lost his balance and fell to the ground, dragging his opponent along with him.

They rolled around in the dirt, trading blows until they heard a deep, commanding voice. "I thought I told you two I didn't want any more fights."

The two quickly moved apart. "Sheriff," Arnie said. "He... he started it."

Dan shook his head. "And I expect he'll say that you started it. To tell the truth, I don't care who started it. I'm finishing it. Get up."

He waited while the two rose to their feet and began to dust themselves off. "I've had it with the pair of you. I think, maybe, you need a little time to cool your heels... and your heads. So I'll give you some and the place to cool them." He drew his pistol and pointed. "Head for the jail, boys. You two'll be my guests for the night."

"But, Sheriff..." Arnie said, "My job... Shamus is expecting me..."

"Maybe so," Dan replied, "but he won't be seeing you till tomorrow. I'll give him your regards when I go by there later." He motioned with the pistol. "Now get moving."

* * * * *

Jessie sat on a chair on Shamus' small makeshift stage, her guitar in her lap. "I got time for a request or two. Anybody got one?"

"Play a Christmas song," someone yelled.

Jessie smiled. "Christmas was yesterday, 'case any of you ain't heard."

"Still can't help thinking about it," someone else yelled. "Out here in the desert, ya can't help remember back east and them snowy white Christmases, the ones we used t'know before we was dumb enough to come out here."

She picked up the guitar. "All right, all right. Matter o' fact, Hans Euler's been teaching me this one song he learned back in Austria. Hans, I'm gonna sing part of it in German like you taught me. That'll be for you, then I'll do it in English for all these yahoos here." She looked out into the crowd and saw Hans nod.

"Stille nacht," she began, strumming the guitar softly in accompaniment. "Heilige nacht."

She finished the German verse, then switched to English, "Silent night..." By the end of the verse, many of the men had joined in, and when she finished the last, "Sleep in heavenly peace", the money almost rained down on her.

* * * * *

Shamus was sitting at a table with Molly and listening to Jessie sing.

"She's got a real pretty voice," someone said.

Shamus looked up to see Sheriff Dan Talbot standing near him. "Aye, that she does. That she surely does."

"This is a whole lot better than when she was starting fights," Talbot added.

"That was a different Jessie t'my thinking," Molly answered. "She's changed." Molly didn't add how much the sheriff's deputy, Paul Grant, had played a part in that change.

Talbot nodded. "Very much a change for the better." He took a breath. "I'm just glad everything's so nice and quiet. It makes my job that much easier."

"Which it ain't always, is it?" Molly guessed that he was leading someplace.

"No, and I'm afraid that I made your jobs a little harder tonight." He shifted, feeling a bit uncomfortable in the telling. "I caught Arnie Diaz and Pedro Escobar fighting in the street again."

Arnie wasn't hurt, was he?" Shamus asked.

Dan shook his head. "Neither of 'em is much the worse for wear, but I've warned them about this before - more than once. They'll be spending the night in jail, I'm afraid."

"Don't be fretting yuirself," Shamus told him. "Ye was only doing yuir job. The one that's got to be worrying is Arnie." The concern on his face gave way to a scowl.

Molly put her hand on her husband's arm. "Ye ain't gonna be firing him, are ye, Love? The boy was doing so well."

"I know." He patted her hand. "I ain't about t'be spitting the lad out, but I am gonna chew on him some when he comes in tomorrow morning." He lifted her hand and kissed it gently before setting it down. "Now, if ye'll both excuse me, I need t'be talking some business with Jessie now that she's finishing up with her singing." He stood up and walked towards the makeshift stage.

* * * * *

Jessie was sitting on the stage, scooping the money into a small basket, she'd borrowed, when Shamus came up to her. "That's quite a haul ye got there."

"We got there," she reminded him. "Half this is yours... unless you wanna give me a late Christmas present."

Shamus shook his head. "No, Jessie lass, I'll be more'n happy t'be taking me share. What I wanted to talk about was giving ye a chance to be earning more of the same." He paused a moment. "In a bit more private spot than this, if ye don't mind."

"Fine by me," she answered. They walked over to a table by the wall. No one was sitting with easy earshot. "Just what sort of a chance, Shamus?" Jessie began cautiously.

"This Sunday is New Year's eve, ye know, and I'll be throwing a big party here in me saloon to celebrate."

"I know, you already put up signs: food, dancing - which means me, Jane, Bridget, Maggie, and Laura, I suppose - and other entertainment. Is that the band, or you got other things planned?"

"The band and I got other things planned - you for one. I thought ye could be singing a couple of times - plus again at midnight, o'course."

"Sing and dance," she said sarcastically. "My, I'm gonna be busy, ain't I." She looked him straight in the eye. "How much you paying for this, Shamus?"

"Paying? Ye get yuir salary, don't ye? And tips, too, as I recall."

"My salary - what we agreed on - don't cover nothing like this. I figure I'm entitled to a little bit more money."

Shamus nodded. "Aye, I suppose ye are, too. I just wanted to see how ye'd ask. I'm figuring... oh, an extra $5."

"Our deal is $7.50 a night, why should I do an extra night for less?"

"Ye'll already be there, dancing with the men. I figure what I pay ye for that should count for some of it."

Jessie shrugged. "Then I won't dance, and you can pay the full $7.50."

"Why ye cheating..." he sputtered, then made a face. "All right, $7.50, plus what ye get for being one of the waiter girls, dancing with me customers. Is that enough or would ye be liking some of me blood, too?"

Jessie laughed. "Tempting as it is, I'll pass on your blood. Maybe another time, though." She grinned and offered her hand. "We got us a deal, Shamus."

"Done and done," Shamus said. He spit in his hand, then shook hers. "And I thank ye for one of the best haggles I've had in a while."

"Same here." She stood up, brushing the front of her dress.

"I'm just sorry if I'm spoiling any plans ye and Paul may have had."

She almost dropped the basket with the money. "Paul? What... what d'you mean?"

"Jessie, Jessie, I hope ye wasn't thinking that nobody knew that Paul and ye been... let's just say, been keeping company. There's afternoons ye sneak away, and nights yuir bed ain't slept in. If that ain't enough, I've seen the way ye act anytime Paul comes in. Ye might have been careful enough t'be fooling a lot of people, but Shamus O'Toole ain't one of them... and neither is me Molly, I'm thinking."

Jessie shook her head. "Oh Lord." She stopped to take a breath. "Molly knows, I... uhh, talked to her about it. I... you think many other people do?"

Shamus thought for a moment. "Jane does. She's seen ye coming in more'n once in the morning. Laura may, too, 'cause of ye leaving her and Jane in the lurch when ye was supposed to be working. Getting me t'be giving ye time off on days when ye sing was a good idea, though."

"Now that you know, you ain't gonna make trouble about it, are ye?"

Shamus shrugged, "Long as ye give me the work I'm paying ye for, what do I care what ye're doing on yuir own time?" His eyebrows narrowed. "I'll be thanking ye, though, t'stop sneaking over on them days when ye are working for me."

"I'll stop, Shamus. I... promise." She hugged him impulsively, "And thanks."

Shamus pulled free. "Ye stop that right now, Jessie. If Molly sees ye hugging me like that, I'll be the one in trouble."

* * * * *

Wednesday, December 27, 1871

Arnie Diaz glanced nervously at the clock as he walked into the Saloon. '11 o'clock,' he thought, 'at least I ain't late this morning.'

"Well, now, good evening to ye, Arnie."

Arnie turned and saw Shamus standing near the door. He didn't look happy. "Uhhh... evening, Mr. O'Toole?"

"Aye, when I let ye go home for supper last night, I expected ye back that evening, not the next morning."

"Mr. O'Toole... the Sheriff... he --"

"I know what he done, Arnie. He came in last night and told me." Shamus shook his head. "I'm disappointed in ye, lad."

"It wasn't my fault. I was on my way back here and Pedro started in on me."

"And ye had to give in t'his teasing, didn't ye? They was holding a pistol to yuir head, so ye had to fight, wasn't they?"

"N-no, Mr. O'Toole; it... it wasn't like that."

"I know it wasn't, lad. That's why I'm disappointed, because we both know that ye could have walked away."

Arnie sighed. "Mr. O'Toole, you don't know what you're asking. Pedro... him and me have hated each other since..." He shrugged. "...since we was kids."

"And ye can go right on hating each other for I care, except when it interferes with yuir working for me. Then, either it stops..." He made a gesture as if cutting a rope. "...or ye stop... stop working for me, that is."

"That ain't fair."

"Arnie, yuir whole argument with me was that I didn't treat ye like you was grown up. Well, now I am. Ye can prove that ye are or that ye aren't. I ain't decided which, but I'll be watching ye to see which it is." Shamus took a breath. "O'course, you can always give up on yuirself and quit right now."

Arnie gave Shamus a hard look. "I ain't no quitter, Mr. O'Toole, and I'm staying here to prove it." He walked past Shamus and towards the kitchen to start work.

"I hope ye are, me lad," Shamus whispered to himself, "and nothing would make me happier to see ye prove that very thing." He sighed. "But ye'll have a hard time of it, I'm thinking."

* * * * *

Emma looked at the section of hillside one more time. "We're agreed, then; this is the spot?" The hillside was a gentle slope covered with low brush.

Tomas nodded. "Sá­, we can start work next week as soon as the doctor takes this darned cast off my arm." He absentmindedly scratched his arm at the edge of the cast.

"I figure we can dig out the hillside in a couple of days. Then two, maybe three, more to build the fort and entrance tunnel, and a couple more to bury it, especially putting some of that brush back."

"Better figure more time. Remember, we start back at school next Tuesday. And we got to figure the time to bring in the table and chairs before we finish the fort. That'll take some time, too."

"We can't take too long. Somebody else'll find the thing." She thought for a bit. "Maybe we should let a few more boys in on the project."

"Maybe... who you got in mind?"

She didn't have to think. "Yully Stone... for one."

"Why him?"

"Why not? He's strong, more'n strong enough, and I figure that I owe him for sticking up for me when I wanted to play ball after I... y'know."

"I know, and I agree about bringing him in. But is that why you want to ask him?" He took a breath and waited for Emma to answer.

Emma's face flushed. Was there another reason? She didn't want to think about it, but why had Yully's name come into her head so fast? "Why else would I want to ask him?"

"Why indeed?" Tomas answered. "Okay, who else should we ask?"

* * * * *

Rachel Silverman looked up at the sound of the bell over the front door to her store. "Nu, Laura, I was wondering when you was coming in."

"Hello, yourself," Laura answered walking over to the counter. "How was your trip?" Aaron was back at his desk in a corner, working on a ledger. He looked up just long enough to nod hello. Ramon was talking to a man Laura didn't know over near the men's wear shelves.

Rachel made a face. "The trip, all those days on that verkochteh stagecoach, pfeeh, don't ask." Then she smiled. "Of course, if you want to ask about mine angel, my new grandson Avram. Him, I'll be glad to talk about." She stood out and came out from behind the counter. "But let's go look at some clothes while I tell you all about him." She took Laura by the arm and led her away.

"A treasure he is," Rachel continued, as they walked, "and so much like his papa, my Shmulie, he looks, the same round face and green eyes. He even has blonde hair, like Shmulie did when he was little - he had a curl of it when he was born. He was born two days before I got there, but when they let me in to see him, he looked up and smiled at me - such a happy baby, kine ahora.

"And by the time I left, sleeping through the night, he was, except for one feeding, of course. When you have your own little one..." She gently patted Laura's stomach. "...you'll see how important that can be."

"I-I guess," Laura said uncertainly. Babies don't sleep through the night? She thought sleep was pretty much all they did. And she'd have to get up and feed it. She shook her head. Arsenio could do that; she'd sleep.

Rachel chuckled. "But enough of my kvelling, my boasting. You, we need to get some clothes for." She reached into a drawer and pulled out a large white corset. "Let's start with this."

"I've already got three or four corsets."

"Yes, but you shouldn't be wearing them much longer. The last thing you need to wear when you got a baby growing in your belly is something that don't give it room to grow. Now, this..." She held it up. "...first off, it's for a woman with more belly than you got now. Already that's good. What's better is that it don't have any ribbing, not whale bone, not steel. Maybe it won't hold you in quite as tight, but that stretch is better for you... and for the baby."

Laura looked at the corset, not sure what to think. "What are those patches on the front up top?"

"These?" Rachel reached down to the rubbery lozenge shape on the front of one cup. "These is for when you nurse the baby." She pushed the lozenge aside to reveal a small hole. "The nipple goes through here, so you doesn't have to take it off."

Laura's eyes went wide. "Nurse... my... my baby." Her face was full of uncertainty.

"Of course, nurse. Ain't your breasts feeling sore by now from getting ready to make milk?"

"I... yes, but I... I guess I hadn't really thought about it." She took a breath to brace herself. "Wh-what's it like... to nurse a baby, I mean?"

Rachel smiled gently. "Such a wonderful feeling, like the love was going right from you into your little one. To tell the truth, it's as good as when someone else is... is at them."

Laura flushed a bright red, and Rachel laughed heartily. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. The love between you and Arsenio is why you're in here like this right now. What you do to share it between you is nobody's business, especially some old yente storekeeper like me."

"O-okay, I guess I'll take the corset. Am I gonna need anything else?"

"Are you gonna... Like mine Aaron says, some women is all long hair and short sense, or are you just gonna walk around town in your drawers and this new corset?" She guided Laura to a rack near the dresses that held what looked like dresses opened at the front. "These..." She pointed. "...are wrappers."

"They look like robes. Can I wear them outside?" The wrappers were bright colors or checks. A few had wide print trim the length of the front edges.

"Most women don't; they wear them at home. Except..." she stretched out the word to at least three syllables in her husband's singsong style of speech. "Ex-ce-ept, when she's pregnant. Then she wears them around town, sometimes with a pretty petticoat to show in front from the waist down."

"I don't know." Laura studied the garments. "They're kind of fancy."

"So not for every day, then. You're still working at them dances Shamus has, ain't you? You could wear them then. Maybe wear them sometimes in the evening, like on nights when Jessie's singing, so she ain't the only one in fancy-shmancy clothes."

"And what do I wear at other times?

"Can you sew, clothes and like that?"

"I can sew some, a button maybe, or patch a pair of jeans. I never did any dressmaking, if that's what you mean."

"You think maybe you could rip out a seam?"

"Like to make a pair of pants longer?" She shrugged. "I guess."

Rachel gently ran a finger along the front of Laura's fitted top. "These thin seams is called 'darts.' They're why that dress you got on shows off your figure so nice the way it does."

"Yeah, and..."

"And? And if you rip them out - real careful so you can sew them back in - your dress gets a whole lot looser... a few inches it'll add at your stomach, more up top by your breasts." She held up a small, pink sheers. "This is what you use to cut the dart. I'll show you how when we're finished."

"What else will I need?"

"Some ribbon for your drawers and your camisoles, and that should do it."

"Why ribbons? What do I do with them?"

"All them pretty unmentionables gets held in place with ribbons. You just make them longer, and you can wear things looser. Then... unless you get too fat from the baby, you can wear what you got now. And if you do get too fat, you just come back here, and larger sizes I'll sell you." She chuckled at her own joke. "Now which of the wrappers is you gonna buy? Two or three, maybe, you should get, and - for you - they're on sale today."

* * * * *

Rosalyn met Wilma on the stairs. "Just what do you think you're doing, Wilma?"

"What do you mean, Rosalyn?"

"I can understand why the Lady hired you. I mean, it's better to have somebody as... eager as you working for her than have her as competition, giving it away for free, but how the hell did you fool her into making you her number one girl?"

"I didn't 'fool' her into nothing. She come to me with the idea - surprised the hell outta me when she did."

"I doubt that very much. You may look like sweetness and light, but I'd say you're the same vicious criminal who rode into town last summer. You did something --"

'I saved you from being scarred,' Wilma thought, but she didn't say it. "I just wanted to fit in..." she giggled, and tried to make a joke "...or, maybe I should say, all them nice men wanted to fit in... into me, that is. You ain't just jealous of me 'cause all them men been picking me instead of you, are ya?"

"Ha! Jealous because a few men prefer a common slut like you."

"More'n a few by my count, but that ain't what put the burr up your drawers, is it now?"

"No, no it isn't. Somehow you managed to have the Lady to name you as her second. If anybody were to have that position, it is by rights mine."

"You may think so, Rosalyn. Hell, I may think so - not that I do - but we don't count. It's what the Lady thinks that counts, and she says I get it."

"But will you keep it? There, Wilma, is the rub, as they say."

"The rub? You know somebody wants t'rub me bring him on."

"No, but I know someone who thinks that you have no right to be the Lady's assistant, and she... I have every intention of proving it."

"I don't think so, Rosalyn, but I reckon it's your right t'try." She offered her hand. "Good luck."

Rosalyn snorted. "As if I'd shake your hand." She walked past Wilma and up the stairs.

* * * * *

Thursday, December 28, 1871

Cap Lewis took another long drag of his cigar. 'Nothing better after a good meal,' he thought, 'except maybe some brandy... and we've got that inside.' He heard a board squeak, and turned to see his uncle coming out onto the porch. "'Evening, Uncle Abner."

"Good evening, Matthew," Abner Slocum said. "Fine supper, wasn't it?"

"It was. Whatever you're paying Tuck, it isn't enough by half."

"Quiet; he may hear you." Slocum pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket and bit off a bit from one end. He ran a match along the porch railing and lit his cigar with it. He took long drag before speaking again.

"Matthew," Slocum began, "how much money do you think that Kelly woman has in the bank?"

Cap grinned. "I don't know how things were back in your day, Uncle Abner, but these days, a gentleman doesn't ask a lady he's courting how much money she has."

"Point taken. Make a guess, then. You go into town often enough to play poker with her - you think she has enough to pay off what she still owes me?"

"I'd be very much surprised if she did. After all, most of her games are a quarter raise limit." He thought for a moment. "Besides, a big chunk of whatever she has would be reserved to pay what Shamus charges her each month for the table."

Slocum pursed his chin. "Hmmm, I wouldn't really want to put her out of business - regardless of what I may think of her just now."

"What you think...? Uncle Abner, I thought that you liked Bridget."

The older man frowned. He had liked her, but now... "I admire the woman's skills as a card player - that's what I invested in. It's her character that I have doubts about."

"Her character? Why, I'll be more than happy to vouch for her."

The older man chuckled. "You, my boy, are thinking with your johnson."

"Maybe so, but I do trust her." He paused a beat. "So did you, otherwise you wouldn't have grubstaked her. Why are you changing your mind now?"

"I'm not saying that I am. I... I just think that I might be happier if there were some faster way for that woman to pay off her remaining debt to me."

"You could always forgive what she still owed. If she does as well this month as she did in the past two - and I don't know why she wouldn't - you'll have gotten back your $250, plus a bit more."

"No, thank you. I see no reason to let her off the hook. Besides, when I make a deal, I expect to get my full return from it. She can pay back the full $500, and then, well, it may be that neither of us need to have any more dealings with her."

Slocum took a drag on his cigar and let out a long trail of smoke as if to emphasize his point. Then, before a surprised Cap could say anything, he walked back into the ranch house.

* * * * *

'Am I ready?' Dolores stopped at the door and made a quick self-inspection. Her hair was combed and brushed till it shown. She was wearing her second-best dress - she would wear the best one for Ramon if her plan worked. This one was pale blue with a wide skirt that fit more than well enough to show off her figure and still let her be a lady. And, yes, she could smell the scent of wild flowers from the cologne she had used.

She was ready. Dolores took a deep breath to calm herself, smiled in anticipation, and walked into Silverman's General Store.

Ramon was sitting behind a counter. He looked up at the sound of the bell over the door. When he saw who it was, his face broke into a broad smile. 'So handsome,' Dolores thought.

He quickly stood up and walked over to her. "Hola, Dolores. What brings you here today?"

"You." She gave him her best pout. "You have not come to see me since the posada on Sunday. I thought that I might need a new dress to get your attention."

Ramon looked embarrassed. "You do not need a new dress for that, although..." ever the salesman, "...we have several here that you would make look even lovelier."

"If I have your attention, then why do I not have your company?"

"What do you mean?"

"At the church, you promised to spend some time with me, but this is the first time we have been together since then."

"Dolores, you are a visitor here; you do not have to work. I... I have a job. How much time could I have had since Sunday?"

"Do you work here until midnight every day?"

"No. Aaron closes about 7 most evenings."

"Bueno, then I will meet you here tomorrow night at 7. You can take me to dinner, and we can talk."

"I... uhh, all right, dinner." Just then, the bell over the door rang again. They both turned and saw several men come in. "Dolores," Ramon stammered. "I... Aaron is at lunch. I... I have customers."

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "I will go then. I will see you tomorrow night." Her voice was low and full of promise. "I hear that there is a very good restaurant in one of the saloons. I think that it should be fun."

Ramon stood for a moment watching her walk past the men and out the door. Then he realized what she had asked. "At a saloon... ai, Margarita's!" He sighed. "No, Dolores, I so not think that it will be fun... at least, not for me."

* * * * *

Kaitlin looked up at the clock on her mantle. 'Almost 10,' she thought. 'Emma should be asleep by now. She carefully put her needles down into the yarn basket being careful with the glove she was knitting. Trisha was sitting across from her, lost in the new issue of Farmer's ome Journal.
"Trisha," Kaitlin said softly, "can we talk a bit?"

Trisha laid down her magazine. "What? Oh... what do you want to talk about?"

"You... and what you were doing the other night."

"Are you still mad about that?" She sighed loudly. "I told you, I was drunk. I didn't know what I was doing. It doesn't mean anything."

"I'm not mad - not too mad, anyway, but I do think that we need to talk about it. I waited till tonight to give us both time to calm down."

"But it doesn't mean anything, Kaitlin. I was upset at what Emma had done, and my monthlies were coming. I saw that liquor, and I... I just had a bit too much of it. That's all."

"I seem to recall more than one occasion over the years when Patrick was upset and drank a little too much. I can't remember a single time when he did anything like that."

Trisha frowned. "To tell the truth, there were times when I was Patrick that I got drunk and... and horny. The thing was, you were always there with me. We - you remember the time I got stuck with something like $500 worth of extra feed stock. I thought I was ruined. Then Abner Slocum came in and all but bought me out."

"I remember. You brought home a big bottle of scotch. We drank, and we toasted Abner till that bottle was empty. Then we..." She stopped, her face bright red.

Trisha nodded, smiling at the memory. "We sure did. We --" The memory was a very vivid one. Patrick would have felt himself harden. He probably would have gotten up and taken Kaitlin to their room to re-enact that evening.

Trisha felt the same arousal, but she felt it as a warmth in her breasts and a crinkling of her nipples. She felt a warmth down between her legs, as well. "Damn!" She looked down at her body in disgust.

"Feeling something, are we?" Kaitlin studied Trisha's expression. "Sort of like what you felt the other night?"

"Y-yes." Her voice was an embarrassed whisper.

"Do you want to... take care of it the way you did the other night?"

Trisha shook her head. Giving in to the female impulse was the last thing she wanted to do. "Can you h-help me?"

"That would be sinful, to have relations with another woman."

"It's sinful for a wife to refuse her husband."

"Are you sure that I'm what you want? When I came in that other night, you were calling Patrick's name, not mine. It was like you wanted to be Patrick's wife."

"No, that can't be. I remember, when... when I started, I was pretending that I was Patrick again, and that it was your body I was touching."

"Maybe that's how you started, but it isn't how you ended. Do you think, maybe, you're starting to think like a woman?"

"No... no, it can't be. I can't be thinking that way." The idea that she might be scared her more than she would admit - not even to herself.

"I'll tell you what, Trisha. If you'll think about the idea that you may be changing, I'll think about doing what you just asked me to do. That is, if you still want me to be the one doing it."

"Think about... for how long?"

"Let's say... a week. We'll talk about this again next week. Agreed?" She offered Trisha her hand.

"Umm... agreed." They shook hands, the both of them nervous about what they had just agreed to.

* * * * *

Friday, December 29, 1871

Amy Talbot walked slowly into the Sheriff's Office. Her husband, the sheriff, was at the wall nearest to his desk tacking up some newly arrived wanted posters. "Dan," she said softly.

"Amy," Dan put the posters and hammer down on his desk and walked over to her. "What brings you and Jimmy to town this afternoon?" Jimmy, their year-old son was half sleeping in his mother's arms, his head resting on her shoulder. He lifted it at the sound of his father's voice.

"I was just at the doctor's, and I... wanted to stop by and talk."

"The Doc's! Are you all right? Is Jimmy?" He looked quickly from one to the other. "What did you --"

Amy smiled shyly at her husband's concern. "I'm fine, honestly, and so is he. Would you like to hold him for a bit?"

"Ah..." Talbot glanced quickly at the door. "Can I give him back to you quick if anybody comes in?" Much as he enjoyed holding his son, doing so hardly made him look like the gimlet-eyed shootist he wanted people to see when they looked at him. If folks saw him like that, it made his job much easier.

She nodded and tried not to smile at his discomfort. "Oh, of course." She gently lifted Jimmy and handed the boy to his father.

Jimmy squirmed and made a soft mewling noise. "Shhh!" Dan whispered, rocking the boy gently. He laid Jimmy on his right shoulder - his star was on the left side, over his heart. Jimmy stuck his thumb in his mouth and settled in.

"You do that very well," Amy told him. "You should do it more often."

"I might - at home, of course. Trouble is, working all day and half the night, I don't have much of a chance. By the time I get home, Jimmy's already in his crib for the night."

"I think your chances will be improving."

"Improving? How can they improve?"

Amy could barely meet his eyes. "Because... because you'll have his little brother or sister to hold."

"His little... Amy... are you saying you're... you're..."

"The word is pregnant, Dan," Amy said. "And, yes, yes, I am." She took a breath to brace herself. "You... you don't mind, do you?"

Dan's face broke into a broad grin. "Mind?" he said with a loud and rowdy laugh. "Do I look like I mind?" He kept one arm around Jimmy, but he used the other to pull her in close. "I... Thank you, Amelia Reid Talbot. Thank you for being my wife. I love you very, very much."

"And I love you, Dan." They stared at each other just long enough to close in for a kiss.

* * * * *

Jane bustled into the kitchen. "Maggie, Maggie, Ramon's here."

"Is he?" Maggie put down the spoon she was using to stir a pan of gravy. She wiped her hands on her apron and looked to the door Jane had just come through. It didn't open.

Lupe and Ernesto were sitting at the end of the work table eating. They both looked up. "Can we go see Uncle Ramon?" Lupe asked.

"Not till you have finished your supper," Maggie answered.

She had a lot of work to do on the meals, but maybe she could take a moment or two - just to greet a family friend. "Is he coming in, or did he want me to come out?" she asked Jane.

"I don't know if he wanted any of them things," Jane told her. "He and that lady sat at one of the tables. He ordered supper for the two of them: steak with mashed taters and peas for him and chicken pie for her."

Maggie stared at Jane for a moment, not believing what she'd heard. She turned and walked slowly towards the door Jane had just come through. She opened it just a crack and looked out.

The four tables that made up "Maggie's Place" were arranged so they could be seen from the kitchen. That way, she could check and see how people were enjoying their meals. Ramon was sitting at the second table with a slender young woman in a long, very flattering, green dress. Her hair was long, disappearing behind her.

There was a flower, a courting flower, in her hair.

Maggie gasped and let the door close.

* * * * *

"Arnie, go get them empties from the poker table." Shamus pointed to the table where Bridget was running her game.

Arnie hurried over with the half-filled tray of dirty dishes. "Thank you," Bridget said, as he circled around, clearing the table.

"My pleasure, Bridget," he answered. He glanced down at her cards and smiled. He wouldn't say anything, even to her, but her three queens beat anything else at the table. 'She probably knows,' he thought.

He stopped at two other tables on the way back to the bar. His tray was almost full. Shamus added a few more glasses, then looked sharply at him. "Well, what are ye waiting for? Get that glassware back t'the kitchen and bring out a tray of clean ones. And be quick about it. I ain't paying ye t'be lollygagging around, and thuir's still the time from Tuesday ye need t'be making up for."

"Yes, Shamus," Arnie mumbled, muttering to himself, as he picked up the tray. He hardly wanted to be reminded of having spent Tuesday night in jail. 'Damn Pedro and damn Shamus, too.' He wasn't sure who he was madder at just then.

Jane was at the sink, working on the pots from the restaurant when he came in. "Put them over there." She pointed to the worktable by tilting her head in that direction. "I'll get to 'em soon as I can." Then she added, "and don't go making no mess."

'Even the women tell me what I am doing wrong,' he thought. He looked around the kitchen as he set the tray down. Jane at the sink had her back to him, as she scrubbed one of the frying pans. Maggie was busy getting her two little ones packed up to go home.

He looked down into the tray. Yes, a couple of the glasses were almost full. "I need something to get through this night," he whispered to himself. He grabbed one of the glasses and downed the contents in one quick gulp. It tasted pretty good, and he could feel its warmth in his belly.

No one had noticed, but he wasn't going to chance a second drink. Besides, Shamus was waiting to yell at him again, and the longer he took, the worse it would be. 'At least, I finally managed to get a drink in here,' he thought. He picked up a tray of clean glasses and walked towards the door back out to the bar.

* * * * *

"Mama, why wouldn't you take us out to see Uncle Ramon?" Lupe asked the question for the third time as they neared their house.

Worn down, Maggie finally answered. "Because I was busy. I had people to cook dinner for."

"I could have taken her out," Ernesto suggested. "I wanted to see Uncle Ramon, too."

"He did not want to be bothered," Maggie muttered. "He was with someone."

"Who? Who?" Lupe was even more curious now.

"I do not know her. I do not want to know her," Maggie snapped at her daughter. "Talk about something else or just be quiet."

Lupe looked as if she had been struck. "Mama... What is wrong?" Ernesto looked just as hurt.

Maggie looked down at her children. 'Madre de Dios,' she thought, 'I-I was ready to h-hit Lupe.' Aloud, she whispered, "Lupe... Ernesto, I-I am so sorry."

She knelt down and took Lupe in her arms. Then she opened them wide and motioned for her son to come over. For once, the boy didn't feel too grown up and he let her hug him as well. When he looked at her, he saw tears running down her face.

"Ramon,' Maggie thought, as she pulled her children close, 'Why did you do this to me?'

* * * * *

Saturday, December 30, 1871

"Damn," Laura muttered, as she watched her chemise slide down onto her body.

Arsenio looked at her from where he was standing, buttoning his shirt. "What's the matter?"

"The baby." She ran her hand over the slight bulge of her stomach. "Pretty soon, I'm going to be too big for these nice clothes. It's hard enough learning how to be a woman, dammit. Now I got to learn how to be a fat woman."

"I always said you were too big for your britches." He walked up behind her and kissed her cheek. "That was one of the things I first loved about you."

"I'm serious, Arsenio. I'm going to be huge. I remember how Mama got with my youngest two sisters. My clothes... my corset. My breasts are getting ready to make milk. They're going to be heavier, and I'll need that special fat corset Rachel had me buy to support them. And I'll still be waddling around with breasts big as melons and twice as heavy."

"Well... as your husband, supporting your breasts is something that I'm always happy to help with." He reached around and cupped her breasts in his hands. As he did, his thumbs moved to gently stroke her nipples.

"Ah... aaah... Arsenio, y-you st-sto-ooh-stop that." Her eyes were wide with surprise at how sensitive her breasts were. Her whole body felt the warmth of sudden, strong arousal. She moaned and pressed her body against his.

Arsenio felt her nipples tighten between his fingers. He felt himself grow hard, too, as she rubbed her ass against his crotch. "What's --"

Laura spun around and stopped his question with a kiss. Her arms were around his neck, pulling his head to hers, as if in desperation. He could feel her tongue darting into his mouth to play with his and he began to kiss her back. Their hands began to roam hungrily across each other's bodies.

Eventually, Arsenio broke the kiss. "What's got into you, Laura?"

"Nothing yet, damn it." She began pulling at the strings on his drawers. "It's just... I... I need you. I can't explain it any better than that."

Arsenio looked at her closely. 'She hasn't been like this since our honeymoon.' Whatever it was, he quickly decided that it would be easier to take her and then to figure out what was going on. "If you need me, I'm right here. A man'd be a damn fool to refuse what you're offering, and my mama and papa didn't raise no fools."

"Just shut up and do it."

"Anything you say, ma'am." He let her work on his drawers while he lifted her chemise. She stopped for a moment as he slid it off, then got back to work.

Laura's nipples stuck out like two small chisel points. Arsenio leaned down and sucked one. It was hard as a chisel point, too, but he could feel Laura shiver as he sucked.

Arsenio felt cool air on his legs. 'She must've finally got that knot out,' he thought. Still not bothering to look, he reached down for her drawers and touched bare flesh. 'She got hers off quick enough.' He thought. "All right then," he said, straightening up.

She fell back onto the bed, her legs spread. "Do it... please."

He climbed onto the bed and on top of her. "You are so beautiful." He kissed her forehead, her nose, and on to her mouth.

One of her arms circled up around his neck. She reached down with the other and took hold of his manhood. She guided him into her. She was wet, ready for him. He slid in easily.

Arsenio pushed in with his hips. She broke the kiss and moaned, arching her head backwards. Arsenio pulled back, and she lifted her hips to keep him in her. He pushed down, starting a rhythm. She matched him. They almost seemed to be a single being.

He could hear her calling his name, urging him on between her moans of pleasure. As it was, he could barely answer. He felt the pressure building in him until finally, with a loud grunt, he spurted into her.

Laura screamed and began to claw at his back. She kept moving, trying to get every bit of energy out of him.

He felt himself grow soft. He slipped out of her and fell back onto the bed. She was still thrashing. He slid an arm under her and pulled her closer. "You were wonderful," he said, stroking her arms, her stomach.

She grew still. She was breathing more evenly now. Her body was drenched with sweat. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

"My pleasure."

Laura giggled. "Not all of it. Not by a long shot." She felt more in control, more herself now.

"My share was more than enough," he answered, relieved that she seemed to be all right.

"You... you think this had anything to do with that damned potion?" She spat out the last two words. "I... Just now I acted the way W-Wilma did when... when she got her s-second dose."

"I don't know. Maybe we should talk to the doc before we talk to Shamus."

"M-maybe." Now she did sound scared.

He stroked her cheek. "We can worry about it later. For now, I'm just going to chalk it up to time well spent with the woman I love." He kissed her again.

"With the woman who loves you." She kissed him back and gave a small sigh of relief before her body relaxed and she fell asleep.

Arsenio decided to let her have the nap. 'She'll be working hard enough at the dance tonight,' he thought. Besides, he liked just laying there next to her.

* * * * *

'Arnoldo was right,' Dolores thought almost as soon as she walked into the Eerie Saloon. 'This is a muy lively place.'

The Happy Days Town Band had finished not long after she had come in. Now, as she watched, many of the dancers were milling around the bar getting drinks.

A small group of women walked over and took seats along one wall. The woman she had seen with Ramon at the church was one of them. Dolores frowned. She was pretty, too, just as Dolores had thought when she had first laid eyes on her, and Ramon was standing there with her. Those two others were they - she looked closely - sá­, they were twins, also very pretty.

"'Scuse me, ma'am," a voice broke her train of thought. A tall, heavyset man with reddish hair had stepped into her line of sight.

"Si, seá±or?" She wasn't certain what to say.

The man held up a small stub of paper. "Here's m'ticket." He pressed the paper into her hand. "Let's you and me dance."

"Ticket?" She looked down at the paper in her hand. "I do not..."

The man shook his head. "You must be new. Trust my luck to pick a new gal. Hell, Shamus must've es-plained it to ya. I gives you m'ticket, and you 'n' me dance."

"Oh, si." Dolores nodded, finally understanding. She had heard of such places, such women who danced for money. This man thought that she was such a woman. 'Why not?' she thought. 'This man is reasonably polite and not that unhandsome. It might be... interesting.'

She put the ticket in a pocket in her dress and stepped next to the man. They waited together for the band to start playing again.

* * * * *

"Bridget," Cap asked as they moved across Shamus' dance floor, "did something happen recently between you and my uncle?"

Bridget shook her head. "No... Come to think of it, we haven't really talked in a while. Usually, when he comes in for a drink, he walks over to say 'hello'. Sometimes he stays a while and watches. I've invited him to sit in, but I guess the stakes are too low."

"I think it's more a case that one of the other players might be one of his hands. He wouldn't want a man to feel uncomfortable because he's playing against his boss."

"I think you may be right about that, but he could've still come over to watch."

"You've seen him, then?"

"About a week ago. I happened to look over towards the bar. He was talking to R.J. about something. I waved, but I-I guess he didn't see me, or he was short on time, or something." Her expression darkened. "Did he say something about me? Is that why you're asking?"

"He did, but I'm not sure just what he meant."

"Could you try and find out? I like your uncle, and I'm surely beholding to him for grubstaking me like he did."

"I'll try. I'm kind of curious about it myself. I warn you, though, Uncle Abner can be very good at keeping secrets when he wants to be."

"Please do try. I don't want to be on the outs with him."

Cap gave her a smile that was just sort of a leer. "And tell me, little girl, just what will you give me if I do find out what's bothering him?"

"That will be my secret," she leered right back at him, "but I do believe that you'll like it."

* * * * *

Shamus made his way over to Dolores and her partner, Milo Nash, just as the music was ending. "Might I be talking to ye for a wee bit, Lass?"

"Sá­, seá±or... Shamus?" She tried not make it sound too much like a question.

Milo slapped Shamus on the back. "Great new waiter girl, ya got there, Shamus, a grand addition to your staff."

"Thank ye, Milo," Shamus replied. "But if ye'd be excusing us..."

The other man nodded. "I'll just go get me a beer." He pointed at Dolores. "And I'll be looking for another dance with you later." He smiled and started towards the bar.

"We're busy, so I'll have t'be quick. Like Milo said, I'm Shamus... Shamus O'Toole, the owner of this establishment, and ye are...?"

"Dolores Ybaá±ez, I am cousin to Arnoldo Diaz and visiting here for a while. He told me about the Saturday dances where he works, and I thought that it would be amusing to attend one."

"Ye did more than 'attend', Dolores. I saw ye take Milo's ticket."

"I did not wish to embarrass him." She smiled and took the ticket from her pocket. "Besides, I like to dance."

She started to hand Shamus the ticket, but he drew his hand back. "How long will ye be staying on this here visit?"

"A few weeks." She gave a shrug. "Perhaps longer."

Shamus glanced quickly towards the long line at the bar. "I'll be making this quick, if y don't mind. Ye can keep that ticket and any more the men give ye for dancing or that they use t'be buying ye a drink. If ye do, I'll trade 'em for half of what they cost - fifty cents - and ye'll be me new waiter girl every Saturday for the rest of yuir visit. Oh, and tomorrow, too. It being New Year's Eve. I'll be having another dance then."

"And all I would be doing is to dance with the men... and let them buy me drinks between the dances?"

"Aye. The drinks'll be near beer, though. It looks and smells real enough, but ye could drown in the stuff before it got ye drunk." He looked over at the bar again. Molly caught his eye and motioned for him to hurry over.

"Look, I've got t'be going over t'tend bar. Are ye interested?"

"Can I think about it, maybe overnight?"

Shamus rolled his eyes. "All right, all right. Me offer's good till 3 PM tomorrow - both offers. I'll pay ye for tonight's tickets whether ye take the job or not. Is that enough time?"

"Sá­, and thank you, seá±or." She smiled and watched the man all but run towards the bar through the crowd of thirsty men. 'It might be fun to work here,' she thought to herself. 'It must be an honorable place; cousin Teresa has no problem with Arnoldo working here.'

She decided to go sit by those twins. Already a number of men were lined up to dance with them or one of the other women. Perhaps she could even talk to her... her rival for Ramon. Finding out about the woman would be a bonus for taking the job.

"Dolores." Ramon suddenly stepped in front of her. "What are you doing here?" He wasn't smiling.

She smiled anyway. "Dancing. Arnoldo, my cousin, told me of the place. I like it. The owner - Shamus - he just offered me a job here."

"He did what? I... Are you going to take it?"

"I may. It would be a chance to see you, to dance with you, and to meet other people."

Ramon thought he knew what other people - what other person - she meant. "I don't think you would like it. Why don't you let me take you home?"

"I will if you will dance with me first. One dance, and I will - what do the gringos say - I will go quietly."

"Very well then." He took her hand and tried to lead her off, closer to the dance floor and farther from Maggie."

She stood firm. "First the ticket, Ramon."

"What?"

"Shamus said that he would pay me for the tickets I get tonight, even if I do not accept his job offer." She held out her hand. "So... if you want to dance, please give me a ticket."

"If I want to..." Ramon muttered under his breath. He tore a ticket loose from the ones in his shirt pocket and handed it to her.

She stuffed it in her skirt pocket. "Thank you. I suppose that if I take the job, Shamus will give me an apron... just like all the other women. Won't that be nice, Ramon?"

"Lovely." The band struck up a mazurka, and he led her onto the floor.

* * * * *

There was a knock on Lady Cerese's office door. "My Lady, may I come in?" a familiar voice called from outside.

"Certainement, Wilma," Cerese answered, putting down the book she'd been reading.

Wilma walked in. She pointed to a chair and, when Cerese nodded, sat dowm. She wore a pale lilac robe over a dark red corset and silky white drawers. Her stockings matched her corset. "Mae said you wanted to see me. I come as soon as Jamie McGraw 'n me was done."

"Oui, I did wish to see you. Perhaps I am just being cautious, but I wished to know how the preparations for tomorrow's party are progressing."

Wilma grinned. "Checking up on me, are you?"

"This is the first assignment I have given you as my assistant. One cannot help but worry in such a situation."

"Don't rightly blame you, I guess. This is my first time doing it." She chuckled. "Now there's a line I don't say too often."

Cerise chuckled deep in her throat. "Non, I suppose that you don't, but inexperience, as they say, is a condition that is easily cured."

"And there's so much fun in the learning - but to get back t'what you was asking, I think things is moving right along."

"Details, Wilma." Cerese clapped her hands together twice. "Details, s'il vous plait."

"Daisy's washed all our best clothes - even Jonas', so we'll all look real good." She ticked each item off on her fingers as she said it. "They been cleaning the place extra good the last two days, and they'll finish it all up tomorrow morning. Jonas is gonna tend bar; he'll set that up in the afternoon. The Euler boys promised t'drop off two extra barrels of their best by noon."

"Excellent, but won't we have problems with any afternoon callers getting underfoot, while all this is going on tomorrow?"

"Underfoot ain't where I want my men. They's never more 'n a couple or three men here in the afternoon, so I figured we could close. Beatriz, Mae, Rosalyn, and me is going over to Carmen Whitney's bathhouse. I reserved it for 1 PM. If you wants, you and Daisy can join us."

Cerese nodded. "Tres bon, very good. Is there anything more?"

"When Daisy done our clothes, she did the linen, too. We're gonna set up a table with a fine cloth and real plates and glasses and cloth napkins for a - watcha-call-it - a buffet. We'll have chicken and roast beef, bread and rolls, sliced fruit, and some of your fine wine. It'll be like the 'Free Lunch' at Shamus', but with class."

"Incroyable!" Cerese sat back in her chair. "You have done all that in just the two days, since I gave you the charge to handle the New Year's Party?"

Wilma almost looked embarrassed. "It wasn't that much, really, especially with Daisy and Jonas helping."

"Have any of the others - has Rosalyn - offered to help you?"

"Not really. I don't want to push; they'll come around in time. 'Course, if anybody offers - even just a little - I surely won't say no."

* * * * *

"So, you came back." Maggie's words to Ramon were measured, as if she was trying to control herself.

Ramon shrugged. "I am here, no?"

"Sá­, you are here. I thought that would not be coming back."

"Margarita, all I did was to walk a friend home."

"You use that word, 'friend', too easily, I think."

"Some people have told me that all they want to be is my 'friend', even if I might --"

"I have heard this speech before." She looked down at the ticket in his hand. "I suppose that you want to dance with me."

"That, Margarita, is why I came back."

"Another very pretty speech." She took his ticket and put it in her apron pocket. "I will dance with you, but you will forgive me if I do not feel like very much talking."

* * * * *

"Paul, why do you keep looking at that clock?" Jessie asked as they waltzed across the dance floor.

"I'm sorry, Jessie. I go on duty at 11, and I promised Dan that I wouldn't be late. He's a lot more anxious to get home now that Amy is expecting again."

Jessie pouted. "It ain't fair that we get t'spend less time together 'cause him and Amy is gonna have another kid."

"I agree. To tell the truth, Dan agrees."

"Oh, yeah, and what's he gonna do about it?"

"There's a meeting of the town council coming up in early January. He's going to ask for permission to hire a second deputy."

"You think they'll let him. His wife being pregnant don't seem like the best reason for hiring somebody."

"It isn't, but he'd been thinking about it for a while. In a lot of towns this size, the sheriff has four or five deputies. Eerie isn't Tombstone or Dodge, but there's enough going on to justify one more person."

"So Amy being pregnant is just icing on the cake?"

"Not entirely. Dan wanted to think about it some more. Amy just sped things up. She'll probably help, too. Arsenio will probably vote for it because of Laura, and Aaron Silverman's kind of softhearted about kids. Whit hates to spend the town's money, but with two small kids of his own, he knows how distracting a pregnancy can be."

Jessie nodded, agreeing with the logic. "Dan got any idea who he wants t'hire?"

"Tor Johansson."

"He's a miner, ain't he, him and his brothers?"

"He was a miner. He's given up on it and he's looking for other work. He's big, and he knows how to use his fists and a pistol."

"Sounds perfect... 'cept for one thing. Where's he gonna sleep?"

Paul chuckled. "Not with me; that space is reserved, I'm happy to say. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. When Tor came down from his brother's mine, he took over a shack at the edge of town, the one that Zack Barrows left behind when he moved on last month."

"Well, I'm surely glad that there'll still be room for me in that bed of yours." She stepped in and rubbed up against him.

"There will be - always, and if the bed gets smaller, we'll just snuggle in even closer."

"Sounds good t'me." She said it in a voice that was full of promise. "You gonna be on duty tomorrow night?"

"I am, but I'm hoping to get the early shift, so I can be here at midnight."

Jessie looked up at him, a mischievous smile on her lips. "You better be, Mr. Deputy Sheriff Paul Grant. 'Cause if you ain't, I'm gonna find me somebody else t'give my real special New Year's kiss to."

* * * * *

Sunday, December 31, 1871

Dolores walked into the Saloon just before noon.

"Greetings, lass," Shamus said, coming out from behind the bar to greet her. "Have ye decided about the job?"

Dolores nodded. "Sá­, I think that it would be fun."

"Well, then, we'll just have t'be making sure that it is."

"I have always found that being paid was fun."

Shamus cocked an eyebrow. "It is. What do ye say t'... $1.50 a night, half of the money from the tickets ye collect or that men use t'be buying ye drinks, and any tips the men give ye?"

"I say that it seems muy generous, and I say thank you... jefe... boss."

"Shamus'll do nicely, Dolores... Ye're name is Dolores, right?"

"Sá­, Dolores Ybaá±ez."

"Good, and now that we both know who we are, let me be introducing ye t'the people ye'll be working with here." He gallantly took her arm and led her to the bar. "This big galloot is R.J. Rossi, me assistant barman, and a better one ye'll never find. R.J., this is Dolores Yba ±ez, come to work her for a while at the dances."

R.J. looked up from the bottles he was stacking under the bar. "Hi, Dolores. Welcome to the Eerie Saloon."

"Thank you, R.J., I am very happy to meet you." Her eyes roamed over his tall, muscular form. 'This job has all manner of possibilities,' she thought.

Shamus pointed to a group of people over at a table, a woman dealing cards to four men. "That's Bridget over there. It looks like she's just starting a hand of poker, and I'll not be bothering her." He looked around. There weren't many others in the bar. "So, let's just be going to the kitchen."

He led her through the door into the kitchen. "Free Lunch" wasn't out yet, so Molly was having herself a quick bite, while Jane and Maggie hurried to fill the trays with food to put out.

"That pretty lass dining over there is me own lovely wife, Molly." Molly turned and looked up at the sound of her name. "Molly, this is Dolores, the lass I was telling ye about."

Molly swallowed quickly. "Welcome, Dolores. Ye have any questions or any problems, ye be sure t'be bringing 'em to me, okay?"

"I-I will, thank you. Molly."

"Ye might as well bring'em to her," Shamus said with a chuckle. "Me Molly'll know about the problem before anybody else, anyway, and she'll be after me t'fix it, soon enough."

Maggie hadn't seem the pair come into her kitchen. She looked up when she heard voices. Shamus was standing there with... her. Maggie stood, her mouth open wide, blinking to fight back the tears she felt coming.

"And that tall lass standing there like she's froze to the spot is Margarita - Maggie, t'all of us. She fixes up the 'Free Lunch' for me customers and runs the restaurant we have here every evening. Maggie, this is me new waiter girl, Dolores."

"Hola." Dolores watched Maggie's reaction. 'Like the bull in the ring who doesn't even where the picador is waiting,' Dolores thought. 'Interesting.'

Maggie blinked again. "H-hola." She looked from Shamus to Dolores, then back to Shamus.

"By the way, Maggie," Shamus added as the thought struck him, "the other day, ye was asking if I'd let ye sneak out for a bit around 11;45, so ye could ring in the New Year's with yuir children. I told ye 'no', when ye asked, but, with Dolores, I'll let ye leave for the night at 11:30 or thereabouts. How's that?"

"Th-thank you, Shamus." Maggie tried hard to smile. She couldn't.

Jane stepped forwards before anything else could be said. "Since nobody seems t'be interested in introducing me, I'll do it m'self. I'm Jane, Maggie's helper."

"And I am Dolores. You are one of the twins who work here, no?"

"Twins... oh, you mean my sister, Laura, and me. We's more than twins. I'm the spit 'n' image of her thanks to --"

"A most benevolent Lord," Molly quickly interrupted.

Shamus rolled his eyes. 'Or one with a frightful sense of humor." He paused a beat and gave Jane a nasty look that Dolores couldn't see. "Now that ye've met the folks in the kitchen, let's us go see if Bridget's won enough of those gents' money t'be willing to stop playing poker and talk to us.

He took her arm again and led her from the kitchen as quickly as he could without seeming to be rushing her.

* * * * *

Molly waited almost a full minute after Shamus left the room with Dolores - just to make sure the woman was out of earshot.

"Are ye daft, Jane?" she exploded. "T'be talking that way to a woman ye just met?"

Jane looked confused. "What's the matter with how I talk?"

"What's the matter?" Molly looked skyward as if for help. "Good Lord, ye was about t'be telling Dolores about me Shamus' potion. Don't ye know how dangerous that could be?"

"D-dangerous? Now how can it be dangerous? Everybody hereabouts knows --"

"Everybody don't know. She don't know about it. And we don't know her or what she'd do if she did find out."

"But what could she do that'd be so bad?"

"What could she do? She could tell people, outsiders, all sorts of outsiders. Before ye could be saying 'Jack Robinson' she could have this here town fulla gawkers in t'look at the freaks like ye and Laura, and me other girls. Worse yet, it'd be full of schemers out t'be getting some of the potion to use for thuir own nasty purposes, people with morals that'd make Ozzie Pratt look like a church altar boy."

Jane turned white. "No!"

"Aye, and worse." Molly was determined to scare Jane into obedience. "The Governor or the Army might decide that they should be the ones in control of the potion, and not me own Shamus."

"But he'd never give it to them - would he?"

Molly shook her head. "It might not be his choice. Thuir's ways of convincing a man t'do what ye want him t'do. Thuir nasty, but that might not stop the Army, say, from doing 'em."

"No, no, they can't hurt Shamus like that." Her eyes glistened with tears.

"They might, they just might, if somebody was t'be telling them about the potion.

"I won't; I won't. I swear I won't." She sank down into a chair.

Maggie had been watching silently from near the worktable. "That is enough, Molly. She will not talk."

"No, no, I won't," Jane said softly.

Maggie helped her to her feet. "I know you will not. The trays are ready. Why do you not take it out and set up the 'Free Lunch' for me?"

Jane nodded and hurried out with the trays of food that she and Maggie had been working on when Shamus and Dolores had come into the kitchen.

"It is not bad enough what you and Shamus do to me. No, you have to scare poor Jane half out of the few wits she has." Her brows furrowed in anger.

"What we done to you?" Molly saw Maggie's angry expression. "Maggie, let's tell Jane that she's in charge of the kitchen for a wee bit and go up to my room."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because ye're more in need of a talking to than Jane was just now. It may take a while t'be straightening things out, and I'm think that some of what needs t'be said may not be things anybody else needs t'be hearing."

* * * * *

"You're bluffing, Sam," Bridget said confidently. "I'll see your quarter and raise another."

"'Fraid not." Sam Braddock smiled and put a last quarter in the pot. "One... two... three...nines... and a pair of fives." He laid the cards on the table as he named them. "Can you beat that full house of mine?"

Bridget shook her head. "Nope, I've got two and two, queens and sixes. I didn't think you got that third nine."

"It came to me in a dream." He laughed and raked in the pot.

Bridget noticed Cap walking slowly towards the table. He smiled when their eyes met. "If you gentlemen don't mind," she said, "I've some business to conduct with Cap Lewis, who's come in just now, and he may be joining the game afterwards."

She looked sternly at Sam. "Whether he does or not, we'll just see how long that dream of yours lasts." Then she grinned, eager to see if his win had been luck or skill.

"Some dreams last forever," Sam answered with a grin of his own.

"Spoken like half a millionaire," she replied.

Sam looked puzzled. "Half a millionaire?"

"Yes," she said with a laugh. "You don't have the million, but you surely have the air."

Bridget stood, prompting the men to do the same. "We'll just stay here and get in some much needed practice till you get back," Joe Osbourn told her.

Cap had take a seat a couple tables away. He stood as Bridget walked over, carrying her cashbox. He sat back down when she did.

"Good afternoon, Cap."

"Same to you, Bridget. You look very nice today. Is that a new dress?"

Bridget smiled; her sky blue dress was new. "I have to wear something formal every day for the game. I thought it was time for a new outfit." Somehow, she was pleased that he noticed, more pleased that he seemed to like what he saw.

"You must be doing well, then. Uncle Abner'll be happy to hear that. Me, I'm just enjoying the chance to spend a little time with you, especially when you look so pretty. In that dress, with your hair like that, you're like sunrise on a clear spring morning."

Bridget felt her cheeks warm. "Th-thank you, Cap." To get her mind back to where it was supposed to be, she opened the cashbox and took out her ledger. "I had a pretty good month, took in just over $400. Would you like to check the numbers?" She slid the ledger across the table.

Cap reached out, but he took her hand, not the book. "I trust you, Bridget, maybe sometimes more than you trust yourself."

"L-let me get your... your uncle's check, then." Her face was nearly crimson, and her body - oh, Lordy, how she could feel herself tremble, feel the warmth spread down to her nipples. And further down in her privates. She took longer than she needed to in finding the envelop with Slocum's check. That meant she didn't have to look him in the eye for the time she need to regain control.

She couldn't take forever, though. "Here's your uncle's check. My total for the month was $404.12, so his share is $101.03." She handed him the envelop.

"Not bad, not bad at all. That makes about $320 you've given him. You should be home free in a couple more months." He put the envelop in the inside pocket of his jacket. "Now, as I was saying --" He smiled gently at her.

She didn't want him to start. "Is your uncle still mad at me?"

"I'm afraid so. I got the oddest answer when I tried to pin him down on it."

Bridget sensed trouble, but she suspected that she couldn't avoid it. "What did he say?"

"He said it wasn't anything Bridget Kelly did. He liked her well enough. He said it was something the old you, Brian Kelly, did... back in Texas during the War."

Bridget felt like she'd been dipped in ice water. "D-during the War. Cap, did you... you didn't tell your uncle what I said about... about being in... the Army, did you?"

"Come to think of it, I did. It stuck me as a funny story, a lady as pretty as you knowing enough about Army life to compare me to an Army paymaster."

"Did you tell anyone else?" Her face had gone from crimson to ash.

Cap shook his head. "Just Uncle Abner."

"That," Bridget said, with a deep sigh, seems to have been more than enough."

* * * * *

"All right, then," Molly said, as she and Maggie walked into the two room "apartment" she and Shamus had on the floor above the Saloon. "Sit yuirself down, Maggie, and we'll talk."

While Maggie clumped over to the sofa and begrudgingly sat down, Molly settled herself into her favorite wing chair.

"I do not see what we have to talk about," Maggie grumbled.

"Ye don't, eh? For starters, ye can be telling me why ye think Shamus and I betrayed ye."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'll keep asking till ye do, and Maggie, ye're up against a woman that can out-stubborn a cat if she has to."

Maggie only crossed her arms and looked sullenly at Mollie.

"I'm warning ye," Molly said, ignoring the way Maggie was looking at her. "Me brother, Timothy, used t'call me 'Muley' when we was little."

Maggie had to smile at that. "That is not fair, to make me laugh."

"Ye already said that I'm treating ye unfairly. What I'm waiting t'hear is why ye think I am."

"You... you hired her - Dolores - to be one of the waiter girls."

"And how is that a betrayal, I'd like t'know? We ain't firing you, not none of ye, to be making room for her, are we? No, we ain't. Thuir's more'n enough men want t'be buying them tickets, so they can dance with the lot of ye. Ye'll lose no money because she's here."

"I know that, but --"

"In fact, didn't me Shamus say that ye could be leaving early tonight, so's ye could be with them darlings of yuirs at midnight?" Maggie nodded, her eyes glistening. "So then how, in the name of all the blessed Saints, is that a betrayal?"

"Because it is her. She will be here every night that there is dancing. And... and Ramon can c-come, and he... he can... dance w-with her... and... and not... not with... me." Maggie put her face down in her hands and began to sob."

Molly hurried to her, pulling out a handkerchief from her apron. "Here, here, now. It can't really be that bad?"

"Sá­, it can. He - he walked with h-her at the posada. He br-brought her to dinner at... at the restaurant - at my restaurant! Now... now he d-dances with her."

"He danced with you, too, and more than once, as I recall."

"But still he dances with her - and now he can do it again and again because you... you and Shamus, you hired her, so he can dance with her."

"Now, hold on a minute, Maggie. We hired her so anybody that wanted could be dancing with her. That's why we hired ye and Laura, and the others, so any man that could put together the price of a ticket could be dancing with ye."

"But --"

"Let me finish, if ye please. Ramon's a free man, ain't he? Ye've no claim on him, have ye?"

"No... but I... he..." Maggie didn't know how to answer.

"In point of fact, Maggie, ye've been pushing him away, haven't ye; saying how ye only want t'be friends with him?"

"But my business, and the house, and Lupe and Ernesto. How can I take care of all of them and still let myself be courted as he wishes?"

"That m'girl is what ye've got t'be figuring out for yuirself. Ramon wants ye as much as ye want him. That's as plain as the nose on yuir face."

Maggie wiped her eyes and tried to smile. Ramon wanted her.

"And he's been a patient man," Molly continued. "Maybe more patient that ye deserve, I'm thinking."

"He does not seem so patient now."

"No, no he doesn't. Now, he's got himself another choice. He still wants ye - that's still pretty clear t'me - but now, thuir's Dolores t'be thinking about. And Dolores is thinking about him, too, from what ye said."

"So... so what am I to do?"

"Ye've got some thinking of yuir own t'be doing." She counted off on her fingers. "One, ye let things go on as they are. Ye take care of yuir own business and hope that Ramon'll still be willing t'settle for being yuir friend."

"Two, ye give him up. Ye smile and push him over t'Dolores."

"No! No, I do not want to do that." Maggie stared at her, appalled at the suggestion.

"Then, three... ye fight for him. Ye're as pretty as Dolores - maybe more so. Let loose of yuir business a wee bit and be a woman for him. Be approachable, let him know that ye want him. For a starter, put that - what did ye call it - that 'courting flower' back in yuir hair."

"I-I do not know. I want so much to make a good life for Ernesto and Lupe, to be a good mother for them."

"But ye want Ramon, too, don't ye." Molly watched her nod sadly. "Then ye'd better be deciding which is more - no, forget that - they're both important to ye. What ye need to decide is how to balance the two."

"Balance... like a tightrope across one of the canyons back home?"

"Aye, and ye'll have t'be watching yuir every step. But ye know what?" Maggie shook her head ruefully, and Molly continued. "T'my way of thinking, ye've every chance in the world of making it across to the other side, where happiness is waiting for ye."

Maggie's eyes glistened again. The two women embraced, tears running down both their faces, but they were both smiling.

* * * * *

Wilma walked quickly from her room to the top of the stairs. She looked carefully down into the parlor. No men were waiting; La Parisienne wasn't due to open for another half hour. She wrapped her lilac robe about herself and hurried down, instead of using the seductive glide she used when men were there to watch her.

Cerise had put her in charge of the buffet and drinks for the New Year's Eve Party that La Parisienne as throwing, and she wanted it to be spectacular. She'd had two large tables set up next to each other in the parlor by the door to the kitchen and covered them with the House's best linen tablecloth.

Stacks of plates, silver, and napkins were at one end. Next to them, sat a flat tray with a display of fruits, apples, oranges, and peaches, whole and sliced, and a large cluster of grapes. A large fan of smoked oysters stayed cool in a pan filled with ice. Next to it, two chafing dishes kept a mass of sliced roast beef and a tray filled with pieces of roast chicken warm. A tray covered with rolls, bread, and tins of mustard and horseradish was placed next to the two dishes. A tray of small cakes waited near the end of the table. At the end of it all was a large pan where a dozen bottles of wine were chilling in ice.

Jonas, wearing his suit and tie, was setting up the portable bar a few feet away. He had bottles of scotch, rye, bourbon, and the necessary ingredients for various mixed drinks at the ready.

Wilma walked over to admire the buffet. She saw the problem almost immediately, and quickly rang the bell at the back of the table. "Daisy," she said when the other woman came in from the kitchen, "these ain't the wines I asked for."

"But they's all on your list, Wilma." She pulled a folded sheet of paper from her apron pocket and handed it to Wilma.

Wilma opened the paper and glanced at the list. "Hell, this ain't my list; it ain't even my handwriting. The Lady said to put out the good wines. This stuff here on the table is some of the cheapest stuff we got."

"I thought it was funny, you changing your mind like that, but Miz Rosalyn, she says --"

Wilma frowned. "I'll just bet that she had a lot t'say, and none of it was to my good." She looked over at the clock. "And there ain't time t'switch the stuff."

"I'se sorry, Wilma. I truly is."

"It ain't your fault, Daisy. I just gotta figure - wait a minute. Daisy, go fetch the biggest punch bowl we got and a ladle and a mixing spoon, a big one. Jonas, you move the wine to make room for it."

"Here's the punch bowl," Daisy said, returning quickly.

Wilma nodded appreciatively. "That looks like it'll hold three or four gallons, easy. Set it down there, Daisy and dump about a quarter of that ice into it. Jonas, you got any kind of fruit at the bar?"

"Yes'm," he answered. "Lemons and limes, oh, and some cherries for the drinks."

"Great," Wilma told him. "Cut a couple of the lemons and limes into thin slices and squeeze the juice out of another two and dump it all in the punch bowl. Put in a few cherries, too."

"Yes'm. I thinks I knows what you's making." He looked at his wife. "Daisy, open about five bottles of wine and pour 'em out in the ice. Then toss in a few of them sliced oranges and peaches."

Daisy looked over at Wilma, who nodded. Then she did as Jonas asked. He added the fruit and juice from the bar to the wine, while Wilma stirred in some bourbon. She ladled some of the mixture into a cup and took a sip. "Perfect," she said, smiling with satisfaction.

"What is perfect?" Cerise asked, coming down the steps. She was wearing an elegant, lime green gown, her hair in a carefully concocted upsweep. Herve walked next to her. He wore a sea green frock coat with matching pants and his best ruffled silk shirt.

"This is, my Lady." Wilma filled a second cup and handed it to her employer. "Try it for yourself."

Cerise looked at the cup for a moment. "I believe that I shall." She shrugged and took a sip. "Bon, tres bon - very good. I did not know that you were familiar with sangria, Wilma."

"I got t'know it and like it when I was... living in New Orleans. They made it often enough that I learned the recipe. I... uh, thought that it'd be more fun than just wine for the party. And it turned out that Jonas, he knew how t'make it - maybe even better than how I remembered."

"A good idea whoever made it." Cerise thought for a moment. "And cheap... less expensive than the wines I had expected. Bon, Wilma, you have done well with this."

Wilma smiled, a nasty thought coming to mind. "Thanks, my Lady. I'll be sure t'tell Rosalyn ya said so."

"Rosalyn?" Cerise asked.

Wilma grinned. "Yes, Cerise. Y'see, it was something Rosalyn done that give me the idea for the sangria."

* * * * *

"Did you get a chance to talk to the Doc today?" Arsenio asked, while he and Laura were dancing. "About yesterday I mean?"

Laura shook her head. "No, but I'm not sure he's the one I should ask."

"Why not? He's you're doctor, isn't he?"

"Of course, he is, but this... this is the sort of question I think a woman would know more about. I thought I'd ask Molly, or, maybe Edith Lonnigan."

"Hmm, I suppose. I'd say ask Molly first. She sees herself as your mother, and she'd be hurt if you didn't ask her."

"I'll do that. I think I'd have asked her already, except things were so hectic here today." It would be better to ask Molly, especially the way she'd hurt her so recently.

"Ask tomorrow, then, while everybody's recovering from tonight's party." He waited a beat. "Have you had those same... feelings since yesterday?"

"No, but if I do, you'll be the first one besides me to know about it." Her voice had a low purr in it.

Arsenio pulled her closer, so that her body pressed against his. She felt the hardness of his chest against her bosom, and a second, very pleasant hardness farther down "You know where to find me."

"And you know that I'll come looking."

* * * * *

Maggie knocked a second time at the front door.

This time someone must have heard. There was a muffled voice from the other side. Moments later, the door opened.

"Maggie," Whit Whitney said cheerfully. "I thought that you weren't going to be able to come over tonight. C'mon in."

Maggie stepped inside. "We... Shamus hired... he said I could leave at 11:30." She smiled wryly. "He even said that I do not have to come back until it is time to make the 'Free Lunch' tomorrow."

"Well, you're more'n welcome. You can even stay the night if you like. That way you don't have the struggle of getting two sleepy kids home. We'll just fix up another cot in the room they're already sleeping in."

"I do not wish to be any trouble."

"You are no trouble at all," Carmen stepped in next to her husband. "You are a good friend. Please, stay."

Maggie nodded. "All right, I will sleep over." She glanced around. "Are the little ones asleep? I thought that they could stay up for midnight."

"They tried," Carmen replied, "but they got tired. We promised that we would wake them up in time for the celebrating at midnight."

"Your Ernesto was so determined to stay awake," Whit added. "We left him curled up on the couch where he finally dozed off."

"Sá­, he is like that," Maggie said. "Is it time to wake them yet?"

Whit looked at his pocket watch. "We've got close to a half hour till midnight. Let's let 'em sleep a while longer."

"Sá­," Carmen said, "an in the meantime we can show Margarita the kalliope you bought."

"A kalliope," Maggie asked, "what is that?"

"We will show you." Carmen took Maggie's hand and led her out into the garden. A large, odd-looking wooden box sat on a table near the door. A pile of brass disks, with patterns of holes on each disk, sat on the table next to it.

"This is a kalliope." Whit lifted the lid of the box. Another metal disk rested on top of it. "It's like a music box except the melodies are on these disks, so you can change it."

There was a large crank on the side of the box. Whit turned it several times, then moved a lever on top. The disk began to rotate slowly, and the familiar notes of "The Blue Danube" came forth.

Maggie was delighted. "It sounds like little bells."

"So it does." Whit turned to Carmen. "Care to try it out?" Carmen nodded and stepped into his arms. A moment later, they were waltzing around the garden.

Maggie watched them dancing. She sighed and sat down in a chair next to the table.

"Shall we join them?" a voice asked.

Maggie looked up. "R-Ramon?"

"I have a ticket if I need one." He reached into a pocket and took out one of the tickets that Shamus sold.

Maggie stared up at him. She remembered what Molly had said about Ramon. He seemed to want her now. She wasn't certain that she agreed with what the older woman had said, but she was willing to take a chance this one time.

"You will not need a ticket," she said, slowly rising to her feet. She stepped up close and took his hand.

"Then we shall dance." He put his arm around her waist, and they began to move out to the music.

Maggie felt a pleasant warmth run through her body, as Ramon held her. She sighed, happy for the moment, and rested her head on his chest.

Twenty minutes later, they were all sitting around the dining room table. Even Felipe, a week shy of his first birthday, sat in his high chair next to his father. Carmen sat on his other side, carefully crushing grapes in a small bowl.

"Now, remember," Ramon said, "you eat one grape at each peal of the bell. If you do, you'll have a sweet year."

"Really?" Lupe asked.

"That is what the legends tell," Ramon told her. He broke stalks of grapes from a large cluster on a plate in front of him, and handed the stalks to Lupe and Ernesto. Whit was doing the same for Carmen and Jose.

"And where are my grapes?" Maggie asked, feeling left out.

Ramon winked. "I thought that I would feed them to you."

"That is silly," Lupe said with a laugh. "Then how could you eat your own grapes?"

"For your mama," Ramon answered, "it would be worth the risk."

"Thank you, Ramon, but I can not let you risk a bad year on my account," Maggie said. She broke a large stalk from the cluster of grapes and put it down in front of her.

* * * * *

"Okay, folks," Hiram King said, motioning for the rest of the band to stop playing. "It'll be midnight in a few seconds." There wasn't a sound in the saloon as all eyes turned to watch the minute hand on Shamus' big clock move to the 12.

"Happy New Year!" they all yelled. A few men fired pistols. Arnie and Jane came out of the kitchen banging pots with wooden spoons.

A number of couples took advantage of the noise, the confusion, and the custom to embrace and share their first kiss of 1872. Milt Quinlan gently took the pot out of Jane's hand. "But it's New Year's, and I wanna --" Milt leaned in and kissed her before she could say another word. The spoon she'd been beating the pot with slipped from her other hand as her arms wrapped around him.

R.J. had been dancing with Bridget when Hiram spoke up. He stopped and took her head in his hands. "Happy New Year, Bridget," he said softly, pulling her close and kissing her. Her arms wrapped around him as she felt her whole body warm to the kiss.

Cap had moved in close while R.J. and Bridget kissed, and was waiting for the kiss to end. "Bridget," he said as it did. She turned to face him. "My turn, now." He pulled her close and did his best to beat R.J. in both duration and passion. Bridget responded as well to him as she had to R.J., moaning softly and pressing her body against his.

Arnie grabbed somebody's drink and downed it before its owner or anyone else could object. Feeling satisfied with himself, he quickly had another. After that, he climbed up on the bandstand with the "Happy Days Town Band." While they played the rest of the song, he banged his pot in time with the music and shouted, "Happy New Year" over and over again.

* * * * *

"And a Happy New Year t'all our readers," Molly said cheerfully, "Even if we are a wee bit early." She and Shamus had been another of those couples, sharing a long kiss was something they seldom did - in public.

"Aye," Shamus added. "Chris and Ellie've been working on this story for... well, for longer than they've liked. Even so, they ain't taking a rest neither, not them."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "I should say not - not them two. Right now, even as ye're reading this, no doubt, they'll be working out the plot of the next part of the story."

"Thuir's the big poker game, and Laura's sister, and Wilma, and the painter. Och, that painter." Shamus counted things out on his fingers. "Whoost, that's a lot of story t'be telling, and that's not the half of it."

"And telling it they will, but, right now, they want t'know what ye think of the tale so far." Molly looked out at the audience of readers.

"So ye all be sure to be posting a comment of what ye think." Shamus said.

"Tell 'em now, and, if ye have a good notion about what happens - or should be happening next - tell 'em about it. They might even be using some of what ye say in thuir story." Molly smiled, happy to have gotten in the last word.

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change - Autumn Part 3: December - pp. 227-363 page 137 of 363

Part 3: December - pp. 227-363 page 227 of 363