Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change – Spring, part 2 of 13
By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson © 2014

Sunday, April 7, 1872

Nancy Osbourne sat, waiting, on the steps of the schoolhouse. “Good morning, Reverend,” she said, standing quickly when she saw the man coming around the side of the building. “You, too, Martha…everyone,” she added, when she saw his wife on his arm, with their children trailing behind them.

“And to you, Nancy,” Yingling replied for them all. “And how are you this glorious Sunday morning?”

“Fine, thank you,” she answered. “I was wondering if I might speak to you for just a moment.” She took a breath. “In private.”

The man nodded and turned to his wife. “You and the children go in, my dear. I’ll join you momentarily.”

“Very well, Thad,” Martha said. She kissed him on the cheek. “Nice seeing you, Nancy.” She started up the step, Stephan and the other children hurrying behind her.

Yingling pointed to a picnic table a few yards from the steps. “Why don’t we speak over there?” He offered her his arm. “It offers as much privacy as we are likely to get.”

“Thank you,” she replied and let him lead her to the table. They sat down on opposite sides. “Now, then, what did you wish to discuss?”

“I‘m a bit concerned about some of the rhetoric in your sermons these past weeks. It’s… it’s creating problems at the school.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“A number of the children have taken your language as a reason to taunt Emma O’Hanlan. They’re teasing her about having been a boy, calling her a ‘potion freak.’”

“I understood that Emma has been teased on a number of occasions since she took that potion. Why do you blame me?” To himself, he thought, ‘Who are you to blame me?’

“Because the teasing had all but gone away. The only one continuing it was… I don’t wish to name names. It was a girl jealous of Emma’s successes.”

The reverend nodded. ‘Hermione Ritter, unless I miss my guess.’ Aloud he asked, “Are you saying that this girl’s jealousy is causing the trouble?”

“She’s a prime source, but she’s not the only one. A number of the children have taken your language as a reason to taunt Emma O’Hanlan. They’re teasing her about having been a boy, calling her a ‘potion freak.’”

“If they are fighting over Emma O’Hanlan, then I suggest that you speak to her or her parents, not to me.”

“But your sermons are the reason for the fights. The children hear you saying those things about Mr. O’Toole and the potion; that it’s evil --”

“It is evil, or, rather, its continued possession by O’Toole is evil, a threat to the entire town.”

“I’m not saying that it is or it isn’t. The way you’re talking about it, though, the children are taking that to mean that Emma is also a threat in some way. That’s why they’re carrying on the way they are. If you could just tone your speech down a little or tell --”

Yingling stood up and glared at the presumptuous female. “Miss Osbourne, you are a woman, a mere tutor of elementary knowledge, a hireling with only a few years more education than those you are charged to instruct. It is hardly your place to tell me how I, a seminary-trained minister of Our Lord, am to conduct His Work in this town.”

Before she could answer, he stepped away from the table and strode unto his church.

* * * * *

Arnie finished buttoning the dress she was wearing to church. She looked down at it and frowned. “Mama, do you have a safety pin I can borrow?”

“What is the problem, Dulcita?” Teresa asked.

“This dress of yours is too big at the top. The seams keep sliding down on my shoulders.”

“Sì, sì, just a moment.” Teresa opened the top drawer of the small cabinet next to her bed. She took a pair of brass safety pins from a small sewing kit. “Come over here and sit by me.”

Arnie walked over and sat down. Teresa pulled up a bit of the edge of the collar on Arnie’s right shoulder and pinned it back. The safety pin was inside the dress, so that less than an inch of metal was visible. She did the same on Arnie’s right shoulder. “Now stand up, so I can see how it looks.”

Arnie did as her mother asked.

Teresa studied her daughter for a bit. “The collar looks good, but…” She took a breath. “It is still easy to see that my dress is too big for you. You really should have one of your own to wear to church.”

“I-I do not want my own dress,” Arnie answered, maybe a bit too quickly. “How many times do I have to say it to you?”

“I just thought that you might want to look nice – you would look better in a dress of your own, you know. If not for the people at the church, then for those people you met, the… the Spauldings.”

Arnie considered the idea. It would be interesting to see how Hedley – and Clara, of course, Clara -- and their mother, too, would act if she was wearing something other than her rough work clothes. “I-I will think about what you say.”

Teresa smiled. “You should, but not right now. Now, you must help me to get my own dress on, so that we will not be late for Mass.”

* * * * *

“I have spoken to you,” Reverend Yingling continued, “this Sunday, and in Sundays past, of the dangers of allowing Shamus O’Toole to continue in control of his transformational potion. I have also told you what I – with the wise permission of your church board…” He turned and bowed to the seated board members. “…intend to do at this month’s meeting of the town council. I shall be asking that they allow me to create a group to take physical possession of the potion and to advise the council on its use. When I ask this, I shall take pride in telling the council that I have the support of the membership of this church in my request.”

“Better than that, at the suggestion of your board president, Horace Styron, I intend to produce evidence of that support. Horace has drafted a petition asking the council to accede to my request. Copies of that petition are located on a table at the doors of this church. Those who support my intention can sign that petition here today. Mrs. Cecelia Ritter will be sitting by the table with additional copies of the petition. I also ask that the merchants among you take a copy or copies to your place of business, so that those who are not here with us today have the opportunity to affix their names as well.”

“With your help, we will succeed in this holy work.” The reverend bowed his head. “Halleluiah, His Will be done.”

* * * * *

“There’s one name for the reverend,” Horace Styron put down the pen he’d just used to sign his own petition. “And I’ll take a few copies for my store.” He’d held back from taking copies at the printer’s, so he could make a public show of doing so.

Cecelia Ritter was sitting next to the “signing table”, as she called it. She smiled broadly and handed him four of the sheets she was holding on her lap. “Here you are, Horace, and thank you for setting such a good example.”

“I’m just following the fine example you set at the board meeting, Cecelia. With the help of you and your friends, I’m sure that we’ll get the council to see things our way.”

Her smile grew even broader. “To see things the Lord’s way.”

* * * * *

“May I have one of those petitions, Mrs. Ritter?”

Cecelia looked up at the speaker. “Mr. Caulder.” She smiled. “I guess you’re one member of the town council we won’t have to convince.” She pointed at the table. “You can sign the copy here, or your name can be the first one you put on this copy…” She handed him a page. “…when you set it out in your smithy.”

“Wrong on all counts.” He took the sheet from her, folded in and placed it in his jacket pocket. “Come on, Laura.” He offered his wife his arm.

Laura took it. “Yes, wrong as usual, Cecelia,” she said smugly as they left the church.

* * * * *

Cecelia put out an arm as Nancy Osbourne walked past her. “Miss Osbourne, you forgot to sign the petition,” she reminded the young woman, her tone chilly.

“No, I didn’t, Mrs. Ritter. I don’t intend to sign it,” Nancy said firmly.

“May I ask why not?” Cecelia’s voice was hard.

“Even if I agreed with it – and I’m not certain that I do – as the teacher of this town’s children, I feel that I should not become involved in any political matter. After, all I have to teach the children of those on both sides.”

“But this isn’t a political issue; it’s – it’s a moral one. You’re supposed to set a moral example for those children you claim to care so much about.”

“I am setting an example, neutrality.”

“You can’t be neutral on this. You’re either moral or immoral, with us or against us.”

“I’m neutral, Mrs. Ritter. Please respect that.” Nancy walked away before the other woman could reply.

Cecelia watched her go, but, as she observed Stu Gallagher signing the petition, she thought, “I most certainly will not respect that, Miss Osbourne, and I’ll deal with you and the Caulders in my own good time.”

* * * * *

“Shamus,” Arsenio said, walking over to the bar, “you’ve got a serious problem.”

The barman looked closely at the other man’s expression. This was not the time to make a joke. “And just what is that problem, Arsenio?”

“This.” The smith took the petition from his pocket and handed it over. “They set copies of it out at the church. Cecelia Ritter’s sitting there to make sure that people sign as they go out.”

“And how is it that ye have a copy of the thing?” Shamus asked after a quick read.

“That’s the second part of your problem. She’s got spare copies that she’s handing out to people to put in their stores. Horace Styron and Clyde Ritter each took some, so did Jubal Cates. We left at that point, but I’ll bet a lot of others did, too.”

“I’m thankful that ye didn’t.”

“Shamus, as a member of the town council, I’m not sure that it would be right for me to do so. Besides, I think the whole idea is wrongheaded. I trust you with the potion. Look what it did for me.”

Laura had stepped up to join the men. “Well, thank you for that, Arsenio.” She kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry that I ran ahead,” Arsenio told her. “I thought that Shamus should see it as soon as possible. Besides, how could I not trust the man who gave me the most wonderful woman in the world?”

“I think ye earned her on yuir own,” Shamus replied, “but I do thank ye for yuir trust, and, much as I hate t’be saying it, I’m thinking that ye’re right about this here petition. I was hoping that it’d be blowing over by the time of the town council meeting, but that don’t look too likely now.”

“It surely doesn’t,” Laura said. “What are you going to do about it?”

Shamus frowned. “I ain’t about t’be lying down like a dog, that’s for sure. Me Molly’s been making ribbons – they say ‘Trust Shamus’ on ‘em, and I’ll be asking people t’be wearing them around, too. I’d like t’be throwing them that signed that petition out of me bar, but I don’t know who they are. Besides, I suppose a man’s got a right t’be stupid if he wants to be.”

“I’ll wear one of those ribbons as soon as they’re made,” Laura said firmly. “You and Molly, you’re… family. I trust you, and I’ll bet that Dolores, Bridget and Jessie’ll will, too. And Maggie and Jane.”

Shamus looked thoughtful. “It would be a fine thing if they… could.”

Arsenio hesitated. “I support you, Shamus, but I… I am on the coun – Ow!” He reached down and rubbed his leg where Laura had just kicked him. “Okay, okay, but I can’t very well put a ribbon on my leather smith’s apron. It’d probably catch fire. How about if you bring one home as soon as they’re made, and I hang it on the door of my smithy?”

“You’d better,” Laura said, with a chuckle, “or I kick higher the next time.”

* * * * *

Monday, April 8, 1872

“Hola, Jane,” Ramon said, walking in through the kitchen door. “Where is Margarita?”

Jane pointed to behind him. “In the pantry, getting some potatoes.”

“Not anymore.” Maggie hurried out of the smaller room and over to her husband.

He turned at the sound of her voice. They flowed into each other’s arms, and their lips met in a kiss.

“Sweet,” Jane said with a sigh, as she turned back to the carrots she was chopping.

Eventually, the couple had to come up for air. “Not that I am complaining,” Maggie said, her voice soft with the pleasure of being in Ramon’s arms, “but what brings you to my kitchen?”

“Your kiss was all the reason I would ever need,” he told her, “but I also came to give you this letter.” He took an envelope from his jacket pocket. “It is for you… from Gregorio.”

Maggie’s eyes went wide with surprise. “Gregorio… what could he…” She took the envelope and tore it open.

` “My dear, Margarita,”

` “I write to you as the head of the de Aguilar family.
` Now that you are a member of our family, you should
` adorn yourself as befits the lady you are in name, as
` well as in fact. Take this letter to Dwight Albertson,
` and tell him that I hereby authorize him to present you
` with parcel 31 from the safety deposit box in his bank.
` Ramon will help you with this.”

` “The parcel contains our mother's pearl earrings and her
` matching necklace, Margarita, and I give them to you,
` as I know that she would wish. Just as I know that you will
` look lovely in them. Say hello to my very lucky brother.”

` “Via con dios,
` Gregorio”

Ramon frowned. “I was wondering when he would do something like this.”

“What do you mean?” Maggie asked. “I think that it is a nice gesture.”

The man shrugged. “Perhaps, but it is also his way of reminding me – and you – that he is the head of the family and that he expects to be deferred to, as such.”

“Let him think that,” Maggie said. “He also said, and he says it here again and in writing, that he accepts me as your wife. That is all that I care about.”

“Do you have any doubt that you are my wife?” Ramon gave her a wry smile, his eyebrow raised.

“Mmm, none at all. You proved it to me so well again last night.” She moved in close to him.

“And I will do so again, but…” He looked at his pocket watch. “…I promised Aaron that I would be right back at the store.”

“And I have to get the Free Lunch cooked,” Maggie replied wistfully.

He took her chin in his hand and raised her face to his. “I do have time for another kiss.” He took one, and when he was done, he added, “I will be back this afternoon for more and to walk over to the bank with you. I want to see how beautiful you make Mama’s pearls look.” He gave her a quick peck on the forehead and headed for the door.

“I will be waiting,” Maggie answered, a cheerful smile on her face, as she watched him leave. She hugged herself, trying to contain her all the delicious sensations his kisses had stirred in her body.

* * * * *

“Hector, would you please come up to the board and show us --” Nancy was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door of the schoolhouse.

Jubal Cates opened the door. “Excuse me, Miss Osbourne, may I come in?”

“Certainly,” Nancy answered. “Come up to the front of the room, if you would. Children, this is Mr. Cates. He’s a surveyor, and I believe that he has something to say to one of you.”

Jubal walked slowly up to stand next to her desk. “I ain’t – excuse me, I’m not used to talking to a lot of kids. I just figured to talk to Emma O’Hanlan.”

“Yes, Mr. Cates.” Emma stood up, smoothing her dress as she stood. A few of the others giggled, but she ignored them and tried to look grown-up. “What did you want?”

Jubal took a book from a pack tied to his waist. “Miss Osbourne tells me that you’re the best one for the job of my assistant, so I’m gonna give you a try. This here – this book…” He held it up for all to see. “…has all the material you’ll need to know for the job. You read the first chapter, do the problems at the end – if you can. You come by my office this Saturday at 2, and you can show me how well you did.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Cates.” Emma hurried over to the man and took the book. “And thank you so much for this job.”

“I didn’t give you the job yet, girl. I just gave you the chance for it.”

“Thank you for that then.”

Jubal started for the door. “We’ll see how thankful you are on Saturday.” He stopped about halfway and looked back at her. “Good luck.” He gave her a quick smile and walked out.

“Congratulations, Emma,” Miss Osbourne said. “I know that your friends want to congratulate you as well, but they will have to wait until the school day has ended. Right now, we are in the middle of an English lesson. Hector, as I was saying, would you please step up to the board and diagram the third sentence on page 205 of your reader?”

* * * * *

Ethan stepped back from the painting. He glanced quickly from it to the model, Wilma, who laid seductively on the bed, her nude form on full display. “Yes,” he said with a smile. “I am done… it is finished.”

“Can I see?” she asked coyly.

“Of course.”

She rose out of the bed and padded over. She gave the painting a hard look, and a smile broke on her face. “It’s beautiful.”

“It only reflects the beauty of the model.”

She turned and gazed at him, her eyes sparkling. “That’s the first really nice thing you’ve said about me in all the time I was posing.”

“It was not the right time for such talk. I only wished to concentrate on capturing your likeness on canvas.”

“You certainly did that.” She stared again at the sublimely rendered figure. “Can I thank you for how well you done?”

“There’s no need for that, I assure you. The amount that Lady Cerise and I agreed upon will be more than sufficient reward for my efforts.”

“That’s between Cerise ‘n’ you. I-I want to thank you, too, for doing such a great job.”

“Very well.”

“And my way’s a whole lot better ‘n cash money.” Wilma threw her arms around him and pulled him in for a kiss. She pressed her body close, deliberately rubbing her pillowy breasts against his chest. His mouth opened willingly, and her tongue slid in to begin to tangle with his. She sighed as she felt his arms close around her, even more when she felt the growing firmness of his erection.

He broke the kiss much sooner than she wanted. ‘We do have to breathe,’ she consoled herself. She was about to try for a second one, when he gave her a light smack on the cheek, then her jaw and more times on down to her neck. She delighted at the attention he was giving her, sighing once more and shifting her head back onto her other shoulder.

His trail continued down her neck, onto her shoulders, then slowly, ever so slowly down towards her breast. He gave her one last kiss before he began to swirl his tongue along the top of her left breast. He continued, circling around her breast. Gradually, deliberately, agonizingly, he continued the swirling motion, making those circles smaller and smaller.

Wilma trembled, holding onto him to keep from falling. Her eyes were closed. All she knew was the motion of his tongue on her soft skin, the warm, exquisite ache that was building in her body. She reached down to grasp his maleness, trying to pull it into the so very hot, so very wet emptiness in her loins.

As his tongue began to brush against her almost painfully erect nipple, there was a great outburst of energy, like a lightning bolt straight from Heaven to her deepest female part. She squealed with delight as her body spasmed there in his arms.

“Oh, Ethan,” she gasped when she had regained enough control to speak. “That… that was wonderful. Please… please, take me – right here, right now.”

He grinned with male satisfaction. “I fear that I cannot, at least, not at the present. Another one of my commissions will be arriving…” He glanced quickly at his pocket watch. “…in about fifteen minutes. Just as it took time to properly use my skills to create the painting you so admire, it will take far, far, more than a quarter of an hour to do justice to your carnal desires.”

He saw her sated smile broaden into an anticipatory grin. He had all but promised that he would finally take her to bed. He decided to encourage her, even while making her wait for it. “Tonight, of course, will be a far different matter.”

* * * * *

“With the discovery of gold at Sutter’s Mill, the great California gold rush began. In the course of --” Nancy Osbourne stopped as the small clock on the corner of her desk began to chime. “And that’s the end of today’s lessons. For tomorrow, grades 5 and 6 answer questions 1-4 on page 247 of your history book. Seventh and eighth grades, please do those, as well as questions 5-8.”

If she had anything more to say, it was lost in the scramble as most of her students filled their book bags and began to file out of the classroom.

“Congratulations, Emma,” Ysabel said, as she put her books away. “You got the job.”

Emma shook her head. “I got the chance for the job. I still have t’show Mr. Cates that I can do the work.”

“You can do it. You’re real good at math.”

“If I am, it’s ‘cause I had your help catching up to where we are.” She had a sudden thought. “Say, can you come over and help me with this?” She held up the book Jubal Cates had given her, Manual of Surveying Instructions from the U.S. General Land Office, 1855 revision.

“I-I don’t know if I can. I don’t know surveyor’s math any more than you do.”

“No, but you’re good at teaching math, finding tricks and helping me see how to do problems. I bet you could do that for this stuff, too.”

Stephan eased up behind her, his bag already on his shoulders. “Can I come over, too?”

“Why?” Emma asked.

The boy looked around nervously. None of his brothers or sisters were still in the room. “You both know how I want to go into the Army – to West Point if I can?”

“Sure, I… we do,” Ysabel answered quickly. Emma nodded in agreement.

“An officer needs to know how to read maps, how to make ‘em, too, sometimes. That means surveying. An artillery officer needs to know the same sort of math for calculating how to aim cannons.” He took a breath. “I figure that the more I know about such things, the better chance I have of getting in. Studying with you and Ysabel seems like a good way to learn some of it.”

“I… suppose,” Emma said.

Ysabel smiled. “If I’m gonna be the teacher – sorta – I get a say in who I’m going to teach, and I think Stephan being in the class is a lovely… a real good idea.”

“In that case, you got room for one more?” Yully chimed in. “I’ve been reading about this Schliemann fellah over in Turkey using surveying to find where Troy really was.”

Penny joined them. “You know those’re just stories, Yully. Even Mama says so. There aren't any giants with one eye.”

“Pappoús says Troy was real,” he argued. “I asked him about it.” Then he added. “Pappoús means ‘grampa’ in Greek. He’s my ma’s papa.”

“He taught those stories for all those years at his school,” Penny replied. “For him they are real.”

“That Mr. Schliemann thinks so, and I do, too. And, maybe, if I learn how, I can go help him.”

Emma laughed. “Maybe you will, but, for now, if you want, you can sit in, too, if Ysabel don’t mind.”

“I guess I can try and teach three people as easily as I can try to teach two. Or do you wanna come, too, Penny?”

The other girl shook her head. “He’s the one that wants to find where the real Ulysses lived. I’m Penelope, I can wait.”

“Penelope was the wife of the Greek hero, Ulysses,” Yully explained. “She stayed home and waited while he spent all those years at the war and even more years coming home. Of course, she had all those handsome suitors keeping her company while she waited.” Then he grinned and added, “If you’re waiting for a bunch of handsome suitors, Penny, you’re gonna be waiting even longer than that other Penelope did.”

“I… you take that back, Yully Stone.”

“Will not.” He winked at Emma and ran for the door with Penny in hot pursuit.

Emma laughed. “I guess we’ll talk about when those classes are gonna be another time.”

“No, we can decide now,” Stephan said. “I can tell Yully.”

Emma thought for a moment. “I have to see Mr. Cates on Saturday. Is Thursday, after school at my house, okay with the two of you?”

“Fine with me,” Ysabel told her and Stephan agreed. Somehow the idea of spending some time together sounded good to them, even if it was to study something.

* * * * *

“Ramon… and Miss Sanchez – excuse me, Mrs. de Aguilar,” Milo Nash greeted the couple who had just stepped up to his teller’s window. “What can I do for you this afternoon?”

Ramon smiled. “We… my wife…” He squeezed Maggie’s hand. “…want to get something from my family’s safety deposit box.”

“Certainly.” Milo slid down the door that closed the front of his window. Then he turned to the teller a few feet to his right. “George, I’m taking the de Aguilars to the safe. I’ll be right back.”

When the other man nodded, Milo walked around to the side of the tellers’ area and opened a door. “This way, please.”

Maggie and Ramon walked through then followed him over to a large half-opened steel door, the entrance to the bank’s walk-in vault. A small table with two chairs were set up just outside. Milo pulled out one of the chairs. “Mrs. de Aguilar?”

“Margarita… Maggie, please,” she replied, sitting down.

Ramon handed him Gregorio’s letter. “Parcel 31, if you please.”

“Let me…” He quickly scanned the document. “It seems in order. I’ll have it for you in a moment.” He pulled a set of keys from his jacket pocket and walked through the door into the vault.

He returned a few minutes later carrying a small leather case with a tag bearing the number 31. “I believe this is what you wanted.” He handed the box to Maggie.

“I-I am so nervous.” She opened the box. “¡Oh, qué hermosa!”

The teller looked confused. “I’m sorry; I’m afraid that I don’t understand Spanish.”

“I was just saying how beautiful they were,” Maggie explained. She turned the box so he could see what he had given her.

Ramon smiled and put his hand on hers. “Sì, they are almost as beautiful as the woman who will wear them.” He took a breath. “Put them on. I want to see how lovely they look on you. Then we will go back to the Saloon, so everyone can see.”

“W-wear them?” she asked nervously. “No, I… I do not want to put them on right now. It is not the right time.” She closed the box and handed it to Ramon. “Please, you… you hold them for me.”

Ramon frowned. “What do you mean? Of course, you should wear them.”

“No, I-I should not, not now.”

He put the box inside his jacket. “Very well. I will take them back to the store for now, and we can lock them up at home tonight.” He spoke slowly, his tone alerting Maggie that she had made some sort of mistake. “And perhaps someday, you will find the right, the special occasion when you can wear them.”

He took her arm and walked her back to the Saloon, never saying another word. And when he left her, he barely gave her a kiss on the cheek.

* * * * *

Nancy Osbourne compared the answers on Miriam Scudder’s test paper to the answer sheet she’d prepared for the fifth and sixth graders’ arithmetic test. “Five out of eight,” she said. “I’ll have to work with her on fractions a good bit more.” She made a note to that effect in her sixth grade lesson plan.

She was about to reach for another paper when the door opened behind her. “I want to talk to you, Nancy,” Zenobia Carter told her.

“Mrs. Carson,” Nancy replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice, as she turned to face her landlady, “I’ve asked you many times not to come into my room without knocking.”

Zenobia sneered. “I’ll not be knocking on a door in my own house, asking your permission to enter.”

“This is my room, and I think I deserve some privacy.” She was sitting in just her yellow nightgown and a light brown robe. She’d already eaten, and she planned to grade papers until she went to bed. If she were dressed, Mrs. Carson would have tried to get her to do housework.

“I don’t, and I don’t trust people who’d lock their door on me.” She took a breath. “You are only here on my sufferance, anyway. You can leave if you don’t like it, but I very much doubt that you would find any place this nice that was willing to put up with you.”

Nancy frowned. Room and board was part of her salary as school teacher, but she had to take what she was offered. Mrs. Carson was being paid by the town board to board her this year, but the matron always behaved as if she were doing it out of the kindness of her heart. ‘Maybe I can find a better place during the summer,’ she thought. ‘In the meantime, just change the subject.’

“What did you want to talk to me about, Mrs. Carson?”

“Cecelia Ritter told me that you didn’t sign the petition about Reverend Yingling. She gave me a copy.” She took a folded sheet from her apron pocket. Looking down, she didn't notice the schoolteacher tense at the mention of Mrs. Ritter's name. “You can sign it now.” She unfolded the paper and held it out for Nancy to take.

“You might as well put that away. I have no intention of signing it.”

“Why not, may I ask?”

“Because, as the school teacher, I think that I shouldn't involve myself in controversies. After all, my students have parents on both sides of this issue.”

“That’s a good reason to sign and to tell your students that you signed. So they know that it is the correct thing to do.”

Nancy shook her head. “I don’t believe in going against a child’s parents.”

“Stuff and nonsense. If their parents won’t sign, then they are in the wrong, and the children must be shown that. Perhaps the tykes can even persuade their parents that the right thing is for them to sign it.”

“Who’s to say that it is right? I’m not so sure that we shouldn’t leave well enough alone. Mr. O’Toole seems to be doing as well as I would expect the reverend to do.”

The older woman gasped. “Are… are you saying that some… some common barman’s judgment is as good as that of an ordained minister, especially on a moral question like this potion?”

“I’m just saying that I don’t wish to sign that petition. I don’t see that I need to explain my reasons to you or anyone else.”

“You are a very, very foolish woman, Miss Osbourne, and I can see that I am wasting my time trying to reason with you. Goodnight.” She tramped out, slamming the door behind her.

“That, Mrs. Carson, is the first thing you’ve said that I agree with.” Nancy smiled and began to check Nestor Stone’s test answers.

* * * * *

Tuesday, April 9, 1872

Clara picked at her apple cobbler. “Annie, could you… would you please do me a favor?”

“If I can help you with something,” Arnie replied with a smile, “just ask.” A chance to get on Clara’s good side, yes!

The other girl fidgeted with her fork, as she spoke. “It’s this dress that Mama is making for me. It’s almost done – it just needs pinning, but I… I really can’t stand up as long as it takes her to put in the pins. We’re about the same size. Would… could you wear it while Mama works?”

“Me; you want me to wear a… to wear your dress?”

“Oh, yes, if you would, please…”

Mrs. Spaulding chimed in. “It would be a great help to me, Annie. I’m sure that you know how much work goes into making a dress, getting the bottom hem right and all.”

“No,” Annie shook her head. “Not really.” She thought quickly, not wanting to reveal who she really was. “I-I never really paid attention when my mama made clothes for my sisters – or me.” She closed her eyes and took a breath. ‘You did sort of give your word,’ she chided herself. Aloud she said. “All right, I will do it, but I cannot be here for too long. I have a cart full of laundry to bring home.”

The mother stood up. “Very well, Hedley, you can clear the table, while I get my pins. The dress is on a form in Clara’s room, Annie. Do you think you can manage her chair?”

“Sì, I have a lot of practice. My Mama is in a chair because of her accident.” Annie rose to her feet and walked around to where Clara was sitting. She slowly pulled the girl’s wheelchair away from the table.

Hedley ran over to the nearby door. “Let me get that for you, Annie.” He pushed open the door and held it, while Arnie guided Clara and her chair through.

* * * * *

Arnie sat down on the bed and pulled off her shoes. Once they were off, she stood and unbuttoned her pants. She stepped out of them and began to undo her shirt.

Clara sat watching her. “You have lovely lacework on your underclothes,” she said. “Who did it?”

“My Mama,” Arnie told her. “She is very good at making lace.” Then she added. “I am sure that you have nice lace on yours, too.”

The girl smiled. “I do.”

“May I see?” She tried not to leer as she spoke.

“That’s silly, why do you need to see mine? Do you know how to tat lace?”

“No, I-I never learned.”

“Oh, but you should. Mama says that it’s a very ladylike skill. She taught me a long time ago?”

“Did you do the lace on your… clothes? Can I see it?”

“If you must,” Clara answered. Arnie smiled in anticipation until she pointed to a tall cabinet. “There’s a petticoat of mine you can wear over there in my armoire.” When she saw the look on her friend’s face, she added. “Don’t look so surprised. The dress won’t fit right without a petticoat underneath.”

“Oh… of course.” Arnie hid her disappointment. She opened the door and took the garment from a hanger. “This is lovely lacework,” she said, honestly admiring the scrolls of blue trim along the bottom edge of the garment.

* * * * *

“Will this be much longer?” Arnie asked. She was beginning to feel stiff from holding in place for so long.

Mrs. Spaulding took a pin from her mouth and used it to adjust another part of the hem of the dress Arnie now wore. “I’m just finishing, dear.” She turned to her daughter. “What do you think, Clara? It’s your dress.”

“It looks lovely,” the girl answered. “I just hope it looks as good on me as it does on Annie.”

Arnie laughed. “I am sure that it will look even better on you.”

“We can see when you come back with the laundry on Saturday,” the mother said. “I’ll have it all finished by then. If you want, you can both model it.”

Arnie shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. Clara is welcome to it.”

“Whether you wear it or wear one of your own,” Hedley replied, “I do hope that you will be joining us again for lunch.”

Clara clapped her hands. “Yes, please do. You can wear a dress that your mother made the lace for, so we can see more of her work.”

“More?” Hedley asked.

His sister blushed. “Yes, Annie had lovely patterns of swirled lace all over her…” She stopped and blushed.

“Her… undergarments?” Her brother finished the sentence. “I’m sure that they are most becoming, and I deeply regret that I am too much of a gentleman to ask to see them.” He winked slyly and bowed low.

Arnie felt odd and couldn’t quite bring herself to face him as she answered. “Th-Thank you. And… and I will be happy to have lunch with you… with you all on Saturday when I come back with your laundry.”

* * * * *

“Hey, Maggie,” Laura said, walking into the kitchen, “what’s for lunch?” She stopped when she saw the mournful expression on her friend’s face. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Maggie shook her head. “Nothing, nothing at all; it-it is the onions.”

“She’s been like that all morning.” Jane chimed in. “Maybe you can get her to talk.”

Laura walked over to the cook and took her hand. “C’mon, Maggie, fess up. You can’t be keeping secrets from your madrone, now, can you?”

“I… I cannot tell anyone,” she replied. “It is just so… so silly.”

Laura squeezed Maggie’s hand. “You can tell me. Who knows, maybe I can even help.”

“Ramon… oh, Laura, Ramon is so mad at me. I-I do not know what to do.”

“I told you there’d be fights didn’t I? It happens to all married couples. Just what was the fight about?”

“It wasn’t really a fight. He… Gregorio sent word for him to give me some of their mother’s jewelry – it was at the bank, in a safe – and I-I did not want to wear it.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Why not, didn’t you like it? Was it something ugly?”

“No, it… they, the earrings and necklace, they were beautiful, so elegante, I was afraid to wear them.” She sniffed. “And it hurt Ramon that I refused. I could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. And when I tried to-to talk to him last night… in bed, he-he p-pulled away from me.” Her lip began to quiver and she looked away so that her companions couldn’t see.

Laura hugged her friend tightly, making cooing sounds and trying to comfort her.

Maggie tugged herself away from her. “Laura, what should I do?”

The taller blonde shook her head. “You should know that better than I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been a husband, something I’ve never been. Put yourself in Ramon’s shoes; that should be easy for you. Think what could have bothered him and what you would want your wife to do if it had been you and her instead of Ramon and you.”

“He wanted me to put on the jewels like I was a rich lady to whom they didn’t mean very much. He doesn’t seem to understand that I come from poor people. They are like a treasure we never dreamed of. We would bury such things for bad times when the crops fail, or when Apaches burned the pueblo, or else put them into a big city bank and hope it is not robbed.”

Laura crossed her arms and regarded her friend skeptically. “You’re both still pretty poor, moneywise, Maggie, but Ramon comes from a home where people enjoyed precious things and didn’t make such an incredible fuss over them.”

“When Gregorio and Ramon gave you their mother’s jewelry, I think they were saying that you had become one of them, a de Aguilar, just like their mother did when she married their father.”

“By not putting them on, not displaying them as their mother would have, you were saying that you’re not fully ready to be part of their family. What could upset Ramon more? You have to tell him what you told us, but you have to be clever in the way you tell him, so it comes out just right.”

“What can I do now that the mistake has been made?” Maggie asked gloomily.

“That’s easy t’solve,” Jane blurted out. “Wear ‘em.”

Maggie stopped sobbing and looked over at her assistant. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you gotta wear ‘em. Wear ‘em at home, if you’re scared of wearing ‘em here. And you tell Ramon that you love him so much that you had t’wear ‘em, even if you was afraid t’wear ‘em here.”

Laura laughed. “I never thought I’d say it, but Jane’s right. You should wear that jewelry at home for Ramon. Tell him how you’re worried about what could happen to it, but tell him while you’re wearing it. Do that and you’ll be stepping into the shoes of the woman of the house, which is what Ramon wants you to be.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Maggie said. “I will think about what you said. And thank you, thank you both for your help.”

Laura smiled. “Glad to…” Her voice trailed off. She grabbed for the edge of the table. “Chair,” she said in a weak, fearful voice. “Ch-Chair… please.”

“Jane,” Maggie ordered, grabbing hold of the other woman. “Get a chair quick.”

Jane hurried over with a chair, and they both helped the pregnant woman sit down. “You want a drink or something?” Jane asked.

“No, I’ll… I’ll be okay in a minute.”

Maggie shook her head. “Maybe you will, or maybe you will not. Do you want Jane to get Arsenio so he can take you home?”

“No, I-I just felt tired all of a sudden. I don’t want to worry him.”

“If you’re that tired, then you oughta be laying down,” Jane told her.

“No. I’ll be fine. Don’t you be worrying so much about me.”

Maggie firmly put her hands on her hips. “Jane, you take her upstairs and put her in your bed. Do it right now.”

“Please. I’m… I’m fine.”

“The hell you are,” Jane answered. “You come upstairs with me right now , or I’ll... I’ll tell Molly you ain’t well and won’t do nothing about it.”

Laura chuckled and held up her hands in surrender. “Not that.” She tried to stand, but stopped and slowly settled back in the chair. “Maybe… maybe laying down for a while would be a good idea.”

* * * * *

“I truly can’t imagine what Mr. Cates was thinking,” Hermione said as she and Lallie walked down the schoolhouse steps for lunch. “Imagine offering a job to someone like Emma.”

Lallie responded to the cue. “Oh, I know what you mean, but I’m sure that he’ll see the error of his ways as soon as he sees how poorly she does the work.”

“Who should he give it to, Hermione,” Stephan asked, “somebody like you, who can’t tell her seven times tables from nine times tables?”

Emma rose in her own defense. “He gave it to me ‘cause Miss Osbourne told him I could do the job, and I can.”

“A potion freak like you?” Hermione gave a nasty laugh. “You don’t even know if you’re a boy or a girl. I suppose that’s why you’re dumb enough to think you can do a man’s job.”

Yully smiled. “So now you’re saying that Emma’s a girl.”

“I… no, I’m saying no such thing.” Hermione’s smile faded. “He-she… Emma’s a thing, a potion freak, neither boy or girl.”

Emma rose from the bench she was sitting on. Her hands curled into fists. “That’s the second time you’ve called me a potion freak, Hermione. Say it again, and I’ll black them beady eyes of yours.”

“Don’t do it, Emma.” Stephan stepped in front of her. “You’ll get in a lot of trouble, and it’ll just give her more lies to tell about you.”

He turned to face the other girl. “Do you know what the Bible says about people who spread lies and start fights, Hermione?”

“No, no, I don’t.” She stepped back, reminded that she was confronting the minister’s son.

Stephan smiled. “Then, maybe, after you two eat lunch, you should go back into the school and check Miss Osbourne’s Bible t’find out.” He laughed as he watched the two scurry away.

“What does the Bible say about people who tell lies and start fights?” Yully asked as they sat down around the picnic table where they normally ate.

Stephan laughed. “I don’t know right off the top of my head, but it’s gotta say something.” He took a bite of his chicken sandwich. “But Hermione ain’t gonna be scared off for very long, so we’d all better watch our backs for a while.”

* * * * *

“This treacle tart is delicious, Ceceilia,” Lavinia Mackechnie told her host.

Cecelia Ritter smiled. “I’m so glad that you like them. Would either of you like more tea?”

“Please,” Zenobia Carson said, lifting her cup, so that Cecelia could reach it easier. Cecelia poured the tea, and then set the pot down on a wooden trivet next to an embroidered tea cozy.

Zenobia added a spoon of sugar and stirred the tea once before setting the spoon aside. “So how are the petitions coming?”

“Very well,” Cecelia replied. “We got thirty-some signatures on Sunday, and there are copies of the petition at a number of stores. It took a bit of persuading, but I even got Mr. Albertson to post a copy at the bank.” She took a sip of her own tea. “And my Clyde is asking everyone who comes into his livery.”

Lavina nodded. “Excellent. It’s too bad we couldn’t get it into even more stores, say, Silverman’s or Ortega’s.”

“Silverman’s Jewish,” Cecelia said scornfully. “You can’t expect those people to support any proper Christian work. And those Mex aren’t that much better. I didn’t even ask Mr. Ortega.”

Zenobia nodded. “And some of the members of our own church aren’t any different. I saw Mr. Caulder take a copy of the petition, but I’ll bet that he didn’t put it out in his smithy.”

“What do you expect?” Lavinia asked. “He’s married to one of those potion freaks.”

Cecelia shook her head. “That Laura Caulder has always been a problem. I’ve no doubt that she was the one who came up with those ‘Keep O’Hanlan’ ribbons when Horace Styron and my husband, Clyde, were trying to get that horrid Trisha O’Hanlan off the church board.”

“Those potion freaks all stick together,” Zenobia said. “You’d think that they would hate O’Toole for what his potion did to them, but Mrs. Caulder carries on like he’s her father. It’s… disgusting.”

“We all know that O’Toole could control the minds of those women. Maybe he’s still doing it. It’s very disturbing,” said Cecelia.

Lavinia tried one of the almond cookies that Cecelia had set out for them. “I agree, but we have to be nice to Mrs. Caulder for now, at least. Her husband’s on the town council.”

“For now,” Cecelia replied. “After we’ve won, and the reverend has control of the potion, our next objective should be putting our sort of people on the council.”

* * * * *

A slender young woman walked in the back door of the Lone Star Saloon. She set down the bucket and mop she was carrying and stepped through the door into the barroom. “Pa,” she asked Sam Duggan, “did you hear anything of a petition about Mr. O’Toole?”

“Not a word, Winnie,” Sam answered. “Do they want to shut him down?” He gave an ironic laugh. “I couldn’t be that lucky.”

The girl took a folded sheet of paper from her apron pocket and handed it to her father. “No, Pa, it’s about that potion he brews up, the one that changes people. They want the town council to make him give it all to Reverend Yingling.”

“Oh, and what is the good reverend going to do with it?”

“It doesn’t say. All it says is that he’ll form some sort of a committee to tell the town council when they should use it. There was a bunch of copies of the petition over at Mr. Styron’s store. When I bought the new bucket and mop – they’re in the kitchen – he gave me a copy and told me to bring it back here for you. He said he could get more copies if you needed them.”

Duggan unfolded the sheet and quickly read it. “A committee, is it now, and that bas-- and Horace Styron expects me to sign it and to put it out for others to sign. Well, no, thank you.”

“I thought you hated Mr. O’Toole, pa. Why don’t you want to sign?”

“I trust that preacher even less than I trust Shamus O’Toole. Yingling’s making a grab for power, and he’s using Shamus’ brew as an excuse. I wouldn’t be surprised if he plans to parlay that committee of his into a way to shut down Shamus and me and every other place in town. I’ll be damned if I’ll help any man cut my own throat.”

He took a breath and added, “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t hate Shamus. I just don’t like having him – or any other man -- making money that I’d make if he wasn’t here.”

* * * * *

“Margarita?” Ramon glanced up from the book he’d been reading and looked around. There was no sign of her. “She went upstairs to put the children to bed,” he reminded himself. He had to chuckle. It was still hard to believe that Ernesto and Lupe were now his. “Almost mine,” he corrected himself. He made a mental note to talk to her about formally adopting them.

There were other things to talk to her about first. “The jewelry, I want – no, I need -- to know why she was so quick to reject it.” He started for the kitchen, guessing that she might be there.

“Ramon.” As if on cue, her voice came to him from the direction of the stairs. “Could you come up here, please?”

He nodded. ‘Already the obedient husband,’ he thought wryly, as he climbed the stairs. She wasn’t waiting for him at the top, but the door to their bedroom was ajar, and he could see lights flicking inside.

“Margarita, what -- “ He froze at the doorway. The room smelled of cinnamon, her favorite scent. She was standing by the bed, lit by a dozen small candles placed about the room. Her hair, usually tied in a ponytail, hung loose about her shoulders. She wore the white silk camisole, the one she had worn on their wedding day, but now it was unbuttoned, revealing her full, firm breasts and her slender waist. Besides that, all she wore were the matching white stockings, tied high on her thighs with lace ribbons, and a pair of ivory slippers.

And his mother’s necklace and earrings.

“You said that you hoped to find a ‘special occasion’ when I could wear these pearls.” She spoke softly, her lip quivering as she did, and he could hear the uncertainty in her tone. “I was hoping that tonight could be such an occasion.”

He hesitated a moment, taking in the weight of her words. She had understood how she had hurt him, and without his having to tell her. He was as pleased by her understanding as by her beauty. He warmed in every part of his body, his anger now gone like the snows of last Christmas. He rushed over to her and pulled her close.

“It will be the right occasion,” he assured her, putting his hands on her cheeks. Her eyes glistened, even as she smiled in anticipation. They kissed, tenderly at first, then with a fierceness that acknowledged the passion that they felt for each other. His tongue invaded her mouth, dueling with her own. Their hands roamed over each other’s bodies, arousing an eager expectation that swelled and swelled inside each of them, demanding release.

Maggie’s hand reached down to fumble with the buttons on the front of Ramon’s trousers. He broke their kiss and took a half step back. Now that she wasn’t distracted, Maggie quickly dealt with the buttons. Her fingers reached down into his drawers and circled his erection. “So warm,” she murmured, “and so… ready.”

“As are you.” He gently pushed her backwards, until she fell onto the bed. Her legs spread wide in connubial welcoming, dangling over the side.

He let his pants and drawers slide down around his knees. He leaned over her, one arm braced on either side of her head. As he lowered himself to kiss her, he felt her hand take hold of his manhood and guide it into her. She was ready, and he began to move his hips in and out. Maggie moaned, and her legs lifted to encircle him.

It was a very special occasion, indeed.

During the calm after the tempest, they lay together atop the still-made bed. The only cold part of her was the metal and gems he had wanted her to wear. His arm was around her, tenderly rubbing her stomach. She turned her head and kissed his cheek. “Ramon,” she said hesitantly, “about the pearls.”

“What about them?” She felt his body tense, his hand ceased its movement on her skin.

Was that suspicion she heard again in his voice? She took a breath to steady herself and continued. “I… all my life I was so poor. I could never buy such things for myself – or for my wife, my Lupe – no matter how much I wished, for her sake, that I could.”

“Now, everything is changed. I-I am your wife, and from you – or Gregorio… whoever – I get these pearls. They are so, so beautiful, and I know how much they must mean to you because they were your mother’s. I-I was afraid of them. What if I…” Her voice cracked. “…I lost them or broke them? What if one of the earrings fell into a pot of b-boiling hot stew? I could not bear the loss of them, what that would do to you, how you would feel about me for letting such a thing happen.”

“But you are wearing them now.”

“Sì, I am. I saw on your face how hurt you were when I would not wear them. I-I could not stand to see you so disappointed.” She smiled slyly and ran a finger across his bare chest. “Besides… if they had broken tonight, it would have been because of your passion. You could not blame me for that.”

“Margarita, you will always be to blame for my passion.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed each finger. “And you look so beautiful in Mama’s pearls. I will take the risk so everyone can see you wearing them.”

He turned so that they were face to face. “But just now, I am ready for yet another special occasion.”

* * * * *

Wednesday, April 10, 1872

“How’s the picture coming, Ethan,” Jane asked, fidgeting a bit as she did. “Seems like I been posing for it forever.”

Ethan stepped back to compare image and subject. “As a matter of fact, I have all but completed my efforts at capturing you – as you, that is – on canvas.”

“And what the heck does ‘as I am’ mean?”

“That I am near to finishing the capture of your likeness in the pose that you are in now, the… ah, maiden. I anticipate that I should conclude with this session… if you stop moving about.” He paused a beat. “However, other portions of the portrait are not yet done. Your sister missed her scheduled session yesterday. Can I expect her here today?”

“Laura wasn’t feeling too good yesterday.”

“Nothing serious, I trust.”

“Nope, she was just real tired from carrying that baby around in her belly. She said t’tell you that she’s feeling better, and she’ll be over today.”

“Excellent. While I have put all but the last few touches on her pose as ‘the mother’, there is still the figure of ‘the elder’, the seated one, to complete. Still, in answer to your original query, I believe that the entire scene should be captured within a week.”

“Shamus told me he’s got something planned for it after it’s done.”

“Mr. O’Toole has requested that there be a grand exhibition at his establishment for all three pieces, ‘The Three Fates’ and the pictures of Miss Hanks – Jessie Hanks, that is – and his wife, Molly, are ready.”

“They’re gonna hang in the Saloon, then?”

“For a short interlude, they shall. I suspect that he plans to take the portrait of Molly up to their rooms. As I’ve said previously, I intend to ship ‘The Three Fates’ back to Philadelphia.”

“Yeah, you said you was gonna put it in some kinda show.”

“I am not a wealthy man, Jane. I support myself with my work. A number of my pieces are currently stored at the Academy of Fine Arts, and upon my return, I shall be exhibiting those paintings and ‘The Three Fates’ for viewing and – I hope – for sale.”

“How ‘bout if you sold this one t’me instead?”

“My dear Jane, you’ve spoken of that possibility before. I don’t wish to embarrass you or to boast, but my work is already quite well known. The prices that I receive for my efforts are, I presume, considerably higher than you could afford.”

“Don’t be so sure of that. I got money, a fair bit, too, or so Dwight Albertson tells me.”

“Albertson at the bank, he handles your finances?”

“Like I told you, me ‘n’ Toby had claims up in the mountains. We… uh, we found some gold up there, and Dwight takes care of it for me.” She wasn’t about to say that they had found the gold by accident, rather than while digging for it.

“Well, far be it from me to dissuade a potential buyer.”

“I ain’t sure yet if I’m gonna buy it. Milt – my… uh, friend, Milt Quinlan, he says I should keep my money in Dwight’s bank and let him make me rich like he’s been doing.”

She’d mentioned Quinlan before, and, from what she’d told him, they were much more than mere acquaintances. Which was a shame considering how much he’d like to become more familiar with this buxom young innocent’s body.

Still, he could see her uncertainty. “Why don’t you just think about the matter for now? It will be two weeks, at least, before I ship this piece back east. If you decide in the interim to purchase it, I’m sure that we can come to some mutual accommodation.”

“I guess that’d be okay. We’ll talk about it another time.”

“Indeed, we shall. But there will not be a painting to discuss unless you resume your pose so that I may complete it.”

* * * * *

Sam Braddock walked into the saloon. He took a look around the place then headed over to Bridget’s poker table. “Hi, gents… evening, Bridget.”

“Hi, Sam,” Bridget replied. “We just started a hand, but I’ll be glad to deal you in for the next one.”

He shrugged. “Fine with me. I’ll just go over and get m’self a beer. I wanted to talk to Shamus anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll give a signal when it’s time for the next hand.”

He nodded and walked over to where Shamus was standing at the bar. “Hey, Shamus, I got some news you might be interested in.”

“And what would that be?” the barman asked.

Sam tossed a silver dollar onto the bar. “Gimme a beer, and I’ll tell you.”

“Beer it is.” Shamus drew a beer and set it down on the counter. He put Sam’s change down next to it. “Now, what’s this big news ye’ve got for me?”

“I got a new job today… over at the Lone Star.”

“The Lone Star, is it, and what exactly has Sam Duggan hired ye t’be doing?”

“He wants me to build a stage, a big one – eight by sixteen – and sturdy enough for three or four men to move around on.”

“And did he telling ye what he was gonna be doing with that grand new stage o’his?”

“Not a word – and I asked him a couple times. I asked Cuddy Smith, too. He said he didn’t have any idea what his boss was up to.”

“Well, whatever it is, I thank ye for telling me about it, Sam. You let me know if ye find out anything more.”

“I will, Shamus, but right now, I see Bridget waving. She must be ready to take my money now.”

“Good luck t’ye, Sam, and let me know when ye’re ready for yuir next beer. It’ll be on the house, just my way of thanking ye for what ye told me about Duggan.”

* * * * *

Bridget took a sip of wine and looked across the table at Cap. “So, tell me, what’s going on? You were so mysterious when you asked me to have dinner with you tonight.”

“Can’t a man just want to have dinner with you? You’re an incredible woman, Bridget Kelly, beautiful, smart, kind… good.” He reached across and took her hand in his. “In or out of a man’s bed.”

Bridget raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Is that the reason? You want to get me back into your bed?”

“Not necessarily, I’m just as willing to get into your bed.” He tried to judge her expression. “Whenever you want me to be there.”

“I-I do want you, but… I don’t know if I-I’m ready yet.”

“Maybe you’ll be ready when I get back.”

“Get back? Are you going away?”

“Yep, that was the reason I came into town today, to say goodbye to you and to fetch some supplies. Uncle Abner’s sending me off to Prescott on business. I’ll be negotiating cattle sales to the territorial government, to the Army, and to the Indian Agency. I should be gone about two weeks… more or less.”

“Two weeks! Oh, Cap, I-I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. That’s why I asked you to dinner. I want to spend as much time as I can with you before I have to leave on tomorrow’s stage.”

“You’re spending the night here in town?”

“I am. I already rented a room from Shamus.” He squeezed her hand. “If I need it.”

Bridget blushed as a sweet warmth ran through her body. “We’ll… we’ll see about that later.”

* * * * *

Lady Cerise gently tapped the side of her wineglass with a knife. “Attention, attention, s'il vous plait.” She waited until everyone in the parlor was looking at her. “We are here to debut this fine work of art by my good friend, Ethan Thomas.” She clapped her hands, and most of the others joined her.

“Thank you, my lady,” Ethan replied, giving her a low bow. “My thanks, also, to all of you, and, most especially, my thanks to my beauteous model, Miss Wilma Hanks.”

Wilma was standing beside him. ‘Most beauteous,’ she thought, ‘He said I was beautiful.’ She felt the heat of a blush run across her face. Wilma wasn’t used to blushing about anything, and she didn’t want people to see it and give her the hee-haw.

“Show us the thing, already,” someone yelled, and a few others laughed.

Cerise smiled. Teasing men in different ways, making them want what you had to offer them, was a large part of her profession. “Very well, everyone.” She waited one moment, then another. “Wilma, ma chère… and Ethan, come over here.”

They did, walking hand in hand, Cerise noticed. His painting hung on the wall near where she was standing, covered by a white drop cloth. She positioned them on either side. “Ethan,” she asked. “Would you do the honors?”

“I defer to the subject of the work,” he answered. “Wilma, if you please.”

“You sure?” When he nodded, she took the bottom of the cloth in her left hand. In one quick motion, she yanked it upward and off the portrait.

The reaction was immediate. “Whoowhee,” a man’s voice called out. “If that ain’t a sight t’get a pecker hard!” There were many other, similar comments as the crowd gathered around.

“It is, indeed,” Ethan whispered. He and Wilma had stepped out of the way, as the people pressed in for a better look. They stood off to one side, watching the men stare at the canvas.

Wilma looked up at him. “Is what?” she asked. Though now fully dressed, she felt somehow uneasy around the man she had posed nude for all those weeks.

“A sight to harden any man’s ‘pecker’, as someone said.” Ethan took her hand and pressed it against his crotch. “Shall we do something about that?”

She beamed, instantly aroused, her nipples tight as an exquisite heat ran through her, centering in her loins. Now she was feeling again like the old Wilma. “Oh… oh, yes!” She led -- almost pulled -- him to the staircase.

Most of the people in the room were gathered around the painting. Beatriz was not one of them. She’d been leaning against a wall, watching the men. And watching Ethan – and Wilma. She saw him position her rival’s hand on his groin and saw them hurrying away.

“Merde!” she hissed, her face contorted into an expression of pure hate.

* * * * *

“Raise a quarter.” Cap tossed the coin onto the pile on the table.

Bridget looked at her hand again; seven of hearts, seven of spades, seven of diamonds, five of clubs, and jack of hearts. “Call.” She slid a quarter of her own onto the stakes.

“How many cards?” Stu Gallagher asked. He’d dropped out of the betting but he was still dealer.

Fred Norman frowned. “Gimme two.”

“None for me,” Cap said with that same grin that had almost distracted Bridget all evening.

She thought for a moment. “One card.” Stu dealt. She picked up the card and set it in her hand. ‘Four of diamonds,’ she thought. ‘Nothing.’

“The bet’s to you, Fred,” Stu said.

Norman set his cards on the table. “I got nothing.”

“Another quarter,” Cap sounded almost happy to have it down to just him and Bridget.

She considered her hand. It wasn’t that good, not the way he was betting. “Fold. What’d you beat me with, Cap?” She showed her own cards.

“Wit and charm,” he told her. “That and a pair of queens.” He leaned forward to rake in the pot.

Bridget forced a smile. “Congratulations, Cap. You got me that time.”

“Thanks. Is there time for another hand?”

Stu took out his pocket watch. “Ten of two, I don’t think so.”

“Last call,” Shamus yelled, as if to emphasize the fact. A couple of men at the bar raised their glasses, and the barmen hurried to refill them.

Bridget sighed. “Looks like you called it, Fred. Thank you all for a very pleasant evening of poker.” She gathered in the cards to form up a deck.

Stu and Fred thanked her in return and pocketed their winnings. They stood and walked towards the door.

“Need help?” Cap asked, his own winnings still on the table.

“Only with reading your tells. You bluffed me out twice tonight.” She put her cash-box on the table, putting the cards and her own money into it.

“And you won at least a dozen hands tonight. That’s more than I did.”

“I suppose. It still bothers me, though.”

He walked over and stood close to her, very close. “I kind of like it.” He was grinning again. Bridget felt her body come alive in reaction. “Shall we head upstairs?”

“I-I have to give Shamus my money. He’ll store it in his safe till morning.” She started towards the bar, and Cap fell in behind her. Somehow, by the time they reached the bar, he was holding her hand. Shamus took the cash-box with a nod, and they walked to the stairs.

“Cap,” she said suddenly, “I-I still don’t know… about tonight, I mean.”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “We’ll talk about that upstairs.”

In a moment, they were upstairs. “I took the room across the hall from yours,” Cap told Bridget as they walked past the other rental rooms. “More convenient, that way.” When they reached his room, he stopped and turned to face her. “Are you coming in, or do we go to your room again?”

Bridget’s body tingled at the memory of their tryst. “I… I’m not sure that I --”

“Let me persuade you then,” he interrupted her. He moved closer, and their lips met.

Bridget sighed. She put her hand on his chest, as if to push him away, but, of its own accord, it slid upwards to encircle his neck. He pulled her to him. She felt his tongue brush across her lips and she opened her mouth to let it slip in and begin its match with her own.

Their bodies pressed together. The tingling she felt grew into a warmth, no, a fire. Her breasts begged to be touched. Her nipples stiffened, growing tight against her camisole. She delighted as his erection rubbed against her nether parts, separated only by a few layers of cloth. Oh, Lord, she wanted him in her!

“That was nice,” she murmured as they broke the kiss. Then – damn it! – she remembered. “Cap… do you have… protection?”

He looked like he had just sucked a lemon. “No.” He let go of her. “And I suppose that you don’t have any, either; do you?”

“No,” she answered in a low, disappointed voice. “I wish I did. Please believe me, I do.”

He didn’t try to hide his own regret. “So do I. After the way you got so worried last time, I should have gotten some from Doc Upshaw when I came into town.”

“And I should have taken Jessie up on her offer to give me some of hers.”

“Could you ask her now?”

Could she? She considered the idea but… “No, she… she and Paul went up a couple hours ago. I-I couldn’t wake them up – if they were sleeping. I-I’d be mortified.”

“We don’t want that,” he said with a chuckle. “To tell the truth, I’d be kind of embarrassed myself.” He reached down and lifted her chin so that she was looking directly in his eyes. “You just make sure that you have some for when I get back, okay?”

She nodded, her eyes glistening. “I-I will, a lot of them.”

“Tonight we’ll just have to make do with more of this.” He pulled her close again. Their lips met. Bridget knew that she was going to have regrets later, but just now, she had something much, much more important to think about.

* * * * *

Thursday, April 11, 1872

“Eerie,” the stagecoach driver called out. “This here’s Eerie, Arizona.” He pulled the stage up to the depot platform. “Got a thirty minute hold over while we change horses.”

As soon as the stage came to a stop, Pablo Escobar and Hammy Lincoln, a thin black man, run over to it and began to unhitch the horses. Both wore pale green vests with the words “Ritter's Livery” painted on the back in bright yellow letters.

The driver jumped down and opened the door. “Watch your step, please,” he said.

“Will there be time to get something to eat, driver?” a woman asked from inside the stage.

The drive nodded. “It’ll have t’be quick, ma’am. You can get coffee and a sandwich inside the depot.”

“Allow me to help you.” A slender, well-dressed man opened the door and stepped down from the stagecoach. He turned and offered a hand to the woman, a rather attractive brunette in a blue and yellow dress.

She took his hand and exited the coach. “Thank you, Mr. Stafford. Will you join me?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Walsh, I can’t. This is my stop, mine and my friends. We have to get our bags and find a place to stay.”

She smiled. “Of course, perhaps another time?” she said, with just a trace of regret, to the handsome, curly-haired man, and hurried over to the depot office and a dubious meal.

“Get the bags, boys,” Forry Stafford said cheerfully.

Two more men climbed down from the vehicle. One was tall and wiry with short, sandy brown hair. “Okay, Mr. Stafford,” he said and started for the back, followed by a shorter, muscular man with greasy black hair. The driver walked with them to open the boot of the stagecoach, where most of the luggage and freight was stored.

“I hear you say you was looking for a place to stay?” the shotgun rider called down from his seat. As a rule, he stayed on his perch while the coach was stopped.

Stafford looked up at him. “I did. You know of a decent hotel around here?”

“There ain’t no hotel in Eerie, but some of the saloons rent out rooms. The two best is the Lone Star and the Eerie Saloon.”

“I’m a Texas man, born and bred. Which way’s the Lone Star?”

The man pointed. “Down that way, about a half a block. In case they’re full up, the Eerie’s on the other side of the street a bit further down. Either place, you tell ‘em that Vince Glidden sent you.”

“I will. Thanks.” He wasn’t about to spoil the kickback deal the man probably had for each person he sent. ‘In a town like this,’ Forry thought, ‘the quality’ll be about the same as everywhere else along this godforsaken line – awful.’ Aloud, he added, “Can you pass down my trunk, the brown one with my initials, ‘F.S.’, on the top?” Then he added, “Dell, get my trunk, and the both of you follow me to the Lone Star as soon as you have all our gear.”

Glidden lowered the trunk to the muscular man, while Forry started for the Lone Star. “The sooner I can get to a bed and sleep off all those days in that dammed coach, the better,” he muttered to himself as he walked.

* * * * *

Shamus walked over to a table where Molly and Dolores were sitting. Dolores had a scissors and was cutting a light green ribbon into six-inch lengths.

“How’re ye coming with them ribbons, Molly Love?” he asked.

Molly smiled up at him. “Not too bad. Dolores here’s been helping me.”

“So I see. Thank ye for doing the cutting, Dolores.”

“She’s doing more than that. She’s got a fine hand, she does, so she’s been doing some of the writing, too.” She took some ribbons from a stack on the table and showed them to him.

The ribbons read, “Trust Shamus” in dark green ink. Most were in Molly’s own, familiar script. More than a few, however, were written in a more delicate, more ornate, though still very readable style that he didn’t recognize.

“Ye did these, Dolores?” he asked.

She put down the scissors. “Sì, Shamus. You both have been kind to me, and I wanted to help.” She took a breath. “Especially since that preacher keeps talking about Arnoldo. He makes it sound like she is some kind of monster and that it is your fault.”

“‘Tis a shame. That poor cousin of yours shouldn’t get caught up in all these political goings on.” He sighed, then continued. “How’s she doing, by the way, and Teresa, too? Is them casts still on her?”

“They both are doing well. Teresa will have the casts on her arm and leg for some time yet. Arnoldo is helping with the business. Some people teased her at first for what happened to her, but our priest, Father de Castro defended her. After that there was not much trouble.”

“He’s a good man – and don’t ye be telling him I said so. He’d take it as an insult.” He chuckled.

“So are ye, Love.” Molly gently put her hand on his.

Shamus gave her a wink. “If I am, it’s only ‘cause I’ve got such a fine woman t’be looking after me.”

“When are you going to be handing out these ribbons, anyway?” Dolores had decided to try changing the subject.

Shamus stroked his chin in thought. “Saturday night, I’m thinking. That’s when we get the biggest crowd in here, for the dancing. Ye and the other waiter girls’ll be wearing ‘em, so will Molly and R.J., and me. We’ll be having a whole lot more on the table where Molly sells the tickets.”

“And by the end o’the evening,” Molly added, “there won’t be a man in the place that ain’t got one pinned onto him.”

* * * * *

Cap and Bridget walked hand in hand to the stage depot. “Do you have to go?” she asked him again. She didn’t enjoy sounding like a wheedling woman. She’d met her share as Brian, and they always drove her crazy. But she already missed this man who had gone from supportive friend to tender lover.

“I wish I didn’t,” Cap answered, “but Uncle Abner’s counting on me. This is the first time he’s sent me off by myself to negotiate contracts – which is a big step for the both of us. Also, Prescott's a good place to latch on to the latest news. I've heard talk of a railroad line coming out of California this way. Those construction crews need plenty of beef, and it would be quite a break for the ranchers who got in early.”

“I can see it that would be,” she sighed, “and I’m proud of you. I just wish we could have… you know.”

“I certainly do, and I wish it just as much – maybe even more -- than you do.” He smiled at her and gave a half-hearted shrug. “But I figure that you’re more than worth waiting for. It’ll make me come back quicker.”

“And I’ll be waiting and, this time, I’ll be ready.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because how am I going to be able to keep my mind on business, when all I can think of is you, ready and waiting for me?”

“Oh, you…” She giggled and slapped his arm. “Maybe I’ll just give you something to make you – to make it even harder… to think about business, I mean.” Her arms slipped up around her shoulders and pulled his head down to hers, and their lips met. At first, she’d just meant to tease him a little, but now her passion grew, and the kiss grew deeper and lasted longer.

She delighted in the sensation of her body pressed against his, even if – damn it – they were both dressed. And, as the kiss continued, she discovered that she had, indeed, made something much harder for him. Finally, they did separate. “Mmmm, nice,” she said in a husky voice that was almost a purr.

“It was that,” Cap agreed. “I wonder if we have time for another.”

The driver had been checking the hitching for the new team of horses and deliberately not looking in the direction of Cap and Bridget. Now, he walked over. “I’m real sorry to interrupt, folks, but I got a schedule to keep. If you don’t mind…”

Cap frowned. “I do… but you’re right.” He handed the man the valise he’d carried with him from the Saloon. “Here’s my bag.”

The driver took it. “We’ll be going soon as I put this in the boot. You’d best get on board.”

“Okay.” Cap gently ran a finger along Bridget’s cheek. “If I give you the sort of kiss goodbye that I want to give you, we’ll throw this man off so far off schedule that …” He chuckled and pecked her forehead. “It’d be worth it though.”

He smiled and climbed into the stage, taking a place across from the woman who was seated already inside.

“Here we go,” the drive said, scrambling up to his seat.

Cap was sitting by the window. Bridget stood, watching him and waving until the stage was lost in a cloud of dust at the edge of town.

* * * * *

Laura finished wiping a dish and set it in the drying rack. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Maggie, did you settle things with Ramon about the jewelry?”

“Sì, we… settled things.” She smiled at the memory.

Jane fished a dish from the soapy water of the sink and rinsed it in the second sink. “You use my idea o’wearing them pearls while you talked about ‘em?”

“I did,” the cook answered.

Laura smiled. “You wear anything else?”

“Laura!” Jane said in a shocked voice. “How can you ask something like that? O’course, she wore other stuff… didn’t you?”

Maggie blushed. “Sì, I was wearing some… other things.”

“From the way you’re smiling,” Laura said, “I think things went… well between you.” Then she giggled. After a moment, Maggie was giggling as well.

Jane shook her head. “I don’t know what t’make of the pair of you, giggling and talking like that. I can't see how either one of you was ever a rip-snorting outlaw.”

“It is not important what you make of us, Jane,” Maggie answered. “What is important is what our husbands make of us.”

Laura nodded. “That’s right, Jane. Sometimes, talking… and doing what we’re talking about, is the best way for a married couple to solve a problem.”

“The way you’re talking, Laura, what Ramon’s gonna make is… he’s gonna make a mamma outta Maggie, just like Arsenio made one outta you.”

Laura stared down at her body and gently rubbed her bulging stomach. “He hasn’t made me one yet, but he got things started, and it’s going to happen pretty soon now.” She looked over at her friend. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened to Maggie sometime soon.”

“En-encinta,” Maggie seemed startled. “Yes, it… it could happen, could it not?”

“It surely could,” Laura answered, “but whether it does or not, it’s sure a lot of fun getting that way.”

* * * * *

“Lemonade, anyone.” Kaitlin stepped through the door and into the backyard. She was carrying a tray with a pitcher of iced lemonade and four glasses. Emma, Ysabel, Stephan, and Yully were sitting around a worktable spread with sheets of paper and a couple of maps.

Emma put down her pencil. “Thanks, Ma. I could use a break about now. My head feels ready to explode.”

“I don’t see why,” Yully told her. “You’re doing the best of any of us at learning this stuff.”

“If any of us are learning this stuff, it’s ‘cause Ysabel’s such a good teacher,” Stephan said.

Ysabel laughed. “That’s silly. How can I teach what I don’t understand?”

Stephan shrugged. “Maybe you understand it better than you think you do.”

“I think you’re just trying to make me feel good about what I’m doing,” Ysabel replied.

“And what’s wrong with that?” He quickly added, “Not that I am, of course.”

“Can you settle this later?” Kaitlin asked. “I need to get back to cooking supper. I can’t stand here holding this tray forever.”

Yully stood up. “Let me take it, then.” He reached out and took the tray from her, setting it down on a corner of the table.

“Mrs. O’Hanlan,” Stephan said, as he reached for a glass, “you won’t tell my folks that I was here… studying surveying, w-will you?”

Kaitlin studied the boy’s face. “Is that a problem?” she asked.

The boy hesitated. Kaitlin saw the panic in his eyes. ‘I should’ve never asked,’ he thought. ‘Now, she’ll tell for sure.’ He answered her as best as he could. “K-Kind of – it’s… it’s something… something personal between me and… my Pa.”

“Promise you won’t tell, Mama,” Emma begged. “It’s real important.”

The woman saw the look of fear on all their faces. She also saw how Ysabel had stepped in close, as if to protect the minister’s son. Yully, she also saw, stood next to Emma, holding her hand, a determined look on his face.

“Very well.” She gave them a reassuring smile. “Tick a lock.” She made a gesture in front of her mouth as if turning a key. “You all go back to whatever it is you’re studying. Some big test at school, I suppose.” She winked and turned back to the house.

As she stepped inside, she had to smile. “I’ll worry about Stephan and his family problems later.” She spoke in a low, bemused voice. “Right now, I’ll just enjoy the thought that Emma and Ysabel are in the throes of their first cases of puppy love.”

She paused a moment. Was she sure so that it was a good thing that Emma, who she still thought of at times as Elmer, was getting close to a boy – to a boy? She sighed. Whatever she thought about it, there was no going back for him – for her. All she as a mother could do was to try and make it easier for her… daughter… to go forward.

And, possibly, the good Lord was already helping things move along.

* * * * *

“Hey, Jessie,” Mort Boyer called out, “How ‘bout something new?”

Jessie pouted prettily. “Aw, Mort, don’t you like what I been singing?”

“Sure I do. I-I just like t’hear a different song every once in a while.”

“As it happens, I do have a new song, and I think you’ll like it. As I remember, you was in the Army during the War, weren’t you?”

“I was, but what’s that got t’do with anything?”

“‘Cause this song’s about the enemy of every enlisted man on both sides – the officers. T’be specific, a man named Captain Jinks.”

“Was he a bad ‘un? I ain’t never heard of him,” said Mort with a scratch of his beard.

“Well, that’s okay, because if you just keep sitting there, I’m going to tell you all about him.”

Jessie took a pose against the bar and began to sing with gusto:

` “He’s Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines.
` He feeds his horse on corn and beans,
` And sports young ladies in their teens
` Tho' a Captain in the Army.”

` “He’ll teach the ladies how to dance,
` How to dance, how to dance.
` He’ll teach the ladies how to dance
` For he’s the pet of the Army.”

By this point, the men were laughing and clapping along with the sprightly beat. Jessie gave them as wink, as she began the chorus again.

` “He’s Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines.
` He feeds his horse on corn and beans,
` And sports young ladies in their teens
` Tho' a Captain in the Army.”

Her audience was still laughing along as she began the next verse.

` “He joined the Corps when twenty-one.
` Of course, he thought it capital fun.
` When the enemy comes, of course, he’ll run
` For he’s not cut out for the Army.”

` “When he left home, his mamma cried,
` His mamma cried, his mamma cried,
` When he left home, his mamma cried,
` ‘He's not cut out for the Army.’ “

` “The first time he went out for drill,
` The bugler sounding made him ill.
` Of the battlefield, he'd had his fill
` For he’s not cut out for the Army.”

` “The officers, they all did shout,
` They all did shout, they all did shout.
` The officers, they all did shout,
` ‘Why, kick him out of the Army!’”

` “He’s Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines.
` He feeds his horse on corn and beans,
` And sports young ladies in their teens
` Tho' a Captain in the Army.”

When she finished the final chorus, there was a loud round of applause. “You know your officers,” Fred Norman yelled, and a few others agreed. More than a few threw coins, and Mort yelled, “Sing it again, Jessie!”

She did.

* * * * *

Friday, April 12, 1872

Trisha sat in the parlor, eyes half-closed, listening to someone playing a song she didn’t quite recognize on a tinny piano. Her nipples were taut against the silk of her corset, and there was an emptiness in her loins. ‘I need a man,’ she thought, ‘and I need one now.’

“Thanks for a swell time, honey,” she heard a woman’s voice say.

She opened her eyes to see a buxom brunette in a Kelly green corset and silky white drawers walk in from the bedrooms. She was arm-in-arm with a tall, bearded man in gray work clothes. They stopped a few feet away from her, and the man handed the woman a ten dollar gold eagle. “Here’s what I owe you, Emma, and a bit more besides.”

“Emma?” Trisha bolted to her feet. The female standing before her was older than Emma – eighteen, perhaps, with a much more developed figure. She was the spitting image of Kaitlin at about the age she had been when Patrick had met her. That figure was well displayed in the corset, drawers, and stockings that were all she wore, but the woman behind the garish lipstick and rouge was clearly not her ex-wife but her daughter. “Emma,” she gasped. “What are you doing here – especially looking like that?”

“I drank that potion the same as you, Trisha. If you wind up a whore, then why shouldn’t I?” She slid the palm of her hand across the man’s chest, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Besides, it’s ever so much fun being with men, ain’t it?” Her voice was low, sensual – seductive.

Trisha shook her head back and forth, as if trying to erase the image. “No, no, I never wanted this to happen.”

“Like father, like daughter.” The male voice came from the direction of the piano music.

Trisha turned and saw… “Patrick?”

“One and the same.” Her male self stood up and walked towards her. “And you haven’t answered her question.”

“I… I was drunk. I-I didn’t know… didn’t realize what I was doing.”

“No, you didn’t,” he answered, “ but you realize it now, don’t you?”

“Yes, I-I do. I was wrong. Oh, Emma, what have I done to you?” She looked over at her daughter.

Emma smiled reassuringly. “Nothing… yet.”

“After what you did, she never had a chance,” Patrick continued. “It’s bad enough you make the bed for yourself to lie in, but did you have to make it for your little girl, too?”

“It was for me, not Emma. I’m taking her out of here!”

The man walked over to his daughter and put his arm around her waist. “You’ll be back, Sweetheart, and she’ll be back, too. That’s how it works.” The pair – the room faded away, as Trisha’s dream ended, and she sat up, wide awake:

“We won’t be back – ever!” she whispered, her teeth clenched and her expression grim.

* * * * *

“Well, look who we got here.”

Arnie turned at the sound of the voice. Fernando Hidalgo was leaning on the hitching post in front of Ritter’s Livery. “Buenos dias, Arnolda,” he said, making a sweeping bow.

“What do you want, ‘Nando’?” she answered sourly.

“Can’t a man say ‘Hello’ to an old friend?” He raised his voice slightly, and called into the open door of the store. “Hey, Pedro, come see who’s here.”

Pedro Escobar stepped out of Ritter’s onto the sidewalk. “What did you – Well, Arnolda, buenos dias. I see you’re still wearing boy’s clothes.”

“What business is it of yours, if I wear boy’s clothes?” she answered angrily.

Pedro made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Because it’s such a waste. You’d look so much prettier if you dressed as the señorita you truly are.” He studied her figure –or was it just a leer – for a moment. “Yes, I’d really love to see you in a nice dress.”

“I’d rather see her out of her dress than in it,” Fernando added. He distinctly leered as he said it.

Before Arnie could answer, Winthorp Ritter came up behind Pedro. “What are the two of you doing out here?”

“We-We was just talking to --”

Winthorp frowned. “I can see what you were doing, and you’d best be doing it on your own time. Pedro, my father wants you to hitch up that shay for Mr. Janson, and you, ‘Nando, the other horses need to be watered. Get to it.”

“Yes, sir,” both boys answered, and hurried off. Fernando added, “Bye, Arnolda, sweetie,” and made a kissing noise as he went.

The Ritter boy watched them leave. “I suppose that I should apologize for those two.” He stepped closer to Arnie. “Although, I really can’t blame them for flirting with a pretty girl instead of doing the work my father pays them for.”

“You don’t have to apologize for them,” Arnie said quickly.

Winthorp smiled at her. It was the same leer that she had gotten from the other two, and she didn’t like it any more when he did it. “You are a very pretty girl, and quite a good laundress, too.” He lightly touched her arm. “I like the way you handled my undergarments, Arnolda, and I hope to do the same for yours someday.”

“Don’t hold your breath waiting,” Arnie replied. “And in the meantime, why don’t you go and do the work your father pays you for?” She picked up the handle of the laundry cart and walked briskly away, pulling the cart behind her.

* * * * *

“Morning, Bridget,” Jessie said cheerfully. “Is there anything left for breakfast besides coffee?”

Bridget shook her head. “Not much. Maggie and Jane have already started on the Free Lunch.” She chuckled. “You and Paul really must’ve gone at it last night for you to be coming down this late.”

“Don’t I wish. Paul was on duty overnight.” She grinned. “If you want, you can decide if I was resting up from all the fun we had the night b’fore last or resting up for all the fun we’re gonna have tonight.”

“I pass.” She gave a sigh. “I won’t be having a night like that till Cap gets back from Prescott a couple weeks from now.”

“So, you finally decided that you do want t’be with him.”

She blushed. “I have, and I-I need your help.”

“Mmm, Cap’s a good-looking man, but I’d rather be with Paul than helping you get Cap's britches off.”

“Jessie!” Bridget sputtered. “How can you say that?” She looked angry.

Jessie held up her hands, as if to fend off an attack. “Just kidding, Bridget; just kidding. What sorta help do you need?”

“Not help so much as… protection.”

“Them English riding coats, huhn?” When Bridget bit her lip and just nodded, Jessie continued. “Well, I got a few I can spare. If – not, when you want more, you can ask Wilma for ‘em yourself..”

“She’ll just love that. She’s been pushing for me to sleep with some man, any man, since before our sentences at Shamus’ were up.”

“That’s my sister, all right. She’s been telling people, especially me, what t’do, since we was kids back on Pa’s farm.” She snickered. “But if all you’re gonna do is sleep with Cap, you won’t be needing no protection.” Then, seeing Bridget’s face, she added, “Oh, don’t you worry none. I’ll get you one.”

Bridget looked perplexed. “One?”

Jessie grinned. “Okay, by that look of worry in your eyes, I catch on to what sort of girl you really are. I reckon you’ll need to have a whole drawer full of ‘em ready and waiting by the time Cap gets back into town.”

“Thanks a lot,” Bridget said irascibly.

* * * * *

Doc Upshaw studied Teresa Diaz’s face as Edith Lonnigan helped her adjust her broken arm back into its sling, now that his examination was over. “Are you sure there’s no discomfort, Teresa?” he asked her.

“No, no pain at all, but it… it itches!”

The doctor smiled. “Best thing for it, the itching shows that the nerves and skin are all healing properly. Does your leg itch, too, under the cast?”

“Ay! Yes, yes it does. Can I do anything about it?”

“Take a knitting needle, one that has a rounded point, and move it very gently down inside the cast. Don’t force it. You can use that like a scratching post, but don’t rub too hard. Your skin is sensitive from being inside that cast for so long.”

“How much longer does it have to be in there? When can the casts come off? It seems like they have been on me for years.”

“Judging from how well you’re doing, I would say that I can remove them when I see you next week. I’d still like you to use the wheelchair for a couple days, and don’t overdo things to make up for lost time.”

“When can I get back to real work?”

“You should take it easy for a few days once you’re on your feet. Let Arnie take your cart around to collect the laundry for a few days after that, but – if I cut them away next Friday, you can probably start going with her on Monday or Tuesday. And you take it over completely by… Thursday.”

He waited a moment while she thought about what he’d told her. “Of course, that’s if you experience no pain or discomfort. If you have any – and I mean any -- pain, I want you to come see me at once. It may not mean anything, but it could be a serious problem, one that could cripple you permanently. Will you promise that you will?”

“Sì, doctor.” Teresa raised her hand as if taking an oath. “I will.”

“Good girl, and don’t you worry too much about what I said. You’re a healthy woman, Teresa, and I think it very unlikely that you will have any problems.” He gave her a wink and a smile. “I just have to say things like that to my patients so they take me at least a little seriously.”

* * * * *

“Attention, ladies,” Lady Cerise said sprightly, as she walked into the parlor. “We have visitors.”

Beatriz, Mae, Rosalyn, and Wilma stood up. “And such handsome visitors,” Mae greeted them, purring.

“And what lovely, lovely ladies,” Forry Stafford replied, a broad smile on his face. “I am Forrest Wainwright Stafford – call me ‘Forry’, please -- and these are my associates, Leland Saunders…” He nodded to the tall, slender man on his left. “…and Dell Cooper.” Cooper, on his right, was shortest of the three, but with a much more muscular build.

Cerise made the other introductions. “And the ladies before you are Mae, Beatriz, Rosalyn, and Wilma.” Each gave a quick nod as her name was spoken.

“Enchanted,” Forry said. “When Mr. Duggan told me of the beauties to be found in your establishment, Lady Cerise, I thought that he had to be exaggerating, but now I see that he was understating the facts.”

Wilma’s mind raced, even as she posed for these men. ‘What the holy hell is that bastard doing here, and with them two weasels that helped him frame Bridget and me?’ She tried to think of what weapons might be at hand, when she thought about why they had come to La Parisienne. ‘If he – if any of ‘em -- touches me, so help me, I’ll – shit – I ain’t sure what I’ll do, but I sure as hell ain’t gonna go upstairs with any of ‘em.’

“Would you gentlemen care for something to drink?” Cerise asked, continuing in her role as hostess.

Forry nodded. “I don’t see why not… have you got champaign?”

Cerise rang a small bell. “We have a most excellent cellar.” A moment later, Daisy stepped through a side door. “Some of the Renaudin Bollinger, please, Daisy, the ’48.”

“Yes’m,” Daisy replied. “I’ll be back with it right away.” She scurried back through the door.

Forry raised an eyebrow. “If you’ve got some of that vintage, then your cellar is even better than I would have hoped.”

“Nothing but the best for my friends,” the madam answered.

“Does that include that pretty bit of fluff you sent t’fetch the stuff?” Saunders asked.

Cerise shook her head. “I am sorry… Leland, but Daisy is a servant here. She is not one of my ladies.”

“She’s purty enough t’be,” the tall man said. “You mind if I ask her m’self?”

“You can ask, but she will refuse. She is most loyal to her husband, Cyrus.” Cerise pointed to the tall black standing behind a small bar over in a corner and glaring at him.

Beatriz walked over to Saunders, her hips cocking as she walked in a way that was an open invitation. “I am sure that I can more than satisfy such a handsome man as you.” She slowly ran a finger down the man’s chest while she posed before him.

“You may just be right ‘bout that,” he told her, staring at her coppery skin, especially at the tops of her breasts as revealed by her blue satin corset. “I do like dark meat, and you look real fine t’me.”

Beatriz kissed his cheek. “Mmm, I am so glad. You look fine to me as well.”

‘One down,’ Wilma thought, ‘two t’go.’ What was she going to do when one of them chose her?

Just then, Daisy came back in carrying a tray surrounded by wine glasses, followed by Ethan. ‘Thank G-d,’ Wilma thought. Aloud, she cried out, “Ethan!” Half from relief and half from want, she threw herself at him and showered his face with kisses.

“This is unexpected,” he said with a chuckle, “but hardly unwelcome.” His arm snaked around her waist. “Shall we continue this upstairs?”

When she nodded, he turned to Cerise. “I came here to report progress on my various commissions, my Lady. After that, I had hopes of sampling some of this most elegant vintage.” He laughed. “But there are vintages, and there are vintages, so, with your permission…”

“Of course,” Cerise answered. If she had noticed Wilma’s discomfort with Stafford and his men and her relief when the painter had appeared, the Frenchwoman kept silent. “I have always believed in pleasure before business.”

Rosalyn strode over to stand beside Forry. “I do hope that you agree with Cerise on that subject, sir.”

“I do, indeed,” Forry told her. His arms went around her, his hand resting low on her hip and one finger gently stroking her teardrop ass. “And after we all have a taste of that champagne, I think we’ll take the bottle upstairs and get to it.”

Mae pouted delightfully. “I guess that leaves you ‘n’ me, Dell. I hope you ain’t too disappointed.”

“Seeing as you was my first choice t’begin with, pretty lady, I ain’t disappointed at all.” He smiled, and the smile grew broader when she kissed him.

* * * * *

“So, Mama,” Arnie asked, as she wheeled her mother home from the doctor’s office. “What did the doctor say about your casts?”

Teresa leaned back and turned her head to look up at her daughter. “He said that I can use a knitting needle to scratch inside when it itches but I must be careful because my skin is so tender.” Then she saw the puzzled expression on the girl’s face and laughed. “Oh, yes, he said that he will cut them off next week.”

“That is wonderful news.”

“Sí, sí, it is. He said I should still use the chair for a couple of days, but I will be able to go out with you after that to delivery laundry. Then, by mid-week, I can take over for you… unless you want to keep doing it. Do you?”

“I-I do not know. I was glad to help out, but I – Mama, I am not sure if I still want to keep working in the laundry with you forever.”

“Forever is a long time, Arnoldo. The job is there for as long as you wish.” She hesitated. “But if you do not work for me, what do you want to do?”

“I do not know that either, but I will think about it.”

“I can use the help, even when I am out of these casts and walking around on my own.”

“Mama… please, give me some time before I decide what to do.”

“Very well, but remember, ‘if you take too long to decide, then you have already decided,’ that is what your papa used to say.” Then, Teresa changed the subject. “Are you still going to take your meal with the Spauldings again tomorrow?”

“Sì, they are good people, and they do not say anything about what happened to me.”

“They are new to Eerie; do they even know?”

Arnie hesitated. She was reasonably sure that the Spauldings didn’t know about the potion, but was embarrassed to admit to her mother that she was making friends with people who treated her like an ordinary girl. “Maybe they know… how can I ask without telling them?”

“You cannot. Just be careful.”

“I am not worried. I like them, especially Hedley -- and Clara, of course. They are becoming good friends.”

'Especially Hedley?' Teresa thought with some surprise. But she said nothing, and her expression did not change.

* * * * *

Saturday, April 13

Wilma stormed into the Saloon and over to where Jessie and Jane were eating breakfast. “Where’s Bridget?”

“Still upstairs,” Jessie said, quickly taking a sip of coffee.

Without another word, Wilma turned and started for the steps. “Jess, c’mon.”

“Coming.” Jessie put down her coffee cup and rushed to catch up with her sister. Something was up. Wilma didn't get this excited unless serious trouble was brewing.

They hurried up to the second floor and down the hallway to their friend’s bedroom. “Bridget!” Wilma pounded on the door. “Get up, right now.”

“What… what’s… who’s there?” Bridget’s still groggy voice came through the door. She opened it a moment later. “What the hell’s the matter with you, Wilma, hammering on my door like that?” She still wore the lime green nightgown she had slept in.

Wilma pushed past her into the room, with Jessie right behind. “Close the door, Jess,” she ordered. She spun around a chair set in next to a small writing table and sat down. “We got us a big problem. Forry Stafford’s in town. He came over to La Parisienne last night.”

“Cerise’s place?” Jessie groaned as she and Bridget sat down on the unmade bed. “Please tell me you didn’t…” She left the rest unsaid.

“With that pile o’shit? Hell, I wouldn’t even shake his hand, let alone go t’bed with him… or with either of them bastards, Saunders or Cooper.”

Now Bridget growled. “They’re here, too? What is this, a regimental reunion?”

“Who’re Saunders and Cooper?” Jessie asked.

Bridget looked like she was sucking lemons. “When they tried Will and me, most of the men in the platoon backed up what we said. Those two, Saunders and Cooper, testified for Stafford. That was enough to find us guilty.”

“Yeah,” Wilma added, “and they got paid off real good, too, for lying ‘bout us. Saunders got my sergeant’s stripes and Cooper took over for Bridget as corporal.”

Jessie frowned. “Yeah, I guess you did tell me that, years back. They say what they were doing here in Eerie?”

“Not while I was around, but I got Ethan t’take me upstairs, soon as I could.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“‘Cause I sure as hell didn’t want t’wind up with any of them, and I would’ve if I’d stayed around.”

Bridget shook her head. “You think that they know who we are?”

“Nope. They didn’t say anything last night… or this morning. At least, Forry didn’t when he settled up the bill with Cerise. I stayed just long enough for him t’do that before I come over here. They’re staying at the Lone Star; I don’t know for how long.”

“You think anybody’s gonna tell on us?” Jessie asked in a concerned voice.

Bridget shook her head. “You know the town doesn’t want any outsiders to know about Shamus’ potion. They’re all pretty much afraid of what would happen.”

“So what do we do now?” Jessie asked.

Wilma shrugged. “We keep low and try t’find out what the hell they’re doing here.” Then, she grinned and added, “And, if we’re real lucky we get us some payback”

“It smells funny, though,” Bridget muttered out loud.

Wilma turned her way. “What’re’you mumbling about?”

The redhead scowled. “I think it’s damned strange for that coyote, Stafford, and his men to show up here, so soon after I tell Abner Slocum the truth about Adobe Wells. It seems like more than a coincidence.”

“Do you ‘spose him and Slocum are in cahoots against you?”

“He doesn't need Forry; he can be bad enough on his own. Besides, it doesn’t seem like something he’d do. I'd bet my last chip that when he sent back East for my records, he got things stirred up, and that’s why they’re here. If you open a crate of rotten fish, the stink spreads a long way.”

“Yeah,” Jessie added, “and when that happens, the vermin come looking t’see what they can get ahold of.”

* * * * *

Hedley dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Excellent lunch, Mother, as always.”

“Sì,” Arnie agreed. “My papa used to say, ‘Tres cosas son necesarias para una buena vida, buenos amigos, buena comida y buena canción”

Clara smiled shyly. “That’s lovely, Annie. I recognized some of the words, but what do ‘buena vida’ and ‘buena canción’ mean?”

“I’m sorry,” Arnie replied. “You do not speak mucho Español… Spanish, do you?”

“No, we don’t,” Mrs. Spaulding said. “And we do mean to learn it someday, if we’re to live here in Eerie, among so many people who do.”

Arnie didn’t want them to feel embarrassed, so she translated. “My papa used to say that all the time. It means that ‘three things are needed for a good life, good friends, good food, and good song.’”

“We certainly have the first two of those,” Clara answered, lightly touching Arnie’s arm for a moment. “And Mother can provide the third.” She pointed to a small spinet piano set in a corner of the room.

“I’ll be happy to, but first, there is the matter of your dress.”

“The dress… oh, yes, Annie, would you please wheel me to my room? Mama finished my new dress, and I wanted to see you in it.”

“Why me, Clara? It’s your dress.”

“You’ll see.” She answered, then gave a little giggle. “Please…”

Arnie sighed. “Very well, but I am only doing this because you asked.”

* * * * *

Arnie came out of the bedroom, self-consciously smoothing the dress. ‘It fits much tighter than Mama’s dress,’ she thought, and then glanced about for a mirror.

“You look lovely, Annie,” Clara exclaimed happily. “Mama, you did a wonderful job on the dress.”

“She did, indeed,” Hedley added. “And, Annie, I concur with my sister. You do look lovely in it.”

A blush ran across Arnie’s face. “Th-thank you, all of you.”

“Take a few steps in it, please,” Mrs. Spaulding told her. “And turn around. I want to see how it works as you move.”

Hedley stood up. “I have a better idea. Annie, you said something about music before.” He stepped towards her. “May I have this dance?” He bowed low.

“That’s a fine idea.” Mrs. Spaulding hurried over and sat down at the spinet. “How about a waltz?”

“I-I don’t know how to dance.”

The young man stepped in close. “Then I’ll have to teach you.” He took her right hand in his, putting his left at the small of her back. “Put your left hand on my shoulder.”

“N-now what do I do?” She felt awkward but did as he told her.

“The waltz is a box step. I step forward with my left foot, and you step back with your right.” He did, and she followed. He was even closer to her now, and the room seemed to grow a bit warmer.

He continued. “Now I’m going to step forward – and a bit to the right – with my right foot, and you match that with your left.” When she did the move well, he smiled at her and added, “Very good.” He took her through the rest of the steps, repeating them several times. Mrs. Spaulding watched how the dress flowed with Arnie's movements and nodded, pleased.

“You’re a quick learner,” he told her. “Are you ready to try it with music?”

She wasn’t sure, though she didn’t know why. “I… yes.”

“Play the ‘Blue Danube’, Mother, but slowly.” The woman went to the bench and began. Hedley continued to instruct Arnie, but in a in a low voice, so as not to drown the music. “All right, now… right foot back.”

Arnie did as he said. They moved slowly at first, then, gradually, Mrs. Spaulding picked up the tempo. In a few minutes, they were twirling about the room. Without thinking, Arnie let him pull her closer. Her body was tingling, and she could feel her heart beating. ‘What is happening to me?’ she wondered.

“That was lovely,” Clara exclaimed, clapping her hands, when the music finally came to a stop.

“It most certainly was,” Hedley agreed, stepping back.

Arnie’s hands dropped awkwardly to her sides. “Thank you for teaching me.”

“Thank you for allowing me to.” He gave a bow of his head. “You should do it again – often. You move like a born dancer, and you can be my partner anytime.” He suddenly took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

Arnie gave a small gasp as he kissed it. “Oh,” she said, partly from surprise and partly from…from something that she didn’t understand. She pulled her hand away. “I… I have to go.” She started for the door.

“My dress!” Clara cried out.

The laundress stopped. “Oh, I-I am sorry.” She walked briskly towards the door for the bedrooms. “I-I do have to g-go. My Mama… we have to get started on all this laundry.”

She didn’t know what else to say. She also wasn’t sure why a part of her wanted to stay a while longer.

* * * * *

“You think I should get it?” Jane asked, handing Laura a dish to rinse off.

Laura dipped the dish into a pan of cold water and put it in a rack to dry. “Get what?”

“That painting you ‘n’ me is posing for, what else?”

“I don’t know. What would you do with it if you got it?”

“Stick it in my room, I guess. I think it might be fun to see m’self – and you – hanging up there.” She thought for a moment. “You could bring that baby of yours round to see it once it gets born.”

Laura remembered Milt’s concern about Jane buying the picture. “It’s probably expensive, are you sure you want to spend all that money on something you’re not sure about?”

“I got the money; it’s over in the bank.”

“Maybe it should stay there. From what you’ve said, Dwight Albertson’s doing pretty good for you with it.”

“He is. I ain’t figuring t’take all the money, just enough to get the painting.”

Maggie was sitting nearby. “What does Milt say think about this?”

Jane frowned. “I ain’t asked him, not lately anyhow. When I first got the idea he kept saying I shouldn’t. I ain’t smart enough t’understand it, he tells me. And he said he same as you, Laura, that I was better off keeping all my money in the bank.”

“Do you think, maybe, that he is right?”

“No… no I don’t. Maybe I ain’t got the school smarts he does, Maggie, but I was smart enough for you t’trust me to run your restaurant while you and Ramon was on your honeymoon.”

“I never said that you were not smart, and – to tell the truth – I do not think that he did, either, not really.”

“He did so say it.”

Maggie shrugged. “Maybe. Whatever he said hurt you, and I am sure that he is sorry about that. You should talk to him again about buying it.”

“I-I don’t want to. He’ll try real hard to talk me out of it. He’s a danged good talker.”

“I know one thing,” Laura spoke again. “He was smart enough to agree with me that you were better off keeping your money in the bank.”

“You’re my big sister, Laura, and I know you’re just looking out for me, but I still ain’t convinced.”

“If you won’t listen to me… or Milt, how about if you ask Shamus?”

“I’ll do that. He’s a real smart businessman, and he was smart enough t’buy a couple of the paintings himself. Why, if he says I should buy it, I’ll bet that’d even change Milt’s mind.”

“And if he says you shouldn’t buy it?”

Jane laughed. “Then I’ll… I’ll think about it some more.”

* * * * *

“How was your lunch, Mr. Stafford?” Winnie Duggan asked, clearing his plate and silverware. Winnie was a slender girl of nineteen, who did double duty as cook and waitress at her father’s saloon. Right now, she wore a yellow apron over her green dress. Her chestnut brown hair was tucked up in a bun under a white cap.

Stafford smiled up at her. “Quiet, Miss Duggan, thankfully.”

“Yes, you and Mr. Braddock decided to have your lunch at the same time.” She cocked her head to point to the table where Sam Braddock was working on the sandwich and beer that were a part of his pay. Sam’s carpentry tools were in a case on the floor next to his table.

She continued, “I’m glad that you were able to eat in peace.”

“And it was delicious, as good as anything I might find in Austin.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and handed it to her. She was attractive enough, with wide hips, a waist almost thin enough to put his hands around, and breasts that were just a bit more than a handful.

Unfortunately, she also had a watchful father who kept a shotgun behind the bar. That could be gotten around if the girl was willing. If she wasn’t, well, he’d worked too damned hard at staying alive through the War to get killed chasing tail. Especially when there was such fine tail available at that fancy house just down the street. That Rosalyn was a wonder, every inch a lady – a Southern aristocrat, no less, if what she had told him was true – but get her into a bed, and…

He pushed the thought from his mind. ‘Right now, I need information more from this girl than I need to bed her.’ Aloud, he said, “Miss Duggan, may I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” she replied with a small chuckle. “And you can ask another, if you’d like.”

“Thank you. I’m here in town to try to do some… business with Abner Slocum. Can you tell me anything about him, anything that might help me?”

“I don’t know. My Pa says we shouldn’t talk about people. Folks around here like their privacy. Shucks, a lot of them don’t even give out their real names.”

“I’m not asking you to betray any deep, dark secrets.” He gave what he hoped was a reassuring wink. “Just some general information, the sort of thing most people who’ve lived here for a while would know.”

A chunky young man in a brown frock coat had been sitting at a nearby table, eating his own lunch. “I’d like to know that, as well,” he told them both. “May I join you?” When Stafford nodded, he shifted his chair over to the table they were at. “Thanks, I’m Zachariah – Zach -- Levy. I’m new in town myself, and this Slocum sounds like the sort of fellow I should know about.” He offered his hand.

“Forry Stafford.” He shook Levy’s hand. “I’m just here to take care of some business with Slocum. Then I’ll be on my way back to Austin.”

“That business wouldn’t involve a lawyer, would it? I am one, and I’m just starting my practice.”

“I don’t think I’ll need one, but you never know. In the meanwhile, Miss Duggan, you still haven’t answered my -- our -- question.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. I don’t know Mr. Slocum very good. He’s not much of a drinker, and when he does, he usually goes… elsewhere. I know that he’s older, in his fifties, I think. His ranch is called the Triple A. It’s the biggest one around. Some of his hands come in here. From what they say, he’s a good boss, treats his men fair and pays ‘em well. And then they come in here and give their money t’Pa.” She shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s about all I can tell you. I hope it helped.”

“It helped some,” Stafford admitted.

Levy smiled. “Me, too, and so did meeting you, Mr. Stafford.”

“Forry… please.”

“Okay, Forry, good to meet you.”

* * * * *

Jubal Cates closed his copy of the federal Manual of Surveying Instructions. “Well, Emma, you’ve certainly learned the material I set for you.”

“Thanks, Mr. Cates,” Emma replied. “It ain’t easy, but I wanna do a good job for you, so I worked real hard t’learn it.”

“And you succeeded. I’ll have to admit that I still wasn't sure, even after I gave you the Manual, but you’re doing just fine… so far. I’ll have a better idea come next Saturday.”

“Next Saturday, what happens then?”

“You’ll see. You be here next Saturday morning at 9 AM and be dressed for field-work. I’m doing a job on a road south of town. You’re gonna be there with me as my helper.”

“I… yes, sir. Nine it is, dressed and ready t’get to it.”

“Bring some lunch, too. We’ll probably be out there most of the day.”

“Lunch, too; yes, sir!”

Cates smiled at her enthusiasm. “I’ll see you next week, then. You take the Manual along and study it some more.” He pointed for the door. “Now, git!”

“Yes, sir!” She packed the book and her notes into her book bag and stood up. “Have a good week, Mr. Cates,” she said as she hurried off. ‘Looks like I am gonna get the job,’ she told herself. ‘Wait till I tell Yully – and Ysabel, of course.’

* * * * *

“Maggie,” Molly called from the kitchen door. “Jane, could ye be coming in here t'the saloon for a wee minute.”

Jane put the dish she was rinsing into the rack beside the sink. “Be right there.” She walked into the saloon, with Maggie behind her.

“What is the problem?” Maggie asked.

Shamus was standing with Molly at a nearby table where Dolores, Bridget, and Jessie were sitting. “That reverend Yingling's the problem,” he told them all. “Him and that unblessed petition.” He muttered a few words of Cheyenne under his breath. “And I wanted t'be asking yuir help -- of ye ladies -- in solving it.”

Jane shrugged. “I never was much for churchgoing; what can I do?”

“The good reverend is saying I can't be trusted,” he said by way of an answer. “Me Molly…” he squeezed her hand. “…made up these here ribbons.” He held one up; so did Molly. “And I'll be asking -- not ordering -- asking each of ye t'be wearing one…starting at the dance tonight.”

“I'm not asking ye to be trusting me. By now, ye either do or ye don't.”

“Dolores, I've tried to be a fair employer to ye, and ye'll be able to be judging me on simple, everyday things like most people do with their bosses. But the rest of ye, well, it ain't that simple, now is it? “

“Jane, I turned yuir life upside down with me potion. I'm thinking that ye understand why it had t'be done. Ye earned yuir punishment for what ye done t'yuir sister, Laura.”

Jane frowned, saying nothing as she considered his words.

Shamus looked at the three other women. “It's even harder asking the same thing from the rest of ye. What we done t'ye was pretty drastic, but it had t'be, knowing what ye was comin' t'do to the sheriff -- and then to all the rest of us. Truth t'tell, I didn't like doing it, and I -- me and Molly -- tried t'make it up to ye after…when ye was in our care.”

“Ye all hated it -- and me -- at first, but I'm thinking that ye don’t feel the same way ye did at first. That smile that comes to Laura's face every time she feels her baby moving has to mean something. And I'm thinking how the rest of ye ladies look when yuir eyes light up when ye come over to the bar to tell me or Molly about something that's just happened to ye. Even so, I know I'm asking a lot of ye t'be asking ye to wear a badge saying that yet trust me. But if ye could,” Shamus gave them all a sad sort of smile, “it would mean more to me than I could say.”

Bridget grimaced and filled her lungs. “I've never been able to think straight about getting turned into a woman, and especially not now, with the way my head's been spinning lately. It was so humiliating at first. But when I think back, I remember that you two never tried to rub it in, never made me think you despised me. If you'd laughed at me even once it would have been bad, but I think the big turning point for me was when you let me play cards. That's when I started feeling like a human being again.”

She shrugged. “I didn't start out to be an outlaw, but I became one anyway. Once I was, I didn't know how to get out. I always figured I'd die quick from a bullet or die slow in prison. I didn’t start out to be a woman, either. But it happened. You have to do your best with the hand Fate deals.” She picked up her deck and riffled it. “If I play my cards right from here on in, I've finally got the chance to deal myself a winning hand.” She glanced up at him again. “You're a lot of things, Shamus O'Toole, but somewhere along the road I've learned that I can trust you. I've been trusting you with my money every night. It's time I upped the ante. I'll wear that ribbon of yours.”

Bridget picked up a ribbon from a pile of them in the center of the table. Each one had a pin attached, and she used it to fasten the ribbon to her dress. “But it won’t even cover your bet if we’re the only ones wearing them.”

Molly snorted. “And who says that ye will be? I’ll be handing ‘em out at the dance t’anybody that asks for one.” She said firmly and added, “Which’ll be everybody, or I’ll be knowing the reason why.”

Maggie drew in a long breath, and the bartender looked her way. “You are asking a hard question, Shamus, but if you want to know, I will tell you.”

“It was hard to trust a man who had so much power. You were like the brujos in the stories I heard back home as a boy. They are frightening people. You learn what is in a man's heart when he has power over you. When you had that power, you were more like a stern father than a jailor. I was in prison for a year, and I know how cruel jailors can be.”

“You treated us well, though you could have been very wicked, if you had been that sort of a man. At first, I was very ashamed to be a woman. My people honor machisimo… manliness. But in time I came to be much more ashamed of the sort of man I had let myself become. I wanted revenge on the Anglos, but I received instead a second chance. I thank the santos for that.”

She squared her shoulders. “You are a good man, Shamus. You and Molly trusted me, a bandito – all those months ago – to cook for you. You helped me start a business, and you have been my honest partner.”

She drew another long breath and blinked several times. When she began again, her words were slightly unsteady. “You put me upon a strange new road, and, along it, I have gained much of what I thought had been lost. What I have gained is a future, when before I could see only darkness. I see that future every day in my children's faces – and in Ramon’s. How can I say that I do not trust you now?” She reached for a ribbon.

Jane looked unsure. “Shouldn't Laura be here when you’re asking something like this? How come you didn’t wait for her?”

“‘Cause I already asked her,” Shamus told the girl. “She said yes, and I’ve got a ribbon here waiting for her. I’ve got one for Arsenio, too, t’be putting up in his smithy.”

“Well now,” Jane said with a shrug, “if my big sister and Maggie are wearing them ribbons, then I will, too.”

Dolores glanced over to the bar. R.J. was getting things ready for the crowd that would be coming to the dance. A “Trust Shamus” ribbon was pinned to his vest. He saw Dolores and smiled, and then he pointed to the ribbon and nodded, winking at her. She looked back at the table in front of her, picked up a ribbon, one she had cut and lettered herself. “I will be happy… and proud to also wear such a ribbon,” she said.

“That just leaves you, Jessie,” Shamus noted.

A mischievous smile curved the blonde singer’s lips. “I could say, ‘no’, just to be ornery.”

“You could, Jessie,” Shamus acknowledged patiently, but he expected that she would have more to say.

“The way I see it, the ornery man is the one who stands up and says what he thinks.”

“And just what is it that ye think, Jessie?” Shamus asked.

She met his glance squarely. “I think I would have enjoyed shooting you between the eyes that day I first walked in here, and I would have if I'd even had a hint about what you ‘n’ the sheriff was fixing to do. The way you lorded it over us, I'd have gunned you down a dozen times more, except that you put that spell on me. I felt hogtied and waiting for the brand. I just wanted to run. When I got my chance, I did run.”

Shamus nodded. “That you did.”

“But, something went wrong. ‘Mad Dog’ Jesse didn't come with me that day; instead I had to trail along with this sweet, little gal, Jessie. I got to know her better. I had time to think things over.”

“When I was long-riding, I didn't consider that life so bad. You can even get used to glancing over your shoulder, looking for the glint on a rifle barrel. Somewhere along the way I stopped supposing I'd be living for very long. Maybe I didn't think living that way was too terrible because I'd forgot what real living was all about. Tarnation, growing up with nothing, I ain’t sure that I ever did know.”

“When you had me and the gang penned up, I didn't know what to expect. You heard about the rep me and Will had. You could have treated us as bad as bad can get, but you didn't. Used t’be, folks treated me right because I scared them. But Molly ‘n’ you weren't scared, so none of it figured. Trying to work it out helped me draw a new bead on things.”

“I didn't know squat about being a girl, and I didn't want to learn. But one day I realized that, instead of trying to back-shoot me, or string me up, folks were trying to protect me. I got to thinking that maybe I wouldn't die so soon after all.”

“That's when it struck me that I was all for going on living, even like I was. My idea was to take what was good out of the way things were and shuck off the rest. But it don't work that way. Being a gal gets under a person's hide. Pretty soon, I found myself doing things that no decent gal would ever write home to her ma about.”

Jessie suddenly lost her smile. “But I couldn't have written that letter even if I'd wanted to. I never knew my ma. Growing up without her left what always felt like a hole, right here.” She touched her breast and cast a glance Molly's way. “I’d like t’think that she was a lot like you, Molly.”

Molly smiled, touched, and thought she saw a sparkling bead in the corner of Jessie's eye.

Jessie took a gulp of air and looked away. “But if I'm dead-set on shooting square today, Shamus, I have to tell you that there's one thing about you that sticks in my craw.”

“Yes, and what might that be?” the bartender replied, his voice low, as if he was talking to a grownup child of his own.

“You're so damned stubborn! It ain't decent! When I wear that blue silk dress of mine I can get almost anything I want from any man in this town, but not you.” Then she smiled ruefully. “But I guess that if you were easy, I wouldn't have an ounce of respect for you.” She set her jaw and concluded, “And I do.”

Shamus smiled. “Only an ounce, Jessie?”

Jessie grinned. “Don't be greedy. Every grain of that has been earned. Remember, those ribbons say 'trust.’ Well, I trust you all right. I trust you to be just as hard to bargain with next time as you ever was before. Still, that's a kind of a trust, ain't it?” She plucked one of the ribbons off the table and pinned it to her shoulder. “Satisfied?”

“Aye,” Shamus said with a nod and a chuckle. “But for what it's worth, Jessie, I'm mighty glad you made it this far, and that none of those lawmen that was chasing after ye ever picked ye off.”

The small blonde smiled again and shook her head. “Well, maybe one lawman did pick me off. Maybe that's why I'm always in such a good mood that I can even abide the likes of you. 'Nuff said.”

She glanced down at the table, knowing that her face must be flushed. If a man like Paul could be partial to her – could love her -- it was no wonder she so often felt this warm glow inside her, a glow that made her feel like singing. Her smile suddenly became minx-like, and she felt a tingle of anticipation about the next time they would be together. When she was with Paul, she wasn’t sorry about anything that Shamus had done to her. He had simply opened a door in front of her, but it was Paul who had lured her inside.

* * * * *

“Do not frown so, Beatriz,” Lady Cerise said. “It makes lines that will spoil your pretty face.”

Beatriz’ face soured. “I am sorry, my Lady.” She tried to smile. “I do not want to spoil my looks,” she sighed, “even if he does not care.”

“Ahah! There is a he. Who is the lucky man?”

“Ethan Thomas, and he is not so lucky. He is upstairs even now with… Wilma.”

The other woman shrugged. “He is just taking turns. If it helps any, she was just as upset every time he went upstairs with you.” She chuckled. “There must be something special about him. Perhaps, I – no, my Herve would not like that.” She looked closely at the Mexican woman. “Do you care for him, little one?”

“No, but he’s just so damned good in bed, and it… it was my idea that you bring him here. And now she’s getting it from him.”

“So it was your interests you were advancing and not mine when you suggested that he come here.”

“Well… yes, that was why I suggested it.” She waited a beat. “But you thought it was a good idea, too.”

“And I still do. Let me ask you a question, what do you plan to do about his going upstairs with Wilma?”

“I am not going to do mischief to her, if that is what you are worried about. I do not want to waste more time working on your ledgers.”

“Is the reason that you don’t want to waste time because you want to sit here in my parlor waiting for Ethan to take you upstairs?”

“No, there are many other men I can go with. I do not love Ethan. He’s just so very good. He thinks of my pleasure as much as his own.”

“And there are not many men that do that, I know. But I think that there are still many men that you enjoy -- Sebastian Ortega, for one.”

“Mmm, sì, Sebastian is also very good.”

“And does he ever pick Wilma over you?”

“No… he doesn’t. And she has tried for him.”

“Then stop pouting like a child because she is playing with one of your favorite toys. There are – thank the Lord…” Cerise made the sign of the cross. “…so many very fine toys who come here to play with you.”

Beatriz gave a hearty laugh. “There are, indeed.” She was still upset, but she thought of Sebastian, who was not only handsome and – mmm -- so very bueno in bed, and who also gave her presents. And there were other patrons of La Parisienne who preferred her above the other ladies. These thoughts warmed her heart. And other enjoyable places on her body.

* * * * *

Shamus stepped up onto the small stage. “Now, if ye please,” he told Hiram King. At their leader’s signal, The Happy Days Town Band played a dramatic flourish. Everyone turned to face the stage.

“Thank ye, Hiram,” Shamus said. “Folks, before we’re starting tonight’s dance, I wanted to talk to ye for a minute or so. I’ll be brief, I promise.”

“You better be,” somebody yelled.

Someone added, “If you can.” Most of the crowd laughed.

“I’ll be quicker if ye all stop interrupting,” the barman replied. “As I was about t’be saying, a lot of ye have probably seen that there petition that Reverend Yingling and his friends have about me. Some of ye may even have signed it, though I hope ye ain’t.”

“They’re saying I’m a bad person, and that I can’t be trusted with that potion o’mine, the one that saved this town from the Hanks gang and saved that young boy’s life. I don’t like folks saying things like that about me, and ‘tis yuir help I’m asking t’be fighting ‘em.”

He pointed to where Molly was sitting. “Me Molly, clever lass that she is, made up ribbons that say ‘Trust Shamus’ for them that want t’be helping me. Hold ‘em up, Love.” She did as he said, waving a ribbon in each hand. “I ain’t saying that ye have t’take a ribbon when ye buy a ticket t’be dancing with one of the ladies… but I hope ye all do. As ye can see, all the ladies is wearing ‘em, too. And, them that do take one, I hope ye wear ‘em around town and not just here tonight.”

“Them that want me potion want t’be telling ye what t’think and what t’do. Me, I’m just asking for yuir help, but I’ll be pleased and proud if ye think enough o’me t’do what I’m asking.” He took a breath. “But that’s more than enough talking. Let’s us get on with this here dance.”

* * * * *