A desperate sheriff resorts to magic to stave off an attack from a vengeful gang of owlhoots. Can the bartender's potion prevent a massacre?

It's a long, dusty trail from the Territorial Prison to Eerie, Arizona.

Now the one-time badmen are faced with a life sentence - starting with being trained to work as saloon girls!

Eerie Saloon - High Noon, now on Kindle

Ellie and Chris are going to be releasing more of the Eerie Saga later this year through DopplerPress, so please everyone, if you buy from Amazon or have only just read the story here, please Leave a Comment on Amazon! It's important.

As the girls of the former Hanks Gang serve their 60 days at the Eerie Saloon, they begin to adjust to their new bodies and make new lives. This being the Old West, there's also a shootout, poker games, and a kidnapping.

Wilma, Jessie and Bridget have new opportunities but old ways of thinking, especially thinking of themselves as men, are hard to break. It's all a question of learning the new rules for how to live as women.

This is a fresh edit of the classic tale and we'll be publishing more of the Eerie Saga.

Don't forget to go to Amazon and leave a review if you enjoyed this or any other DopplerPress book. Here's a list of our latest: DopplerPress at Kindle.

Life has a way of happening when you stop paying attention to your troubles. The transformed women of the Hanks Gang have served their sentences and now must build new lives for themselves.

There are restaurants to run, poker hands to deal, blacksmiths and ranchers to...consider?

Romance rears its pretty head and other complications threaten tranquility. The new girl, Jane, presents special problems for her sister, Laura.

Everyone needs and wants a life partner, everyone has someone they want to ask to dance...

 
And here are the earlier two books: click image to order

 

 

Jessie Hanks is on the run from Eerie after the death of Toby Hess, but, as she discovers, there's some things a boy-turned-gal can't escape from. Most of all, from herself.

 

---

Sample from the original BigCloset version:

Chapter 1 -- "Riders in the Night"

"One... Two... Three!" Jessie Hanks yelled, as she swung the saddle back and forth, then upward. This time, it worked. The heavy saddle went over the top of the tethered horse, settling unevenly on the blanket on its back. "Finally!" she said, tugging at the blanket to straighten it. She quickly reached down and buckled the cinches around the horse's trunk fore and aft, pulling them as tightly as she could. She stood back and puffed. Hell, it had taken her four tries to get the damned thing on the horse; she hadn't had so much trouble with a saddle since she was twelve.

The horse, a brown gelding that Jessie was starting to call "Useless", snorted, as the cinches tightened. Luckily he didn't move very much because the pen was too narrow.

She looked at her slender arms and spat. Jesse Hanks had been able to saddle a horse by himself since he was ten. Now, as Jessie Hanks, a girl of about eighteen, she'd had to work hard just to lift the forty-pound saddle off the shed wall and onto the horse. Damn, and she hadn't even put the saddlebags on it yet.

Jessie decided to put the saddlebags on empty and load them afterwards, so she just tied them to the saddle. "C'mon, Useless," she said, as she picked up the oil lamp that she'd used for light. She opened the stall and used the bridal and reins to lead the horse back to Toby's cabin. She tied the reins to a post and went inside.

"Now I'm sorry you got your head bashed in," she said as she looked down at Toby Hess' body on the floor. I could have used some help with that saddle. I never thought you was good for anything more'n hard labor, you old bastard." She looked down at the body and shook her head. "With a rep like mine, they'll never believe it was self-defense. I'll hang for sure. Hell, they might just string me up and not even wait for a trial. I figure my only chance is to put as many miles as I can between me and that town."

Deciding she didn't like looking at him, she took the dusty canvas that lay against the wall and spread it over the corpse. "Anyhow, I'm sick and tire of being a damned slave at that Saloon."

"Much fun as it is talking to you, it ain't helping me get packed and get outta here. You'll smell as bad as you look, pretty soon, but that's the undertaker's problem." She looked around the cluttered, unkempt cabin. Most of what she wanted to take was already piled on the table. Now she sorted the goods into two heaps. The pistol -- and why the hell didn't the man have a holster for it, anyway? -- rifle, bullets for them both, a flint and steel fire starter kit, a small sharpening stone, can opener, hardtack, and some canned meat all went in one pile. A thick, wool blanket, a towel, Toby's other spare shirt, and a union suit went into the other.

The union suit was too big for her, but she could always roll up sleeves and legs. If she rode up into the mountains that she'd heard were there to the north, she'd probably need the extra warmth. She was already planning to wear Toby's jacket, but that was as much to make her look bigger as it was for heat.

Jessie was already wearing Toby's shirt and a spare pair of his pants. He'd ripped her dress and camisole to shreds on his ill-fated try at rape. She'd reacted by kneeing him where it would hurt the worst. He'd fallen backwards in pain and hit his head on the stone fireplace. The blow was fatal to him, though the fireplace seemed to be mostly intact.

She had tied up her long, blonde hair in a bun and tucked under the man's tan plainsman hat. She'd used the hairpin she'd been wearing to pin it tighter for the ride ahead.

She picked up the pistol and was about to tuck in under her belt when she had a second thought and stuck it in a jacket pocket. She'd found a knife, too, and she was already wearing it in a sheath clipped onto her belt.

The girl carried the items in each pile out to Useless and packed it in one of the saddlebags. She couldn't find a scabbard for the rifle, so it was tied to the left saddlebag; a small hatchet was in a scabbard attached to the right one. A second blanket, she rolled up and tied behind the saddle. She filled two canteens full of water and hung them down next to the hatchet.

She picked up the sock she'd found with money in it: two twenty dollar double eagles, a five dollar half eagle, and three dollars in folding money buried in a trunk with the clothes. This Jessie shoved into an inside jacket pocket, sock and all.

"Thanks for the loan," she said with a smile, looking at Toby's corpse. "What's that? Keep it? Why thanks! Thanks for nothing, you horny bastard." She grimaced with a twist of a smile. "'Course, maybe I owe you. If you hadn't dragged me outta town tied up like a sheep for your own lecherous purposes, I wouldn't be able to get away now."

"Then again, if you hadn't up n'died, I might not need to run. My sentence is up in..." She counted days in her head. "...hell, in a week or so, but with you dead, I might not even be alive by then."

For a moment, she thought about torching the cabin, but it'd take a little time and it might bring company, company that she didn't want. "Best to put some distance b'tween this place and me," she said aloud. "No telling who might be around. Hell, it's even money that there'll soon be folks out here from Eerie looking for me and Laura. Last thing I need is t'run into Shamus or that damned sheriff."

The thought of Laura Meehan made her pause for a moment. If Toby took her, then Laura was probably with his idiot partner, Jake Steinmetz. Toby had told her once that Jake had a cabin a few miles away from his. 'Maybe I should try'n find her,' she thought.

"Why the hell waste the time?" she answered herself. "It ain't like she's kin; we ain't hardly even friends." She remembering the way Laura had palled around with Maggie and Bridget, and mostly just sent dirty looks her way. "We only just rode together a few days before we come t'Eerie. Besides, I don't even know which way that other cabin is. Sorry, Laura, m'girl," she said with a shake of her head, but it's every man for himself. Besides, they ain't gonna be looking t'hang you."

She locked the door to the cabin behind her, leaving the oil lamp still burning inside. "Let'm think somebody's there, so they waste time trying t'get in."

Jessie had learned to ride on her father's old plow horse when she was a boy, so now she had no trouble mounting Useless, as big as he was. Once in the saddle, she looked around once. She knew she was in the mountains somewhere north of town. She looked up and found the "Drinking Cup" in the night sky and followed the handle to the North Star. She planned on riding in that general direction for the rest of the night.

"Look out, World, cause Jessie Hanks is back," She yelled into the night, louder than she'd planned. The echoes coming back out of the darkness prickled her hair. Determined to make it deep into the rough before sunup, she whipped the reins, letting go with her right hand to slap Useless' rump. The horse reared and took off at full gallop.

Again Jessie had overestimated her own strength, and the reins almost pulled out of her left hand. She clenched them hard enough to turn her knuckles white, while Useless galloped through the woods. She ducked this way and that, dodging branches and hoping she wouldn't fall -- or be knocked off his back. Useless didn't respond to Jessie's shouts of "Whoa!" any more than to any of the other words she yelled -- some of them much bluer.

All the while, the fugitive girl kept grabbing for the reins with her right hand. She finally caught it and pulled back as hard as she could. She braced herself in the stirrups, leaning back until it almost felt like she was lying down.

Useless slowed from a gallop to a trot, and Jessie sat up. She thought she'd be able to control him well enough at this speed. She sighed with relief; then she looked down at her arms. She'd had to roll the sleeves of Toby's jacket over twice, so her hands -- her damnable weak, _pretty_, little hands wouldn't get lost in them. "I'll get my old body back, so help me I will," she said through gritted teeth, "and when I do..."

{end sample}

Read the rest of Jessie Hanks, Outlaw Queen on Kindle!

And here's a link to the other books in the series you may have missed:

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change - Autumn
By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson (c)2005
Part 1 - October

Saturday, September 30, 1871

"You made it, Jessie," Paul said, walking over. "I told you it'd --"

Jessie interrupted Paul by throwing her arms around him and thrusting her lips against his. She ended the kiss almost immediately when the room broke into laughter and applause, and when she could sense Paul's embarrassment. "I'd better thank you later," she said in a husky voice. Then she looked at the crowd of men gathering around her and winked at Paul. Relief made her feel playful. "Unless one of these fine gentlemen makes me a better offer."

"Better than this?" Paul scooped her into his arms and kissed her again, with all the feeling he could put into it.

Jessie felt a rush of heat throughout her body. She trembled, remembering what had happened when he had kissed her like this the night before. She wanted that to happen again.

"Looks like somebody changed her mind about men."

Jessie turned quickly and saw..."Wilma." Now all the heat was concentrated in Jessie's reddening face. "I... This wasn't what it looked like." She pushed herself away from Paul.

"Looked t'me like you was kissing the deputy there," Wilma said. "More 'n that, it looked t'me like you liked doing it." She smiled, happy to have caught Jessie with Paul. "If it wasn't that, what was it?"

Jessie studied the floor. "It was my own business, I'd say."

"'Bout time you seen the light." Wilma slapped her heartily on the back. "I'll tell 'the Lady', and you can come over and work with me as soon as your term here in the saloon is up." She let out a laugh. "The Hanks boys... girls... together again. Look out, Arizona. They'll be lining up for miles."

Jessie shook her head. "Forget it, Wilma. One little kiss don't mean I'm ready to... to join you over at La Parisienne."

"I think you're both being a bit premature, ladies," Milt interrupted. "You... ah... you still have 40 days to serve, Jessie, before you're a free woman like your sister."

"Free?" Wilma said with a sly show of indignation. "I ain't free. Lady Cerise charges plenty for me - you just ask anybody." She winked. "They'll all tell you I'm worth it, though. Better yet, lawyer man, why don't you just come by yourself." She looked him up and down, her eyes pausing just below his waist. "We can discuss your bill for getting Jessie off." She ran her tongue along her upper lip. "I'll bet a man like you is real good at getting a gal off."

Milt's face grew beet red. "I'll just send you the bill, Miss Hanks." He tugged at his collar. "I... ah... think I... uhh, I-I need a drink just now." He looked around, and then all but ran for the bar.

"I bet he will, too." Wilma pouted. "And that's a damn shame; he is one handsome man." Playing with a man was always fun, even if it didn't lead to a session in bed. "Well, there's always hope. Them shy ones can be a whole lot of fun, once they loosen up a little. I expect you'll be finding that out soon enough, little sister. " She paused a beat. "If you ain't already."

"Wilma... I..." Jessie sputtered. "Can you slow down long enough for me to thank you for hiring that lawyer?"

"Sure I can. You're welcome."

"Hell, Wilma, I didn't even say it yet."

"So say it already. I was trying t'save time. I figured you'd want t'be getting back to t'kissing that deputy of yours."

"He's not my deputy."

"You done with him already?" She gave Paul a long look, her eyes stopping again just below his waist. "He's right handsome, too, but I don't know as I like you taking up with a lawman."

"Wilma, you stop talking like that." Jessie felt a cold wetness on her palms. Did Wilma know what she and Paul had done? No, she decided, her big sister was just playing games.

"Don't know why I should, Jessie. I heard what you said before about 'better offers.' If you don't want the deputy, why don't you go kiss a few of the boys here in the Saloon? See which of 'em you like kissing; some of 'em are pretty good at it."

"I... I couldn't." She wished she sounded more certain.

"Sure you could. Then we can compare notes on 'em the next time I come over for a visit. I don't think ol' Shamus is gonna let you leave the place again none too soon."

Before Jessie could answer, Wilma glanced over at the clock. "Dang, I'd love t'stay here and talk to you some more, Jessie, but we open up soon." She smiled, her eyes half closed for a moment. "I gotta go put on my working clothes."

"That shouldn't take too long," Jessie muttered, glad that the embarrassment was about to end, and trying to score a point in their verbal duel.

"It don't. And I can take 'em off even faster." She giggled softly at her joke. "It's a skill worth learning, Jessie, believe me." She paused again. "And I bet you will, soon enough. Bye now." She turned and walked slowly out of the Saloon, smiling at the thought of how many men were watching her hips sway as she walked.

Jessie was watching, too. "Damn, she always knew how t'get me riled, all the way back to when we was kids in Texas."

"Ye'll get yuir chance to rile her back soon enough," Shamus said from behind her. "And in the meantime, ye can go into the kitchen and help Maggie with the free lunch. Nothing like a wee bit of work to be taking yuir mind off yuir troubles."

Jessie wanted to chase after Wilma and continue the argument, or - better - to stay there with Paul, but the voice of the potion didn't give her the choice. Her hands clenched into fists, as she slowly walked towards the kitchen door.

* * * * *

"Lemme buy you a drink, Paul," Blackie Easton offered, moving in next to him.

"Hi, Blackie," Paul said. "What's the occasion that you're buying?"

"What's the occasion?" Blackie slapped Paul heartily on the back. "Don't be so modest. You've done gone and tamed her, Paul. You tamed that pretty hellion, Jessie Hanks."

"I didn't tame anybody," Paul said. "She's still her own woman. She just came around to the idea that she was a woman." He smiled, remembering the night before. "And started to cotton to the idea."

Blackie grinned wickedly and nudged Paul in the ribs. "I won't ask how you managed that... you lucky bastard, you."

Paul stiffened. Did anybody - did everybody - really know what he and Jessie had done? Paul didn't enjoy the thought of folks snickering at him, and he was damned sure that Jessie would like it a whole lot less. The last thing he wanted was for her to get jittery about their relationship, especially with the way Wilma had just been ragging her.

"Blackie," he said finally. "You're always welcome to buy me a drink, but I can't say that I like what you're thinking."

"You don't... are you saying that you didn't... that nothing happened between you two out there on the trail back to Erie? After what I... what we all just saw Jessie do to you?"

Paul thought quickly. "Blackie, I won't deny that something happened on the trail. Jessie and I kissed, and we both liked it, liked it a lot. But I can honestly say that what you think happened out there didn't happen." He smiled; a red herring was better than no fish at all. "I was wishing it would, especially after we kissed, but nothing like that came even close to happening the whole damned way back here."

That was it. Now the question was if Blackie would catch the hint and ask what happened after they got back.

"Danged if I don't believe you," Blackie said. "I suppose if it didn't happen, it wasn't for you not wanting it to." He shrugged. "Whatever you did do sure worked, though. She's a whole different woman. Hell, I'll still be happy to buy you that drink."

The lie worked. Paul sighed in relief. "And I'll be happy to drink it."

* * * * *

"I'm a girl. I'm a girl." Jessie stared into the mirror as she sat in her room at the Saloon, combing her hair and repeating the phrase as Shamus had ordered. Before, it had always seemed to like an extra punishment. Now that Paul had helped her to discover what it really meant to be a girl - she caught herself smiling as she said it.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Jane's voice from the doorway broke Jessie's happy train of thought. Jane's voice was angry, almost shrill.

Jessie put down the brush. "You heard what the Judge said. I got me 30 days more added on to my time t'serve. Where else would I be?"

"Thirty days," Jane spat out the words. "You killed Toby, and you get a whole thirty days. You shoulda hung for it."

"The jury didn't think so - neither did the Judge. They thought... you been a girl long enough; you should know by now that a gal's got a right t'fight back when some man's trying to... to rape her."

"I ain't no gal. Besides, you're lying. Toby didn't try... you led him on, you... you shameless harlot. You're no... no better than your sister, a pair of whores, the both of you."

Jessie stood up slowly, fists clenched. "You take that back."

"I won't; whore... whore... whore!"

Jessie growled low in her throat and threw herself at Jane. They grappled a few minutes, and Jessie realized her mistake. Jane was taller and much stronger than she was, every bit as strong as Laura. 'But she ain't a fighter,' Jessie thought. 'She ain't used to scrapping, especially as a woman.'

Jessie was, though, so she decided to teach Steinmetz some manners. She stuck her leg deftly between Jane's and pushed, tripping the taller woman. Jane let out a yell and fell to the floor, but she reacted quickly and pulled Jessie down with her. Jessie snarled as they grappled; this wasn't going to be as easy as she'd hoped.

The two women rolled around, screaming at each other. Jessie was trying to scratch Jane's face. Jane was fighting her off, even while she tried to pull at Jessie's hair. They knocked over a chair and rolled hard enough against the table that Jessie's brush was knocked off and fell to the floor.

"What in the name of all the saints..." Molly took one look at the pair of them scuffling on the floor and yelled from the doorway, "Shamus, ye get up here and be double quick about it."

Shamus was at the doorways in an instant. "What's - stop that, you two. Jane... Jessie, ye stop fighting right now and stand up." His voice was firm - and loud enough to be heard over the women's shouting.

It was a direct order; the pair had no choice but to obey. They stopped their struggling and rolled apart. Then both got slowly to their feet, each glaring at the other.

"Now what the Sam Hill was the two of ye doing?" Shamus asked.

"I just came in, and she up and attacked me for no reason," Jane said, trying to look hurt. "I said she was dangerous after what she done t'Toby."

"Like hell!" Jessie said angrily. "She called me a whore and said that I should hang for what I... for what happened to Toby."

"See there, she admitted it. She killed --"

"Quiet," Shamus yelled. Jane's mouth snapped shut.

"Ha!" Jessie said.

"You, too, Jessie." Shamus added. "I was afraid that something like this would happen. Jessie, ye and yuir friends could always fight each other, and Jane's the same way, I'm thinking." He sighed. "So, I'll be making meself clear as crystal. Jessie and Jane, ye can NOT try to be hurting each other physically; no attacks, no booby traps, no asking somebody else t'be doing it for ye." He paused a second for effect. "Understood."

Neither answered. Jessie pointed to her mouth and mumbled.

"Oh, yes," Shamus said. "Ye can talk again. Now, do ye understand what I'm saying to ye?"

"Yes, Shamus," they said in unison.

"Good," Shamus said. "Ye can insult each other till the cows come home. Maybe that'll let off the steam ye're both feeling right now."

Then Jane added, "but But that don't mean she has t'share a room with me, do it."

"It surely does," Shamus said. "The town's only paying me for one bedroom for me prisoners. The only way either of ye'll have yuir own room is if somebody's paying me for it."

"I can pay," Jane said quietly.

"Can ye now?" Shamus asked. "And how would ye be doing that?"

"At the claim... there's... I can pay. Why do you need to know how? Just let me go up to my claim, and I'll get however much money you want." Jane looked angrily at Jessie. And at Shamus.

"Let ye go up to that claim of yours?" Shamus said in surprise. "The last time a prisoner of mine got up there, we had to send Paul after her. Didn't we, Jessie?"

He looked at Jessie, and she glared back at him. He smiled at her and shook his head. "No, ye'll stay in town, and, if ye haven't the money for yuir own room, then ye and yuir new roommate will be stopping this nonsense and getting ready for this evening's work."

He turned to leave, then stopped as a thought occurred to him. "And they'll be no wrecking what belongs to the other, besides what I told ye before." The two women nodded, and Shamus left.

* * * * *

Molly was waiting for Shamus downstairs, a glass of beer in her hand. Shamus took a long drink; after dealing with those two hellions, he needed one. Then he told Molly what had happened upstairs.

"While ye were at it, why didn't ye tell them not to insult each other?" she asked.

Shamus took another drink; "For the same reason I let Wilma and Laura be rude to each other that one time when they was our prisoners. Because I'll not be telling a person how to talk. It won't hurt nothing, and it'll give them a chance to get thuir feelings out. They might even get over their mad someday."

"Aye, they might, in a month of somedays." She smiled at her own pun. "They must love having to be living together, too. How'd they take that bit o'news?"

"About as well as ye might expect. Jane even offered to pay for her own room."

"With what?"

"She says that she's got more than money enough up at that claim of hers. As if I'd be letting her go up there after what happened with Jessie."

"But if she has the money..."

"If she does - and she says she does - she can keep it. A warden doesn't let his charges go traipsing across the countryside on errands. He don't give 'em separate rooms either... unless thuir's bars for the walls of them rooms."

"I suppose ye're right."

"I am." Shamus finished the beer in another long drink. "Now let's be getting back to the running of this here saloon."

Ozzie Pratt folded his newspaper at the next table, a weekly "boilerplate" edition of the Tucson itizen e produced on contract at his print shop. "So Jane does have money." He mumbled under his breath. "Thank you, Shamus. It's always gratifying to have one's suspicions confirmed." He decided that it might be time to visit Josiah Whitney's barbershop for a haircut and shave and some of that nice bay rum tonic after.

Sam Braddock, sitting two tables away and losing a poker hand to Bridget, had the same idea.

* * * * *

Jessie glanced nervously around the Saloon. 'Where the hell is Paul?' she thought. "Shamus is already selling dance tickets."

A voice suddenly broke into her thoughts. "Jessie, would you like to dance?" Joe Ortlieb stood before her, hopefully holding a ticket up for her to see.

"Of course," Jessie said, trying not to sound disappointed. She took his ticket and tucked into the pocket of her starched white apron.

Joe took her hand and led her out into the open area that served as the dance floor. They were quickly joined in turn by Marty Hernandez and Maggie, Ozzie Pratt and Jane, Davy Kitchner and Molly, and, finally, Sam Braddock and Bridget.

As they waited for the music start, Jessie noticed that she didn't mind holding Joe's hand. 'Rather it was Paul's, though,' she thought. She suddenly remembered thinking of Joe when she had taken that shower bath in the rain, while she was on the run. She remembered, too, what she'd been doing to herself at the time, and she felt a warmth in her cheeks, the beginnings of a blush.

Shamus gave the signal, and the band began to play.

The first dance was a slow waltz. Joe took Jessie in his arms. "Before you ran off, you flirted with me to get into that big fight and make trouble for Shamus. You remember that?"

"I-I do." What was he leading up to? Was he still angry for being tricked?

"Well, now that you're back, I hope you'll be acting more like a lady."

"I... I will," Jessie said. She wasn't certain what she was letting herself in for, dancing with him.

"Good," Joe said with a smile. "Then I'll treat you like one." They began to move to the music.

The phrase "Treat you like a grown woman" echoed suddenly in Jessie's mind. Jessie felt Joe's arm around her waist, pulling her body to him. Her breasts were pressed against his chest. "Oh, my," was suddenly all she could manage to say.

* * * * *

Shamus handed Molly a beer as she came off the dance floor. "Ye seemed t'be enjoying yuirself out there with Hans Euler."

"I was, Love... and thanks for the beer," Molly answered, taking a long sip. She had seen that it was the real beer Hans and his brother brewed, and not the "near-beer" Shamus normally gave to the other women during working hours. Hans seldom paid to drink his own product. He was off, edging his way into the crowd of potential partners around Bridget.

"Och, thuir'll be time enough for that fake stuff later. This was just to say thanks again for filling in while Laura's still away."

"A honeymoon's a special time in a young girl's life. I'd hate to be having to ask her cut it short, just so we had enough girls for the dancing tonight."

"Lucky there was another pretty lass to be filling in." He gently put his hand on hers.

"I thank ye for that, Love, but it's been a long time since our own honeymoon."

"Seems like it was just last week. Time flies when ye find the right person to spend it with." He squeezed her hand.

"Then come out from behind that bar and spend some of it dancing with me."

"I'd love to, me darlin', but with ye out there, I'm shorthanded enough. I can't be asking R.J. to carry the load by himself, even for the little while."

Molly looked around. "Then ask Ramon to." She pointed to him, slowly sipping a beer at a table, as he watched the dancers. He can handle the money, sell the tickets. It surely beats just sitting there the way he is, poor thing, waiting for a turn to be dancing with Maggie."

* * * * *

"How's the evening going, Jane?" Sam Braddock asked, when he finally got a chance to dance with her. "You look like something's troubling you."

"Darn straight, there is," Jane snapped.

"That bad? What is it?"

"It's that... it's Jessie. It's bad enough they let her off for what she done t'Toby with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Now Shamus says she gets to sleep in my room... my room."

"That don't seem very fair. Did you talk t'him about it?"

"I did, and he didn't want to even listen to me."

'Better and better,' Sam thought. He gave her his best smile. "He don't really care about you, Jane. You're just a way to make money for him. If you want to talk, you need to talk to somebody that cares about you."

"You mean like my sister, Laura?"

"If Laura cared about you, she'd be here now, wouldn't she? I don't see her around here anywhere. Do you?"

"She just got married. She's on her honeymoon."

"Like I said, she ain't here. She cares more about some ol' husband of hers than she does her own sister."

"Nobody cares about me that much then, I guess." She swallowed hard and blinked dewy eyes.

"And you'd be guessing wrong, Jane. 'Cause I do."

"You... you do?"

"Hell, I'm here, ain't I?" He pulled her into his arms as the music began.

* * * * *

"Hi, Jess," Paul Grant said cheerily. "Miss me?"

Jessie's eyes flashed. "A little, but I had Joe Ortlieb and Blackie Easton and a few other boys t'keep me busy." She smiled, her eyes half-closed. "Those fellers really know how to treat a lady."

"I'll bet." Paul cocked an eyebrow. Jessie still liked teasing people. There was a lot of spirit left in this mustang, even if the bit was between her teeth these days. "Well, I'm here now."

"So I notice." She took the ticket he was holding and put it in her pocket. "You sure wasn't here before."

Paul grinned. "Been looking for me, were you?"

"No... I was just... where you been all night anyway?"

"Working. I switched off with Dan at 11 and came right over."

The music started, an energetic mazurka that put an end to their talking. It also meant that Paul wouldn't hold Jessie in his arms as much as he would have with a waltz or even a polka. 'Maybe Shamus'll forget 'bout his no two dances in a row rule,' Jessie thought. 'Seeing as Paul wasn't here till just now.'

When the music stopped, Hiram King, leader of the Happy Days Town Band, took off his accordion. He put it down on his stool and called out, "Folks, we're gonna take a break for about fifteen minutes. Why don't you all do like we're gonna do and have yourselves a drink."

Most of the crowd headed for the bar. Shamus scurried ahead of them, having left a tray of beers for the musicians. Molly ran over, too. She took up position with Shamus and R.J. behind her own section of the bar and began to pour drinks.

"You... ah... want a beer?" Paul asked, looking warily at the thick mass of people scrambling for drinks.

Jessie shook her head. "Not really, but some fresh air would sure be nice." She took a chance. "There's benches and such out in Molly's garden... out behind the Saloon."

"Lead on." He took her hand in his, and they walked around the edge of the crowd towards the kitchen.

* * * * *

"Now what exactly were you doing with Joe Ortlieb and Blackie Easton and those other boys before I got here?" Paul asked. He was sitting next to Jessie on a low, whitewashed bench set against the back wall of the Saloon. It was out of sight of the kitchen door, the same place where Bridget had discovered Wilma and Clay Falk two weeks before.

Jessie moved in a bit closer to him. "What do you think I did?" He had one arm loose around her waist. She put her hand on his.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't ask."

"We danced. We talked." She giggled. "They held me in their arms."

"You like that, Jess, being in a man's arms?"

"Mmmm, depends on the man. It was... yes." She giggled again. "Yes... all right, I did like it. But I... I'm not out here with Joe or Blackie, am I?" She turned and looked him in the eye. It was a clear challenge.

He ran a finger along her cheek. "No... no, you ain't." He took her head in his hands and kissed her.

Jessie hesitated a moment. Then she kissed him back. Her nipples were hard. It astonished her how easily and how quickly the nearness of him could arouse her.

Their tongues dueled sweetly. At the same time, their hands explored each others' bodies. Jessie's body flesh tingled as she ran her fingers across Paul's broad shoulders and muscular back. At the same time she felt his fingers exploring her narrow waist and the curve of her hips.

When they broke the kiss, she looked up at him, her eyes glistening. "Shame we got all these clothes on, ain't it?" She reached over and impishly began working the top button of his shirt.

Paul reached up and took her hands in his. "Worse shame is, they gotta stay on." He paused for a moment. "For now, anyway."

"Why?" She sounded confused and a little hurt. "Don't you want to..."

"As much as you do, Jess." He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "But we only got ten... fifteen minutes. Then they're gonna come looking for us. I don't want to put on a show for half the town. Do you?"

"We could go somewhere? Back t'your room, maybe?"

"You're a prisoner, Jess, much as I hate to say it. I can't take you away from the Saloon. Besides, Dan's on duty. As like as not, he's over at the jail right now. I don't think I can just walk you past him and into my room."

"What're we gonna do then?"

"I'll try and think of a way we can... be together without everybody knowing it. I expect you'll do the same. In the meantime..." he pulled out his pocket watch, "... we still got a good ten minutes out here."

* * * * *

Sunday, October 1, 1871

"Hey, Milt, c'mere."

Milt Quinlan turned. Jane was waving to him from the sidewalk in front of the Eerie Saloon. She held a long-handled straw broom in her other hand. 'Cleaning up from last night's dance,' he thought.

He tuned and walked over to her. "Good morning, Jane."

"Morning, yourself. I got a question for you."

"I wasn't sure that I was still your lawyer. I - ah... I assume that this is a legal question."

"It is. I still ain't happy about you being that oman's awyer, though."

Milt sighed. "I told you, Jane, and more than once, I'm the lawyer for - look, do you want to argue or do you want to ask me something?"

"Both. But I'll ask the question first. I been waiting since yesterday t'ask it. You left right after the trial, and you never come back, not even for the dance. Come t'think of it, I ain't never seen you at the dance. Why is that, anyway? Don't you like t'dance?"

"I - ah, I'm not a very good dancer." Milt tugged at his collar. "I don't want embarrass myself."

"Not a good dancer? Don't let that stop you. Half the fellas I dance with can't dance worth spit." She considered him for a minute. "Why don't you come by next Saturday? I'll dance with you, no matter how bad y'are."

"I... ah... is that what you wanted to... umm... ask me, to come to the dance?"

"That? Hell... 'scuse me, heck, no - Shamus don't like for us t'curse. I was wondering if you could tell Shamus t'gimme my own room."

"Is there a problem with the room you're in now?"

"Yeah, there is. It's got this big rat sleeping in there with me."

"A rat? Why not just ask Shamus to set a trap, or, better yet, get a cat. There's enough stray cats in this town. Besides, it probably won't stay in any one room."

"Sure, she will. She likes sleeping in that bed there by the window."

"Bed? Oh, you mean Jessie."

"Course I do. What other rat you know in this town?"

"I'm not sure that I agree with your characterization, but I'll... I'll ask Shamus about your room."

"Ask? I already done that. He says he won't do give me my own room unless I can pay for it. I ain't got the money right now."

"What do you expect me to do, then? There's no legal reason I can think of to make him move you."

"You can tell him I'm good for the money. I... I can pay him once I get out."

"I... I can't do that, Jane."

"You... you can't." She looked like she'd just been slapped. "Don't you trust me no more. I said I had the money. I do, honest."

"I believe you, Jane, but I can't do anything more than tell Shamus that I think you'll be able to pay. I don't think that he'll take my word for it any more than he'd take yours."

"You got all them big words when you want t'use them. You made that jury believe they should let Jessie off, but you won't use them t'help me. I... I thought that was what a lawyer did, talk people into doing things they don't want to do."

"Jane, I said I'd talk to Shamus, but I can't make him do what he doesn't want to do. He has every right to protect his own interests."

"'Every right', well, the hell with you." She turned and briskly walked away.

Milt watched her go. He sighed and shook his head. "Some... clients are more trouble than they're worth. Still..." He shrugged. "I'll talk to Shamus this afternoon. Maybe I can work something out."

* * * * *

Red Tully saw Jane hurry into the Saloon, looking almost ready to cry. "Something wrong, Jane?" He put down his drink and walked over to her.

"I... I asked Milt Quinlan - he's my lawyer, you know, for some help, and he said he couldn't do nothing t'help."

"That prissy little..." he put an arm around her shoulder and tried not to let her see him smile. "Next time you need a favor, you come t'your old friend, Red. I can't promise I'll be able t'do what ya want, but I sure as hell'll give it a try."

* * * * *

Roscoe Unger walked over to the bar. "Is Miss Maggie around, R.J.?" Roscoe was a tall slender man, in his early twenties, with neatly combed, sandy brown hair.

"'Fraid not, Roscoe," R,J. said. "What do you need her for?"

"She has a deal with Mr. Pratt. We print up the menus for the week, and she gives us supper one night during the week. Mr. Pratt's a lot better printer than he is a cook." he made a sour face. "We all make out pretty good by it. Anyway, I came to pick up the copy for this week's menus."

"You'll have to come back... unless you want to wait. These days, Maggie takes her kids to church on Sunday mornings. Josh Whitney's wife, Carmen, watches Maggie's kids Saturday night, while she works here at the dance, so then she makes late Sunday breakfast for them all."

He pulled out his pocket watch. "It's noon, now. She should be in by 1 PM." He made a motion as if to draw a beer. "You're more than welcome to wait."

"No... A beer'd be nice, but I don't think so. Mr. Pratt isn't going to want me to spend his time drinking. I'll come back in an hour or so."

"You surely do admire that boss of yours."

"R.J., Mr. Pratt gave me a job when I gave up on my claim and was ready to go back east with my tail between my legs and not enough money to get home on. I'm learning a trade, a good one, too. Why shouldn't I admire the man?"

"I don't know. He just struck me as an odd duck, kind of cold and using all those big words."

He's not the easiest man to get to know - I still can't say I do after over a year working for him. And you can't blame a man for being educated. I wish I was half as good at words as he was."

"I suppose that's true. I'll see you in an hour, but I don't think I'll tell Maggie you're coming."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I don't think that your Mr. Pratt would mind you having a beer while you waited for Maggie to write out her menus." He winked. "See you in an hour."

* * * * *

Monday, October 2, 1871

"Well, now," Molly said happily, "will ye look at who's back." She rushed out from behind the bar and gave Laura a big hug, almost lifting the younger woman off the ground.

"You almost sound surprised," Laura said, trying to catch her breath after Molly let her go. "You know that Shamus and I agreed on a three-day honeymoon."

"I was there when ye agreed to it, wasn't I? I just thought that ye might have... other things on yuir mind." She gave a broad wink.

Laura's face reddened. "I was a little... pre-occupied, but I'm a woman of her word. Said I'd be back Monday, and here I am."

"Sure'n I think that's the first time I've heard ye call yuirself a woman, at least not without stumbling." She laughed. "But then I'm sure Arsenio spent the last three days reminding ye of what ye are."

Now it was Laura's turn to laugh. "He certainly has a fine way of tweaking my... memory." She looked around, not sure that she wanted anyone to hear the way she was talking.

"Ye can relax, Laura. If there was anyone close enough to be hearing us, I'd not be teasing ye so about yuir honeymoon."

"I should hope not."

"After all, us old married women have to be sticking together." She winked.

"Maybe so, but we both sounded more like Wilma than a pair of 'old married women.'"

"Perhaps that's because we're all interested in the same thing." Molly winked. "We married women are just the lucky ones, being with somebody we truly care about."

"I don't know about that. I don't know that I ever saw much affection between my sister, Elizabeth, and her husband, Theo."

"What ye see people do in public ain't always the way things are, ye know. Some people don't like to be showing the world how they feel."

"I guess not. So... where is everybody?"

"Ye know how slow things get on Monday morning. Shamus is in the office doing the books, and R.J. don't come in till noon. Maggie and Jessie --"

Laura's eyes narrowed. "Oh, yeah; how's she adjusting to being back here instead of running free? She ever say why she did come back? I... ah, went home right after the trial."

"Ye'll have t'be asking her yuirself why she come back. As t'how she's doing, I'd have t'be saying that she's fit back into things like she never left."

Laura glanced around the room. "Where is she then?"

"Like I was saying, she's out in the kitchen, helping Maggie with the Free Lunch. Ye can say yuir hellos when ye go in to get an apron. Don't be too long at it, though. This place needs a good sweeping up, and ye, m'girl, are just the one to be doing it."

"I'll get right to it, then. Where's Jane by the way?" Laura looked around warily this time. She wasn't sure how ready she was to see her "sister."

"Upstairs cleaning the rooms. I should be warning ye. Jane still wants Jessie dead for killing Toby. They can't fight - Shamus' orders - but, if looks could kill, the pair of them would've been dead yesterday."

Laura sighed. "And I'll be right in the line of fire."

* * * * *

Tuesday, October 3, 1871

Maggie spooned another measure of coffee into the pot - Shamus liked it strong in the morning - and set the pot on the stove. She was getting eggs out of the cooler, when she heard a voice behind her.

"Morning, Maggie. What's for --" Shamus stopped and looked at the empty space on the worktable. "Hmm, I'm guessing breakfast won't be ready for a while yet."

"I am sorry, Shamus," Maggie said. She set the bowl full of eggs down on the table. "Ernesto could not find one of his books for school. Then Lupe... Never mind, I am sorry. It is my fault, not my children's."

"No, it's mine, if ye think about it. I knew that bringing them children up here to live with ye would surely be a distraction." He chuckled and scratched his head. "Come to think of it, that's why I done it." He looked around the kitchen. "Where is Lupe, anyway?"

"She wanted to pick some flowers - from out in your yard - to go onto the breakfast table."

"Well, that'll make for a nice bit of color." He paused a moment. "She does know the difference between the flowers for color and the herbs and such things that me Molly has growing out there, don't she?"

"Si, she does. Molly showed her. Besides, the garden that Molly has is very much like the one that my sister, Juana, has down in Mexico." She sighed. "It is just as well that she is outside. She likes to help, but, when I am in a hurry..." she let the words hang.

"Aye, that's the way that it is with wee ones. They can be getting in the way, even when they're trying to be a help."

"Especially when they try to help. Lupe loves to cook. She wants to learn all about it as quickly as she is able."

"If she has half yuir gift for it, she'll be a fine cook someday. For now, I think I'll be sending Jane in to help ye."

"That would be good. I think that Jane, too, has a bit of a gift for cooking. And, by the way, Shamus..."

"Aye?"

"We are having coffee, scrambled eggs, toast - toast takes less time than biscuits do - and honey butter for breakfast."

"Now that's a breakfast worth a bit of a wait. I'll have Jane in here in just a wee minute t'be helping ye."

* * * * *

Red Tully looked up confidently from his cards. "How about a drink, Bridget? Marty? I'm buying." He made a gesture to signal for a waitress. "Raise you a dime."

"No, thanks, Red." She glanced down at her cards, then smiled. "I think I'd better keep my wits about me. You're too good a player." She tossed in a couple chips. "See you and raise another dime."

Marty Hernandez sighed and put down his cards. "Fold. You got enough of my money, Red. You might as well buy me a beer."

Before Red could say anything, Jessie stepped up to the table. "Hi, Red, what can I get for you?"

"Why don't you just take him upstairs, Hanks? You know you wanna."

Jessie looked over her shoulder and frowned as soon as she recognized the speaker. "Go away, Jane."

Jane had followed Jessie over, even though the pitcher of beer and three glasses on her tray were for a table halfway across the room.

Bridget placed her cards face down and gently put her hand on Jessie's arm. "Ignore her, Jessie. She'll been gone in a minute."

"Will not," Jane said. "I'll be right here telling everybody what sort of person Miss Jessie Hanks really is."

"You don't know that many words," Jessie answered.

"Stop it, the both of you," Bridget said.

"No, I won't" Jane said stubbornly. "I got as much right as anybody else t'say what I think."

"Not at my table." Bridget stood up and rested her hands on the table. In a loud voice, she said, "Shamus, would you come over here, please."

Shamus came out from behind the bar and quickly walked over. "What's the problem, Bridget?"

"That one..." she tilted her head towards Jane "is bothering my waitress and annoying me and my players."

"Is she now?" He scowled and turned towards Jane. "Ye'll apologize, lass, and I mean now."

Jane squirmed. "I-I'm sorry, Bridget... Red and Marty. I-I didn't mean to ruin your poker game."

"Very good," Shamus said, "but they ain't the only ones you need to apologize to. Tell Jessie ye're sorry, too."

"No, I..." Jane shook her head. It was the last thing that she wanted to do, but the potion didn't give her a choice. "I-I'm sorry, Jessie. I-I'm sorry that... that you're all them things I said you was."

"That's not what I meant, Jane, and ye know it." Shamus was mad now. "I want a real apology."

Jane gritted her teeth, as the magic of the potion forced the words out of her. "I... I'm s-sorry for... for what I-I said, Jessie. I ap-apologize."

"Not very gracious," Jessie said.

"No, but ye'll accept it, Jessie," Shamus said. "Now scoot, Jane."

Jane hurried away, almost spilling the pitcher in her haste.

"I hope that's settled for a while," Bridget said with a sigh.

"So do I," Red said, "but this hand ain't settled yet." He tossed three chips onto the table. "See you and raise fifteen cents. Oh... and, Jessie, beers for me and Marty, please."

* * * * *

Wednesday, October 4, 1871

"Jane," Laura said, "can I talk to you for a minute. It was early afternoon, and the Saloon was almost empty.

"You're my big sister," Jane said cheerfully. "You can talk t'me anytime you want to."

Laura took a breath. "Can I talk to you about Jessie?"

"Her?" Jane's smile soured. "Why d'you want to talk to me about her?"

"Because I think it's high time you and her stopped fighting."

"Stopped fighting! She killed Toby. If it wasn't for--"

"She was defending herself, for heaven's sake. It wasn't her fault Toby hit his head against the fireplace."

"Yes! Yes, it was. She shouldn't've kicked him like she done. Toby liked her; he liked her a lot"

"You mean, the way you liked me - when you were Jake?"

"I still like you, Laura, and, now, you n'me is sisters."

Laura was still a bit uncomfortable with Jane saying that. "Do you think it's fair, you getting changed into my sister and all?"

"I still don't know what all I done that was so wrong, but everybody - you and the Judge and that jury - said I done bad, real bad, so I guess I deserved what happened to me." She shrugged. "I don't much like it, but it's better'n going t'jail, I guess."

"You do know that Toby was doing to Jessie what you were... doing to me." Jane nodded, and Laura continued. "And it wasn't any more right for him --"

"See, that's where it's different. A judge and jury said I done wrong. Nobody told Toby that. Jessie just up and killed him."

"But a jury said that Jessie --"

"It ain't the same." She looked very hard at Laura. "Are you taking her side against me, your own sister?"

Laura shook her head. "If anything, Jane, I'm taking your side. The way you're acting, picking fights with Jessie, is bothering people. Shamus is getting mad, which is never a good idea. I just think you'd better stop before you get into real trouble."

"No. I got as much right as anybody t'say what I want. Toby was my partner n'my friend. Maybe nobody else gives a rat's ass that Jessie murdered him, but I do. And I aim t'keep saying she did."

"But --"

"It's nice t'know you're worried about me, Laura, but I ain't stopping. You might as well quit wasting your breath talking to me about it."

* * * * *

"How's the prettiest card sharp in the west?"

Bridget lost her poker face. She put down her cards - face down, she was still playing the hand to win - and stood up. "Cap! Welcome back."

They stared at each other a moment, not sure what to do next. "Thanks, Bridget. It's good to be back."

"So... uhhh... how... how was your trip?"

"Not bad. The Army's paying top dollar for beef; so's the Indian Bureau. There must've been a couple thousand head up at Fort Verde, half a dozen ranches or more fighting over contracts to sell their cattle."

"The Army bought that much?"

"The Army bought some right there. The Indian Bureau bought more, and we got contracts to deliver the rest of that herd on to Fort Whipple and to Fort Mojave. I've never seen Uncle Abner so happy. He's more than willing to take the Army's money for his cattle, especially when they're paying top dollar."

"That sound's like your uncle. Did he ride back with you?"

"Nope. He sent me back to work at the ranch. He'll stay with the herd for the rest of the drive." He paused a beat. "By the way, you got a big game in your future, Bridget.

"What do you mean?"

"One of the other herds at Fort Verde belonged to Henry Clay Hooker, the man I told you about."

"I remember him. That was quite a gamble on his part, letting Cochise's warriors raid his herd."

"He still says it works, cut down his loses a whole lot. Point is, you'll be getting to see just how good a gambler he is. I told him about you. He's coming out this way sometime during the winter, and he's looking forward to getting in a little poker. Uncle Abner said he'd sit in, too, so brace yourself for one high stakes game."

Bridget let out a "whuff" of air. "I'll say. I'd better get back to winning this one to build up my stake." She put a hand down on the table next to her cards. "There's a spare seat. You can buy in before the next hand."

"Finally, she remembers that there's a game going on," Carl Osbourne said in an exasperated voice. "Even if Joe and Jerry and me ain't no cattle barons."

"C'mon, gal," Joe Kramer said, playing with his stack of chips. He can't get in the game, not till we finish this hand."

"I-I'm sorry, Carl... Joe." Bridget flashed them a quick smile. "I'll be back to take your money in just a minute."

"We'll see about that soon enough," Carl said with a wry grin.

"You might as well get back and take their money, Bridget. I have to ride out to the ranch, anyway. I just came in to tell you... ah, to say I was back."

Bridget sighed. "Well, if you got to go..."

Cap took a step towards her. "I do. I had a long ride, and the sun comes up awful early tomorrow. There's just one thing I have to take care of, first." Before Bridget could say anything, he took another step forward. He gently put his hand on her cheek and kissed her quickly on the lips. "Now, I can go. Bye, Bridget." He grinned, very satisfied at what he'd just done, turned, and headed out the door.

Bridget stared after him, her eyes wide. Her hand slowly reached up, and she ran a finger across her lips.

"Whenever you're ready," Joe said. The fourth man at the table, Jerry Domingez, nodded in agreement. He'd already folded and was eager for the next hand.

Bridget blushed and slowly sat down. Her hand trembled slightly as she picked up her cards.

* * * * *

"Bam! Bam!" Clay Falk let go of the bronze cupid doorknocker and took a step back. He heard footsteps. A slot in the door opened and a pair of long lashed brown eyes looked out at him. "Mais oui?"

"Why, howdy, Lady Cerise," Clay said cheerfully. "It's me, Clay Falk. I come to visit Wilma."

"M'seur Falk, welcome. Wilma will be so 'appy to see you." The slot closed. Clay heard a "click", and the deep burgundy colored door opened wide. Lady Cerise stood just inside. She was a tall, full-figured woman probably in her mid thirties. She wore a violet silk dress cut to accent her Rubinesque figure. Her dark brown hair was a mass of tight curls.

"Wilma is in the parlor." She offered Clay her arm. He took it and walked with her into House.

The parlor was flamboyantly decorated, paintings - some of them naked or almost naked women - hung in gilded frames above comfortable-looking Empire-style chairs and couches. Wilma was sitting playing cards with two other women, a small, slender very fair-skinned blonde and a tall, voluptuous Mexican. All three women were wearing only a corset, lacy white drawers, and matching stockings.

"Wilma," Lady Cerise said as she walked in. "You have a gentleman caller."

The women all looked up. "Clay," Wilma yelled. "When'd you get back t'town?" She tossed her cards onto the table and jumped to her feet. She ran around the table and into his outstretched arms.

"Just now, li'l darling. I told Mr. Slocum I had something important I needed t'do, and he let me ride back with Cap Lewis."

"Something t'do, Clay," Wilma said wryly. "And what would that be?"

"This." He took Wilma's head in her hands and kissed her. "For starters."

"Perhaps, you would like to continue this... upstairs?" Lady Cerise suggested.

Clay put his arm around Wilma's waist, his hand rested on her right buttock. "That sounds like a fine idea. Can you send up some supper in about an hour? We'll have worked ourselves up an appetite by then."

Cerise nodded. "Steak with the Saratoga chips, non?"

"And some of that good red wine of yours t'wash it down with." Clay said with a grin. "You just give us that hour first." He grabbed Wilma by the hand, and they started walking quickly towards the stairs.

The other women watched them go.

"I'll wager he wears those spurs to bed," the blonde, Rosalyn, said.

"Hmmm," Beatriz, the Mexican said. "Man like him can wear whatever he want, just so he wear it to my bed."

"How'd she get so damned lucky?" Rosalyn asked.

"Must be all those weeks she give it away at that saloon," Beatriz said. "The man get used to her; he do not know no better."

Lady Cerise clapped her hands. "Ladies, ladies, I will 'ave none of this jealousness."

"What jealousness?" While Beatriz and Roselyn had talked, a third woman had come downstairs. Mae was a slender brunette, walked down arm in arm with a tall, mustachioed man in a gray frock coat.

When they reached the bottom, the man took a $10 gold eagle coin out of his pocket and, with a grin, pushed it down in the space between her breasts. "Here's what I owe," he said, smiling. "Can't think of a better place for it to be... at least not one I can touch in public."

"We'll see about that next week, Lloyd, honey," Mae said. She leaned forward and kissed him.

"Count on it," Lloyd said when they broke the kiss. He made a gesture as if tipping his hat. "Ladies." With that, he smiled and walked out of the parlor.

"There," Cerise said, "each of you have men who ask only for you; why do you begrudge Wilma her own steady... beaus?"

"BonBon," Mae called. She knelt down and opened a napkin she'd been carrying in her hand. A small, brown and white mixed-breed dog ran out from under a chair and began eating the meat scraps that were in the napkin. She stood up and shrugged. "Aw, they're just slicing... sizing up the competition, Lady Cerise. Give 'em some time --"

"And we will really get catty," Beatriz finished the thought.

Lady Cerise shook her head. A certain rivalry between her ladies brought in extra money. Too much, though, was a much different story. "I will 'ave Daisy put out the saucers of milk at breakfast."

* * * * *

Thursday, October 5, 1871

"How's it going, little sister?"

Jessie was behind the bar, stacking beer steins. "Just fine, Wilma. I ain't seen you since my trial. What you been up to?"

"No good, same as always." Wilma chuckled at her own joke. "Cerise said she didn't mind if I went to your trial, but I had to get back soon as it was over. Saturday's our busy day, too, you know."

"I'm sorry you couldn't stay - even for a little bit longer." Jessie remembered her sister's teasing, and she was up for another match.

"So am I, but you had other things on your mind, anyway."

"'Other things... ' What do you mean?"

"The way you was kissing that deputy, Paul... Grant, ain't it?" Jessie nodded. "You thank him yet, like you said you was gonna..." Wilma continued, "... or did one of them other men make you a better offer?"

Jessie felt her cheeks redden. "I... I was half outta my mind with relief that I wasn't gonna hang. I didn't know what I was saying."

"Don't try that excuse on me, gal. You sure looked like you knew what you was doing when you kissed him." She chuckled again. "I think you and him was practicing on the way home."

"Why? You looking for tips on how to kiss?" Jessie was going on the offensive.

"Jessie, the things I could show you about how - and where - to kiss a man... well, no matter, you'll learn quick enough once you come t'work with me, and, oh, the fun you'll have learning."

"Stop it, Wilma." Jessie glowered at her sister. "You want to be a whore... fine. It's your life; you be one, but stop trying t'make me one."

"And just what's wrong with being a whore, Jessie? It may not have a good name, but the pay's good, and the work's real easy."

"Like I said, you want t'be one, Wilma, you go ahead and be one. Just stop trying t'make me out t'be one."

"That's right, you got a reputation t'protect, a reputation as a horse thief, rustler, stagecoach robber, and backshooter. Or do you just want to be known as the best waitress Shamus ever had working for him, bring drinks t'drunken cowboys and cleaning out their spittoons."

"I don't know for sure what I want t'be. But I sure as hell was never a backshooter? For you information, I'm still thinking about my future."

"With what, Jessie. I always done the thinking for the both of us. Even when I was stuck in that damned home for boys, you was always writing t'ask me what I thought you should be doing."

"Who was I gonna ask... Pa? Like I gave a hoot what that old man ever said. He was as useless as tits on a boar." She paused a beat. "But I ain't ten now. I got a mind of my own."

Wilma nodded. "Yep, brand-new and never been used."

"Why don't you just go back t'work? I hear you do your best thinking these days lying down with your legs spread, only it ain't your brain that you're exercising. If you don't start using it again soon, it'll get blamed rusty."

"And you can keep on mucking out Shamus' necessary. That's about as fancy a job as you'll ever hold down. Or maybe you can get hitched like Laura did and start keeping house. At least you can give it a try if Paul ever saves two dimes he can rub together." With that she turned and stormed out of the Saloon. There were no swaying hips this time, she walked very much the way Will Hanks had. She was loaded for bear and almost hoping somebody would get in her way. Jessie watched, her eyes two narrow slits.

* * * * *

Blackie Easton leaned back against the tree he was sitting near and took another puff of his hand-rolled cigarette. "Nothing like a good smoke after lunch," he said to no one in particular.

"I agree, Blackie," Cap Lewis said, stepping into view. "But shouldn't you be getting back to work?"

"Oh... uhh... hi, Cap." Black said trying not to look guilty. "I... uhh... heard you got back."

"Relax, Blackie, I won't begrudge a man five minutes extra for a smoke - not today, anyway. Just don't ever let my uncle catch you taking extra time. He's not the forgiving man I am."

"He ain't a bad boss, your uncle; a little strict maybe, but fair." He took a long drag on the cigarette. "How was your trip?"

"I may not've 'seen the elephant', as they say, but I've seen the Apache, hundreds of them living on that reservation."

"Lousy, stinking bastards, every last one of 'em."

"Maybe so, Blackie. I never fought them like you... and a lot of other men did. I will say that there's two things I like about them, though."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"They did sign a peace treaty. From what I could tell at Fort Verde, they're sticking to it."

"What's the other thing?"

"The Indian Bureau buys a lot of our steers to feed them - pays pretty good money, too."

"I... I suppose that's true enough."

"It is. That's why Uncle Abner can afford to pay you and the other men as much as he does."

Blackie took another drag. "Can't fault that. Your uncle pays a man top dollar for a day's work."

"When a man does a full day's work." He smiled and punched Blackie on the arm to show that he was joking. "So... anything interesting happen around here, while I was gone?"

"Pretty quiet out here. Had a wagon break down while we were hauling rocks away from a landslide on the trail over by Swallowtail Ridge on way into town. Arsenio Caulder rode out and fixed the axle and undercarriage."

"I'll have to go see what we owe him next time I get into town."

"Might want to wait a couple days, Cap. He may not be open for business just yet. Him and Laura Meehan just got married."

"Married? Why that... now I'll have to go see him... offer my congratulations and all that." He smiled broadly, thinking of Bridget. "They have much of a wedding, did they?"

"I'll say! Shamus had it in the Saloon. The whole town was invited, and about half of them came. Judge Humphreys did the honors - I guess Rev. Yingling didn't want to go into a saloon. Maggie Lopez, she cooked up a mighty fancy meal, with a wedding cake and all the trimmings. There was dancing and drinking till... well, I heard Shamus opened late the next day 'cause he was fixing a hangover cure for himself."

Cap laughed at the thought of a hung over Shamus O'Toole. "Sorry I missed it."

"There's one thing, though, about that dancing." Blackie pinched the end of what was left of his cigarette and tossed it to the ground. "Most of them dances - when she danced - Bridget, the gal you... the one that runs the poker game..."

"What about her?"

"She danced most of the time with R.J., Shamus' bartender. She wouldn't even dance with me when I asked her first. That ain't --"

Now Cap was frowning. "It certainly isn't. Thanks, Blackie, you'd better get back to work now." Blackie nodded and walked over to where his horse was tethered to another tree.

'And so had I,' Cap thought. 'The sooner I get finished with the chores here on the ranch, the sooner I can ride into town and talk seriously with Bridget.'

* * * * *

Maggie lit a small candle and set it down on the worktable next to Ernesto. "There," she said, blowing out the match, "now you can peel and chop the onions without crying the whole time."

"Thank you. Mama," Ernesto picked up a knife and began working on a large yellow onion. "Mama, can I ask you a question?"

"Si," Maggie said, "so long as you keep working. I need those onions chopped for the chicken."

Ernesto picked up an onion and carefully cut off the root. "Mama, did you and Uncle Ramon have a fight?"

"Heavens, no. How can you ask such a thing?"

"Because we don't see him any more."

"What do you mean? You saw him last Sunday in church. I heard Lupe say hello to him after Mass."

Lupe was peeling potatoes, and now she spoke up. "Si, Mama. I said hello, and he answered." She sniffled her nose. "But he looked so sad..."

Maggie looked at her daughter. "Sad? He looked sad?"

"Si," Lupe said. "I think he misses us. He kept looking at you all through the Mass. I saw him."

"So did I," Ernesto said. "Why doesn't he come by the house at night like he used to?"

"Si, it was so nice when he came over," Lupe said. "You looked so pretty, Mama, with the flower in your hair. You don't wear one any more. Is that why he does not come around?" Lupe looked at Maggie. A few curls of her mother's long, black hair were coming out from under the cotton cap she wore when she cooked.

"The flower..." Maggie shifted uncomfortably. How could she explain things to her children? "The flower has nothing to do with it - not really. I... we... I just thought that I wanted to spend more time with the two of you... to... to get to know you, my children again. Ramon... your Uncle Ramon understands." To herself, she added, 'I hope.'

"Then why did he look so sad?" Lupe asked.

"He misses us, you silly girl," Ernesto said with great dignity.

"And I miss him," Lupe said, sniffling again. "So does Inez. And... and you miss him, too, Ernesto. I know you do."

Ernesto drew himself up to his full height, tall for the six-year old he was. "I miss having an hombre, a good man like him, around to talk to. I cannot just be talking to women like you and Mama." He glanced quickly at Maggie. "Besides, Mama misses him, too, I think."

Lupe's eyes went wide. "Do you? Do you, Mama?"

Maggie frowned. "He is a friend. I miss him - just a little - when he is not around." She didn't want to say anything more on the matter if she could avoid doing so.

"Then you are not mad at him?" Ernesto asked.

"No, but I do not want either of you to ask him to come to the house or anything." Maggie tried to sound firm. Ramon had a way of making her unsure of her decision to put all of her efforts into making a life for her children. "Do you understand me?"

"Si, Mama," the pair said in unison.

"Good. Then we should all get back to work. Dinner will not make itself."

* * * * *

Friday, October 6, 1871

Jane picked up the dirty dish and stacked it on the others in the tray. The stein went in next to it. Customers filled their plates at the Free Lunch, and then carried them back to a table to eat. Most of the food was salted or spicy, just the sort of food to make a man buy himself a beer to wash it down with.

Jane's job this afternoon was to gather up the dirty dishes, steins and shot glasses, and silverware and bring them back to the kitchen to be washed. She got to wash them, too.

"Lemme help you with that." Davy Kitchner picked up the tray. "I can carry it a lot easier than you can."

"I can carry it fine, Davy," Jane protested. "I ain't no weak sister like that Jessie Hanks."

"Never said you was. But it's big, kinda awkward, too, with all that loose stuff in it. I got bigger hands and longer arms than you do. That makes it easier for me."

"I-I suppose." She put in a shot glass someone had left on the table. "Just be careful this time. Shamus gave me hell when you boys broke all them glasses last week."

"I will; I promise." He put down the tray and made a "king's x" over his heart.

Jane shrugged; anything so she didn't have to work as hard. She looked around and pointed. "That table next." She walked towards it. Davy picked up the tray again and followed close behind.

Oswyn Pratt was at the third table they came to, just finishing a quick lunch. "Well now, what have we here?"

"Clearing up the mess after lunch," Jane answered. "You done with that plate?" There was just a bit of potato salad and a small piece of pickled herring still on it.

"I suppose so." Ozzie dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his kerchief. "Allow me." He stood up and put both the plate and his empty beer stein into the tray.

"Thanks, Ozzie," Jane said with a smile. "C'mon, Davy." She started walking towards the next table.

Ozzie hurried after them. "Why don't you allow Davy and I to do this for you."

"Ain't you got a business to run?" Davy asked.

"Things at the print shop are currently as quiet as the proverbial tomb," Ozzie said, picking up a glass and putting it into the tray. "I am quite certain that Roscoe can handle anything that might occur, and, should that not be the case, he knows where I may be found."

"But if Davy's holding the tray, and you're putting the dirty stuff in it, Ozzie, what am I supposed to do?" Jane asked.

"You just stand there and look purty," Davy said quickly. "Something you do so very well," Ozzie added.

"Or the two of ye can be getting back t'minding yuir own business and let this lass do what I told her to do," said Molly, walking over to the group.

Ozzie smiled and gave a slight bow. "My dear Molly, how lovely you --"

Molly shook her head. "Och, thuir's gotta be Irish somewhere in yuir blood, Oswyn, 'cause I never heard such blarney from an Englishman."

"I am Welsh, madame, on both sides, and as far back as the Flood." He drew himself up to his full height. "Mr. Kitchner, here, and I were merely attempting to be gentlemen and assist this young woman in her assigned tasks."

"A likely story," Molly said. "There's a reason for Jane's being here at the Saloon, I'll be asking ye to remember. Ye want to be paying court to her - or whatever it is ye're really trying for - I don't care. But ye'll not be interfering with her 'tasks', thank ye very much." She looked them both in the eye. "Understood?"

"They was just being friendly," Jane whined.

"And, Jane," Molly said firmly, "ye'll not be encouraging them - or nobody else, none of the customers - t'be helping ye like that neither." It was said as an order, and the potion would make Jane obey. "Understood?"

Jane sighed. "Understood."

"You have made yourself most clear," Ozzie said in an overly polite tone of voice. Davy nodded in agreement.

"Fine," Molly said. "I'm sure the two of ye will excuse Jane, then. She's got work to be doing. Half them tables still got dirty dishes on them."

* * * * *

"You sure you don't mind my being a waiter girl tomorrow night?" Laura asked Arsenio, gently putting her hand on his. "Dancing with men over at Shamus's, I mean." They were sitting on the couch on the main room of their house.

"It's part of your job, isn't it?" Arsenio tried to sound noncommittal.

Laura smiled wryly. "It is till you teach me blacksmithing like you promised."

"I did no such thing. I promised you that I'd think about teaching you to be a smith."

"So... you thought about it?"

"To tell the truth, I've had much more... interesting things to think about for the last few days." He ran a finger down her side, just below her ribs.

Laura squirmed... and giggled. "Stop that!" She slapped his hand away, but it came back. She'd been surprised to discover that she was very ticklish just there. She'd been delighted, also, at what the tickling session with Arsenio had developed into. Maybe, after he answered her question, they could...

"You still haven't said if you minded all those men dancing with me," she said impatiently, slapping his hand away again.

"Of course, I do. I can't rightly blame them, though. What man wouldn't want to dance with the prettiest gal in town?"

Laura smiled, and she squirmed again at his tickling. "Do... do you want me to tell Shamus I-I can't do it?"

"Do you want to do it?"

The question surprised her. She thought for a moment then answered. "I-I guess so. I mean, I... I sort of got to like it, the dancing, I mean. Even if... if you... aren't the one I'm dancing with."

"Then you go ahead and do it. I figure a man should let his wife do what she wants to do."

"I want to learn to be a blacksmith."

"A man should let his wife do what she wants to do... within eason."
"Fooey, I think the only reason you don't mind my dancing is because you hope it'll take my mind off wanting to learn how to be a smith."

Oh, there's reasons why I don't mind, but that ain't one of them."

Laura raised an eyebrow and looked carefully at him. "And just what are those reasons, Mr. Caulder?"

"First off, you want to. You're a grown woman, and I trust you to know what you're doing."

"And..." Something in her needed to hear his answer.

"And... I know the men you'll be dancing with. I think I can trust them." He paused a beat. "Of course, if I can't trust them, if anybody tries anything, I know that I can beat the living hell out of any three of them."

"Is that it, that you can 'beat the living hell out' out of them?"

"Nope. The reason, the real reason that I don't mind is that I know with all my heart and soul that you'll be coming back here after that dance." He pulled her close. "Back to our house... and back to my... to our bed. When a man knows that, he doesn't worry about anything else."

Laura looked at him for a moment, her eyes glistening. Then she kissed him, answering his need with her own.

* * * * *

Saturday, October 7, 1871

Cap stood in the doorway to the Saloon for a moment. Bridget was at her usual table playing poker. As he watched, she matched Marty Hernandez' bet. The hand was over. She showed her cards, a full house, sevens and threes, and, as the others watched unhappily, raked in the chips.

Cap quickly walked over. With luck, he could get her to take a break in the game. "Bridget, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"You can if you're sitting in," Joe Kramer said, sourly. "Otherwise, you'll have to wait. I've got me a lot of money to win back."

"Aw, he can have a couple minutes with the lady," Finny Pike said. "Go ahead, Mr. Lewis, sir. I'll just get me a drink."

"Yeah," Kramer said. "The way you just kissed his butt, Finny, I bet you need that beer to get the taste out of your mouth."

Finny stood up and glared at the other man. "Just what're you saying, Joe?" Kramer stood up and glared back.

Bridget slammed the tabletop with the palm of her hand. "Gentlemen, I do not play poker with rowdies." The two men looked at her. "If you want to continue, you'll sit down, right ow." he two men still looked daggers at each other, but they both sat back down. She sighed and looked at Cap. "We'll talk at the dance, okay?"

Cap knew when he was outgunned. He nodded and walked away. At least she wanted to talk to him. He grinned. He had to admit, too, that she surely knew how to handle the men at her table.

* * * * *

"Well, you're here early, tonight," Jessie said as she took Paul's ticket.

"I've got the late shift tonight. I go on duty at 11." He took her in his arms, while they waited for the music to start.

"So tonight..." she left the sentence drift off.

"We get to dance a couple of times, I guess." He shrugged as the band began a waltz. "I wish it was more."

Jessie rested her head on his chest, as they moved across the floor. "'Least I get to be in your arms for a bit tonight. We ain't done anything like that for a while."

"Yeah, there's a whole lot of things that we haven't done lately." He kissed her forehead and pulled her in closer against his body.

* * * * *

"So," Cap asked, "anything happen while I was out of town?" He and Bridget were sitting out a polka, enjoying a couple of beers.

"Laura and Arsenio got married," Bridget said. She took a sip of her beer. "I guess you heard about that."

Cap frowned. "Yeah, I heard. I heard a lot of things." He took a drink. "I heard about the dancing, too."

"What do you mean?"

"Blackie Easton told me you were doing all your dancing with R.J. at the wedding. He said you wouldn't dance with anybody else." He waited a beat. "Is that true?"

She stiffened. "And if it is? What business is it of yours?"

"It's my business because... because, if you're gonna be dancing with somebody all night, I'd kind of like it to be me."

"Maybe I would, too, but you weren't here. R.J. was."

"I had to go with my uncle; I... I work for him."

"I know that. Did I say you shouldn't go?"

"No, no you didn't." He thought for a moment. "Did you care that I was going?"

"I cared. You're a friend, a good friend."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, and it's... it's all I want - from you and from R.J." She looked at him closely. "Understand?"

Cap sighed. "I understand... but let me ask you something?"

"Ummm... okay."

"You just said that you would have liked to have been dancing with me at the wedding. Is that right?"

"I said it just now, didn't I? But that doesn't mean that I didn't like dancing with R.J."

"That isn't what I asked. Would have liked to be dancing with me... part of the time, at least?"

"Yes... yes, that would have been nice."

Cap stood. "Then let's end this arg... this discussion, and make up for lost time while the band's still playing."

"I'd like that." Bridget took his hand and let him lead her to the floor. She was smiling, glad that things were settled - if only for the moment. She still wasn't sure how she felt about having the two men fighting over her, but she has a hunch that she was going to have a lot of thinking to do on the subject.

* * * * *

Monday, October 9, 1871

Ernesto walked hesitantly through the door and into Silverman's General Store. He stopped for a moment, then walked over to Ramon, who was setting up a display of shirts on a table. "Hola, Uncle Ramon."

Ramon looked up and quickly glanced around the store. "Hola, Ernesto. Is your mother here with you?"

"She is over at Grampa Shamus', making supper. She said I could go outside and play for a while."

"Why did you come here, then?"

"To see you, Uncle Ramon. You do not come to our house anymore. Are you mad at Mama?"

"No, you... uhh... see..." Ramon tried to think of a good answer. "Your Mama thought... she... she wanted to..." He sighed. "It is a grown-up thing and... umm... hard to explain." Especially when he, himself, did not understand.

Ernesto brightened. "Then you are not mad at Mama... or at me or Lupe?"

"Now why should I be mad at either of you?" Ramon reached down and gently mussed Ernesto's hair.

"Good, then I can stay."

Aaron Silverman had been watching the pair talking, and now he walked over. "Stay? What do you mean, 'stay'? You want you should go live with Ramon instead of your Mama?"

"Could I?" Ernesto's eyes were wide as saucers.

Ramon shook his head. "You have just come to live with your Mama. It would make her very sad if you left. You would not want to do that, would you?"

"No," Ernesto said, more than a little sorry. "Besides, she says that I am the man of the house, and she needs me to help her with things."

"So then what did you mean when you said, 'stay' just now?" Aaron asked.

"A man must be with other men sometimes," Ernesto said. "You know, just to talk about 'man' things."

"Si," Ramon said, winking to Aaron. "I know how such things are."

"Then, can I stay here for a while... just till I must go back to help Mama with the supper?"

Ramon looked at his employer for a moment. "This... this is a place of business."

"Which we're not doing much of right now," Aaron said with a shrug. "Why not? I let my Shmulie and Yitzchak stay with me at the store, when they were little."

"I can stay then, Seá±or Silverman, and... and maybe come back again now and then?"

"You can stay... you can come back," Aaron said, "but on two conditions. First..." he held up his index finger. "... you got to sit quiet in a chair behind the counter, especially if Ramon or I is waiting on a customer. Agreed, boychik?"

"Boychik? I... agreed," Ernesto said. "What is the other thing you want of me?"

"We-ell, you know how my Rachel thinks of herself as your Mama's mama?" Ernesto nodded, and Aaron continued. "Okay then. You don't call me 'Seá±or Silverman' no more. You want to hang around my store, then you got to call me 'Zayde.'"

"Sadie?" Ernesto asked. "That is a girl's name."

Aaron chuckled and shook his head. "No, no, Zayde... with a zed. In Yiddish - that's what they speak in Poland where I grew up - it means 'Grampa.'"

* * * * *

Jane looked around the room. "Just my luck. Molly ain't around to stop Ozzie or Red or Sam or Davy from helping me bus the glasses from the tables, and none of them is around neither." She picked up the empty tray and walked slowly to the nearest table. Not only was she wrung out tired, even with a full night's sleep, but her shoes were also pinching her.

* * * * *

Lady Cerise looked at the cards on the table. "Hmm, red three on the black four, I think." She put the card down. It was a busy night, the kind she liked best. Wilma was the only one downstairs with her at the moment, and that probably wouldn't last for very long.

"'Scuse me, my Lady." It was Daisy, the housekeeper and cook. "Mister Grant is here."

Cerise stood up. "Well, please, show him in."

"Yes, m'am." Daisy nodded and made a waving motion with her arm. She waited until Paul walked past her, then hurried off on some errand.

Cerise watched Paul walk into the room. He was a tall man, whose good looks she appreciated. "Good evening, deputy. Is this business... or pleasure?"

Paul smiled wryly. "Isn't much of a difference for you, is there, Lady Cerise?"

Cerise smiled back warmly. "No, my ladies and I are very lucky that way."

"Well, you can relax. I'm just here making my rounds. Any sign of trouble tonight?"

"Nothing. It has been a quiet night." She glanced towards the ceiling. "At least down here."

"Then I'll be heading --"

"Can I talk to you a moment first?" Wilma had been stretched out on a couch looking at stereoscope pictures. Now she stood up and walked over to Paul. She looked at Cerise for a moment. "Alone?" Her voice was low, almost a purr.

Cerise looked at the two of them. "Certainment, come BonBon." She stood and walked towards the door. The pup followed her, wagging its tail. As she reached the sliding parlor doors, she turned. "And, deputy... it will be on the 'ouse, as they say." She winked at Paul as she left, shutting the parlor doors behind her.

"What're you up to, Wilma?"

"Why... what makes you think I'm up to anything?" She stepped close to him and ran her palm across his chest. "Anything bad, that is."

"Stop it, Wilma."

"I'm just wondering what you done t'my sister?"

"What do you mean, what I did?"

"What you done to get 'Mad Dog' Jesse Hanks acting like the sassy little gal she's been since you two rode back into town." She looked at him closely for a moment. "I wonder if it's the way you kiss." She suddenly threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him with pressure and heat enough to wield her mouth to his, if they'd been made of iron.

Paul felt himself stiffen in reaction. Then he thought of Jessie and how she had surprised him with kisses that last night on the trail. "Stop it, Wilma." He pushed her away.

"You ain't a bad kisser, Paul," Wilma said breathlessly. "Not bad at all. I don't think it was just your kissing, though."

Paul thought about just walking away. He didn't think delaying things would get the burr out from under Wilma's saddle, whatever it was. This had to be settled now. She'd just try again the next time he came in. And he had to check the place every few hours while he was on duty. 'Might as well get it over with,' he thought.

She took one of his hands in hers. "You got such big hands, strong, but tender. I wonder... was it the way you touched her?" She lifted the hand slowly. For a moment, Paul thought she was going to put it on her breast. All she wore above the waist was a dark green corset.

Wilma slid his hand across her breast, making sure to rub his index finger against her half-visible nipple. "Ooh, that was nice." Her voice was breathy. "Let's see if I can't do something just as nice right back at you."

She raised the hand further, then bent her head down and took his index finger into her mouth. Her action was so swift and deft that it took him too aback to react properly. She moved in it and out a couple times. Then she stopped with her lips down at the base of the finger. Paul could feel her sucking on it, even as he felt her tongue running along the length of it.

He looked at Wilma's face. She was smiling, her eyes shining with mischief. He was getting even stiffer down below. He gritted his teeth and pulled his finger back. "Wilma, just what do you --"?

"Hmm, the hands were a definite help, but I think this..." Her hand snaked down and grabbed his erect member through his pants. "Oh, my, yes. This was definitely the clincher." Her hand began to move slowly... gently along the length of his erection.

"Wilma... I-I don't know what game you're trying, but I don't want to play."

"You may be saying no, but I think your body got other ideas." She moved forward to kiss him again.

"You'll never know." He moved slightly to dodge her, then turned and walked quickly - but not too quickly from the room. 'Better an orderly retreat than a rout,' he thought, as he opened the parlor doors.

Lady Cerise was standing just outside. "M... m'seur Grant, this... this is a surprise. I had thought..." she let the words trail off.

"So did Wilma, but I guess you were both wrong." He made a motion as if tipping a hat. "See you later, Lady Cerise."

* * * * *

Tuesday, October 10, 1871

"Damn! Damn! Damn!"

Jessie looked across the room at Jane. "What in the hell is the matter with you, yelling like that?"

"What do you care?" Jane fidgeted with a button on her blouse.

"I don't, but if I gotta listen to you cussing like that, I might as well know what you're cussing about."

"I think I'm sick or something. Yesterday my shoes were too tight. They still are, and, now, so's my blouse. And my titties feel all funny like."

"Uh hunh," Jessie nodded. The symptoms sounded very familiar. "Is that all?"

"What do you mean, 'is that all'? I feel... I feel... terrible." Jane sniffed. She sounded ready to cry.

"How long ago was it they turned you into a gal?"

"I ain't no gal. I ain't. I just... just look like one."

"Sure, you just... look like one. How long ago?"

Jane started counting under her breath. Jessie watched her lips move. She was using her fingers, too. Finally, Jane said. "Four... four weeks. Yeah, in fact, it's four weeks today. Does that mean something?"

"Not t'you, Jane." Jessie smiled, happy to be getting back at Jane for her taunting. "It don't mean nothing t'you 'cause you ain't no gal."

"You... you don't know what's bothering me; you don't know nothing. You're just trying to get a rise outta me, teasing me for saying what a tart you was."

Jessie grinned, deliberately showing her teeth. "That's right, Jane. I'm just teasing." She'd let Jane find out about her monthlies the hard way. 'I just hope I'm there t'watch when she does.'

* * * * *

Paul had barely walked into the Saloon on his afternoon rounds, when Jessie hurried over to him. "Well, now, howdy, Paul, she said, smiling broadly. "Where you been keeping yourself? Under her breath, she added, "Buy me a beer."

"What?" he asked softly.

"Buy me a beer," she whispered again. "You and me gotta talk."

Paul shrugged. In his normal voice, he said. "Tell you what, Jessie, you bring me a beer - bring one for yourself, too, and I'll fill you in." He tossed her a silver dollar. Jessie nodded and hurried off.

Paul glanced around the room. Most men were at work, only a handful of bar hounds. Bridget was playing poker with a couple of them, and, from the look on their faces, she'd been winning.

Paul walked slowly, casually, he hoped, over to a table against the near wall. No one was sitting anywhere close to it. 'For privacy,' he thought as he sat down.

Jessie rejoined him a moment later. "Here you go." She put a beer down in front for him. She put a second beer on the table and sat down next to him.

"Okay," he started. "What did you want to talk about?"

Jessie took a long drink. "Us. It's been over a week since we... you know... in your room that first night back."

"I remember. Paul remembered that night and smiled - for a moment. "You... you having second thoughts?"

"Sort of."

"What do you mean, 'sort of'?"

"I mean I'm having thoughts about when we're gonna do it a second time. We ain't done nothing more'n dance together since then." She slid her hand under the table and ran a finger along Paul's leg.

Paul tried not to squirm. "You ready to ask Shamus to let you come over and spend the night with me?"

"No!" Jessie yelped. They both looked around. Nobody seemed to be paying attention. "No," she said again in a softer tone. "I don't want people smirking at me, especially Wilma."

"Especially Wilma," Paul said, with an odd look on his face that Jessie didn't understand. "Well, if you don't want people smirking, you'll have to - we'll have to wait till we can figure out a way so they won't find out."

"I'll be too old to care by then."

Paul chuckled. "Maybe not that long, but we may have to wait until your sentence is up. It'll be a lot easier when you don't have answer to Shamus or anyone else, and you can come and go as you please."

"It ain't the going that I'm thinking about." She moved her finger further up his leg.

"If it's any consolation, Jessie, it's no easier for me." He moved a hand down under the table. His hand found her thigh and squeezed it gently though her skirt.

"Hmmm," Jessie purred. Her finger reached his crotch, and she slid it along the length of his erection. "I can just imagine how hard it is for you." She had learned a few things from the girls Jesse had known as an outlaw and wrangler, and this was as good a time to try one or two of them out.

Paul was suddenly reminded of another Hanks and how she'd done the very same thing the day before. "Stop it, Jess," he said firmly, lifting his hand away from her leg.

Jessie stopped, looking surprised. She pulled her hand from Paul as if from a hot stove. "Wha-what's the matter? I... I thought you'd like it."

"Jessie, you're acting like Wil... like a whore." He braced himself for her reaction. "Is that the sort you want to be? If all you wanted to do was raise your skirt and drop your drawers, we could be all done in five, maybe ten, minutes."

"No... no. I... is... is that what you... want?" The window light reflected off a tear in the corner of her eye.

Paul shook his head. "Hell, no. I want it like it was that first time, done slowly, like we had all the time in the world to enjoy each other."

"That does sound a whole lot better," Jessie sighed. "But it's gonna take a while before something like can happen, ain't it?"

Paul took her hand. "Maybe so, but it'll surely be worth the wait."

Jessie glanced around the room. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them, and she decided it was more than worth the risk. "In the meantime," she said softly, "here's a little something t'keep your interest."

She put an arm around Paul's neck and pulled him to her. Their lips met in a deep kiss that was full of their shared need one for the other. Paul's arm moved around her narrow waist. Jessie pressed herself against him.

When they finally broke the kiss, Jessie's face was flushed, and her breathing uneven. Paul was grinning, and he was going to have to adjust his pants before he could stand.

* * * * *

Molly watched Jane walking to the bar. "What's the matter with ye, Jane? Ye're walking kind of funny."

"I-I don't rightly know," Jane said. "I feel kinds funny down... down in my privates." She looked as ready to bolt as a rabbit.

"What do you mean 'funny'? Do ye hurt?"

"A little. It ain't like nothing I ever felt before. I must be getting worse."

"Worse? Ye ain't looking like ye're sick."

"I know, but the last couple days, I been tired all the time, and my feet and my titties is swoll up, and --"

"Uh hunh." Molly came out from behind the bar. "I think the two of us needs to be going upstairs.

"But, Molly, I gotta get drinks over to Carl Osbourne and them other men."

"What are they having?"

"Four beers."

"R.J.," Molly called. The tall barman looked over from where he was pouring a whisky for Red Tully. "Soon as ye can, have Jessie take four beers over to Carl Osbourne's table." She turned to Jane. "Did they pay ye for them beers?"

"N-no. What's going on, Molly?"

"Tell Jessie they ain't paid for them beers, neither," Molly called to R.J. "I'm taking Jane upstairs for a wee bit. I'll explain later, okay?"

R.J. nodded. "Sure, Molly."

"Thanks, R.J. C'mon, then, Jane." Molly took Jane's hand and all but pulled her towards the stairs.

"Go into yuir room and take off yuir skirt," Molly said, once they were upstairs. "I'll be back quick as I can."

Jane shrugged, uncertain of what was happening, and went into her room. She untied her apron and tossed it over a chair. Then she unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She looked down as she was stepping out of it.

There was a bright red stain at the crotch of her drawers. When it touched it, the spot was wet and a little sticky. Jane reacted instinctively. "Yaaaah!" she screamed. "Molly, help me!"

Molly ran in and slammed the door shut behind her. "Just as I was thinking. Ye've started yuir monthlies."

"I'm... I'm bleeding, Molly. Down... down there." She pointed frantically. "What are you talking about?"

"Yuir monthlies. It's something every woman has every --"

"But I ain't a woman."

"That says ye are, Jane. A woman - and only a woman has them every month starting when she's a lass of thirteen or so."

"Every month?" Jane's eyes were wide with fear.

"Aye, unless ye're pregnant, of course, until ye're in yuir forties, and ye go through 'the Change.'"

"Pre-pregnant? No, that can't be."

"It surely can, Jane. Now take off them drawers of yuirs, so ye can clean yourself. I'll take them over t'Teresa Diaz with tomorrow's cleaning."

Jane worked at the ribbons on her drawers with trembling fingers. While she did, Molly took a washcloth and towel out of a drawer. Then she poured some water into the basin and put the cloth and the basin near Jane. "Here, ye go. Use this to be getting yuirself clean down there."

"Am I gonna... bleed more?" She carefully stepped out of her drawers and put them on the table.

"Aye. If ye're like the others, like Laura for one, ye'll be bleeding that way for four days."

"F-four days. I'll die if I bleed that long." She took the cloth, wet it, and began to gingerly dab at her groin.

Molly took a long strip of cloth out of the bag she had brought with her. "No, ye won't die. I'll be teaching ye how to use--"

"I saw Maggie with one of them. She was wearing it under her drawers."

"She still does, I'm sure, when it's time for her monthlies. As soon as ye're clean... and dry, I'll show ye how to put it on."

"I'm really a woman, then," Jane said, her eyes glistening. "Am I gonna be one, be a woman, forever?"

"That's what me Shamus says. There's no antidote to the potion what changed ye. Ye'll be a woman forever."

"No. No." Jane shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Molly came around behind her and hugged Jane fiercely. "Now, now, Jane. It's not as bad as ye seem to be thinking. Just look at... yuir sister, Laura."

"Laura? No, I... I don't want to be like that. I don't want to get married."

"Well, now, and who's saying ye have to? But I'm thinking that Laura was starting t'be happy with being a woman before she and Arsenio was wed. Ye should be talking to her about that."

"I-I will."

"Good, good for ye. Now hurry up and finish cleaning yuirself, so ye can put on this here pouch and get back downstairs. There's work enough and then some waiting for ye down there."

* * * * *

Wednesday, October 11, 1871

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Laura?" Jane asked, as Laura walked into the kitchen to get an apron.

"And good morning to you, too, Jane," Laura said. Then she saw the mournful expression on Jane's face. "Jane... what's the matter?"

"I-I'm a girl."

"And?"

"And? Laura, I'm a girl."

"Jane, you've been a girl for..." Laura did some figuring in her head. "... for a month now. Why are you so upset now?"

"I always figgered that I just - well, just looked like a girl. It was all some kind of a trick, and I was gonna change back."

"And now you don't. What happened?"

"I... my monthlies. They st-started yesterday. Molly says that only happens to girls. It pro-proves I am one now."

Laura nodded, remembering the shock of her own monthlies that first time they happened. "Yes, I guess it does."

"I don't want to be a girl. I wanna change back, and Molly says there ain't no way I can."

"That's what Shamus told all of us, too."

"Did you believe him?"

"Not at first. We spent a lot of time trying to find the antidote, searching the building, asking questions of Shamus, Molly, even R.J. I guess we didn't give up until... not till Wilma took that dose Shamus made for your trial."

"I remember. That's when she got to liking men so much, ain't it?"

"Yes, it surely didn't change her back. It made her be... be more like... like a woman."

"It made her hornier than a hoot owl is what it done."

"I think we all were coming around to the idea that the potion was its own antidote. When we saw that it wasn't, we... just ran out of ideas and gave up."

"So, you didn't want to be girls... not even then."

Laura thought a bit. "I... I think we were all starting to accept the idea that we might be women for the rest of our lives. I don't think any of us liked it much... except Wilma, after she drank that second dose."

"What... what about now?"

Laura smiled. "Now? It's not bad at all. I love being a woman - being Arsenio's wife. I'm not sure how Bridget and Maggie feel. To tell the truth, I don't think they're sure either. Jessie seems --"

"I don't care what that whore thinks."

Laura frowned. "Jane, you really have to stop talking like that. It just gets you in trouble."

"I don't care." She paused a beat. "Aw, the hell with it. What was you saying about Bridget and Maggie?"

"I can't say that they're happy being women, but they've accepted it. They're getting on with their lives - making new lives for themselves doing what they already knew how to do... but as women."

"I... I guess they are. Bridget sure enjoys running her poker game. 'Course, if I won as much as she does, I'd enjoy it, too."

"Yes, and Maggie has the restaurant --"

"And them young'ns of hers. She's doing all right, too."

"So what about you, Jane?" Laura asked. "What're you gonna do after you've served your time here in the Saloon?"

"That's easy. I'm going back t'work my claim... my claims." Her eyebrows furrowed, as she was reminded again that her partner was dead.

"Can you?" Laura hurried to change the subject.

"What d'you mean?"

"From what I've heard, mining's pretty hard work." Jane nodded. "Can you do it, Jane, as a woman, I mean. Especially alone?"

"I-I don't know." Jane's eyes opened wide. "I'm strong... for a girl - same as you, but I ain't as strong as when I was a man." She looked down at her slender arms. "Laura, what am I gonna do?"

Laura put her hand on Jane's shoulder to try and reassure her. "The first thing you're going to do is to calm down. You've got a month to think about things before you have to make any real decisions. And... and I'll help you do it."

Jane brightened. "And I can ask Sam and Red and Davy - yeah, he's a miner, too, like I was... like I am - and Ozzie. Ozzie's real smart. I'll ask 'em all what I should do. And I'll ask Milt, too, him being a lawyer and all."

"No! - I mean, let's... let's keep it a... umm... a secret for now. You know, just between us... sisters, okay?"

"Okay." Jane giggled at the thought. "It'll be fun sharing a secret with you, Laura."

"Yeah, but we better hold off for now. Shamus saw me come in, and he's probably wondering why I'm taking so long just to get an apron." Laura wasn't sure what she could do to help. 'But anything's better than giving those vultures a chance to sink their teeth into Jane,' she thought, as she tied the apron strings behind her back.

* * * * *

Molly pulled the large sack of clothes down off her shoulder and set it onto the porch next to her. Then she knocked on the dark brown door. "Momento," came a soft voice from inside. The door opened. A Mexican girl of about ten stood in the doorway. "Hola, Seá±ora O'Toole."

"Hello, Constanza," Molly said. "Where's your mama? I got a load of dirty clothes for her."

"Mama is out back, hanging clothes with Ysabel. I'll go get her. Please come inside and sit down."

"Thank ye, dear. That'll be fine." Maggie picked up the sack as the girl ran back into the house. She walked in, closing the door behind her.

The large room was full of laundry bags, each with its own mark, just like the green shamrock on the bag Molly carried. A boy of eight or so sat at a table near the center of the room, folding a man's shirt. When he finished, he put it on top of two others and reached into a basket on the floor next to him for another. He looked up and saw Molly. "Hola, Seá±ora O'Toole."

"Hello, Enrique," Molly said. The boy nodded and went back to folding the shirt. Molly sat down in another chair at the table to wait.

She didn't have to wait very long. A short, too-thin Mexican woman came bustling through a door in the back wall. "Molly... Molly O'Toole, how are you today?"

"Fine, Teresa, same as always. How are ye doing?"

"I am busy, which is always a good thing, no?" Teresa Diaz was in her early forties, her dark brown hair was done up in two braids that hung halfway down her back.

"It is when ye're trying to earn a living. Of 'course, ye've got them children of yuirs t'be helping ye."

"Si, Constanza and Ysabel are a great help." She reached over and tussled the hair of the boy, who had stopped work, when his mother hadn't mentioned his name. "And this one, too; aren't you, Enrique?"

The boy grinned. He finished the fourth shirt and put it carefully atop the others. There was a sheet of tissue paper under the shirts. He wrapped them, tying the package with string. He drew two symbols on the paper with a black pen, Teresa's code for the owner of the shirts. "The basket is empty, Mama."

"Then go get another from your sisters," Teresa said.

"Si, Mama." The boy jumped down from the chair and ran out through the door Teresa had used.

"Ye've certainly got it down to a drill," Molly said. "And I've got something here t'put through yuir well-oiled laundry machine." She held up the sack she had brought. "'Tis a week's worth of clothes from me and Shamus, Jane and Jessie."

"The ladies' underclothes get the 'especial care,' no?" Teresa asked. Molly nodded. "Then it will all be ready Friday afternoon. Is that all right?"

"Friday will be just fine," Molly said. Then she remembered. "Oh, yes... Jane got surprised yesterday with her first monthlies. Thuir's a stain from 'em on one pair of her drawers, a yellow pair with dark green ribbons."

"I will watch for them," Teresa said, a sly smile cirling on her lips. "How did she take it... the monthlies?"

"Just like any man would. She screamed. "It was all I could do to keep from smiling, while she stood thuir and looked so scared. She thought she was gonna be dying from the bleeding. And them men call us 'the weaker sex.' As if..."

"No man could ever know how strong a woman has to be."

"Not unless he took a drink of me Shamus' potion, and then..." Molly giggled. "... she ain't a man no more."

Teresa joined Molly in the laughing, before their talk moved on to other things. After about twenty minutes, Molly took a watch from her pocket. "I hate to be saying it, Teresa, but I got to go. My Shamus didn't tell me not to be talking to ye - he knows better than that, but he did ask that I not be taking too long a visit. Could ye have Arnie bring them clothes over on Friday?"

Teresa's expression darkened. "Arnie... Arnie does not does not do such things for me no more. He says that a man, a real man, does not do the work of a woman."

"Woman's work!" Molly shook her head. "As if he don't know it was that 'woman's work' that put food on the table and clothes on his back all them years. That ungrateful..." The words died, when she saw the mournful expression on Teresa's face.

"He is 16," Teresa wrung her hands. "It has been hard for him, being the older brother... and the man of the house since my Sancho died. He-he is just trying to be a man."

"He ain't doing a very good job of it neither. My Shamus told me he snuck into the Saloon a while back."

"Aii, please tell me that he did not drink."

"I-I wish I could Teresa. He sat in a corner with his back to the bar. Jane didn't know any better, so she served him three... no, four beers before Shamus knew Arnie was even thuir."

"How could..."

"He had the money, and nobody knew not to serve him. As soon as Shamus caught on, ye can believe he gave Arnie the boot and told Jane that she shouldn't serve him if he ever came back."

"Thank you... thank Shamus for that. He will not got to school anymore; he says that he does not need to. He gets odd jobs around town. I-I do not know what I am going to do with him."

Molly leaned over and gave Teresa the hug Molly knew she needed. "Ye'll do whatever ye need to, Teresa, the same as always, and don't ye be worrying. I've no doubt that something will work."

* * * * *

Wilma walked into the Saloon with Joe Ortlieb, their hands around each other's waists. "Thanks for walking me over here, Joe." Wilma's voice was low and full of promise.

"My pleasure," Joe said, smiling.

Wilma turned to face him. She put her hands on either side of his face and guided it down towards her own. "No, but it will be when we get back to La Parisienne." She tilted her head slightly and kissed him. They spent a time, lips locked, their hands exploring each other's body.

When she finally broke the kiss, she said. "Now, you be a good boy and wait for me at the bar. I wanna talk to Jessie... private like."

Jessie had walked over when she'd seen Wilma and Joe come in. "What do you want to talk about?" she asked her wayward sister.

"I guess that means I go wait," Joe said with a shrug. He kissed Wilma quickly on the mouth. "Don't take too long," he said, as he turned and walked over to the bar.

"Mind if we sit down?" Wilma asked. Without waiting for an answer, she pulled a chair out from a table and dropped down into it.

Jessie sat down across from her. "Why not? Can't see how you'd be tired, though, with all that time you spend in bed."

Wilma's hair was arranged in an elaborate upsweep. She patted it here and there to make sure that it was all still in place. "Little sister, if you ain't learned how much fun and how little rest a gal can have in a bed, then I'm truly sorry for you. I guess that deputy ain't doing as much for you as I'd been thinking."

"What are you talking about, Wilma?"

"I was wondering how serious he was about you and I didn't want you to get let down, so I decided to play with him a little bit. When he came by the House th'other night, I did my... best to get him t'take me upstairs." She smiled, almost leered, at Jessie. "And, believe me, there's a lot of men in this town'll tell just how good my best is."

"You did what?"

Wilma giggled. "Well, if you want the details... first I kissed him - mmm, he's real good at that, ain't he? Then I --"

Jessie leaned forward, her eyes bright with indignant fire. "Just what the hell did you think you was doing?"

"I told you, Jessie. I was doing my best t'get him up to my bed. I wanted to see what sort of a man he was. And I can tell you from kissing him; that Paul Grant, he is all man."

"You say you got all them men chasing after you. Why'd you set your sights on my... on Paul?" Jessie was beginning to get mad.

"Like I told him, he got you acting all different from the way you was, and I wanted to know how he done it. A man who can handle a wildcat like you that easily must have had a lot of practice at that sort of thing." She saw the way Jessie was glaring at her and so hurried on. "And I wanted to see if he was just playing a game with you. I didn't want you t'get hurt if he turned out to the sort of man who'd take up with any gal who gave him the 'come hither'."

"I see." Jessie was looking daggers at her sister. "You were just watching out for me. My dear, loyal big sister, you was ready t'sleep with Paul just t'protect me. That... that is just about the... purest grade of bullshit that I have ever heard. Why does every plan you come up with to help me always involve you climbing into bed with some feller?"

"It's because no one would take me seriously if I tried to get them to go sing with me in the choir."

"It's because you're a whore, that's why!"

Wilma stood up quickly. "You got no right to say that t'me, Jessie."

"I got every damned right. Who the hell asked you t'butt into my life like that?"

"You didn't have no problem with me butting into your life when you was in jail. Hellfire, you'd've hung if I hadn't butted in."

"Well, I didn't hang, did I? I thanked you for that time, but I don't need your help anymore. What I'm doing now is new t'me, and I don't need a crazy hooker making it even harder."

"Don't be too sure of that, little sister. I saved your butt more times'n I can count. Don't be so sure you won't need me t'do it again."

"I need your help, I'll ask. Till then, you can just... just... oh, hell. You can just take Joe back to your House and protect me from him for a while."

"I think I will. You can ask me for help anytime you need it, but you better have one hell of a good apology t'say first just t'get me to listen."

She turned away from Jessie and walked over to the bar. Joe was talking to Marty Hernandez. Wilma blew softly in his ear. "You ready, Joe, or would you rather stay and talk t'Marty?"

Marty grinned. "If he wants to stay, Wilma, I will be happy to take his place for whatever you had in mind."

"In a pig's eye." Joe laughed and tossed a dollar coin on the bar. "We'll go now, and when we get back to your place, I'll show you just how ready I am."

When the pair was gone Jessie cursed herself for getting too angry and talking too quickly. She hadn't given Wilma the chance to say exactly what Paul's reaction had been to her song and dance act.

* * * * *

Thursday, October 12, 1871

"I'll see that dime and raise you another," Cap said. "Say, Bridget, seeing as we're the ones left fighting for this pot, are you interested in a little side bet... just to make it a little more interesting?"

"I'm here to gamble," Bridget answered. "I'll see that dime and raise you fifteen." She tossed a quarter into the pot. "Now, what sort of a side bet did you have in mind?"

"Dinner?"

"Is this your way of asking me to have dinner with you?"

"Oh, I'm asking, all right, but that's not really what the bet's about."

"Will you two finish mit dis hand, already?" Hans Euler interrupted. "Me and Mort came to play, not to listen to the two of you talking all mushy." Mort Boyer, the other player, mumbled something in agreement.

"Sorry, Hans," Bridget said. "What is the side bet for then?"

"Call," Cap said. "You in, then, on it?"

"I'm in," Bridget said. She laid down her cards. "Can you beat three fives?"

"Not with these." Cap showed his hand, a pair of jacks. "I'll pick you up for dinner at Maggie's next Monday at six."

"Wait a minute," Bridget said, as she gathered in the pot. "What was the bet, if not whether or not we'd have dinner?" It wasn't like her, she realized, to suddenly get so addle-headed that she'd forget to find out what exactly what stakes were being offered.

Cap picked up the cards. "My deal, I think." Then he added, "The bet was just for who pays, of course. I lost, so I have that honor?" He began to shuffle. "Game is seven card stud; ante up."

Bridget tossed in a nickel, as did Hans and Red. "I think I just got set up to have dinner with you, win or lose."

"You did," Cap said, a satisfied look on his face. "I wasn't sure you'd fall for it. That was the real gamble." He began to deal the cards.

"And I'll be waiting here Monday to collect." Bridget smiled, pleased to discover that she wasn't the only serious gambler at the table.

* * * * *

Ozzie Pratt looked up from his menu. "Ah, Jane, shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

"Summer," Jane said. "It's October, Ozzie. Don't you know that?"

"Of course, I do, sweet Jane. I was just reciting a sonnet, a poet by the great William Shakespeare. Just as the master compares the beauty of his own 'Dark Lady' to the beauty of a summer day, so I would compare that same beauty to your own loveliness."

Jane laughed. "Ozzie, you have got yourself such a way with words."

"Perhaps, but what I say is true, every last word of it. True." He gestured to an empty chair at his table. "Won't you join me for supper?"

"I thought Roscoe Unger was having dinner with you."

"As does he, I fear, but you are a far more desirable dining companion. My young assistant will understand my choice, I am certain, and I shall find a way to make it up to him."

"Problem is, I can't. I got to be the waitress tonight."

"Couldn't Laura or, perhaps, Jessie take a turn? You could join me then?"

"Laura went home to have dinner with Arsenio. I ain't sure when she'll be back. Some nights, she takes a lot longer time than others."

Ozzie smiled. "Yes, newlyweds will sometime take longer to... ah, dine. What about Jessie, then?"

"No way." Jane shook her head. "I wouldn't ask her for a favor if my life depended on it."

"It would seem, then, that I am fated to dine with Roscoe." He took her hand and kissed it softly. "Perhaps another time. After all, 'thy eternal summer shall not fade; nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st.'"

Jane smiled again. "Thanks, Ozzie... I think. Now, do you want to order, or are you going to wait for Roscoe?"

* * * * *

Friday, October 13, 1871

Shamus walked over to where Maggie was sitting, taking a short break before she had to start working on supper. "I got something for ye in me office, Maggie."

"What is it, Shamus?" She rose to her feet. The pair of them started walking towards the storeroom that doubled as Shamus' office.

"Books. The account books I used the first week the restaurant was opened. I figured ye could use them to learn yuir bookkeeping."

"I-I am not sure that I am ready for that."

"Well, thuir's no time like the present to be starting, is there? Ye can use them books from the first week - take 'em home and read them at night after the wee ones are t'bed."

"Shamus, I-I can do the arithmetic... some, but I know nothing of how to read these books of yours."

"Ah, well, thiur's one more book I'll be giving ye, A uide to Business Arithmetic y Mr. H. Laurence Norman of the Harvard College in Boston, no less. It'll tell a smart lass like ye are everything ye'll be needing to know."

They reached the storeroom, and Shamus held the door for her. 'Ai, what am I getting into?' Maggie thought as she walked through.

* * * * *

Saturday, October 14, 1871

"Here you go, Molly." Laura handed the other woman the money for the drinks she'd just brought to the players at Bridget's poker game.

Molly took the cash and rang up the register. "So how's Arsenio taking it?" she asked as she put the cash in and closed the drawer.

"Taking what?" Laura asked.

"Yuir monthlies, o'course. This is the first time ye've had them since ye two got married. I know how that can... interfere with things." She winked mischievously.

"But I haven't... it isn't time yet, is it?"

"It surely is. Bridget mentioned it to me a little while ago; she says it makes it a wee bit harder to keep from doing her 'tells', ye know those little moves that can be hinting at what her cards are."

Laura shuddered. "I haven't... not even a sign that they were coming. Molly... am I all right? They don't just stop sometimes, do they?"

Maggie gave Laura an odd look, as if she were studying some kind of a bug under a magnifying glass. "Well, now, sometimes, as it happens, a woman's monthlies can stop. Worry or being sick or something big happening in her life, they can all do that to a woman."

"A big change?" Laura gave a massive sigh of relief. "What could be a bigger change than getting married? Yes... yes, that has to be it."

"If it is, yuir monthlies may just be coming late - ye'd best watch out for that. Or they may skip a month all together and come on ye worse, maybe, next time. Ye'd best be ready for that, too."

"I guess I'll have to. Who'd ever think that I'd start to worry when my monthlies didn't come?"

Molly nodded, covering her smile with one hand. "Who, indeed?"

* * * * *

Shamus signaled to Hiram King and the Happy Days Town Band played a short flourish that got the crowd's attention.

"Thank ye, everybody, for coming to this special dance. I'll try and make this quick, so the next time the band plays, they'll be playing something longer that ye all can be dancing to."

"By now, ye've all read of that terrible fire and what it done to Chicago, hundreds dead, thousands homeless, and a third of the city... Gone. But America, being the great country that she --" he stopped as the band unexpectedly played a few bars of "Columbia, Gem of the Ocean."

"As I was saying, towns all over is chipping in money and sending it to Chicago and General Sheridan - no music! - to General Sheridan who's heading up the relief. And what the rest of them towns can do, Eerie can do better. And with the help of the Ladies' Guild, that's just what we're gonna do here tonight."

"Get on with it, Shamus," someone yelled. "We came here to dance."

"And so ye will. Tonight, besides me usual lovelies, some of the guild ladies'll be here for ye to be dancing with. Thuir husbands get the first dance, o' course, but after that..."

"After that, it's every man for himself." Yelled another voice from the crowd of men.

"Aye, exactly. Now, let me introduce the ladies. First, the prettiest waiter girls in the west, Bridget... Jane... Jessie... Laura... and Maggie." The women were all waiting out of sight at the top of the stairs. As Shamus called their names, they walked down, gathering in a group at the left of the stairs."

"And now, just for tonight - unless any of them is looking for a job..." He winked at the crowd. "Phillipia Stone... Kaitlin O'Hanlan... Delores Ortega... Sylvia Rivera... And Amy Talbot." These women also walked down the stairs, standing in a group at the right. They were all in their best dresses, but they were also wearing the same starched white aprons as the others.

"Gentlemen," Hiram King said in a loud, clear voice, "take your partners for the first dance."

Five men stepped out of the crowd and walked over to their wives, but when the men tried to take their wives' hands, the women stepped back. "You need a ticket, same as everybody else, Dan," Amy Talbot said firmly. And loud enough for everyone to hear.

While the crowd laughed, Dan Talbot grinned back and fished in his pocket for the ticket. He handed it to Amy, who put it in an apron pocket. "You'll pay for that when we get home, Amy Talbot," Dan whispered taking her in his arms.

Amy smiled and leaned her head against his broad chest. "Promise?"

* * * * *

"Second dance'll start in a minute," Hiram King announced. "You husbands remember, the rules say you can't dance with your wives two dances in a row. Shamus'll be glad to sell you a drink, though. Half the money goes to charity, same as the dance tickets. You can dance with somebody else - I hear your wives all said you could - but if you're smart, you won't enjoy it."

The crowd laughed, and a fair number of men walked over to where the women were sitting. "Looks like it's my turn," Liam O'Hanlan said, handing a ticket to his sister-in-law.

"Liam, I didn't know you came to these dances," Kaitlin remarked, standing. She was a tall, slender woman with chestnut brown hair. A smattering of freckles still left on her face made her look younger than her thirty-two years.

"I normally don't." He took her in his arms. Liam was a just an inch taller, but with the husky build that came from carrying sacks of feed all day. "But this was a special occasion." He guided her out onto the dance floor.

* * * * *

"Looks like it's my turn," R.J. said, handing Bridget a dance ticket.

She put the ticket in her apron pocket. "Looks like." She paused a half beat. "I didn't think Shamus let you take that much time from the bar, even for charity."

Before he could answer, the music, a polka began. "I wanted to talk to you without a lot of other people getting in the way. I already set up a few rounds of drinks for when the music stops. If anyone comes over, Ramon can take care of them."

"Ramon?"

"Sure, he doesn't know any fancy drink recipes, but he's a salesman, after all. He can sell a man a beer as easy as he can sell him a pair of boots over at Silverman's store."

"Yes, but since when does he work for Shamus?"

"He doesn't, but he can help out once in a while for a free drink. He says it takes his mind off having to wait to dance with Maggie. He didn't even want to dance with one of the guild ladies for charity. He just handed Delores Ortega his ticket, when she came over and asked him."

Bridget sighed. "I know what you mean. He just sits there sometimes and stares at her looking sadder than a man has a right to."

"They'll work it out. They're both level-headed folks."

"Care to bet on it?"

R.J. shook his head. "I'll bet on a hand of cards, not on people."

"Or maybe you aren't that sure," she said, egging him on.

"Maybe... I did want to talk to you about a bet you made."

"What was that?" She had a feeling she already knew.

"Cap Lewis has been telling everybody how he got you to go with dinner with him. Is that true, that he bet you for who'd pay?"

"It is. You have a problem with it?"

"Only that it's not me you're having supper with." He looked at her closely. "You want to change that?"

"I don't welch on a bet. You know that."

"Fine. Let's cut to the chase then. You're having supper with him on... Monday, is it?"

Bridget nodded. "It's the first night that he can get back to town."

"Have supper with me... umm, Thursday."

Bridget saw that the rivalry between Cap and R.J. was getting fiercer, but..."Why not. I do like you, R.J., and if I passed up a free meal, I'd never be able to look another professional gambler in the eye again." She chuckled. "And that'd be a real disadvantage in any game."

* * * * *

"Now that was real good." Jessie all but purred, as she reluctantly broke her kiss with Paul. They had skipped a waltz and gone out into Molly's garden to take advantage of the darkness of the new moon.

"It surely was," Paul agreed. He pulled her towards him. "And I do believe that I'd like another. He kissed her again. As he did, his hands reached down and slowly unbuttoned her blouse. He waited a moment, in case she objected. When she didn't, he gently opened it and reached in to massage her breasts through the material of her chemise and corset. Jessie moaned softly and arched her back, pushing her breasts further into his hands.

When their lips finally parted, Jessie's breathing was shallow, "Ohh, my." Her whole body was tingling. Her nipples felt tight against the material of her corset. "You surely have a way of making a gal feel good, Paul Grant. I just wish we could --"

"So do I, Jess, but even with a new moon, it'd be too risky to..." he touched her sleeve. "... get more comfortable. With this charity dance, the place is twice as crowded as usual."

Jessie looked down at her lap. "Wouldn't... wouldn't us do any good if we could... do like you say. I got my... monthlies right now." She looked up at his face. How was he going to react to the news?

Paul studied her for a moment. "Well," he said, a wry smile on his lips. "We'll just have to figure out what else we can do."

"I got some ideas." Jessie ran a finger down his chest. "'Course, most of 'em come from when I was a man. Wilma probably knows a lot more about how a gal does such things." She began to unbutton his shirt.

"I don't want to talk about her." He leaned back against the building to let her work on his shirt.

"Maybe not, but I hear you talked to her."

Paul frowned. "What did you hear?"

"Wilma come over a couple days ago. She said that she done her best to get you into her bed."

"She surely did." Paul nodded. "And her best is pretty good."

"Then why didn't you?" Jessie felt like she had been dipped in ice. The arousal she'd been enjoying was heating to anger.

"Didn't want to. She was up to something, and I didn't want any part of it."

"She was testing you, she said. She told me she was doing it t'protect me, if you can believe that."

"I can."

"You can? You believe a cock n' bull story like that?"

"I don't think it was the only reason. She's been trying to 'play with me' - as she calls it, since the day after she drank the second dose of that damned potion. But it'd be just like her to tell herself that she was only doing it to protect her little sister."

"She always was doing that; it drove me clear up the wall sometimes."

"Well, don't you worry about her and me."

"And why is that?" Jessie had most of Paul's buttons undone. She slipped a hand inside, and ran her palm against his hairy chest.

"Because I already know which Hanks I want to 'play' with, and I'm doing that right now - as best as I can, anyway." He chuckled, pulled Jessie to him, and captured her mouth with his own.

* * * * *

Sunday, October 15, 1871

Rosalyn held the cup under her nose, savoring the heady aroma of coffee and cinnamon. She took a long drink and leaned back in her chair. "I do declare there is nothing so bracing as a hot cup of coffee in the morning."

"That's not what you said to Jerry Dominguez last night," Mae said, helping herself to a slice of toast from the stack in the center of the table. "You said --"

"I know precisely what I said," Rosalyn answered quickly. "Sometimes... most times, there's nothing better than a man to make a girl feel her very, very best, but, there are other times, especially first thing in the morning, when a cup of good, strong coffee comes in a very close second."

"'Specially when a gal's been having herself too much fun the whole night before." Wilma walked into the kitchen a bit unsteadily. "Gimme a cup of that coffee... please."

"You finally find the man who is too much for you, eh?" Beatriz asked wryly.

Daisy poured Wilma a cup of coffee. She took it gratefully and sat down. "That man ain't been born yet, Beatriz." She took a long drink, tilting her head back to feel it go down and sighing when she felt it warming her stomach. "Be fun to look for him, though." She took another sip.

Lady Cerise sat at the head of the table, finishing her own breakfast, while she listened quietly - as she often did - to her ladies talking. While the other women wore soft cotton robes over their "working clothes", Cerise was in a pale green dress, a napkin balanced on her lap.

"I am afraid that your noble search will be limited for a while," Cerise said. "I have been given to understand that Monsieur Slocum is making one last - how do you say it? - cattle drive before the weather grows too cold for such things. He and his men will be leaving at the end of the week."

"Dang!" Wilma said. "That'll surely quiet this place down for --"

Before she could continue, they all heard a dog's bark from under the table near where Cerise was sitting. "BonBon, ma petite, what do you want?"

The pup cocked his head for an instant, then stood up on his hind legs. He barked again and took two steps forward, his forepaws waving in front of him.

"Oh, how sweet," Rosalyn said.

"Always he is the little beggar." Beatriz laughed and clapped her hands.

"Bravo, ma cheri," Cerise said. There was a plate of bacon on the table. Cerise tossed a slice to the pup. BonBon caught it in his teeth and ran off to enjoy it in his basket in a corner of the kitchen.

"Those cowboys aren't the only ones who'll be away," Rosalyn said. "Clyde Ritter told me last night that his wife was dragging him off to visit her family in Illinois again. They'll be gone for about six weeks."

"That'll put a crimp in your style," Wilma said, almost sounding sympathetic.

"Perhaps," Cerise said, "he can arrange that his presence is required for some emergency at his place of business, and he can return earlier."

Rosalyn shook her head. "I don't think so. That would make two emergencies at the livery stable in two visits? That's enough to get any wife, even his, at least a tiny bit suspicious."

"At least you only got one man going away," Wilma said. "Slocum takes thirty or more of his hands with him on them drives."

"Thirty or forty," Beatriz said in mock amazement. "And they are all your men? That is most amazing."

Wilma stood and put her hands on her hips, posing. "Not when you consider my competition, it ain't."

"Yes," Rosalyn said softly. "You look so much more bovine than the rest of us. How could those cattlemen not prefer a cow like you?"

"Cow? Why you..." She grabbed her cup. With a twist of the wrist, she tossed the coffee at Roslyn, hitting her in the face and splashing on her corset and robe.

"You bitch," Rosyln shreiked. "This is my new robe." She lunged at Wilma who barely managed to dodge her attacker. They circled each other looking for an opening.

Madam Cerise quickly moved between them. "That is enough," she said firmly. "Rosalyn, you are finished with your breakfast."

"No, I'm not. I want another --"

"Non, you are finished." Cerise replied. "You can go upstairs to your room by yourself, or I will ask Herve to help you." She turned to Wilma, fire in her eyes. "You have five minutes to eat breakfast, then you will also go upstairs. As will you, Mae and Beatriz, if you do not wipe those smiles from your pretty lips. I do not expect you to be loving sisters to each other, but I do expect that such insults will not pass between you." All four women nodded.

"It is now a bit after 10," Cerise continued. "Rosalyn, Wilma, you have until 1 of the clock to think of what I have said and to decide how you each - yes, each of you - will apologize the one to the other."

* * * * *

Jane pushed the kitchen door open with her back and walked onto the saloon. She walked slowly to the bar, being careful of the tray full of clean glasses she was carrying. Saturday was the Saloon's busiest night, and she had a dozen more trays to bring in.

She was about halfway there, when Sam Braddock stepped in front of her. "I'll just take that, Jane." He reached out for the tray.

"I can manage it," Jane said stubbornly.

"Nonsense. A pretty gal like you needs a big, strong man like me to take care of you."

"I'm strong enough. I can carry it."

"That ain't the point. You shouldn't have to carry something like that. And you won't..." He lifted the tray away from her. "... not while I'm around to do it for you."

Jane smiled. "And Molly ain't around to stop you. You know how she don't like anybody doing my work for me. You don't want to get her - and Shamus - mad at you, do you?"

"No, I don't." He set the tray down on the bar. "But I figure that you're worth it. You got any more of them glasses t'bring in?"

* * * * *

Monday, October 16, 1871

Maggie glanced at the clock on her kitchen wall. "Ernesto! It is almost 8:30. Hurry and finish your breakfast or you will be late for school."

"Si, Mama." Ernesto took a last drink of milk and stood up from the bench he was sitting on. "Oh, I have this for you." His schoolbooks were in a small sack on the table. He reached and took out his McGuffey's First Reader. Maggie could see a folded sheet of paper sticking out of the book. "Miss Osbourne said that I should give you this." He pulled the paper from the book.

"Then why did you not give it to me on Friday?" She took the sheet from him. Nancy Osbourne had written a note in her fine, very readable teacher's hand.

"Dear Parent."

"As you know, the Mexican holiday, La Noche de Los Muerte, the Day of the
Dead, is November 2nd. My students and I will be celebrating with a
Party at the school again this year. May I count on you to help with the
refreshments by making some kind of baked goods or other sweet? (I am
making a lemonade punch.) There are 34 students in the school, though
you needn't make more than enough to feed about 10."

"Please send a note in with your child on Monday, saying if you can help."

"Thank you."

"Your Child's Teacher, Nancy Osbourne"

Maggie shook her head. "Ai, you had to wait until now to give me this."

She heard a giggle. Lupe was happy to see her older brother in trouble. At four, she was too young to go to the school. When Lupe saw her mother frowning at her, she quickly hid her smile by taking a bite of cornbread.

Ernesto glared at Lupe for a moment, changing his expression to one of purest innocence when he looked back at Maggie. "I... I sort of... forgot to, Mama. Please tell Miss Osbourne that you will help. I like her, and I want her and the other children you see just how wonderful a cook you are."

"I am sure that you do." Maggie thought a moment. "Tell Miss Osbourne that I will make pan de muertos for the party."

"The round breads with sugar?" Lupe asked. "I love those."

"These are for school," Ernesto said, teasing her. "A baby like you cannot go to the party."

"I am not a baby!" Lupe yelled.

Maggie frowned. "Then do not act like one, Lupe. And you, Ernesto, do not tease her. I will make some round ones for you, Lupe, but for the school, something fancy... rabbits. Yes, rabbit shaped breads that taste of the anise."

Lupe smacked her lips. "Oooh, can I have some of those, too."

"Si, of course," Maggie said with a chuckle. Then she took another look at the clock. "Ernesto, now you and I are both late." She quickly scribbled "pan de muerto... with anise" on the back of the note and handed it to Ernesto. "Run - and do not forget to give that back to your teacher."

Ernesto pushed the note and his reader into the small sack that already held his numbers book and the small tin bucket with his lunch. "I won't forget, Mama. Goodbye." He ran for the door. As he opened it, he called back, "and goodbye to you, too, baby sister." He was out the door before Lupe could answer.

* * * * *

Cap was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. "Good evening, Bridget. You look even prettier than usual."

"Thanks, Cap." She felt her face flush. She'd left her Eaton jacket up in her room. The top button of her dress was opened. Her hair was down from the more elaborate way she normally wore it and hung loose in soft waves around her shoulders. "I... ah... I didn't feel like being dressed so formally for dinner."

"Whatever the reason, I like it." He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Bridget took his arm and let him lead her in a roundabout path to the tables that served as Maggie's Restaurant. 'He's showing me off,' she thought, as they walked, and chuckled to herself at the notion. It felt odd, though, especially when Cap made a point of walking her slowly past the section of the bar where R.J. was working.

"Mr. Lewis... Miss Kelly." Shamus was doing the seating for the restaurant. He greeted them with a smile and a wink when they came over to him. "How nice to be seeing ye both this fine evening."

Cap played along with the game of their being in a fancy restaurant. "Very well, thank you, Shamus. Table for two please." Shamus nodded and led them to a table. Cap pulled out a chair for Bridget, pushing it in once she had sat down. Then he walked around and sat in the chair opposite her.

Shamus handed them menus. "Jane'll be here in a few minutes t'be taking yuir orders." He hurried off to greet Dwight Albertson, the manager of the Wells Fargo Bank. Albertson was a regular, eating at Maggie's almost every night.

They looked at the menu for a while. "Decide what you want?" Cap asked, looking up from his own menu.

Bridget nodded. "That roast herbed chicken. I've been smelling it the last two hours... with... umm... peas and pearl onions."

Cap sniffed the air. "It does smell good, but... I haven't had trout in donkey's years." He turned to Jane, who had just come to their table. "Is that trout fresh?"

"It surely is," Jane said. "I had some for m'own supper. It's caught yesterday in the Gila River and shipped in ice. Most of it's on its way to Prescott, but we got managed to get some."

"That for me, then," Cap told her. "Bridget'll have the chicken, and we'll both have the peas and onions." He waited while she wrote that down, then added. "And bring that bottle of white wine that I had Shamus save for me... also chilled, please."

"Wine?" Bridget said. She'd been surprised at his ordering for her, but hadn't said anything until now. "Don't you think wine is a bit much?"

"Just bring it, Jane," Cap said. Jane nodded and headed for the kitchen. "What's the matter, Bridget?" He grinned. "After all, I'm paying."

"Yeah," Bridget said. "That was kind of a fast shuffle you gave me the other night. What if you'd won that hand?"

"Then I'd have said that the bet was for the winner to pay. Either way, we'd be here having dinner together. It was a bet I couldn't lose."

"Kind of an expensive bet, though."

He smiled again. "Worth every penny." Somehow, his smile made her feel warm all over.

"Next time, I'll buy."

Cap's smile got bigger. "Why, Miss Kelly," he said coyly, "are you inviting me to have supper with you again?"

"I... I guess I... yes. Yes, I am."

"I accept your most gracious invitation, but a gentleman always pays when he dines with a lady."

"Cap, you can call yourself a gentleman if you want, but I'm no lady. We're... we're just two friends having dinner, and next time, it's my turn to pay."

"You most certainly are a lady, Bridget." He took her hand and tried to kiss it, but she pulled it away quickly. He shrugged and seemed to accept the setback. "All right, you can pay... if you're sure that you're doing well enough at that game you run to be able to afford it."

Now it was her turn to smile. "I am. I figured that I needed to take in between $10 and $15 a day to pay Shamus and your uncle each month. Most days, I take in closer to $20, sometimes a good bit more. I figure I can waste a dollar or two buying supper for you, especially since part of what I already pay Shamus is for meals. I'm only going to have to pay the extra for yours."

"You make it sound like buying dinner for me is a downright bargain. Maybe I should let you do it more often."

"So much for 'a gentleman always pays.' Maybe you're no more a gentleman than I'm a lady."

"You're the one who wanted to pay my way, as I recall. Seeing as you're rolling in cash, maybe I will let you treat me to dinner. I'm just not sure when that'll be. Uncle Abner managed to pick up a last minute contract for a couple hundred head to be delivered over to Fort Yuma. We leave Friday."

"Shamus won't be very happy to hear that. Things get a lot quieter in here when your uncle takes his men out on a drive."

"How about you?"

Bridget shrugged. "Enough of my regular players are townsfolk or work on other ranches. I'll get by till the men that work for your uncle straggle back."

"'The men'? What about me? I just said that I'm going on the drive, too. In fact, I think that Uncle Abner's planning to ride back early and let me be in charge part of the way. He wants to see how I handle things."

"Well, congratulations. Or are you scared about that? It'd be the first time you ran a drive."

"I am, but that wasn't the question I was asking."

Bridget's mouth suddenly went desert dry. "What... what is the question you're asking, Cap?"

"I'll be gone for over a week." He reached out and took her hand. "I'm asking if you're going to miss me?"

"Cap, I..." Bridget was surprised; all of a sudden her heart was beating like the wings of a panicky bird. What could she say, when she wasn't sure of the answer?

"Here you go," Jane interrupted, taking that moment to bring their meals. "That's the chicken for you, Bridget, and the fish for you, Cap." She put the plates down in front of them.

"Here's that wine, too." She took two glasses out of her apron pocket. "Do you want me t'just pour some and leave the bottle here for you?"

"No," Cap said gently. "The way it's supposed to be done is that you give me some to sample. If I taste it and say it's good, you pour a full glass for Bridget and then one for me."

"Whoo-wee," Jane said. "Ain't you the fancy one."

Cap grinned. "I do have my moments, don't I?" Jane opened the bottle and poured just enough into Cap's glass to fill it about a quarter of the way. Cap sniffed at the wine, then slowly drank. "Hmmm, that is good. Now fill the glasses like I said."

Jane did. "Enjoy your suppers," she said as she hurried off to another table.

"As I was saying..." Cap began. He stopped when he saw the expression on Bridget's face and the way her hand was trembling as she took a small sip of the wine. "... I'm sure looking forward to that trout." He sliced off a small piece and ate it. "Delicious. How's your chicken?"

Bridget managed to cut a piece of the meat and put it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, grateful for the time to think.

"I'm sorry, Bridget. I guess that really wasn't a fair question to spring on you just now."

"Damn straight, it wasn't. Cap, I... I will miss you, but it'll be the way I'd miss any friend who happened to be going away for a while." She looked down at her plate, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"I guess it's a good thing that you and me're just two friends having dinner together." He cut himself another piece of fish.

Bridget waited a moment, watching Cap out of the corner of her eye. When he didn't say anything more, she started on her own dinner again.

* * * * *

Jane came by just as they were finishing. "You want some dessert - or coffee, maybe?"

"Bridget?" Cap looked at his companion for an answer.

She shook her head. "I've had enough. If I eat more, I'd be sleepy, and that's no way to run a poker game. You have more if you want."

"Nothing for me either," Cap said. "I came in for some supplies, too. Uncle Abner knew about our dinner, but he expects me back before it gets too late. What do I owe you, then, Jane?"

Jane took a small pad out of her apron pocket. "Three n'a quarter for the meals, counting that wine."

Cap reached into a pocket and handed Jane a half-eagle. "Keep the change."

Jane tried to bite the coin, stopping at the last moment. "Force of habit," she said, with a twist of a grin. "Thanks, Cap." She pocketed the coin and headed over to another table.

Bridget frowned. "I was sort of hoping you'd stay around for a while - to... ah, to play a few hands of poker."

"I'd like to, Bridget, I really would, but I did promise Uncle Abner." He stood up and offered her his arm. "At least, I can walk you over to your table. It looks like there's somebody waiting to play."

Bridget glanced over towards the table Shamus reserved for her game. Liam O'Hanlan was sitting in one of the chairs. Liam and his brother, Patrick, ran the Feed and Grain. He was an occasional player in Bridget's game, rather than what she thought of as a "regular." He nodded when he saw her look his way.

"One other player doesn't make for much of a game," Bridget said, as she took Cap's arm. "He's going to have to wait just a bit longer, anyway. I want to get my jacket from my room. You'll have to settle for walking me to the stairs."

"Got to wear the uniform," Cap said, wryly. Because Liam O'Hanlan was waiting, now joined by Red Tully and Sam Braddock, he led her directly towards the stairs.

"Thanks for the dinner, Cap," she said as they reached the stairs. She let go of his arm. "And, yes... I will miss you."

"Then here's something to remember me by." He gently took her head in his hands. Then he leaned down to her. Their lips touched. She made a surprised sound way down back in her throat as his tongue darted between her teeth to play with hers. She started to push him away, and immediately regretted it. Her arms rose, as if of their own will, and wrapped around him, as she raised her body to press against his.

When Cap obligingly let go and stepped back, she sighed. "I-I really shouldn't have let you do that. I told you that I'm not ready for such things."

Cap nodded, resigned. "That's what you told me at supper. Just now, you told me something different." He leaned down again and gently kissed her forehead, and was glad that she didn't react so skittishly this time. "Good night, Bridget. We'll talk about it when I get back." He left the Saloon without another word.

Bridget stood for a moment, watching him leave. Then she suddenly remembered, "The game!" She rushed upstairs to get her jacket. She'd have made better time, though, if she hadn't felt so weak in the knees.

Her perplexed smile lasted until she had lost the first two hands.

* * * * *

Tuesday, October 17, 1871

Shamus looked around the saloon. It was early afternoon. The place was quiet, almost empty. Jane was on waitress duty, standing near him at the bar. He tapped her on the shoulder. "Why don't ye go get yuirself something to eat from the Free Lunch?" Jane nodded and walked over.

She was looking over the offerings: coleslaw, salt crackers, and that beef stew with the Mexican peppers and spices that Maggie made so often. It was good stuff, but it made a person awfully thirsty.

"Looks purty good, don't it?"

Jane turned. Davy Kitchner was standing beside her, a plate in his hand. "Davy, where'd you come from?"

"Colorado, same as you did, Jane, back when you was Jake."

"I remember. We spent two years digging for silver that wasn't there."

"Then you and Toby decided t'head down here and look for gold. I come down about two weeks later. Remember that cold spring we spent shivering in them hills before we got cabins built?"

Jane shivered at the memory. "Hard t'believe it gets so cold up there, when it's so hot down in the lowlands." She put some crackers on a plate and spooned some of the stew on top of them.

"You... ah, going back up there... up to your claims after you serve your time?"

"I sure plan to. That's why I had Milt put that thing in the paper saying they was still mine."

Davy took her arm. "Let's go sit over here." They walked over to an empty table and sat down. "How you gonna work it... the way you are now, I mean?"

"I can do it," Jane said, taking a forkful. "I'm strong; Laura and me is the strongest of all the women."

"Is she gonna be working up there with you? It took you and Toby t'work them claims before."

"There... there really ain't that... no, it... it did take the two of us. I'm gonna need help, ain't I?"

"A-yup, and you better give lots a thought t'who you get that help from. Sam Braddock's a city boy, so's Red and Ozzie. Don't none of them know hard rock mining the way you do... or I do." He waved to Laura who had eaten and was on duty. "You think about that, while I get us a couple of beers t'go with this here stew of Maggie's."

* * * * *

Tucson Citizen - Eerie, Arizona Edition - October 17, 1871

"Eerie Citizenry Comes to the Aid of Chicago" by Oswyn Pratt

The most unlikely alliance of the Eerie Ladies' Guild and its saloon
Owners has raised over $500 for the relief of the tragic victims of the
Great Chicago Fire though the agency of a number of special events held
this last Saturday.

At the Eerie Saloon, five members of the Ladies' Guild: Mesdames
Phillipia Stone, Kaitlin O'Hanlon, Delores Ortega, Sylvia Rivera, and
Amy Talbot joined Shamus O'Toole's own lovely waiter girls: Laura Caulder,
Jessie Hanks, Bridget Kelly, Maggie Lopez, and Jane Steinmetz, as dance
partners. Half of the profits from the sale of dance tickets and drinks
went to the relief fund. At the Lone Star Saloon, Sam Duggan arranged for
half of every pot from a marathon poker tournament went to the same fund.
Jorge Muá±ez, the winner, graciously donated all but $20 of his final pot to
the fund. The house's share of all bets on a boxing match held at the
Silver Nugget Saloon were also donated. The match was won by Monk Dworkin,
who knocked out Esteban Sandoval in the 42nd round. Sizable donations were
also made by the other drinking parlors in the town.

Mrs. Cecelia Ritter, President of the Ladies' Guild, said that a total of
$521.87 was raised. Since she and her family will be going to Springfield,
Illinois in a few days to visit relatives, she intends to deliver a
certified check for that amount personally to Civil War hero, General Philip
Sheridan, who is leading the relief efforts. She said that the amount is
considerable for a town the size of Eerie, and we can all be very proud.

* * * * *

"Well, now, hi, Milt. What can I get you this afternoon?"

Milt Quinlan looked up from the notes he was reading. "Afternoon, Jessie. Is Jane around?"

"She's out in the kitchen helping Maggie - trying to, anyways. You want her?"

"I... umm, I'd like to... ah, see her, yes."

"I'll go tell her. Can I get you something to drink in the meantime?"

"Beer, please, and... umm, bring one for Jane, as well." He put a silver dollar on the table.

Jessie pushed the coin back towards him. "You put that money away. This here's my treat."

"May I ask why?"

"You don't come in here much, Milt, so I never got the chance t'thank you for what you done at my trial."

"There's no need for that. I assure you that your sister paid me quite adequately for my services in your behalf."

"That was Wilma. This is me. For today, you can have anything you want for free - just my way of saying thanks."

"I suppose that it would be ungracious of me not to accept." He pocketed the coin. "With an attitude like that, though, I can't help but wish that you worked at the bank instead of here at Shamus'."

Jessie shook her head. "I could never work in a bank. There's just be too much temptation for me t'return to my wicked, wicked ways." She winked at him and laughed.

"Yes, and Paul Grant would never approve of anything like that."

"P-Paul? What's he got t'do with anything.?" Jessie stopped smiling. Did everybody know what she and Paul had done?

Milt gauged her reaction. 'You shouldn't have teased her about Paul,' he scolded himself. 'They probably think no one has noticed how they act around each other.' He smiled and decided to be diplomatic. "I could... umm, see at the trial that you and he had become... ah, close... friends - yes, friends - on your way back to Eerie. I didn't think that you would want to... ah, disappoint a... friend."

"No. No, I wouldn't." She gave a sigh of relief and relaxed. "Not a-a good friend like Paul." She waited to see if Milt would say anything more. He didn't. "Let me go get them beers," she said, "and Jane." She turned and walked quickly towards the bar.

Milt went back to the notes while he waited. They were for a relatively simple will that he was drawing up for a miner. The man hadn't hit a strike, but he'd almost been killed in a cave-in. He was taking the incident as a reminder of his mortality.

Milt had just finished putting the miner's thoughts about the custody of his mule into solid, legal English, when he heard Jane's nervous voice. "Is-is there some kind of problem with my claim?"

He looked up. Jane was standing by the table, a cook's apron over her blouse and skirt. She was holding a tray with two beers.

"I thought Jessie..."

Jane put the beers on the table and sat down. "I didn't want her serving me. She said you already paid. Is that true, or was she trying to get you in trouble, too?"

"She... ahh..." Milt didn't think Jane would enjoy knowing that Jessie was paying for her beer. "I... umm... I have to see Shamus about something... about a-a deed he asked me to check out. I'll pay him for the drinks when I talk to him."

"But you had to talk to me first." She braced herself again for the bad news. "What's wrong at my claim?"

"Nothing... nothing," he said firmly. "I just want to see... to see how you were doing. My men still ride out to your claims every couple of days, and they haven't reported a thing." He paused as a thought hit him. "Is there something specific they should be watching for?"

Jane tensed.

'She's still hiding something,' Milt thought. A lot of clients hid things from their lawyers. Once in a while, it got them into trouble, maybe even trouble the lawyer couldn't get them out of. Clients being secretive were a part of the profession, and Milt generally didn't worry about it until there was trouble. For some reason, though, it bothered him that Jane was doing it.

"Those men of yours," Jane asked. "They ever go into the cabins or... or go look in them mines me and Toby h-had going?"

She was fishing for something. There was something up there, probably at her old claim, but what? "No. I had them board up the cabins and the mine entrances. In fact, there are copies of that notice about your claims nailed to the doors of both cabins, nailed to the mine entrances, too." He waited a moment, watching her body relax. "Why, Jane? What's up there that you're so worried about?"

"Nothing!" She said the word almost too fast. "Ain't... ain't nothing at all. Least off nothing that's anybody else's business but mine."

"Jane, I'm your lawyer."

"So. All that means is you stand up for me in court or write up things t'put in the paper so's I can keep my claims."

"In your case, that means I'm supposed to watch out for your best interests. I really can't do that if you hide something important from me."

"Don't you worry about it, lawyer man. It'll be all right."

Milt took her hand. "Jane, I do worry about it... and about you. Are-are you sure that do don't want to tell me anything else?"

"I already told you no. Why do you keep asking me?"

Milt shrugged. "Sometimes I wonder that myself."

* * * * *

Carmen Whitney leaned back in her rocker and put down the sock and darning needles she was using. "I cannot work. I am worried about Ramon."

Josiah "Whit" Whitney looked up from his newspaper. "What do you mean, Carmen?"

"He has been like a man half-dead since Margarita said she did not want him to court her no more."

"I've noticed. I went in to Aaron's store to get a new shirt, and he kept trying to sell me sheets."

"I wish I could do something."

Whit shook his head. "Don't worry so much. It'll work out in time."

"'In time!' In time, your sons will be old men with long, white beards."

"I don't think it'll take quite that long," Whit said with a laugh. "From what Shamus tells me, she's just caught up in making a go of her restaurant. After all, with those kids of hers to support --"

"Business, always business gets in the way." She stopped for a moment. "If only she could see Ramon away from the restaurant. Yes, then she would see what she is missing."

Whit stroked his chin. "Maybe so, but if she's working all the time - and she is - I don't see how that could happen."

"One night, perhaps, she could let someone else cook the dinner. She could... she could come here for dinner."

"And Ramon would just happen to be here, too." He smiled at his wife's plotting, but then he decided, "No, it wouldn't work."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she'd have to close the restaurant for the night, and that's something she just wouldn't do."

"If she could get someone else to help her, she would not have to close. She would just... leave early." She thought for a moment. "Jane. She helped at Laura's wedding, so Margarita could dance with Ramon, no less. And last Sunday, when she was here for breakfast after Mass, Margarita said that Jane helps her often in the kitchen."

Whit nodded. "I remember her saying that. You could ask Laura to help, too."

"No, I want to invite her, her and Arsenio, for dinner as well."

"Why? That'll complicate things, won't it?"

"No. I want them because Laura was a man, just as Margarita was, and now, she is married to Arsenio and very happy. I want Margarita to see that such happiness is possible."

"Problem is, Laura didn't have children to take care of nor a business to run. That can make a real difference."

Carmen threw the sock at him. "Why do you have to be so logical always?"

"Somebody in this family has to be."

"Si, any logical man would give up a family fortune in Maine to be a barber out here."

"I had my reasons." Whit came over and took her hand in his. "Staying here in Eerie - with you - just seemed to be the logical thing to do." He gently kissed her fingers.

"Then I can ask Margarita... and the others for dinner?"

Whit surrendered to the inevitable. "Go ahead. Who am I do deny Maggie the same logical choice?"

* * * * *

Wednesday, October 18, 1871

Maggie was working on a tray of sardines for the Free Lunch, when she heard a knock on the kitchen door. "Come in, whoever it is."

"Hola, Margarita," Carmen said, as she came through the door.

"Hola. What brings you to my kitchen, Carmen?"

Carmen adjusted her yellow cotton shawl around her shoulders. "You. I feel guilty that you are cooking for me every Sunday."

"I enjoy cooking. Besides, it is little enough to repay you for taking Lupe and Ernesto every Saturday night."

"That is not very much to do. They are no trouble, and Jose loves playing with them, especially Lupe." She paused a beat. "No, I want to do something special to say thank you."

Maggie was curious. "What did you have in mind?"

"You cook for me, so I want to cook for you. Please come to my house for dinner next week."

"That is very sweet, but I have a restaurant to run. How can I get away for dinner? I will not close down."

"How much of the work that you do is done at dinnertime?"

"What do you mean?"

"You do much of the cooking in the afternoon, no? You could still do that."

"Si, but someone has to finish the meal once it is ordered."

"Last Sunday, when I asked how the restaurant was doing, you said that it was easier now because you had Jane to help you. Is that not so?"

"I did, but I... you mean let her be in charge. I-I could not. The whole time I would worry. She does not know enough."

"You open at 4. I will make dinner for 6:30. You can stay for a while to watch that everything will be all right. Come... you come at 6."

"It might work." She shook her head. "But Jane... I do not know. Perhaps we could do it another time instead of at night.

"We?" Was Margarita thinking of Ramon? If so, the battle was half won.

"Si, Ernesto, Lupe, and me."

Carmen put up her hands. "No, no. This is for you. I have already asked Mrs. Lonnigan to watch Felipe and Jose. She can watch your children, also."

"I-I do not know."

"Yes, you do. A night out will be a good change for you."

"I will think about it. If Jane can do the work, I... I would like to come, but I --."

Carmen cut her off. "Bueno. You talk to her, see if she can do what you ask, and give me an answer by... will Friday be enough time?"

"Si, I think so. I will tell you if it is not."

"I am sure that all will be fine. Now you have work to do, and I must go." She leaned over and kissed Maggie lightly on the cheek. "Goodbye, Margarita."

Maggie smiled. "Goodbye, Carmen." As she watched Carmen leave, Maggie thought of Ramon. She'd wanted to ask Carmen how he was, but she knew that Carmen would tell him if she did. 'That would only encourage him,' she thought. 'The children... the business, I must think of them first.'

* * * * *

"Penny for your thoughts, Maggie."

"Shamus!" Maggie jumped at the sound if her name. "I did not hear you come in."

"I noticed. From the way that pot's going..." He pointed towards the stove. "... I don't think ye've been hearing - or seeing much of anything."

Maggie grabbed two potholders and ran to the stove, where a large pot was boiling over. She moved the pot to a cooler section of the large stove before turning back to face Shamus. "I think that we will be having mashed potatoes tonight, not boiled."

"I don't think anyone will mind." He waited a moment, then continued. "What is it that got ye thinking so hard?"

"Supper. Carmen Whitney invited me to supper at her house next week."

"Well now, ain't that nice of her. Ye could stand with a night off, ye've been working so hard."

"But how can I Shamus? I cannot close the restaurant... Not even the way Carmen says I could."

"Oh, and what did she say?"

"That I should do the work all afternoon and leave Jane in charge when I go." She snorted. "Jane... that is so... so wrong."

Shamus thought a moment, then nodded. "I don't know. It might work."

"Or it might not. I cannot go. I would spend the whole evening worrying. What sort of a guest would I be?"

"Not a very good one, that's truly so, but maybe... maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Have ye talked to Jane yet? She may not even want to do it."

Maggie shook her head. "I will not talk to her, unless I think it could work."

"Maybe if ye... practice. Aye, that's the answer, practice."

"Practice? I do not understand."

"Ye could be having what they call a 'trial run.' Some night before Carmen's party, ye do everything like ye were going t'be away that night. Only ye don't go. Ye sit in the corner and watch to see if Jane can manage things."

"Si, si." Maggie brightened. "If she can do the work, then I can go."

"Aye, and if she can't, then ye're right there. Ye can jump back in and see that thuir's no harm done."

Maggie nodded. "It... it would work. I will talk to Jane this very day." She smiled. 'Before I lose the courage,' she thought to herself

"Aye, and if she says 'yes,' ye can do it tomorrow."

* * * * *

Thursday, October 19, 1871

Red Tully looked around the room. There was no sign of his rivals. He'd heard they were each making a point of catching Jane alone, when the others weren't around and pressing their own cases. 'My turn, now,' he thought as he sauntered into the saloon.

He sat down at a table and waved for Jane to come over.

"How you today, Red?" Jane asked. "What can I get for you today?"

"Two beers." He tossed her a silver dollar. "For a starter."

"For a starter? You must be pretty thirsty to order two."

Red smiled, and used his foot to move an empty chair away from the table. "Second one's for you, Jane. If you'll join me."

"Two beers coming up," Jane said. All of the women had instructions to let people buy them beers. Since Shamus gave them a drink with barely enough alcohol for the smell of beer, there was no chance of getting drunk on it.

She was back almost at once with the beers. She put one down in front of Red, then sat down opposite him and took a long drink from the other. "Ahh," she said. "Now that was good. Thanks, Red."

"My pleasure, Jane." He glanced at her breasts and the way they'd moved when she sighed.

"Now what you wanna talk about?"

"What'd'ya mean?"

"I figured you didn't just buy me a drink 'cause you thought I was thirsty."

"I was just wondering how you was doing. Ain't a friend got the right t'ask something like that?"

"I suppose. I'm fine - I guess. I just been wondering what I'm gonna to when I get outta here."

"Aw, a sweet little gal like you don't need to worry 'bout things like that."

"I don't? Sure I do."

"No you don't. You got me, your old friend, Red, to do things like that for you." He took a drink and grinned at her. "That's what a friend like me... a man like me is for."

"I... I don't know."

"You just think about it a little. You'll see. You just trust me, and everything'll turn out just fine."

* * * * *

Maggie took out the watch she kept in her apron pocket. It was 5:58. "Close enough," she said nervously. She fixed herself dinner, pouring the dark mole sauce over a chicken breast and adding a serving of serving of green beans. 'I hope I can eat this.' She took a breath and muttered a silent prayer.

"Are you ready, Jane?" she finally asked.

Jane was carving thin slices of ham and setting them on a plate. Maggie had to repeat the question before Jane answered. "I don't... you sure you wanna do this? You really think I can work this place by m'self?"

"I do if you do." The fact that Jane was as nervous as she was somehow reassured Maggie. "This is your last chance to say no."

"I-I'm ready... I guess," Jane said. She poured a bit of the meat juices over the ham. Her hand shook just a little. "You go sit and eat with your young 'uns.'" She pointed with a nod of her head to the far end of the worktable where Ernesto and Lupe sat eating their meals.

"The kitchen is in your hands, then." She paused a half beat. "Good luck." She carried her plate over and joined her children.

"To us both," Jane whispered under her breath. She put a serving of peas and carrots on the plate with the ham and put it on a tray near the door. Laura would be in for it in just a minute. Jane looked at the orders on the table to see what was next.

* * * * *

"I fold," Joe Kelton said with a frown. He and Bridget had been fighting over the pot, watching the others build it up then drop out. He hated losing it, but he couldn't match her last raise. "Whatever you got better beat my two ladies."

Bridget put her hand down. "Just a pair of fours, Joe... and one more to keep 'em company. You put up a good fight." She smiled and raked in the pile of chips. "Now this next hand --"

"The next hand will have to wait," R.J. interrupted. "You promised to have dinner with me at 6 this evening. It's almost a quarter after."

Bridget turned to look at R.J. He looked different. Instead of just the shirtsleeves he normally worked in, he was wearing a dark blue jacket she'd never seen before, a string tie at his throat. 'Mmm, not bad,' she thought appreciatively. 'Not bad at all.'

She looked back at the men around the table. They were all "regulars", men who played in her game at least twice week, and she wanted to keep them playing. "Do you gentlemen mind if we... if I take a little dinner break, just now?"

"Go ahead, Bridget," Carl Osbourne said. "There's more than enough time tonight for you to win all our money."

"You don't lose that often." She smiled and made a dismissive gesture. She hoped he was joking. If folks ever got an idea of how good she really was, they'd never play poker with her.

"You're right, Bridget," Carl said. "I only lose when I'm using cards." He laughed and the others joined in.

"Have a nice supper... the both of you," Mort Boyer added. "We'll be here when you get back." The others mumbled in agreement.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Bridget said. She stood and took R.J.'s arm. R.J. took her cash box by the handle with his other hand. He led her over to the restaurant tables, taking the exact same route that Cap had. 'He was watching,' Bridget thought. Some part of her warmed at the realization.

Shamus was waiting for them. "Mr. Rossi... and Miz Kelly, how nice to be seeing ye this evening."

"C'mon, Shamus," R.J. said. "You saw me not ten minutes ago, when I told you I was taking my dinner break."

"Aye, it wasn't that long ago that me barman, R.J., was talking to me. Ye're Mr. Rossi, me customer. Besides, R.J. wasn't with this fine lady, Miz Kelly, when he talked to me, now was he?"

R.J. grinned. "No, I guess he wasn't, and a lady like Bridget makes a world of difference, doesn't she?"

"Aye, she surely does."

Bridget smiled, feeling happy, if a little embarrassed at the compliments. "Flatterers," she said, as she pinched R.J.'s arm just hard enough to get a wince out of him.

"Not if it's true," R.J. said. They followed Shamus to a table and let him seat them both. R.J. put the cash box on the floor next to his chair.

He handed them each a menu. "Laura'll be here in a wee bit t'be taking yuir orders." He almost bowed. "Enjoy yuirselves." Then as he walked away, he added under his breath, "and each other."

"After watching you play that last hand, I can see why you're doing so well. You're good, Bridget, damned good."

"Thanks, R.J. Coming from somebody like you that knows the game, that's a real compliment."

"You're welcome, but I'm no great guns at it like you are."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Is that so... or are you setting me up for something later? Some night when you sit in on my game?"

"No, it's gospel." He made a "king's X" cross on his chest with one finger. "Oh, I've played a game or two, but I never had the ambition to work at it, to get as good as Brett - or you."

"Where'd you meet him anyway?"

"Up in Colorado. He was teaching some of the miners a few painful things about the laws of chance, and I was tending bar... same as here. How about you?"

"I sat in on a three-day game with him down in Texarkana. Matter of fact, I was the big winner after him. I just about broke even. He won... oh, about $1700."

R.J. whistled in surprise. "That's some game."

"A lot higher stakes than I see around here. That's for sure."

"So why don't you go chasing after stakes like that? You're good enough." He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "Or do you have some reason for staying around here?"

Bridget looked him square in the eye. "I'm not ready to go out and try to pretend to be something I'm not, twenty-four hours a day. But what if I was to say, 'Yes, I'm only staying here because of Cap'?"

"Then I wouldn't enjoy our supper tonight near as much as I hope to." He let go of her hand. "Do you feel that way?"

"I don't think I'm ready to feel that way about either of you - or any other man, yet." She smiled, a tired little smile. "You understand?"

"I suppose I do." He smiled back. "But I reserve the right to keep hoping that you will be ready for such feelings one day."

"Thank you." Bridget sighed. Deep down inside, a part of her was wondering, 'Is it possible?'

* * * * *

"Mama!"

Maggie looked where Lupe was pointing. The mole sauce was starting to boil over. She put a finger to her lips. "Shhh!" She hoped Jane hadn't heard. The trial wouldn't work if she got hints.

Jane hadn't noticed. She was looking at the latest order Laura had just brought in. "Two - oh, shit!" She saw the sauce bubbling over. She ran to the stove, grabbing a large potholder. She draped it around the pot and moved the pot quickly onto a trivet next to the stove.

"Is it..." Maggie bit her lip. "No, do not tell me; I am not here. Just do what you think needs to be done."

Jane nodded. She put down the potholder and took a spoon to the sauce. "It didn't scorch, thank heaven." She added a bit of water to the sauce and kept stirring. After a minute or so, she tasted the mix. "Seems okay," she said, as if to thin air.

She took two clean plates from a tray on the worktable and set them down. There were a half dozen split chicken breasts on a rack in the oven. Jane used a long wire fork to get one down on each plate. She poured a bit of the sauce over the breasts and added a large spoonful of vegetables to both plates.

"There," she said with a deep sigh. After she put the plates over where Laura could get them, she put the saucepot back on the stove. She placed it farther away from the fire bin, though. Now, the heat would keep the sauce at no more than a safe simmer.

Back at the far end of the table, Maggie let out an even deeper sigh of relief. With some help from Shamus, Carmen's loco idea might just work.

* * * * *

"Some more coffee?" Laura asked.

R.J. shook his head. "Any more, and I'll slosh when I walk. Do you want any more, Bridget?"

"No, thanks." She looked over towards her table. Carl and Joe were still there, playing cards by themselves. Carl looked back at her and made a gesture, as if to say, "You coming back?"

Bridget nodded. "Time to get back to work." She stood up.

R.J. leaned over, picked up the cash box, and then rose to his feet. "Bridget." He offered her his arm. "I'll settle up the bill when I get back to the bar."

Joe and Carl stood as Bridget and R.J. reached her table. '"Mort just went to the... umm, the necessary," Carl said. "He'll be right back."

"Thank you, then, R.J., for a... lovely dinner," she said, perhaps putting too much emphasis on the word "lovely." She reached out her hand, ready to shake his.

R.J. smiled and took her hand. "You're right, Bridget. We'll shake hands. I wouldn't want to take advantage of our friendship by doing anything like... oh, the hell with it."

Before Bridget could react, he pulled her to him. Their lips met. She instantly steeled herself with a fierce determination not to spook like she had when Cap had surprised her. As with Cap, her arms went around him, and her body pressed against him. The kiss grew deeper. Their hands began to rove over each other's bodies in response to their mutual need.

Finally, they broke the kiss. Bridget's face felt warm, almost hot, and an odd tingle was spreading through her body. "N-no, th-that would just spoil things." She reluctantly stepped back from him, and sat down.

"Can't have that." R.J. handed her the cash box. "See you later."

Carl quickly sat down and gathered in the cards the men had been using. "Let's get this game started while she's still got other things on her mind." He winked. "That way, we got us half a chance of winning."

* * * * *

Friday, October 20, 1871

Laura spooned some of Maggie's meat stew with chili peppers onto a plate. She added a slice of cornbread and a pickle. She took the plate in one hand, her glass of lemonade in the other, and walked over to the table where Jessie was sitting. "Mind if I join you?"

"Seems t'be enough empty chairs," Jessie said. She was working on her own selection from the Free Lunch.

"Thanks." Laura put down her food and sat down across from Jessie. "I've been meaning to ask, how in the blamed hell did Paul catch you so easily? After the head start you got, I thought we'd seen the last of you."

Jessie let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sniff. "I would have made it clear to Mexico, if I didn't run into those dagblasted Commancheros. I got tied up with them until Paul and his posse had us surrounded. I'd never let a lawman catch me otherwise, unless it was my own idea!" That didn't sound quite right, so Jessie hastily added, "And it sure wasn't my idea. It was just bad luck, the same kind of luck that got me mixed up with this crazy town in the first place."

"You and me both," Laura said, taking a sip of her lemonade.

* * * * *

Ernesto sat quietly in a corner of Silverman's, working on problems from his numbers book. Even when things weren't busy, Zeyde Silverman - he still wasn't quite used to the word - wouldn't just let him sit and watch. "Time," Zeyde told, "is too precious to be wasted."

Finally, he finished the last of the homework problems Miss Osbourne had given him and put down his pencil. He looked around. Zeyde was with a customer.

Uncle Ramon wasn't.

Ernesto climbed down from his stool and walked over. "I finished my homework, Uncle Ramon." He handed Ramon his worksheet.

"Did you." Ramon looked at the paper, twenty simple addition problems. "Yes... yes... yes... ." His eyes ran across the page. "Bueno... very good; not a single mistake. You are a good student."

"It is not so hard if I take my time and check the work like you showed me."

"That is the point. You take the time and you check yourself and you will do it right." He tousled Ernesto's hair. "You remember that because there is much more arithmetic for you to learn. You take your time and check the work, and you will do well with all of it."

"Who will do well?" Aaron asked. He had finished with the customer and come over to join the conversation.

"I will," Ernesto said proudly, holding up the paper. "Not one mistake, Zayde, not in twenty problems."

"A scholar... a genius we got here," Aaron said. "Okay, Mr. Scholar, you find the answers so good, you think maybe you can find a sugar cookie or two under the counter over by the cash register?"

"I will go look." Ernesto hurried over to the counter. "I found them," he said less than a minute later, just before he bit into one.

Ramon shook his head. "You will spoil him," he said, only half serious.

"I'm his zayde, his grandfather, ain't I supposed to spoil him? Aaron laughed at his joke. "You know how I learned my letters, Ramon? I learned them the way every little boy in the shtetl - the village I grew up in - learned them. My momma made honey cookies in the shapes of the letters. When I learned a letter, I got to eat the cookie for that letter. Learning should be sweet, Ramon, a joy, not a job."

Ramon smiled. "I agree, Aaron, but if you spoil his appetite for supper, his mama will not be so sweet."

* * * * *

Saturday, October 21, 1871

Laura took two corners of the folded sheet from Jessie and walked backwards around to the far side of the bed they were making. "I'm glad to see that you and Jane are getting on better," she said as they lowered the sheet onto the unmade bed.

"What're you saying?" Jessie asked with a snort. "She still insults me whenever she gets the chance. 'Course with Shamus and Molly watching her the way they are, she don't get too many chances."

"I know, but you don't let it get under your skin the way it did." She straightened the sheet. "And you don't insult her back."

"I... uh, I don't feel like it no more. She's so dumb a good insult is wasted on her, anyway." She straightened her side of the bed sheet, then picked up a blanket and tossed a corner of it to Laura.

Laura caught the blanket, and the two women stretched it out and laid it over the sheet. "You don't want to insult her? Well, well, I guess Paul's an even better influence on you than I thought he was."

"Paul! What are you talking about?" Jessie had been tucking the ends of the sheet and blanket under the straw-filled mattress. Now she stood straight and glared at Laura. "Him n'me's just... friends. Where do you go making anything more outta it?"

"Because I saw you kiss him after your trial."

"That don't mean nothing. I was just... happy. Yeah, I was happy that I wasn't gonna hang."

"You kissed him again at a table in the saloon a few days later."

"Still don't mean nothing."

"And, Jessie, I saw the two of you sneak out through the kitchen last Saturday during that charity dance. Did you and Paul enjoy sparking in Molly's garden?"

"Oh, hell," Jessie sighed, admitting defeat. "You... you ain't gonna tell nobody are you?"

"Not if you don't want me to. But why? It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I... Yes, it is. I don't want folks thinking that I followed him back to Eerie like some moony-eyed little gal traipsing after her big, strong man." Jessie put her hands together over her heart. She pouted and batted her eyes at Laura she was like the heroine in some dime novel.

Laura laughed heartily. "All right, Jessie, if you say that it wasn't like it looks to everybody, then I believe you."

Jessie put her hands down and joined in the laughter. "It wasn't, I swear."

"So he was the one who decided that he wanted you." She sighed and shook her head. "Just like Arsenio and me. You know, the first time I saw that man, I tried to shoot him. If he hadn't kept after me like a bloodhound, I wouldn't have given him a second thought. I'm sure glad I did. I do like the way things turned out."

"Yeah, but look what Paul's got himself into. He's a deputy, a lawman, and he likes being one. I'm... I'm in jail, an outlaw with a record in four states and a sister who's... who's even worse."

"If I know how men think, and I do, I'm pretty sure that he isn't thinking about 'Mad Dog' Jesse Hanks when he looks at you. He wants you as you are. Hell, I got problems worse than yours! Like having the town idiot who once tried to rape me for an identical twin"

"She can't try that no more, can she.?" Jessie giggled. "And it turns out she ain't a bad cook. That takes some kind of brains."

"Hmmm, I suppose. Is that why you aren't giving her a hard time, because she can cook?"

"Not hardly. And it still does bother me some when she says I'm no better than Wilma. I know I didn't come back to Eerie 'cause I was so man-hungry I'd follow anything in pants, even to jail. And I surely don't act that way..." she giggled again. "... except, maybe with Paul."

"Then why don't you go at it with Jane, then, like you used to?"

"You promise you won't tell?"

Laura shook her head and made a "King's X."

Jessie looked down at her boots. "To, uh, to tell the truth, I feel... sorry for her." She pointed a finger at Laura. "Remember, you said you wouldn't tell."

"I remember. I just want to know... why?"

"You see those men sniffing around her: Ozzie, Red, Sam, and Davy?"

"Yeah, what about them. There's nothing wrong with men being... interested. You sure don't mind Paul 'sniffing around' you."

Jessie smiled uneasily. "No, I don't, but I know why he's doing it, and I don't think they're doing it for the same reason."

"Why then?"

"I don't know. Sam ain't too bad, just got a pair of hands that're way too friendly sometimes when he dances with a gal. Davy... well, he's the same sort that Jane was when she was Jake - that she still is, come t'think on it, not quite so smart as he might be. Red and Ozzie, though, I don't know as I'd trust either of them as far as I could throw 'em. And we know that ain't very far."

"Maybe so, and I'm not saying that I disagree, but Jane says they're her friends. What can we... what can you do about it?"

"I don't know, but I wish I did. I think Jane's been hiding something about that claim of hers - you see how she gets when anybody asks her about it. I think those men are after it."

"What's it to you? Jane hates your guts, and you know it. Hell, the old Jesse would've been after whatever she's got up at her claim himself. And here you are acting like a mother hen with a fox after one of her chicks."

Jessie chuckled. "When I was little, a lot of big people, that had no right to, pushed me around. I didn't like it, and I learned t'push back hard. Real hard. I proved t'myself out on the trail that I still can... if I have to."

"But what does that --"

"Laura, I can push back. Some people can't, and - Lord help me - sometimes I get the feeling I gotta do it for them." She rubbed her side, down low where the scar was. "I got shot taking care of one of them hopeless lambs, a woman named Piety Tyler. Now, it looks like I got another... name of Jane Steinmetz. I can't be watching out for her and cussing at her at the same time."

Laura smiled. "I don't know about Jane, but you're gonna have to take care of the both of us if Molly comes up here, and we don't have all these beds made."

"You got that right," Jessie said, putting the pillow down on the bed. "And thanks for listening, by the way."

"I just happened to be the one you were talking to."

"No, I... I don't think I coulda talked to anybody else about men... about Paul the way you'n I was talking, not even Molly. I guess it's cause you was a man like I was, and now, you're... you're a married woman."

"If you say so. Anyway, if... if you do need to talk to somebody again, I'll be here to listen."

* * * * *

"I see you brought a helper tonight, Tomas," Hiram King said. The leader of the Happy Days Town Band was setting up the chairs for the group.

Tomas Rivera nodded. "Put down the case, son," he said to the boy who had come in with him. "You know my son, Tomasito, Hiram. I thought that I would bring him with me tonight."

"Hola, Mr. King," the boy said, as he put his father's clarinet case on one of the chairs. He was ten-year old version of his father, short and stocky, with straight back hair. He also had a bandage wrapped around his left hand.

"Hello, Tomasito." Hiram pointed to the boy's hand. "What happened there?"

The boy looked embarrassed. "That's why I brought him," his father said. "His mother is furious at what he did."

"But, Papa," the boy said. "In Destiny n the Range, emo Wilson and Hunts Buffalo did the same thing, and they --"

"It was a story," Tomas interrupted, "just a foolish story, nothing more." Now the father looked embarrassed. "My son and the O'Hanlon boy - you know, from the Feed and Grain - they read in one of those da... one of those dime novels how two men become blood brothers. Each makes a cut on the palm of his hand. Then they shake hands and let the blood mix and to seal the pact."

"Let me guess," Hiram said. They did the same thing." Both Riveras nodded. "That wasn't too smart, son. There's muscles and such in your hand that might not heal. You could've done yourselves real harm."

"That is just what my Sylvia said," Tomas answered. "Only she said it over and over... and much louder. Doc Upshaw said Tomasito's hand is not hurt too bad, but I wanted to give Sylvia time to calm down." "Can't say as I blame you... or her," Hiram said. "Well, Tomasito, you might as well go get yourself a chair. It looks like you're gonna be part of the band for tonight's show."

* * * * *

"I must say, Jane, you're getting a lot better," Sam Braddock said.

"What'd'you mean," Jane said. They were dancing, a lively mazurka.

"Used to be when you danced a mazurka, I could see you moving your lips, keeping count with the music. You don't do that no more."

Jane smiled, feeling proud of herself. "I guess I got t'where I don't need to." She stopped dancing and frowned. "Damn, there I go losing count."

"It's not an easy dance." He put his hand more firmly around her waist. "Let's start now, 1-2-and-3..." They began to move again to the music.

"How'd you learn so much about dancing?" Jane asked, once they were back in step with the other dancers.

"When I was a boy back in Columbus, my folks sent me to the Jonas Marshall Academy. The school had a dance for the students twice a semester. We all had to learn to dance."

"You sure learned good."

"Nothing like dancing with a beautiful woman to make a man want to do his best."

Jane felt embarrassed and pleased at the same time. "Now why do you go and say things like that? I ain't no woman."

"Because they're true. You are a beautiful woman, even if you don't want to admit it, and a gal like you - she makes a fella feel like he wants to say nice things about her... do things for her... take care of her."

"I don't know what's more confusing, Sam, the steps in this here dance or the things you're saying."

Sam chuckled. "Either way, Jane, you can count on me t'help you."

* * * * *

Sunday, October 22, 1871

"Sift some of the flour onto your hands, Lupe," Maggie said. "Then the dough will not stick them."

"Si, Mama." Lupe did as Maggie had said. Then she pinched a wad of dough from the large ball sitting in a blue mixing bowl on the worktable in Shamus' kitchen. She rolled it in her hands. You are right; this is much better." She showed Maggie the ball of dough in her hands.

Maggie nodded. "Add a bit more dough to what you have. The rolls should all be the same size." She showed Lupe one she had just finished.

"Si, Mama." Lupe took more dough and worked it into the ball between her palms. "Is this better?" The ball was almost exactly the same size as the one Maggie had just made.

"Perfect. Put it down on the baking sheet with the others."

Lupe put the dough on the greased metal sheet. A dozen other dough balls already took up almost half the sheet. "Mama, can I ask you a question?"

"About the rolls we are making? Yes, but keep working. We have many more to make for tonight's meal."

Lupe took another wad of dough. "No, Mama. I wanted to ask about the Day of the Dead."

"Lupe, that is not for another week and more. If we baked the pan de muertos now, they would be stale long before then."

"Not the bread," Lupe said - becoming very serious. "About the day. Mama, we are so far from ho - from Mexico. How can we be with Mama... Mama Lupe when she is buried there, and we are here in Eerie?"

"You know that we cannot go back there - not now, anyway, don't you? Ernesto has school, and I have this restaurant to run. Eerie is our home now." It was the first time that Maggie had said it, but as she did, she suddenly realized that it was true. Eerie was her home.

"I know, Mama, and I like it here, especially being with you. But my real..."

"Let us call her 'Mama Lupe' from now on, just like you said."

"Si, Mama. I will do that, but I still need to know what we will do. Back ho... back in the village, Aunt Juana and Uncle Luis took me and Ernesto to her grave every year. They showed us her picture and told stories about her."

Maggie frowned. "I miss her, too, Lupe, and I still love her just as you do. I do not have the answer, but I will think very hard until I do."

"So will I, Mama. So will I."

* * * * *

Jane walked over to Laura, who was sitting on a stool by the bar. "Can I talk to you for a bit, Laura?"

"I don't see why not," Laura said, standing up. "The place is almost empty. I was just thinking about asking Shamus to let me go home."

"Yeah, Sunday never was a very busy night, and with half of Mr. Slocum's men away on the drive..."

"Don't I know it! The only one making any money tonight is Bridget." Laura took a breath. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"I-I'm confused 'bout something."

'You're confused about almost everything,' Laura thought. No, that wasn't really fair. "About what?" she asked.

"Men. Ozzie and Red and Davy and Sam are acting crazy around me. Ozzie's spouting poetry and Red and Sam is telling me how I should let them do everything for me. Davy's the only one acting close t'normal, and all he ever talks about is how we was both miners. I just don't know what I'm gonna do about them."

Laura smiled. "You were a man, Jane. You should remember why a man acts that way around a woman."

"Oh, I know that. They's sweet talking me, so's I'll like them. They want... well, you knows what they want as well as I do."

"I think so." Laura was more than a little suspicious of the men, but she wanted to hear what Jane thought.

"Ain't nothing to think about. They want..." she giggled nervously, "... they wants t'get into my drawers." Her face turned a bright red.

'So that's what I look like when I blush,' Laura thought. Aloud, she said, "Seems only fair. As I recall you wanted to get into mine."

"Yeah, and look what happened to me." Jane gestured at her body.

"I'm looking. Do you want any of them to... to do what you said?"

"No! No. I-I know I'm a gal, b-but I ain't ready for... for nothing like that."

"Then just tell any of them that asks you that you aren't ready."

"That's just it. They ain't asked. They don't try t'kiss me or hold me or nothing - not that I wants 'em to, o'course. They just keep up talking that sweet talk all the time."

Laura decided to drop a hint. "Maybe there's something else they want." She waited to see how Jane reacted.

"They don't know about - I-I mean, there ain't nothing else... nothing else they could want..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced around to see if anyone else was looking.

'There surely is,' Laura thought, 'but you won't tell me - or anybody else - what it is. Not now, anyway.' She gently put a hand on Jane's arm to calm her down. "Sure there is," she lied. "They want to be your friends."

"Thanks, Laura." Jane's body grew less tense. "I guess I just needed somebody to talk to."

"Glad to be here for you," Laura said. She sat back on the stool. 'What you need is a guardian angel or two. You're a walking target for those men - or anybody else that decides to go after whatever it is you're hiding.'

* * * * *

Monday, October 23, 1871

Maggie heard Lupe's shout from the kitchen as she hurried down the stairs. "Mama, there are books all over the table."

"Si, Lupe. They belong to Shamus. He is letting me use them." She carefully stacked the books and papers at the far end of the table.

"What do you need them for?" Ernesto asked. "You are not in school."

"I am trying to learn something for the restaurant," Maggie said.

"You are such a good cook, Mama," Lupe said. "What do you need to learn?"

"This looks like one of the numbers books from school," Ernesto said, opening the top book in the pile. "What is a debit?"

Maggie took the book from him. "That is what I am trying to learn. These books tell about how to run a business."

"How?" Ernesto asked.

Maggie sighed. "I am trying to learn how, but it is not easy for me."

"You should ask Uncle Ramon for help," Lupe said brightly. "He is very smart."

"I will think about it," Maggie said. She remembered that Ramon had said that he worked with Aaron Silverman to keep the records for the store. "Maybe I will ask him."

"You should do it, Mama," Lupe said.

"Si," Ernesto said, "but, first, you should make us breakfast."

* * * * *

Milt Quinlan put down his beer and waved to Judge Humphreys, when the man walked into the Saloon. "Over here, Your Honor." As the Judge walked over, Milt signaled for Jessie, who was on waitress duty.

"You ain't finished with that beer already, Milt?" Jessie asked.

"No, but please see what the Judge wants, oh... and ask Shamus to come over if you would, please. Tell him to bring something for himself, too. On me."

"You're very generous today, Milt," the Judge said, sitting down across from the lawyer. "What're you up to?"

"Nothing, Your Honor," Milt said. "Nothing illegal or unethical at any rate."

"In that case, I'll have a beer," the Judge said. Jessie nodded and hurried off to the bar. "Going to tell me now?"

"I'd rather wait for Shamus if you don't mind," Milt said. "And the Sheriff."

Humphreys chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "Now, you've got me curious."

"Me, too." The men looked up to see Sheriff Dan Talbot standing in front of them. "Sorry I'm late, gents."

"No problem," Milt said. "Judge Humphreys just got here himself." He paused a beat. "And here comes Shamus with your drink, Judge... and one of his own. You want anything, Dan?"

Dan shook his head. "I don't drink on duty as a general rule."

"Ye don't drink that much off duty neither," Shamus said wryly. He put a beer down in front of the Judge, then sat, still holding the other beer in his hand. He took a quick sip. "Are we all here now, Milt, or are we waiting for somebody else, that ye ain't told us about?"

Milt laughed. "No, this is it. I'm sorry to be so mysterious, gentleman, but I need your help on something."

"If we can," Dan said, and the others agreed.

"What is it?" the Judge asked.

Milt took another sip of his own beer. "You all know how Jane asked me to watch her claim for her?" The men nodded. "Well, she's asked me a few times to let her go up there with my men."

"And ye always said no," Shamus said. "Considering what happened when Jessie went up t'Toby's place, I'll not be blaming ye for it."

Milt took one last drink and put down the empty glass. "I'd like to take her up there tomorrow."

"Are ye crazy, man," Shamus said, almost spilling his beer. "Did ye not just hear what I said?"

"You are up to something." the Judge said. "Spill it."

"I don't think I'm that out of line to want to take her up there. I'll be with her, so will Jerry Domingez and Mort Boyer. Sheriff, you're welcome to come along yourself or send your deputy. That should be more than enough to guard one lone woman."

"It should," Dan said. "I just don't see why we need to do it."

"We don't need to," Milt said, "and there isn't much in the way of justification in the Law on the matter."

"Then why do it?" the Judge asked.

The words spilled out of Milt. "Because Jane... it's just the way she keeps asking and asking. She won't tell me a damn thing, but I can tell how much it means to her. I want... I mean... after all, isn't it a lawyer's job to help his client get what she wants?"

"It is," the Judge said, "but this is well beyond what you usually do for your clients, isn't it, Milt?"

"Aye, lad," Shamus said with a grin on his face. "Ye're taking the case... personal like. Besides, I don't see what all the fuss is about. If ye really need t'be knowing Jane's secret, I could just order her to tell you."

Milt's eyes narrowed. "You even try it, and I'll swear out a complaint for your arrest. You've no right to do anything of the sort to her."

"The devil I don't," Shamus glared back at the lawyer. "I'm her jailer after all. That gives me the right."

"Take it easy, the pair of you," Judge Humphreys said firmly. "I'd have to hear Milt's arguments for the specifics, but I suspect he's correct. Even a prisoner has some rights."

"Ha!" Milt said triumphantly.

"But, Milt," the Judge continued, "I'd like to point out that Shamus is probably as curious as the rest of us about what Jane's hiding, and - unless I'm very wrong - he has not used the power of his potion to find out."

"O'course, I haven't," Shamus said stubbornly, "and I wouldn't - not for meself. But if it was important t'ye, and it would be helping Jane, then I could do it."

"Now that we've established that you've both got Jane's best interests at heart," the Judge said, "shall we get back to the matter at hand?"

Milt stood and reached across the table. "I'm sorry, Shamus. I guess you just struck a nerve."

"No harm done, Milt." Shamus stood and shook Milt's hand. "After all, ye was just trying to protect yuir... client."

"That's better," the Judge said. "I'd say that Jane can go. Dan, do you think you or Paul need to go along?"

Dan shrugged. "Not if Shamus will --"

"I ain't spending a day out in them mountains," Shamus jumped in. "I got a business to run."

"I wasn't saying that you had t'go, Shamus," Dan said. "Jane would obey either of us - or Molly, for that matter, but she's more used to listening to you."

Shamus nodded in agreement. "Aye, she is, and what of it?"

"I've been thinking about how Jessie managed to escape," Dan said. "We told her and the others that they couldn't leave town, but that was all. When Jessie got taken to Toby's cabin, she was outside of town. The order not to leave was - what do you call those things that don't matter, Milt?"

"Moot," Milt said, a smile forming on his face. "I see. The order that she couldn't leave didn't apply, and there was nothing to make her come back."

"Right," Dan said. "So just before she leaves the Saloon, Shamus orders her to come back here - to the saloon - by the end of the day, and he tells her that it's an order. I don't see any way she can get around that."

"Dan," Judge Humphreys said, "that is some of the devious, most underhanded bit of twisted logic I have ever heard." He laughed. "You sure you aren't a lawyer?"

* * * * *

Tuesday, October 24, 1871

"Hey, washerwoman!"

Arnie Diaz stopped. He hesitated, shook his head, and began walking again. He stopped a second time, when something hard - a pebble probably - bounced off the back of his head. "He spun around. "Watch it, Pablo."

"I thought that'd get your attention." Pablo Escobar stood about ten feet away, another pebble in his hand. He was as tall as Arnie, but, where Arnie was lanky, Pablo was more muscular. "What's the matter, Diaz; you don't know your name no more?"

"Go away, Pablito. I got better things to do than to waste my time talking to you."

"Like what? Your mama run outta bleach for them lacy drawers of yours?"

"What're you so worried about my drawers for? You wanna suck what's in 'em?"

"Me? I hear you'll suck mine - or anybody else's for six bits."

"Why you... oh, the hell with it. Why don't you just go play with yourself. Like I said, "I got better things to do than to waste my time talking to you."

"Yeah, I hear you're going after my job."

"Your job, like hell. Ritter's looking to hire - what'd that paper he put up say? - oh, yeah, somebody 'strong and dependable' to work in his livery stable. That sure ain't you."

"Ain't you, you mean. He wants a boy that knows how to work with livery, reins and halters and such, not with somebody's silk unmentionables." He gestured as if waving a handkerchief. "So goodbye, washerwoman. I'm gonna go see about my new job." He pretended to blow Arnie a kiss.

"You son of a bitch!" Arnie launched himself at Pablo. The two boys grappled and fell to the ground. They rolled around a few times, then both scrambled to their feet.

They stood facing each other, waiting. Pablo suddenly threw a punch, hitting Arnie in the stomach. The other boy sent a roundhouse right at Pablo's jaw. It connected, and Arnie threw another. Pablo dodged and took a step backwards. Then he charged forwards, sending two good blows to Arnie's ribs. Arnie countered with three short, quick jabs to Pablo's head.

BLAMM!

The two fighters froze at the sound of the gunshot.

"I thought I told you boys no fighting," Dan Talbot said firmly.

Both youth pointed to the other. "He started it, Sheriff."

"And I'm finishing it," Dan said. "Get on home, both of you. I don't want to see either of you on the street until at least tomorrow."

"But, Sheriff," Arnie said, sounding a desperate. "I was just going to see Mr. Ritter about a job."

"That'll have to wait till tomorrow," Dan said. "You wouldn't make a very good impression looking like that anyway."

Arnie looked down at himself. He was covered with dust, and his best shirt was ripped. "Shit."

"Ha," Pablo said smugly.

"You don't look much better," Dan noted.

Pablo was just as dirty, and his nose was bleeding. "That job'll be gone by tomorrow."

"Don't seem so bad not getting that job," Arnie said wryly, "if Pablito here don't neither."

"You'll be laughing through busted teeth, Diaz," Pablo said. "When I --"

"You won't do anything but go home - the both of you," Dan interrupted. "And the next time I catch you two fighting, you'll both get to cool your heels in jail for a while - whoever started it." He fixed them both with a look like a rattler looking at a pair of field mice. "You boys understand?" They both nodded. "Then get the hell home. Now!"

* * * * *

Carmen opened the door almost as soon as Maggie knocked. "Margarita, Hola! And to you also, Ernesto and Lupe."

"Hola, Carmen," Maggie said, stepping into Carmen's front hall. "Thank you for inviting us."

"It was only fair," Carmen said, "after all the cooking you've done for me." She looked at Maggie and raised an eyebrow. "Is that a new dress? It looks lovely on you." Maggie was wearing a dark blue dress trimmed with white lace.

"Mama got it for tonight," Lupe chimed in. "And she got me one just like it." The girl turned slowly to show her own outfit, which was the same shade of blue.

"Two lovely dresses," Carmen said with an admiring smile. "And what about you, Ernesto?"

The boy snorted in disgust. "I got this shirt... and the tie as well." He fidgeted with his string tie as he spoke.

"Well, I think you all look very nice," another voice said from behind Carmen.

"Laura," Maggie said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping me in the kitchen - or she was," Carmen scolded. "I wanted this evening to be a party, so I invited Laura and Arsenio."

"First time out for Arsenio and me since we got married," Laura said. "Whit was our best man, if you remember."

"I do," Maggie said, "and now that I am here, you must let me help, too."

"No," Carmen said stubbornly. "The reason I invited you was so you would have an evening off from the kitchen. If you must do something, you can take Lupe and Ernesto out to the garden. Mrs. Lonnigan is already out there with Jose and Felipe. The children will have their own party there."

"Keep 'em out of our hair," Laura said, "and they won't get bored with our grown-up talk."

"Race you," Ernesto yelled. Before Lupe could react, he was across the room and at the double doors that lead out into the garden. Lupe was about to follow, but Maggie grabbed her arm. "In that dress, you will walk like the lady you are." She took Lupe's hand and followed after Ernesto.

"They get on so well," Carmen said, "Maggie's little ones and my Jose, as if they had always played together from when they were babies. I wonder if, someday, Lupe and Jose..."

Laura laughed. "Work on one match at a time, Carmen."

* * * * *

Ramon was sitting on a garden bench watching his infant nephew, Felipe, sleeping in his playpen. He heard the sound of feet running towards him. "Uncle Ramon," Ernesto said. "I didn't know you were here."

Hola, Ernesto," Ramon said. "Is your mama... ah, hola, Margarita." His eyes looked at her figure, displayed so fetchingly in her new dress. Ernesto and Lupe ran over to join Jose, who was playing with a wooden hoop a short distance away.

Maggie sighed. "Ramon, I should have expected that you would be here."

"Carmen invited you, too." It was a statement, rather than a question. "I promise, I did not know." He stood up. "But I cannot say that I am sorry you came tonight. That is a muy pretty dress."

"Ramon, you know that nothing can come of this. I... I have the children... my business."

"I know. This was my sister's idea not mine. I do not like your reasons for why we cannot be... more than friends, but I will respect them." He looked around. "Mrs. Lonnigan went to get a blanket for Felipe. When she comes back, I will leave."

"You... you do not have to do that. We are both Carmen's guests. You do not need to leave on my account."

Mrs. Lonnigan walked over. "Good evening, Miss Lopez." She put a small folded blanket down in a corner of the playpen. "Thank you for watching Felipe while I was gone, Mr. deAguilar."

"It wasn't hard," Ramon said. "He's been sleeping the whole time."

"Yes, but some men won't even do that." She sat down on the bench. "I see your children are playing with Jose, Miss Lopez."

"Please, call me, Maggie."

The older woman smiled. "Very well... Maggie. I have a table set up near the kitchen entrance for when the children get hungry. You're welcome to stay for a while; this is a lovely garden. Or, you can go back in and just come out and check on your little ones from time to time, if you like."

"It is nice." Maggie looked around. The garden was large, with several places to sit along the well-trimmed paths. All of them were big enough for Ramon to join her. Did she want to be alone with him out here with the soft breezes and the scent of flowers? "I think I will go inside. I can check on my two later."

"I should go back in, as well," Ramon said.

They both started walking down the path back to the house together. Ramon was careful to match Maggie's stride. Somehow, without her realizing it, her hand slipped into his. Ramon didn't say anything. When Maggie did realize what had happened, she slowly pulled it away.

* * * * *

"I expected you women would be in the kitchen," Whit said, walking into that room. Arsenio was with him.

Carmen put the lid back on a pot of fideos, Mexican noodles, slowly cooking in a chili-flavored broth on the stove. "I did not hear you boys come in."

"Where's Laura?" Arsenio asked, looking around. "I thought Maggie and she'd be helping with the cooking."

"I am not allowed to cook tonight," Maggie said wryly, coming into the room. "So Laura and I are setting the table."

"Did I hear... Arsenio!" Laura ran over to her new husband, who took her into his arms. They kissed, ignoring, for the moment, the people around them.

Carmen looked at the pair for a moment. "Hmm, I wish someone else I knew would kiss like that."

"I can't," Whit said. "I ain't married to Laura." He dodged the spoon Carmen swung at him. "But I do kiss like this." He grabbed Carmen's wrist and pulled her to him. Her arms went around his neck, and they kissed as deeply as the newlyweds.

Maggie looked at Ramon. What was he thinking? What was she thinking. He took a step towards her, his arms opened, then stopped. She caught herself wanting to step towards him, but just stood there, uncertain of what to do. "Ramon... I..."

Ramon smiled and slowly lowered his arms. "While they are... busy, why do I not help you set the table?"

* * * * *

Arsenio sprinkled a bit more chopped cilantro over his noodles. "This is delicious, Carmen. What's it called again?"

"Fideo con chorizo y chipotle," Carmen said. "It means noodles with sausage meat and chipotle peppers. I am glad you like it."

Laura chuckled. "Like it. Spicy hot as it is, he's shoveling that in like there's no tomorrow. You better give me the recipe, or he'll be over here every night for more." Arsenio's mouth was full, but he cheerfully nodded his head in agreement.

"I would like your recipe also," Maggie said. "It is too fancy for the restaurant, I think, but maybe for at home."

"Where'd you learn it, anyway?" Laura asked.

"From my Grandmother Elena, when I was a little girl," Carmen said, a sad look on her face. "She is dead now some fourteen years."

"Well, it's delicious," Laura said. "You do her proud."

Carmen smiled and nodded her head slightly, accepting the compliment. "Thank, you. I will tell her you said so."

"Tell her?" Laura raised an eyebrow. "I-I'm sorry, but didn't you just say that she... umm, died?"

"She did," Ramon said, "but next week is Los Dias de Los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. We believe that the spirits of our dead relatives return to visit on November 2, All Souls Day."

"It's sort of like All Hallow's Eve, what we call 'Halloween' back in New England," Whit explained, "only a lot more festive. They do fancy decorations in the graveyards, cook their loved ones favorite foods, and stay up all night celebrating. They believe that their dead loved ones come back and join in the fun."

"Why is it two days later?" Laura asked.

"It... it isn't," Whit said slowly. "All Hallow's Eve is the night before All Saints Day, November 1st. On that day, we remember the... the passing..." He looked away. Laura saw that Carmen was crying.

"The passing of children," Ramon finished, his voice almost without emotion.

Whit stood and took Carmen in his arms. Ramon gently put a hand on Whit's shoulder.

"Oh, Carmen... Whit, I'm so sorry I said anything," Laura said, realizing what her words had done. Maggie was looking wistfully towards the door to the garden, where her own children were playing.

"Her... her name was Elena, also," Carmen said, wiping her eyes. "She would be two if... if the sickness had not taken her when she was four months old."

Whit took Carmen's hand and softly kissed her on the cheek. "And next week, she'll be with us again - just for that day, and we'll remember the joy she gave us for the short time we had her."

"Carmen, I... I am so very sorry," Maggie said. She stood also and walked over to stand by her hostess.

Carmen took Maggie's hand. "Thank you, Margarita. I know that you have had your own sorrows. Your wife..." She let the words trail off.

"Si, at least your family is here. You can go to their graves... be with them. My... my Lupe is buried over a hundred miles from here."

"Oh, my," Carmen said. "And you cannot go... the restaurant... and Ernesto has school. What are you going to do?"

"You are welcome to share our celebration," Ramon said. "If Carmen does not mind, of course." Carmen smiled and nodded in agreement.

Maggie shook her head. "They... they are... your family is not mine, Ramon. I would feel like an... an intruder."

"Nonsense," Carmen said. "You are... you are like family." She sat down and motioned for everyone else to do the same.

"No, I... perhaps next year," Maggie said. "I have just regained my own family, and I think we should be alone... together."

"Then what will you do?" Arsenio asked.

"My Lupe always had a good sense of direction," Maggie said, trying to smile. "I have been thinking about just what I would do. I will make our house the most festive that I can, cook the foods she liked the best. Perhaps she will find her way to us."

"I am sure that she will," Ramon said, a slight smile on his face. "How could she not find someone who still loves her so much?"

* * * * *

"Lupe, we are home," Ernesto said. "Wake up."

"Shh, let her sleep." Ramon had carried the girl in his arms all the way from the Whitney's house to her mother's front stoop. Now he held her as Maggie unlocked her door.

"Uhh," Lupe said, her voice heavy. "I-I'm awake." She squirmed, and Ramon set her down.

Maggie opened the door. "To bed then. I will be up in a moment."

The two children walked into the house. "Goodnight, Uncle Ramon," Ernesto called from inside. Lupe mumbled something that might have been "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, then, also," Maggie said, still standing next to him. She looked at him as if unsure what to do.

"And goodnight to you, Margarita," Ramon said, "and thank you."

"For what? I was not very good company tonight. And when we started talking about Los Dias de Los Muertos..."

"Thank you, Margarita, for your smile, your bravery, and your love... of family, and for letting me, at least, be your friend." He bowed low and took her hand, as he spoke. As he finished, he raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed it, looking deeply into her eyes as he did.

"And goodnight." He straightened up and walked away.

"G-goodnight, Ramon," Maggie whispered. She stood at the doorway for a moment until her legs were steady enough to let her walk into the house.

* * * * *

Wednesday, October 25, 1871

"Whoa, up, horse." Milt pulled on the reins, so that the wagon stopped by the door of the crudely built cabin. He turned as Jane began to rise from her seat next to him. "You stay there," he said quickly. She sat down, startled. He jumped down and ran around the horse, pausing just long enough to tie the reins to a tree.

Jane was standing by the time he reached her. "I can get down from m'own wagon, Milt. I done it for years."

"You never did it in a dress before." He took her hand and helped her down before she could think of an answer.

"Why'd we even had to take the wagon?" Jane complained. "I can ride; I can ride as good as them two." She pointed to Mort Boyer and Jerry Domingez, Milt's two hirelings. The men had ridden up with Jane and Milt and were still on their own horses a few yards away. Milt signaled for them to dismount.

Milt sighed. "Jane, I've told you - and more than once - that, after what happened with Jessie, there was no chance that the Judge would allow you ride out of town on a horse. You should be thankful that he allowed you to come up here at all."

"I know. I know," Jane said. "And I am thankful, Milt. Even with that thing you put in the paper, I been half outta my head with worry about the... worrying about my claim." She looked around. "Seems like you and your men been taking care of things pretty good."

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to see?" Milt asked.

"M'mine... umm, and the... uh, the cabin over there," Jane said, pointing as she spoke. "Oh, yeah, and the shed I used for a barn, too."

"In other words, everything," Milt said reluctantly. "All right, then. Where would you like to start?"

"The mine." Jane started walked determinedly towards an opening in the side of a low hill about twenty feet away. Milt hurried after her. As he did, he signaled for his men to follow.

The mine entrance was a set of graying wooden timbers that formed a post-and-lintel about six feet high. A new set of boards had been nailed across them to seal the opening. A sheet of paper was nailed to the boards. When she came close enough, Jane saw that the sheet was a copy of the notice Milt had put in the newspaper for her.

Jane walked right up to the boarded over entrance. "Can I go in - just for a minute or two?"

"Hear that, Jerry?" Mort Boyer said with a laugh. "You n'me spend a hour boarding up this here mine, and now Jane wants us to open it, so's she can go in for a minute."

"It does not seem like something worthwhile to do," Jerry said with a broad smile. "Not worthwhile at all." He joined Mort in laughing.

"That'll be enough of that, you two," Milt said curtly to his men. "No, Jane, you can't go in."

"Why not?" Jane whined. "It's my claim."

Milt gently pulled at the fabric of her sleeve. "First of all, because you're not dressed for it. Second, because, Mort's correct - a bit crude, but correct. It would be a waste of time to pull down those boards, just so you can walk in a few feet --"

"A few feet?" Jane pouted and stamped her foot.

"I wouldn't allow you to go in any further, especially without a lantern." Milt smiled at her very feminine tantrum. "But that's moot, since the boards won't be coming off. I won't waste the time... unless, of course, you give me a good reason to do so."

Jane thought for a moment, then pouted again. "You're just being mean."

"No," Milt said, "practical. Now... what would you like to see next?"

* * * * *

"Might I join you gentlemen?" Ozzie Pratt slid into a chair without waiting for an answer from the others around the table in the Saloon.

"How you doing, Ozzie," Red Tully asked.

"Passing well, thank you," Ozzie replied. "My young assistant, Roscoe, has learned enough that I decided to leave my print shop and indulge myself in a mid-afternoon libation."

"How grand for you." Sam Braddock had imitated Ozzie's tone of voice. "How're you two doing with Jane?"

"No better than yourself, alas," Ozzie said with a sigh. "She seems impervious to my obvious charms, at least."

"At least," Red said. "And I ain't doing any better."

Before anyone could say anything else, Jane walked over to their table. "Well now, if it isn't three of my favorite men. What brings you in here today?"

"We came to drink," Ozzie said, "of the warmth of your smile."

Jane giggled. "Ozzie, you are the only man I know who can bow sitting down."

"If I wax poetic," Ozzie continued, "it is because I am inspired by --"

Sam cut Ozzie off. "How you doing today, Jane?"

"Yeah, you look even prettier than usual," Red added.

"Ah, you boys are just saying that," Jane said. Then she giggled. "'Course that don't mean you gotta stop saying it."

"Then I won't," Red said with a grin. "Jane, you are as pretty as a moon-faced calf."

"That's sweet of you y'say, Red." Jane leaned over and kissed Red on the cheek. Red and the others looked surprised; this was the first time any of them had seen Jane kiss a man. "Now, what'll you boys have t'drink?" she asked.

"Drink to me only with thine eyes... and I'll not ask for wine," Ozzie quoted, "but three fingers of whiskey would do nicely, thank you."

"Beer for me, pretty lady," Red said, grinning.

"Same for me, too," Sam answered, "and, if you're thirsty, one for you - on me, if course."

Jane smiled at the offer. "Thanks, Sam. I'll be right back with your... with our drinks." She headed for the bar, while the three men watched the sway of her hips as she walked.

"Well, that was smart," Red said angrily, "asking her to join us."

"I like Jane," Sam said. "What's wrong with her having a drink with us?"

"Nothing, dear boy," Ozzie answered, "nothing. Your invitation was inspired."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"Have either of you convinced the lovely Miss Steinmetz to ally her fortunes with your own?" Ozzie asked. Sam and Red shook their heads.

"Nor have I," Ozzie admitted.

"She still don't see that she can't go back up there and work them claims of hers by herself," Red said.

"Agreed," Ozzie said. "But, perhaps, the three of us working in concert can make her realize that very fact."

Red nodded. "Okay, but, remember, we work together. We wanna get her t'see that she's gotta have somebody with her when she goes back up to her claims. Nobody says which one if us it should be."

The others nodded. "Just remember, once she decides to take somebody, it's every man for himself. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Sam and Ozzie said in unison.

"You boys talking about me?" Jane was back, carrying a tray of drinks. She put beers down in front of Sam and Red and handed Ozzie his whiskey. Then she put the tray down by an empty chair and sat down. She took a last beer from the tray and took a sip.

"Matter of fact, Jane, we are," Red answered. "We's worried about you."

"Now why're you worried about me?" Jane asked. "I'm doing fine."

"Indeed, you are, now," Ozzie said, looking at her admiringly. "But, in a few short weeks, you will be returning to your claims. A beautiful woman, alone in the wilderness, trying to do backbreaking physical labor, why should we not be worried about you?"

"You saying I oughtta give up m'claims, Ozzie?" Jane asked. "Stay here in town, maybe?"

"No!" Ozzie all but shouted. "No, they are yours by right and - I am given to understand - most valuable. You should not relinquish them." The other men hurriedly agreed, and Ozzie continued, "We are merely saying that you will need assistance in your endeavors, a partner - a male partner to... to, ah, share your... labors."

Jane took another drink of her beer, the "near beer" that Shamus allowed any of his staff to drink when they were on duty. "You may be right, Ozzie." She looked around the table. "But who could I get t'help me?"

"A claim like you got outta be worked. I'd be honored to..." Sam began, pausing when Red grabbed his arm. "That is, any of us'd be honored and happy t'help you."

"We would indeed," Ozzie said.

"Likewise," Red added.

"You'd do that?" Jane asked, her eyes wide. "Give up your jobs and all t'come help me?"

"In a minute," Sam said.

"I-I'll have to think about it," Jane said, "but thank you." She paused a moment. "And Davy Kitchner... I could ask him, too, him being a miner and all. He was already talking about my claims, and what I was going t'do." She waited, watching their reactions.

"He would," Red grumbled.

"How very astute of him," Ozzie said.

Jane finished her drink. "Well, I gotta get back to work. Any of you three want another drink?" All three shook their heads. "Then I'd appreciate it if you'd pay for what I brought." The men handed her the money, each offering to pay for her drink as well as his own.

"Sam asked me this time," Jane finally said, "so he pays." She winked at Sam, then smiled at Ozzie and Red. "Next time, one of you two can buy me a drink."

"Count on it," Red said.

"I will," Jane said softly in an encouraging tone, as she stood up. "And thanks to all of you for giving me something t'think about."

* * * * *

Jane watched the three men until, one by one, they finished their drinks and left. Each saw her and waved as he left the saloon. She waved back and smiled at all three.

As Sam, the last of the three walked out of the saloon, Jessie came over to where Jane was standing. "Did it work?"

"Like a charm," Jane smirked. She took a comb from her apron pocket and combed her hair over to the side, shifting the part as she did. "They never suspected that I wasn't really Jane."

"I told you my plan'd work," Jessie said smugly.

Laura - for that's who she really was - put the comb back and took out her wedding ring. With a sigh of satisfaction, she slid it onto her finger. "Now, I'm back to being me."

"Not till you change that name ribbon on your blouse," Jessie teased. "Then you can tell me what all you found out."

* * * * *

Thursday, October 26, 1871

Mae reached over and speared another breakfast sausage. As she did, she saw Wilma walk into the kitchen. "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."

"Si," Beatriz said. "What was you doing, Wilma, that you just now come down for the breakfast?"

"And where is that gentleman you spent the night with?" Rosalyn asked. "He's not trying to get his money back for poor service, is he?" She took a sip of coffee.

"Right now, Jimmy, that's Mr. H. James Kellogg, t'the rest o' you, is settling up with Herve and the Lady for last night. He... ah... got a little rambunctious while we was playing, and he... ah... busted my bed."

For a moment, Rosalyn looked like she was going to spray her mouthful of coffee across the room. "He did what?"

"Broke my bed." Wilma smiled, like a cat that had stolen a bucket of cream. "We was talking... the way some men'll do... after, and he starts saying about how my mattress reminded him of the feather bed he had when he was a kid. 'Course, he said it was a whole lot more fun t'be in bed with me than with his brother."

"If it wasn't," Mae said wryly, "I don't know if we'd be more worried about you or about your Mr. Kellogg."

Wilma ignored the insult. "Anyway, he says him and his brother'd run into their bedroom and make a jump for the bed from across the room, pretending like they could fly."

"Little boys, they will do things like that," Beatriz said.

"They're all little boys," Rosalyn said, disapprovingly.

"Some, though," Mae said, "ain't so little, not where it matters."

"Jimmy surely ain't," Wilma said. "That man has got him a tool... anyways, when he tells me that story, I pictured him doing it now, as a grown man, and I giggled. He takes that the wrong way and climbs outta bed. He walks back, almost to m'door, and says for me to get clear."

"Did you?" Beatriz asked.

"No, I was ready for more fun. I spread my legs and told him t'aim for my pussy." She giggled again. "That surely got to him. If he'd've gotten much bigger, he would've tripped over it. He starts running. I stayed on that bed, but I got outta his way. Well, he jumps, and it does almost look like he was flying."

"What happened," Beatriz asked, caught up in Wilma's story.

"He lands face down right next t'me. In fact, he managed to get one arm around my waist, kinda pinning me to the bed. I let out a squeal. Then... so did the bed. There was a crash, and the two front legs collapsed."

"My lands," Rosalyn said, fanning herself with a napkin. "Was he... were either of you hurt?"

"Hell no. We just kinda slid off onto the floor. I asked him if he was hurt or anything. He rolls over onto his back and says I should check for m'self."

"Did you?" Rosalyn asked.

"I decided to have some fun with him for scaring me. I told him he looked hurt down there. He was kinda worried for a minute till I told him that I was gonna kiss it and make it all better."

"You do it, too, didn't you." Beatriz said. It was as much an accusation as a question.

"I surely did," Wilma said. "He was bigger n'harder than I'd ever seen him before, and I wasn't gonna miss the chance. We... ah... played for quite a while after that. He stayed the night, and we played some more this morning."

"I bet you did," Mae said.

"Even in a broken bed." Rosalyn frowned and shook her head. "Some women just have no sense of propriety at all."

"There don't seem t'be much call for it in our profession," Wilma said.

"Perhaps, if one is a common streetwalker," Rosalyn said. "But I don't see any of us carrying a mat under our arms for 'playing' quick in some alleyway." She looked directly at Wilma. "Although I've heard that our most recent arrival certainly acted that way before she joined us here at _La_ _Parisienne_."

Wilma stood up and glared across the table at Rosalyn. "Are you saying I'm no better than one of them street women? That... that's an insult."

"Yes," Rosalyn said, smoothly. "Fortunately, none of them are here to take offense at the comparison."

"You bitch!" Wilma launched herself at Rosalyn. The other woman tried to dodge, but Wilma caught her. The two fell to the floor and rolled around, yelling insults at each other.

Rosalyn arched her fingers like claws; the long, painted nails of her right hand were only a few inches from Wilma's face. Wilma grabbed her wrist and strained to push the hand away. As she did, Rosalyn began to move her left hand in closer to take its place.

Sploosh! A bucket of soapy water hit the pair, distracting them. "What the hell --" Wilma shouted.

Before she could say another word, she was hit in the face with the business end of a mop. "Stop that! Ya'll stop that right now." Daisy swung the mop into Rosalyn's face, as she spoke. "The both of yah."

Rosalyn sat up. "How dare you! You get that filthy thing away from me this instant, Daisy."

Daisy just chuckled. "I don't work for you, Miz Rosalyn Owens. I works for Lady Cerise, just the same as you does, and the Lady'd be downright unhappy, if you two was t'hurt one another."

"I have never..." Rosalyn scrambled to feet.

"Sure you have, Rosalyn," Mae said, wryly. "That's why you work here. Now why don't you... the both of you go upstairs and get into some dry clothes."

"This isn't the end of it, Wilma," Rosalyn said, storming out of the room.

"It surely is," Daisy yelled after her. "Unless'n you wants the Lady mad at yah, too."

Wilma looked down at her wet clothes. "I better change, too. Damn, I was hoping t'say goodbye to Jimmy before he left." She started to leave, then stopped and turned back. "I'd have had her in a minute or so, but thanks, for the help, Daisy."

"Looked that way t'me, too," Daisy said with a wink. "You's welcome, but I didn't do it for you; I done it for the Lady."

* * * * *

Laura pushed open the kitchen door with her back. She walked over to the sink and put the last tray of dirty dishes down next to it. "So... how'd the trip up to your claims go?"

"Not too good," Jane said. She used a washrag on a beer stein, then dipped the stein in the rinse water and set it on a half-filled drying rack. "Milt wouldn't let me go into m'mine to check... that the, umm, rafters - yeah, that the rafters was still holding."

"Why wouldn't he?"

Jane pouted. "Oh, he had him all sorts of reasons: it was too dangerous, I was wearing a dress, he didn't wanna take the boards down."

"Boards?"

"Yeah, he had them two men of his board up the mine entrance, and he didn't want 'em to take the boards away, so's I could go in."

"Those sounds like good reasons to me."

"They ain't. I been mining more'n ten years. I knows how to act when I'm inside a mountain, especially if I dug the hole. Besides, all I wanted to do was to... ah, t'check them rafters."

"Maybe, but it sounds like Milt was just looking out for you. Did you do anything else while you were out there?"

"Yeah, he let me go into m'cabin - 'course, I had the key. Nothing'd been touched, not even that bottle of scotch whiskey, I had out that night when... ummm, when you was out there." Jane fidgeted uncomfortably and couldn't meet Laura's eyes.

"I remember." Laura said through clenched teeth. "Let's not talk any more about that night, okay?"

"Uh, yeah. I-I guess I shouldn't've said anything about it."

"No, you shouldn't have." Laura frowned. Why was she trying to help the man who tried to do... what Jake had tried to do? Because this wasn't Jake. It was Jane, and she was an innocent who needed Laura's help. "Anything else happen?"

"Nah. We ate lunch - that was a good idea you had about packing some food. Then we headed back t'town."

"Actually, packing lunch was Jessie's idea."

Now Jane frowned. "Jessie's? Well..." she shrugged. "It was a good idea anyway."

"And it wasn't the only one," Laura said hesitantly.

"What d'you mean?"

"Yesterday - while you were up at your claim - I pretended to be you all day." Laura decided to wait and see how Jane reacted before saying that this had been Jessie's idea, as well.

"Now why in the hell did you do that?"

"So I could see how Red, Ozzie, Davy, and Sam acted around you, and, maybe, find out why they acted that way."

"It ain't right t'be spying on my friends like that."

Laura shook her head. "I can't say anything about Davy; I didn't see him the whole time. I'm not sure the others are your friends, though."

"'Course they... why d'you say they ain't?"

"They were talking about how hard it was going to be for me - for you - to be up at that claim by yourself."

"I know that. They's just worried about me is all."

"Maybe, but when I said that I - you - could give up the claim and stay in town, they all said that I shouldn't. That , that I had a valuable claim, and I had o go back up into the mountains to work it. They just said one of them should go along."

"See," Jane said in triumph. "They're m'friends. They know what I want, and they want to help me out."

"Maybe, Jane. Or, maybe - just maybe - they're more concerned about your claim or something else you have up there."

"They don't know a... no, they're saying that because they's my friends."

Laura shrugged. "You may be right, but do me - do yourself a favor and, at least, think about what I said, okay?"

"I don't think there's anything t'what you said, but... you are my big sister. I'll think about it."

* * * * *

Friday, October 27, 1871

"Ramon."

Ramon turned at the sound of his name. "Maggie, hola. What brings you to the store on this beautiful, beautiful day?" He looked around quickly. There was no sign of Ernesto.

Ramon had heard the bell tolling that school was out. Ernesto would be coming to the store very soon, and Ramon knew that the boy didn't want his mother to catch him spending all his time there after school.

"I... I wanted to ask... oh, it is silly. I am sorry to bother you." Maggie fidgeted with her hands, as if trying to decide what to do.

"Maggie, we are... friends. If you have something you want to ask me, just ask, I will listen."

"I... Shamus, he wants me to... to learn about how he keeps the accounts for the restaurant. I have never been too good with the numbers."

"Then this is just the man to help you." Aaron had been standing near Ramon. Now he suddenly pushed the younger man towards Maggie. "Aren't you, Ramon?"

"I do not know how much help I can be. Aaron is the one who keeps the books."

"And you don't help? Then who was it that spent two hours with me just the other night working on my accounts payable?"

Ramon looked at Maggie. "Are you sure you want my help? Maybe Aaron --"

"Aaron is too tired at the end of the day," Aaron said. "She asked you... she wants you. Go ahead."

"Please, Ramon," Maggie asked. "I do not think that I can learn this without help."

"Very well, I will do it. When do you want to start?"

"Come by Monday about 9. I will have Lupe and Ernesto in bed by then."

"Very well, I will be there."

Maggie looked at her watch. "I must go. I must start cooking supper for the restaurant. Everything is rushed, and Ernesto will be home from school soon. I like to see him before he goes out to play. Thank you, Ramon."

"Good bye, Maggie," Ramon said, smiling. "I will see you at the dance tomorrow." He watched her leave the store, then sank down in a chair with a groan. "I must be loco. I am no teacher."

"As they say, even a man who can't tie a cat's tail can be a melamed... a teacher. You do know bookkeeping; you've been helping me with the accounts since I hired you." He paused. "And I know you'll take your time and do a good job."

"How can you know that?"

"How, he asks. Ramon, you'll do a good job because you're a smart man. That's why you'll take your time, too."

"I'll take my time because I am smart?"

"How often does Maggie ask you over to her house anymore?"

"You know she does not. She is not interested in being courted, just in doing what she thinks is best for her children."

"And now - for her children - she wants you to come over and help her learn to keep books for her restaurant. The longer it takes you to teach her..."

"The more times I will have to come over... to be with her." Ramon completed the thought happily. "And you say that I am a smart man. Thank you, Aaron."

"You're welcome. Now please don't smile so much. It makes some customers nervous."

* * * * *

Saturday, October 28, 1871

Sam Braddock took his beer from R.J. and walked over to where Jane was standing. "Howdy, Jane. You think any on what we were talking about on Wednesday."

"I wasn't here Wednesday," Jane said. "Milt Quinlan took me up to my claim."

"Sure you was. You had a drink with Ozzie, Red, and me."

Jane shook her head. "That wasn't me. Laura took it into her head t'pretend to be me all day."

"Now why'd she do a fool thing like that?"

"She - don't you be mad at her now - but she don't trust you boys, and she wanted t'spy on you."

"Did she say that she found out anything... not that there's anything for her to find out, of course."

"'Course not. She said you all sounded like you cared more about the... about my claim than about me." She pouted. "But that ain't true... is it?"

Sam shook his head. "No, she just misunderstood. We talked about your claim... both your claims because we know how important they are to you. That's all." He decided to forge ahead. "We know how hard it'll be working those claims, and we wanted you to know that we were willing to help."

"I thought it was something like that."

"You gonna do anything about it, her fooling us like she did?"

"Naw, I figger she was just trying to be a big sister t'me. I can't be mad at that, now can I?" When Sam shook his head, she said. "I already told Red, though, and I'm gonna tell Ozzie and Davy when I see them."

"That sounds fair, I guess."

"You gotta promise me something, though." She waited a beat. "Red already promised when I told him."

"What? What do you want us to promise?"

"You, all three - no, all four - of ya, promise not t'say anything to Laura about what she done. You do that, and I'll promise t'think about taking one of you boys up there with me, like you was talking about. We got a deal?" She offered Sam her hand.

"Deal." Sam took her hand and shook it, quite happy at how well what had looked like a disaster a few minutes before had turned out.

"Besides, the joke's on her anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"'Cause she didn't do her play acting for Davy, and he's the one I'm thinking of asking t'come back with me."

Sam heard the disaster bells ringing now. "He's... why... how... how'd you come t-to pick... him? I-I thought you... you liked me?"

"Oh, I ain't picked him fer sure." She looked down, not wanting to face him. "I do like you, Sam... and Ozzie and Red, too, but... well, he's the only one knows how t'work a mine."

Sam relaxed just a bit. "So, it ain't a done deal, yet. I still got a chance."

"I-I guess, but..."

"No buts, Jane. I promised you something, you promise me you'll think some more about who's the best one for you to take, okay?"

"You promised me, so I guess I can promise you."

"That's all I'm asking." Sam smiled. As soon as he could, he'd tell the others what Jane had said about Davy. If they put their heads together, so they could surely work out a way to make her change her mind and pick one of them instead.

* * * * *

Sunday, October 29, 1871

"My Lord, four aces and a king! I never saw a hand that good."

Bridget spun around in her chair. "Cap Lewis, you stop that. You're ruining my game."

"I'm sorry," Cap said, even though his grin said that he wasn't. "I just got back from the drive - haven't even been home yet - and I wanted to see you."

"How about we take a break?" Mort Boyer rose to his feet. The other players, Natty Ryland, Milo Nash, and Stu Gallagher, all muttered in agreement and stood.

"I gotta go to the necessary anyway," Milo said. He started towards the kitchen, where the saloon's back door was.

Bridget smiled. "Thank you, gentlemen. The game will resume as soon as I find out what Mr ewis has to talk to me about." She paused a beat. "And we'll just call this round - which did not, I assure you, include the hand he mentioned - a misdeal." The other players nodded and headed toward the bar.

Cap spun an empty chair around and sat down. Leaning over the back of the chair, he grinned and said, "Damn, you look pretty. A hell of a lot prettier than the south side of those steers I've had to look at for the past few weeks, that's for sure. You smell a lot nicer, too."

"Thank you for that lofty compliment," Bridget said, trying to stay angry. "You shouldn't have shouted out like that, Cap. This isn't a game to me; it's how I earn my living."

He nodded. "I know... and I'm sorry." He pointed to the men at the bar. "Your players didn't seem to mind too much, though."

She glared at him. "That isn't the point." Did he have to grin like that? she asked herself. It made it damned hard to stay mad. "Okay... just promise me that you won't do it again."

"I promise." He made a "King's X" over his heart. "And I am sorry. I just had to see you. I know Uncle Abner. When I get home, he's going to want a full report on the drive. Then, with one thing or another, I won't get a chance to come into town until Tuesday."

"What's so special about Tuesday?"

"You don't remember?" He waited. When it was clear that she didn't he continued. "You're rent's due, m'lass. Pay up or it's out onto the streets with you." He gestured dramatically and stroked an imagined mustache like the villain in a melodrama he was pretending to be.

Now Bridget looked totally confused.

"Sorry again," Cap said, grinning. "I couldn't resist. "Your loan payment to my uncle, a quarter of your winnings, is due at the end of every month, remember? Which for this month is Tuesday. I'm supposed to get it from you."

Bridget's hand flew to her mouth. "The loan... I did forget. And here I've been keeping track every night - I got a little book I keep right here in my cash box. If you want to see it... ."

"No need." Cap took her hand. "I trust you."

She relaxed - and didn't pull her hand away from his. "So, when will you be in for the money?"

"How about six o'clock. You can give me the money while we have dinner together. My treat."

"You don't have to do that."

"You mean you're not going to give me a real chance to apologize for busting up your game like I did?"

Now Bridget smiled. "I think you did that just to get me to go out to dinner with you again."

"Well... maybe I did have that as an ulterior motive." He glanced over towards the bar. Mort, Natty, and Stu were all there watching him. "Looks like your players are ready to start up again."

He stood up. "I don't want to hug you and get trail dust all over that pretty dress, so this'll have to do." He took her head in his two hands and tilted it up to meet his lips. For all its courtliness, his kiss was full of passion and need.

Bridget felt a heat flow through her body. She shivered slightly and arched her back, pushing her face closer to his. Her nipples felt tight as they pushed against her camisole, and there was a feeling of need down there, in the region of her lap.

After a time, Cap had to break the kiss, which wasn't until he had left her nearly breathless. "Tuesday can't come quick enough," he said and kissed her gently on the forehead. "See you then." He was out the door before Bridget could draw enough breath to answer.

* * * * *

Paul Grant walked down the sidewalk on his regular evening rounds. As he passed each door, he checked to see that it was locked. He looked in windows, too, for any light or sign of movement.

He crossed the street. The full moon was bright enough to cast his shadow ahead of him. It seemed to be pointing towards the alley. There was something on the ground a few feet back from the street, something the size of a man.

He ran over and knelt down besides the... yeah, it was a man's body. The moonlight let him see that it was Davy Kitchner. Paul's fingers found a pulse at the man's neck. "Thank Heavens," he whispered.

Paul lifted Davy's head and slapped his face three times. "Davy, wake up." The unconscious man moaned once, but his eyes stayed shut. "Best get you to where the Doc can take a look."

The Eerie Saloon was next to the alley. Somebody - Joe Kramer - was coming out the door. "Joe," Paul called to him. "C'mere."

"Yeah," Joe said, turning towards Paul. "Hey, Paul, what do you..." He saw Davy's body. "What the... who the hell is that?"

"Davy Kitchner; I just found him. He's hurt. Give me a hand, will you?"

The two men lifted Davy and carried him towards the Saloon. "There's something pinned to his shirt," Davy said, as they walked through the doorway.

"I saw it," Paul told him. "There'll be time to look at it, when we set him down someplace."

Conversations stopped as they carried Davy in. Shamus had been near the door. And he ran over, shouting orders. "Put them two tables t'gether, so they can set him down. And you..." he pointed to Liam O'Hanlon, "... go get Doc Upshaw."

The two tables were quickly pushed together. R.J. hurried over with a bar towel for under Davy's head. He stepped back, and Paul and Joe gently lowered Davy onto the tables. "Shouldn't we do something?" someone asked.

"Best t'be waiting for the doctor," Shamus answered.

Jane had been across the room taking someone a beer. Now she pushed her way through the crowd. "Davy! No... not you, too." She sank down in a chair, sobbing miserably.

Laura hurried to her. "He's not dead, Jane. Honest."

"He... he's not?"

"No, he's not. You can see for yourself."

"Uh huhn." Jane nodded her head nervously and stood up slowly. Laura took her hand and began walking her towards the tables.

At that moment, Davy suddenly moaned and opened his eyes. "Oooh! Where am I?"

"Davy," Jane yelled. She ran over to the table. "You're all right... just like Laura said you was."

"'Course I am," Davy said, sounding weaker than he wanted to. "Now help me get up." He held out a shaky hand to her.

Jessie reached over and took his hand instead. "Better just lay there till the Doc comes and has a look at you."

Jane's eyebrows furrowed. "You leave him alone."

"She's right, Jane," Laura said. "We don't know how hurt he really is."

"You think so?" Jane pouted, not wanting to admit that Jessie might be right.

"I do," Laura said. Shamus, Paul, and several others muttered agreement.

"Oh, all right." She pulled a chair over and sat down next to the tables. "But he better come soon."

"I don't mind waiting," Davy said, smiling broadly. "Now that I knows how much you cares for me, Jane."

"Well, o'course I cares about you," Jane said. "Ain't you the oldest friend I got around here?"

Davy's smile faded a bit. "Yeah, that's true. We been friends for - what - three, four years now."

"Four," Jane said. "We met up t'Hangnose Ridge in Colorado, when Fatty Burke found that vein and treated everybody to a two-day drunk."

"I remember." Davy nodded his head, then winced at the pain. "I think my head hurts more right now than when I woke up from that drunk."

"Do you remember what happened tonight?" Paul asked.

"Pretty much," Davy said. "I been up at my claim the last week; thought I found me some color in the rock." Color meant a vein of gold or silver.

"Did ye?" Shamus asked.

Davy looked even more pained. "No, dammit, it was pyrite or something. I rode into town tonight t'see Jane and drown m'sorrows."

"What happened?"

"Hell, if I know. I was tying m'mule, Lucille, at the end of the hitching post, when I hears somebody behind me. Things went black before I could turn around and see what or who it was. Next thing I knows, I'm on this here table."

"Don't suppose ye had something pinned t'yuir shirt, did ye?" Shamus asked.

Davy raised his head and looked down at his chest. "What are you - ouch!" He lowered his head carefully. "What the hell is that?"

"Let's just see." Paul reached over and unpinned a folded square of rough, pale yellow paper. "Simple and to the point. It says, 'STAY AWAY FROM JANE' in block letters. I can't recognize the handwriting at all."

"Let me see it. I know what most of the men in this town call handwriting." Shamus took the paper and studied at it for a couple of minutes. "And this ain't none o'them." He frowned. "How about I nail it up on the wall here in me Saloon... offer a reward to anybody that can be telling us whose writing it is?"

Paul shook his head. "I think the Sheriff'll want to hold onto it, Shamus, but I'll tell him what you offered."

"All right, where's my patient?" Doc Upshaw's voice called out from the door.

"Over here," Shamus answered, waving his arm.

The Doc hurried over. His hair was uncombed, and he was wearing a nightshirt tucked into his pants. "What happened?" He set his doctor's bag down on the table next door to Davy.

"Somebody hit him on the head," Paul said. "I found him laying in the alley and brought him in here."

Doc opened his bag. "You hurt anyplace, Davy - besides your head, I mean?" He took out a small mirror with two leather straps and used them to tie the mirror to his forehead.

"No - yow!" Davy had tried to shake his head. "M'head hurts more'n enough."

Doc Upshaw leaned over and gently moved his fingers across his patient's scalp. He stopped when Davy yelped in pain, then continued for a bit more, while Davy tried not to wince. "No blood, I'm happy to say, but you'll have a nice goose egg there by morning. Now, try to sit up."

"I'll try," Davy said. He did, slowly, with help from the Doc and R.J.

Upshaw leaned in, looking closely into each of Davy's eyes. The mirror focused the light from Shamus' chandeliers into each eye in turn. "Okay," he said moving back a few inches.

He raised a finger on his right hand and held it up in front of Davy's right eye. "Close your left eye and follow my finger with just the right one."

Davy did as he was told. The Doc moved his hand to the left and right, then up and down. "Now," the Doc said, "we'll do it with your left eye."

"Am I okay, Doc," Davy asked nervously when they were done.

Doc Upshaw untied the mirror and put it back in his bag. "You seem to be, but I can't be entirely certain until morning. I'd like to put you up in one of the beds in my office. I can check you in a few hours and again in the morning."

"I-I don't know," Davy said.

"Go on, lad," Shamus said. "Ye'll have a nice lie-in on a real feather bed. That's got to be better than what ye got waiting back in yuir cabin. And in the morning, I'll be sending Jane over with some breakfast - if it's all right with the good doctor."

Davy grinned. "A feather bed and breakfast with Jane? A man'd be a fool to say no t'that, and my mama didn't raise no fools.

* * * * *

Monday, October 30, 1871

"Enough," Maggie said, almost in despair. "My head is swimming with debits and receipts and accounts payable."

Ramon nodded, trying hard not to smile. "Perhaps, we have done enough for tonight. We have been working for..." He looked at his pocket watch. "... over two hours. It is almost 11:30."

"And you have been most patient with me, Ramon."

"It has been my pleasure. When shall I come by for another lesson?"

"Not tomorrow, please. My poor brain needs time to recover from tonight's lesson." She thought for a moment. "Wednesday. Yes, Wednesday; can you come by at the same time on Wednesday?"

"I can... and I will."

"It is late, I know, but would you like something - coffee, perhaps, or a piece of cake - before you leave?"

"I am fine, thank you. I do not need anything."

"Are you sure? I feel that I should give you something, repay you in some way for all the time you spent tonight trying to knock 'ledgers' and such into my poor head."

Ramon took Maggie's hand in his. "Getting to spend this time with you... helping you, that is payment enough."

"Ramon, you know what I have said about..." She tensed, but - he was happy to see - she didn't pull her hand away.

"Margarita," he said wryly, "cannot a man take pleasure in simply helping a friend. We are still friends, at least, are we not?"

She smiled, perhaps a little sadly, and slid her hand free from his. "Yes, we... we are... friends."

Ramon stood and took her hand again. "Then I shall be here - as you wish - on Wednesday." He raised it slowly to his lips, fixing her eyes with is own. He kissed the back of her hand, lingering for a few seconds. Then he blew a gentle puff of air, so that she felt his warm breath on her moist skin.

"Goodnight, Margarita. Sweet dreams." He released her hand, bowed slightly, and headed towards the door.

"G-good night." Maggie sat there, trembling as warmth flowed through her body. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest.

Her dreams that night were sweet. And disturbing. And filled with Ramon.

* * * * *

"Keep it running," Ozzie Pratt shouted over the clanking of the printing press. "I'm going back for more paper."

Roscoe Unger, his assistant, nodded; there was no sense trying to talk over the noise. They were working on the "boilerplate" edition of the Tucson itizen, weekly paper that Ozzie published. The Citizen sent him the master printing plate of its front and back page, and he filled in the inside pages with local news and advertising.

Ozzie came back into the print room without any paper.

"Shut that thing off," he yelled, "and fetch the Sheriff."

Roscoe stopped the press. "What's the matter?" he asked as it came to a halt.

"Some miscreant has cast a stone through the back window, and with a note affixed to it, no less."

"What'd it say?"

"We shall all discover its message once you have returned with Sheriff Talbot. Now go." Roscoe ran out the front door, returning quickly with the Sheriff.

"Show me what happened," Sheriff Dan Talbot asked.

Ozzie led him through the door to the back room. "I use this space mostly for storage," he explained. An oil lamp hung on the wall by the door they had just come through.

Dan looked around. High shelves ran along the walls on both sides. They were filled with reams of paper, printing supplies, and various finished products. One shelf held some wrapped parcels waiting to be picked up.

There was a desk against the back wall beneath a large window. Ozzie's back door was just to the right off the desk. The window had four frames, and most of the glass was missing from one of these.

A few feet from the desk, a rock lay on the floor, surrounded by the missing glass.

"I've no idea when this deplorable incident occurred," Ozzie said. "Our press is - to put it mildly - quite clamorous. We had no chance to hear the sound of the breaking glass over its din."

Dan knelt down and picked up the rock. A folded, yellow sheet of paper was tied to it with a piece of white string. "Looks like the same kind of paper as yesterday," Dan said. He cut the string with a penknife and unfolded the paper. "Yep, it says 'Stay away from Jane', same as Davy's note."

Ozzie frowned. "It would seem that we have need to expand our report of that attack upon Davy Kitchner. Apparently, the miscreant has further mischief in mind."

"Looks that way." Dan's eyes roamed over the reams of paper on the shelves. "You recognize the paper this note is written on?"

"Sure do," Roscoe said. "We sell a lot of it."

"I fear that it is a most common stock," Ozzie added, taking the paper from Dan. "You'll find samples of it throughout the town. You, yourself, have purchased some of it, as I recall."

Dan shrugged. "So much for that idea. How about the writing?"

"Printed block letters," Ozzie said. "A singularly good way to disguise one's hand, I fear."

"I don't think I know it either," Roscoe said, handing the note back to Dan, who folded it and stuck it in a pocket.

"I'll take a look outside to see if there's any tracks," Dan said. "Should be able to see something with that full moon out. I'll be back to check again by daylight, just to be sure. You think of anything else, you can tell me then." The others nodded. Dan tried the door, and the knob turned easily. "You really should lock this, you know."

"I shall do so now." Ozzie took a key from his pocket. "Normally, I wait until we close for the night and go upstairs." Ozzie had a small apartment above his shop. Roscoe boarded in a spare bedroom.

"Better get that window fixed too." Dan walked through the door, closing it behind him.

"I shall talk to Sam Braddock on the morrow," Ozzie said as he locked the door. Sam was a carpenter and glazier.

Ozzie and Roscoe watched Dan walking around, using the light from inside, as well as the full moon. "Can't see anything in this hardpan," he said to them through the broken window, finally. "Maybe in the morning. Goodnight." He waved once and left.

"It is indeed fortunate that we do the boilerplate side first," Ozzie said with a sigh. "While you finish that, Roscoe, I shall re-write the tale of Davy's attack to include this new mishap. I may even be able to start resetting the type before you have completed your assignment."

* * * * *

Tuesday, October 31, 1871

Cap wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. "Now that was a delicious supper. I swear Maggie's cooking just gets better and better."

"The fact that I'm paying for it must make it taste even better," Bridget said.

"You're paying?" Cap asked. "When did I ever agree to that?"

"Last time we had supper you did," Bridget said with a self-satisfied smile. "Don't you remember?"

Cap shook his head. "I did, didn't I?" He chuckled. "I suppose I can manage the strain of having the prettiest gal in town buy me supper."

"Oh, my, how he suffers," Bridget said, smiling. She took a sip of her after-dinner coffee.

"You know what they say, 'it's a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.' I guess I'm lucky enough to be that somebody." He looked up. "Speaking of which..."

Jessie stepped up to the table. "Do either of you want anything else?" Bridget and Cap both shook their heads. "In that case, here's the bill." She handed Cap a small slip of paper.

Cap took it, then handed it to Bridget. "Here you go... if you still want it."

"I do." Bridget took the check from him.

"You're buying him dinner?" Jessie asked in a shocked tone.

Bridget nodded. "I am, and you'd best be quiet about it, Jess. I haven't decided on the size of your tip yet."

"No, ma'am." Jessie put a finger to her lips as if silencing herself.

"Three fifty," Bridget said. "With a food tip, that'd be... oh, let's just say, five." She reached into her small purse and took out a half eagle. "Here you are, Jess." She flipped the coin to Jessie, who caught it easily.

"Thanks, Bridget," she said. She almost curtseyed before she left.

"That's a pretty big tip," Cap said.

Bridget shrugged. "No more than you gave Jane last time. Guess I am just showing off a little. I am glad to see that you don't mind having a woman paying your way," Bridget said, with a smile. "How do you feel about taking even more money from one?"

"What do you mean?" Cap asked. "Oh, yeah, Uncle Abner's money. Well, now, I'm not so much taking money from you as I am taking it to him."

"That's true enough." Bridget put her purse down on the table and pulled out a small brown ledger. "I kept a record of how much I won every night; it comes to $391.04. You want to see the records?"

Cap put his hand on hers. "You know that's not necessary, Bridget. I... trust you... completely."

Bridget's face flushed. "I hope your uncle does, too. By my figuring, his share is $97.76." She pulled out a smaller piece of paper. "I have a bank draft here for that amount." She handed the draft to Cap.

"Thanks, Bridget," Cap said. "You'll have Uncle Abner paid off in no time at this rate." He took the draft and put it into an inside pocket of his jacket.

"And, seeing as you've been giving me things all evening," Cap said. "I've got something for you." His hand had still been inside his jacket. When he took it out, he was holding a small box wrapped in blue tissue paper.

"You shouldn't have, Cap." She looked at the box, trying to decide if she would take it.

"Yes, I should have. In fact, I had to, when I saw what color they were."

"Color?" Bridget's curiosity was too strong. She quickly unwrapped the box. Inside, resting on a small square of cotton were a pair of sea-green, teardrop-shaped..."Earrings, oh, they're... they're beautiful."

"Of course, they are. They're the same color as your eyes."

"My eyes? But how did you remember what color my eyes are?"

"How could I forget?" Cap smiled. "Now put them on. I want to see how you look in them."

"All right." Bridget took off the small pearl earrings she was wearing. Earrings were something Molly and Rachel had talked her into wearing just a few days before Cap had left on the cattle drive. She replaced them with the new ones. Then turned her head, posing so Cap could see how they looked.

Cap made a "click" of approval with his tongue. "Best money I ever spent. Those lucky earrings look just great on you."

"Lucky? Why are they lucky?"

Now Cap grinned. "'Cause they're going to spend their days so close to you. That's about as lucky as I can think of."

Bridget smiled shyly and looked down at the table. Lordy, the man had a way with words.

* * * * *

"Oh, Marty, honey, that... that feels so good." Wilma sighed as Marty Hernandez sucked greedily at her left breast. Marty was using his right hand to knead her right breast, one finger playing gently with her nipple. His left hand matched the motion of the right, but it was teasing her crotch through her lacy silk drawers.

Wilma was reciprocating, using her fingers to excite Marty's manhood through the fabric of his own cotton drawers.

"Help! No... Help me!" The screams were loud enough to come through the thick walls and solid wooden door of Wilma's room.

"What the hell?" Wilma quickly moved her hand away from Marty's crotch and sat up in the bed. The screams came again. "I'm afraid this'll have t'wait, she said. She touched Marty's crotch for a moment, then reluctantly twisted her body and climbed out of bed.

"You got your pistol?" she asked, all business now.

Marty stood up, looking confused. "Yeah." He pointed to a chair. His holstered pistol, a Colt Peacemaker, was on it, half covered by his pants. "Why you asking?"

"'Cause I need it." Wilma wrapped a thin, violet robe around herself. She retrieved the Colt and stuck it in a pocket of the robe. She ran out of the room, Marty following as best he could. Running while putting on his pants was not one of his better skills.

Another scream. "Rosalyn," Wilma said. "I mighta known." She hurried to another door, two down from her own. She knocked sharply on the door. "You all okay in there?"

"Go away!" The voice through the door was low and gravelly, male and angry.

"Plea..." Rosalyn called out again, but something her cut off.

"That'll shut you up, bitch." The man's voice again. "Ain't nobody gonna help you now."

Wilma tried the door. It was locked, something that usually wasn't done at La Parisienne. The hell with it," she spat. She pulled the pistol and fired at the lock. Wood splintered, and the door opened a crack.

Marty pushed it the rest of the way open and looked in. "What the..."

Rosalyn was nude, tied spread-eagled to the four posts of her bed with lengths of rope. A tall, heavyset man stood near the bed. He was wearing a gray union suit, shirt and drawers together as one garment, and holding a lit cigar in one hand.

A string of four or five small burns ran across Rosalyn's breasts. A cloth, probably a handkerchief, was stuffed in her mouth.

"Get away from her," Wilma said through clenched teeth. "Now!" She raised the pistol and pointed it at the man's chest. She cocked the hammer of the Colt.

"Wilma," Marty yelled. "You can't shoot an unarmed man.

The man laughed. "That little piece of fluff ain't gonna shoot anybody. Are you, darlin'?" He spoke the last firmly, as if giving a command.

Wilma's expression changed. She smiled. Her hand slowly lowered, and she let the pistol drop to the floor. "No... no, I ain't," she said, her voice almost a purr. "There's a lot better things a gal can do with a man."

Still smiling, she started walking towards him, her arms outstretched. When she came close enough, she wrapped them around his neck. She lifted her head as if waiting for a kiss.

"That's right, darlin'," the man said. "Lots o'things a sweet gal like you can do for a man." He leaned down to kiss her.

"Only, you ain't no man," Wilma yelled. Before the man could react, she kneed him as hard as she could in the groin.

The man grunted like a wounded bear and fell to the ground. He lay there, groaning in pain and clutching at his privates.

Marty recovered his pistol and pointed it at the other man. "Don't try anything, friend. I got you covered."

"Good work, Marty," Wilma said wryly. She began working on the rope holding Rosalyn's left wrist.

"I hear a... merde!" Herve Navetier, Madam Cerise's enforcer, came into the room. He was holding a pistol that was larger and much meaner looking than Marty's. "What 'as 'appened?"

"That bastard couldn't tell the difference between Rosalyn's tits and an ashtray," Wilma said in disgust, pointing at the man on the floor.

"I see," Herve said. There were voices behind them. "Daisy," he said, recognizing one but not turning around, "go and get the physician... and the sheriff, as well."

Wilma had both of Rosalyn's arms freed now. While the injured woman untied her own legs, Wilma used the ropes to tie the man's wrists.

"Thank you, Monsieur Hernandez, for rescuing our dear Rosalyn." Madame Cerise swept into the room.

"Wilma did it," Marty said. "Biggest thing I did was give her my pistol." He winked at Wilma. "I didn't think she'd put it to such good use."

"Indeed," Madam Cerise said, cocking an eyebrow. "Indeed." She looked at Wilma, then at the man she had stopped, a gentleman traveler - or so he had claimed - named Verne Oliver.

* * * * *

Wednesday, November 1, 1871

Nancy Osbourne looked around her classroom. She was the only teacher at Eerie Public School, a short brunette in her late 20s.

"Ysabel, Nancy called out, "how are you and the littler ones doing?"

Ysabel Diaz, a tall, willowy girl of 13, looked up at her teacher from the back of the room. Ysabel wanted to be a teacher herself someday, and she often helped Nancy with the younger children. "Show Miss Osbourne how good we are doing, children. She looked to her left and right, to the children in grades 1, 2, and 3 sitting on either side of her.

"This good, Miss Osbourne," Becky Yingling, a blonde second grader, said. "One... two..." She waved her hand as she counted.

"Three!" A dozen voices, all of the children in the first three grades, shouted. They stood up, holding almost twenty feet of white, black, and orange paper rings formed into a single chain.

"Very good, children." Nancy said, clapping her hands. "And very good to you, too, Ysabel."

The young girl smiled shyly. "Thank you, Miss Osbourne." She nodded and sat down.

Nancy looked around the room. There were lengths of the same sort of paper chain on every desk. "I think that you've all done an excellent job. We must have almost a hundred feet of chain all together. It will look very festive hanging on the walls for tomorrow's party."

"Miss Osbourne." A tall, slender brunette raised her hand from a chair in the front row, the eighth grade seats.

Nancy managed not to sigh. "Yes, Hermione."

The brunette, Hermione Ritter, stood, very sure of herself. "Miss Osbourne, do we have to just hang the chains along the walls?"

"Do you have another suggestion," Nancy asked, knowing that she would.Hermione continued. " When our parents took Winthrop, Clyde, Jr., and me to Chicago last year at Christmas, we saw streamers in the lobby of our hotel that stretched from the chandeliers to the walls. Could we do it like that?"

"Yes, let's do it Hermione's way," a shorter, dark-haired girl sitting next to Hermione blurted out. "It sounds every so much prettier."

"Thank you, Eulalie," Nancy said, "but you must remember to raise your hand and wait to be called upon."

"I'm sorry, Miss Osbourne," Eulalie Mackechnie, said. She looked embarrassed for a moment. Then she saw Hermione smile and nod her head. Eulalie smiled back and sat down.

Now Nancy frowned. Much as she hated to think it, Hermione's little toady was right. Streamers would look nicer. Well, the important thing was for the children to enjoy themselves. "Very well," she said. "I think we have enough chain." She smiled. "We don't have a chandelier, though." She waited for the children's laughter and enjoyed it when it came.

"But we do have that center rafter." Nancy pointed at a thick piece of lumber that stretched across the middle of the room. "We can run the chains from the center of the rafter to the four corners of the room."

Nancy reached into a drawer in her desk and took out a large metal key. "Yully Stone, would you please fetch the ladder from the tool shed?"

"Aw, we don't need a ladder," Yully said. He was a tall, muscular boy of thirteen with a shock of sandy brown hair. He stood up and ran towards the center of the room. At the last moment, he leapt upward and grabbed onto the rafter with one hand. His other hand darted up and caught the beam. He began pulling himself up onto it. "I'll just sit up here, and you can toss the chain to me to attach it."

Nancy slapped the top of her desk loudly to get his attention. "Ulysses Stone, you will get down from there. Immediately."

"But, Miss Osbourne." Yully turned and saw the look on her face. "Yes, Miss Osbourne." He dropped to the floor. "I was just trying to help."

"I know that, Yully," Nancy said gently. The boy wasn't bad, just showing off a bit. "But you might have fallen. Why don't you just get the ladder? Then, you can help and be safe."

She tossed him the key. He caught it one-handed. "Yes, ma'am." He turned and walked towards the door.

"He is so strong," Hermione said with a sigh. "And so impetuous." Several of the older girls giggled. Eulalie among them until she saw Hermione's frown.

'Good thing he's also obedient,' Nancy thought. The boy had just gone through a growth spurt that left him a full head taller than her. He could have been a major disruption instead of one of her better students. It was just that he hadn't quite gotten used to his new size. He hadn't learned his limits and, at times, could be clumsy, hardly the sort she wanted to be walking ceiling rafters.

* * * * *

The door opened on Ramon's third knock. "Hola, Ernesto," he said in surprise. "What are you doing up so late? Do you not have school tomorrow?"

"Si, Uncle Ramon," the boy answered, "but Mama is letting me and Lupe stay up late to make decorations for tomorrow night."

"Would you like to see?" Lupe had joined her brother at the door.

"Of course, I would." Ramon nodded and followed the two children into the parlor. As he did, he saw that Ernesto was in a starched, white night shirt, and that Lupe wore a long, blue nightgown.

The pair had been sitting on pillows at a low table near the couch. The table was piled with black and white paper chains and bright yellow and blue tissue paper flowers. Ernesto saw Ramon looking. "Miss Osbourne showed us how to make paper chains in school," he said proudly.

"And Mama showed me how to make the paper marigolds," Lupe added, just as proudly. "Yellow and blue were Mama Lupe's favorite colors. We will get real ones for the vase tomorrow."

She pointed to a high table set against a wall in front of a large piece of blue sheeting with white stars pinned to it. A picture of Maggie - 'No, Maggie had never worn her hair like that,' Ramon thought - a picture of the children's real mother, Guadalupe Rosario de Lopez, sat on the table in a silvered frame. A tall, empty vase stood between the picture and the wall. A blue porcelain bowl was set in front of the picture, with a small figure that Ramon recognized as Our Lady of Guadelupe on either side of it. Two long, white candles in tall white enameled holders flanked the picture, with several smaller, white candles surrounding each one.

"Very nice," Ramon said. "I will leave you to your work then. The sooner you finish, the more sleep you get." He paused a beat. "Is your Mama in the kitchen?"

"Where else?" Ernesto shrugged.

"Where else, indeed," Ramon said. He turned and walked to the kitchen. He'd been smelling something baking since he had entered the house. The odors of cinnamon and anise grew stronger as he walked towards the kitchen.

Maggie was taking something out of the stove as he walked in. He stood quietly, not wanting to startle her. She turned and set a baking sheet full of small figures down on her worktable. Then she looked up and saw him. "Ramon, how long have you been here?"

"Not very long," he replied. "Ernesto and Lupe were showing me their work in the parlor. You look ready for tomorrow night."

"Not yet I am not." She tilted the tray, the figures, a dozen loaves that looked like shiny brown rabbits, slid off the sheet and onto a second one. "I promised Ernesto's teacher that I would bake pan de muerto's for the party at his school, enough for the teacher and..." she sighed, "... thirty-four students. And then, I must make more for the three of us for tomorrow night. I am sorry, but I will not be able to take a bookkeeping lesson tonight."

"That is all right," Ramon said. "I just came to tell you that I am busy anyway, and cannot give a lesson." He walked over to her.

"Busy? I do not understand."

Ramon took off his jacket and put it over a chair. "Yes, there is a lady who has much too much cooking to do it by herself." He took her hand, ignoring the flour and butter smeared on it. "I will be helping her tonight until she is done." He looked around the kitchen. "Now where is another apron?"

* * * * *

Thursday, November 2, 1871

Jane had already started morning cleanup, sweeping out the room under Molly's watchful eye, when Laura came rushing into the Saloon. "I-I'm sorry I'm so late, Shamus."

Shamus was just finishing his breakfast. He looked at the clock and frowned. "Ye should be, m'girl. It's almost 10. Ye were supposed to be here at nine." Then he took a better look at Laura. "Are ye all right, Laura? Ye're white as a sheet."

"Lemme get you some coffee," Jane said. She leaned her broom against a table and started for the kitchen.

"No, coffee," Laura said sharply. "Please." She waved her hand in refusal.

Molly pulled out a chair from a nearby table. "Why don't ye sit down here and tell us what's the matter?"

Laura walked over and sat down. "I... I'll be okay in a moment. It just... the thought of coffee." She shook her head. "I just can seem to hold anything down this morning. I thought I was better, but when I came in here... and smelled those breakfast smells, I..." She clutched at her stomach.

Molly raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. And did this come on ye all of a sudden, like this morning?"

"N-no," Laura said, looking up. "I've felt like this the last few days... couldn't eat much of anything, especially breakfast. It just seems worse today. I... maybe I better go home before I give you all whatever I've got."

"I don't think thuir's much chance o'that," Molly said, an odd smile on her face. "I do think that I'll be taking ye over to the Doc's, though - if ye don't mind, Love," she added for Shamus.

"Take her," Shamus said. "She's no good t'me, sick as she is, and ye'll spend the whole day worrying, if ye don't get some help for her."

"Thank ye, Love," Molly said, taking her arm. "Do you think ye can walk by yuirself?" she asked Laura. "Or do ye need Jane and me t'be helping ye, too?"

Laura slowly came to her feet. "I... I can make it." She took two steps towards the door, stopped, and clenched her stomach again. "And I... no offense, Shamus, but the... the sooner I get away from the smells in here, the better."

* * * * *

About forty minutes later, she was sitting on Dr. Upshaw's examining table, buttoning her blouse. "Well, what do you think, Doc?" she asked, standing up.

The Doc looked up from some notes he'd been reading. "I think it's a good thing I gave you that full work-up a few days after you... umm, changed."

"What do ye mean?" Molly asked. Upshaw never examined a woman without a second woman in the room. It protected both the patient's reputation and his own.

"From that earlier examination, I know that Laura's... reproductive system was completely indistinguishable from that of a... of any other woman's."

"And now it isn't?" Laura asked nervously. "Is that what you're saying?"

"No, Laura," Doc said, "but please sit down before I say anything else."

Laura sat back down on the examination table. "Okay, Doc. Give me the worse. Am... am I dying?"

"No, no," Upshaw said with his best reassuring smile, "just the opposite."

"The opposite?" Laura shook her head.

"Mrs. Caulder... Laura," Doc said. "You're not leaving this world. You're bringing a new life into it." When she still didn't seem to understand, he added. "Laura... you're pregnant."

"I'm what?" She asked that question as if she really hadn't grasped the impact of his words.

"Pregnant... about six weeks, I'd say. Must have happened right around your wedding day."

"By all the blessed saints in Heaven," Molly said, taking Laura's hand and squeezing hard.

"Are you joking, Doc?" Laura asked, a note of disbelief in her voice. Her stare was wide-eyed and intense.

Doc held up his fingers as if checking a list. "You never had your last monthly... 'visitor', as some ladies like to call it, right?" Laura nodded, and Upshaw bent one finger down. "And they've been regular before that, right?"

Laura nodded again.

"And the other ladies," Molly said. "Bridget and Maggie and Jessie - once she come back - thuir monthlies all come right on time."

"I expect they would," Upshaw said and lowered a second finger. "And now you're having nausea in the morning, especially triggered by the smell of food."

Laura frowned and glanced off into the corner. "The last three mornings, anyway."

"And you told me that you've been more tired than usual." He lowered another finger.

"Yeah," Laura agreed, "mostly from getting up every couple hours during the night to go to the necessary."

Doc lowered yet another finger. "The clincher is the examination I just gave you." He continued. "There are certain physical changes to a woman's... umm, internal organs that become visible about the sixth week of pregnancy. Your body had all those changes. Congratulations... momma."

Laura slumped back on the examination table. "Aww... shit!"

* * * * *

Molly stormed into the Saloon, all but dragging Laura by the arm.

"Hullo, ladies," Shamus greeted them. "How'd it go at --"

"Later," Molly quickly interrupted.

"Shamus," Laura said desperately, dragging her feet to slow Molly down, "can you talk some sense into her? She dragged me all the way back here from the Doc's."

"It's ye that need to be talking sense to," Molly said angrily. "Ye been talking crazy-like since Doc Upshaw said ye was pregnant." Her grip tightened on Laura's arm, and she started for the stairs. "Now come along with ye."

Jane has been standing only a few feet away by the bar. "Sh-shamus, did Molly just say what I think she said?"

"Aye, Jane, she did," He pursed his chin and smiled. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, she said that Laura's gonna t'be having a wee babe."

"I-I'm gonna be an auntie," Jane said happily. "I'm gonna be an auntie."

* * * * *

Molly pushed open the door to the pair of rooms that she and Shamus called home. She walked in, still pulling Laura, and slammed the door shut behind her. "Sit down," she ordered. "We got us some privacy now, and we can talk."

"What the hell's the matter with you, Molly?" Laura all but screamed at the other woman. "Dragging me out of Doc Upshaw's office and all the way back here. Then... then you have to go and tell Shamus that I'm pregnant, to boot."

"Ye are pregnant, Laura. Why shouldn't himself be knowing about it?"

"Because I... I... because, that's all. The whole damned world doesn't need to know my problems."

"Now, how can such a blessed thing as a baby be any sort of a problem?"

"Because... because I don't want to be pregnant. I don't want to have a baby. There, now you know; are you satisfied?"

"What? Ye're joking. Ye must be."

"Oh, come off it, Molly. I can't be the first... woman... you ever knew who didn't want to get pregnant."

"Aye, and there's been many reasons for 'em not to be wanting a baby: no money t'be caring for it, no love in a marriage - or no marriage at all, or too many babies already." She shook her head. "But none of them reasons fits you and Arsenio. Money's not a real problem, him being the only blacksmith in town, and I never did see any two people more in love than the --"

"Let me ask you a question," Laura interrupted her. "Where's yours?"

"Where's my... what are ye asking?" Molly's voice sounded suddenly cautious.

"You've been carrying on and on about the joys of children, Molly, only as far as I can see, you and Shamus never had any. In the two months and more I've been in Eerie, I've never met any kids of yours, or seen pictures, or even heard you or Shamus talk about them. So before you say another word about my baby, Molly O'Toole, you better tell me where your children are."

Molly's expression turned to sudden rage. She slapped Laura's face. Hard. "Get... out... of... here," she said through clenched teeth. "Ye can go downstairs. Ye can go home. Ye... ye can go to hell for all I care. Just go!"

* * * * *

Shamus saw Laura hurrying down the stairs and walked over to her. "Did I hear me Molly right, Laura?" he asked with a big smile on his face. "Are ye truly going to be having a baby?"

"Huh?" Laura wasn't sure just what he was saying. "Oh, uh, yeah." She rubbed her cheek. "Yeah, I'm... like you said." Then she added angrily, "and that wife of yours is crazy."

"Now why would ye be saying that?"

"She drags me all the way up to your rooms and starts telling me just how wonderful it is to be pregnant. It isn't, not always."

"And?" Shamus frowned; he didn't like the way Laura seemed to be heading.

"And..." Laura was too angry to notice the change in his expression. "And when I asked her where your babies were, if it was so wonderful, and she hauls off and hits me for no damned reason."

Shamus's faced darkened, his words came clipped and cold. "I understand it now. Laura, ye're..." he struggled with himself. "Ye'll be taking the rest of the day off, starting right now."

"What? Why are you getting your dander up now? You're as crazy as --"

"Don't ye be saying another word, Laura, or we'll the both of us be sorry." Shamus turned towards the bar. "R.J., I told Mrs. Caulder to be going home for the day. Please see that she does just that."

"Okay, Shamus," R.J. said, looking puzzled. When he saw Laura looking at him just as confused as he felt, he just shrugged, not sure what to say.

"Thank ye, R.J.," Shamus said. "I'll be going upstairs now to be with Molly."

"You going to be long?" R.J. asked.

Shamus sighed as he started up the stairs. "Probably, R.J., probably."

* * * * *

Jessie set the tray of clean glassware down on the bar as carefully as she could. "Damn, that's heavy. Where the hell is everybody?"

"Shamus and Molly are upstairs," R.J. said. "I think they'll be up there for a while."

"What for?" Jessie asked. "It ain't like them t'spend time upstairs in the middle of the day. Molly ain't sick is she?" She looked around. "And where's Laura anyway?"

"Molly's not sick," R.J. said. "She's just upset about something. Shamus'll tell us about it when he comes down - if he thinks we need to know."

"What about Laura?" Jessie asked. "Why ain't she here?"

"Shamus sent her home just before he went upstairs," R.J. said.

Jessie scowled. "What? And leave me with all the work? I got a good mind t'go over and drag her back here."

"I think Laura's in a mood to beat your butt all the way back here." R.J. couldn't help smiling at the image. "Even preg..." Damn, he hadn't meant to say anything until he could talk to Shamus or Molly about it.

"Preg... ?" Jessie's eyes widened in surprise. "Pregnant! Are you saying that Laura's pregnant?"

Jane nodded, glad to fill in the story. "That's what Molly told us when they come back from seeing the Doc."

"Shit!" Jessie's surprise changed to fear. "I didn't think we... I mean when... how did it hap... are you sure that's what she said, R.J.?"

R.J. shrugged. "Near as I could tell it is. They were arguing, walked past here in a - don't go up there, Jessie." R.J. shouted at the woman as she hurried towards the steps. "I don't think Molly or Shamus'd be ready to see you up there, and you really don't want to get them mad at you, do you?"

"No... no, I don't," Jessie said with a sigh. "I'm already mad enough at myself; I don't need two people piling on." She sat down on the second step from the bottom and shook her head.

* * * * *

"Arsenio," R.J. greeted the man, "just what brings you in here in the middle of the afternoon?"

"Hi, R.J.," Arsenio answered. "Laura wasn't feeling too good this morning. I came in to see how she was doing." He looked around the room. "Where is she?"

R.J. found a spot on the top of the bar that seemed to require his immediate and full attention. "She... umm, that is to say --"

"She ain't here," Jane interrupted. "Shamus sent here home."

R.J. groaned and rolled his eyes. 'Trouble,' he thought. 'Big trouble.'

"Home?" Arsenio asked. "What's the matter? Is it serious?"

"Sure is," Jane said happily. "There ain't nothing more serious to a gal than having a baby."

Arsenio's jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide as saucers. "A... a baby? Laura? Are... are you sure, Jane? Ab-absolutely sure?"

"Uh huhn," Jane said, nodding her head. "Molly told me when they come back from Doc Upshaw's office."

"Yee-ah-hoo!" Arsenio yelled at the top of his lungs. He grabbed Jane and kissed her on the forehead. Conversations stopped, as everyone in the bar turned to look in his direction.

Arsenio looked around; there were about a dozen people in the room, not counting, Jane, R.J., and himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his coin purse. He found a $10 gold eagle coin and tossed it to R.J. "Round of drinks for everybody, R.J. - on me. My wife's having a baby!"

The free drinks - and the good news about Laura - were greeted by cheers and shouts of "congratulations."

R.J. put a hand on his friend's arm. "Arsenio, before this goes any further, I think you--"

The blacksmith was too happy to notice the barman's concern. "I think you better get busy." He pointed at the crowd of men converging on the bar. "Have one yourself when you get the chance."

"Arsenio..." R.J. wanted to warn his friend.

"Talk to you later," Arsenio said. "I've got to get home. This news'll be even sweeter when I hear it from Laura." He grinned as he turned to leave. "I just hope I can act surprised."

R.J. shook his head, remembering Laura's frame of mind when Shamus sent her home. "Arsenio... looking surprised is going to be the least of your worries."

* * * * *

"Good afternoon, Margarita," Ramon said, walking in through the open door into her hallway. He sniffed the air, smelling the copal resin incense. "I see you have already started your celebration. May I join you for a while before I ride out to the cemetery?"

"Why not? Shamus let me leave early. Jane is in charge again tonight." Maggie smiled and gestured towards the parlor. "The children are in there." She turned and walked towards the other room. Ramon turned to the door and put his extended finger to his lips. Then he turned back and followed Maggie into the parlor.

The paper chains that Ernesto and Lupe had made were draped along the edge of the table. Silvers sparkles representing stars were scattered across the sheet on the wall. The blue bowl in front of the picture frame was now filled to overflowing with calabaza en tacha, candied pumpkin. A bottle of atole, a thick corn liquor, and a brightly painted wooden goblet stood next to the bowl. A pitcher of water sat on the other side of the bowl, with a second wooden goblet next to it.

Lupe and Ernesto were sitting on the couch looking at a photo album. "We have a guest," Maggie said softly.

"Uncle Ramon!" Lupe jumped down from the chair and ran over to him. "Did you come to spend Dia de Los Muertos with us?"

Ernesto put down the album and walked over to the pair, trying to look grown up. "Hola, Uncle."

Ramon shook his head. "I have my own family to see tonight, Lupe. I just came for a short visit."

"Any visit is welcome," Maggie said. "Can I offer you one of the round pan de muertos you made last night? We won't eat the 'rabbits' until..."

"Until Mama Lupe has some," Ernesto finished the thought.

Ramon smiled. "A round one would be nice - though a 'rabbit' would be better. I have wondered what they taste like." He winked. "Your mama would not let me eat any of them last night, either."

"I needed them for Ernesto's school," Maggie said pretending to scold, "but you can have one of the extras tomorrow. I will save it for you as a 'thank you' for all your help."

"It was my pleasure." He looked at his watch. "I must go soon. You seem to have almost everything in hand."

"Almost?" Maggie asked. "what do you mean, 'almost'?"

"Has anyone blessed this shrine of yours?" Ramon pointed to the table.

"No," Maggie said. "No one has. I did not have time to ask."

"That is why I asked for you." Ramon clapped his hand. "Padre, you can come in now."

A short, balding man in a priest's cassock walked into the room. His round face was formed into a warm smile. "Good evening, Margarita, Ernesto, Lupe."

"Fa-father de Castro," Maggie said in surprise, crossing herself. "What... what are you doing here?"

"A friend of yours..." the priest nodded towards Ramon, "... thought that you might want me to come by and bless the shrine of she who was your beloved wife and the mother of your two children." He made the sign of the cross. Maggie and Ramon knelt down on one knee and the children bowed their heads."

"Gracias, Ramon," Maggie whispered, her eyes glistening. "Mucho gracias."

"This is also my pleasure," Ramon whispered back.

* * * * *

Arsenio burst into his house. "Laura... Laura, where are you?"

"In here... laying down." Her voice came from the bedroom. Arsenio hurried in. She was in bed, atop the covers, still dressed except for her shoes. "What're you doing home?"

"I was just at the... R.J. said Shamus sent... I, uh... I ran right over."She frowned. "What for?"

"What for? Aren't you... ?" His voice trailed off in confusion.

'Damn,' she thought, 'somebody - R.J., damn his eyes - told him. Well, let him guess for a while till I know what I think about it.' Aloud she asked, "Aren't I what? I'm in bed 'cause my stomach still hurts. Shamus... Shamus said I could go home." That, at least, was true - sort of.

Arsenio looked confused. "That's all? He sent you home because your stomach was bothering you?"

"If there was anything more," she decided to brazen it out, "wouldn't I tell you?"

Arsenio stood in the doorway. She was hiding something, even if it wasn't a baby. "I would have thought so," he said softly, turning away from the door. "Can I get you some water or something?"

"What... water? Umm, yes, thanks." Laura was too busy staring at her stomach and didn't notice his slumped shoulders as he walked away.

When Arsenio joined her in bed much later that evening, he was hoping to get her into a more relaxed and - he hoped - more talkative frame of mind. "Wanna cuddle a little? I'll rub your belly, if you'd like."

"I'm, uhh... it's just settling down, and I don't want to risk getting it worked up again."

"How about we just cuddle?" He raised his arm, opening a space for her to snuggle against him.

She raised herself a little and moved away - away! - from him. "I'm... I'm kind of tired, Arsenio. Maybe... maybe tomorrow."

"Maybe... ?" He leaned over and blew out the candle on his bed table. When he settled back down, he saw that she was curled up like a ball, her back to him.

* * * * *

Friday, November 3, 1871

Laura took a deep breath, braced herself, and walked into the Saloon. 'At least I don't smell Maggie's cooking,' she thought. She had enough on her mind to tie her stomach in knots. R.J. and Shamus were behind the bar. 'Nothing ventured..." She shrugged and walked over to them. "Morning, R.J. Shamus."

"Good morning, Laura," R.J. said, giving her what she hoped was a smile of encouragement. "Feeling better this morning?"

"A little," Laura replied. "The Doc said nibbling on crackers now and then would help some. It surely did this morning."

"I'll be telling Maggie t'make sure that we have some on hand during the day," Shamus said, "over t'the Free Lunch table."

"Thanks, Shamus," Laura said. Maybe things weren't as bad as she'd expected.

"I don't need me people getting sick on me, Mrs. Caulder," Shamus said. "Ye'd best go get yuir apron on. Ye can keep some crackers in yuir pocket, too." No, things were worse than she'd expected.

"Shamus," she said. "I --"

"I ain't paying ye t'gab. Get yuir apron on. There's dishes and such from the restaurant that needs washing. Go in the kitchen and get started."

Laura decided that it would be better not to argue. She nodded and began walking towards the door to the kitchen.

"And I'll be thanking ye not to say anything to me Molly when she comes downstairs," Shamus called after her. "She's having a bit of a lie down this morning, and I'll not have ye upsetting her again."

"I upset her?" Laura muttered under her breath. "Not by half." Much worse than she expected, and she wondered how long she could keep her temper.

* * * * *

"That's it, BonBon," Wilma said merrily, "get the rope... get the rope." She sat in a chair in the parlor of La Parisienne, legs splayed wide apart. She was in her "working clothes", violet corset with matching stockings, and silky white drawers. Her hand was tight around the knot of one end of a thick length of rope, the other end of which was in the pup's mouth. BonBon pulled and tugged at the rope, growling playfully.

Herve Navetier watched silently from the doorway. 'Incroyable,' he thought. 'She is like a little child playing there with a pet. Yet, but a few days ago, this woman defeats a cochon twice her size without a pause.' Well, she was hardly the first oddity he had seen since he left the small Breton fishing village where he was born, and, especially, since he came to Amerique.

"Wilma," he said softly, "may I speak with you?"

Wilma looked up. "What... oh, sure, Herve." She let go of the rope. BonBon waited a moment for her to pick it up. When she didn't, he gave a disappointed "Yip!" and ran off. Herve walked into the room and sat down on a chair opposite Wilma. She looked at his broad shoulders and wavy brown hair and sighed. Cerise had been very specific. This man was off limits, Cerise's "private stock", and trespassing would not be tolerated.

'Forbidden fruit was always my favorite,' she thought, 'but I owe Cerise.'

"I wanted to thank you for what you did for Rosalyn," he said ignoring her stare, "rescuing her when I did not."

"I just happened to be closer... just two doors away, in fact."

"Indeed, and with a... companion. Still you acted, even though you and Rosalyn are hardly... close."

"Close? She's had a bur in her britches about me since I come here."

"I would hope not; not with what Cerise pays for those britches." He smiled. "If she does not like you, nor you her, why did you..."

"Why'd I go storming in there and do what I done?" She shrugged. "'Cause she's part of the - I don't know - the gang. You don't have to like the people in your gang, but you gotta stick by 'em, or you don't get the job done. Besides, when I saw what that bastard was doing to her... nobody's got the right t'do something like that."

"They say that you did worse when you were..." His voice trailed off.

"... when I was a man." She completed the thought. "No, not to a helpless woman, or a man neither, not tied up like that I didn't."

Herve didn't look convinced, but he let the matter go. "We have gotten far off the mark, as you Americans say. Why is not important. You did what I did not."

"Herve, you were downstairs, like you're supposed to be. You came running soon as you heard the noise, and you come with that cannon you keep in your holster drawn and ready. You got nothing t'be ashamed of."

"I am not ashamed, just... unsettled."

"Don't be. It wasn't me who hauled him off to the Sheriff... or sent Daisy t'bring the Doc on the run. You done that."

"Oui, I did. Rosalyn will be fine - and hardly without a scar, thankfully - and that cochon is already on his way to the penitentiary for two years."

"Woulda been better if Judge Humphreys made him take that potion of Shamus', give him his own tits t'play with."

"I agree, but the Judge gave him a choice, and he chose jail." Herve smiled. "You are a good woman, Wilma Hanks, not to make me feel guilty."

Wilma took his large hand and pressed it against her breast, sighing at the erotic feel of it there. "Thanks, Herve, and someday, if Cerise lets us, you'll get to see just how good I am."

* * * * *

"Hi, Laura, R.J. told me you was back. How're you feeling."

Laura turned to see Jane leaning against the kitchen worktable. "Good morning, Jane. Not too bad, I guess."

"Not too bad? You should be feeling great; you're gonna be a mamma."

"Don't say that," Laura snapped.

"What are you so mad about? Babies is happy news, ain't they?"

"I haven't decided yet if I want to be happy about this baby."

"Well, you oughta be. I know I am, and I'm just gonna be its aunt." She took a breath. "What's Arsenio think about it?"

"He doesn't know. I... I didn't tell him yet."

"You don't have to." Jane grinned, happy to have helped. "I, uhh, sorta told him already."

"You didn't!"

"I surely did. He come in here yesterday afternoon looking for you, worrying about you being sick and all, and I gave him the good news."

"How'd he take it?"

"I never saw a happier man. He let out a whoop that filled the room and tossed R.J. a gold eagle. 'Drinks for everybody,' he says, 'my wife's having a baby.' Then he ran outta the place looking for you."

"No wonder he..." Laura gritted her teeth. "Thanks, Jane; thanks for nothing." She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking of what she was going to say to Arsenio when she went home. Nothing came to her. She sighed and tried to change the subject. "So, did I miss anything else yesterday?"

"Just that we was real, real busy."

"Why? It's the middle of the week. Not many people come in on a Thursday."

"No, but we didn't have a whole lotta help for the ones that did. You was gone, and Molly took sick or something. She spent the whole day up in her room, and Shamus was up there almost as much as she was."

She paused, then brought up the awkward subject: "I think he's mad at you about something?"

"That, I already know." Laura snapped at Jane.

"Well, don't take it out on me. I don't know why everybody's so mad right now. I feel like I'm walking around on a tray of raw eggs."

"Yeah," Laura said wryly, "and babies is such happy news."

* * * * *

Jessie balanced the tray on the doorknob and gently knocked. "Molly, can I come in? Shamus sent me up with your lunch."

"Come in, Jessie." Molly's voice was clear even through the door.

Jessie carefully opened the door and walked through. Molly was sitting in a plushly upholstered dark green wing chair. Her head rested against a small, matching pillow held by straps around the "wings" that projected on either side of the headrest. She wore a green and yellow-checkered dress that was opened in the front like a robe.

Molly put down her issue of Harper's Bazaar, as Jessie kicked the door closed. "Where's me Shamus?" she asked.

'Shoot,' Jessie thought, 'almost 1 o'clock, and she's still in a nightgown and robe. Something is surely bothering her.' Aloud, she answered. "The Eulers just showed up with a load of beer for the weekend. Shamus said he'd be up soon as he finished with them. He didn't want you t'wait." She looked around. "Where should I put this?"

"Over there." Molly pointed to a low table by the sofa. "Shamus and me can sit there and be having our meal together."

Jessie put the tray down on the table. She turned to leave, then stopped and turned back. "Molly, can I... oh, never mind. I... I, uh, don't want to bother you right now."

Molly shifted over to the couch and patted the space next to her. "Sit down, Jessie; it's all right. Sure'n, it'll be a nice change to be thinking about somebody else's worries for a while."

"You... you got to promise me you won't tell nobody - and I mean nobody, not even Shamus - what I tell you."

Molly regarded Jessie curiously as the younger woman sat nervously on the couch. Jessie kept glancing at the door as if expecting the barman to walk in that instant.

"Well, now, there's few secrets I've kept from himself through the years." Molly said. "How about if I promise that I won't be telling him unless I have to, unless it's something that I think he needs to know?"

"I-I guess that'll have to do." Jessie took a deep breath. "It's... it's about Paul, Paul Grant, the deputy sheriff. He's the one that brought me back when I ran away."

Molly nodded. "The lad ye're sweet on."

"No... yes. Does everybody in town know about me and Paul?"

"Not many, I'm thinking. Ye kissed him right after yuir trial, but that was weeks ago, and the two of ye have been pretty good at hiding things since then." She waited a moment, watching Jessie's face. "'Course, now thuir ain't much that goes on in this here Saloon that I don't know about, like that bench out in me yard and the use some people put it to."

"And I thought we was so careful."

"You thought wrong; at least as far as I was concerned. But what's yuir problem? He's as smitten with ye as ye are with him."

Jessie smiled at that. "I hope so. It's just that - you promise not t'tell?"

"I already did, didn't I, but if it'll make you feel better..." Molly made the sign of the "king's X" over her heart. "Now what is it that ye're so scared about telling?"

"The day I came back t'Eerie, the night before my trial, the Judge said I had to be in jail, you remember?"

"Sure'n I do. Wasn't I was thuir when it happened?"

Jessie nodded. "I... I spent that night in jail, but I... I wasn't in a cell." She could feel her cheeks redden. "I, uhhh, I was... I was in Paul's bed... with him."

The older woman considered Jessie's confession, then smiled. "That's the best way t'be in bed..." Molly took her hand. "... with a man ye love."

"Love... no, I... I was sure I was gonna be hung. I just wanted... wanted t'see what it was like... as a woman... to be with a man."

"Jessie, look me in the eye and tell me that ye wouldn't do it again if ye got the chance... Or have ye been doing it, and I was too blind t'see."

"That... that's my problem. We ain't done it again, and, till yesterday, I wanted to. I really wanted to, and so did he?"

"And what happened yesterday?"

"Laura got pregnant. I mean, I found out she was pregnant. Molly, I know where babies come from. Paul and I was doing it the night after Laura got married. Now she's pregnant, and I'm scared t'death that I am, too."

Molly chuckled. "Jessie, if a woman got pregnant every time she was with a man, thuir'd be... ha, thuir'd be even more children then thuir are in the world. Ye was a man and an 'experienced' one, I'd wager." Jessie nodded, her face almost crimson.

"Well, then," Molly continued, "and did each women ye were with get pregnant - I'll answer for ye - no, they didn't."

"Why not... not that I'd have wanted them to."

Molly shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think the doctors do either for all thuir fancy talk - and don't ye be telling Hiram Upshaw I said that. I do know one thing, though. Am I right that ye had yuir monthlies a couple of weeks ago, just like always?"

"Yeah, same lousy experience as always."

"Now don't ye be saying nasty things about 'the blessing', m'girl."

"Blessing? How can that be a blessing?"

"Because if it comes, it means ye ain't pregnant. I told ye all that the day ye all had yuir first one, but I'll be guessing ye was too worried about the pain and the mess t'remember."

"I guess I didn't... but I remember it now." Jessie smiled, suddenly feeling a hundred pounds lighter.

"Good, cause now ye've got something else to be thinking about. Are ye gonna want to be with Paul again?"

"'Course I am. We figure that we really won't have a chance till my time's up, but that's only..." Her smile became a nervous grin. "... a week from today."

"If ye'll be sleeping with Paul... and ye don't want to get pregnant --"

"I don't; I really don't... don't want to get pregnant, that is. I do want to be with Paul."

"Then ye'd better spend the time finding out how t'keep that from happening."

"How? Please, what can I do?"

"I can tell ye what I... heard was done back before I married Shamus, but that was..." She mumbled a number. "... years ago. Thuir's better ways now, I'm thinking. The Doc can probably tell ye some, but..."

"But? But what?"

"Ye may not want t'be asking her, but yuir sister, what with the 'business' she's in, can probably tell ye more."

Jessie made a sour face. "I ain't sure I want to ask Wilma about something like that."

"Then, m'lass, ye'd best be very, very careful... or be going without."

* * * * *

Arsenio took a deep drink of lemonade and looked across the table at Laura. She was absent-mindedly picking at the baked chicken she'd made for their dinner. "Stomach still bothering you?" he asked cautiously.

"What?" She looked up, having not really heard what he said.

"I said... I was wondering if anything new was going on - at the Saloon or anyplace else - that you knew of."

She looked down at her plate again. "No, uhh... nothing."

'Last chance,' Arsenio thought to himself. 'Well, nothing ventured... ' He sighed. "Laura... I know. Jane told me yesterday that you... you were... pregnant."

"I know, damn it. She had no right to tell you."

"It's true then."

She glared at him. "What do you mean? I thought you said that you knew."

"I know it now. If you weren't pregnant, you'd have denied it, said Jane was lying, or that she'd made a mistake. Instead, you get mad at her for telling me."

"Like I said, she had no business telling you."

"She didn't? Don't I have a right to know?" He swallowed. "Or isn't it mine?"

"Of course it's yours." She gave a bitter laugh. "I haven't been with anybody else. Hell, I didn't even want to be with a man - even you - until that night we..." Her voice trailed off.

He smiled now. "I remember that night - and the next - after we were married. And a lot of other nights - some mornings and afternoons, too." He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

"Damn, it, Laura, what's the matter with you?"

"I'm pregnant! That's what's the matter."

"And I'm the father - only you didn't want to tell me about it."

"No, I... I didn't." There was anger in her voice, but he thought he could hear regret as well.

"Why, for heaven's sake? A baby is --"

"Something that I don't want to talk about." She pushed away from the table and stood up. "I... I have to get back to work."

"Laura, wait; we need to talk about this."

"No," she said firmly. "I need to get back to the Saloon, and you need to get started on the dishes." She hurried out the door before he could answer.

Laura stayed late at the Saloon that night, taking over the sweeping from Jessie as an excuse. "What the hell am I going to say to him?" she whispered to herself as she finally walked home.

As always, there was a candle burning low in the sitting room, when she opened the door. "Shit," she hissed through clenched teeth. Arsenio was already sound asleep, feet up, shoes and pants off, head on a pillow. On the couch.

* * * * *

Saturday, November 4, 1871

"Mrs. Caulder," Molly yelled down to Laura from the top of the stairs, "could ye be hurrying up here, we've rental rooms that need cleaning up and beds that need changing."

"I'm coming as quick as I can, Molly." Laura struggled up the stairs carrying the basket of clean linen, a broom, a scrub brush, and an empty bucket.

"That's Mrs. O'Toole, me girl."

"Oh, come on, Molly," Laura said as she reached the second floor. She put down the basket and the other things to make it easier to talk. "Since when have we had to be on such formal terms?"

"I let me friends call me by me given name. After the way ye acted, I don't know that ye fall into that category any more."

"Molly, look, I don't know what I did that got you so upset, but I'm sorry, honest I am."

Molly studied her for a moment. "Ye've got a good heart, Laura Caulder; I'll give ye that. It's yuir head - and yuir mouth - that get ye in trouble. I'll gladly accept yuir apology... as soon as ye're knowing what it is ye're apologizing for."

* * * * *

Whit was rinsing out a stack of shaving mugs, when he heard the bell over his door. "Sorry, I'm about ready to close," he said, anxious to get home.

"Can you spare a little time, at least, for a shave and some talk?" a familiar voice asked.

"Arsenio?" Whit turned to see his friend settle down in the barber chair. "I suppose I can... for you. Just let me get the door." He locked the front door and turned the small sign that hung from a cross bar, so the word "Closed" faced the street.

Walking back to the chair, he studied Arsenio's face. "I think you need the talk more than the shave, old friend." The blacksmith's shaving mug was white porcelain, with a gold trim, and Arsenio's name over a golden anvil. Whit took it from among the mugs on one shelf and added some shaving soap that he began to work into a lather.

"That's the truth," Arsenio said. "I wanted to wait till you were alone, so we could talk freely. If Carmen yells, you be sure to tell her it was my fault."

"I don't think she'll yell - not much, anyway. She knows how busy I can get on a Saturday." He began to spread lather on Arsenio's face. "Now what's your problem?"

"Laura." Arsenio let out a heavy sigh. "She's... she's pregnant."

"Well, now, congratulations." Whit put the edge of a straight razor against Arsenio's cheek, and began to scrape off lather and hair. "When did she tell you the good news?" He shook some lather - and hair - from the razor, giving Arsenio time to answer.

"That's just it. She didn't tell me." He sighed again. "Jane did."

"Jane spoiled the surprise, and Laura got mad. Is that your problem?" Whit kept shaving Arsenio as he talked.

"I only wish it was. Laura didn't want to tell me. I waited almost two days for her to say anything. Finally, I just gave up and told her that I knew."

"Two days. What happened when you told her?"

"She got all mad - said she didn't want to talk about it. She carried on like she thought it was something awful."

"What did you do?"

"I tried to get her to talk."

"Would she?"

"Not hardly. She said that she had to get back to work and stormed out."

"Lift your chin." Arsenio did, and Whit slid the razor carefully against the left side of his throat. "Women get that way sometimes, not want to talk about something that's bothering them. The best thing to do is to be patient, don't push and wait till she does want to talk."

"I suppose... only... only, having a baby is something that has to be talked about, talked about a lot. Eleanor and I..." He paused, remembering. "We talked about it a lot. She was sick for so long - that's why we came out here, so she could get better, and we could get started on the family we both wanted. Towards the end, she..." His voice broke. "She apologized - actually apologized - not for dying, for... for not leaving a child behind to... to remember her by."

Arsenio closed his eyes and sat very still for a while, thinking, while Whit finished doing his throat. Whit stood motionless beside his friend. Finally, Whit finished. Arsenio opened his eyes and began to speak again. "Now, Laura's... Laura's going to - to have a baby, and she acts like it's the most horrible thing in the world."

"Maybe not horrible so much as unexpected. Remember, she's pretty new to all this."

"Being married you mean? Yeah, I guess her getting pregnant as soon as we were married is kind of rushing things."

Whit smiled and shook his head. "Arsenio, you must be as thick in the head as that iron you work. Three months ago, Laura was a man. You think he - whatever the hell his name was - ever expected to be having somebody's baby?"

"M-maybe not, but Laura, she knew when she married me --" Arsenio paused again. The razor was against his upper lip now.

"She knew she was in love with you - still is, I expect."

"You couldn't prove it by the way she's acting right now."

Whit used a towel to wipe a last bit of lather from Arsenio's side burns. Then he stopped back to survey his work. "Done. You want some bay rum?"

Arsenio nodded. Whit poured some of that liquid on his hands and began to pat it onto his friend's face. "Right now? Her head's tossed like a leaf in a nor'easter right now. She's pregnant, something she never dreamed she'd be in a million years. She needs time to get used to the idea of it. Like I said, be patient and don't push at it. She'll come around."

"You... you think so?"

"I know so." He surely hoped he did.

"I'll try it, and I hope you're right." He stood up from the chair.

"I am. By the way, you owe me four bits for the shave - plus a handsome tip for my words of sage advice."

* * * * *

"I do believe that this dance is mine." Paul handed Jessie his ticket. She stepped into his arms just as the band began playing a lively mazurka.

As they danced, Jessie saw that Paul was guiding them away from the main part of the crowd. "What... what are you doing?" she whispered.

"It's 9:50." Paul tilted his head for an instant, as if he were pointing at the clock on the wall. "Hiram and the band always take a break at 10. You can set your watch by them. I figured that, if we left now, we could get an early start on that bench out in Molly's garden."

Jessie felt herself warm to the idea, literally. Then she remembered. "Paul, I..." She stopped in mid-step, pulling Paul off balance.

"What's the matter, Jess?"

"Laura, she's... she's gonna have a baby." She started dancing again, though she stayed more or less in place. They were far enough from the band now to be able to talk over the music without having to yell.

Paul nodded. "Yeah, I heard. Ain't it something?"

"They got married the day before we come back to Eerie. They was on their honeymoon the night we... you know."

"I'm not sure what you're saying."

"It coulda been me. I... I mighta got preg-pregnant, too."

Paul took a step back and looked down carefully at her stomach. "You... you aren't, are you?"

"Nope. Molly told me a gal don't have her monthlies when she's pregnant, and I had mine since that night."

"You told Molly about... us?"

"I did. She promised not t'tell anyone, and I... I trust her."

Paul thought about that. "Then I suppose I do, too - not that I have a lot of choice in the matter." He waited a beat. "I wish you'd come talk to me about it, though."

"About being pregnant, how come?"

"'Cause a man has to know if a woman's having his baby. He has to do right by her, if he's any sort of a real man."

"Well, I ain't pregnant, so you don't have t'worry about it."

"Jess, having a baby with you wouldn't be a worry. It'd be a pure joy."

Jessie smiled. He felt a warm flush run through her body, felt her nipples tighten into little buds. Lord, he knew how to get to - No!

Paul saw her smile fade into fear. "What's the matter?"

"I-I don't want to have a baby, yours or anybody else's. Okay, I'm... I'm starting t'like being a girl - thanks t'you, mostly - but a baby, I ain't even near to being ready for that." Her voice was getting shrill.

"Can we talk about this someplace else - someplace outside, maybe?"

"No, Paul. We go outside - out to that garden - and we ain't gonna talk. You and I both know that."

"We 'ain't gonna' do anything that would get you pregnant, either, and you know that."

"I know it. And I know what we would do, and how much I'd enjoy doing such things - and, believe me, I do enjoy them." She smiled. "But doing them makes me wanna do other things, things that surely could get me pregnant. And even the idea of that happening scares the living hell outta me."

"So what do we do now?"

"For now, we stay in here and finish this dance. I enjoy being in your arms like this, only, in here, with the music going and all these people, ain't nothing can happen."

Paul shrugged and took her into his arms again. As they began moving to the music, he whispered, "I like dancing with you, too, Jess, but I hope you can figure out some way around your worries, so we can have some of that other kind of fun, too."

* * * * *

Teaser: The adventures of the ladies of the Eerie Saloon continue. A mystery is revealed. Laura tries to adjust to her new condition. And two more transformations occur.

* * * * *

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change - Autumn
By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson (c)2005
Part 2 - November

Sunday, November 5, 1871

Milt Quinlan walked directly to the bar. "Good afternoon, Shamus. Do you mind if I talk to Jane for a few minutes?"

"I don't see why not," Shamus said. "We isn't exactly swamped with customers right now. Sit yuirself down someplace, and I'll be sending her over to ye."

Now Milt looked around the bar. "I'll be over there." He pointed to an empty table near the wall. There was no one sitting anywhere nearby. "Oh, and have her bring a beer for me and something for herself." He put a silver dollar on the bar and walked away without waiting for change.

Jane came over almost as soon as he sat down. She put two beers on the table and took a seat across from Milt. "What's the matter?" She asked nervously.

"And good afternoon to you, Jane," Milt answered. He took a quick drink. There's nothing wrong, actually."

Jane looked dubious. "Then what're you doing here?"

"To... ah, tell the truth, I was planning on coming in to see you today - to see how you were doing, anyway, but, now, I've got what may be some good news."

"May be? What sort of 'good news' you talking about?"

"Ned Handy came to see me yesterday. He says his old claim is played out, and he wants to buy yours instead of having to start over from scratch. He offered me... you $250 cash for each of your claims, lock, stock, and barrel - except for your personal effects, of course."

"Personal effects? What's that?"

"Clothes, family pictures, anything like that you have in your cabin. He'd get everything else, even whatever mining tools you have."

"No."

"No? Are you sure? That's $500, most of the claims around here haven't given up anywhere near that in the entire time that they've been worked."

"There's a lot more'n... no, I'm keeping my claim... claims."

"But how are you going to work them? Not to belabor the obvious, but you're a woman now."

Jane stiffened. "Yeah, but I'm a strong woman, ask anybody. I may not be as strong as I was, but I'm strong enough."

"Perhaps, but there's things out there that a beautiful - that a woman up there alone has to worry about that a man doesn't."

"I ain't gonna be alone out there. I'm gonna ask somebody - Davy Kitchner, probably - to come out there with me."

"Davy? Are you certain that he'll want to go with you? I heard about the attack on him a few days ago - and what was on the note they found on him."

"Yeah, but he's been up at his own claim since then, and ain't nobody bothered him any. He'll come if I ask. He's my friend. Besides, his own claim ain't showed much color lately. Hey... you think Ned'd like t'buy Davy's claim instead?"

"I don't know. I'll suggest it to him when I give him your answer." He took a drink. "You are certain that you don't want to sell?"

"I am. I wanna get back out there soon as I can."

"I'd much prefer it if you were to stay here in town - for your own safety, of course."

Jane took the last sip of her beer. "Thanks, Milt. It's good t'know that my lawyer's still looking out for me." She saw that Shamus was waving to her. When he saw her look his way, he pointed to the clock. "Shoot, I gotta go. It's getting on towards suppertime, and it's my turn to wait the tables for Maggie tonight." She stood up. "There ain't anything else, is there?"

"No," Milt said, shaking his head slowly. "Nothing else."

* * * * *

Arsenio looked up from his copy of Frank Leslie's Weekly at the sound of the door opening. "You're home early."

"Not too busy at the bar," Laura said, giving him a tired smile. "Shamus is still mad at me, I guess. He said he was tired of looking at me just sitting around, and sent me home."

Arsenio put down the paper. "That's where he and I are different. I could never get tired of looking at you."

"Thank you for that." Laura came over and kissed him on the forehead before sitting down on the couch.

Arsenio frowned. "What I do get tired of is trying to understand --"

"Arsenio, please, I don't want to talk about the baby."

"Okay, can we talk about talking about the baby?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can we talk about why you're so upset?"

"I-I'm not sure I want to do that, either."

"Laura, please. You're my wife, and something very important is bothering you. What kind of a husband would I be, if I didn't want to help you deal with it?"

"It's... it's hard to explain."

"Try... try the best you can. I'll just listen for now. Take as long as you want."

Laura closed her eyes and thought for a while. "Did you ever wonder who... who I look like?"

"I suppose. Shamus told me once that you all looked like the woman each of you thought was the prettiest you ever saw." He gave her a wink. "That's the one thing that you - the man you were - Jake Steinmetz and I ever agreed on. You surely are the prettiest woman I ever saw."

"Thank you for that, whether it's true or not." She took a breath, letting it out slowly. "Her name was Gertrude... Trudy Muller. Her father worked at Steubens' Feed and Grain. I met her when I went to work there after my daddy died. I was 14, she was 13, but we knew we were meant to be together."

"What happened?"

"My family happened. Mama was sick all the time. Somebody had to take care of my sisters. When I was 17, I told Trudy that we couldn't get married while I had to take care of them. She wasn't very happy about it, but she said that she understood. We were young, and she could wait."

"But she couldn't, could she?"

"Elizabeth got married a year later, Theo's a good man, but they couldn't take in the others. Neither could Joe, Annabel's husband, after they got hitched. By that time, Trudy was 19. She came to me one day at the store and said that Fred Hanson had asked her to marry him and go homestead in Nebraska. She said that she'd rather go there with me."

"And you couldn't leave."

"No... I-I wanted to, wanted to with all my heart, but..." She buried her face in her hands.

Arsenio finished for her. "You couldn't, not with your mother sick and three sisters left to take care of."

"I asked her to marry me and stay there with me in Indiana. She... She was smart enough to say no. A wife can't be the second fiddle in the band."

"Laura, I-I'm sorry for what happened, but I don't see --"

"No, I guess you don't. Arsenio, all I had ever wanted was to marry Trudy, and she wanted to marry me. But we couldn't because I had too many people depending on me. So she went off to Nebraska with Fred. I swore that day that, as soon as I was free of mama and the girls, I was going to get out of there. I was gonna go out west and live my own life. Have some adventures and not depend on anybody or have anybody depend on me - not for anything real - until I was good and ready."

"What about me? Seems to me that a man and wife depend on each other for everything."

"Didn't you tell me once that the first thing you liked me for was the way I took care of myself and didn't blame anybody for changing into a girl?"

"Well, it was the first thing after the way you looked in that dress Molly put you in." He saw the look in her eyes. "Okay, it was the first important thing. There was a spirit in there that I wanted to know." He took her hand. "And I've never been disappointed in the knowing."

Laura tried to smile at the compliment. "You're a good man, Arsenio Caulder, and a strong man, too. You don't want a wife hanging on you."

'Not unless we're in bed together,' Arsenio thought, but he was smart enough not to say it. Instead he said, "No, I don't."

"I could see that. I still can. But now, now I'm going to have a baby, the... the most helpless thing in the world. How can I not be tied down by it? Can I work at the Saloon, let alone learn to be a blacksmith --?"

"Blacksmith? Is that what you're worried about, that I won't teach you to work iron? First, you almost killed yourself - and me - trying to prove I should teach you. Now... now... this. You don't want to have my baby, because, then, I won't teach you to be a blacksmith?"

"Well, you won't, will you?"

"Not while you're pregnant I won't. It's too big a risk." He paused a beat. "Maybe... maybe when the baby's come. When it's older, and you don't have to spend so much time with it."

"How long do I wait this time because somebody needs me? How long, Arsenio, two years... five... ten?"

Aresnio scratched his head. "I don't rightly know how long. I never had a young-un before."

Laura rose from her couch. "Well, I don't know either. Until I know, how can I say that I can stand waiting around again for someone else? If a life of my own isn't going to start now, when is it going to start? When I'm too old to care?" Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked into the bedroom, closing the door against his belatedly forming words.

* * * * *

Laura came back into the setting room about two hours later. "I... are you coming to bed?"

"Thought I'd be more comfortable out here." He was already stretched out on the couch, shoes off and pants draped over a chair. "Goodnight." He leaned over and blew out the lamp he'd been reading by.

* * * * *

Monday, November 6, 1871

Jessie looked through the half-opened doorway into Shamus' office. "Shamus..." She knocked on the doorframe. "Shamus, R.J. said you wanted me for something."

"That I did," Shamus said. He was sitting on a plain wooden chair behind his desk, two boards laid atop two empty stacks of liquor boxes. "Come in and sit yuirself down."

He waited for her to find a place on a short stack of boxes before he continued. "Yuir sentence is up in a few days, ye know."

"Know? I been counting the hours."

"And have ye also been thinking of what ye was going to be doing afterwards?"

"No, I... I really haven't. Planning never was my strong suit."

"Except when ye're planning trouble for someone else, then ye're a marvel at it, like when ye almost got them men t'be wrecking me saloon."

Jessie grinned in spite of herself. "Well... there is that."

"Aye, thuir is - or thuir was." He looked at her closely, like a bug under a reading glass.

She didn't like it. "What do you mean, was?"

"T'tell the truth, Jessie, I don't think ye're quite the same lass ye was back then."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning ye've changed, and for the better, I'm thinking. Thuir's a job here at me saloon for ye for as long as ye want it."

She wanted to laugh. "Me, stay here as a waitress, like Laura? How d'you know I don't want to get on a horse and put as many miles between me and the town as I can?"

Shamus had seen Jessie and Paul kiss at the trial, and he'd noticed the way they seemed to be acting towards one another. 'Don't want t'say anything about it,' he thought. 'It'd only spook the lass.' All he said was, "I don't know what ye want. That's why I asked ye. I'm thinking, though, that thuir's reasons ye'd want t'be staying, and if ye do, ye'll need a job and a place t'stay. That's what I'm offering ye."

"How much time do I have t'decide?"

"We - the Sheriff and me - will be setting ye free on Friday. After that, the town stops paying for yuir room n'board. 'Course, now, 'tis thrown in, if ye was working for me. Let's say ye should make up yuir mind before then, okay?"

"I... I guess. Thanks, Shamus." She stood to leave, and he went back to the records he'd been working on.

Jessie walked out of the storeroom and sat down at an empty table. "Stay here and be the waitress that Wilma teased me about," she whispered to herself. "Or I find something else t'do, be with Paul or... give him up and leave town." She counted out the four days till Friday. "Shit, Shamus, you sure gave me a lot t'do and not enough time t'do it in."

* * * * *

Tuesday, November 7, 1871

Shamus lay still in his bed, listening to Molly's soft snoring. He wanted to roll over and look at her. 'No,' he thought, 'it took long enough for her to drop off. I'll not risk waking her.'

Instead, he let his mind drift back across the years.

* * * * *

"Is she all right, Doc?" Shamus O'Toole, 24-year old assistant barman, stood up as Doc Waldman closed the door to the operating room behind him. Waldman, a tall, dignified man with a walrus mustache, was one of the founders of the San Francisco Merchants and Miners Hospital.

The doctor sighed. Sometimes this was harder than the actual surgery. "She lost a lot of blood, Shamus, but I think she'll be fine... in time." He took a breath. "I... she lost the baby. I'm very sorry."

"Thank ye, Doc. The important thing is that she'll live. We're... we're young. We've time yet to be having a family."

Doc Waldman shook his head. "I'm sorry, Shamus. After what she went through, the damage to her body, I... I don't think she... she can have any more children."

Shamus sank down into a chair. "Does she know?"

"She's still asleep. I'll tell her later, when she's had some time to rest."

"She has to know, doc, but promise me one thing... please."

"What's that?"

"Promise that ye'll not be telling her without me being there. This... this is news that we - the two of us - have t'be sharing from the first."

* * * * *

Shamus kissed Molly on the cheek. "Let's be going t'bed, Molly."

"It's early yet, Shamus," Molly said, looking up from her knitting, a wool hat for the cool San Francisco nights. "There's no need for us to be going to sleep yet."

Shamus gave her a comic leer. "Now, did I say anything about sleeping?"

"How can ye be thinking about anything like that?" Molly's eyes filled with tears.

"It-It's been three months since... since then. The doc said ye'd be healed by now. Is there something wrong, something ye've not been telling me?"

"Everything... everything's wrong. I lost our baby, and I can't be having another." She sobbed. "I'm less than a real woman. How can ye pretend that ye still want me... like this? How can ye even bear t'be living with me?"

Shamus pulled a chair around and sat down facing her. "How can I... Are ye daft, Molly? How can ye be thinking so little of me? No, how can ye be thinking so little of yuirself?"

"What? How can I not, after what happened?"

"Molly, I didn't marry ye just t'be going t'bed with ye or t'be having children with ye. I married ye because I had to."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Had to? Was ye thinking I was pregnant when ye asked me? Ye know we didn't do nothing like that before our wedding night."

"I know, Molly, and that ain't what I'm talking about. I married ye because I had to, because the thought of not being married to ye, of not spending the rest of me life with ye was more than me heart could bear." He wiped a single tear off her cheek. "I loved ye then, Molly Katherine Shaunnesy O'Toole, I love ye just as much this very minute, and I'll be loving ye the same for as long as the good Lord lets us be together in this world - and I'll love ye in the world beyond."

"Hoost, I've never heard such a load of blarney in me life."

"Well, get used to it, Molly, love, 'cause ye'll be hearing it every day from now on till ye know that it's true."

* * * * *

Shamus shook his head. 'She finally did come to believe it, thank the good Lord, but the hurt was still there. And Laura - I never saw Molly happier than when she was being the 'mother of the bride' t'her. Then Laura has to remind her of what happened all them years ago.'

* * * * *

Loud catcalls rang through the saloon.

"Well, lookie who's here."

"Hi, there, Wilma."

"Hey, Wilma, I didn't recognize you with your clothes on." That last was Joe Ortlieb.

Wilma turned towards him. "Why don't you come over later, and you can see me dressed the way you're used to."

"Buy you a drink, Wilma?" Fred Nolan asked.

Wilma blew him a kiss. "Why thank you, Fred, honey. I'd be ever so grateful for one. But it'll have t'be later. Right now, I wanna see my sister."

"She's up in her room," Shamus said, walking over from the bar. "Ye know the way."

Wilma slid a finger along Shamus' cheek. "Shamus, if there's one thing I know, it's how t'go upstairs." She walked over and began climbing the stairs. The sway of her hips was an open invitation to every man present.

In case anyone didn't get her hint, Wilma stopped about two-thirds of the way up and looked down into the room. Most of the men were staring up at her hungrily. She smiled, her eyes half closed, the fingers of one hand suggestively brushing against her ample bosom, and let out a deep, meaningful sigh.

* * * * *

Jessie was sitting at the table in her room, brushing her hair. "I'm a girl. I'm a girl. A few days more, and I ain't never gonna do this again. I'm a girl."

"Well, if that don't bring back some bad memories," Wilma said from the doorway.

Jessie put down the brush. "Wilma! I wasn't sure you was gonna come."

"Now, that's something ain't nobody ever doubts - aw hell, let me be serious here for a minute. I may still be mad at you, Jess, but we's family. You send word you need me, and here I am."

"I can see that, and I'm sorry we've had that bad blood between us. As far as I'm concerned, it's done and over."

"Fine by me. Next time, don't be so danged pig-headed." Wilma laughed and slapped Jessie on her back. "Say, when I came in, I heard you saying that your time was almost done. You want me t'ask the Lady about a job for you?"

"No! You know what I..." Jessie sighed. "Look, Wilma, let's call a truce. I won't say what I think about you working there, and you won't keep asking me to." She put out her hand. "Deal?"

Wilma shook hands with her. "All right, but I still say that you're making a mistake. I can't think of a better way --"

"Wilma, please."

"All right, all right, what did you wanna see me about, anyway?"

"It's... it's about Paul, me and Paul, that is."

"I knew it. I seen the way you two kissed at your trial. I chased after him for a while, myself, but I never caught him. If I couldn't get him, I'm glad you did." She stopped talking and looked closely at Jessie. "So, how is he?"

"What d'you mean, Wilma? He's a good man, I guess. Is that what you're asking?"

"That ain't what I mean, and you know it. How is he in bed? He's got nice, big hands; is he big all over? Is he gentle, or does he like t'play rough at it?"

"Wilma!" Jessie's face flushed. Did Wilma know? Was she guessing? Or was she just playing games?

"Come t'think of it, how'd you like it? It's a whole lot different from doing it as a man." She giggled. "A whole lot better, too, ain't it?"

"I... Wilma, please. That ain't why I asked you t'come over here."

"Oh, come on, Jess. You don't mean t'say that you wasted all them nights you two was on the trail, do you?"

The way she asked reminded Jessie of a trick Paul had mentioned. "Well... we kissed some, and, yes, I liked it, but that was all we done the whole way back here."

"I got a feeling you ain't telling me everything." She waited a moment before speaking again. "What all you n'him been doing since you came back t'work for Shamus?"

"Not as much as I'd like," Jessie admitted. "Not as much as I'd like," Jessie admitted. "Mostly we's just kissing and petting during the dances on Saturday."

"That old bench behind the saloon?" Wilma laughed. "Hellfire, we should have Shamus put on sign on that thing, 'Reserved for the Hanks Sisters.'"

Jessie nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed. Wilma laughed again and continued. "You know, that bench is wide enough - you and Paul could do more'n sit on it if you had the notion."

"That don't sound very comfortable."

"If you want comfortable --"

"Comfortable is nice - I mean, it sounds nice."

Wilma looked at her closely, one dubious eyebrow raised. "You sure all you two done was kiss?"

"That's what I told you, ain't it?"

"It is, but... let's just say that I ain't completely convinced." She paused a beat. "But, hell, you didn't ask me over t'compare notes on men. What do you want?"

Jessie swallowed. "I... Maybe I didn't do anything more n'kiss Paul, but that don't mean I don't want to do more."

"Good for you, Jessie. What's stopping you?"

"Laura... Her being pregnant, I mean. I... I want to be with Paul, but I don't want to have a baby like she's gonna."

"Yeah, I heard about that. It ain't exactly the sort of adventure old Leroy Meehan was looking for when he joined up to ride with us last summer, is it?"

"Ain't none of us got what we expected when we rode into this town."

"Yeah, but I sure ain't complaining." She giggled and slid her hands along her body. "I like the way things turned out."

"I think Laura did, too - till she got pregnant."

"And the thing of it is, there's so many ways to keep that from happening."

Jessie's ears perked up. "What sort of ways?"

"Well, there's... just why do you want to know, little sister?"

"I..." Jessie looked at the ground. "Do I have to say it?"

"No, Jess, but now we're even, 'cause now you know just how much a woman can need to be with a man - even if she ain't took two swigs of Shamus' potion."

"That was a dirty trick, Wilma.

"Yes, yes, it was. Now what do you want to know?"

* * * * *

"Hey, Sheriff," Red Tully said. "You find out anything more about who beat up on Davy and Ozzie?"

"No, Red," Dan answered. "You got any ideas about that?"

"Why you asking me?"

"I hear things, Red. You and Sam Braddock have been chasing after Jane the same as Davy and Ozzie. Seems to me that either of you boys would be happy to see them give up."

"I wouldn't mind them dropping out, Sheriff, but they're my friends. I wouldn't hurt either of them for the world."

"That's pretty much what Sam said." Dan chuckled. "You know, Sam's the only one to profit from all this."

"What? Are you saying Sam did it?"

"No... I don't know who did it, but Ozzie had to pay Sam $2 for putting in a new window."

"That ain't bad," Red said with a laugh. "Scaring a man, and then getting him to pay you for doing it."

* * * * *

Wednesday, November 8, 1871

Sam Duggan took a breath to fortify himself and walked into the enemy camp, the Eerie Saloon. "Howdy, everybody," he called out cheerfully. "How y'all doing?"

"A hell of a lot better that they'd be doing in yuir establishment," Shamus replied as he hurried over to confront the owner of the Lone Star Saloon. "What're ye going here, Sam? Nobody over t'the Lone Star t'be keeping ye company?"

Sam smiled. "Actually, we're doing a land office business, Shamus. In fact, I'm looking to hire more help. I came over to see if Jessie Hanks might be interested in working for me."

"Jessie. Why ye dirty..."

Sam smiled even more broadly. He enjoyed watching Shamus sputter. "That's right, Shamus. I know her sentence is up on Friday, and I thought she might like a... change of scenery."

"And ye came over t'be offering her a job right under me very nose." Shamus' face was red with anger. "I oughta bust ye one."

Sam shrugged. "To tell the truth, I'd just as soon not be seen in your place, Shamus. People might think my standards were dropping. Still, you don't exactly let her roam free around town."

"She's in jail," Shamus answered. "She's not supposed to 'roam free' now, is she?"

Jessie had come over when she first heard Shamus blurt out her name. "How about if I get a say in what I can and can't be doing?"

"My very thought," Sam said, bowing low. "This place..." He waved his arm through the air. "...has been your jail. You ran away once, rather than come back to it. I came to offer you a place to run to... once your sentence is up on Friday, of course."

Jessie turned to Shamus. "You gonna let me hear what he has t'say?"

"I'll not be stopping ye," Shamus shook his head, "much as I'd like to. Ye got the right t'be hearing whatever he has t'say." He glared at Sam. "Just don't ye be too long in the saying of it. I've customers for her t'be taking of."

Sam looked around. "Not that many from what I can see. Now, if you'll excuse us..." He waived his hand dismissively. "...this is a private conversation."

* * * * *

"All right, Rosalyn," Doc Upshaw said, "raise your arms." They were in Lady Cerise's office at La Parisienne. Rosalyn lifted her arms, putting both hands on top of her head. Upshaw reached behind her and began to unroll the bandaging wrapped around her breasts.

"Well, Doc," Rosalyn asked, "am... am I... scarred?"

Lady Cerise was standing a few feet away. "'Ave patience, mon rose blanc, the docteur, 'e is not finished."

"I am now," the Doc said, taking away the bandage. He looked closely at Rosalyn's breasts. "Still a bit of reddening..." He touched a small blotch of darker pink on her left breast.

"Oww!" Rosalyn winced and moved away from his hand.

Doc continued. "...and tenderness, but I very much doubt that there will be any permanent marking. You should be able to return to work in a day or two." He took a small jar out of his doctor's bag to replace the one she'd emptied. "A day if you keep applying this cream... or get your clients to do it."

"I may just do that." Rosalyn smiled at the thought.

Doc Upshaw nodded. "Well, whoever does it, they should just apply it lightly and only on the five area that were burned."

"I will take the salve," Lady Cerise said, "and, as before, I will be the one to apply it. You..." She looked hard at Rosalyn. "...will wait two more days to resume your duties - just to make certain that you are once more at the standards of my house."

"Two days?" Rosalyn whined, then she saw the determined expression on Cerise's face. "Oh, all right, two days."

"It's a good thing Wilma stopped things when she did," the Doc said. "A minute or so more, and those burns would have left a line of permanent scars."

Rosalyn sighed. "Now what'd you have to say her name for? You went and ruined my good mood."

"Rosalyn!" Cerise frowned. "Such ingratitude, it is most unbecoming."

"She didn't have to help you, after all," Doc Upshaw said. "You should be thanking her."

"Yeah," Rosalyn said, pouting, "I should. That's what so galling, having to say 'thanks' to a common little trollop like her."

* * * * *

"So, Jessie," Laura asked, "you gonna take that job, Sam Duggan offered?" Laura, Jessie, and Jane were upstairs taking a break and getting ready for the evening crowd.

Jessie put down her brush. "I don't know... I might. He made me a pretty good offer."

"Oh, come on, Jessie," Laura said. "You wouldn't do that to Shamus."

"I might," Jessie said. "And you can, too, the both of you. Sam told me that the both of you was welcome to come work for him."

Jane laughed. "Don't mean nothing to me. I'm going back to my claim as soon as my time's up."

"How 'bout you, Laura," Jessie asked. "I know you ain't getting on too well with Shamus - or Molly - these days. Can't think of a better way t'spit in a man's eye than t'go work for his rival."

Laura nodded. "We aren't getting on just now, but that doesn't mean I want things to stay that way. I... I owe the both of them too much to want to mess things up by leaving this job." She thought for a moment. "Besides, Sam may not want to hire a... a pregnant waitress."

"Suit yourself," Jessie said, with a shrug.

"Then you are gonna leave?" Jane asked.

"I ain't decided yet," Jessie answered. "When I do, I'll tell you."

* * * * *

Thursday, November 9, 1871

"Oh, Lordy, that feels good," Jessie sighed as she lowered herself into the tub of hot, scented water.

Jane was in a second, nearby tub. "Ahh, tell me about it."

"We ain't all that busy right now," Molly said, as she sat on a chair nearby watching them. "Ye can be soaking yuirselves for a while if ye want." She waited a moment, then added, "Ye know how Shamus and I like t'be pampering our girls when we can."

Jessie laughed. "Save it, Molly. Jane's going back t'work her claims, and it's gonna take more'n a bath to keep me working for Shamus."

"What will it take?" Jane asked without thinking.

Molly looked at them both. "That's what I'd like t'be knowing, too."

"Make that three, Molly," Jessie said, "'cause I ain't near to deciding yet." She eased herself down further into the water, so only her neck and head were above the surface. "I do appreciate the bath, though."

"I'm glad ye like it, Jessie," Molly said. "Why don't ye use the time to make up yuir mind. After all, ye'll be free tomorrow." Jessie shrugged and leaned back against the folded towel that she was using as a headrest.

"Why ain't Laura here with us?" Jane asked.

Jessie shook her head. Just how dumb was Jane? Laura and Molly had been doing their level best to avoid each other the last few days. "Maybe Shamus wanted her to stay there in case he got busy," She offered as an excuse.

"Aye... umm, that's - that's just it," Molly stammered. She turned to Jessie and mouthed the words, "Thank you."

Jane smiled and leaned back in the tub. "Yeah, that must be why." She was almost a head taller than Jessie; her shoulders and the tops of her breasts also stayed above water, her nipples popping up from just below the surface.

'If Jessie's gonna think about what she's gonna do,' Jane thought, 'then so am I.' She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the towel/headrest.

'Shamus says my time's up on Monday,' Jane thought, 'so Sam'n me can - wait a minute, I ain't going with Sam Braddock. I was gonna go with Davy; he's the one that knows mining, and that's what I need in a... a partner. Ain't it? 'Course, now, Sam could come visit - yeah, that'd be real nice.'

Jane didn't notice that her left hand had slipped down into the water and was ever so gently caressing her breast.

'Sam, he's so strong, and he's... he's a carpenter. I bet he could show me things, things about building braces and such.' In her mind's eye, she saw Sam Braddock, naked to the waist, his body glistening with sweat, hammering boards together.

'Hmmm, and Red, he's pretty good with his hands, too, I'll bet. Him being a cowboy and all, he must know a lot of tr-tricks about ropes and how to live out on the range - mmm, and that smile of his.'

Jane's other hand was in the water now. Her fingers slid down across her stomach, moving still lower.

'And... and Ozzie, don't want t'forget about him. He told me one time that he built that press of his himself. Be nice to have a... a man out there that knows about machines. And them long... thin... f-fingers of his and the way he-he can make me feel when he... he uses them f-fancy... words.'

Her hand was at her groin, now. One finger moved along her nether lips, teasing them with a gentle pressure. Her other hand was kneading her breast, playing with the nipple with a finger. Her breathing was shallow, panting, as she felt herself caught up in the sensations that were racing through her body. They were building inside her, lifting her towards something that she suddenly realized she wanted desperately.

"Oh... oh... Milt!" She moaned. Milt? She sat up in surprise just as Molly dumped the bucket of cold water over her and her moan became a scream of shock.

* * * * *

Molly was sitting at a table taking her dinner break, when Jessie came over. "Can I talk to you for a minute, Molly?"

"Aye, sit down if ye like." She gestured towards the chairs around the table.

Jessie chose one opposite Molly and sat down. "I-I wanted to tell you that I've decided t'stay here - not to take that job Sam Duggan offered me."

"I'm glad to be hearing it. What did himself have to say when ye told him?"

"I ain't told Shamus, yet. I-I wanted to tell you first."

"And why would that be?"

"'Cause you're the reason I'm staying."

"Me? Now what in the name of all that's holy have I got t'do with anything?"

"Shamus has been square - square enough - with me, at least by his standards. I respect him some for that, I guess, but - I gotta tell you - it'd be fun t'spit in his eye, t'watch his face when I told him I was going over to the Lone Star."

"But ye ain't going over there - or are ye?"

"I'm not. Shamus is my boss, and I never got on all that well with any boss, with anybody telling me what to do, not even Will sometimes."

"Ain't I been telling ye what ye was supposed to be doing, just the same as himself?"

"Yeah, but you been sticking up for me, too, even when you didn't have to. Paul told me how you forced your way into that inquest, so there'd be somebody there on my side."

Molly nodded, remembering, and Jessie continued. "And when I needed advice about what to do about Paul, you was the one I went to."

"Aye, all of ye - except Wilma - come t'me for advice one time or another."

"The kicker was in the baths this afternoon. Jane asked about Laura. I could see that you didn't want to answer 'cause of that - 'cause of whatever bad blood there is between you two right now. Anyway, if it was almost anybody else, I'd have sit back and enjoyed watching them squirm. Instead --"

"Instead, ye came up with an answer, so I wouldn't be having to. I can see that, but I don't see where all this is going."

"Where it's going is simple. I can quit a boss anytime, but I ain't one to walk out on family." She took a breath. "And somehow, Molly, you got t'be family."

* * * * *

Laura put down the copy of Harper's Bazaar she was reading and looked at the clock on the nightstand beside her. "11:10, this is getting silly."

She climbed out of bed and over to the partly opened bedroom door. Arsenio was on the couch, his feet up and shoes off, reading a book. "Are you coming to bed any time soon?" she asked.

He looked up from his book. "I am in bed," he said sourly.

"You're just being stubborn."

He gave her an angry look. "Who's being stubborn?"

"All right, we both are, I guess. But I miss you. Come to bed. Please."

"What about all that business about the baby? You over that?"

"Over... mmm, no, I'm not - I'm not ready to talk about it, either, but I also don't think it's fair for you to be stuck out on that couch."

"And you miss me. I heard you say that, too."

Laura felt her face redden. "Yes, I do miss you."

Arsenio smiled broadly and closed the book. "Well, if you put it that way." He stood up and turned out the oil lamp he'd been reading by. His pants were off, draped over a nearby chair.

As he walked towards the bedroom, Laura saw a tenting in his drawers. A shiver of pleasure ran through her. It had been a long time.

'No,' she thought. 'Much as I'd like to, that was how I got in this mess, and until he understands...'

Her thoughts were interrupted. Arsenio stopped next to her in the doorway and ran a finger gently along her cheek. "You coming to bed?" he asked softly.

"Arsenio, I'm serious."

"Hmm, so am I." He worked at the top button of her nightgown, just above her breasts. Once it was opened, he reached inside to caress one breast.

The sensation was not what Laura expected, and it wasn't entirely pleasant. "Ohh," she said, taking a step back.

"What's the matter?"

"My breast. When you... touched it..."

"You don't want me to touch you, is that what you're saying?"

"No... It-it hurt."

"Maybe I should just go back to the couch."

"No... please... please stay."

"Sounds like something else you can't decide about."

"I have decided. A man deserves to sleep in his own bed."

"With his own wife?"

"Yes."

"But without touching you?"

Laura couldn't meet his eyes. "Yes... for now, anyway."

"Doesn't sound like much fun, but... have it your own way." He climbed into the bed and slid across, almost slipping off the other side. He curled over on his side so that his back was to Laura. "Good night."

Laura climbed in and pulled the blanket over them both. She was just able to contain her tears. "Good... good night."

* * * * *

Friday, November 10, 1871

Shamus looked up at the wall clock. It was 1 PM. 'So where the devil is everyone?' he thought.

"Sorry if I'm late." Judge Humphreys walked in as if on cue.

The Sheriff was right behind him. "You aren't late - neither am I." He looked around. "Where's Jessie."

"She'll be here in just a minute." Shamus took out his borrowed boson's whistle and blew three shrill notes. "Still on loan from Cap Lewis, and, if I say so meself, I'm playing it better than ever."

Jessie and Jane came running in from the kitchen. "Lord, I hate it when you blow that thing, Shamus," Jessie said. "I was taking a pot off the stove, and I almost scalded m'self setting it down so fast."

"Sorry, Jessie. Ye don't have t'come running lickety split no more when ye hear me whistle." He paused a moment. "But ye still do, Jane. Come t'be thinking of it, ye go back in the kitchen now t'help Maggie. This isn't any of yuir concern."

Jane pouted. "But I want to stay." Still, she couldn't disobey and started walking for the kitchen even as she protested.

"You should have waited for me, Shamus," the Judge said.

"Ye're right, Yuir Honor. Please to be beginning the ceremony."

The Judge nodded. "Jessica Hanks, whereas, you have served and completed a sentence commensurate with your previous illegal activities - including the additional time adjudged due to you for your attempt at flight, I do declare that you are hereby free of any and all additional legal obligations to the Township of Eerie or the Territory of Arizona for those actions. Congratulations."

"Now say that in English, Judge," Jessie said, looking confused.

Shamus laughed. "Ye're time's up, me lass. Ye're a free woman...almost."

"I am? What a minute, what do you mean almost?"

Shamus looked straight at her. "Bark like a dog." He waited until she had barked a few times before telling her to stop.

"That was a dirty trick, Shamus." Jessie flared at the barman. "I got half a mind to --"

"Aye, sometimes, ye do, but now ye know what I mean. Ye ain't free of me potion yet. Truth t' tell, ye never really will be." He took a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. "But this should help."

He began to read. "Ye can leave me saloon anytime ye want and go anyplace ye please. Ye can fight people, too - except, ye can't do nothing to the Judge or the Sheriff or Molly or me for turning ye into a girl."

"Don't trust me much, do you?"

"Let's just say, I'm being careful. I said the same t'Wilma and the others when I set them free."

"That's what he said, all right." Wilma stood by the door. She wore an emerald green dress that looked a size too small and Jessie could already smell her perfume. "Sorry, I'm late."

"What're ye doing here, Wilma?" Shamus asked.

Wilma smiled. "I came to see my little sister get free. You got a problem with that, Shamus?"

"I don't if Jessie don't," Shamus told her.

Jessie shrugged. "It's fine with me as long as she don't start off on how I should go work with her at that cathouse of hers."

"I think you're making a mistake, Jess, but 'tick a lock,' as they say." Wilma made a gesture as if turning a small key in her closed lips.

"Let's get on with it, then," Jessie said.

"All right," Shamus said. He read from the paper. "Jessie, I order that ye won't obey any order I give ye unless I'm first saying, 'I, Shamus O'Toole, owner of the Eerie Saloon, do hereby order you to obey this command.' Did ye hear that?"

When Jessie nodded, the Sheriff took a paper from his own shirt pocket. "And, Jessie, "I also order that, from now on, you will obey no order from me unless I start it with the words, 'I, Dan Talbot, the Sheriff of Eerie, do hereby order you to obey this command.' Did you hear what I just said?"

"I heard," Jessie said. "Am I free now?"

"Hop on one foot and quack like a duck," Shamus said.

Jessie just looked at him a moment, then she smiled. "I guess I am."

"Congratulations, Jess," Wilma said and slapped her on the back. "Now - if you don't mind my asking - what are you going to do?"

"I never thought I'd say it, let alone do it," Jessie said, but I'm gonna go on working for Shamus."

Wilma laughed. "And you said I was stubborn."

* * * * *

Jessie tiptoed into the Sheriff's office and closed the door gently behind her. "Hello, Paul," she whispered.

Paul looked up from the papers he was reading. "Jessie, I didn't hear you come in. He stood up and quickly walked over from behind the desk. "What brings you over here?"

"My sentence is up," Jessie said with an odd smile, "and I wanted to come see you. I got something for you, Paul Grant."

"Oh, do you now?" Paul grinned. Was there was enough time for what he hoped she had in mind.

"I do." She slapped his face as hard as she could. "That's for lying to me about what a second dose of potion would do."

Paul stood for a moment, rubbing his sore cheek. "Jessie, I..."

"And this is for what we done that first night back... and for what we're gonna do again soon as my monthlies is over." She stepped forward and put her arms around his neck. She pulled close to him and kissed him with all the passion he could have hoped for.

Paul returned the kiss. 'Once a mustang, always a mustang,' he thought. She wasn't fully broken in yet, but she was his, and he was damned glad of it.

* * * * *

"Can I ask you something, Laura?" Jane asked. The two women were setting the tables for "Maggie's Place." The restaurant was due to open in less than an hour.

"I guess," Laura answered, "as long as you keep working while we talk."

"You know, Shamus said my sentence is up on Monday."

"I know. Are you still going to try your hand at mining again?"

"I sure am, but that's what I wanted t'ask you about."

"I don't know anything about mining?"

"No, but you know people... men, especially, better than I do."

"Seems to me, you were a man a lot longer than I was."

"I mean how to... how to handle men... as a woman, I mean."

"I don't think I get what you're saying, Jane."

"I keep having these thoughts... about men... about how I should pick Red or Sam or Ozzie to... to be with up there at my claim instead of Davy."

Laura nodded. "And not because they'd be more help than him working that claim, I expect."

"Uh huhn. I even was thinking about Milt Quinlan when I was... was taking my bath a couple days ago."

"Milt?"

"And he made me feel all funny inside, just like the others did."

"And you liked the way it felt, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but it was scary, too. I never felt like that before. What's it mean?"

"It means you're starting to think more like a girl now."

"Like a girl. You mean... I-I'm not ready to... to be a girl. What am I gonna do, Laura?"

"So...you don't want to...to be with any of them - the way a woman would be with a man, right?"

"No, no I don't."

"And you didn't get those sort of feelings about Davy, did you?"

"Davy..." She laughed. "He's my friend, that's all."

"Then I'd say that he's definitely the one you should be asking to go with you. The last thing you need is to be alone on a mountaintop with a man that makes you feel funny inside. It could complicate your life."

As Laura herself had found out too late.

* * * * *

Saturday, November 11, 1871

"This one's a waltz, gents," Hiram King announced. "Get yourself a partner and get to dancing."

Cap led Bridget out onto the floor. "I've been meaning to tell you how pleased Uncle Abner was with the money you paid towards your grubstake."

"Why?" Bridget asked sourly. "Didn't he expect me to pay?"

"Just the opposite. He didn't expect you to be making such a big payment each month. He said it just proved what a good investment he made."

"Who said it wasn't?"

"Nobody; Uncle Abner just likes to brag sometimes about how good a businessman he is. I think he's trying to show me how to be one."

"I'm just glad he was willing to put up that grubstake. I'd have hated to have to keep working for Shamus as a dealer."

"Like I said, you impressed Uncle Abner. He liked it that you were willing to stand by your guns when you caught him dealing seconds."

"I'm just glad that it turned out to be a trick. I don't know when I was more scared."

"But you still did it. I'm proud of you for that." He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead as they danced. "And after all that money you gave him, I think he's decided that you may not be a gold digger, either."

"A gold digger, well, I like that."

"Uncle Abner's a fairly wealthy man, and I'm his only heir. You can't blame him for being careful. I know you love me for myself and not my money." Cap grinned like a cat in a creamery.

"I never said that I loved you."

"No, but you never said that you didn't."

* * * * *

"You decide who you were taking with you, Jane?" Sam Braddock asked as they moved across the floor.

"I have," Jane answered, "but I ain't telling - not now anyway."

"'Cause it isn't me?"

"I want to tell all of you at the same time. You and Red are the only two here."

"So when will you tell us?"

"Red asked me the same thing. I'll tell the five of you tomorrow. Be here 'bout noon for my answer."

"Five? I thought it was just Ozzie, Davy, Red, and me. Who's my new competition?"

"Milt, Milt Quinlan. He's... he's my lawyer, and he wants t'know, too."

"You sure he's just your lawyer?"

"I... what do you mean, Sam?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just a crazy thought - nah, not Milt."

* * * * *

"I've been wondering when you'd get around to dancing with me," Laura said to Arsenio, as she put his ticket in her apron pocket. "Usually, we dance the first dance together."

Arsenio took her in his arms and they began to move to the rhythm of the polka the band was playing. "I'm surprised you're dancing at all, the way you said you didn't want to be touched the other night."

"I said that I didn't want my... my breasts touched." She blushed. "And you're the only man I ever let touch them."

"Well, I'm glad for that, at least. Even if I don't know why I can't touch them just now."

"They feel too damned tender. Doc says its because they're getting ready to - to make milk."

"The baby again."

"Yes, the baby. Now do you understand why I'm so upset about being pregnant?"

"I understand that you're feeling uncomfortable from what's happening to your body. I just don't understand why you're mad at me because we're having a baby."

"I'm having a baby. You just had the fun of getting me pregnant." She saw him looking at her reprovingly. "All right, I... I enjoyed it, too," she admitted, "but I'm the one going through all this, and I'm the one who's going to have to take care of it after it's born."

"I-I can help some, I guess, but that's what a woman does, isn't it - take care of her baby?"

"Yeah, she's tied down to it... to her house and her kid with no life of her - oh, the hell with it. You gave me your ticket. Just shut up and dance."

* * * * *

Sunday, November 12, 1871

Shamus walked over to the table where Laura and Jane were eating lunch. He pulled out a chair and sat down. "Ye're a popular lady, Jane," he said. "Red, Sam, and Davy have been asking when the Judge'd be setting ye free." He pointed across the room to a table where the three men were sitting. They saw him and waved back.

"They's just being my friends, that's all," Jane said, feeling a little embarrassed at the attention from so many handsome... so many men.

"I think it's a wee bit more than that," Laura said. "You told me that you were finally going to say who you wanted to take back up to your claim, as soon as you were free.

Jane smiled at the thought of being able to go back to her claim. "Well, there is that." She looked around. "Trouble is, they ain't all here yet."

"No, but ye ain't a free woman yet, neither," Shamus said. "Say, there's Milt Quinlan coming in. Did ye invite him to yuir little shindig, too?"

"I did," Jane answered. "I... uhh, wanted him to know, him being my... ahh, lawyer and... umm, all."

Milt saw Jane and started to walk over. "She ain't ready for ye, yet, Milt," Shamus said. "Why don't ye take a seat over thuir." He pointed to the table with the other men. Milt nodded, but he walked to over to the bar. He ordered a beer from R.J. and sat down on a nearby barstool.

At that moment, Judge Humphreys entered the Saloon, followed closely by Ozzie Pratt. They both came over to where Shamus and the women were sitting. The Judge looked at his pocket watch. "I know it's not quite one o'clock, but I intend to start. Horace Styron decided that the church elders had to meet today at 1:30 to vote on getting new hymnals."

"Why not," Shamus said, an odd expression on his face. "Ladies first, after all."

The Judge frowned. "I'm afraid that I don't follow you, Shamus."

"'Tis easy, Your Honor. First the her... Jane; then the hymns." He grinned broadly at his own joke.

The Judge groaned. "It's a good thing we're not in my court, Shamus. I'd have to fine you for contempt for that one. As it is... Jane, please rise."

"Yessir." Jane stood up. Red, Davy, and Sam started to walk over until the Judge shook his head. Ozzie shrugged and joined them at their table. Milt raised his stein to the Judge and took a sip.

Laura stood up. "Since I don't seem to have an invitation to this party, I think I'll get back to work." She took Jane's hand for a moment. "But before I go, Jane, let me be the first to say, congratulations on being set free." She headed over to the bar, only to be stopped by Doc Upshaw. Shamus saw her nod and led him to a table well away from anyone else.

"And let me be the second to say congrats." Jessie had been walking nearby, carrying a tray of drinks. "Say, Shamus, Jane here's your last prisoner. Looks like you'll have t'go back to watering drinks to make a profit."

Shamus frowned. "I never watered a drink in me life, Jessie Hanks, and ye know it."

"No, I don't, Shamus," Jessie said. "I ain't worked here forever. It just seems like it sometimes."

Shamus laughed. "Ye ain't worked here half the time ye have been here. Now get them drinks over to Bridget and her players." Jessie gave him an overly-polite smile and hurried off.

"If we're done with the interruptions, I'd like to continue," the Judge said. "I'll make this simple. Jane, you've served your time for kidnapping Laura, and you're free to go."

"Thanks, Judge," Jane said. "Now I can go talk to --"

"Ye'll be talking to nobody," Shamus interrupted. "Not till ye're free of me magic potion."

Jane tried to answer, but all that came out were soft squeaking sounds. She pointed to her throat, a terrified look on her face.

"Sorry, Jane," Shamus said. "Like I told ye, ye ain't free of me potion yet. Ye can talk again, but I'll be asking ye not to - not too much anyway - till I'm done."

Jane sighed in relief. "Thanks, Shamus. I'll be quiet."

Shamus took a sheet of paper out of his vest pocket, unfolded it, and began to read. "First of all, ye can come and go from me Saloon here whenever ye want to."

"Second, ye can fight with people again - except ye can't be doing anything t'hurt Molly or me or Dan or the Judge for turning ye into a woman."

Jane looked hurt. "Shamus, you know that I'd never do anything like that."

"I don't think ye would, Jane, but I wanted t'be sure of it. Now, hush for the important part. I order that you not obey any command I give ye unless I first say that I, Shamus O'Toole, owner of the Eerie Saloon, order ye to be obeying this command."

He handed the paper to Molly, who had just come to the table. "And I'm saying to ye that ye'll not obey any order I give ye unless I first tell ye, 'I, Molly O'Toole, wife of Shamus O'Toole, order that ye obey this command.'"

She offered the paper to Dan, who shook his head. "I think I know it by now. Jane, I order that you'll not obey any command I give you unless I first say that I, Dan Talbot, Sheriff of Eerie, Arizona, order that you obey this command."

"Am I done now?" Jane asked impatiently.

"Don't talk," Molly said quickly and firmly.

"Why not?" Jane asked. "Hey, I... I can talk; I can talk. I don't have to do what you say any more."

Molly smiled. "No, Jane, ye don't. Now ye can go talk to them gentlemen friends of yuirs."

* * * * *

Laura felt someone's hand on her arm. "May I speak to you for a moment?" It was Doc Upshaw.

"Sure, Doc," she said. "What's the problem?"

"In private, please."

Laura looked around, then she pointed to a table against the far wall. No one was sitting anywhere near it, and most people were watching Shamus and Jane, anyway. "Is that okay, Doc?"

"It'll do, I suppose." They walked over. Upshaw pulled out a chair and motioned for Laura to sit. When she did, he gently pushed her closer to the table before taking a seat opposite her.

He reached over and took her hand. "Have you changed your mind about the baby?"

"No... no, I-I haven't. I... I hate being pregnant."

"An attitude like that, isn't doing you - or the baby - a bit of good. In fact, it's probably hurting you both. I'm not happy about saying this, but... . if you want... I've got... I can prescribe something that... that would... get rid of it."

Laura shuddered. "Get rid of it? An... abortion. No... I..."

"I'm afraid those are your choices, have an abortion or go to term and have the baby."

Laura was quiet and pensive for a moment. "Can I... can I have some time to... to think about it? This is a big decision."

"The biggest. Take the time to be certain. It'll be a decision that you and Arsenio --"

Laura's hand shot to her mouth. "Arsenio... oh, my Lord."

"Just let me know when you decide, either way."

"How... how long do I have?" Laura blinked, her eyes becoming inflamed and dewy.

"Take as much time as you need, but, remember, the sooner it's done, the easier it will be." He stood up. "If you have any questions, be sure to come see me." He turned and left.

"I... I will." Laura sat there for a good five minutes, just staring into space, before she was able to get back to work.

* * * * *

The Judge checked his pocket watch again. "Now that we've completed this business, I've got to get to that bloody meeting." He glanced over at the Free Lunch table.

"There's sliced ham and some rolls over there, Yuir Honor," Shamus said. "Why don't ye fix yuirself something to be taking with ye?"

"My very thought," the Judge said. "If I may, I'll just borrow one of those napkins to wrap it in." Shamus nodded. Judge Humphreys turned and walked over to begin building himself a sandwich.

Shamus stood up and looked around. "I'd best be getting back to work meself. Jane, I know ye got all them fellas waiting t'talk to ye, but please don't be taking too long doing it. People are starting t'come in, and I'll be needing ye real soon now."

"I won't be long, Shamus," Jane said. She waited a moment, looking around. The five men were watching her, so she just motioned for them all to come over to join her.

The man sat down around the table. Ozzie was the first to speak. "So, Jane, my dear, have you determined who the fortunate swain is?"

"What... what's a 'swain', Ozzie? I ain't never heard --"

Sam "translated" for her. "He wants to know who you're going to take back up to your claim."

"Ohh," Jane said. "Thanks Sam." She squirmed a little in her chair. "I... I want you all t'know that I thought about this a... a whole lot. I-I likes all of you, and I w-wouldn't mind... umm, spending time with any of you."

"Thank you, Jane," Red said. "I figure you know that I - we all of us - feel the same about you."

"This is all well and good," Davy said impatiently, "but we're all on tenderhooks, Jane. Who'd you pick?"

"You, Davy." Jane looked down at the table, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. "I ain't going up there on no Sunday school picnic. I'm going back up t'work my claims. I'll need somebody there with me who knows what working a mine is like."

Ozzie frowned. "But surely, Jane, any of us could rapidly acquire such skills. You have them at present, and I'd warrant that you could teach them to any of us." He took her hand. "I, for one, would be a most attentive pupil."

"That'd take me a while." Jane gently pulled her hand free of his. "What'd we do up there in the meantime?"

Red all but leered. "I don't know about Ozzie, I can think of a whole lot of things we could do." He barely noticed Milt glaring at him.

"I-it ain't like that." Jane was blushing now. "I'm just looking for somebody t'help me work my claims."

Davy frowned. "Is that all I'm gonna be, a helper, a hired man? I don't know as that's very fair."

"I hadn't thought of that," Jane said, "but I ain't sure if I'm ready t'take on another partner. I mean, we's friends and all, Davy, but partners... that's a whole different kettle of fish."

Milt coughed for attention. "If... if you like, Jane, I-I could... umm, draw up a partnership agreement for you. You could take it up there with you. The both of you could sign it after a few days, if... when you and Davy decide that you want to be partners."

"Ain't we gonna need a witness for that?" Jane asked. "When Toby and me decided to be partners 'n' share our claims, Lucian Stone over t'the assay office said he had to sign the papers, too."

"You do need a witness." Milt's face reddened. "To... ah, tell the truth, I... umm, was going to ride up to your claim in a few days - just to see how things were doing, of course." He took a breath. "You could sign it then, and I'd be the witness. I could take it back to town with me and file it with Lucian the next day."

"That'd be just fine," Jane said. "You bring that paper around here tomorrow morning. I told Shamus that I'd work for him all day today. I figured that Davy'd need some time to bring everything from his old claim."

Milt nodded. "Fine. In the meantime, may I buy you - all of you, of course - a drink to celebrate Jane's freedom and to wish her well with her claims."

* * * * *

Maggie used her afternoon break to walk over to the bathhouse. Carmen was sitting on the porch, drinking a glass of lemonade. Felipe, her eight-month old son, was sleeping in a playpen next to her. "Hola, Carmen."

"Margarita, hola. Would you like a lemonade?" Carmen reached for a pitcher.

"I am afraid I do not have time. I must get back to finish cooking the supper." She looked around. "Where is Jose?"

"Playing in the barbershop. Whit likes to spend time with the boy."

Maggie nodded. "It's good for the father and the son."

"Why do you ask about him?"

"Thursday is Ernesto's birthday. I am having a small party for him, mostly a few friends from school, but I wanted to invite José as well."

"When will the party be? You have a restaurant to cook for."

" Sá­, but I will cook most of the food early. Laura and Molly will watch it while I have the party. The party will just be from 4 to 5. Then I will take the children back to work with me, as I always do."

"That is not long for a party... but these are young children. They should enjoy it. I am sure that José will be glad to come. Thank you for inviting him."

"Why not? He is family... almost. I-I mean, he and Lupe spend so much time at your house."

"I know what you mean." Carmen smiled wryly.

Maggie ignored her. "Bueno. Now, I must get back. Adios."

"Adios."

* * * * *

Monday, November 13, 1871

Jane sat in her wagon, the one she'd owned when she was Jake, drumming her fingers on the wooden seat. "You gonna be much longer, Davy?"

"Now, don't you fret, Jane," Davy said. He was strapping the last of his belongings down in the back of the wagon. He'd already tied the reins of his mule, Lucille, to a ring in the back of the wagon. "Besides, you know we ain't going no place till that Milt shows up with them papers."

"I know. I just want t'be ready when he does come."

Davy sighed theatrically. "Just can't wait t'be alone with me there on the trail, can you?"

"I... what... no, it ain't like that. We're... we're just burning daylight. I want to be up at the claim and settled in before dark."

Sam Braddock came around the corner. "He's just funning you, Jane." He was holding one hand behind his back.

"What you doing here, Sam?" Davy asked.

Sam brought his hand out from behind his back. "I just came to say goodbye and to give Jane... and you these flowers." He offered them to Jane.

"Now ain't that sweet," Davy said archly. "Sam brought me flowers."

"I'll take them," Jane said. She took the bouquet from Sam and put them on her lap. "They'll look nice in the cabin. Thanks."

"You're welcome, Jane." He smiled at her. "You sure you're gonna be all right up there?"

"We'll be fine," Davy answered firmly.

Sam ignored him and looked at Jane. "Just asking. A man's got a right to be worried about his friend... friends, ain't he?"

"I-we'll be fine." Jane felt flush. Were they really fighting over her? "It's... nice to be worrying about me. You're welcome to ride up with us if you want."

Sam shook his head. "Wish I could, but I'm supposed to see Dwight Albertson today to talk about a business loan. No reason I shouldn't get rich, too."

"Well, you can ride up 'n' visit me... us anytime you want," Jane said. "Ain't that right, Davy?"

Davy just snorted at her invitation.

"I may just do that," Sam said.

Davy frowned. "Goody."

They all stood quiet for a moment, looking at each other and feeling awkward. Then Jane suddenly stood up and pointed. "Here comes Milt."

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, Jane." He smiled, trying to catch his breath.

"Well," Jane answered. "I was beginning t'wonder if you forgot us."

Milt shook his head. "I wouldn't forget you, Jane - you either, Davy. I... uhh, I know just how important these papers..." He took a thin, brown envelop from a jacket pocket. "...are to you."

"I'll put 'em in m'duffle, where they'll be safe." Davy walked over to Milt and took the envelope. He opened a large canvass bag that was strapped down in the back if the wagon, put the envelop inside, and closed it again. "Now can we go?" he asked.

"I guess," Jane answered. "Thanks, Milt."

The lawyer smiled up at her. "You... you both just be careful. Be sure to look over those papers, too. I'll be up there on Thursday. You and Davy can sign them then... if you want."

Davy climbed up onto the wagon and sat down next to Jane. "We'll do that." He looked back once, just to check the wagon, and flicked the reins. "Gee-up."

The wagon began to pull away from where Milt was standing. "So long till Thursday, Milt." Jane waved as she and Davy started off.

* * * * *

Bridget reached across the table and tapped Laura on the shoulder. "You all right? You look like your mind's a thousand miles away from here."

Laura blinked and stared at Bridget as if the female cardsharp had just appeared in front of her by magic. In fact, they'd both taken a lunch break at the same time, and they'd been at the table together for several minutes.

"No," Laura said, fixing her jaw firmly. "I'm not all right; I'm pregnant. Or hadn't you heard?"

"Oh, I heard. I was here playing poker when Arsenio announced it to the world and bought everybody in the place a drink to celebrate. Thing is, you weren't acting this squirrelly about it till yesterday. She thought a moment. "Just since you had that talk with Doc Upshaw, and don't tell me you two didn't talk. I saw him come in. Just what did he say to set you off so bad?"

"Nothing he didn't say nothing." She took a long sip of the fake beer in her glass.

Bridget looked at her for a moment. "Bullshit. He said something. You know it, and I know it."

"He - oh, hell, if you must know, he asked if I really want the baby."

"And..."

Laura looked at the stein she'd been drinking from. "Why couldn't this stuff be real beer, just this once? He... he said that... if I wanted - really wanted - he... he could give me something to... to get rid of... it."

"What? An abortion?"

"Yes, dammit, and not so loud." Laura looked around quickly. No one was sitting anywhere near them. The saloon was, in fact, nearly empty, and no one seemed to be reacting to what Bridget had just said.

"What did you tell him?"

"That I didn't know if I wanted to do that, either. I-I still don't know what I want."

Bridget raised an eyebrow. "But you're thinking about it, aren't you?"

"Yes, Lord help me, I am."

"Have you talked to anybody else - Molly or anybody - about it? I know that you haven't talked to Arsenio."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I haven't heard the explosion. I don't think that he'd like the idea one little bit."

Laura's eyes filled with tears. "I-I know. He'd hate it - and he'd... he'd hate me for doing it."

"Here." Bridget pulled a white silk handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to Laura. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't joke about something like this."

"No, you're... you're right. He would explode. Doing something like that could..." The words caught in her throat. "... could destroy our marriage. The... the horrible part is, even knowing that and loving Arsenio like I do, p-part of me still... still wants to do it."

* * * * *

Davy walked into the cabin, his duffle balanced on his shoulder. He carefully put the bag on the floor next to the bed and sat down. "Not bad," he said, patting the mattress. "It's a bit narrow, but we won't need us that much room." He winked at Jane, who was rigging a line to hang her dresses on.

"No, Davy." Jane shook her head. "You ain't sleeping with me."

Davy's expression sank. "But I-I thought..."

"Davy, I didn't bring you up here for that. I never said that I did."

"But we's partners," he countered, "or we's gonna be soon as you and me sign them papers."

"Partners in a claim. That's all?" He looked at her, a sad smile on his face. "You don't wanna; not even just a little bit?"

"Maybe someday... with the right man, but - I'm sorry - but I don't think of you like that."

"No, you just think of me as some dumb hired hand, somebody you can lead 'round by his johnson." He stood up and started walking towards the cabin door.

"No... please, Davy. I... I think of you as a friend, a man I can trust. Please... don't be mad at me."

"I got every right t'be mad. Maybe you never said it, but you sure as hell made it sound like whoever you picked got the mine... and you."

"I didn't mean to... honest. In fact, that... that's part of why I picked you."

"And what do you mean by that missy?"

"I didn't want a man up here that'd make me feel - well - 'girly' about him."

"And I... don't." He looked hard at her, trying to keep his poker face. "That's a fine howdy do, ain't it." He took a breath. "Just for the record, like, who does? No... no, don't tell me."

Jane tried to smile. "I... I wanted you up here 'cause you're my best, my oldest friend, now that Toby's gone. You... you ain't gonna back out on me now, are you?" Fear crept into her voice. She knew she couldn't work the mine alone. If Davy left, she could always ask somebody else for help, but she knew that whomever she asked, would expect more of her than just half her claim.

"I should... but I won't. We's been friends too long for me t'go back on my word. I'll stay - for a while anyway." He picked up his duffle and walked over to the other side of the cabin. "I'll just set up a bedroll over here for tonight. I'll rig me something better tomorrow, something soft that'll keep the cold of the ground away from me."

Jane sighed with relief. Davy had every right to leave, and he was going to stay. "Thank you, Davy."

"You're welcome." Davy turned away to work on his bedding. He didn't want to see how she looked - how her chest heaved - when she sighed like that.

* * * * *

Sam Braddock took another sip of his beer. "Wonder if Jane and Davy got up to her claim all right."

"And why wouldn't they?" Shamus asked from behind the bar. "They've probably been up thuir for hours."

"It ain't that bad a haul," Mort Boyer said. "They're probably bedding down for the night by now."

Sam nodded. "Probably... damn, that Davy is one lucky man."

"I just hope they stay lucky," Jessie said, setting a tray with empty glasses down on the bar. She transferred the glassware to a deeper tray to be carried into the kitchen when full.

"What do you mean, Jessie?" Milt asked.

Jessie pointed to the open door. "Take a look outside. There's a new moon tonight. If I was a dirty, backstabbing no-account - which I ain't of course..." She winked at Shamus. "...tonight's the night to get the drop on 'em. Davy don't know his way about the place yet."

"No," Sam said, "but Jane does."

"Aye, she does," Shamus added, "but she ain't used to being out thuir as a gal, now is she?"

Jessie nodded. "No, she ain't. Yes, sir, tonight's the best night if anybody wanted to do anything... permanent."

Milt tossed back his drink. "I think I'm going to take a little ride."

"Ye're going up to the mine?" asked Shamus. "Why, just because thuir's no moon out? Would you be doing that for every client, Milt, me boy?

"Any client that... needed my help," he said unevenly.

"You ain't going alone," Sam said, finishing his own beer. "I'll be right there with you."

"Paul Grant's off-duty tonight," Shamus said, looking straight at Jessie. "Ye might want t'be asking him to go riding out with ye."

"Good idea," Sam said. "I'll go get him."

Jessie took Shamus' hint. "He won't be the only one." She ran for the stairs. "I'll be changed in a minute, Shamus. Don't you dare let them go without me."

"I won't," Shamus shouted after her. Then he noticed that Laura was also walking towards the stairs. "And where do ye think ye're going, Mrs. Caulder?"

Laura stopped. "Shamus, I spent two months treating Jane like I was her sister. Why should I stop now? I'm going, too."

"No, ye ain't. Maggie's home, putting her wee ones to bed, no doubt. Ye ain't gonna ride off and leave me short handed."

"But, Shamus..." Laura looked at his expression. He was still mad at her; he'd just called her 'Mrs. Caulder.' There was no point to get him any madder. "All right, Shamus, I'll... I'll stay, but if there's any trouble that I could have helped out with --"

"Then I'll just have to live with it." Shamus pulled out the tray of dirty glassware. "In the meantime, take these into the kitchen."

Laura took the tray and left the room. R.J. walked over to Shamus just as the door closed behind her. "You know, Shamus, we aren't really that busy. You and I could have covered for her."

"Aye, we could have," Shamus answered. "But I'll not let a pregnant woman go riding off into the night hell-bent for leather. I may be mad at Laura for teasing me Molly about not being able t'be having children, but I surely ain't that angry."

* * * * *

Tuesday, November 14, 1871

Davy was nearer, so the pounding on the cabin door woke him first. "Just a damn minute," he yelled, as he climbed out of his bedroll and stood up.

"What... who is it?" Jane reached over and turned the wick on the oil lamp on her bed stand. The flame sprang to life, lighting up the room.

"Danged if I know." Davy walked over and opened the door. "Ozzie? What the hell are you doing here at this hour?"

Ozzie Pratt walked in and closed the door behind him. "I came to give Jane an opportunity to correct her earlier misjudgment in choosing you as her partner."

"You're crazy." Davy took a step towards him.

Ozzie drew a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at Davy. "I think not, Davy, and I'll thank you to step back."

"What do you think you're doing, Ozzie?" Jane was getting out of bed.

Ozzie glanced over at her. "You look most fetching in that nightgown, Jane, a topic I hope to return to anon. In the meantime, would you be so good as to fetch those papers that Milt Quinlan so obligingly prepared for you?"

"The papers?" She looked around the cabin. "I don't know where --"

"I am in no mood to banter with you," Ozzie said, baring his teeth in anger. "Find them... and be quick about it."

"They's in my duffle," Davy said, pointing to his bedroll. "I was using the bag for a pillow."

"And what else might be in there?" Ozzie pointed with his pistol. "The both of you sit on that bed, while I search for the papers." He waited until they were both on the bed. "Hmmm, still too close. Go sit on the other side of the bed, facing away from me."

As soon as they had changed positions, Ozzie opened the duffle and began to root through it. "Shirt... drawers... a boot." He threw the items over his shoulder. "What's this? A Bowie knife, if I'm not mistaken. Too bad I wouldn't let you do the looking, isn't it, Davy? Too bad for you, you ignorant - ahah, here it is." He pulled out the envelope Milt had prepared.

"You got them papers," Jane asked. "Now what happens?"

Ozzie laughed. "Why that should be obvious even to you, my dear. I shall enter the names - yours and mine, of course - for the partnership. Then we shall both sign. Davy, you get to sign, as well - as the witness. Then, Davy, I shall thank you to wait outside, while Jane and I... consummate our new relationship."

"Consummate?" Jane asked. "What's that mean?"

Davy "translated" for her. "He means he figures to go to bed with you to clinch the deal."

"No way, Ozzie." Jane shook her head. "You ain't getting me or my claim."

"Damn straight," Davy added. "You make us sign, and soon's we get back t'Eerie, we'll just tell everybody what you done. Then you see how good them papers is."

Jane laughed. "Them papers won't be worth spit."

Ozzie walked around the bed so that he was facing the pair. "Is that your final answer, then?" They nodded. "Too bad, Davy, because I have no compunctions against killing you - you're a waste of space anyway. You, Jane, on the other hand..." He leered down at her. "...killing you would be a most definite shame."

"Then don't," Davy suggested. You just ride outta here, and we'll forget the whole danged thing ever happened."

Ozzie shook his head. "I very much doubt that you would... and it will make a most excellent story."

"Story?" Jane asked.

"Heroic editor discovers ghastly double murder." Ozzie spread his arms wide, as if having a vision. "Yes, the story of how I rode up here - because I was worried about you, Jane - and discovered you both..." He gave a theatrical sob. "...foully murdered, the tragic victim of some unknown gunman. The cabin was ransacked - I shall do that afterwards. I hurried back to town and raised a posse, but, alas, there was no sign to be found of your assailant. Yes... it will be a magnificent story - romance, pathos... mystery. It should sell out an extra edition, at least."

Jane gave a snort. "And you think they'll believe that?"

"Why not?" Ozzie asked. "I threw a rock through my window and sent Roscoe for the sheriff. Talbot is still chasing shadows looking for the miscreant. What's one more red herring across his path, more or less?" He raised the pistol. "And now... goodbye, Davy. Perhaps after she sees you die, the lovely Jane will prove more amenable to my offer."

"Like hell," Davy said. He jumped up from the bed and grappled with Ozzie. "Run, Jane, run!"

Jane ran for the cabin door. As she reached it, she heard the pistol fire. "Davie!"

"Run, dammit!" he groaned.

She could hear the pain in his voice. She yanked the door open and hurried out into the moonless night. She hadn't taken more than two steps when someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her around the side of the cabin. Jane was too surprised to put up any fight.

"It's friends, shut up," a familiar voice whispered.

Jane looked over her shoulder. She was being held by Sam Braddock, while Jessie stood next to her. "What the --"

"I told you to hush up," Jessie whispered, putting her hand over her friend's mouth. "Understand?" When Jane nodded, Jessie took her hand away and let go. "Now you just watch."

The three of them looked carefully around the corner.

Ozzie came out, pistol in hand, and looking around frantically. "Hiding won't help you, Jane. You're only prolonging the inevitable."

"I don't think so." Milt stepped out from the other side of the cabin.

"Qu-Quinlan," Ozzie sputtered. "Wha-what are you d-doing here?"

"This." Before Ozzie could react, Milt let loose with a roundhouse right that connected loudly with Ozzie's jaw. Ozzie's head jerked to the left. He groaned and collapsed to the ground unconscious.

Paul Grant stepped out of the shadows and kicked the pistol away. Then he knelt down and handcuffed Ozzie. "Where'd you learn to throw a punch like that, Milt?"

"College," the lawyer answered. "I was inter-fraternity boxing champion my last two years at Rutgers." He looked around. "Sam, go check on Davy."

Sam hurried into the cabin only to come back a moment later. "Davy's alive, but he's got a bullet in his leg. We can put a bandage on it for now, but we'd better get him back to town, so Doc Upshaw can take a look at it."

"Fine," Milt said. "I'll hitch up the wagon. Sam, you go back inside to help Davy; pack some of his belongings, too. He may need to be in town for a while."

Milt walked over to where Jane and Jessie were standing. "Are you all right, Jane? If that bastard hurt you..."

"I'm fine, Milt, just fine... thanks to you." Jane looked down, suddenly feeling a little shy.

Milt gently took her chin in his hand and raised her face, so she was looking straight at him. "You'd best go in and pack, too. I don't want you alone up here while Davy's in town recuperating."

"And just what business of yours where I am?" She wasn't sure what she was feeling, just now.

Milt smiled. "I'll show you what business it is." He pulled her to him and raised her head again. Then he kissed her full on the mouth. Jane opened her mouth in surprise and felt his tongue move in between her lips. A warmth spread through her body, while her arms, as if of their own accord, went up around his neck.

* * * * *

Judge Humphreys walked into Doc Upshaw's office. "Good morning, Edith. Is Hiram about?"

Edith Lonnigan looked up at the Judge. "He's back in the ward with Davy Kitchner, Your Honor." A four-bed infirmary was a part of Dr. Upshaw's office. "I'll get him for you." She stood up from her desk.

"That's hardly necessary. I know the way."

"I'm sure that you do, sir, but he shouldn't be disturbed when he's with a patient. Please have a seat." She looked at him firmly, waiting for him to sit.

The Judge took a chair against the wall. "Oh, very well. Would you ask him if he could spare just a just a moment to see me? It's important."

"I'm sure you think it is." She walked through the curtain at the back of the waiting room.

She was back a minute or so with the doctor. "What can I do for you today, Parnassas?" He was wiping his hands in a towel. There was some blood on the front of his white physician's coat.

"I came to ask about Davy Kitchner, Hiram. I'd like him to be able to testify at Ozzie Pratt's trial. Is he up to it?"

The Doc frowned. "Not today, he isn't. He lost a lot of blood and got shaken up a bit on the way back from the mountains. Of course, he'd probably have lost more in the time it would've taken me to ride up there, so I suppose it evens out. But that's not the worst of it. That bullet stirred up an old wound from the war. I'm concerned that he might be permanently crippled."

"When will he be able to come to court?"

"I got the bullet out easily enough, and he's resting. Jane's been in and out all day; Milt practically had to drag her away from Davy's bed, so she could get some sleep. In answer to your question, I'd say he should be up to appearing in court by tomorrow morning. Hold the trial after lunch, that'll give him a bit more time to get some of his strength back."

"With a bit of help, of course," Mrs. Lonnigan said.

The Judge smiled. "With you there helping him, Edith, I have no doubt that he'll be just fine."

* * * * *

Milt took another sip of lemonade. He and Jane were having a late lunch in the yard behind the Saloon. "Are you sure that you want to go back up to your claim again?"

"Yep," Jane answered. "Just as soon as Davy's up to the trip, Friday, Saturday at the latest, Doc says."

Milt shook his head. "I don't like the idea. It-it's dangerous."

"Shouldn't be so bad, 'especially with Ozzie in jail."

"I agree about Ozzie, but he's not the only man who'll have his eye on you... and on that rich claim of yours."

"I guess," Jane sighed. "Sometimes, I think I should just bring it into town, like I wanted."

"Bring it? Jane, what are you talking about?"

Jane looked around nervously. There was no one in sight. "You gotta promise you won't tell nobody."

"Jane, what the..." He saw the serious look on her face. "All right, all right. I promise."

Jane leaned in close and kept her voice low. "'Bout six months ago, me and Toby went into the woods to cut some timber for bracing. There'd been a mudslide at the base of one hill, spring rains, I guess. Anyways, half-sticking out of the mud, we found us the bones of somebody's old mule. We didn't think nothing of it, till I saw this here chain around its neck. There was a bag at the end of that chain. It was beginning to fall apart, but it was full of nuggets, four, maybe five pounds of... gold."

"Gold? You found gold around the neck of a mule's skeleton? That..." He shook his head in disbelief. "Even for Eerie, that's unbelievable."

"Maybe so, but that's what we found. That bag was just about gone. I wrapped my shirt around it and brung it back t'my cabin. Once we was sure what we had, I wanted t'take some into town, cash it out, and go on a spree."

"Why didn't you? It certainly would've been something to celebrate."

"Toby, he says no, says if we do, people'll find out how we found it. They'd have been all over the, mountains looking for more. Like as not, they'd find the rest and we'd be left with nothing."

"What did you do?"

"We hid it, back in the mine. We spent the next week or more looking 'round that hill... and a hundred feet in every directions. Didn't find a danged ounce. I was ready to give up, when Toby, he had him an idea."

Milt looked at her suspiciously. "What sort of an idea?"

"We could work our mines and keep looking for more of that mule's gold, but we was running low on supplies. Toby says we should cash in a few nuggets and tell folks we found some color in the rock. That's what we done."

"You still looking?"

"Naw, we give up after about a month. We used that gold, though, so's we didn't have t'work so hard for the money t'live on. Still figured it was a sign, and someday, we'd find that big vein."

"Is there much left?"

"Most of it." Now she looked suspiciously at him. "Why?"

"Because that gold's probably more money that anybody's found in this part of the territory. You should cash it in and invest it. Keep working your claim if you must... if you want, but let that money work for you, too."

"What else could I do 'round here except work that claim of mine?"

Milt took her hand in his. "I have a few ideas on that?"

"Thanks, Milt," Jane smiled... and didn't take her hand away. "I... I like you, too, like you a lot, but I ain't ready for anything... permanent."

"I guess I was rushing you. I'm sorry. I very much want you to stay in town, but - stay or not - I do think that it'd be a lot better if you brought that gold into town. If you like, Mort, Jerry, and I can ride out with you, give you an escort to the assay office."

* * * * *

Jessie was standing near the bar when Paul came in. She started to smile until she saw the expression on his face. "What's the matter?" She asked.

"I'm afraid that I've got some bad news, Jess," Paul told her. "I just found out that the Judge won't be holding Ozzie's trial till tomorrow."

"So he gets to stew in jail one more day. It serves him right for what he tried to do. How is it a problem?"

"You remember what we had planned for tonight?"

Jessie nodded, her face turning a lovely shade of pink. "I figure t'be over there about 11 o'clock."

"You know, you'll have to walk right past Ozzie's cell to get to my room. And you'll be walking past him again when you leave... in the morning." He waited a moment, while she thought about that, then added the topper. "And the walls inside the jail are kind of... thin."

The pink in Jessie's face turned to an angry red. "Aww, shit!"

"I don't like it any more than you do, but I didn't think you'd want to be a public show, either. We'll just have to wait one more night."

"Oh, sure, unless you have to take him off to prison." Jessie moved closer to Paul. She reached up and put a hand on his cheek. "I don't wanna wait too long, Paul."

Paul took her hand in his. "Neither do I, Jess. Dan Talbot's a fair man, though. I took that S.O.B., Verne Oliver, to prison after his trial, so he says it's his turn to make the trip." He chuckled. "Besides, I expect the Judge'll give Ozzie the choice of prison or drinking Shamus' potion. If Ozzie takes the potion, she'll be sleeping over here at the saloon."

* * * * *

Wednesday, November 15, 1871

Laura got Shamus to let her go over to the Talbots' house during the morning. When no one answered her knock, she walked around the side of the house. Amy Talbot was sitting on the back steps, shucking peas from her garden patch into a brass pot on her lap. Jimmy, her toddler son, was on the grass nearby sitting on a blanket and playing with a small wooden horse.

"Well, if this doesn't look cozy," Laura said, making herself known.

Amy looked up. "Laura, hello. What brings you out here in the middle of the day?"

"I-I wanted to talk to you... if you don't mind."

Amy shook her head. "Heavens, no. It's nice to have some company - some adult company out here during the day." She made a gesture at the wide step. "Sit... please."

"Thanks." Laura sat down beside the other woman. "Can I help with the peas?"

"Certainly." Amy put the pot on the step between them. "They're in that basket behind you." She waited while Laura took a handful of peapods on her lap. "Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Laura took a peapod in her hand and began working at it. "You... you heard I'm pregnant?"

"I did. Congratulations."

"I... I'm not sure I... oh, hell, Amy, I'm scared."

"I don't blame you. Having a baby can be a scary time for any woman, even if most of us grow up expecting to have them. You've only been a woman for a short time, and I'm sure that you never planned on such a thing when you were a boy."

"That's for sure. I only got used to the idea of being a woman - a wife - a little while ago, though I do admit that there's some things I like about being a wife." Laura blushed at what she'd just been thinking.

"Yes," Any said, sighing softly. "There are things to like." Now she blushed, too, and both women giggled.

Laura's expression suddenly turned serious. "But having this..." She touched her stomach gently. "...growing inside me and the thought of having to spend all my days taking care of it once it's born. I... I never figured on all that, and I'm just... just not sure that I-I want to go through with it."

"You don't mean..." Amy let her words drop off; she didn't even want to think about what Laura had suggested.

"I do. I mean, I-I might. I... hell, I'm nowhere near deciding yet. And before I do decide, I wanted to... I need to find out what it's like - being pregnant, having a baby, and taking care of it."

"And you came out to ask me. I'm flattered."

"You're my friend, Amy, my first real female friend. You were even my matron of honor. Who else would I ask?"

Amy thought for a moment. "Well, you could ask Carmen Whitney. In fact, I think that you should talk to her and get a second woman's opinion. In the meantime, you're here; ask your questions."

"Thanks. I think I will ask Carmen, too. I guess my first question is what's it like being pregnant? I know I'm gonna get real big, but is that all there is to it?"

Now Amy looked serious. "Is that all? First off, get ready to say goodbye to your feet. In a few months time, you won't be seeing much of them. You'll get to wear the ugliest clothes, and you'll feel like you've got a watermelon strapped to your stomach. You'll feel the weight of it pushing against your insides, too."

"Oh, my," Laura said wryly. "That certainly sounds like fun."

"It isn't. You'll feel tired all the time from carrying the extra weight around and forget about sitting down or standing up with any sort of ease. You won't get much sleep, either. You'll be up half the night - half the day, too - going to the necessary. And then, when the baby starts to kick --"

"Kick? You mean while it's still inside me?"

Amy nodded. "Oh, my, yes. It happens around the fifth month. Even Arsenio'll be able to feel it. But that's hardly the end of it. Your feet will swell... so will your... umm, breasts, and your back will ache. You've had morning sickness, right?" Laura nodded. "Get used to it. The nausea can come and go through the whole nine months. You'll find you're a lot more emotional, too. I cried one time because the grass was so green."

"The grass? Lord in Heaven, why would any woman ever want to go through all that?"

"I don't know about any woman, but I know why I did it. Love."

"Love? For the baby?"

"Well, him, too." She glanced over at Jimmy. The baby smiled and waved his arms at her for a moment before he picked up his horse and began playing with it again. "Much more important, my love for Dan and his love for me. A baby - I don't know why - but a baby makes it real. Jimmy shows that Dan and I love each other enough to want to bring a child into the world as a sign of that love and to be together long enough to raise him up right. I guess it sounds silly --"

"No, no, it doesn't."

"I hope not, because that's how I felt... how I still feel about it." She looked at Laura. "I remember; it was in my eighth month. I was big as a house, and I felt bone tired and sore and ugly as sin. Dan came over to where I was sitting and put his hand on my stomach. He said, 'Thank you; thank you so very much,' and he kissed me on the cheek. That's when I understood, and I knew that it was more than worth it."

* * * * *

The Judge pounded his gavel to stop the noise. "All right, Davy, please continue your testimony... that means go on with your story."

"I knows what it means, Judge," Davy said, sitting back in his wheelchair. "So then Ozzie says he's gonna shoot me 'n Jane - only he's gonna have his way with Jane before he shoots her. Well, I couldn't let him do that t'her... not to a lady, so I jumps up and grabs for his pistol."

"And what did Jane do?" Judge Humphreys asked.

"When I jumped up, I yelled for her t'run, and that's what she done. She yelled my name when that bastard...'scuse me, when Ozzie shot me, but I yelled for her to keep going. I was on the floor then 'cause of that bullet in m'leg. Ozzie cursed and says he'd come back t' finish me off and runs off after Jane."

He took a breath. "Next thing I know, Sam Braddock comes in and says that they caught him."

The Judge looked at Ozzie, who was acting as his own lawyer. "Mr. Pratt, do you have any questions for this witness?"

"Yes, Your Honor." Ozzie stood and straightened his jacket. "Davy, when you leapt up to attack me, did I deliberately fire at you?"

"Nope, I was too quick for you, I guess. I grabbed ahold of your arm and tried to take that thing away from you. We got t'rassling and it..." He shrugged. "...just sorta went off."

"Thank you. And before I ran off after Jane, what did I say to you? My exact words, please, if you remember them."

"You said you was gonna be back t'take care of me later. Only you didn't 'cause they got you, you dirty --"

"Ah, yes. I believe that my exact words were that I'd 'come back' to take care of you.' Now couldn't that mean that, after I made certain that Jane was all right, I was planning to return and tend to your accidental wound?"

Davy looked like he'd eaten something sour. "I... I suppose... if it was somebody else said it, but we both know that ain't what you meant."

"No, Davy, we don't know that." Ozzie was smiling now. "And neither does the jury." He turned and started back to his chair. "No more questions for this witness. He may step down now."

* * * * *

Lady Cerise leaned back in her padded chair. "And did you discover how did this fight started?"

"Oui," Herve said. "Beatriz needed Daisy for something, but Daisy was busy helping with Wilma with her new gown - she has too many gowns, that one."

Cerise shrugged. "She pays for them herself, and it is free advertising when she wears them around town... but continue."

"Beatriz grew impatient with waiting. She looked sharply at Wilma and the gown and said that it was a waste to - need I repeat what she is supposed to have said?"

"Please do. I wish to know all of the details. Besides..." She smiled wryly. "...Beatriz is sometimes very creative with her insults, trá¨s amusant."

Herve nodded. "Indeed, Cerise. Beatriz said that it was a waste to wrap a dead fish in a silk napkin when... when yesterday's newspaper would do just as well."

"Creative, yes," Cerise said, shaking her head, "but diplomatic... no. A dead fish - not many of our patrons would ever think of Wilma in such a way - for which I thank the Lord. How did she react?"

"She answered that if anyone in the room smelled like a dead fish it was Beatriz."

Cerise smiled for such a moment. "Very good, especially considering Beatriz's great love of perfumes. And then?"

"Beatriz said that she at least she smelled like a real woman and not some cheap magic trick. Wilma told her to take that back. Beatriz refused. Wilma tried to lunge at her, but Daisy grabbed Wilma by the waist. Beatriz laughed, and Wilma twisted free. They would have surely gone each at the other if I had not heard the yelling and stepped in between them."

"At least it was not Rosalyn this time." Cerise looked tired.

"As you pointed out to Rosalyn after their last 'bout', she owes her unscarred body... and, thus, her employment to Wilma. She does not like this fact, but she is beginning to accept it."

* * * * *

"Do you have a verdict?" the Judge asked.

Angel Montiero, the jury foreman stood up slowly. "Sá­, we do, Your Honor. We find him guilty of everything: hitting Davy in the head, threatening to kill the two of them, and shooting Davy. We even find him guilty of throwing that stone through his own window, but we decided that he already paid for that, the two dollars he gave Sam to fix it." He sat down as the room broke into laughter.

"All right, that's enough," Humphreys was chuckling himself as he gaveled for order. "Oswald Pratt, you have been found guilty of two separate charges of assault and battery, two charges of kidnapping, and one charge of vandalism. At the request of the jury, the vandalism charge is waived. For the others, I sentence you to..." The Judge made a mental calculation. "...seven years of hard labor at the territorial prison."

Ozzie sank down in his chair. "Seven... years." He buried his head in his hands.

"As an alternative, you may choose to take a dose of Shamus O'Toole's well-known potion and spend three months at the Eerie, Arizona Special Offenders' Facility. Which do you choose?"

Ozzie looked up. "I'll not give you... give any of you the satisfaction of seeing me parade about, reduced to the status of... a woman. Prison, even seven years of it, seems a far more desirable alternative." He paused. "May I make one small request, however?"

"You can ask," the Judge told him. "Whether the Court agrees is an entirely different matter."

"Of course, Your Honor. I can hardly operate my business from prison, and Your Honor has not confiscated it - so far as I can tell."

"I haven't. What do you want to do with it?"

Ozzie looked around, then pointed. "Roscoe Unger, my apprentice, is standing over there..." He pointed into the crowd. "...covering my trial for the paper - come here, Roscoe. I'd like to ask that a partnership agreement be drawn up. He will run the print shop in my absence, banking a share of the profits for my eventual use."

Roscoe made his way over to Ozzie. "I don't know, sir. Am I ready...do you really think I can run the store...and the paper, too?"

"Not as well as I could, not by a half," Ozzie said, "but you'll do well enough, I should think."

"Well, then, I'll do it." Roscoe said, grinning broadly. He pumped Ozzie's hand. "And thank you for your faith in me, sir."

Ozzie pulled his hand free. "I am not showing my faith in you, boy. I am taking the best of several poor alternatives." He looked over at the Judge. "Will you allow me the time to have the papers drawn up?"

"I don't see that it will be a problem. Milt, do you want to do the honors?"

Milt had been sitting with Jane. He let go of her hand and stood up. He was smiling broadly. "Glad to, Your Honor. In fact, if Mr. Pratt doesn't mind, I happen to have a set of partnership papers on hand. I'll just cross out the words 'gold mine' and write in 'print shop.' Would you..." Milt saw Ozzie glaring at him. "No, I suppose I should draw up a new set of papers. Mr. Pratt may have some bad memories associated with the others."

* * * * *

Laura walked down the path to the bathhouse, the gravel of the pathway crunching under her feet. Carmen looked up at the sound. "Laura, good afternoon. I am afraid that you'll have to wait to use the bathhouse. There are some men in there now."

"That's all right," Laura answered. "I didn't come for a bath - much as I would enjoy a quiet soak right now - I wanted to talk to you a bit, if I may."

"Of course, but, please, sit down." Carmen pointed to an overstuffed chair a foot or two away.

"Thanks." Laura settled down in the chair. "Ahh, feels good."

"So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"My being pregnant."

"You are afraid, no?" When she saw Laura nod, Carmen asked, "What is it that you are the most afraid of?"

"To tell the truth, I think I'm most afraid of what happens after the pregnancy," Laura said softly.

"After? You mean, when the baby comes. Do not worry, I will be glad to teach you how to care for a little one. And I am certain that Amy Talbot and Molly O'Toole will be glad to help you also."

Laura felt her eyes fill with tears. "I... I don't know about Molly. We're sort of on the outs right now. But I'm not afraid of not knowing how to take care of the baby. I... I'm afraid of having to... of that being all I'm gonna be able to do from now on."

"Why do you say that?"

"I told you about my past, how I had to take care of my mother and my sisters all those years. I'm scared that it's going to happen again, that any plans I might've had, anything I wanted to do, gets set aside because I've got a kid to take care of."

"You mean like me?" Carmen asked wryly.

"Well...all right. You help Whit some with his bathhouse, but still..."

Carmen shook her head. "I do not help Whit with his bathhouse. I run my bathhouse. The business is mine."

"Y-yours?"

"Sá­, the building belongs to us both, but the bathhouse business is mine, just as the barbershop is his."

"But how do you manage...with the baby and all?"

"Felipe spends his day with me. He is asleep just over there in the shade." She pointed to a shaded part of the porch. Laura looked. The baby was asleep in a playpen just as Carmen has said. "José is big enough now to help. He is inside being the towel boy."

"He... he is?"

"Sá­, before that he played outside, but Laura, why are you so surprised that I can run my own business? Your... friend, Margarita, she runs her restaurant, does she not? She also has two little ones to take care of."

"Yes, she... she does... run her business, I mean, but she gets a lot of help from Shamus."

"And I get help from Whit, but that does not mean that I could not do it without his help. If a woman wants to, really wants to, she can run a business as good as a man. Even if she has children."

"You think so? You think I could...?"

"I do not know what you would want to do, but you are strong and smart, and - if you do need help - you have a good man in Arsenio."

'If I still have him,' Laura thought.

* * * * *

"Don't move a muscle, deputy. I got you covered." A very familiar voice told Paul Grant.

"Jessie, what...?" The smile on Paul's face vanished when he saw that Jessie was standing just inside the doorway to the Sheriff's Office pointing something at him. He recognized it in a minute as the carved wooden pistol Ernesto played with.

Paul smiled and stood up slowly. As he did, he raised his hands above his head. "Just what did you have in mind, Jess?"

"This here's a kidnapping, deputy. Get moving." She pointed towards the back of the jail.

Paul turned and walked slowly in the direction she had pointed. Ahead of him was the door to the storeroom that he used as his bedroom. "In there," Jessie ordered firmly.

Once they were both inside, Jessie locked the door behind her. "Now that I got you here, I figure I better check you t'make sure you ain't got no hidden weapons on you. Take off your shirt."

"Yes, ma'am." Paul unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the chair. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. "See any weapons?"

"No, but you better keep on going. Take off them pants, too."

Paul kicked off his boots. He unbuttoned his pants and let them fall to the floor. "Well?" he asked as he stepped out of them.

"You sure got something hidden in there," Jessie said as she looked at the growing bulge in his drawers.

"That's right," Paul said with a grin, "and now I've got the drop on you." He knelt quickly and pulled a toy pistol of his own from his pants pocket.

"Oh, my," Jessie answered. She raised her hands, dropping the toy on the floor.

"Now I better check you. Take off that blouse."

Jessie slowly unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor behind her.

"Seems to me, this calls for a hands on search." Paul stepped over and began to caress Jessie's breast through the fabric of her chemise. His other hand reached behind to work at the buttons on her corset.

"Better let me do that." Jessie took a step back and undid her corset. She let it fall to the floorboards. With one quick movement, she had her chemise off as well. "Should I keep going?" She teased. She was nude from the waist upward. Her face was flushed, and Paul could see her nipples pointing out at him, begging to be touched.

Paul nodded. Jessie smiled, running her tongue across her upper lip. She fiddled with some buttons at her waist, and, a moment later, her skirt fell from her hips. "Almost like two peas in a pod," she said. "We ain't got nothing but our drawers on."

Pail closed the distance between them. "We've still got a few differences, I'm happy to say." He pulled her to him and kissed her. His chest hair tickled her nipples. She moaned softly, and he used that moment to invade her mouth, his tongue making it his. Her arms snaked around his neck, urging him to continue. As the kiss deepened, they used their hands to explore the contours of each other's body.

When they finally broke the kiss, he lifted her and gently put her down on the bed. "Let me help you with your shoes," he said. He reached down to unbutton them and pull them off.

As he did, she untied the ribbon at the waist of her silk drawers. She lifted herself and slid them down past her hips. "You can help me with these, too."

Paul gently moved her drawers down her legs and off her feet. He never noticed where he tossed them. Jessie was lying all but naked, spread out like a feast before him. He could see the desire in her eyes, but he decided to tease her a bit as she had teased him.

He leaned over and gently blew a puff of air on the blonde curls that covered her nethermost self. Jessie gasped in surprise. Paul moved in closer and blew another puff of air. He could smell the scent of her arousal. He moved his head in and began to use his tongue on her.

He could hear her gasping, moaning, barely able to speak. When he found her clitoris and began to play with that, she grabbed his hair tightly in her fingers. He ignored the pain and kept working until her felt her muscles tighten. Her hips bucked. She was screaming his name now and actually pulling out some of his hair.

He stopped when she collapsed down onto the bed and let go of his hair. He looked up at her face. Her eyes were half closed, and she was smiling.

The smile got even bigger, when Paul stepped out of his own drawers and climbed onto the bed next to her. "Ready for more?" he asked as he rolled over and onto her. His elbows and knees kept most of his weight off of her, but she was trapped beneath him.

Jessie hardly seemed to mind. Her hand moved down until it found his manhood. "I think I found that weapon of yours. It's so pretty that I want to gift wrap it - just like some Christmas present." She pointed to her reticule, the small purse she carried. "Would you please get me that?"

When Paul handed it to her, she took out one of the "English riding coats", the condoms that Wilma had given her. "Remember, she said looking up at Paul, "you promised."

"That I did," Paul said, "Do your worst."

She smiled up at him as she slipped it on. "I was hoping we would both be doing our best." She used the bright green ribbon attached to the base of it to fasten it tightly around him. "There, just like a Christmas present, and I knows just the place t'hide it," she said, her voice almost a purr. She guided him into her.

He kissed her as he began a slow, teasing motion with his hips. She moaned a soft, "Yes!" as the motion became more and more insistent. Her legs rose up around his waist as the movement of her hip pelvis matched his.

Her arms flailed at his back, then reached down to grab at the bed sheet beneath her. By now they were both moving hard. Suddenly, Paul stopped as he felt his essence spurt into her body. His orgasm ignited hers. Jessie broke the kiss and screamed. Her back arched as her arms clawed at his back as he pumped into her.

After a time, the sensations lessened. Jessie collapsed down onto the bed. Paul felt himself soften. They were both panting hard. "Best kidnapping I ever done," Jessie managed to say.

"Couldn't agree more." Paul kissed her softly. His hands caressed her body. He felt himself slip out of her. They kissed and cuddled for a while. Paul reached down and carefully removed the condom, wiping himself with a cloth afterwards.

Then Jessie yawned. "It's been a long, hard day, for me," she said happily, "but I'm ready for some sleep."

"Same here." Paul pulled the blanket over them both and snuggled up close, spooning his body behind hers. "And, with any luck, it'll be long and hard for you again before you leave in the morning." He raised his arm up and laid it down gently over her body, running a fingernail across the upper swell of her breast.

"It better be," Jessie said. "G'night.

* * * * *

Thursday, November 16, 1871

Lucian Stone used a tweezers to put the final weights in the balance scale. "That's 61.38 ounces, Miss Steinmetz. U.S. standard is $20.65 per ounce, so the government will pay you..." His long, thin fingers slid the round markers along across his abacus. "...$1,267.50. That's probably about as large a payout as I've made since I set up this office."

"I's rich; I's rich!" Jane started doing a jig across the floor of the assay office.

Milt stopped her by putting a hand on each shoulder. "Not really. But you've got a start at being rich... if you do as I suggested."

"Can't I spend any of it?" Jane pouted. "Just t'have m'self a little fun."

Milt scratched his chin. "I suppose. You're certainly entitled. Besides, you have some debts that should be settled." He turned to Stone. "Give her the $67.50 in cash, and give me a draft for the rest - made out in her name, of course."

"Of course," Lucian said. He opened a ledger and began to make an entry.

"1:20." Milt was looking at the clock on the office wall. "We're right on schedule for our meeting with Dwight Albertson.

"Mr. Albertson?" Jane asked. "Why are we going to see him?"

"I'm a lawyer, not a financier," Milt answered. "Dwight will use that check Lucian is writing to set up an investment portfolio for you. If the economy is half as good as he says it is, that money should double in the next five years."

"Double?" Jane's eyes were wide as saucers. "I am gonna be rich."

* * * * *

Maggie pushed the back door open with her hip and walked out onto the porch. The shortbread and plates were on the table already. She put down the two pitchers of lemonade next to them and looked in the backyard.

Ernesto was playing some sort of tag with his first grade classmates, Lupe, and José Whitney. He wore a paper crown to show that it was his birthday, and the party was for him.

At the moment, Inez Ortega was it. She made a sudden lunge for Abe Scudder. "I got you, Abe," she yelled.

"Did not," the boy said stopping about five feet away from her.

"Did so, you cheater."

"Who you calling a cheater?"

Maggie clapped her hands to get their attention. "Is this nice, to argue like that? It is just a game, after all."

"Perhaps they should be playing something else."

Maggie turned at the sound of the voice. Ramon was walking into the yard carrying a large package wrapped in white paper.

"Is that for me, Uncle Ramon?" Ernesto asked running over to the man.

"Sá­, I thought that mi compadre, Ernesto, deserved something special for his birthday."

"What is it? Can I see it now?" the boy grabbed at the package.

"Ernesto," Maggie scolded. "Do not grab like that; you will break the present."

Ramon smiled. "Actually, this present is made to be broken." He set it down on a porch step and tore off the paper to reveal a small papier-má¢ché donkey painted yellow, pink, and red. A coil of rope was attached at one end to a ring in the donkey's saddle.

"A piá±ata!" Ernesto said excitedly.

Ramon pointed to José and Lupe. "Go around the side of the house. There is a long pole with a yellow ribbon on it and a short, thick stick painted red. Bring them back here."

"Sá­, Uncle Ramon!" the children yelled and ran off.

Maggie walked over and sat down next to Ramon on the step. "This is very sweet of you, Ramon."

"It is my pleasure, Margarita. Ernesto is a good boy. He deserves a treat of his birthday."

"Yes, he does, but you did not have to be the one to give it to him."

Ramon gently took her hand. "Why not? He is my friend. A man does things for his... friend." He waited a beat. "Especially when that friend is the son of another... good friend. Who could say anything was wrong about that?"

Maggie's skin felt warm where Ramon touched her. "Who indeed?"

* * * * *

"How you feeling, Davy?" Jane asked as she walked into Doc Upshaw's infirmary.

Davy was sitting up in bed, eating dinner off a tray. "Jane, where you been? Time was, you'd have been in and outta here two, three times today." He winked at Milt, who'd walked in with Jane. "What you been up to with my Jane, Mr. Quinlan?"

"Not much of anything." Milt winked back. "She spent most of the afternoon over at Shamus', helping out in the kitchen."

"What you been cooking up in that kitchen, Jane?" Davy looked at the watery stew he'd been eating. "And next time, could you bring some of whatever it is over here for me?"

"Maggie needed some help, that's all." Jane said. "Today was her boy Ernesto's birthday, and she wanted t'give him and some of his friends a party after school. Molly and Jessie was gonna watch the kitchen, so she could, but that'd leave the saloon short-handed. I babysat that kitchen for her a couple o'times, so I said I'd do it."

Davy took another forkful of stew. "That was right nice of you." He sighed. "And it'll be good to be up on that mountain with somebody who knows her way around a kitchen. I can't cook worth a damn."

"Has the Doc said when you can leave?" Milt asked.

Davy nodded. "Yep, he says another day or so. I figure me n'Jane can head out Saturday morning."

"I... I ain't going," Jane blurted out. "I talked t'Shamus, and he's gonna give me my old job back."

"You put her up t'this, Quinlan." Davy glared at Milt. "I know y'did."

Milt raised his hands, as if to defend himself. "I'll admit that I'm happy to hear that Jane's staying in town, but this is as much news to me as it is to you, Davy."

"Why you doing this, Jane?" Davy asked. "I thought all you wanted was t'get backup to your claims."

Jane couldn't meet his eyes. "So did I. Then I got t'thinking. Last time I went up there, well, you know what happened. I almost got... we both almost got killed. You got shot, and I... well, I started to wonder if it was worth it."

"Sure it is."

"No, Davy, it ain't, not for me, not any more. I think I'll be happier in town."

"With him." Davy glared at Milt.

"I'll... I'll admit that's part of it, but even so, I... I just don't want t'be a miner no more."

"So, you're gonna leave me high n'dry. You knows I sold my old claim to Ned Handy."

"That's why I'm gonna give you my claim. It... it seems only fair after you got shot trying t'protect me."

Davy scowled. Then he looked thoughtful for a moment. "Fair? Well, missy I ain't taking it."

"Don't be so proud, Davy," Milt said. "From what Jane's told me, there's a fair chance of gold in that mine."

"I ain't taking it. Our deal was partners. You don't want t'work that claim with me, fine, I gets a bigger piece, but the only way I'll take that claim is as your partner."

"You sure you know what you're doing, Davy?" Milt asked.

Davy nodded. "No, but a man does dumb stuff like this all the time for... for a friend, don't he?"

* * * * *

Mrs. Lonnigan came in for Davy's tray about ten minutes after Milt and Jane had left. "Well, you may not like my stew," she said to him, "but I see that you still managed to finish it."

Mrs. Lonnigan was a small, precise woman in her mid to late 40s. Her hair was brown with just a touch of gray, and she had an open, caring face. A widow, she was both Doc Upshaw's nurse and his office staff, keeping his medical and financial records.

"It weren't that bad, ma'am, but - no disrespect - Maggie Lopez is a better cook than you are, and anything Jane might bring me woulda been cooked by her."

"Miss Lopez is a better cook than almost any other woman in town - including myself, I daresay."

"Glad you take it that way, but - since we's talking - ain't it impolite for you t'be listening in on what people are saying in private?"

Mrs. Lonnigan drew herself to her full height. "I am a nurse, Mr. Kitchner. I do not eavesdrop on anyone's conversation. I do, however, monitor the condition of my patients. If they happen to be talking at the time, well, that certainly is not my fault."

"And how much did you hear, besides what I said about the food?"

"I... I heard you refuse to accept the gift of Miss Steinmetz's claim, very gallant of you, I must say. Especially..." She stopped, putting her hand in front of her mouth.

"Especially what?"

"May I be frank?"

"Y'mean, be honest with me? I wouldn't o'asked if I didn't want an honest answer."

"Very well, then. You were the successful suitor for her hand... and her claim. You even risked your life for her, taking the bullet that almost cost you a leg."

"And..."

"And you seem so... so nonplussed when she so quickly transferred her affections to Mr. Quinlan. I will admit that he played a prominent role in Mr. Pratt's comeuppance, but still..."

"Why ain't I mad that she's all lovey-dovey with Milt instead of me? First off, Jane didn't 'transfer' nothing. She must've been in here a dozen times just checking up on me." The woman started to say something, but Davy cut her off. "Second, she never felt that way 'bout me. She told me so right off, even if it took a while t'sink in. She picked me 'cause we was old friends and 'cause I knew more about mining than all them others put together."

"But she's such a beautiful young woman. Surely there was some attraction."

"There was, and I would have said 'Yes' in a minute if she'd offered. Only, she didn't offer, and I ain't a man who tries t'take what ain't been offered."

"Yet you risked your life for her."

"Like I said, we's old friends, good friends, and we have been for years. A man won't risk his life for a friend like that... well, I ain't sure I want t'know him."

"I... I think I understand." She put a hand on his forehead, then she lifted his blanket and touched his leg next to the bandage the doctor had put on his wound. "No temperature. No sign of infection or inflammation in your limb, either. I've watched you exercising your leg during the day as well. I think the doctor will release you tomorrow, and you'll be ready to go back to the mountains Saturday."

"That's good news. I ain't been outta this bed, 'cept when the Doc let me go to Ozzie's trial. And I had to go t'that in one of them wheelchairs." He paused a half beat. "There's one more thing, I'd like t'say, though."

"And that is?"

"I know how purty Jane is, but she's half my age. My tastes run more to the... more mature woman, like yourself. In fact, if I got enough money left after I pay the Doc, I'd like t'take you out to supper before I head up to my claim."

Mrs. Lonnigan tried very hard not to blush. "That's hardly necessary - and you don't have to worry about your bill. Mr. Pratt is paying it."

"Ozzie?" Davy chuckled. "Now that's funny. First he pays for breaking his own window, and now he pays for shooting me."

"To be more precise, Mr. Unger is paying the bill in Mr. Pratt's name."

"Then I got more'n enough to treat you to that supper, and it is necessary - to me anyhow. C'mon, have supper with me, Mrs. Lonni... say, what is your first name?"

"Edith," she said shyly.

Davy considered it for a moment. "Edith, now that's a right purty name. Suits you, too."

"Thank you... Davy, and I would be most pleased to have supper with you tomorrow evening."

* * * * *

"Mama, Mama, Junior and Hiram are fighting again!"

Laura spun around at the shouts of the child who'd just run into her cabin. She saw a young girl, about six, with long blonde braids. "My goodness. Where are they, Belinda?" It seemed natural that she knew the girl's name.

"Out in the yard. You better hurry." Belinda turned and ran back out the door.

Laura looked down. She was wearing a green dress that she'd never seen before and a frilly white apron. She wiped her wet - how did they get wet? - hands. Her belly swelled out, and why shouldn't it? She was seven months pregnant with her fifth - her fifth? - child.

That didn't seem right, but she didn't have time to think about it. She was outside now. Two boys were rolling around in the dirt, punching one another. "Boys, boys, you stop that now." She clapped her hands, trying to get their attention.

They ignored her. "What... what do I do now?" She couldn't think. She had to do something, but what should she... what could she do? "Why can't I think of anything?" She asked herself out loud. She could feel the tears filling her eyes. "Please, please stop."

"Blam. Blam. Blam." The little girl, Belinda, was standing next to her. She was banging on a pot with a large metal spoon. "Mama told you to stop," she yelled at the pair.

The two boys stopped. The taller one, a long, lanky redheaded boy of ten, rolled off his smaller, but stockier, brown-haired brother. "What's the matter, Belinda?" Then he saw Laura. "Oh, ummm, hello, Mama."

"Why were you and Hiram fighting?" Laura asked, uncertain how she knew that these were her children.

The smaller boy scrambled to his feet. "We was fighting 'cause we was fighting. It's just... Boys do that, Mama. You wouldn't understand 'bout such things."

"Y-yes, I would," Laura said. "I was a... a girl once." Why had she said that? Hadn't she been a boy, Leroy Meehan? It seemed so long ago.

"That's nice, Mama," the taller boy said, "but we got us man stuff to do." The boys ran off laughing - laughing at her - before Laura could say another word.

Laura felt confused, helpless. She looked over at Belinda. The child was looking up at her, a sad, almost disgusted expression on her face. "I'm a girl, too," Belinda said, "but I hope I never grows up to be such a sorrowful, helpless, sissy female like you, Mama."

* * * * *

"Nooo!" Laura sat up in bed with a start.

Arsenio was next to her, awakened by her scream. "Wha... what's the matter, Laura?" He sat up and put his arms around her.

"A dream," Laura said, trembling. "It was just a bad dream."

Arsenio stroked her hair and began to rock back and forth gently. "Whatever that dream was, it must have been a beaut." The arguments they'd been having were forgotten for the moment; she needed him now. He held her till she stopped trembling, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. When her breathing was steady, they both lay back down. His arms were still around her.

Laura was asleep soon after that. Arsenio stayed awake for a while, just watching her sleep.

* * * * *

Friday, November 17, 1871

Dan followed the sound of the singing into the alley.

Arnie Diaz was sitting on a stack of crates outside Ortega's grocery store, leaning back against the wall of the building. He was holding a bottle of liquor and trying to sing. "From this valley they sa-ay you are go-oing!"

"Ouch." Dan whispered, wincing at the boy's second sour note. Aloud he said. "Evening, Arnie. How you doing, tonight?"

The boy stopped singing. "Oh, he-hello, Sheriff." He tried to sit up straight. "I... I am... uhh, fine. How-how are you?"

"A lot more sober than you are, I think."

"I ain't drunk." Arnie tried to sound serious. He spoiled the effect by grinning as he said it.

There was a rake leaning against the wall. Dan turned it upside down and used the pole to draw a line in the sandy soil. "Then let's see you walk this line."

"Sh-sure." He stood up slowly, putting his hand on the crates to steady himself. Then he took a step and began to walk along the line. He had only gone two steps before his leg wobbled and he veered wide. He tried to get back on the line and overstepped it in the other direction.

"Thing keeps moving," he said, sounding very annoyed. Then he giggled. "Best come with me, Arnie. You can sleep it off in a cell."

Arnie shook his head. "I ain't drunk, and I ain't going."

"Yes, you are." Dan reached for the boy's arm.

Arnie pulled it away and threw a punch that Dan dodged easily.

"Thanks, Arnie," Dan said. He threw a sharp right that caught the boy in the jaw. Arnie crumbled without a word. "You just made this a lot easier." Dan caught him as he fell and threw him over a shoulder. Dan groaned as he stood up and started walking towards the jail. "Damn, the kid's heavier than I thought he was."

* * * * *

Saturday, November 18, 1871

"Hey, Davy," Jane said, "you ready t'go?"

Davy finished checking the hitches of horse to wagon before he turned to answer. "I am. This here's your last chance, Jane. You can still come with me if y'wants to."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Jane shook her head. "I'm better off here in town."

Davy shrugged. "Your choice. 'Course, that don't mean you can't come out now n'then for a visit." He smiled. "It is still one-quarter your claim."

"I know, and I promise, I will try t'get out there when I can."

"Why don't you bring Milt with you? He's a nice fella, and that'll make you come out more often."

"Now why would his coming along make me visit more often?"

Davy winked. "'Cause you'll have all that time alone together on the way up and the way back."

"Oohh, you..." Jane felt herself blush. "You go up there and make us both rich."

Davy winked and kissed her on the cheek. "That's the whole idea, ain't it?"

* * * * *

Laura sat on a barstool. "R.J., have you seen Molly?"

"Mrs. O'Toole is upstairs, Mrs. Caulder," R.J. said with a slight smile.

Laura sighed. "I am so tired of that 'Mrs. Caulder' bullshit. I wish she and Shamus would stop already."

"You can hardly blame them for being mad after what you said to Molly."

"What? What the hell did I say?"

R.J. looked at her closely. "You really don't know, do you?"

"No, and I wish I did. I... I miss having Molly to talk to."

"Then you better hope she accepts your apology." He poured Laura a beer - a real beer. She grabbed it and took a long drink.

"For what?" Laura all but shouted in exasperation.

"What were you talking about when Molly got mad?"

"Molly was ragging on me about my... my baby. I lost my temper and said if she liked babies so much, where was all the babies she'd had with Shamus? Near as I know they don't have any kids."

R.J. sighed and shook his head. "You ever figure that may not have been their choice?"

"You saying they tried, and Molly never could get pregnant?"

R.J.'s expression darkened. "The way I heard it - and don't you ever tell Molly or Shamus I told you - Molly lost a baby somehow, and she couldn't have no more."

"And I..." Laura's bit her lip. "I rubbed her nose in it, didn't I?" R.J. nodded. "Shit, no wonder she hates me. If I'd been Shamus, I would've fired me."

"Which just proves that he's smarter than you are... as if there was ever any real question."

Laura took another swig of her beer. "I might as well start looking for a another job. They'll never forgive me."

"Seems to me they already have - or they're going to. They're just waiting for you to apologize. You can't hate a person forever for spouting off at the mouth. Besides, Molly was probably hoping to help out with your baby. She probably still is."

Laura drank the last of her beer. "Yeah, but how do I apologize for something like that?"

"I don't know, but you better figure it out quick." He pointed to the stairs. "She's coming down."

Her mind racing, Laura hurried over to the steps. "M-Molly, I-I..."

"What is it, Mrs. Caulder?" Molly said coolly.

Laura felt a tear slide down her cheek. "I... I don't know... don't know what I can say." She sniffled and hurried away.

Molly walked over to the bar. "Now, what in the name of St. Patrick was that all about, R.J.?" asked.

"I think Laura was trying to apologize," R.J. answered.

"Was she now? Well, ye can just tell her that if she can say all the words proper-like, I may be willing to listen."

* * * * *

Sunday, November 19, 1871

A sudden noise woke Laura. It was still dark, and she snuggled down to try to go back to sleep. Snuggled? She looked around. Her head was resting on Arsenio's shoulder, while his arm wrapped around her waist.

She turned her head to look at his face. He was asleep. She could hear his steady breathing, feel it, too, in the slow rise and fall of his chest. Even so, he was smiling. Damn, he had a nice smile.

Laura remembered the night before and that stupid dream. They were still quarreling about the baby, but he hadn't hesitated to comfort her after she woke up screaming. She smiled at the memory.

She yawned, too, and tried not to make a sound that might wake Arsenio. She was always tired Saturday night from all the dancing she had to do. That reminded her of something else. She remembered what Arsenio had said when she asked, not too long after their wedding, if he minded her dancing with other men.

"I don't mind," he'd said, "I know with all my heart and soul that you'll be coming back here after that dance. Back to our house... and back to my... to our bed. When a man knows that, he doesn't worry about anything else."

'He didn't mind,' she thought. 'He didn't mind anything, as long as he knew I loved him.' Her eyes went wide. 'But the way I've been acting... He must wonder if I still do.' Her eyes glistened with tears, as she turned her head and lightly kissed his cheek.

Arsenio didn't wake up, but he shifted in his sleep. His arm tightened around Laura's waist, pulling her even closer to him.

Laura closed her eyes and sighed. She was going to have to find a way to tell him that she still loved him. She didn't know how, but she would give it a lot of thought in the morning.

In the meantime, it just felt good to be in his arms. She felt warm, safe, protected. Loved. She was smiling as she slowly slipped back to sleep.

* * * * *

Father de Castro looked out at his congregation. "Before we conclude this morning's service, I have a few announcements. The season of the birth of our Lord will be upon us in a very short time. As in the past, we will hold the posada processions for the nine nights before Navidad. The last night's posada will end here at the church with a night of festivities, followed by a special late mass."

"I have posted the list of the homes to be visited on the other nights by the door. Next to that is the list of the children who will have special parts in each night's posada. Remember, we try to choose new children each year, and there is no shame in not being chosen. I also expect that the children who are chosen will remember that they are to take part in a holy observation. They - and their parents - should be humble, as our Lord was humble, and not act with false pride, which is surely a sin.

"Also, we shall need volunteers, adult and children, to decorate the church for the final night's posada and to make the faroles, the paper lanterns, we will need each night. I also ask the many fine cooks of the congregation..." Maggie was not the only woman who thought that he looked directly at her at this point. "...to help with the making of the baskets of colaciones, sweets for the party."

* * * * *

Maggie ran her finger down the list. "Carmen, you and Whit host the posada on the 19th. Congratulations."

"I am not sure that congratulations are in order," Carmen said. "I was picked once before, and I know that it is a lot of work."

"Sá­," Maggie agreed, but this time you will have me to help you with the cooking."

"That will be a great help. Did they pick your house, also?"

"No, thank Heavens." She crossed herself quickly. "But, on the 22nd, Ernesto and Lupe will both be part of the procession. Lupe will be the angel and Ernesto will be part of the chorus of children."

Carmen nodded. "Father DeCastro often picks brothers and sisters to march on the same day. He says that it can keep the peace in a family."

* * * * *

Monday, November 20, 1871

"Well, ye're in early this morning, Mrs. Caulder," Shamus said as Laura walked over to where he, Molly, and Jane were just finishing breakfast.

"I... uhh, wanted to talk to Molly and you, if I could," Laura explained nervously.

Shamus shrugged. "I don't see why not."

"Alone... please." Laura looked directly at Jane.

"Jane," Molly said, "why don't ye go get a tray t'bus these here dirty dishes with?"

Jane stood, pouting. "All right; all right, and see if I don't take my time coming back with it, neither." She bustled off without waiting for any reply.

"Sit then, Mrs. Caulder..." Shamus gestured towards an empty chair. "...and say what ye need t'be saying."

Laura shook her head. "I-I think I... I'd rather stand." She took a breath. "Molly, a-a few days ago, I said some things - some terrible, thoughtless things - to you. I hurt you a whole lot, and I-I'm so very, very sorry for what I said." Her eyes were filling with tears. "I... I only ho-hope that you can f-find it in... in your... Oh, Lord." She broke down and began to sob.

Molly jumped up and took her in her arms. "I'm sorry; I'm so sorry," Laura said over and over.

"I know," Molly said, rocking her back and forth gently, her own eyes filling with tears. "I know, Laura, child, and I forgive ye."

* * * * *

Tomas Rivera and Elmer O'Hanlan were sitting on a log at the edge of the schoolyard eating lunch. "What'd you got for desert?" Elmer asked, holding up an apple."

"A slice of - hey, what is that?" Tomas pointed to a movement in the tall grass nearby.

Elmer stood up slowly. "Shhh, I see it." He moved forward a step at a time. Tomas followed, the pair of them being as quiet as possible.

"One... two... now!" Tomas' hand shot down into the grass. When he pulled it out a moment later, he was holding some eighteen inches of squirming reptile.

"Whoo-wee," Elmer whistled. "That is one bodacious garter snake. What are you gonna do with it?"

Tomas considered for a moment. "I cannot keep it. My mama hates snakes."

"Mine, too," Elmer said. "We've got to let it go." He smiled suddenly, a mischievous smile, as an idea came to him. "But before we do..."

* * * * *

Nancy Osbourne waited while the last of her students settled back into their seats after lunch. She clapped her hands twice to get their attention, then began. "Please get out your readers. Ysabel, would you go back and work with the younger --?"

"Aaaahhh! Snake! Snake! Snake!" Hermione Ritter was standing several feet back from her open desk, pointing at it. A large garter snake was slithering back and forth inside the desk, trying to find a way out and down to the floor.

Penelope Stone and Eulalie Mackechnie looked where Hermione was pointed. They both jumped back from their own desks, and Eulalie began screaming along with her.

Yully Stone walked over and grabbed for the snake. He got it on the second try and held it up in the air. "Aw, he... heck, Hermione, it's just an old garter snake. It won't hurt you."

"Don't you bring that horrid thing anywhere near me, Ulysses Stone," she yelled at him.

Miss Osbourne clapped her hands again for attention. "As interesting as that reptile might be," she said in a firm voice, "I think that it serves no useful purpose in this classroom. Yully, please take it out to the far side of the schoolyard and release it."

"Yes, ma'am," Yully said. "And I'll stay out to make sure it doesn't come back this way."

The teacher gave him a bemused smile. "Good try, but I'll expect you back here as soon as you've released the animal." She paused a beat. "Two minutes at the most."

"Yes, ma'am," Yully answered, as he walked to the door. The other students made a wide path for him.

"Now," Miss Osbourne said, "if you all will sit down, we can get back to our reading. All of you except Tomas Rivera and Elmer O'Hanlan, that is."

"Why us?" Elmer asked, trying to look hurt.

"Because you two sat there laughing to beat the band, while those poor girls were scared within an inch of their lives." She looked directly at the two boys, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. "Do you want to confess now or later?"

Tomas sighed. "Now, I guess, teacher." Elmer nodded in agreement.

Nancy looked at the notes on her desk. "You're both in the Fourth Reader. Turn to page... 58. I want five copies of that list of spelling words on my desk the first thing tomorrow morning from each of you."

"But there are fifty words on that list," Tomas protested.

"Do you want me to make it ten copies, Tomas?"

* * * * *

Laura walked to the bar after restocking the liquor at Bridget's poker game. No one else seemed to need a drink at the moment, so she sat down on a stool near where Shamus was standing.

"So, Laura," Shamus asked, "are ye still so upset about being pregnant?"

Laura nodded. "I... I am." She decided in that moment not to tell either him or Molly that she had been thinking about getting rid of the baby. It would just stir things up again between her and them.

"Do ye remember what ye promised Arsenio on yuir wedding day?"

"My vows? Yes, of course, I remember them."

"So ye remember - what was it - 'For better, or for worse, for richer, for poorer, for in sickness and in health.' Did ye mean all of them words when ye promised them?"

"Did I? Of course, I meant them. I'm a woman of my word, Shamus. You know that."

"Well, now, don't ye think that having babies was a part o'them vows?"

"I... I suppose. When I took them, I wanted to be a woman - Arsenio's woman. I just wasn't thinking of something like... this." She very gently patted her stomach. Did it seem a bit thicker? She wasn't sure.

Molly chose that moment to join them. "Now ye got t'be thinking about it," Molly said, "but think about this, too. Them vows mean that ye got a fine man like your Arsenio to be sharing that baby with. Ye're as lucky in that as I am with me own Shamus." She took Shamus' hand in her own and kissed him gently on the cheek.

"Ye think about what me Molly said," Shamus added. "Ye and Arsenio love each other. Yuir love made that baby o'yours, and it'll give ye the strength for whatever ye'll need after it gets here."

* * * * *

Tuesday, November 21, 1871

Laura took her arm off of her eyes and looked up at the bedroom ceiling for, maybe, the hundredth time. "Arrrgh!" She said in frustration. She twisted around and punched at her pillow. Satisfied finally, she just laid back and stared at Arsenio.

Who, she discovered, was staring back at her.

"I'm sorry if I woke you."

"It's all right," he said gently. "Can't you get any sleep?"

"I've been thinking about... about the baby," she admitted.

"Naturally." Arsenio frowned, bracing himself for another argument. Laura gently put her hand on his.

"Yes. If it's a boy, I want to name him Arsenio after you." She tried to smile. It felt good to tell him at last.

"What? You mean --"

Laura smiled and shyly nodded her head. "Yes, there's still a lot of things that scare me about being pregnant and having a baby, but, if I can share that baby with you, it'll be worth it." She was smiling, her eyes filing with tears of relief that she had made her decision.

"You can. You can." Arsenio was grinning from ear to ear. "And if it's a girl, we'll call her Laura, after you."

Laura shook her head. "No, I... I kind of like the name... Eleanor."

"You... you don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do. I think that... from what you've told me about her, she deserves to be remembered."

Arsenio leaned over and kissed her forehead. At the same time, he reached out and pulled her to him. Her body felt so good against his. Their lips met and they kissed and fondled each other as if trying to make up for all that lost time while they'd been quarreling.

* * * * *

Paul Grant stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the Sheriff's Office. He looked around and up and down the street. It was early morning. The street was deserted except for some men down at the Wells Fargo a block away who were busily loading some freight.

"Looks like the coast is clear," he whispered, turning his head towards the partially opened door.

Jessie Hanks walked quickly out onto the sidewalk beside him. Her head was down, as if to hide her face. "Thanks... for everything. I'd better be getting back over to the saloon before they all wake up."

"Not quite yet," Paul said. He studied the streets for a moment. Then he put his hands on both sides of Jessie's face and tilted her head upward. Their lips met in a kiss. Jessie's arms moved upwards and around his neck. The kiss grew more intense as she pushed her body against his.

Finally, they had to break the kiss. "Now you can go." Paul was smiling broadly.

"Do I have to?" Jessie's cheeks were flushed, her voice a little breathy.

"I'm afraid you do, much as I hate to say so."

Jessie sighed and looked around. Then, without a glance back at her lover, she hurried across the street.

* * * * *

"Would ye be liking some more coffee with yuir lunch, Laura?" Molly asked. Laura nodded and the older woman refilled her cup, then sat down at the table across from her. "Can I be asking ye a question?"

"Ask away." Laura took a sip of the coffee.

"Ye been smiling like a cat in a creamery since ye come in this morning, and I've been wondering what it is that ye're so happy about."

"I took the advice you and Shamus gave me - and thanks so much for it. I've decided that I do want this baby. I told Arsenio that, and we... umm, made up last night."

Molly gave her a wink. "Ohh, 'made up', did ye?"

"Uh huhn," her smile grew even broader, even as her cheeks reddened. "A couple of times." She closed her eyes for a moment, lost in pleasant memory. When she opened them, she looked straight at Molly. "If I answered your question, can I ask you one?"

"I don't see why not."

"You know how to knit, don't you?"

"Ye've seen me doing it, haven't you? Why do ye ask?"

Laura smiled mischievously and took another drink of coffee. "Because I can't. Knitting was always 'girl's work' to me, and I never wanted to learn how to do it when I was growing up. Now I need to learn how, or to find somebody who can do the knitting for me."

"And why is that, and why should I be the one t'be doing it, if ye don't mind me asking?"

"I don't mind. A baby needs blankets, booties, all sorts of things, and I'm asking you because I know that you wouldn't want your grandchild to go without just because his - or her - mother didn't know how to make them."

* * * * *

Wednesday, November 22, 1871

"Are ye here t'be seeing Maggie?" Shamus asked Ramon, when he saw the man standing at his bar.

"I am afraid so," Ramon answered. "I was supposed to go over to her house and help her with her bookkeeping tonight, but I cannot. There is some sort of confusion in Aaron's files with one of our suppliers, and we will be working on it for a few hours."

Shamus patted him on the shoulder. "Well, lad, thuir'll be other nights. You know the way back."

"I do." Ramon nodded. "Good evening, Shamus." He turned and walked back to the kitchen.

Maggie was slowly pouring chopped vegetables into a steaming pot of yellowish water. She smiled when she saw him, but didn't stop. "Hola, Ramon. I will be with you in a moment."

"I will wait," he said. He sat down on a stool and looked around. Ernesto and Lupe were sitting at a table at the far side of the kitchen eating dinner. They both waved when they saw him, but didn't stop eating. He did see Lupe whisper something to her brother, and their conversation became very animated.

Jane was sitting at a workspace near where he was sitting. "Hey, there Ramon," she said. "I's making rolls for with supper. Maggie showed me how."

"You seem to be very good at it," Ramon said. It was true. The baking pan was almost full of smooth, round balls of bread dough.

"I think she is almost as good at baking as I am," Maggie said, finally coming over.

"Thanks, Maggie. I had me a good teacher." Jane put a last ball in the pan and walked it over to the oven.

"Now," Maggie said, pushing a stray curl of hair back from her forehead. "What brings you into my kitchen. You cannot be that hungry, or are you?"

"I am hungry, especially after smelling the food in here, but that is not why I came. I have to work on the shipping records with Aaron tonight, so I cannot help you with your studies."

Maggie's smile faded a little. She wouldn't admit it, but she enjoyed the time they were spending together while she tried to learn bookkeeping. And he was helping her learn, too.

"I understand," she said. "Perhaps tomorrow night instead."

"Perhaps... if we can straighten out Aaron's account with the Everington Company." He stood up. They were very close, maybe too close. "I... I will let you know."

"Yes, please." She blinked. This was silly. Then she stepped back. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Sá­." Ramon was about to go, when he heard Lupe call his name. He smiled and walked over to where she and Ernesto were sitting. "What can I do for you, little one?"

"I need some help," Lupe said, nervously. "Father deCastro picked me to be the angel one night of the posada."

"I know," Ramon said, "and I think you will make a wonderful angel." He smiled and winked at her. "Even if you do not always act the part."

Lupe giggled. "I need wings. I talked to Constanza Diaz. She was an angel last year, and she said that each angel must have a pair of wings on the back of her dress."

"Did you tell your mama this?"

"I did. Mama is a real good cook, but she cannot sew too good, especially something as fancy as wings."

Ramon nodded gravely. "Even real angels have trouble sewing their wings." He thought about the problem while Lupe giggled at his joke. "I think I have a couple of ideas. Some wire and wrapping paper and, yes, a bit of tinsel - yes, I think... I think I may just have something that would work."

"I knew; I just knew I could count on you, Uncle Ramon." Lupe threw her arms around him in a hug and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you; thank you."

Ramon kissed her brightly on the forehead. "It will be my pleasure, little one."

* * * * *

Thursday, November 23, 1871

"Wilma," Daisy said, "you got a letter."

Wilma looked up from the magazine she was reading, a two-month old issue of Sporting News. "Then bring it over." She put the News down and took the letter from Daisy. "It's from Phil Trumbell, that yahoo what tried to kill me."

"Ooh." Daisy rolled her eyes. "And now you two is writing letters. What's it say?"

"Hold your horses there, Daisy. Who says I gotta read it to you anyway?"

"Aww, you's no fun, Wilma."

"That ain't what all the boys say." Wilma smiled. She saw Daisy's pouting expression. "Oh, all right. Let me just get it open."

Daisy took a letter opener from the pocket of her apron. "Try this."

"I think I been ambushed." Wilma chuckled. She used the opener and took out the letter, unfolded it and began to read.

"My dear Wilma - 'dear', ain't that nice - My dear Wilma, your letter was a real surprise. Here I am serving this long, hard prison sentence for trying to shoot you, and, all of a sudden, I gets your letter. I read what you wrote, smelled that perfume, and some things got longer and harder. Mmm, I bet they did." She slowly ran her tongue across her upper lip.

"Keep reading."

"Where was I - oh, yeah - longer and harder, 'specially when I seen them lip prints on the paper. I can't wait till I get out next summer and see them lips of yours in person and in action."

"I bet he can't," Daisy said. "Looks like you got yo'self a new beau, Wilma. Either that, or he jess itching ta get his hands 'round that purdy, white throat o'yours."

Wilma cocked an eyebrow. "You think so, eh?" She looked at the letter. "And there's more yet. He says he met up with Verne Oliver."

"Really?"

"Uh huhn, and Verne - Phil says - is none to happy to be in prison. He says you wasn't playing fair, Wilma, standing there in the all together like that till you attacked him. Let me tell you, you can ambush me like that any time you want."

"Verne's the reason for this letter, by the way. I wasn't gonna write till he told me what you done to him and why you done it. I got no truck with a man that'd do that to a woman, and old Verne, he ain't smiling not too good right now with them teeth missing."

"After I thought about what you done - and how purty you musta looked doing it, it was hard not to write and say so. Come to think of it, it's still hard now that I did write. You and me can do something about that next summer."

"I got to go now, Wilma. It's time for the weekly delousing. I never liked it before, but right now, I feel the need for a cold spray of water on me. I'll be thinking of you, Wilma, and of what Verne was lucky enough to see. You write me back soon, and it's signed Your Ex-Enemy, Phil Trumbell."

"Mmm mmm, that man can write a letter. You gonna answer him or you gonna let him hang?"

Wilma licked her lip again. "Sounds to me like he's already hung real nice... and that's the best way for a man to be." She walked over and sat down at the small desk in the corner. "Never knew writing back n'forth t'somebody could be so much fun."

* * * * *

Saturday, November 25, 1871

Tomas Rivera threw the rubber ball at the wall of the Wells Fargo loading dock. It bounced high and Elmer O'Hanlan had to scramble to catch it. "Good one, Tomas," he yelled and threw it backhand at the wall for Tomas to catch.

"You boys get outta there," Matt Royce hollered, just as Tomas caught the ball. "We got a wagon coming in to pick up some freight."

The loading dock extended about a foot out beyond the top of the wall. The boys ducked into that space. Then they quickly moved under the wheels of the wagon when it backed in. "All right, then," Royce said in an annoyed voice. "You two just stay there and try to stay out of trouble."

Royce scowled and went back inside to bring out the crate, a new stove for a miner's cabin. It was heavy and, even with the hand truck, he and his helper, Zack Mitchem, had to set it down on the dock several times.

The hand truck's squeaky wheels and the "thump" of the crate on the loading dock seemed to scare the horses. "Hold still, you nags, just hold still," Tony Giambetti, the miner driving the borrowed team, kept saying. The team reared and whinnied. The wagon moved a few inched forward or back each time. The two boys huddled together, trying to avoid the wheels.

Royce and Mitchem finally lowered the crate down onto the back of the wagon. The added weight pulled at the nervous horses. They whinnied again and moved forward suddenly.

The unbalanced crate fell off the back of the wagon. The two men heard the boys scream as the crate crashed down onto them.

* * * * *

"Seniori O'Hanlan, there's been an accident." Tony Giambetti was yelling as he ran into O'Hanlan's Feed and Grain. "Your son..."

Patrick O'Hanlan was writing up an order. "What's Elmer gone and done now?" He asked in an exasperated voice.

"He got hisself hurt real bad over to the Wells Fargo," Giambetti said. "You better come, come right now."

O'Hanlan put down his pad. "He'd better be hurt bad enough to get out of the whipping he's going to get. I'll have to go see what happened. Liam, will finish up taking your order, Mr. Carver."

"Fine with me," the farmer said. "Hope your boy's not hurt too bad."

"Thanks." O'Hanlan looked around. His younger brother, Liam, was bringing a sack of oats out of the back room. "Liam," he yelled. "I have to go out. That fool son of mine's making trouble at the Wells Fargo office, hurt himself or something. Take care of Mr. Carver, and, when you get a chance, tell Kaitlin." He didn't wait for his brother to respond before he ran for the door.

* * * * *

Doc Upshaw had done what he could to make Elmer comfortable for the moment. Now he was just finishing a makeshift splint for the other boy. "That should hold you, Tomas, till we get back to my office, and I can put some plaster on your arm for a cast." The boy was lying down in the back of the wagon.

"O-okay, Doc," Tomas said. He was sweating and in some pain. "Is Elmer going to be all right?"

The Doc tried to smile. "The jury's still out on Elmer, but I'm sure he'll be fine. Right now, I want you over at my office." He looked up at Tomas' father, who was driving the wagon. "You drive slowly, now. Your boy doesn't need any shaking up. Tell Mrs. Lonnigan to fix up a bed for Tomas and to mix the plaster for a cast. I'll be over there as soon as I can, but she can probably set the cast near as well as I can."

"Sá­, Doctor." The boy's father nodded and flicked the reins. The horses moved slowly away.

The doctor tuned his attention back to Elmer. The boy was on the ground, a blanket placed under him. His eyes were shut from the pain, and tears were running down his cheeks. "I heard what you said, Doc. Am... am I gonna... die?" He coughed twice, and spit up a bit of blood.

"And spoil my record?" Upshaw said, putting on his best smile. How the hell do you tell a ten-year old that he was dying of a punctured lung, and that there was nothing either of them could do about it?

The doctor reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle. "Right now, I think you could do with a little less pain." He opened the bottle and knelt down next to the boy. "Here, you took a good swallow of this."

Elmer opened his mouth. The Doc let him take what had to be an adult dose of cherry syrup and laudanum. "That ain't bad." Elmer licked his lips.

"You behave yourself, and I'll let you have some more later." Upshaw stood up.

Patrick O'Hanlan came running over. "What's this I hear about my boy being hurt, and why the hell is he still in the middle of the street like that?"

"May I talk to you in private, Mr. O'Hanlan... Pat?" Upshaw said as gently, but as firmly, as he could.

"If the street's good enough for Elmer, it's good enough for me. What's going on here?"

"Keep your voice down. Please. Elmer's where he is because he's too hurt to move. I just gave him some painkiller. When it kicks in, we can move him."

"Hurt? What's the matter with him?"

"He and the Riviera boy were playing under a wagon while a crate was being loaded. The horses moved, and the crate fell on them. Tomas Riviera got his arm broken in two places. Elmer... I'm afraid that the crate broke some ribs, and it seems to have pushed one of them into his lung. He's been coughing up blood. I don't believe that he'll --"

"Are you saying my boy's dying?"

"O'Hanlan, shut up!"

"Dying!" Elmer had been listening. "Am I dying?" He began to cry. "I don't want to die, Papa."

"You aren't gonna die," O'Hanlan said. "The Doc here won't let you." He looked daggers at the physician, as if blaming him for his son's predicament.

Doc shook his head. "Elmer, nothing's going to happen to you that isn't G-d's will."

* * * * *

Zack Mitchem ran into the Eerie Saloon and straight to where Shamus was tending bar. "Shamus, do you have any of that potion of yours handy?"

"Aye." Shamus looked at the tall man suspiciously. "And what would ye be needing it for? Ain't nobody gets the potion for any reason unless the Judge says so."

Zack shook his head. "It ain't like that. You said how that potion of yours cured a crippled dog back when you was in that Injun camp. You wasn't just funnin' us, was you?"

"I meant what I said." Shamus realized what Zack was asking. "Who's hurt and how bad?"

"A kid, a little kid. I... we dropped a crate on him. The Doc just told his pa that he's dying. I heard him say it. I... I don't wanna watch some kid die 'cause I was clumsy. Shamus... please."

"I ain't sure this'll be of any use," Shamus said. He pulled a key chain from his pocket and began to go through the keys. "But it won't be for the lack of trying. The Wells Fargo loading dock, right?" Zack nodded and hurried out the door. Shamus found a key and knelt behind the bar. After a moment, he stood up again. He was holding a small bottle filled with a greenish liquid. "R.J., watch the bar."

"Good luck," R.J. yelled as Shamus hurried after Zack.

* * * * *

Zack ran over to where the doctor was standing, still arguing with O'Hanlan. A woman, the boy's mother, he guessed, was on the ground next to the boy. "Shamus is coming," Zach panted, half out of breath.

"What's he going to do?" O'Hanlan asked, anger in his voice. "Get somebody drunk - or were you and Royce here drunk already?"

"I don't... we don't drink on the job," Zack said, his guilt giving way to his own anger. "He's bringing that potion of his for your boy."

"What good will that do?" O'Hanlan asked incredulously. "Why should my son be a girl when he dies?"

"Maybe he won't have to die," the Doc said, suddenly understanding Zack's idea. "Maybe... just maybe, when he changes... he... she won't have broken ribs and a punctured lung any more. Yes..." He nodded his head in approval. "...it just might work."

Kaitlin O'Hanlan looked up from where she was kneeling and holding her son's hand. "Do you... do you really think so, doctor?"

"I honestly don't know, Kaitlin. Magic potions weren't in the curriculum when I went to medical school. I do know that nothing that I did learn there is of any real help right now."

"Then we'll try this," Kaitlin said. "I'd sell my soul not to lose my son."

"I don't wanna die, Ma," Elmer said weakly, "but I sure don't want to be no girl neither."

"Elmer, I..." Kaitlin looked up at her husband. "Patrick, say something."

Patrick thought for a moment. "You don't mean that, son. Bad as it is, being a girl has got to be better than being dead."

"I won't drink it." The boy groaned and gritted his teeth. A thin trail of bloody saliva ran from the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, you will," his father answered.

"How you gonna make me?" He waited a half beat. "You gonna whup me?"

Patrick had an idea. "I'll drink some first. If I do that, will you drink it?"

"You promise?" Elmer's eyes were wide.

"You just heard me say it." He hoped the boy wouldn't notice that he really hadn't promised. Kaitlin did notice. She nodded at him.

Shamus picked that moment to arrive. He'd walked, rather than run, to avoid the risk of dropping the potion. "Here I am. I can't promise that it'll be doing what ye want it t'do."

"Anything's worth a try," O'Hanlan said. "Is there..." He sighed. "Is there enough for two doses?" If there wasn't, he wouldn't have to fake drinking the weird brew.

"Is somebody else hurt?" Shamus looked at the bottle. "Seeing as one dose is for the boy, I'm thinking that there's enough for a second."

"It's... it's for me," O'Hanlan said. "The only way Elmer would agree to drink it was if I took some, too."

"Are ye sure ye want to be doing that?" Shamus asked.

O'Hanlan winked out of his left eye, the one Elmer couldn't see. "If it'll save my son, I am." He held out his hand.

Shamus handed him the bottle. "Take about half a mouthful."

O'Hanlan opened the bottle and knelt down. He raised the bottle to his lips and let a bit of the liquid flow in, being very careful not to swallow - or to look like he hadn't. The liquid had a cool, metallic taste and was quite tart. 'Like real medicine,' he thought. He handed the bottle to Shamus. The longer he held the potion in his mouth, the hotter and more prickly it felt.

"Yuir father's a brave man," Shamus said. He held the bottle so Elmer could see. "He drank his share. Now ye drink yuirs."

Shamus looked at Kaitlin. "Mrs. O'Hanlan, I know it sounds as crazy as anything ye ever heard, but in a few minutes, I'll be asking ye to be giving yuir husband and yuir son new, female names. I'll explain it to ye later, but it's very important." Kaitlin looked dubious, but she nodded in agreement.

Elmer took the bottle and emptied it into his mouth. "Yuck," he said, making a face. That stuff tastes --" He suddenly let loose a hacking cough and brought up a large gob of saliva and blood. The boy panicked and grabbed his father's arm. "Pa!"

"Elmer!" O'Hanlan yelped in surprise. Then, while he was distracted, the harsh taste of the potion made him start choking. A look of panic crossed his face. "Good Lord, I swallowed the stuff!"

"Swallowed." The boy's eyes grew wide in realization. "You... you tricked me, Pa. You wasn't gonna drink it. You was gonna let me turn into a girl and not you."

"Elmer, you were being stubborn." The hurt look in his son's eyes made him want to explain. "I wa-wasn't trying to h-hurt y-you. I-I was tr-trying t-to save... to s-save y-your - Arrgh!" He clutched his stomach and began to shake.

"H-hurts!" Elmer shouted. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes tightly to try and fend off the pain.

His mother suddenly knelt down besides him. "Elmer, take my hand. Squeeze that pain into me, just like when you were little." The boy nodded and opened his right hand. His mother put her hand on his, and his fingers closed around it. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed, and Kaitlin O'Hanlan gritted her teeth against the pain she was feeling.

O'Hanlan groaned and fell to his hands and knees on the ground next to his son. He looked down and saw his shirtsleeves sliding down over his hands. His fingers seemed so much smaller. "No... no..." He shook his head not believing what was happening to him and hating the way his voice was getting higher and higher.

"All right now," Shamus said, "the change is happening --"

"Damn, I'll say it is," Matt Royce said. "Look at that."

"Shush, now," Shamus said. "Don't nobody be talking, nobody 'cept ye, Mrs. O'Hanlan. When they open thuir eyes and look up, ye tell 'em thuir new names. From then on, they'll have to do what ye tell 'em. Ye can use that to be helping them into thuir new lives. Do ye understand?"

"I... I think so," Kaitlin said nervously. She looked at her son and husband. "The changes are just so incredible." At that moment, the pair opened their eyes wide and looked around as if searching for something. "Now?"

Shamus nodded and mouthed the word "Yes."

Kaitlin took a breath. "Elmer... Patrick, can you hear me?" The two turned their heads to look and her and nodded, their eyes wide. "Good. From now on, Elmer, you have a new name. You're name is Emma. Patrick, you're Patri - no, I don't like that. Patrick, your name is Trisha now. Those are the only names you'll answer to - or call each other."

She was about to say more, when the pair suddenly blinked. "Is it over?" Trisha asked. She looked at her son - her daughter now. "Emma, how... how do you feel?"

Emma sat up. "I..." She carefully touched her ribs, then her face burst into a look of pure wonder. "I feel... it - it don't hurt no more. But..." Her hands moved up slowly to touch her new breasts. There was enough to strain the buttons on her shirt, and Kaitlin found herself thinking that it was a good thing she'd made Elmer wear something under his shirt that morning.

Emma was a younger version of her mother, slender with long, brown hair and face full of freckles. 'But Elmer is ten,' Kaitlin thought. 'I didn't have breasts like Emma's until I was... twelve or, maybe, thirteen. She seems taller. Did that potion make her older somehow?'

What was more disturbing to Kaitlin was the way Patrick - no, think of him as Trisha - the way Trisha looked. Kaitlin had expected Patrick to become her twin the way Maggie Lopez was said to be the twin of her male self's late wife.

Instead, Trisha was a short, very pretty blonde woman with wide hips and an oversized bosom, someone Kaitlin had never seen before. She'd known her husband for over twelve years, and she wanted to know just where he had met this... this hussy that he had become.

* * * * *

Doc adjusted the weights attached to Tomas' arm, so that it was raised a foot above the bed. "That should do it," he said finally. "As I expected, Mrs. Lonnigan did an excellent job with Tomas' cast and setting him up here in the bed.

"How long will Tomasito have to stay here?" his father asked.

"Three days, I think, just to make sure that there are no complications," Doc said. "Then he can go home. The cast stays on for about six weeks."

"Will Tomas' arm heal back to its old self again?" his father asked.

Upshaw smiled. "A healthy boy his age? In six months time, he probably won't even remember which arm was broken."

When can he go back to the school?" Sylvia Riviera asked. "I do not want him to miss his lessons."

"Keep him home for a week," Doc Upshaw told her. I'll check on him then, and see if he can go back. The main thing is the next few hours and how quickly he gets used to the cast. Can you stay with him tonight?"

Sylvia shook her head. "The other children, who will stay with them if I stay here? Can I bring them here?"

"You stay home with the children," Tomas' father, said. "I will stay with Tomasito tonight."

"It is Saturday," Sylvia said. "Hiram is expecting you to play in the band for the saloon dance."

"Tonight, he will be disappointed. I will be here with Tomasito. Hiram will not mind much, I hope." Tomas tried not to sound nervous as he said it.

* * * * *

Kaitlin opened the door to her bedroom. "All right, get in there, the both of you." She walked in after Emma and Trisha and closed the door behind them. "Now, take off your shoes, pants, and shirts."

"Wait a minute," Trisha said. "Just what have you got in mind? I demand to know."

"You'll find out soon enough," Kaitlin said firmly. "Do it."

"This is ridi..." Trisha stopped arguing, as her fingers began to up unbutton her shirt. She tried to stop, but they had a mind of her own. "Damn." She finished with the shirt and, as always, tossed it onto the floor. Then she sat on the bed. She tried not to notice the weight of her new breasts as she leaned forward to undo her shoes.

Emma was fumbling with the buttons of her own shirt. The cotton of her union suit was rough against her new... breasts. Unconsciously, she began to scratch at her chest.

"Stop that, Emma," Kaitlin scolded. "A young lady never touches herself like that."

"I ain't no lady," Emma said. "My britches are making me itch something fierce."

"You may not be a lady yet, but it's my job now to teach you to behave like one. If that material bothers you, then undo the top two or three buttons, so it doesn't lie so much against your skin."

"Yes'm." Emma did what her mother had suggested.

In a few moments, the two new females were standing in front of Kaitlin wearing only their gray, men's union suits. Emma was six inches taller than Elmer had been. Elmer's drawers had come down almost to his ankles; now they stopped just below her knees. Her sleeves barely went past her elbows.

'She's about 13, now,' Kaitlin told herself. 'I remember having a growth spurt just before my 13th birthday.' Judging from the way the suit hung, a bit tight at the breast and hips and loose at the waist, her new daughter had the blossoming figure of a young teen.

If Emma's figure was blossoming, Trisha's was a full bouquet. 'Good thing she's so much shorter and thinner than Patrick was, Kaitlin thought,' looking at her husband's new form. 'Otherwise, she'd have popped all the buttons on that top.'

Trisha was only a few inches taller than her daughter now, 5 foot 5 to Patrick's 5 foot 9. She had lost Patrick's muscular build, the result of lifting and carrying sacks of feed all day long. The union suit hung on her like a tent. Even so, Kaitlin could see that Trisha's breasts were two melons, with large nipples that pushed out the fabric of her garment. Her hips were broad and womanly, her buttocks, the classic female teardrop.

Kaitlin opened the large cedar chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out two chemises and two pair of lacy drawers. "These won't fit either of you very well," she said as she handed each of them a set, "but they'll do till we can get to Silverman's tomorrow."

"I ain't wearing these." Emma held her new clothes at arm's length.

Trisha shook her head. "Neither am I." She pulled at the baggy union suit she was wearing. "This'll do just fine."

"You'll undress now," Kaitlin ordered, "and there'll be no complaints from either of you until you're dressed in what I just gave you to wear."

Trisha tried to complain but found herself unable to speak. She glanced over at Emma, who was moving her lips without making a sound. While they tried to speak, their hands were busy with their buttons.

A union suit was a one-piece garment that buttoned down to the waist. Trisha undid the buttons and pulled the garment off her shoulders. She let it go, and it fell to the floor. She stepped out of it, totally naked.

Embarrassed, she quickly stepped into the drawers and pulled them up and around her hips and waist. "Where's the buttons?" she asked.

"There aren't any," Kaitlin told her. "You use that ribbon..." She pointed at a blue ribbon at the waist of the garment. "...as a drawstring; pull it tight, then tie it in a bow."

While Trish fastened her drawers, Kaitlin helped Emma out of her union suit. It was tight on her taller body, she and needed the help. In a short time, both of the new females were in their new frillies.

"I feel like a damn fool," Trisha said.

"Can we change clothes now?" Emma pleaded.

Kaitlin shook her head. "No, you'll keep those clothes on. I don't want you to ever wear men's underthings again. Emma, you can go back to your own room now. I want to talk to your... to Trisha."

"Okay, Ma," Emma said hurrying out the door and shutting it behind her. 'Even if I can't take these things off,' she thought, 'I can still put some of my old clothes on over them.'

As soon as Emma left, Kaitlin turned to face Trisha. "Who is she, Trisha? Who's this woman that you think is more beautiful than I am?"

"What do you mean?" Trish asked nervously.

"The potion. It changes a man into the image of whomever he thinks is the prettiest woman he's ever seen. Emma looks like I did at 13 --"

"But Elmer was only 10. How'd Emma get three years older?"

"Don't try to change the subject. You don't look like I ever did, and I want to know who it is that you do look like." She handed him a hand mirror.

"Oh, hell," she tried not to look Kaitlin in the eye. "Do-do you remember those cards I used to collect, the ones that come with the chewing tobacco?"

"The ones you promised to throw away years ago?" She was glaring at him now.

"I did. But this one - she was my favorite. I can't help but remember my favorite, can I?"

Kaitlin frowned. "I suppose not. Do you remember who she is... was?"

"Her name was Norma... Norma Jeane... Barker... no, Baker. She worked at some big saloon or private club out in California."

"And you think she's prettier than I am? No, don't bother answering. It's..." She smiled in spite of herself. "It's as obvious as the new nose on your face."

"Can I say something in my defense?"

"You can try."

"Yes, she's prettier than you are - don't interrupt, but she was only a picture, and you were real. And I threw away that picture when you asked me to."

"I'm still mad at you Trisha, but that was a better defense than I expected." She sighed. "We'll talk more about this later. Right now, we have to find a dress for you to wear. Then you and Emma can help me with dinner."

* * * * *

Shamus was fuming. "A fine thing, Tomas not being able to play at the last minute."

"Try and understand," Hiram King said. "His boy's arm got broken in the same accident that almost killed Elmer O'Hanlan. He needs to be with his son."

"Aye, Love," Molly added. "After all, thuir's some things in this world is more important than money."

"Ye're talking blasphemy, Molly, me girl," Shamus said with a smile. "And if what ye're saying wasn't true..." He winked at her. "...I'd be very, very mad at ye."

"Then you don't mind?" Hiram asked, smiling in relief.

"Mind, of course I mind," Shamus said, "but I understand." He waited a half-beat. "What I'm wondering is what we do about it?"

Hiram looked at his pocket watch. "It's almost 7. People will be coming in soon. I don't know another musician I can get to fill in on clarionet for Tomas."

Jessie had heard the arguing and walked over. "Does it have to be clarionet?"

"What do ye mean, Jessie?" Shamus asked, looking at her suspiciously.

"I can play the guitar," Jessie said. "I'm no great shakes at it, but I can carry a tune... more or less."

"Where'd ye learn to play guitar, Jess?" Molly asked.

Jessie smiled. "Back when I was... umm, living in N'Orleans. I had t'find something t'do when I wasn't... umm, doing other... stuff." She felt her cheeks flush.

"How ye learned ain't half so important as how well ye learned," Shamus imterrupted. "I've got a guitar in me office that somebody left instead of the cash he owed me. Let's us go see."

* * * * *

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed 9. "Bedtime, Emma," Kaitlin said.

"Bedtime?" Emma protested, "but it's only 9."

"Yes, but you must admit that you've had a very long day today."

"But I..." Emma yawned. "I ain't sleepy."

"That yawn says otherwise, Emma," Trisha said. "Mind your mother and go to sleep."

"But..." Emma said, yawning again.

"Go..." Trisha yawned back at her. "Damn."

Kaitlin looked at them. "I think Emma's not the only one who needs to get some sleep."

"I... I guess so." Trisha scratched her head.

"The both of you come with me," Kaitlin said, walking towards her bedroom. The two new females had no choice but to follow. When she reached the bedroom, Kaitlin went into her cedar chest again. This time, she brought out two starched white nightgowns. "You'll wear these tonight." She tossed a frilly, white gown to Emma.

"I was gonna wear my old nightshirt," Emma said.

Kaitlin looked at her daughter, standing there in a flannel shirt that was too short - and a bit too tight across her breasts - and a pair of long work pants that now barely reached halfway from her knees to her ankles.

"You will wear this nightgown," Kaitlin said firmly. "And all you'll wear with it will be your new drawers. Understand?"

"But, Ma..." Emma said. She wanted to argue, but it seemed like there was a voice in her head telling her not to. "I... I understand."

"Good, now kiss your... kiss Trisha and me goodnight and go to bed." She was going to have to figure out what to call Trisha. She hardly looked like Emma's father. Then Kaitlin had a second, more disturbing thought. 'She doesn't look much like my husband, either.'

Emma gave them both a small peck on the cheek, much as Elmer had done. Then, shoulders hunched over as if in defeat, she picked up the nightgown and walked to her bedroom. "Goodnight, Ma... Trisha."

"You surely told her," Trisha said after Emma had left. Then she yawned again.

"I think you need to go to bed, as well." She handed Trisha the second nightgown.

"Now wait a minute. Liam is supposed to be coming over. I'm not --"

"Yes, you are, Trisha, sauce for the goose, as you always used to tell me. Oh, and you only wear your new drawers with it, just the same as Emma."

Trisha's hands were untying her apron before she realized it. All she wore was the camisole and drawers. She wanted to protest, but somehow she just couldn't. Muttering under her breath, she picked up the nightgown and started walking towards their bedroom.

"And if your brother does come over," Kaitlin called after Trisha, "I'll tell him to come back in the morning."

* * * * *

"Damn," Jessie cursed softly. "Another wrong note. I don't know why I'm even up here."

"Neither do I," Natty Ryland whispered. "Except that we needed somebody to fill in for Tomas and give the band some extra meat."

"Meat? I'm playing more like sawdust than steak."

"The folks don't mind too much," Hiram said, joining in. "They came to dance, not to listen to us... thank heavens."

Jessie looked out at the dancers. Mostly, they were smiling and enjoying themselves. Still, they were only a small part of the crowd. The others had to listen while they waited their chance to dance with one of the women. They didn't seem too happy with the music.

"The only time anybody ever wanted to listen me make music was that night that Shamus had me sing in my unmentionables."

"Why don't you do that now?" Hiram asked.

Jessie shook her head. "If you think... I ain't taking off my clothes up here."

"No, no, sing," Hiram said. "Natty, you know 'The Man on the Flying Trapeze', don't you? That's a waltz, more or less." Natty nodded. "Fine, we'll do that one next, and Jessie'll sing it. Anything's better than for her to keep playing that fool guitar that you can barely hear over the other instruments."

Ten minutes later, the band was getting ready for the next dance.

"What're you gonna play now?" somebody yelled. Cries of "Waltz" and "Polka" rang out. A few people even asked for the more complicated "Mazurka."

Hiram raised his hands to quiet them. "Folks, we got a surprise for you. Our next tune is gonna be 'The Man on the Flying Trapeze', with Miss Jessie Hanks singing the words while Natty and I play."

There was a smattering of applause. Hiram gave the beat; then he and Natty played a short lead in.

"He flies through the air with the greatest of ease," Jessie began. She'd almost forgotten how pretty Sarah Fuller's voice - her voice sounded. She kept singing, enjoying herself and the song.

Most people on the floor kept on dancing, but a few stopped to listen to Jessie sing.

* * * * *

Sunday, November 26, 1871

"Here." Kaitlin handed Trisha a pair of her drawers. "Put these on."

Trisha stepped into the drawers and began pulling them up past her hips. She had a much better figure than Kaitlin, and the fit was tight.

"I don't see why I gave to wear these girly things," Trisha protested. "I'm just going to put a pair of my old pants and a work shirt on over them."

"You'll wear these because I told you to wear them - and because you're a woman now, and you should wear woman's clothing. Besides, Emma and you will be in dresses before we're finished at Silverman's."

"Dresses." Trisha groaned. Kaitlin let her and Emma complain, but the damned voices in her head still made them do what she told them. Trisha hated it.

Kaitlin waited until Trisha tied off the ribbon that gathered the drawers at her waist. "Be careful with this," she said as she handed Trisha a chemise. "It'll probably be a little tight in the... ummm, chest."

"Around my tits, you mean." Trisha put her arms through the sleeves of the garment and gathered it around her. The buttons were loose enough near the waist, but they grew tighter as her fingers moved upward.

Kaitlin frowned at the word. "Your breasts. You're a lady, now; you should call them 'your breasts.' It's much more proper."

"I don't want to call them my anything." She sighed and felt the material strain against her... breasts.

The chemise was buttoned. 'She really should wear a corset with that,' Kaitlin thought, 'but all of mine are too small for her.' It felt strange to think of her husband as being better endowed than she was. She shrugged and picked a second set of drawers and chemise out of her cedar chest.

"I'm going in to get Emma dressed now. You can put whatever you want on over what you're wearing. Just remember that we're all going over to Silverman's after breakfast to get you proper clothes." With that she turned and walked out of their bedroom.

"Proper clothes," Trisha mocked her wife's tone. She pulled a gray work shirt out of a dresser drawer and started to put it on. She had to stop and roll the up sleeves; they came down past her fingertips. The bottom of the shirt reached down almost half the distance to her knees. "Damn," she muttered, as she began to button the shirt. It was as tight over her breasts as the chemise had been. She left it on, but undid the top three buttons.

She was looking for her pants when she heard an insistent knocking at the front door. "Kaitlin," she yelled, "there's somebody at the door."

"I'm... we're busy," came her wife's voice from Emma's room. "You get it."

Trisha shook her head. "I'm not... oh, hell." There was no point arguing; she was already out of her bedroom and walking towards the door. Kaitlin had told her to do something, and she didn't have a choice.

The pounding at the door grew louder. "Who is it?" Trisha asked, raising her voice to be heard over the noise.

"Kaitlin, is that you?" a voice on the other side of the door asked.

Trisha knew her brother's voice at once and threw the door opened. "Liam, I'm glad you're here. C'mon in."

"Do I know you, ma'am?" Liam looked suspicious, as if he was preparing himself for an answer that he didn't want to hear. A pretty - no, a very pretty - young woman he'd never seen before was calling him by his first name. She was practically undressed, but didn't seem at all embarrassed for him to see her like that.

Trisha cocked an eyebrow. "I'd have thought everybody in town would have heard what happened by now. You've known me all your life, Liam. I'm Trisha - that is, I'm Trisha now, but I used to be..." She paused. Could she say her old name? "...I was your brother, Patrick."

"The hell you say."

"The hell I do say. And don't make me stand here in an open door. Get inside." Liam obliged; no sense in letting anyone else see her dressed the way she was - especially if she was Patrick.

"Listen - Trisha - Pat... I did hear that something had happened, and I came over last night to find out. But Kaitlin said that you two were asleep, and I should come back in the morning. This is still awfully hard to believe."

"Maybe you'll believe that it's me if I tell you about how, when I was 12 and you were 10, we snuck up on where Mary Elizabeth Donahue and Bridget O'Hern and some other girls was swimming in the Mauntauk Bay. We sat down next to where they'd put their clothes and waited, quiet as mice, for them to come out of the water."

Liam smiled. "I remember. The next day, Bridget's big brother, Mickey, came around looking for us, and the only reason he didn't beat the living daylights out of the both of us was because you told him what Mary Elizabeth looked like in her - holy shit, you are Patrick! I wasn't sure that the fellows weren't just putting me on. And even if I thought I might actually find a woman here, I sure didn't expect to find such a... sorry, Pat."

"Whatever this was, it isn't a put-on," Trisha said with a grumble. "Part of that damned magic is I got to call myself by my new name. Emma used to be Emma... Elmer."

"And what does Kaitlin think about all this?"

"The names were her damn idea. Something in the potion makes us do whatever she tells us. I don't know what's eating her. You'd think a wife and mother would show a little sympathy for such a disaster for our family."

"What else is she telling you to do?"

Never mind that now. My main worry is what I look like."

Well, you don't look ugly; that's for sure. What's the problem?"

"The potion turns you into the prettiest woman you ever saw. Kaitlin expected me to look like her."

"You surely don't. Who do you look like?"

"Norma... somebody... from those picture cards I used to collect. She was my favorite."

"Used to collect - oh, yeah, I remember. You threw them away when Kaitlin found out about them."

"Yeah, and now I look like one of the pictures, and she isn't happy about it, not at all."

"No small wonder there. Can you do anything about it?"

"I doubt it. I remember when - what's her name - when Wilma Hanks drank more of the potion. I sure as hell don't want to turn into that kind of woman."

"I don't blame you." He paused a moment. "What're you gonna do... now that you're a woman, I mean?"

"Damned if I know. I feel like six kinds of fool for getting suckered into drinking that potion."

"From what I hear, you didn't have a choice - I mean, you had to do something to save Elmer."

"Yeah, but it didn't have to be that. Everything happened so fast. As soon as I got there, the doctor tells me Elmer's dying. Next thing I know, up rushes O'Toole. 'Give this to your boy,' he says, 'it'll save his life.' But Elmer won't drink it. Everything happened so fast I didn't have the time to think."

"And now, you're stuck."

"Like a damned fly in amber."

"What happens next?"

"Silverman's opens in a little while. Kaitlin's taking me and Emma over there for clothes. Monday, Emma will go to school, and I'll be back at the store working with you, same as always."

"Not quite the same... Trisha."

"Close enough, even if I can't answer to my real name any more; Kaitlin is being real stubborn about that." She took a breath, straining the button just below her breasts. "So, tell me, what all happened at the store after I left."

Liam began telling her about the day before. Saturdays were usually the busiest for them, and he'd had to get Mateo, the more experienced of the two men who worked for them, to wait on customers. "He didn't do too badly, either," Liam admitted.

"Just so we don't have to give him a raise for it," Trisha said. "He'll be back in the storerooms on Monday shoveling oats and hay." As they talked, she relaxed. She leaned back in her chair, sitting naturally as any man would, her legs wide apart.

Liam tried to keep looking at her face. 'One of the prettiest women I ever saw is sitting across from me, practically exposing herself,' he thought grimly, 'and it's my older brother.'

"Patrick, I've got to go get ready to open, and you've... you've got to get dressed."

"Call her 'Trisha' now," Kaitlin said coming down the stairs. "She doesn't answer to Patrick any more."

Liam turned to her and smiled. "Good morning, Kaitlin. He... she told me." For the moment, Liam couldn't think of anything to say about this bizarre situation.

"Trisha!" Kaitlin did notice - something else. "What are you doing sitting in a chair like that and half-naked as well. Go upstairs and get dressed. Now!" Trisha stood quickly and bolted up the stairs.

Liam tried not to smile. He wasn't so sure that this was a good time to be family. "I just came to see how my brother and my nephew were - how is... is it Emma, now?"

"I'm fine, Uncle Liam. Considering..." a voice from the top of the stairs said.

Kaitlin stepped aside. "Come down here so he can see you, Emma."

"Yes, ma." Emma walked down the steps until she was standing next to her mother. She wore some of Elmer's clothes. The pants stopped a good six inches above her ankles, and her sleeves ended inches away from her wrists.

"She looks just like you," Liam said in amazement. "She's very pretty."

"And why shouldn't she be?" Kaitlin asked. "She is my daughter." From her tone, Liam guessed that the less said about whom Trisha looked like, the better.

"She is, indeed," agreed Liam, "and I understand that you're all going to see about some clothes for her... and Trisha. Myself, I've got a feed and grain store to open, so I'd best be going."

"Wouldn't you like something to eat before you go? You're welcome to join us for breakfast."

"Ate already, same as always," Liam said, shaking his head. He had always opened the store on Sundays, while Patrick and his family had gone to church. "I'll see you all later." He nodded a goodbye and left.

* * * * *

"Wherever is Patrick O'Hanlan," Lavinia Mackechnie whispered, pointing to the empty seat in the front of the room. "Services will be starting any minute now, and he's the only empty seat."

As always, Nancy Osbourne's desk had been converted to the church altar for Sunday services. Behind the desk and on either side, against the back wall, were the seats of the seven elders, the members of the church board and that of the Reverend Doctor Thaddeus Yingling, the Methodist minister.

Cecelia Ritter sat on Lavinia's right. Their children sat on either side. As usual, despite their best efforts that morning, neither of the women had been able to get their husbands to attend, rather than open their stores on the Sabbath morning.

"Didn't you hear, my dear?" Cecilia answered in a low voice. "There was some sort of accident at the Wells Fargo yesterday. "Mr. O'Hanlan and his son were changed into women."

"Not that foul potion that... that Mick barman brews? Whatever would possess them to drink it?"

"My Clyde said that the boy was badly hurt. Doctor Upshaw couldn't help him. It was either drink the potion or die." She paused, a small smile on her lips. "I think it serves the little brat right after what he and that Mexican brat did to my Hermione, scaring her like that with the snake."

"Oh, my, yes. My poor Eulalie cried for hours from fright. She said it was a rattlesnake." She shook her head, remembering the scene Eulalie had made. "But why would Mr. O'Hanlan drink that horrid concoction?"

"Clyde wasn't sure. He thought it was the only way the boy would take a drink."

Lavinia sniffed, as if at a bad smell. "A most foolish thing to do. Why not just force the boy to drink? Some men are so... softheaded about such things. A good whipping, and that boy would have been begging for a drink."

"I certainly agree. The man had no business running against my Clyde for board member-at-large, and I'll never understand how he won. Well, he's..." She snickered under her breath. "...she's certainly not the winner this day. She's not even here, not her nor Kaitlin nor their precious Elmer."

"They were probably too embarrassed to come." She stopped for a moment. "We'll talk more about this later. Dr. Yingling is about to start the service."

* * * * *

Kaitlin held the door to Silverman's open for Trisha and Emma. "Come on, now," she said to them. "If there's anything to be embarrassed about, it's the clothes you're wearing now." Unable to disobey, the other two walked in, their heads bowed low as if to hide their faces.

Rachel was over to them in a moment. "Hello, Kaitlin. And this must be... what are their names now?"

"Does everyone in town know about us?" Trisha asked, a sour look on her face."

"Probably not," Rachel said, "but they will soon enough. As they say, it's easier to hear a secret than to keep it." She looked at the two transformees. "Nu, so what are your names now? A Patrick and an Elmer you don't look like no more."

"This is Trisha... and this is Emma." She pointed to each one as she said their new names.

"Pretty names for pretty ladies," Rachel said. "And I've got so many things to make them look more pretty, if they really want to, she added politely." She looked at the pair, then at Kaitlin. "So which one should we start with?"

"Start with Emma," Trisha said. "I can wait."

Kaitlin shrugged. "Why not? Trisha, you stay here and behave yourself. Emma, you come with me to a changing room, so you can get out of those clothes." She took Emma's hand and began walking with her and Rachel towards the privacy of one of the two small changing rooms in the back of the store.

Once the three of them were in the changing room, Rachel slid the curtain across the doorway shut.

"Emma, take off those silly shirt and pants," Kaitlin said firmly. "And no arguments."

Emma frowned, but the voice in her head wouldn't let her say a word. Her fingers moved quickly over the buttons of her shirt.

"I see you already got her in a chemise," Rachel said. "It don't fit too well, though."

"It's one of mine," Kaitlin said. "They're both wearing chemises and drawers of mine. I couldn't bear the idea of them in men's underclothes."

Rachel shrugged. "A person wears what they wear. Take off those high-water pants of yours, Emma, and I'll start measuring you for sizes." Emma sat down on a stool and pulled off her britches. When she stood back up, Rachel looked at her closely. "Your Elmer was, what, 10? Emma looks to be... mmm, older."

"He was 10," Kaitlin said, "and she's about 13, I'd guess, and I don't have the vaguest idea why or how it happened?"

Rachel shrugged. "Maybe after we finish, it wouldn't hurt you should ask Doctor Upshaw about it."

"I think I will," Kaitlin said, but first, I need to get her into some suitable clothing, no matter how old she is."

"And clothes I got. Let's see what size she is." Rachel pulled a pin out of a rolled up cloth tape measure and began. In a few minutes, she had the figures she needed. Emma was 62 inches tall. A fair increase on Elmer's 56. Her high bust, above the breasts, was 27 inches; her bust, right over the very sensitive nipples - Emma had squirmed from the feel of the tape measure - was 28. Her waist was 23 inches, and her hips 28.

"Such a pretty little thing," Rachel said, looking at the numbers. "Like your mama you look; you should only grow to be half as good a lady."

"Don't wanna," Emma muttered, as she rebuttoned her borrowed chemise. "I don't wanna be no girl."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you got a whole lot of choice in the matter. Besides, you should just be grateful to be alive, keina ora." Kaitlin called in Trisha next, and Rachel took her measurements. Trisha had shrunk from a lanky 73 inches tall to a height of only 65 inches. Her high bust was 36 inches, while her bust was 40. Her waist was only 23 inches, with 35-inch hips. 'Such a figure,' Rachel thought, 'any more zoftig, and I'd have to special order her corset.'

She looked at the numbers again for the pair. "Let's start by getting you both some underclothes that fit better."

"Why don't we try to save a little time, Rachel?" Kaitlin suggested. "You take Emma in one room, and I'll help Trisha in the other."

"Why not," Rachel answered. "Six of one, half a dozen of the other."

* * * * *

"Ow! Not so tight!" Trisha complained.

Kaitlin ignored her transformed husband's protests and gave another tug at the laces of Trisha's corset. "That should do it," she finally said, tying the laces. "Can you breath comfortably?"

"Just barely." Trisha's voice did sound a bit strained.

Kaitlin looked at Trisha for a moment, then said, "You're fine. You're just not used to wearing such a thing." She patted Trisha's hand. "It must feel very strange to you."

"I'll say it does," Trisha answered. "I feel like somebody's giving me an old-fashioned bear hug, and my... my breasts feel like... I don't know what... like something's got a hold of them."

Kaitlin looked at her again with a critical eye. "For the size they are, you'll need a corset's support."

"I... I suppose." Trisha looked down at her lush figure. Her breasts - Kaitlin had told her not to call them "tits" - seemed almost ready to spill out of the corset. 'Damned potion,' she thought bitterly. 'I'll never get used to this.'

"Well, you look fine," Kaitlin said as she picked up a pale yellow petticoat from among the clothes piled on the small table nearby. "Step into this." She bent over and held it in front of Trisha.

Trisha frowned at the thought of donning still more "girly" clothes, but she couldn't disobey. She stepped into the petticoat and stood still as Kaitlin pulled it up past her hips and used the attached green ribbons to pull it tight around her waist, then tied the ribbons into a bow to hold it in place.

Kaitlin had brought in three blouses and skirts on hangers. She took down a long, sky-blue blouse with dark blue trim at the collar and cuffs. "Rachel didn't have any dresses that would fit your... figure, but she did have a lot of very nice matching outfits. This set is perfect for your coloring and hair." She handed the blouse to Trisha. "Try this, dear."

* * * * *

"Nu," Rachel said, knocking on the wall just outside of Trisha's changing room. "How you doing in there?"

Kaitlin pulled the curtain aside just enough to show her face. "Just finishing up. How about you?"

"Mine is also ready. Let's see how they look."

"Let's." Kaitlin pulled the curtain aside. "Trisha, out you go."

Trisha walked through the doorway. "I feel like a damned... Emma? Is that you?" Her eyes were wide at how feminine her new daughter looked.

"H-hi, Trisha." Emma stood a few feet away. She was wearing a kelly green dress with lighter green trim on the cuffs and on a ruffle at the neck. The dress stopped just above her shoes. Her hair was tied in matching ponytails with ribbons the same green as her dress. "You look nice."

"Thanks, I guess." Trisha's stomach tightened. She knew exactly how she looked. Her outfit was hardly the revealing tights the woman on the tobacco card had worn, but her new figure - the one she shared with the woman on the card - would look very attractive in almost anything. The dark blue blouse and matching skirt weren't tight, but they didn't need to be to show off her pillowy breasts, small waist, and full hips.

Trisha frowned and looked at Emma, who seemed equally unsettled. Seeing themselves in these clothes that fit so well was like changing into women all over again. "You hate this as much as I do, Emma?" When Emma quickly nodded in agreement, Trisha turned to Kaitlin. "Okay, you've proved your point, Kaitlin. Now let's get some men's clothes that'll fit us."

"Whatever for?" Kaitlin said. "You're female now; this is the sort of clothes you'll wear."

Trisha put her hands on her hips. It was an old gesture of Patrick's for when he wanted to stress what he was saying. "Stop fooling around, Kaitlin. If you want Emma to dress like that, fine, make her a laughingstock at school. I've got a business to run and I can't go work there dressed like this."

"Laughingstock?" Emma said. "I ain't wearing a dress any longer than I have to."

"Go sit down, the both of you." Kaitlin pointed to a bench against the wall nearby. Neither of the two new females wanted to sit, but the voices from the potion gave them no choice.

"Let's get one thing straight," she continued. "The pair of you are female now, and, as long as I have anything to say about it --"

"Anything," Trisha grumbled. "Thanks to that potion, you've got far too much to say about it."

Kaitlin smiled, a happy cat playing with two mice. "That's right, I do, don't I? And I say that you might as well give up on the idea of wearing anything other than the sort of clothes you have on right now."

"Excuse me," Rachel said gently. "You got a lot of say, but a wise word is better than harsh sentence."

Kaitlin thought for a moment. "I... you may be right, Rachel." She took a breath and looked at Emma and Trisha. "I know that you don't like having to wear these clothes, but you'll never look right in men's clothes now. I'm just trying to do this for your own good."

"That doesn't make it any better," Trisha changed. "Can I at least change now, so I can go to the store in men's clothes?"

Kaitlin shook her head. "I don't think you'll go in today."

"What?" Trisha's face was beet read with anger. "That's my store - our bread and butter. I have to go in."

"No, you don't," Trisha relied. "From what I heard this morning, Liam seems to be handling things, especially with... with Mateo's help. You... the both of you will stay around the house today and get used to wearing those clothes, so you'll be comfortable in dresses when you go to work and to school in them tomorrow."

"That's ridiculous," Trisha said.

"Ma, I wanted to go see Tomas. Can I do that, at least?" Emma asked.

"You'll stay home today, the both of you. Tomas probably needs rest right now more than he needs visitors; you can go tomorrow after school. And, ridiculous or not, it's what I think is the best for you both."

* * * * *

Kaitlin glanced over to the kitchen table, where Emma was reading after supper. "It's time for bed. You have school in the morning."

"Yes, Ma," Emma said. She closed her dime novel and stood up from the table. "G'night."

"Aren't you going to give me a goodnight kiss?" Kaitlin asked.

Trisha looked over from where she was sitting. "Might as well, Emma. She'll just order you to, whether you want to or not."

"I guess so." Emma shrugged and walked back over to her mother. "G'night, Ma." She gave Kaitlin a half-hearted kiss on the cheek and headed off to bed.

Kaitlin waited until Emma was out of the room. "That wasn't very nice, Trisha, talking about me like that."

"You don't like it, you can always make me stop... warden."

"Warden? I don't understand."

"You've been using that power the potion gives you over Emma and me, just like Shamus used it over the Hanks gang. Wear these clothes. Behave. Do the supper dishes. Well, I don't like it. We aren't criminals; we're your husband and your son. We deserve better treatment."

"So do I," she said angrily, not wanting to admit that, maybe, Trisha was right.

* * * * *

Monday, November 27, 1871

Nancy Osbourne walked out onto the top step outside the schoolhouse and began to ring her bell. Her students stopped their playing in the early morning sunlight and hurried inside. The Ybaá±es twins, just arrived on horseback from their family farm, closed the stable gate behind them and ran to join the others.

Most mornings, the classroom would have been filled with the sounds of books and papers being taken out and the ends of schoolyard conversations. Today, there was something new.

"Who's she?" Steve Yingling whispered to Yully Stone. He pointed to a slender brunette about their own age, who was sitting just a few feet away at what had been an empty desk in the front row, the row where the eighth graders sat. She was wearing a dark green dress, her hands in her lap. She would glance around the room, then turn away and look down at her desk if she saw anyone looking back at her.

"I don't know," Yully answered in a whisper. "I never saw her before. She must be new hereabouts."

Steve studied the pretty young girl. "Well, she's more'n welcome," he said with a sigh. "Especially if she's not a giggler or a teacher's pet like Hermione or Eulalie."

"That's the truth," Yully agreed.

Miss Osbourne walked to the front of the room. She stood near the new girl and clapped her hands for attention. "A few of you may have heard of the accident at the Wells Fargo office on Saturday - Please put your hand down, Hermione; I wasn't asking." She took a breath, then started again.

"Tomas Rivera's arm was badly broken. Tomas will be out of school for the week, and, when he returns, he'll have a cast for several weeks more. Tomas' parents asked me to tell any of his friends who might wish to visit that they're welcome to do so, but not until Thursday or Friday."

"Your classmate, Elmer O'Hanlan was hurt much worse than Tomas, I'm afraid. In fact, he might well have died."

Yully Stone was sitting close enough to the new girl to hear her mumble what sounded to him like, "Wish he had."

'Well, that's a fine thing,' Yully thought, 'and about someone she probably never met and doesn't know from Adam. Maybe there is something worse than how "Whiney Hermione" acts.'

Miss Osboune had stopped when she heard whatever the girl had said. "You know that you don't mean that, Emma."

The girl half nodded, as if to say that she did.

"But Elmer didn't die," the teacher continued. "He was given some of the same potion that was used on the Hanks gang last summer. I'm sure that many of you remember when that happened. The potion healed all of Elmer's injuries, I'm very happy to report. It also - please stand up, Emma dear." The girl stood. "It also transformed him into this young lady, your new classmate, Emma O'Hanlan."

Most of the students gasped in surprised. A few let out words of disbelief, and Nancy Osbourne thought she heard a few words of profanity. "If you've all quite finished... Emma, since you're already standing, would you please take the turn of holding the flag this morning, while the class sings 'Columbia, Gem of the Ocean'?"

* * * * *

"Well, now," Stan Becker asked cheerfully, "what's a gal as pretty as you doing behind that counter?" Stan was a burly man in his mid 40s, the owner of farm to the south of town.

Trisha O'Hanlan sighed at the question. "Morning, Mr. Becker. You may not believe it, but I'm... I was Patrick O'Hanlan." She stood up, brushing her skirt in a feminine gesture that Kaitlin had taught her.

"The hell you say? What happened?"

"You remember that stuff Shamus O'Toole mixed up?" When Becker nodded, Trisha continued. "Well, to make a long story short, I accidentally swallowed some of it."

Becker gave a hearty horselaugh. "I guess you did, O'Hanlan, and you sure as hell look all the better for it."

"Thanks... I suppose. By the way, I... uh, go by Trisha now."

Becker put his hand on his chin and looked at Trisha, running his eyes up and down her lush figure. "Suits you. Suits you down to the ground."

"Can we get to whatever business brought you in here?" Becker's stares were making her very uncomfortable.

Becker laughed again. "All right, but it won't be near as much fun. I come for some of that alfalfa mixture I been giving my horses."

Trisha came out from behind the counter and led Becker over to a waist-high stack of the mixture in large burlap bags. "We just got some in last week. Two 50-pound bags for $10."

"Sounds good to me."

"Fine. You take one, and I'll get the other." Trisha waited for Becker. The farmer grabbed the top bag on the pile and hoisted it up on his shoulder in one smooth motion.

Trisha grabbed a second bag and pulled. It barely moved. She yanked hard this time. The bag slid off the stack and fell to the floor almost pulling her down with it.

"That's all right, Trisha. I'll come back for it." He gave her butt a quick pat and started walking back to the counter. Mumbling under her breath, Trisha grabbed the sack of alfalfa with both hands and began to slowly drag it along the floor towards the counter.

She'd gotten about halfway when Becker came back. "I said that I'd take care of that, little lady." He reached down and picked up the sack with one arm. "Pretty gal like you could hurt yourself with such a heavy load." He threw the sack up onto his shoulder. Then, without warning, he slid his hand around her waist and started to walk her back to the counter.

"Thank you, but no thank you," she said pulling herself free. 'Damn him and his sense of humor,' she thought. By the time they reached the counter, she was trying to think of a way to charge him extra for the embarrassment she was feeling.

* * * * *

Recess.

Hector Ybaá±ez stood under the tree near the schoolhouse door holding a large, rawhide-covered ball under his arm. Yully Stone stood next to him, and most of the other boys were gathered around the pair. "Okay," Hector said, "me and Yully is the captains this week. Get in line, so we can pick teams and get started."

The other boys quickly formed into two rows. Clyde Ritter, Junior, was in the second row. "Elmer... Emma O'Hanlan," he said to the girl standing next to him, "you get out of this here line right now."

"Yeah, girls can't play ball," Stephan Yingling said.

Emma stood firm. "I played last week; scored a goal, too." The boys played a free-form game of getting the ball past agreed-upon goals at either end of the schoolyard by throwing, kicking, or carrying it. Games lasted from Monday to Friday, with most teams scoring less than five goals in a game.

"You was a boy last week," Jorge Ybaá±ez argued.

"So," Emma said, "I'm still me, and I say I can play."

"You know," Clyde said, suddenly smiling at something. "Maybe we should give her a chance."

"You crazy?" Tommy Carson asked.

"Nope," Clyde said. "Emma here says she can still do what Elmer could do. I say, let's give her a chance to prove it." He winked at Tommy Carson, who nodded back at him.

"If I do," Emma said cautiously, "you promise I can play?" Clyde normally wasn't such a good scout about things.

"Oh... uhh, we promise." Clyde and Tommy both made a "king's X" over their hearts.

"What you think she oughtta do to prove it, Clyde?" Hector asked.

Clyde answered quickly. "Elmer was real good at walking on his hands. I've never seen a girl do that. Emma, you walk on your hands from here to..." He pointed to the tree, a few feet away. "...over there - without falling, of course - and you can play."

"Easy as pie," Emma said. "I can walk twice that far on my hands." She put her arms out, elbows bent and palms flat, and fell forward. When her hands touched the ground, she arched her back and straightened her arms. She stood still got a moment to be sure of her balance, then lifted one arm and set it down again. She repeated the process, moving forward towards the tree.

She'd only gone a few feet before she heard the boys laughing. They were laughing at her, but why? She walking as well on her hands as Elmer had ever done?

"Whoo wee, them sure are pretty drawers Emma's wearing," Clyde said.

"Nice petticoat, too," Jorge added.

As she reached the tree, Emma realized what had happened. When she'd stood on her hands, her dress and petticoat had fallen down, reaching almost to her shoulders. She'd been showing off her female drawers for all the world to see.

And her so-called friends had tricked her into doing it.

"You lousy..." Emma sprang to her feet and ran towards Clyde, her hands balled into two fists.

Clyde jumped back. "Now, now, Emma. A sweet thing like you shouldn't be fighting. You don't want to get them pretty unmentionables you just showed us all dirty, do you?" He grinned as he dodged Emma's blows. The boys formed a circle around them. Most of them were laughing at Emma.

She swung again, and, this time, her jab connected with Clyde's jaw. His head jerked sideways from the impact, and he fell in a heap.

"What are you doing, you horrid, horrid girl?" Hermione Ritter broke through the circle. "First you expose your underclothes to all these boys, then you strike my poor brother and injure him for no good reason. I," she said menacingly, "am telling Miss Osbourne." She turned and headed for the school building, while Eulalie Mackechnie scurried to catch up with her.

* * * * *

"Roscoe," Trisha said to the tall, slender man who'd just entered her store, "is it time for me to buy another advertisement in your paper?" O'Hanlan's Feed & Grain bought space in every issue of the boilerplate weekly newspaper Roscoe printed.

Roscoe walked over to where Trisha was standing behind the counter. "Mr. O'Hanlan?" He stared at her for a moment, his eyes running up and down her figure. "I heard what happened, but this... this is amazing. More than that..." He took a pencil and notepad from a jacket pocket. "...it's news. May I... would you mind answering a few questions... for the paper?"

"Paper? You... you ain't gonna print... I don't want you telling the whole world what happened to me."

Roscoe shook his head. "The whole world? No. If a real newspaperman like Mr. Varrick ain't gonna tell the world about Shamus O'Toole's potion, then I ain't either." He smiled at the look of relief on her face.

"But the folks here in Eerie, they already know about that potion. It won't hurt to tell them about what it did to you."

"What's the point? You knew about it; everybody in town probably does by now."

Roscoe cocked a dubious eyebrow. "You get trampled by a horse? Is that why you took the potion?" When she said no, he explained. "I heard you did. Somebody else said it was your brother, Liam, who took the potion, not you. I want to print the truth of what happened."

"And that'll end all the fake stories and the gossip?"

Roscoe smiled. "Most of it. There's always a few people that... well, that like the gossip more than the truth. Still, it's always better for folks to see the truth. Even if they don't want to believe it."

Trisha laughed - damn! It sounded too close to a giggle - at that. She'd had her doubts when Roscoe took over the business from Ozzie Pratt. Maybe this boy had something on the ball after all. "All right, all right. What do you want to know?"

* * * * *

R.J. knocked on the half-opened door to Shamus's office. "Somebody here to see you, Shamus, a Mrs. O'Hanlan."

"Send her in then," Shamus said, putting down the bills he'd been going through. He stood as Kaitlin walked in. "Good afternoon, Mrs. O'Hanlan."

"Kaitlin... please," she told him.

"Kaitlin, then." He pointed to the chair in the corner. "Why don't ye sit down and tell me what I can be doing for ye."

Kaitlin nodded a 'thanks' and sat. "I'd like to ask you some questions about the... umm, potion you gave to my husband and son."

"I didn't exactly give it to yuir husband, but that's neither here nor thuir. What would ye like t'know?"

"The potion makes them obey me, just as you said --"

"Aye, like I told ye, thuir's a wee bit o'time right after they change when thuir minds fix on whoever tells them something. They'll be obeying that person forever. Giving them new names was a good way t'be doing it."

"That's all well and good, but I want to release them, so they don't have to obey me anymore. Can I, and how do I do it?"

"Ye can't... not completely, but thuir's a way - I'll be writing the words down for ye t'say - so it gets t'be very hard for you t'give them orders." He stopped looking at the dubious expression on her face. "It's what I done when I 'freed' the others, the Hanks gang and Jake... Jane Steinmetz, and it does work - sort of. Nothing else we tried came even close."

"I... I suppose it will have to do." She took a breath. "May I... may I ask you one more question?"

"Ask as many as ye want. I'm just happy that me potion was able to save yuir son's life."

"I'm not sure that he'd agree with you just now, but he's the one I wanted to ask about. Elmer was 10... Emma... Emma looks like she's 13. How... why did that happen?"

Shamus scratched his head. "To be honest... I really don't know. I never... I've only given me potion to grown-up people before. Some of the fellows who took it got younger, but none of them got older." He thought for a moment. "Does she - excuse me for asking, but does she have... have a girl's... figure?"

"She does... as much of one as a 13-year old could have. Why? Does that mean something?"

"It might? Ye've heard what a second drink of me potion does... what it did to Wilma Hanks?"

Kaitlin's eyebrows furrowed. "You're not thinking of giving Emma another dose? You wouldn't?"

"No, no, no." Shamus waved his hands in front of him as if to wipe away the idea. "Me potion has something t'do with female... with how women... act with men, if ye don't mind me language."

"Not in this case. Please go on."

"Thank ye. The potion has t'do with... with ye know what, so it had t'make yuir Emma old enough to... well, to be starting the changes that make a child into a woman." He shrugged. "'Course, now I'm just guessing here. Does it make any sense t'ye?"

"It makes sense as anything else. Maybe - I don't know - maybe I should ask Dr. Upshaw to examine her."

"Ye may want t'be doing that anyway. I saw how bad Elmer was hurt. It might not be the worst idea to ask the Doc t'be making sure that yuir Emma's all healed up."

"I think you may be right." She looked at the small watch pinned to her skirt. "But it's getting late, and I've taken up enough of your time. If you'd be kind enough to write down those words you said would free Trisha and Emma, I'll be on my way."

* * * * *

Kaitlin took a sip of coffee. "I've... I've been thinking about what you said Sunday night, Trisha, about the potion, I mean."

"And..." Trisha looked at her closely.

"I'm not saying that I did anything wrong, but I'd like to offer you - and Emma, of course, a deal."

Emma was about to take a forkful of pie. "What sort of a deal, Ma?" she asked.

"I'll free you from the potion - Mr. O'Toole... Shamus told me how. We'd... I'd just keep the part about your new names."

"Let's do it, then. Let's do it," Emma said, almost giddy at the chance to be back into boy's clothing.

Trisha shrugged, pretending that it wasn't so important. "Oh... all right." She offered Kaitlin her hand. "Deal."

"Fine." Kaitlin shook Trisha's hand, then Emma's. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Trisha... Emma," she began to read in a firm voice, "from now on, you will only be compelled to obey me when I first say that 'I, Kaitlin McNeil O'Hanlan do hereby command you to obey.' There, that should do it."

"It had better," Trisha said.

Kaitlin frowned, sorry at having made the offer. "Oh, go soak your head."

Trisha braced herself for a moment. Nothing happened. "No," she said happily. "I don't believe that I will."

"Thanks, Ma." Emma, at least, smiled at Kaitlin.

* * * * *

Tuesday, November 28, 1871

"Clyde Ritter!"

Every head in the schoolyard turned at the yell. Emma O'Hanlan stood at one end of the schoolyard. She wore boy's clothes today, a long-sleeved shirt that showed three inches of arm above her wrist and a pair of pants that only came about half of the way from her knees to her ankles.

Clyde Ritter smiled and leaned against the stable fence. "Right here, Emma."

"You made me a laughing stock yesterday, and now you're gonna pay for it." Emma stormed over.

A crowd of children formed around the pair. Waiting for Miss Osbourne to open the school wasn't going to be boring today.

Clyde laughed. "Who's gonna make me? You? Is that why you got on them dumb clothes?"

"Damn right, I'm gonna, and what I wear is no business of yours."

"Aww, the little girl wants to dress up like she was still a boy. I bet you got those lacy frillies of yours on under them pants?"

"You take that back!"

"The hell I will, Emma."

Emma growled low in her throat and swung a mean right at Clyde. He dodged, and Emma just missed his head. Clyde threw a punch of his own that Emma blocked with her arm. The two grappled and fell to the ground. They rolled in the dry, brown grass, throwing punches and cursing at each other.

"Stop that! Stop that!" Hermione Ritter yelled. "You stop fighting with my brother, you horrid girl." Eulalie Mackechnie joined her in yelling at Emma.

"You wanna help me stop this, Stephan?" Yully Stone asked Stephan Yingling.

Stephan shook his head. "This is too much fun t'watch. I think Emma's winning."

"She is, but I see Miss Osbourne's carriage coming over the hill, and you know how she feels about fighting; no recess for two days at least and extra homework besides."

Stephan nodded. "Clyde deserves it."

"Yeah, but Emma doesn't. C'mon. I'll take her; you get Clyde."

The two boys pushed their way through the crowd. Clyde was on his back, with Emma on top of him. Yully snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her away. "Hey, let go of me," she yelled. She swung her arms and tried to twist around, but Yully held on.

As soon as Emma was off him, Clyde jumped up. When he tried to take a swing at Emma, Stephan grabbed his arm. "That ain't nice, Clyde. Fight's over; Miss Osbourne's coming."

By this time, Nancy Osbourne's carriage was in the schoolyard. She pulled it up at the edge of the crowd of her students. "What exactly is going on here?"

"Emma started --" Hermione said.

"We was all just welcoming Emma to class," Clyde interrupted her. Hermione didn't reply. Her parents had warned her about getting her brother in trouble, though everyone else was fair game.

Nancy looked at the group, especially the dirt on Clyde and Emma. "You seem have gotten overly exuberant in your welcome, Clyde. The two of you go wash up. Yully, please tie up my horse. The rest of you..." She pulled the key to the schoolhouse out of her reticule. "...I think we'll just start lessons a bit early today. I want all of you inside... now."

* * * * *

"Can I join ye, Jessie?."

Jessie looked up from her lunch. Shamus was standing across the table from her, a plate of Maggie's hot and spicy stew in one hand, a large glass of lemonade in the other. She gestured at the chair next to him. "Sit."

"Thank ye, lass. I been wanting to be talking to ye the last day or so."

Jessie took a forkful of the stew. "What about?"

"What ye done last Saturday at the dance."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. The singing was Hiram's idea. I guess I'm not as good as I thought I was on the guitar. It must be that the gals in New Orleans were just trying to get on my good side when they bragged up my strumming."

"It ain't the guitar I want t'be talking to ye about, Jessie. 'Tis yuir singing. Ye've a lovely voice; it was so lovely that it cost me a bit of money."

"My singing? What exactly do you mean, Shamus? I didn't see anybody covering their ears and leaving."

"I make me money at the dance by selling drinks and selling tickets to the men that want to be dancing with ye."

"I know. What's the problem?"

"They wasn't dancing, not as many of 'em. Hell, they wasn't even drinking as much as they usually do. They was just standing there and listening t'ye sing."

"I guess that means I don't get to sing any more." She said it as a joke, but as she did, she thought about how much fun she'd had singing.

"The hell it does. What I'm wanting t'ask ye, is would ye like t'be working for me as a singer?"

"What? My singing cost you money, so you want me to sing some more. That's crazy, even for you."

"Crazy? Aye, it is, crazy like a fox. Ye'll not be singing on Saturday when I hold the dances. Ye'd sing on other nights, with the men paying t'come in and listen."

Jessie raised an eyebrow. "If they're gonna pay you to listen, what are you gonna pay me to sing?"

"Ye'll do it then?"

"I... I'll think about it, but you're gonna have t'make it worth my while."

"That seems fair enough. What do ye say to $5 a night?"

"Nothing. That wage ain't big enough to talk to strangers. You pay the band what... about $9. I'll take $10."

"I'm doing this t'make money, Jessie, not to lose it. I'll pay ye $6."

"I ain't even sure I want t'do this at all, but I know I won't do it for less than $9."

"Split the difference, $7.50."

"All right, $7.50 - for starting out at least - but I'm still not sure that I'm interested, even for that much."

"I'm thinking ye do. If ye wasn't ye wouldn't have given me such a hard time on the haggle we just had. Still, I won't force ye. Ye think about it some more before ye say yes."

* * * * *

"Miss O'Hanlan... excuse me, Miss O'Hanlan..." Roscoe Unger knocked on the counter twice. "Miss O'Hanlan." Trisha kept staring at the far wall of the Feed & Grain, lost in thought. Roscoe knocked again.

Trisha finally noticed and looked at him. "Yes, may I help you? Oh, hello, Roscoe. What brings you in today?" She sounded spiritless and depressed..

"I put out the boilerplate... the local edition of the Tucson Citizen, with the story about you. I... uhh, thought you might want to see it."

Trisha looked at him suspiciously. "And to what do I owe this personal service?" She was very tired of men flirting with her.

"I... I'm still learning how to write for the paper, so I go back and talk to the people I write articles about to see what they think about what I wrote. I think it helps me do better work." He handed her a copy of the paper. "Would you mind? The article is on the back page."

She took the paper, turned it around, and read.

Tucson Citizen - Eerie, Arizona Edition - November 28, 1871

"Potion Saves One Life and Changes Another" by Roscoe Unger

The magical potion brewed by Mr. Shamus O'Toole and used to such good
Effect last July against the Will Hanks Gang was used again last
Saturday to save the life of a seriously injured young boy.

Elmer O'Hanlan and Tomas Rivera, both aged 10, were playing under the
loading dock at the Wells Fargo Office, when a stove being loaded onto
a wagon fell upon them. The wagon was driven by one Anthony Giambetti,
who explained that the horses were skittish from the noises made while
the stove was being moved from the Wells Fargo storeroom to the wagon.

The Rivera boy suffered a broken arm and is currently recuperating at
home. Young master O'Hanlan suffered far worse injuries. According to
Dr. Hiram Upshaw, Elmer O'Hanlan suffered broken ribs and a ruptured
lung. "He wouldn't have lasted the day," Dr. Upshaw told your reporter.
Happily, the boy was saved from an early death by the administration of
a dose of O'Toole's potion. As with the Hanks Gang, the potion changed
him into a female, but a HEALTHY female, who no longer suffered any ill
effects from the near-fatal accident.

Elmer O'Hanlan, who is now known as Emma, was reluctant to save her life
by drinking the miraculous potion. As a means of persuading his son to
do so, Patrick O'Hanlan courageously pretended to drink some himself.
Unfortunately, he was unable to keep from swallowing, and was also
transformed. O'Hanlan, Senior, is now using the name Trisha. She
continues to work at the Feed & Grain store, which she operates with her
brother, Liam.

This paper congratulates them both on Emma's escape from the Grim Reaper.

* * * * *

"Well," Roscoe asked, looking eagerly at Trisha as she finished reading. "What do you think?"

Trisha frowned. "It makes me sound like a damned fool for swallowing that stuff by accident."

"But I called you 'courageous.' Besides, that's what you told me happened."

"Yeah, and I'm sorry I did. It was bad enough my doing it, but now me and the whole damned town gets to read just how stupid I was."

* * * * *

Wednesday, November 29, 1871

"My team," Hector Ybaá±ez yelled, "Over here. We got the ball." He raised the ball above his head and a group of boys quickly formed around him.

One of those boys was Clyde Ritter, Jr. "Miss Osbourne kept me outta yesterday's game. How 'bout if I take the ball out?"

"Hey," Emma interrupted, "who's side am I on?"

Clyde glared at her, his hands on his hips. "We settled that already, Emma. You ain't on anybody's side; you're a girl."

"I was boy enough to beat the tar out of you yesterday, Clyde," Emma said firmly. The boys began to mill around. Was there going to be another fight?

"We don't need no girl in boy's britches ruining our game," somebody yelled. More than few boys laughed. Emma curled her fingers into fists.

"Hold it." Yully Stone spoke loudly to be heard above the noise. "Seems t'me that Emma's got a right to play."

"You taking her side?" Clyde asked sarcastically. "You must be desperate."

"I think Yully's sweet on her," Jorge Ybaá±ez said with a laugh.

"Ain't neither," Yully answered. "I just wanna get this settled so we can play some ball and not spend another whole recess arguing. Now, Clyde, didn't you tell Emma that she could play if she could walk ten feet on her hands, from over there..." He pointed, then moved his hand and pointed again. "...to by that tree."

Clyde blinked in surprise at the question. "Yeah, but..."

"And most of you agreed with him when he said it," Yully continued.

"Well... yeah," Tommy Carson said, "but we was just going along with the trick Clyde was gonna play on her." Several other boys mumbled in agreement.

"I don't know why you all went along, and I don't care," Yully said firmly. "The point is that you all did go along. She walked them ten feet - and a couple more --"

"Yeah," Clyde said with a chuckle. "And it was quite a show." Now there was loud laughter.

"She walked it." Yully's voice had a sharp edge to it now. "I say she can play."

"Okay, okay, she can play," Hector said finally. "But she's on your team."

Yully nodded. "Let's just get going before it's time to go back in."

Hector handed the ball to Clyde. Clyde passed it to Tommy and the game began. A minute later, Emma was running near Yully as they chased the ball across the yard. "Thanks, Yully," she said.

Yully kept his eye on the ball, rather than turn to face her. "Like I said, I just wanted to get this settled. By the way, you mess up, and I'll kick you out of the game myself."

* * * * *

"Patrick, is that really you?" Rupert Warrick bellowed as he walked over to Trisha. Rupe, as everybody called him, owned the local lumberyard. He was a short, heavy-set man with a mop of curly black hair and a face as squat and square as his body. Trisha sighed. "Yeah, Rupe, it's me, only I go by Trisha now."

"I read that story 'bout you in the paper, but I had t'see it for m'self."

"Well, you've seen it. Go ahead and laugh."

"Laugh? Now why should I do that?"

"Look at me, at what I did to myself." Trisha made a sweeping gesture with her arm. "The whole town's laughing at me. Why shouldn't you laugh?"

"Don't really see the point. Maybe you ain't the smartest man t'come down the pike. I mean... drinking that brew of O'Toole's..." He shook his head. "But, hell, man... gal... whatever, you done it t'save your boy's life --"

"Emma's not my boy anymore."

"No, she ain't, but lemme ask you... which would you rather be, still a man and the father of a dead son, or what the two of you are now, both alive but the both of you women?"

"You know, Rupe, I must've asked myself that a hundred times since it happened, and, Lord help, I still don't know the answer."

* * * * *

"Disgraceful," Hermione Ritter said. "That Emma O'Hanlan is just disgraceful." She took a quick bite of her fried chicken lunch, as if to emphasize her words.

Eulalie McKeckney happily continued the thought for her friend. "Indeed, she is. Yesterday, she cheerfully shows off her new unmentionables, and, today, she wears those horrid clothes and actually joins the boys in that stupid game they play during recess."

"Never mind that," Hermione jumped back in. "Two days in a row, she's seen fit to attack my poor, innocent brother."

Penny Stone, Yully's younger sister, a tall, athletic looking girl, rolled her eyes at the word "innocent". She remembered a few experiences of her own involving Clyde Ritter, Jr., all of them unsavory. "Beat him both times, too."

"Only because he wasn't expecting such a vicious, unprovoked attack." She bristled at Penny. "My poor, helpless brother, to be set upon like that."

Penny bit her lip. "Helpless? I wouldn't go quite that far." Penny saw Ysabel Diaz nod in agreement.

"My point is," Hermione said, trying to regain her usual control of the conversation, "Emma O'Hanlan is a hopeless tomboy."

"Perhaps she does not know how to behave otherwise," Ysabel said. "After all, she has only been a girl for a few days. She needs help to learn how to be one."

"Well, I certainly have no have know intention of teaching her such things," Hermione answered. "Not after the way she acted when she was Elmer."

Eulalie shuddered. "Oh, yes. Why, I still have nightmares about that rattlesnake."

"It was just a harmless garter snake, Lallie," Penny said, "and you know it. Didn't you tell us all how you had to help your pappa get one out from under your henhouse last summer?" She grinned. "I think you...and you, too, Hermione, were just playing at being 'damsels in distress' to get some attention from my brother."

"Was not," Eulalie said, trying not to blush. "I...all right, I know what a garter snake is. I...I just never expected to see one curled up in a desk here in school. I was startled."

Ysabel snickered. "So was the snake, I think."

"Whatever happened that day," Hermione said firmly, "I see no reason for any of us to associate with that... that person."

* * * * *

Shamus hurried over to Arnie Diaz as soon as the boy entered the Saloon. "What're ye doing in here, boyo? I've told ye more'n once that I won't serve ye."

Arnie glared back at the barman. "I'm not here for your rotgut. I'm looking for Bridget Kelly."

"Ye are, are ye?" Shamus looked over to where Bridget was just settling back into her chair after taking a mid-afternoon break. "Miss Kelly, thuir's a gentleman here t'see ye."

Bridget looked over, assuming that Shamus had found someone interested in some poker. She tried to hide her disappointment when she saw Arnie. 'No way, I'm taking some kid's pocket money,' she thought.

"Hola, Miss Kelly," Arnie said as he walked over to her. "When you were at Silverman's just now, you left these." He reached into a pocket and pulled out two small, green baubles.

Bridget's hands flew to the sides of her head. "My earrings!" It was the pair that Cap had given to her. "I was looking at some new ones that Rachel just got in, and I took mine off. I'm still not used to wearing these things..." She looked embarrassed. "And I must've forgotten them."

"You did," Arnie said, "and I brought 'em back to you."

"Ye be sure t'say we thanked Aaron for sending ye over with them," Shamus told him.

Arnie straightened - and stiffened - his back. "No one sent me, Mr. O'Toole. I saw that she had left them there, and I decided to bring them over to her."

"And you deserve a reward." Bridget reached into her cash box.

Arnie shook his head. He walked over and gently put the earrings on the table next to the cash box. "A man doesn't need a reward for doing what's right." He tried very hard to look taller and older and much more of a gallant.

"At least let me buy you something to drink," Bridget suggested. "It's such a hot day."

'Shamus can't refuse her,' Arnie thought. Aloud, he added, "I'd be happy and honored to have a drink with you."

He brightened until she ordered, "Two sarsaparillas, please, Shamus."

Shamus nodded and went to fetch the drinks, happy at the way Bridget had avoided a scene.

Bridget saw the disappointment on Arnie's face. "I hope you don't mind, ah... Mr. Diaz."

"I'm Arnoldo... Arnie, Miss Kelly." He bowed his head for a moment. "At your service."

"Very pleased to meet you, Arnie. I hope you don't mind my ordering sarsaparillas. I have a night of playing poker ahead of me, and I cannot afford to have my wits numbed, even a little, by alcohol."

Arnie bowed again. "I understand completely, Miss Kelly."

"Bridget... please."

"I understand completely...Bridget, and I'll be pleased to join you in whatever you want to drink."

* * * * *

Liam walked over to Trisha, who was struggling to lift a sack of oats off the floor. "Why don't I take that?"

"I... can... manage... it," she said through gritted teeth. She gave a hard pull and got the sack up even with her waist.

As she shifted it around, Liam noticed a small rip in the burlap sack. "There's a hole in the bag. It must have snagged on something while you were dragging it." He took hold of the bag. "Better let me take it."

"Let go," Trisha yelled. "I said I could handle it. I was helping pa in his store while you were still walking around in diapers."

There were a few whistles and catcalls from the customers at that. "Better let your brother handle it, darling," someone yelled. "A pretty little thing like you weren't made for doing such heavy work."

"You go to hell," Trisha answered. "You, too, Liam." She let go of the sack. Her brother hadn't expected that, and he had to struggle for a moment to keep it from falling.

Some oats fell out through the rip. Trisha looked down to see how bad the spill was. She saw a green ivory button on the floor near the oats. "Damn," she spat, looking down at her green flannel shirt. "That's the third day I've popped a button off a shirt." She was smaller and thinner, but her damned breasts still strained the material.

She picked up the button, pocketed it, and stormed back to the counter. Liam followed, holding the sack so as to keep any more oats from spilling.

* * * * *

"So," Paul said, wrapping his arm around Jessie's waist, "Anything interesting happen to you in the last few days?"

Jessie rested her hand on his and moved closer to him on the bed. "You mean besides what we just done?"

"Yes," he said with a chuckle, "though I don't know that I'd call what we did 'interesting'."

"Oh, you wouldn't." She jabbed him in the side with her elbow, although not very hard, "And just what would you call it?"

"Hmmm, exciting, pleasurable - very pleasurable, delicious... got me happier than a bear with a new honeycomb, as some of my old cowboy friends might say. I can keep going if you'd like me to."

"No, that's a pretty good answer, especially the 'delicious' part."

"Glad you like it." He paused a beat. "You are... delicious, I mean."

"Mmm, you too."

"You know, you still haven't answered my question." He ran a fingernail along the curve of her stomach. "A man gets suspicious when he doesn't get an answer to a question like that."

"If you gotta know..." She put her hand on his to stop him. She was ticklish there. "...Shamus asked me to sing for him."

"You mean like you did at the dance last Saturday?"

"Not exactly. Not at the dance, that's for sure. He said people was too busy listening me t'buy dance tickets or drinks."

"You always were a major distraction, Jess, at least to me."

She turned her head and kissed him on the shoulder. "Thank you, Paul. You are t'me, too. Shamus wants me t'sing by myself on another night. He's gonna sell tickets or something, and he says he'll pay me $7.50 t'do it."

"Not a bad deal, I suppose, for a one-time show."

"It won't be one time, not if the men like it."

"So, he wants to make a singer out of you, eh."

"You sound like you don't think I can do it."

'Careful,' Paul thought. "Oh, I'm sure you can do it. I've heard you sing, remember? 'Hush, little baby...' Fact is, you were singing for me just a few minutes ago." His hand reached up and started to play with her nipple.

"Mmm, that's nice. Are... are you trying to distract me?"

"I can stop if you want."

"You don't have to... mmm, stop, but... does it bother you for me t'sing in Shamus' saloon?"

"I'm not sure, Jess. I'll have to think about that a little. I do know one thing, though. If you really want to do it, I won't be able to stop you. Not even if I tied you to this bed."

"No... no, I guess you wouldn't. I wouldn't mind being tied to this here bed, though." Her hand slid down and around his maleness. He was more than ready to go again. "Not if you was tied here with me."

* * * * *

Thursday, November 30, 1871

Emma jumped into the air, waving her arms frantically. "Over here, over here. Throw it to me." No one from either team was near her, and she was only a few yards from the goal.

Tommy Carson ran towards her. He was on Hector's team, and he was ready to block any throw from Matt Yingling, who had the ball. Emma put down her hands and dodged quickly back and forth trying to put Tommy off stride.

Matt threw the ball. It flew in a high arc over Tommy's outstretched arm. Emma turned and put her hands out, ready to catch it. It was about to come down into her hands, when her feet seemed to get tangled. She let out a surprised yelp and fell to the ground.

The ball landed a few feet away. It bounced twice before Tommy caught it and started running towards the opposite end of the schoolyard.

Emma jumped to her feet, brushing some dirt off her shirt. She began to chase Tommy, who passed the ball to Hector. Emma turned and ran after him, as did most of both teams.

Yully came along side her as she ran. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Emma said, "just mad. I can run faster since... since I changed, but I got all clumsy since then, too. I'm sorry."

"You grew too fast is what happened," Yully said. "Last year, I grew six inches in about two months. I musta fell and skinned my knees twenty times till I got used to my new body."

"You think that's it?"

"Probably, just don't let it happen again if you can. We would've scored if you'd caught that ball."

* * * * *

Trisha looked up from the counter. Mateo, one of two men who worked in her storehouse, was across the room talking to a customer. Normally, the husky Mexican never came into the shop itself.

Liam was standing near her, talking to Blackie Easton. Trisha grabbed his arm. "What the hell is Mateo doing out here waiting on trade?"

"Later," Liam hissed. "I'm working on a big order for Abner Slocum."

"Just answer my question, damn it?" she said.

Liam frowned. "Excuse me, Blackie. This'll just take a moment." He turned to face Trisha. "Mateo's been out here working for over an hour. You were mooning around all that time, barely noticing the customers - or anything else. That's why I had him come out here."

"Send him back to shoveling grain. We don't need him out here."

"Yes, we do. Trisha, you got some kind of bug in your britches, and till you get over it, you're no damn good to me, to yourself, or to anybody else."

"This is my store, and I say he goes back into the storerooms."

"I thought we were partners in this business."

"We... we are," Trisha sputtered, "but I'm your big brother, and what I say goes."

Liam frowned again and shook his head. He put his hands on either side of her waist and, with no real effort, lifted her up and sat her on the counter. "Not any more, Trisha, not any more."

* * * * *

There was a knock on the door of the bedroom Tomas Rivera shared with his little brother, Pablo. Tomas looked up from his bed to see a girl a few years older than he was. "Are you looking for someone?" he asked. "My mamma is out back cooking supper."

"I can smell it," the girl said smiling shyly. "I always did like your mamma's cooking."

"Do I know you?" He had no idea who she was.

"You sure do." The girl took a step into the room and held out her right hand, palm towards him. "See."

He leaned forward for a better look. "See what?" Her hand was clean.

"Dang it!" The girl looked at her hand. "My scar musta got all healed up when I changed."

"Changed?" Realization hit Tomas. "Elmer?"

She smiled sadly. "I used t'be. I'm Emma now."

"My... my parents told me you had been changed, but this... this is...increá­ble... unbelievable." He looked closely at Emma. "What's it like?"

"It's hard t'say. I don't feel no different, but I am."

"You sure are. You look older, too, more like Hermione Ritter."

Emma made a face. "Do me a favor and don't say her name. She's at me all day in school, yapping like a little dog that wants t'take bite outta me. I don't know why I look older. My ma's taking me to the Doc's tomorrow. Maybe he'll know."

"Yeah, you even got... things on your chest like... like some older girl."

"I don't wanna talk about them neither. They feel real funny all the time. I hate it... them." She tried to change the subject. "When you gonna be able t'come back to school?"

"Mamma said I can go back Monday." He raised an arm to show the cast he wore. "But I gotta keep this thing on for another five-six weeks."

"Can you do anything at all with that arm?"

Tomas smiled. He was glad for the company of his best friend, however changed. "I can whup you at checkers, same as I always could."

"Says you. Where's your board?" She looked around the room.

Tomas pointed to a latched toy box in a corner. "In there, like always. You get it out and set it up here on the bed." He pulled himself up into a sitting position, making room on the bed. "And we'll see just who beats who."

* * * * *

Bridget dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "That was a very good supper. Thank you, Cap."

"Maggie's a fine cook." Cap said with a smile. "The supper was very good, but the company was superb."

Bridget nodded slightly to acknowledge the compliment. "My, aren't you the young gallant this evening."

"If I am, it's you that brings it out in me. You look lovely in that dress."

"Thank you. To tell the truth, I mostly think of outfits like this as 'working clothes,' what I wear to play poker in."

"Maybe so, but on you, the plainest cotton dress would look like a gown of purest silk."

She felt a blush rising in her cheeks. She was still getting used to Cap's new game of extravagant compliments. "You, Cap Lewis, are a liar, but a very charming one."

"At your service, ma'am."

"That reminds me," she reached for her purse. "I have this month's payment for your uncle right here."

"Trying to change the subject, are you?"

"I thought the point of this dinner was so I could give you his check."

"Bridget, I could've just walked in any time today and asked for that check, and you'd have given it to me. The point of this evening is so I can have my Thanksgiving day dinner with you, the prettiest gal in the territory. That gives me something to be truly thankful for."

"Just the same, you came in today, the end of the month, for the money due you, just as regular as my old army paymaster."

Cap laughed. "That's right, you were in the army, weren't you."

Bridget sat erect and gave him a sharp salute. "Corporal Brian G. Kelly, Texas State Militia and Army of the Confederate States of America... sir."

"Don't call me 'sir', I worked for a living." He returned her salute. "Bosun's mate Matthew Harriman Lewis, Confederate Navy." He thought a moment. "That's right, the Army's where you met Wilma...Will Hanks and joined his gang."

Bridget's expression darkened. "I met up with Will a long time before that," she said softly. "As for the Army, I'd... could we talk about something else, anything else? Please?"

"All right. Let's talk about what an idiot I am."

"Idiot? I don't understand."

"I must be an idiot. Here I am, having dinner with the prettiest gal I know, and I go and say something that gets her all upset." He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "I'm sorry, Bridget. Can you forgive me?" He gave her a sad little smile.

"I... I suppose. You really didn't know." She forced a smile. "You still don't."

Cap cocked an eyebrow. "Can you forgive me enough to go on a buggy ride on Sunday... maybe have a picnic lunch with me?"

"Cap!"

"There's that pretty smile I remembered. Does it mean that you will go on a picnic with me on Sunday?"

"Don't you ever take anything seriously?"

Cap stood up and leaned over the table. He was still holding her hand, and now he raised it to his lips and kissed it gently. "Yep. I take you and me very seriously."

* * * * *

Friday, December 1, 1871

Trisha looked around the store nervously and pulled at her ill-fitting clothes, the shirt that was too tight and the pants that were too long. "So how's business, Aaron?" She asked finally, trying to keep her mind off the reason why she was in his store, looking for shirts she could wear without popping their buttons every damned day.

Aaron looked at her and shrugged. "I keep busy. As they say, trade makes you rich in cash, but poor in leisure."

"Ain't that the truth. We just had to put on a second man to help us at the store."

"And now you lost one."

"What do you mean?" She asked sharply. "You think I can't do my job 'cause I'm a damned woman now?" It was a question she'd been afraid to ask herself.

Aaron smiled. "You said that; I didn't. If I didn't think a woman could work in a store, would I have mine Rachel in here every day?"

"No... I guess you wouldn't. But you sell clothes. You gotta have a women in here to take care of the ladies' trade. It's different in my line of work."

"What, you don't keep books, make sure you got good stock to sell? You don't try to give your customers good quality for their money, even while you try to make a bissel, make a little something, on each deal?"

"Damn right, I do. Say... what're you trying to pull?"

"Patrick --"

"Trisha. That damned potion won't let me answer to... to that other name."

"Trisha, then. You was a good man. I heard how you drank that stuff by accident to try to save your Elmer's life. The smartest thing it wasn't, but you were doing the best you could. You still got that same best in you, right?"

"I... I suppose. Even if I am... this." She gestured, moving her right hand in front of her, as if to draw attention to her new appearance.

"What you are, Trisha, is a mensch, a good, a real person. Whatever happens, you keep that in mind, and you'll be all right."

"Then you don't think my changing like this is a bad thing."

"Trisha, in my prayers, the ones I say each morning, there's one that goes, 'Bless You, O Lord, for not making me a woman.' Well, you, He made a woman - why is His business, but I figure, He's got to have something in mind for you."

* * * * *

Emma whimpered one last time as she felt Doc Upshaw gently slide the speculum out of her body. "Are... are you done?"

"I am," Doc told her. He stood up and put the instrument into a small pail labeled "Used" along with the speculum he'd used to examine Trisha. He took off his rubberized gloves and tossed them into the same pail. Then he opened the straps that held Emma's feet in the stirrups of his examination table. "You can get dressed now."

Emma all but jumped off of the table. "That was awful, Doc," she said, as she pulled on her drawers. Do ladies - real ladies like Ma - do they like having that done to 'em?"

"Not one bit," Kaitlin answered for the doctor, "but it's something that has to be done sometimes if a woman wants to stay healthy. You'll see."

Emma shook her head. "Not if I can help it. I don't want to ever go through that again." She stepped into her pants. They were no better than any other of Elmer's pants and only reached an inch or two below Emma's knees.

"Aren't you cold in those short pants?" Doc asked, looking at her while she worked the buttons on the front of her trousers.

"I am," Emma answered, "but Ma won't get longer ones. She says it's them or the dresses she got me last Sunday." Emma frowned at her mother.

"Mmm, must be hard on those bare legs, too," Doc said. "And it is getting a bit cooler now that December's almost here."

Kaitlin nodded. "After all that we spent on dresses, I won't buy longer pants, regardless of what anyone ays." She looked sharply at Trisha who was sitting in a corner of the examining room, lost in thought as she recovered from the experience of her own examination.

"I was thinking, though," Kaitlin continued, "that I might sew some scrap cloth onto the ends of her... of Elmer's pants. That would bring them out to their proper length. I might even do the same for a few of her shirts."

Emma was six inches taller than Elmer had been, much of it in her longer arms and legs. "Would you, mama. That... that would be great."

"While you're doing all of that sewing," Trisha suddenly said, "I've got some shirts that are missing buttons."

"Let's talk about that when we get home," Kaitlin said. "After all, we didn't come to see Dr. Upshaw, so we could talk about your wardrobes." She turned to the doctor, "Speaking of which, how are Trisha and Emma physically?"

"Normal... healthy... and female, Kaitlin," Doc answered. "There's no real differences between their... umm, anatomies and your own, not as far as I could determine at any rate. And Emma's body is at the proper stage of pubescent development for a girl of about thirteen... just as you said."

"But I'm only ten," Emma interrupted. "How did I get to be three years older?"

"The same way that you became a girl, Emma," Doc Upshaw said gently, "Shamus' potion. As to why, that theory of Shamus' that your mother told us about is as good as any and probably better than most."

"It sounds crazy to me," Trisha said. "She's older so her body can start getting ready for... for making babies... babies!" She shuddered at the thought. "Is that all the potion thinks we're good for?"

"It doesn't think," Doc corrected her. "At least, I don't think that it does. It just seems to follow some sort of crazy logic of its own."

"Well, I hate it." Trisha was angry now. "There's no logic to it. It just... just made a hash out of everything."

"It saved Emma's life," Kaitlin said in a soft voice. "We can be thankful for that anyway."

"Yes... yes, it did," Trisha replied, "but look at what it cost me - and her."

* * * * *

Jessie carefully laid her tray, heavy with five empty steins, down on the bar. R.J. started transferring the steins to a larger "bus" tray to be taken out to the kitchen for washing.

"Hey, Shamus," Jessie called to the older barman, who was standing a few feet away. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Shamus walked over. "Seems t'me you already are, Jessie, now what can I be doing for ye?"

"You still got that crazy notion in your head about me singing for you - for money, I mean?"

"I do, and I don't think it's such a crazy idea. And if ye're asking, neither do ye?"

"Okay, maybe it ain't so crazy, but I still ain't rightly sure how t'go about it."

"'Tis simple; ye get up on me stage and sing."

Jessie glanced quickly around the room. "What stage? You mean that little thing the band stands on for the Saturday dances?"

"Aye, that's all the stage I've ever needed." He studied her expression. "O'course, if ye're afraid..." He let his voice trail off.

"Afraid?" Her eyes narrowed. "It's just that... well, I never done anything like singing in front of folks before."

"Sure ye have. That time last summer when ye got all the men fighting, and I told ye t'be singing t'calm them down." He raised a finger as if counting. "And just the last Saturday..." He raised a second finger. "...when ye was playing with the band."

"Yeah, but that first time, I didn't have no choice. Your damned potion made me sing, and the second time... that... that was some kinda fluke was all."

"Fess up, Jess," R.J. said. "What's really bothering you?"

"Aye, what ain't ye telling us, lass?"

"I... I don't know if I'll be any good," she said softly. "I got my pride."

"And the great Jessie Hanks don't want t'be making no fool of herself." Shamus nodded. "I can understand that."

"How's this," R.J. suggested. "Why not do a trial run?"

"What d'you mean?" Jessie and Shamus asked together.

R.J. explained. "One night next week - Tuesday, say - Shamus sets up the stage without saying what it's for. Then... oh, maybe at nine when the place is fairly filled, he says he's got a surprise for the folks, and you go up and sing a few songs."

"Without charging them for it?" Shamus asked.

"Yeah, and probably without paying me anything for it, right?" Jessie made a sour face. "What's the point, R.J.?"

"Jess, you'll get to see what it's like doing a show up there on that stage, small as it is," R.J. explained, "And Shamus, you'll get an idea if she's any good."

"I see what ye mean," Shamus said, nodding in agreement. "It may be that we're deciding t'be forgetting the whole thing..."

"Or, we'll see just how good I am." Jessie completed the thought.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Shamus said. "Is Tuesday all right with ye, Jessie?" He stuck out a hand.

Jessie shook it as firmly as she could. "Tuesday it is."

* * * * *

"Bit late to start sewing, isn't it?" Trisha asked.

Kaitlin was sitting by the kitchen table. She had been cutting a pattern for an addition to Emma's pants leg when Trisha had spoken. She frowned. "I've been at this for almost a half hour. I've been wondering when you would notice."

"I-I've had some other things on my mind this evening."

"Seems to me you've had those things on your mind for days now. What's the matter?"

"Nothing... really, nothing. What are you working on over there?"

"Emma's clothes. I said I was going to sew some extra cloth on her pants so they'd be long enough again."

"Are you going to do her shirts, too?"

"Of course."

"While you're doing that, could you do something about my shirts, too."

"Your shirts are more than long enough. You're rolling up the sleeves now."

"The sleeves aren't the problem. The buttons are." He hesitated a moment. "They... uhh, they keep popping off."

"With the... figure you have now, I'm not surprised."

"Then you'll sew them back on?"

"No. If I do, they'll just pop off again."

"Sew them on tighter; you can do that, can't you?"

"If I sew them on that tight, then the material of the shirt will just tear instead. We spent enough money on all those new clothes for the two of you; we shouldn't spend any more."

"We can take back all those girl's clothes. Emma and I don't want to wear them anyway."

"You should be wearing them instead creating of all this nonsense about wearing clothes that don't fit just because you wore them...before."

"It's not nonsense. These are my clothes." She made a gesture at the shirt and pants she was wearing. "Not those blouses and skirts you bought for me."

"I notice that you're wearing the underclothes I bought."

Trisha blushed. "I... I have to. My old union suit scratched too much, and my... my breasts don't feel right by the end of the day if I don't wear that damnable corset."

"Exactly."

"That corset is part of the problem, though, it makes my shirts even tighter."

"But you don't want to go without it. Well, the solution is obvious. Wear blouses. They're cut to allow for the corset."

"No. I'll not wear women's clothing."

"So you say." Kaitlin smiled. "But you're wearing a chemise, corset, and woman's drawers while you say it."

"That's all I'll wear."

"Then, Trisha, you had best learn how to darn on missing buttons because I will not do it for you." She watched Trisha sputter for a moment, then added the clincher. "Besides, it takes time to do a button right, and I'd rather spend what sewing time I have working on Emma's pants for the time being."

* * * * *

Saturday, December 2, 1871

Kaitlin opened her front door almost before the knocking stopped. "Nancy, Nancy Osbourne, please do come in."

"Thank you, Kaitlin," Nancy said, walking in. "We really didn't get a chance to talk when you brought Emma to school on Monday. Is she around now? There's a few things I'd like to discuss with you, if I could, and I'd rather she not overhear."

"Nothing serious, I hope. Emma went over to Tomas Rivera's house. She has chores, but I told her she could go visit for a while. Poor Tomas must hate being cooped in with that broken arm of his."

"I'm sure he does. He'll probably even be happy to come back to school on Monday, just for the change of place." She chuckled at her joke. "If your... your husband is here, you might want to ask him... her to come in. This concerns her... him as well."

"Trisha, that's what she's called now, is at the store. I'll pass on whatever we discuss when she comes home this evening." Kaitlin pointed to a comfortably overstuffed brown chair. "Now, why don't you sit down, and I'll get us both some coffee."

"Please don't bother."

"It's no bother at all. I've most of a pot left from breakfast."

A few minutes later, they were enjoying the coffee and some shortbread with marmalade. "How did Emma do in school this week?" Kaitlin asked, putting down her cup.

"Since her transformation, you mean." Nancy took a breath, then continued. "I don't see any change in her work, and that's... well, one of the things I wanted to talk to you about."

"What do you mean?"

"Elmer was ahead of grade level in arithmetic and at his grade level in reading. Emma is at the same point that Elmer was. That means she's below grade level in arithmetic and very much below grade level in reading."

"How can that be?"

"I assign students to a grade based on each child's age. Grade level is a measure of ability in a subject. Physically, your Emma is 13, that's eighth grade. Her arithmetic is at the sixth or seventh grade level, and her reading is at the fifth grade level. She may be able to catch up in time, but I'm not even sure that she has the time."

"How can she not have the time?"

"If she's on eighth grade, then she graduates at the end of the year."

"She... graduates?"

"She might. What sort of plans did you and your... umm, Trisha have for Elmer after he graduated?"

"We... we really hadn't thought about it that much; at least, I hadn't. We had years yet to plan. I...I suppose that Patrick would have wanted to bring him into the business. I thought...I knew he was doing well in arithmetic. I thought he might want to be an engineer or something else that took more education."

"That might not be possible now. If..." She sighed and took a sip of coffee. "If Emma is in the eighth grade. I can put her eighth or leave her in fifth."

"Leave her in fifth, then."

"If I do, it'll seem like she's been left back. If her body is thirteen, now, she'll be sixteen by the time she graduates. That's awfully old to still be in school. Some girls marry at sixteen."

"Marry... Emma? She's a boy."

"She was a boy. So was Laura Meehan last summer. She's not only married to Arsenio Caulder now, she's expecting a child."

Kaitlin gasped. "It... it doesn't seem... possible, does it?"

"It probably isn't... Emma getting married, I mean. Look, here's what I propose. I'll keep Emma listed as a fifth grade student for now. I can promote her any time that I - or you - think it's needful to do so. In the meantime, I would suggest that you get her some tutoring, so she moves up to a grade level closer to her physical age."

"Can you tutor her?"

"I can do some, but it might be better if I ask Ysabel Diaz to help her."

"Ysabel? Isn't she one of your students?"

"Yes, but she's my best helper with the younger children. She wants to be a teacher herself someday, and I think that she'll be a very good one."

"Do you think she'll want to help?"

"I think so, and she'll be helpful in more than just academic matters, I think. Frankly, many of the boys are teasing Emma, and as many of the girls are ostracizing her. Emma needs a friend, and she needs someone to teach her how to be a girl. I think that Ysabel can be both of those things."

"Then by all means, please ask her."

"I will." She spread some of the marmalade on a piece of shortbread and took a bite. "I'll send a note home with Emma on Monday telling what Ysabel said."

"That will be fine."

"I thought that you would agree, but I didn't want to do anything without talking it over with you first."

"I appreciate that. Can you stay and visit for a while?"

"I'd love to. There's not much for me to do today, and if I go back to the Carson's house, I'm sure that Mrs. Carson will have all manner of chores to foist on me."

Part of Nancy's pay was room and board at the home of one of her students, a common practice of the time. However, Zenobia Carson had never quite grasped the notion that the woman living in her spare bedroom was the town's employee and not her own indentured servant.

* * * * *

Cap was whistling when he walked into his uncle's study. "Tuck said to tell you that lunch is ready." Tuck was Abner Slocum's cook. A former cowboy at Slocum's ranch in Texas, he'd left half his right leg at Vicksburg.

"Whatever he's serving must be really special to make you so happy," Slocum said.

"It's not lunch, Uncle Abner, it's Bridget. She said she'd go on a picnic with me tomorrow."

"No wonder you're so happy. Where are you taking her?"

"To a small clearing I know of, about five minutes north of town."

Slocum cocked an eyebrow. "Why, Matthew, what exactly are you planning to do with the young lady?"

"Just talk, Uncle Abner. Sorry if that disappoints you."

"Actually, it doesn't. I'm glad to see that you're growing up."

"Thanks, but the credit isn't all mine. I don't think that Bridget would let me get away with anything." He paused. "Not that part of me doesn't want to."

"Can't blame you for that. She is a lovely, young woman."

"Why, Uncle Abner, at your age."

"I'm not that old, Matthew, and I'm not dead, either. But if you're not planning to have your evil way with her, what are you planning to do that you need to go so far out of town?"

"Talk... just talk." He looked at his uncle's expression. "All right, kiss some, too, if she'll let me. Mostly, I just want to be alone with her. We've always been at Shamus' place, part of the crowd. You can't really get to know a person in a crowd."

"No, you're right; you need time alone, time to talk about things that you might not want to say when you're in a crowd."

"You're right. About all I really know about her is what's happened since she came to Eerie. That and the fact that she was in the Confederate Army."

"She was what?"

"Back during the War, she and Wilma Hanks were in the Army together. She told me about it when I went to get her check the other day."

"Why'd she do that?"

"She didn't mean to. We were talking and she said that I was as regular about the money she owed as her old army paymaster."

"Interesting." Slocum seemed to be remembering something. "Always interesting what a woman will prattle about when she isn't thinking."

"Prattle?"

"Talk... ramble, you know what I mean." Slocum stood up and put his arm around Cap's shoulder. "Come on, let's go see what Tuck made for lunch before he gets mad and burns it on us."

* * * * *

"Water's boiling," Kaitlin said. Trisha walked over to the stove and put the oven mitts on her hands. Kaitlin already had on a pair. Each woman took a handle of the large copper pot. "On three. One... two... three... lift!"

Together they lifted the heavy pot from the cook stove and walked over to the tin washtub. They rested the pot on the edge for a moment, then emptied it into the nearly filled tub. They put the pot on the floor, rather than carry it back to the stove.

"Bath time," Kaitlin said. She took off the mitts and tossed them onto the nearby table. She untied the sash of her robe and shrugged it from her shoulders. She was naked beneath it. She stepped into the tub and sat down. "Would you hand me the soap, please."

Trisha had been working on the sash of her own robe. "Wait a minute. What are you doing in the tub? I always take the first bath."

"Tonight, I'm going first, thank you. If you hadn't taken so long, you might have gotten in first, but, as always lately, you were preoccupied. Just what is it that you're always thinking about lately?"

"Nothing." Trisha shook her head. "Nothing at all."

Kaitlin snorted. "Nothing... nothing, my great aunt Fanny."

"This is ridiculous. Why are you bringing this all up now?"

"Because Emma's up in her room right now with the door closed, so she can't hear us and because I'm tired of you going around like a sleepwalker all the time, not noticing half of what's going on around you." She paused a beat. "And Liam says you're the same way at the store. He said that the customers were asking him about it. A few of them got insulted; they thought you were deliberately ignoring them."

"And when exactly were you having this long discussion about me with Liam?"

"Don't try and change the subject. What's bothering you?" She waited.

Trisha handed her the bar of soap. "Here, go wash all these stupid questions right out of your head."

"If you won't tell me what's on your mind so much, can you at least explain what you meant yesterday when you said, 'look what it cost me'? You made it sound like it was Emma's fault that you were a woman."

"Isn't it?"

"No, it's yours for taking a mouthful of potion."

"I wasn't planning on swallowing it. I did it so she would drink some. It was the only thing I could think of to save her life."

"No, it was the first thing you could think of. And because you thought of it, it had to be the best plan. You didn't try to persuade her. You didn't ask me for help - I was there, too, you know. You just drank that foul brew."

"And look what happened."

"Yes, look what happened. Your child didn't die. Can't you at least be happy with that?"

"Didn't he? Oh. Of course, I'm glad that Emma's alive. It's just... he's... we're... this." She made a sweeping gesture at her body. "So different... so much less than we... oh, hell. Take your damned bath and try to finish before the water gets cold."

Trisha stormed over to the couch and sat down next to a copy of Sporting Times. She picked it up and noisily began to turn the pages.

* * * * *

Milt handed Jane a ticket and led her out onto the dance floor. "Glad t'see you for a change, Milt," she teased. "What made you decide to come tonight?"

"Would you believe me if I said that I came to hear Jessie Hanks sing? I'm told she has a quite lovely voice."

"Maybe," Jane said, pouting. "Only, she ain't gonna sing tonight. Some time next week, Shamus says."

"Or maybe I came to try my hand at Bridget's poker table. I was a pretty good player in college."

"Bridget don't run her game on Saturdays; you knows that. She says nobody can concentrate with all the noise of the dance."

"Yes... I do know that." The music started, a waltz. Milt took Jane in his arms and they began to step about the floor.

"So why did you come?"

"The only possible reason left, to be with the prettiest girl in town." He pulled her closer to him.

Jane kissed him gently on the cheek. "Good answer."

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

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

Sunday, December 3, 1871

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn right, I do," Trisha added.

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They respect you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

"Not unless you want me to."

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

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

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

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

"He said he hadn't decided."

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

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

"Now what do you mean by that?"

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

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

"What? What did I bring?"

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

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

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

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

"It surely was," Cap answered softly.

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Monday, December 4, 1871

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean --"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you for the vote of confidence."

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

Several students started for the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Tuesday, December 5, 1871

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More than a few men laughed at his joke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What the hell is that?" Fitzmartin taunted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

"I enjoyed it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Wednesday, December 6, 1871

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ain't ye?"

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

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

"Yeah, but it ain't mannerly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, like they'd do that."

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, then, what else is there?"

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

"How do I do that?"

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

"Amen," the crowd answered and sat down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trisha looked at Yingling. "But..."

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

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

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

"What do you mean, Reverend?"

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Thursday, December 7, 1871

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How bad were you?"

"Who says I was bad?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hush up," Wilma answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If I let you sing, you mean."

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

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

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

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

"I will, Shamus, and thanks."

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

"I will. How was your day?"

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

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

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

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

"And did he come by?"

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Friday, December 8, 1871

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He started it!" Lupe whined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Saturday, December 9, 1871

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

"What I did yesterday?" Wilma looked confused.

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

"I... thanks, I guess."

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I think about it?"

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

"Flattery like that will get you anywhere."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why's that?"

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you asking me out to supper?"

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Sunday, December 10, 1871

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

* * * * *

Monday, December 11, 1871

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

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

"Go play ball," he finally said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What was that? The War?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Tuesday, December 12, 1871

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked at him carefully. "We?"

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

Big Meeting! Fried Chicken Luncheon!

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or to die trying," Roy shouted.

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

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

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

The words drifted down slowly from the second floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her voice was loud, clear, and happy.

And it was almost drowned out by the laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Wednesday, December 13, 1871

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Rylands? They make suits for men."

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

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

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

Jessie thought for a moment. "Two things."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

"They surely was."

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

"I'll do better tomorrow."

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You must pick one or the other."

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Thursday, December 14, 1871

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

"What do ye mean?" Molly asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Might be?" Arnie said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Friday, December 15, 1871

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

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

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

"We've still got enough help."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

"That's what it looks like, all right." He chuckled. "A whole lot of cole slaw."

She looked a little hurt. "Don't you like cole slaw?"

"Not that much, I don't." He sighed. "I guess I should've expected it, though. I've heard about how some pregnant woman'll get cravings for the strangest things. I'll just be glad if they don't get any stranger than this."

Laura looked down at her stomach. It was still sometimes hard for her to believe that there was a new life growing inside her. "Cravings? Yeah, I guess that could be it." She gently rubbed her belly.

"In that case," Arsenio said, "you just go ahead and make all the cole slaw you want." He pulled her close and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

* * * * *

Shamus walked over to Bridget's table. She was alone, playing what she called "Maverick Solitaire", trying to arrange twenty-five cards dealt at random into five good poker hands.

"If ye put that three of clubs and the five of hearts with them three cards over there..." he pointed to other cards a few inches away, "...ye'll have one of them - whacha-call-it - straights."

Bridget looked up at him. "I know, but I don't really like these fancy new hands, straights and flushes. A full house or four of a kind is plenty good enough for me."

"Do ye allow them in yuir game - when ye're playing for money, I mean?"

"I do, if most of the other players ask for it." She shrugged. "Better to play a game I don't like than not to play at all."

Shamus chuckled. "I know what ye mean, and I'd be guessing that ye're good enough to take thuir money either way." He pulled out a chair and sat down.

"I can, but it doesn't quite seem like real poker with those new hands."

"I suppose it doesn't, but I don't think that poker hands is what ye wanted t'be talking t'me about. What can I do for ye?"

"I wanted to ask you about Arnie."

"Him? I'll admit he came in real handy last night, but I still got some doubts about the lad. Besides, I gave his mum me word that I wouldn't let him touch a drop of what she called 'devil's brew' in me saloon."

"How about letting him touch an empty glass? Or, at least, a broom?"

"What are ye asking, Bridget?"

"How about giving him a job? I heard you and Molly talking about how you were getting shorthanded around here."

"He's not pretty enough t'be serving drinks in me place."

Bridget laughed at that. "No, but how pretty does he have to be to carry dirty glasses back into the kitchen... or to wash them for that matter?"

"Ye... ye got a point. Let me think on it a bit."

"Then you'll really ask him?"

"I'll think about it, and - since ye'll be making an old man out of me with yuir pestering if I don't - I'll tell ye me decision either way as soon as I know it meself."

* * * * *

Bridget took a sip of wine and put the glass down on the table. She and R.J. were back in the garden having dinner. "So tell me, R.J.," she asked, "where exactly did you learn how to throw a knife like that?"

"Are you sure you want to know such a dark secret?" he teased.

Bridget smiled. "I didn't think you could have a secret that dark?"

"Ahh, but are you willing to risk finding out?" He raised an eyebrow, trying to look menacing.

She felt fixed to the table by his stare. "I... I'll r-risk it."

"Fine then; let it be on your head." Then he broke into a smile. "My papa fought the Austrians back in Italy. He... ah, used a knife sometimes. When mama told him that... that Gus was on the way, they ran off to America and opened the restaurant. He taught Gus and me both all about knives. Gus wasn't very good at it, but I... ah, I was."

"Well, I'm certainly glad that you kept in practice."

He looked down at the table. "I didn't. Until a few months ago, I hadn't thrown a knife in years."

"What made you take it back up?"

"You did." He took her hand in his.

"I did? How?"

"I never saw a gambler that didn't get in deep trouble every once in while. I didn't think you were going to be an exception, and that scattergun Shamus has under the bar wouldn't have worked in the spot you were in yesterday."

She looked at her purse. It was on the table near her other hand, the one he wasn't holding. "I have a pistol, a derringer, in my purse. I was about to get it out when you threw that knife."

"With them both watching you? I don't think you would have made it. You needed my protection."

"Your what?"

"My protection." He raised the eyebrow again. "That's what a man does. He protects the... he protects his friends."

"Especially me?"

"Any woman that needs his help. That's what a man does." He lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

Bridget leaned back in her chair, emotions racing, not sure what she was feeling or what she should say in answer.

* * * * *

Saturday, December 16, 1871

Finny Pike sat down at a table and took a sip from his beer. "Nice dance," he said, trying to start a conversation.

Angel Montiero took the bait. "Be nicer if we were out there dancing, no."

"Ain't that the truth," Finny said. "Could be worse, I guess."

"Si, we could be riding line with Cap Lewis, taking extra supplies to the men who will be spending the winter in those cabins, watching his uncle's herd."

Finny shivered at the thought. "There's probably six inches of snow up there already. Being here, nice and warm with the beer and the women is one helluva a lot better." He sighed. "Too bad there ain't a few more women here, though."

"You could always drink that stuff Shamus has and become one yourself."

"And dance with the likes of you? No... way... in... hell." He looked around. "At least some folks bring their own gals." He pointed at a couple dancing nearby. "Why don't you go cut in on him?"

"The Sheriff? I do not care to anger any man who can jail me if he wants to. You go cut in on him."

"When pigs fly," Finny said. "I wonder what he's doing here, though. Him and his wife don't come to these dances too often."

"Who knows?"

Finny took a green kerchief from pocket. "You wanna put this on your arm 'n dance with me?"

"You are kidding, amigo?" Angel laughed. "This dance is almost over. I am going to try and dance with Jane next time. I will have no chance, if I am out on the dance floor with you, when the music stops. There will already be too many men around her with the same idea."

* * * * *

"Seá±orita Bridget, may I have this dance with you?"

Bridget looked up from where she was sitting. There was too much noise for her game, so she was back dancing as a favor to Shamus. "Arnie? What are you doing here?"

"Asking you to dance with me." He showed her the ticket in his hand.

She stood up. "I know that. It's just that I don't think that I've ever seen you at one of these dances before." She took the ticket, putting it in the pocket of her starched, white apron.

"Before... I didn't have the money before, and I... I was not sure that Shamus would let me dance, even if I did." He grinned. "Tonight, I know he'll let me dance." He led her out onto the dance floor.

"How'd you know that he'd let you tonight?" she asked.

Once they were among the other couples, he took her right hand in his. Then, he stood there, looking at his other hand and at her and trying to figure out where to put it. Bridget gently took the hand and put it on her waist.

"First, because I'm a hero... just ask anybody." He grinned again. The music, a waltz, began.

"And why else." Bridget was getting curious.

"'Cause Shamus offered me a job. If I can work here, I figure that I can dance here, too."

Now Bridget smiled. "I knew you'd take that job. I knew it as soon as I --"

"So that's it! You told Shamus to offer it to me." He stopped dancing and looked at her angrily. "I don't need anybody's charity."

This was male pride, something Bridget knew a lot about. "It wasn't charity, and it wasn't my idea," she began carefully.

"I don't need Shamus' charity neither."

Arnie, please. It... it wasn't charity. I heard Shamus and Molly talking about how they might hire somebody because they don't have as much help as they used to. All I did was tell Shamus that you should be the one he hires."

"Sounds like charity to me." He frowned. "Much as I like you, I still don't need you helping me."

Bridget thought quickly. "Arnie, please... If I was trying to help anybody, I was trying to help me."

"Help you?" He snorted. "How does me working for Shamus help you?"

"You should know that better than anybody," Bridget told him. "What happened yesterday could happen - probably will happen - again." She thought about that for a moment. It probably would happen. Few men would have stood up to Brian; he had looked like he could handle himself in a fight. Now it was different. Too many people assumed a woman was easy to frighten or intimidate. "And when it does," she continued, "I figure that it won't hurt to have a friend around that I know I can count on."

She smiled and put his hand back at her waist. "I can count on you, can't I?"

His grin was back, broader than ever. "Damned right, you can."

* * * * *

Sunday, December 17, 1871

Horace Styron was just tying up his wagon when Clyde Ritter rode up to the stable.

"You're here early today, Horace," Ritter said, climbing down from his horse.

"So're you," Styron replied. "Where's your wife and kids?"

"Around the back of the school with the other women frying chicken - at least Cecelia and Hermione are. You know my Cecelia; it don't get done right unless she's there t'make sure. Winthrop's inside with Clyde, Junior, making sure the boy don't get dirty."

The two men started walking towards the schoolhouse-church. "We don't want nothing to go wrong here today, do we?"

"This chicken fry was a good idea, Clyde. Feed the folks, make a speech or two, and Trisha's as good as off the Board."

"And good riddance to her, I say."

Styron laughed. "I wonder if she's even going to come to church this morning."

"If she does, she can skip the services and fry up some chicken - same as the other women." By now, they were at the steps.

The door suddenly opened in front of them. "Me... cook?" Trisha said. "I'm afraid I can't do that; not today." She was standing in the doorway wearing a pale blue dress. Her blonde hair hung loosely around her shoulders, catching the morning light. "I'll be sitting up in front along with you and the other elders... where I belong."

The two men stared. She had a yellow ribbon pinned prominently to the dress. In large, dark blue letters, the words, "Keep O'Hanlon" were printed on it in a fine hand.

"See you inside." Trisha smiled slyly at the two dumbfounded men, turned, and walked back into the church.

* * * * *

"Well, now," a smiling Arsenio Caulder said to Styron and Ritter a few minutes later, "and what are you two unrepentant sinners doing here, outside the church?" He'd walked around from the far side of the schoolhouse. He wore a brown suit, his jacket draped over his arm.

Ritter smiled back at the joke and extended his hand. "I might ask you the same, Arsenio. Seems like the only time I ever seen you in church was Christmas and Easter and not always then."

"You know it is," Arsenio said, shaking the man's hand. "Things change when you get married. Laura joined the Ladies's Social Committee. She's over helping with the cooking."

"The ladies can always use another pair of hands," Styron said. "You're both more than welcome." Arsenio certainly was. As a member of the town council, he was a powerful potential ally.

Arsenio laughed and kept talking. "She made a ton of cole slaw at home the other day, and we brought it all over here for the party... thank the Lord."

"You don't like cole slaw?" Styron asked.

Arsenio shook his head. "Not when she's made enough to fill a bath tub."

"You'll eat it, but you won't swim in it?" Ritter laughed at his own joke.

"Not if I can help, I won't." Arsenio looked at his pocket watch. "I think I'll go inside, get me a good seat."

Styron nodded. "They're all good seats in the Lord's House. See you inside."

"I'm sure you will." Arsenio put on his jacket. He had a ribbon just like the one Trisha had been wearing pinned to the front. He smiled and walked past the pair and up the steps to the door.

* * * * *

"I wish you could have seen Cecelia Ritter's expression when you three drove up," Phillipia Stone told Kaitlin. "She looked like she'd swallowed a frog." Phillipia was a tall, athletic woman, whose curly, jet-black hair hinted at her mother's Greek origin.

Kaitlin smiled. "I can imagine." She finished sectioning another chicken and put the pieces on a tray. "She probably never expected us to come to church today, not with this chicken fry her husband planned, and she must have had kittens when Laura showed up handing out these ribbons."

"Take this over to Laura... Mrs. Caulder, please, Emma." She handed her daughter the tray, which was now covered with chicken pieces. Emma nodded and carried the tray to the next table, where Laura and Amy Talbot stood waiting.

Kaitlin and Phillipia both wore "Keep O'Hanlon" ribbons on their aprons. So did Emma, Laura, and Amy.

"Thank you, Emma." Laura took the tray from Emma and began dunking the pieces one at a time into a large bowl of buttermilk. She handed each piece to Emma, who was standing next to her now. The girl rolled the piece in flour and gave it to Amy, who put it in a wire rack. When she'd filled a rack, Amy carefully lowered it into a large, very hot pot of bubbling oil. There were already five racks in the pot, perhaps with room for three more. About a dozen pieces of freshly fried chicken were draining on a spread of old newspaper.

Laura glanced over at Kaitlin and Phillipia. "What're your mama and Mrs. Stone laughing about?" she asked Emma.

"These ribbons," Emma answered. "How'd you think up the idea, anyway?"

"I saw people wearing campaign ribbons and such for every election back in Indiana. We wear ribbons at the Saloon, too, mostly so folks can tell my sister, Jane, and me apart. When your Uncle Liam told me what was going on, I asked Molly - she's the one who makes them - to make a bunch up for me to help your... to help Trisha stay on the board.

"I wouldn't have thought of them," Laura continued, "if your... if Trisha hadn't come over to the Saloon and asked for some help. I guess she figured that folks who were used to somebody being changed like she was would want to help. What they're saying about her, they're saying about us, too"

"It was good of you to lend a hand help," Kaitlin said. "It was good of Miss Kelly."

"You can call her Bridget," Laura told the other woman. "Everybody does."

Kaitlin restarted. "It was good of Bridget, then, and of Mr. O'Toole - or should I call him Shamus - to contribute the money for the extra ingredients." She took a breath. "And of your husband to offer to pitch in."

"Just try and stop him once he thought Ritter was insulting me." Laura beamed with pride. "And Arsenio brought in Whit and the sheriff." She turned back to Emma. "We all heard Trisha needed some help, and we wanted to give it."

"Well, I'm glad you did. Clyde, Junior, and his friends've been telling me all about how Trisha was gonna get throwed off the Board. If... when she don't, I'll have me the last laugh."

"I don't believe Cecelia is very happy," Amy said. "She didn't even want to work with us after we pinned the ribbons on." She pointed to a group working some feet away, Cecelia Ritter, Lavinia Mackechnie, and several other women were busily making their own fried chicken. As Amy pointed, Cecelia Ritter glared back at her. Amy shook her head. "That woman; she isn't happy unless everybody's doing things the way she wants." She chuckled. "Well, we'll just set up our own table - right next to theirs - for the chicken and for that cole slaw you made, Laura, and we'll just see whose food gets eaten faster."

"I don't know about the chicken," Laura said, "but I expect that my cole slaw's going to be gone pretty quick."

Amy cocked an eyebrow. "I must say, I admire your confidence."

"Confidence doesn't have as much to do with it as the beer I made it with. Molly gave me the recipe, and Shamus gave me the beer. If I do say so myself, it turned out pretty good."

* * * * *

"What're we gonna do about them damn ribbons," Styron muttered. He and Ritter were standing under a tree close enough to the door to watch people enter, but not close enough to be overheard.

Ritter sighed. "I don't think it's that big a problem. Besides Arsenio, there's only been two-three men, tops, wearing them."

"Yeah, but one was the Sheriff and the other was Whit Whitney."

"Whit hardly ever comes to church; what with that greaser wife of his... last time was Easter, and he didn't stay the whole service."

"Still, that's two-thirds of the town council; probably all three of them are against us. That sheeney Silverman and his wife are damned friendly with O'Toole and his ladies." Styron sighed. "It's gonna be a lot harder fight than I thought it was."

Ritter scratched his head for a moment. "I wonder... have you heard Rev. Yingling say anything about how he felt?"

"No, come t'think of it, but he don't like to get mixed up in the Board's fights."

"Maybe, just maybe, we could get him interested in this fight, interested and on our side."

They nodded in agreement and walked over to the steps. Rev. Yingling stood smiling, shaking the hands of his congregation as they filed past him into the church. "Finished your little talk, gentlemen?" he asked as they approached. His warm ministerial smile was still on his lips.

"Not quite, Reverend," Styron said. "We was just wondering where you stand on this business with Trisha O'Hanlon."

"That is a matter for the board and the congregation to decide," Rev. Yingling answered. "I have no wish to take sides."

"But this is a moral issue, and the congregation needs your guidance," Ritter said.

Yingling raised an eyebrow. "Moral?"

"Indeed," Styron told him. "That the potion of O'Toole's is evil. It's not natural for a man to change into women."

Yingling considered the statement. "No, it isn't natural, but lives were saved. How many would have died the day that the Hanks gang rode into town if not for that potion? Could anything else have saved Elmer O'Hanlon?"

"No," Ritter answered, "but what about when Wilma Hanks took that second dose? We all know what she became. Where was the good in that?"

"And what about Trisha?" Styron added. "There was no reason for her to change."

Yingling nodded. "No, there wasn't. Her change was an accident. Would you have a man leave the Board because he lost his arm or his leg in an accident?"

"Accident or not, it happened," Styron said, "and she lost a lot more than her arm or leg. It's... it's just not the natural order of things for a woman to be on the board, to have dominance over men? The Bible says so."

"Our Lord, Jesus, put much faith in women," Yingling said.

"Yes," Styron replied, "but he didn't make them disciples?"

"No, he didn't," Yingling answered. "The disciples were priests, and, no, a woman cannot be a priest. But you elders aren't priests, either; you're the caretakers of the church, and a woman can be a caretaker."

Ritter frowned. "Then you're taking Tisha's side."

"I take no one's side," Yingling said. "I only pray that the congregation has the wisdom to do what is right - what is G-d's will."

"Well, we can't ask for more than that," Ritter said, smiling wryly. "His will be done." He nodded to the minister and walked away, almost dragging Styron with him.

Styron glared at him, when they stopped about ten feet away. "Why'd you cave in to him like that?"

"Because he was getting mad," Ritter explained, "I can tell. Much more of our arguing, and he'd have come out for Trisha just to spite us."

* * * * *

With a loud "Amen", the choir finished the hymn and quickly, quietly took their seats. Rev. Yingling stood and looked out at his congregation. "Horace Styron wanted to make a short announcement, but you all know Horace and his short announcements." He stopped and waited for the laughter to end.

"So, in the interest of time... and because I can smell that fried chicken, too, I'll just remind you that there'll be a picnic out in the yard after church today. You're all invited, of course. It'll cost a small donation to help pay for the food and a bit of your time listening to some speeches. I hope that you'll come anyway." The Reverend glanced quickly over at Styron and Ritter. Both men were trying very hard to look like they were smiling, when they really didn't want to.

"And now," he continued, "if you'll all turn to page 205 in your hymnals..."

* * * * *

"Well, folks," Rupert Warrick began. Rupe was Vice President of the Board. Since Horace Styron was going to speak, he got to do the introductions. "You had the good - all that delicious food that the ladies cooked up. Now, you gotta take the bad - the speeches. It's just gonna be Horace and Trisha, so the pair of you come up here now."

He stepped off the stump he'd been standing on just as Styron and Trisha walked up to him. "Only fair way to see who goes first," he said, pulling a half dollar from his pocket. "Trisha, why don't you call?" He flipped the coin high into the air and took a step back.

"Heads!" Trisha yelled. She watched the coin spin, then took a breath and let it fall to the ground.

Styron looked down. "Tails!" He let Trisha and Rupe look at the coin. "I'll go first, thank you."

"Go ahead," Trisha answered. She walked over and sat down at a nearby picnic table.

Styron smiled, confident in his ability to persuade. "Any of you men want a woman to hold sway over you?" A few people laughed at the suggestion in his question, particularly the men long married. A few others, led by Clyde Ritter, yelled "No!" Styron kept on talking in that line. "I've got nothing against Trisha O'Hanlon; I'm sure that she's a fine young woman. But that's the problem. You didn't elect 'a fine young woman'; you elected a man, Pat O'Hanlon. He ain't here any more, and I say that means that he ain't on the board any more."

"The board's there to make the tough choices, and the board needs - this congregation needs the sort of tough-minded men who can listen to the facts and make them choices. Not some woman who's toughest choice is whether she wears the green dress or the blue one." He pointed at Trisha, who was wearing the very fashionable, pale blue dress Kaitlin had persuaded her to don that morning.

Styron talked for about five minutes more, citing Scripture - not always correctly - to argue that it was wrong for a woman to be in any position of responsibility. There were more than a few catcalls, some of them from women, but there was also more than a smattering of applause, when he ended with, "That's what I think, folks. You all be sure to come back this Wednesday to vote and show what you think."

"Now it's Trisha's turn," Rupe called out. Styron stepped back and bowed very low and very theatrically as she walked to the stump.

"That's right, folks," Trisha said. "You all come on Wednesday to vote, especially all you women. Horace may not think a woman can be on the Board, but he can't do nothing about that fact that you can vote on who does serve." It was true; the Bylaws let all members aged 18 or older, man or woman, vote.

"I don't see why he doesn't think a woman can make a tough decision. Women do it every day. And I don't just mean the ones like Minnie Haldeman, who owns the dairy, or Jo Beth Smith at her Triple S ranch. I mean every woman that runs her house and raises her kids. This is the West. A woman has to be tough just to survive out here.

"Now, Horace - and some others - say I lost the right to be on the Board 'cause I changed. I don't quite see why, unless it was because I was dumb enough to drink that potion in the first place." She smiled. "Doing something dumb doesn't mean a man can't be on the Board. If it did, that speech Horace just gave ought to get him kicked off." She paused, enjoying the congregation's laugh.

"I admit it was a dumb thing to do, but I was desperate. My boy, Elmer, was dying. Is there a father here that wouldn't do whatever dumb, desperate thing came into his head to save his son's life? Is there a mother here who wouldn't be just as dumb and just as desperate to save her child? I don't think so.

"I saved Elmer, even if it meant he got turned into Emma, and I got turned into... into this." She made a broad gesture with her arm. "And now Horace says that cause that happened, I shouldn't be on the Board. He wants to punish me for saving my child. I say that's wrong." There was a look of anger and determination on her face now. "I say I can do the job as good as ever. And I hope that you'll all come out and agree with me on Wednesday."

She started to step back, then stopped. "Oh, yeah, and if you want to show that you agree with me, then come see me or Kaitlin or Laura Caulder or... or any of the folks you see wearing these ribbons and get yourself one."

* * * * *

Monday, December 18, 1871

"Morning, Enoch," Jessie said as she walked into the Ryland brothers' tailor shop. "Is my dress ready?"

Enoch Ryland was behind the counter. He smiled slightly and shook his head. "Not by a good bit, Jessie."

"Then why'd you tell me to come by for it today?"

"I think you misunderstood me. I told you to come in this morning for a fitting. You have to try it on, to make sure that it fits right, before I can finish it." He took a breath. "It's just the same as for a man's suit."

"I never had a man's suit made special for me like you're doing with this dress. I'd just buy me one off the rack." In her mind she added, 'or just take it.'

"It's different for custom-made - man's or woman's wear. You pay the extra money, and I take the extra care." He stepped out from behind the counter. "I asked you to come in this morning, so I could be certain to have it ready for you in time for your show tomorrow night."

Jessie looked around the store. "Where is it anyways?"

"In back, hanging up waiting for you." He offered her his arm. "Let me show you the way." Jessie took his arm, and he led her through a curtained doorway into the back of the store.

Enoch's brother, Natty, was sitting at a sewing machine, working on the seam of a man's frock coat. It never failed to amaze people how much alike the two men were. The only difference between them was Enoch's mustache. They shared the same stocky build, the same brown curls and round face. And the same long, supple fingers that were moving the fabric effortlessly past the whirring needle. "'Morning, Jessie," Natty said, not looking up from his work.

"Morning, Natty," Jessie answered.

"Would you mind going out front, while I'm doing Jessie's fitting?" Enoch asked.

Natty nodded. "Just let me finish this seam." He worked the foot pedal even faster, sliding the fabric like a skater across a frozen lake. "There," he said, taking the coat out of the machine and cutting the thread with a small knife.

"Nice seeing you, Jessie," he said as he stood up. Without another word, he walked through the curtains into the front room.

"Well, he ain't talking much today, is he?" Jessie said, feeling a little insulted.

Enoch smiled. "Natty? No, he just doesn't like there to be no one out front for very long. When you get that dress on, we'll go out and show him how you look. You just watch how much he talks then."

He led Jessie over to a pair of curtained-in fitting rooms. The dress was on a hanger between the two curtains. It was a long gown, a rich blue fabric with a metallic finish. "It... it's beautiful," Jessie said.

"And you will make it even more so." Enoch took down the garment and handed it to her. "You can go in either room and change. Oh, and don't forget to take your camisole off. That dress is cut too low for you to wear anything under it besides your corset."

Jessie smiled. "I know; I'll get more tips that way. B'sides, I ain't wearing a camisole. I figured it'd save time." She took the hanger and walked into the room on the left, sliding the curtain shut behind her.

In a few moments, she was in just her corset, and drawers. She put the dress that she'd worn on a hanger and hung it on a hook next to the new one.

"So beautiful," a voice behind her said.

Jessie turned quickly. "Enoch! I... I ain't ready yet."

"That's all right." Enoch leaned back against a wall and crossed his arms. His eyes trailed up and down Jessie's body. "I can wait."

"You can get the hell out."

"Jessie... Jessie, I'm a professional tailor and dressmaker. All I'm concerned about is getting the dress to fit as well as possible. If you were..."

"If I was what?"

"A woman, one who's had clothes made for her before, would know that it helps for me to watch you... umm, dressed like you are now. That way I get a better idea of your body and how it moves. That lets me better allow for such movement in the finished dress."

Jessie raised an eyebrow. "All you want is to... study me, so's I'll look better in that dress?"

"Believe me, Jessie. All I want is to know your body... for the dress."

"Well, I... I guess that makes sense." She paused while she considered the notion for a moment. She didn't want to look like some poor, ignorant soul just off the farm. "Okay. I'm sorry if I snapped."

"Perfectly all right. You just put that dress on - carefully; there are a few pins in it yet - and we'll get started."

Jessie nodded and turned away from Enoch. She felt embarrassed and avoided looking at the tailor.

"Let me help you with that," Enoch said as she stepped into the dress and began to pull it towards her waist.

Before she could answer, he stepped behind her, so close that she could feel his body against her own. He reached around and put his hands over hers and tugged at the fabric along with her. He was leaning down over her, and she felt his warm breath on her neck.

The gown was tight around Jessie's hips. Enoch seemed to be helping, but at the same time, Jessie felt his hands slid across her buttocks. She shivered at the sensation.

"I suppose that was a surprise, Jessie," Enoch said confidently. "But it's the easiest way to get the dress over your hips. After all, we can't put too much strain on the fabric until the last seams are set."

She nodded in agreement. "No, I guess not." Once the dress was past her waist, Jessie put her arms through the twin shoulder straps and pulled it the rest of the way up.

"Let me see how it lies," Enoch said. He smoothed the front. In the process, he managed to slide his fingers across her crotch and to squeeze her upper thigh.

Jessie bit her lip and kept silent. Finally, she asked, "Could you help with the buttons back there?"

"First, let's be certain that it's on you right. There's not much holding it up." Enoch's nimble fingers moved across Jessie's shoulders. They "walked" down her front, pulling here and there at the fabric. A hand moved under the dress and began to gently caress, almost squeeze, her right breast.

Jessie shivered again as she felt a finger playing with her nipple. 'How do women put up with this every time they need a dress?' she wondered to herself. 'It don't seem worth it.'

"The fit seems almost perfect," Enoch said, withdrawing his hand. "I'll check it again once you're buttoned up." He began to fasten the back of her dress. His head moved down, and she felt his breath on her skin.

Then he moved closer and kissed a spot on the side of her neck.

"What the hell was that?" Jessie spun around to face him.

"I... uhhh... the-the strap - yes, that's it - the strap --"

"Bullshit!" Jessie yelled, "Natty, you get your ass back here."

Natty Rylands came running to the back of the store. "Is something the matter, Jessie?" His glance kept shifting from her to his brother.

"I trust you, Natty - at least you never give me cause not to. When a woman's getting a dress fitted, is the man doing the fitting supposed to see her in her unmentionables? And does he keep... touching her in all sorts of places while she's puttin' on the dress?"

"Aw, hell, Enoch." Natty looked at his brother and scowled. "You said you wouldn't do that anymore."

"Do what?" Jessie asked.

Natty sighed. "Enoch likes to play a... trick on some of our more... innocent female customers."

"Let me guess. He touches 'em in places where a lady ain't supposed t'be touched and tells 'em it's just t'make the dress fit better."

"Right in one." Enoch grinned. "Shall we continue?"

Jessie's jaw dropped. "You want me to let you keep going?"

Enoch shrugged. "Well, you know the game now, so I won't do it any more..." He looked at her and leered. "...unless you want me to. It can be a lot of fun if the woman...helps. And a lot of them do want to help." He leered at her as if expecting her to tell him that she might be the kind that wanted to play.

"Why you lousy son of a --" Jessie eyes darted around the fitting room for something - anything - big or nasty enough to do the sort of damage she wanted to do to the man.

Natty stepped between her and his brother. "Jessie, he's - we're both very sorry. I'll be glad to take over for Enoch." When she still looked too angry, he added, "and, of course, we'll just take...half off the price of the dress." Natty cringed at the loss he'd just offered.

"And he'll apologize," Jessie continued, "and he won't do it no more."

Natty glared at Enoch. "He'll apologize - won't you, Enoch?"

"I will. I do. I..." He suddenly looked as if he'd sucked a lemon. "...I apologize."

"And you better not do it any more neither." Jessie said. "'Cause if I hear that you did, I'm talking to Shamus and the Sheriff." She looked him in the eye angrily, her eyes no more than narrow slits. "That happens, you may wind up with your own tits and pussy t'play with."

* * * * *

"So it is true."

Arnie Diaz looked up from the sink full of dirty glassware. Pablo Escobar was standing in the half-opened doorway that led to Shamus' yard. He leaned against the doorframe, smiling, his arms crossed in front of him.

"What do you want, Pablo?"

"Nothing much," the other boy answered. "I heard you got a job here washing dishes." He took a step towards Arnie. "It ain't much, but I guess it is a step up from washing their dirty underwear, like your mama."

"You leave my mother out of it, Pablo."

"Sure, sure. After all, there's no shame in a woman doing woman's work. It's only when a man - or a boy - starts doing it --"

"There's no shame in doing an honest day's work."

"No shame," Pablo answered, "but no great honor either."

"What do you know about honor? You spend your days helping Clyde Ritter sell them broken-down nags of his for a lot more money than they're worth."

Pablo shrugged. "That's business, something you'll never know - not cleaning out Shamus' spittoons, you won't. Or do you have to work your way up to cleaning spittoons?"

"Anything's better than shoveling shit for Clyde Ritter."

"Oh, yeah?" Pablo took another two steps towards Arnie. His hands were balled into fists.

Arnie stepped away from the sink. "Yeah!" His body tensed, waiting for the other boy's attack.

"What the hell's going on me kitchen." Molly's voice boomed out from the direction of the barroom door. She closed the door behind her and walked over to the pair.

"We... we was just talking, Seá±ora O'Toole," Pablo answered.

Maggie looked suspiciously at the two boys. "Aye, and I'm the Queen of the May." She took a breath. "Arnie, we don't pay ye t'be talking to people. We pay ye t'wash beer steins - so get to it."

"Yes, ma'am." Arnie stepped back to the sink.

"And ye, me boyo," Molly pointed at Pablo, "we don't pay ye at all, so I'll be thanking ye to leave."

Pablo sneered. "Just like you, Arnie, hiding behind a woman's skirts."

"It don't look t'me like he's hiding behind anything. He's doing his job - which is more than I can say for ye... whoever ye are."

"Pablo," Arnie told her, enjoying the situation. "Pablo Escobar"

"Pablo," Molly finished. "Now get out of here before I throw ye out."

Pablo flared at the pair of them. "I'm going. I'm going, but this ain't the end of it, Diaz, not by a long shot."

* * * * *

Paul Grant looked up when he heard the door to the Sheriff's Office open. "Afternoon, Jessie," he said with a broad smile when he saw who'd walked in.

"Hey, Paul." She glanced around nervously.

"We're alone, Jess." Paul told her.

Jessie bit her lip. "I know, but people can... come in. I'd just as soon nobody heard what I got to say."

"We can go in back, if that's what you want." When she nodded, he stood up from the desk. "Put that 'Out' sign on the door and lock it. No sense having people coming in and surprising us." He pointed to a small wooden sign dangling from a cord on a hook next to the door.

Jessie opened the door and quickly hung the sign on the outside. Paul and the Sheriff used it mostly when they left the office to walk around the town and keep an eye on things. "Done," she said softly, closing and locking the door behind her.

"Now what's your problem," Paul asked.

"I went over to the Ryland's store this morning - you know how they's making me a new gown for when I sing."

"I know. I'm looking forward to seeing you wear it."

"Well, I went over and... and Enoch... he..." She felt her face redden. Her eyes stung. 'Damn,' she thought. 'I hate it when I cry like some helpless gal.'

Paul walked over and took her hand. "Are you all right?"

"Yes... no... I... I guess I just need to talk t'you."

"And in private, like you asked." He took her arm now and led her back to the storeroom he used as his living quarters. Paul sat on the bed and motioned for her to sit in the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room.

She shook her head. "I... I think that I'd rather stand. I'm... I'm just too dang mad at Enoch t'sit still while I talk about him."

"Didn't he make the dress like he said he would." Paul doubted that the cause of Jessie's anger was anything that simple.

"Not make the dress right!" she exploded. "The dirty SOB! That was what he kept saying he was trying to do." She shook her head. "I shouldn't have listened to Natty. I... I should have gotten one of them tailor's scissors and cut Enoch's pecker off!"

Paul stepped close and put an arm around her. "It's all right, Jess; it's all right." He could feel her tremble with rage. "Take a deep breath and calm down."

It took two or three breaths. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "I don't know if I'm madder at Enoch for what he done, or at myself for getting talked into letting him do it." She sighed. "The old Jesse Hanks wouldn't have let him get away with anything like that."

"Enoch wouldn't have wanted to do anything like what I think you're talking about to the old Jesse Hanks." He tried very hard not to smile.

"No... I guess he wouldn't have." She chuckled - just a little, and her body relaxed for the first time in hours. "Even if he wanted to... he wouldn't have dared."

"Do you want to talk about it - tell me what Enoch tried to do to the new Jessie Hanks?"

Jessie stepped away from him and looked down at the floor. Her anger was giving way to another, a different, emotion. She bit her lip nervously as she considered her answer. "No," she said, looking up and smiling shyly, "but - if you got the time - I'll... I'll show you what he done."

"Well... I suppose..." Paul grinned. "Purely in the interests of justice, you understand."

Jessie grinned back. "Interests of justice... of course." She looked quickly around the room. "He give me the new dress and told me to go into the fitting room and change."

She pointed, tracing a line across the center of the room. "This side's the fitting room. I went in..." She made a gesture as if closing a curtain. "...and took of my dress - this dress."

Paul nodded.

Jessie began undoing the buttons on the dress. She slid it off her shoulders, and lowered it down past her waist. "The new dress is too low cut on top for a camisole, so I didn't wear one t'day." She stepped out of the garment and carefully draped it over the chair.

Paul took a breath. All she wore above the waist was a sea-green corset that clung tightly to her curves. Her milky-white breasts were well displayed. A row of lace ruffles at the top rose just high enough at the top to hide her nipples.

"Before I could get that other dress on, Enoch came in. I said he shouldn't be seeing me like this, but he says it's all right. He said if I was a real woman, I'd know that he needs to see how my body moves in my unmentionables so he can fit the dress better."

Paul raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound right."

"I didn't think so either, but I didn't know. He sounded so sure of what he was saying that I went along. Hell, he had me dead t'rights. I wasn't a gal till last summer. What did I know about how they got their dresses made?"

"So what'd you do then?"

"Like I said, I went along with him. I stretched..." Her arms rose gracefully above her head. "...and I bended and I... walked. I even danced a little bit." Jessie repeated each action as she said it, showing off her body in an erotic display. One moment, her corset strained to contain her full breasts; the next, her drawers were pulled taut against her teardrop buttocks. All the time, her body swayed as if to some unheard music.

Paul watched intently, feeling himself growing harder.

Jessie suddenly stopped, her back to Paul. "When I started to put that new dress on..." She looked back over her shoulder at him. "...he come right up behind me. He said it was to help me get the dress on."

Paul hesitated. "Was it?"

"You just come here," Jessie chided him, "and I'll show you what sort of help he wanted t'give me."

Paul stood up and walked up behind her. Their bodies were close, less than a foot apart. "Now what?"

"He leaned over and kinda breathed on my neck."

Paul moved a half-step closer. He pursed his lips and blew a stream of warm, moist breath at the nape of her neck. "Like that?"

"Uh... uh-huhn." Jessie shivered and moved closer yet. She bent over and pressed her buttocks against his crotch. She shivered again when she felt his maleness against her.

Then she took a step forward and bent down, so that her hands were at her ankles. "When I pulled it up past my knees, he started in touching m'butt. He said it was t'help me get the dress up to my waist without getting stuck on any..." She stopped and looked up at Paul. "Go ahead. It's okay."

Paul reached down and gently ran a finger along her right buttock. When she nodded, he moved the other hand down and began to squeeze her cheeks, massaging them with his hands.

"Yeah... yeah." Jessie's breath caught. "That... that's good; r-real good."

She pretended to slide the dress past her waist, and on upwards. Imaginary straps went over her shoulders. "When I got the dress on, he put his hand here..." She took his right hand in hers and placed it on her breast.

"...And did something like this, I'd guess." Paul ran a fingernail along her breast. He moved slowly down until his finger was slipping under the top of her corset to play with her nipple. It was stiff, pushing its way out to meet him. He tweaked it once in greeting, then twisted it gently between two fingers. He waited a moment then brought his other hand around to do the same to her other breast.

Jessie moaned softly, almost like a purr, and rested her head on his left arm. "Mmmm, that's a lot better than what Enoch done."

"What'd Enoch do next?" Paul leaned in and whispered in her ear.

Jessie's hand reached up and stroked his cheek. "He kissed me... right on the neck 'bout where you breathed on me."

"And what did you do?" There was surprise - and not a little anger - in Paul's voice now.

Jessie spun around. "I yelled for Natty t'come in, and we made Enoch explain himself. Natty told me that it wasn't the first time Enoch had pulled something like that on a customer."

"Why didn't anybody report it?"

Jessie shrugged. "For one thing, Natty said they'd gimme that dress for half off by way of an apology,"

"From what you told me about that dress," Paul said with a wry smile, "it's already got half off... and I can't wait to see you in it." He thought for a moment. "You said 'one thing'; what was the other?"

"Enoch said it was 'cause a lot of the gals like what he was doing."

"But not you."

Jessie leered at him. "Oh, I liked it... some. I just liked it a lot more when it was you that was doing it."

"Well, that's certainly good to hear."

"Yes, Enoch was hoping that I'd do something like this when he kissed me." She put her hands on either side of his face and pulled him down to her. Their lips met. She glided her arms down around his neck.

Paul's hands moved around to grasp her firm buttocks. He pushed himself closer to her.

Jessie moaned and opened her mouth slightly. Paul's tongue slid into her mouth and played with hers. He felt her body pressing against him.

After a while, they reluctantly broke the kiss. "What... umm... what else would Enoch have wanted you to do to him?" Paul asked her.

Jessie's eyes gleamed. Her face was flushed, and she had an eager smile on her lips. "I... I think that me being... like this, and him... you... still have all your clothes on... you... he'd have wanted me to... t'undress him some." She reached up and began to unbutton his shirt.

Paul's hands went down to his belt. He was about to undo it, when Jessie's hand covered his. "No, you... you let me do it. Just... just like you wanted."

"All right, Jess." His hands dropped to his sides. "If that's what you... if that's what you tink I want."

She smiled dreamily, caught up in this game she was playing. "Ain't it? I can stop if you don't like it."

"A man'd be a fool not to like it. You go right on ahead."

She nodded and went back to his shirt. She had it off almost at once and tossed it onto the floor. Then she began to pull at the red union suit top he was wearing underneath. "And I'd be a fool not to want to run my fingers through that mat of hair you got on your chest."

Paul cooperated and his undershirt joined his shirt. He reached for her corset, but she slapped his hand away.

"You just wait. I ain't done with what I'm doing yet."

"Am I supposed to just stand here buck naked in this cold draft all day?" he asked in exasperation.

Jessie chuckled. "You ain't gonna stand - believe me on that. I got plans for you - especially one certain part." Her fingers stroked his member through the tightly stretched fabric of his jeans. "And it's standing up tall and proud right now."

"Can't imagine wh." Paul pulled her close and kissed her again.

She waited a moment, enjoying the kiss, then pushed him away. "If you keep distracting me like that, all we're gonna get t'do is kiss." Her hands fumbled with his belt for a moment before she opened it. She undid the buttons on his pants and yanked.

Paul's pants slid down, stopping just above his knees. He was about to bend down to get them the rest of the way off, when Jessie knelt down. "'Course, there's all kinds of kissing." She giggled and kissed his member through the material of his red union suit drawers. "Mmmm, more'n ready."

"Not if you keep doing that." Paul stepped back and began pistoning his legs up and down to get off his boots.

Jessie stood watching him. "Hup... two... three... four," she said with a laugh, matching the words to his movements.

Paul's left leg lifted out of his boot. The right leg did the same a few moments later. "That's better," he said, stepping out of his jeans. "Now..." His gaze ran up and down her body. "My turn now." "Your turn at what?"

"Undressing you." His fingers began working the small hooks at the front of her corset.

"Hey, wait a minute here."

"Shhh... I'm busy." He leaned over, and, as he opened each hook, he moved the corset aside and kissed the exposed flesh. Jessie shivered as the kisses moved down from her cleavage to the flat of her stomach. When her navel was exposed, Paul let his tongue swirl inside it. She moaned, and Paul could smell the musky, sweet scent of her arousal.

Paul undid the last hook and slid the open corset away from her. He tossed it onto the pile of clothes and began to work at the small, green bow that held her drawers in place.

"St... stand up," Jessie said in a husky voice. "I... I'll d-do yours, while... while you d-do mine."

Paul stopped long enough to stand up.

Jessie's fingers moved to the knot at his own waist, while he resumed working on hers. There was a good bit of fumbling as each managed to get in the other's way. It happened that they got both bows undone at the same time.

"One... two... three!" Paul said firmly. At three, both yanked. A moment later, their drawers were puddled at their feet.

Jessie smiled, then looked very serious. "B'fore we go any further..." Her voice trailed off, as her eyes drifted to a drawer in the cabinet next to the bed.

Paul turned and looked at the same drawer.

"You promised." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Every time."

Paul nodded. "Yes, I did, and... if a tailor got us in here today, I guess it's only fair that I wear a coat in his honor." He reached into the drawer and took out a small, pink object.

"I'll do the honors." Jessie took an English riding coat, one of the condoms she'd gotten from Wilma. She knelt down and slid it onto Paul. When it was on him, she used a thin, blue ribbon to tie it in place. "There... nice and tight."

Paul helped her to her feet. "So are you." He kissed her quickly on the lips.

"Then let's get to it!" Jessie jumped into Paul's arms. Her arms were tight around his neck. She kissed him deeply. Her legs rose, wrapping themselves around his waist.

Paul put one arm around her waist to give her extra support. He used the other to guide his member to the cleft between her legs. Jessie's eyes opened wide as she felt him slide into her.

He turned quickly, so that her back was pressed against the wall. Then he began to move, slowly, teasingly in and out of her. Jessie broke the kiss. She moaned and panted. Her head moved, almost wobbled, back and forth. "Yes... yes... oh, ye-YEEESSSSSS!"

Her ragged movements set him off. He growled deep in his throat, as he felt himself pumping into her.

Paul staggered backwards, and he fell backwards onto the bed. Jessie was atop him. He lay there as she regained control of her body.

"Now that was different." She said it in a breathy voice, a satisfied smile on her face. "Fun, too."

"It was that." He felt his erection soften as it slipped out of her. She slid off him and onto the bed next to him. He used a finger to move a lock of her hair that was drenched with sweat and clinging to her cheek. "Here's a little more on account." He leaned over and kissed her, as his arm moved around her.

* * * * *

Tuesday, December 19, 1871

Jessie used the small bronze cherub to knock on the door of La Parisienne. A slot opened in the door. "Mam'selle Jessie," a deep male voice said. "One moment please." The slot closed, with the door opening almost immediately.

"Bonjour." It was Herve Navetier, Lady Cerise's man. At six-two, he towered more than a foot over Jessie, as she walked past him into the reception room. "Your sister has a... visitor as the moment. He closed the door behind her. "May I, perhaps, be of some service?"

Jessie's eyes ran up and down the man. She noted his dark, curly hair, broad shoulders, and a shirt that was half-unbuttoned to show a mat of hair almost as thick as that on his head. She was devoted to Paul Grant, but that didn't mean that she couldn't look - or that she didn't now appreciate what she saw when she did look.

"Mmm, I just bet you could be of service, but I'm here to see Rosalyn - if she don't have a 'visitor' that is." Jessie shifted the package she carried under her arm. It was large, carefully wrapped in white paper, and tied with string.

"I believe that she is available - at the moment. She is in the parlor with Mae and some gentlemen. Shall I bring her to you?"

Jessie shook her head. "That's all right, Herve. I know the way." She walked past him towards the open door to the parlor.

Rosalyn and Mae were sitting on a couch, surrounded by four men, two in suits, the other two in work clothes. The two women wore only corsets, silken white drawers, and stockings. Rosalyn's corset was a deep red, Mae's was lavender. They were sharing a stereopticon, a kind of hand viewer that converted two-dimensional cardboard slides into an apparently three-dimensional image.

"The Lady just got these in from France," Mae said. She was a tall, voluptuous woman with long, auburn hair. She raised the viewer to her eyes and one of the men put in one of the new slides. "Oh, my," she said with a gasp. "I didn't think a man and woman could be so..." she giggled. "...flexible."

The man who'd just inserted the slide spoke. "Mae, darlin', I'd wager that you could be just as flexible - with the right partner." He put his hand on hers. "And if you'd care to go someplace more... private. I'd be more'n happy to find out."

"Sounds like a fine idea," Mae said, handing the stereopticon to Rosalyn. As she did, she noticed Jessie standing in the doorway. "Your sister's upstairs, Jessie."

The others turned to look at Jessie. She could read the appreciative stares from the men. She also saw Rosalyn take the hand of the man sitting next to her on the couch. "What say we go to examine our own flexibility, Francis?" She put the viewer down on a nearby table. "Jessie can keep your friends here company while she waits for Wilma."

"Actually," Jessie said, "I come t'see you, Rosalyn." She held up her package. "I brung your dress back."

"Why is it wrapped up like that?" Rosalyn asked suspiciously. She picked up a small, ivory-colored enamel bell and rang it twice. "If it's damaged..."

"It ain't damaged," Jessie answered. "Miz Diaz, the Mex who does the laundry for the Saloon, just brought it back wrapped up this way."

A very pretty black woman in a dark blue dress with a white apron came in through a side door. "Y'all rang for me?"

Rosalyn held up the bell. "I did, Daisy. Miss Hanks is returning the dress I loaned her. Please take it down to the washroom and put it on a hanger."

"Yes'm." Daisy took the dress from Jessie and left through the same door, closing it behind her.

"It was good of you to have the dress cleaned before returning it." Rosalyn was trying to be gracious.

Jessie shrugged. "Just doing what Wilma told me I should."

"Wilma." Rosalyn's eyes widened. "She told you to have it cleaned?"

Jessie nodded. "She did. She said that you set great store in them dresses. Since you was good enough t'let me borrow one, she said it was only right t'get it all cleaned and pressed before I brung it back."

* * * * *

Josiah "Whit" Whitney stood just outside his front door looking up the street towards the Church. "I don't know why I gotta keep watch," he muttered. "This ain't my Christmas custom."

"No, it is your wife's custom." Carmen had been close enough to hear. "Unless you want to come inside and help with putting the food out or with hanging the decorations."

Whit smiled. "Now that I think on it, I guess keeping watch is sort of up my line."

"Just so you remember that it is a group of children you are keeping watch for, not that white whale your Uncle Herman keeps ranting about."

"Aw, Carmen, it's been almost a year since he came through, and he is - wait a minute." He took another look. "I see them. They're just coming to the Diaz place. You better be ready, Love."

"I am." Carmen came to the door. She wore a long, blue dress trimmed in green and yellow. She carried Felippe, now almost a year old, in her arms. Their older boy, Jose, stood next to her, pulling at the tie his mother had made him wear.

Laura and Arsinio stepped up behind them. "You were explaining what this is all about," Laura reminded Carmen. "You better hurry if you're gonna finish before that crowd gets here."

"That crowd is Joseph and Mary and angels and shepherds all on the way to Bethlehem for the baby Jesus to be born." Carmen explained; she pronounced the name "hay-soos".

"Only they can't find a place to stay," Whit added. "They stop at a house - there they are at the Diaz place - and sing a song asking if they can come in. They all sing Joseph's part."

"Sá­, but the people in the house," Carmen continued, "they all sing the part of the person whose house it is, and he says no. Then they come to our house. They sing who they are and ask to come in." She paused for effect. "And we invite them in."

Whit finished for her. "And that is when the party begins."

"I'm glad that you invited us," Laura said. "It's surely a different way to celebrate Christmas than what we're used to."

Carmen looked at Laura, her eyes trailing down to the bulge just becoming visible below her stomach. "Maybe in a few years it will be your little one in that crowd."

"I don't know," Laura said. "It's not my custom either, but it sounds like a good one. Who knows?"

Ramon walked in from the kitchen. "There is always hope." He looked out the open door. "They're starting to move again. I can see a few people coming out of the Diaz' house and joining the crowd."

As they watched from the doorway, the crowd came down the street, gathering a few feet from their door. The children in the crowd carried lit candles. Gracia Lopez was costumed in a white dress as the angel. Enrique Diaz was Joseph, leading a burro with a clay figure representing Mary perched on its back.

When they reached Whit and Carmen's house, about a third of the crowd, mostly adults, split off to stand by the door. Father deCastro stepped forward and led the group still in the street in song.

"In the name of Heaven, I beg you for lodging.
She cannot walk, my beloved wife."

Ramon led the response in his fine tenor voice. The others in the house and those standing near the door joined in.

"This is not an inn, so keep going.
I cannot open; you may be a rogue."

The crowd answered.

"We are worn out coming from Nazareth.
I am a carpenter, Joseph by name."

The back and forth continued for several more verses, until Ramon and the others finally sang.

"Are you Joseph? Your wife is Mary?
Enter pilgrims; I did not recognize you."

Whit and Arsenio opened the doors wide as the crowd filed in, singing.

"May G-d repay, gentle folk, your charity.
And thus Heaven heap happiness upon you."

They continued through the double doors and out into the garden. Carmen had set up tables with food and drink. At the far end of the garden, a piá±ata swung from a long, angled pole.

A woman paused for a moment as she walked in. "Hola, Ramon." She smiled and continued into the house. Ramon couldn't help following her with his eyes. She was a tall, willowy woman about his age. She wore a gray skirt and a navy blouse that showed off her figure nicely. "It has been such a long time."

"Who is that?" Ramon asked Whit. He pointed to the woman who was now passing through the double doors into the garden.

Whit shrugged. "I don't know her." He chuckled, "but then I don't know half the people here. Maybe Carmen does."

The whole crowd was now inside. Whit and Ramon closed the front doors. Whit went towards the kitchen to see what Carmen needed him to do next. Ramon decided to head out into the garden.

The woman was standing near the door. "We meet again.' She held a glass of ponche, sweetened fruit punch, in each hand. "I thought that you might be thirsty." She offered him a glass.

"Thank you." He took the glass and sipped. Yes, this was the ponche with the piquete, the "sting" of a bit of rum.

The woman smiled mysteriously. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"I... ah, you are..." He gave up with a wry smile. "No, I am sorry, but I do not." He nervously took another sip of the ponche.

The woman nodded. "You always did love ponche. I remember at my quincea ±os, when we managed to get some with piquete." She chuckled at Ramon's confusion. "We sat on the back steps and drank it down quickly, before we got --"

"Dolores?" Ramon's eyes went wide with recognition. "Is it you?" The woman smiled at her name. "When did you get back... where are you staying... are you staying long?"

The woman laughed softly at his garbled questions. "Yes... yes, it is me, Dolores Ybaá±ez. I am staying with my cousin, Teresa Diaz, and her family. As to how long I am staying. I have not decided yet." She looked him in the eye. "Do you have any suggestions?"

* * * * *

Wednesday, December 20, 1871

Dan Talbot was making his afternoon rounds, when Tommy Carson caught up with him. "Telegram, Sheriff."

"Thanks, Tommy." Dan took the telegram and handed the boy a nickel. He started to open the envelope, when he noticed... "What're you still hanging around here for?"

Tommy shrugged. "Curious, I guess. Last time you got a telegram, the Hanks gang came t'town. I wanna know who's coming this time."

"If it's anybody you need to know about, I'll be sure to tell you. Now git!" Dan walked towards the telegraph office, a couple of blocks away. He waited until the boy was about a half block off before he finally opened the telegram and began to read.

* * * * *

The Eerie Saloon was mostly empty when Talbot walked in. It was mid-afternoon on a working day, and only the most dedicated barflies were present. He walked over to the table where Laura was sitting. "Afternoon, Laura. How are you doing these days?"

"A little tired," Laura answered, looking up at him. "You must remember how it is from when Amy was pregnant."

He nodded. "I remember."

"Can I get you something?" She started to stand.

He shook his head. "No, please. In fact, is there anything I can get you while we're waiting?"

"Waiting?"

"Yes. I... I got a telegram that... Let's wait till Arsenio gets here. This concerns him, too. I sent word for him to meet us here."

"Now you've got me curious... and a little scared. What is it?"

"Let me get you something from the bar. I'll tell you when... There he is." Dan waved his arm. "Arsenio! Over here."

The smith smiled and walked over. "Hi, Laura." He kissed her on the cheek and sat down next to her. "What's the problem, Dan?"

The Sheriff took an envelope from his pocket and sat down. "I got this today." He handed Arsenio the telegram.

Arsenio opened it. He and Laura read the message, while Dan went to the bar for their drinks.

"December 20, 1871 - Uniontown, Indiana

To: Dan Talbot, Sheriff; Eerie, Arizona Territory.

Thanks for information on brother-in-law, Leroy Meehan's, death. Wife and I arrive Eerie six weeks to take body home for final burial. Please make any necessary arrangements. Will reimburse reasonable expenses. Theo Taft."

"Shit," Laura said when she'd finished. "Now what do we do?"

"What do you mean 'we', ma'am?" Arsenio asked calmly. He smiled till he saw the look on her face. "Just kidding... honest." He squeezed her hand. "Whatever happens, Laura, we're in this together."

Just then, Dan came back from the bar. He'd brought a beer for Arsenio and lemonade for Laura. "I'd say your first step might be to talk to the Judge or Milt Quinlan."

"Good idea," Laura said. She looked around. "But Milt and Jane rode up to Jane's claim this morning. They won't be back till tonight. I haven't seen the Judge around for a while, either."

"The Judge is in Prescott," Dan told her. "He'll be back tonight, but he's got that meeting at his church. I wouldn't expect him around here till some time tomorrow."

"And that's when we'll talk to him," Arsenio said.

* * * * *

"Anybody got any corrections to the minutes?" Horace Styron asked. The schoolhouse was once again serving as the church meeting room. Horace and the other members of the Board of Elders, including Trisha, were sitting at a long table where Nancy Osbourne normally sat.

They waited a few moments to see if anyone had anything to add or change. When no one did, Rupe Warrick raised his hand. "Move t'approve 'em as read."

"Second," Dwight Albertson said quickly.

Horace looked out into the crowd seared before him. "All in favor." The room was a sea of raised hands. "Opposed." Three or four hands were raised.

"Motion passes, and thanks again to our Secretary, Jubal Cates." Jubal, a muscular man with a short beard, nodded and sat down.

"Now before we..." Horace stopped as Milt Quinlan rose to his feet. "Yeah, Milt?"

Milt looked quickly at Horace. "Move to, ahh... to suspend the normal order of business and go directly to the question of Trisha O'Hanlan."

"What the hell does that mean?" somebody yelled.

Horace sighed. "Explain it to them again, Milt."

Milt was sitting near the front. He turned to face the people behind him. "Normally, there's some other things we'd get to before we vote on Trisha, committee reports and such. The problem is that some of those things might need a board vote. I just moved that we skip ahead of all that and go straight to the vote to see if she stays on the Board."

"Sounds fair and proper to me," Judge Humphreys said. "Second."

"All in favor?" Horace asked. Every hand in the room seemed to be raised. When he asked for "nays", not a single hand was raised.

"I abstain," another voice yelled from the back of the room. "Just to be a son of a bitch." That brought a short burst of laughter.

Horace laughed along with the rest. "All right, then. We've a whole bunch of 'ayes', no 'nays', and one 'son of a bitch'." There was a second burst of laughter.

"Motion passes," Horace said when the laughter stopped. "We're talking about Trisha not being on the board anymore. Who wants to go first?"

Trisha, sitting at the end of the table, raised a hand but didn't wait to be recognized. "Excuse me, Horace, but --"

"Now, Trisha," Horace interrupted. He spoke in a gentle voice, as if to a child. "You gave a speech on Sunday. You can't just jump up and talk again. You should know that."

"I know it," Trisha answered, ignoring the insulting tone. "And I know that you gave a speech on Sunday, too. From what you just said, it sounds like you're trying to give another one."

"I am running the meeting, you know - or you should know."

Rupe took the hint. "Maybe you shouldn't be running it, Horace, seeing as you're one of the ones made the motion to kick Trisha off the Board." He turned to Milt. "Ain't that right?"

"Well," Milt replied, getting to his feet. "When the one presiding at a meeting makes a motion, the usual way of it is for him to let somebody else take over while the meeting considers that motion."

"Thanks, Rupe," the Judge said. "I was about to point that out myself. You'll have to give Rupe the gavel, Horace."

"Only seems fair," Dwight Albertson added.

Horace frowned. He hadn't counted on this. "All right, all right." He handed the gavel to Rupe. "You want to take my chair, too?" he asked sourly.

"Nah, this one's fine," Rupe told him. "Like Horace said, who's first?"

Several hands shot up. "Hmm, ladies first," Rupe said. "The chair recognizes Cecelia Ritter."

"Thank you, Rupert." Cecelia stood and took a breath. "Speaking as the chairwoman of the Ladies' Social Committee -"

"No, you aren't." Phillipia Stone jumped up. "The Committee never talked about Trisha - except how much help she was at the chicken fry. We have no official position. In fact..." she waved a "Keep O'Hanlan" ribbon. "...a lot of us think she should stay on the Board."

"But... but... I'm the chairwoman," Cecelia sputtered.

Amy Talbot rose to her feet. "If you think that being chairwoman gives you the right to set policy without consulting the rest of us, Cecelia Ritter, you won't be chairwoman for very much longer."

"Well, I..." Cecelia glared at Trisha, her face beet red from anger. "Do you... do you see what you've done, Miss O'Hanlan. You... you're an evil, evil woman, a corrupting influence, and you have no business being on the Board." She sat down quickly.

Amy looked around the room. "I... I seem to have the floor, Rupert. May I continue?"

"I don't think I could stop you, Amy," Rupe said, "and I'm not sure that I want to try." He waited a moment. "Go ahead."

Amy smiled at him. "Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, there may be a reason for removing Trisha O'Hanlan from the Board, but I don't know what it is. She's the same hard worker for the church that we elected last fall. We all saw that on Sunday, the way she pitched in to help clean up. A lot of people, if you ask them to work, they'll say they can't, that they haven't got the time. Trisha's somebody who wants to work for the church so hard that she's fighting to keep from being turned away. That's the sort of dedication that we need on the Board, and I say that we should keep her there."

"Sure, she worked on Sunday," Clyde Ritter said, once he'd been recognized. "She cleaned up the place, just like any other woman. If she's so all-fired eager to help, my Cecelia'll be glad to find something for her on the Social Committee. Let her be a 'helpmate' like it says in the Good Book, but leave the man's work - like the Board - to men."

Liam raised his hand. "Anybody says Trisha can't do a man's job is welcome to come over and watch her at our store. Sure, she ain't as strong as she used to be, but what does that prove? Rupe and Jubal are probably a lot stronger than Dwight Albertson and the Judge. I don't remember anything about having to lift weights to be on the Board. It's strong minds the Board needs, not strong backs, and Trisha's mind is as strong as it ever was."

Joel Keenan was next. "Stand up please, Trisha." When she did, he asked her to turn around slowly, then sit down. "Ain't she pretty, folks? Sweet young gal like that is just the sort you want to go sparking with, or take to a dance. Maybe you'd even want t'take her home t'meet your parents, maybe settle down, and have a couple a kids.

"All well and good," Joel continued. "But we don't elect the Board of Elders t'look pretty and sweet and young and marriageable. We elects them to advise us, t'give us their wisdom, and t'represent our church to the rest of the town. Trisha don't look like she could advise us on much except what dress to wear, and the only place I can think of for her t'represent us is at a church social. Let's say thanks and goodbye to Patrick O'Hanlan and find us somebody that can do his job proper."

Several more people spoke, mostly just repeating what had already been said. Finally, Rupe looked out at the crowd. "Anybody got anything new t'say either way?" The hands that were up went down. Rupe waited, but no one else raised a hand.

"Fine," he continued. "Let's do this serpentine. Everybody in favor of the motion that Trisha O'Hanlan be removed from the Board, stand up." A good many stood, including Horace and Willie Gotefreund at the table.

Clyde Ritter was standing in the first row. "Okay, Clyde," Rupe said. "We'll start with you. Say '1' and sit down. Cecelia, you say '2' and sit. We go on like that from person to person till we get a final count. Does everybody understand?"

"This is hardly the first time we've done this," Cecelia said angrily.

"Just making sure," Rupe answered. "Okay, Clyde, start."

The final count was 27 ayes. Horace was smiling up until the nay vote went higher, with a number of people still standing.

"The final vote," Rupe repeated for the record, "is 27 ayes, 41 nays, and the same damn son of a bitch as before abstaining. Trisha, it looks like you keep your seat on the Board."

"And it's a damn sight prettier seat than anybody else on the Board has," the self-proclaimed son of a bitch called out.

* * * * *

Thursday, December 21, 1871

"On the twelfth day of Christmas," Nancy Osbourne and Inez Ortega sang, "my true love gave to me... twelve drummers drumming." Inez was the youngest child in the school, having turned six only two days before the term started that September.

Nancy pointed to Zenobia McLeod. "Eleven pipers piping," the fourth grader sang out. Zenobia pointed to her big brother, Bert.

"Aw, Nobbie," Bert whined. "Ten lords a-lea-PING..." His voice cracked at the last note. It had been cracking much too often for his taste the last few weeks. Bert pointed to Hector Stone.

Hector Stone didn't realize that he'd been picked until Constanza Diaz nudged him with her elbow and whispered, "Nine... ladies... dancing."

"Nine daisies lamping," Hector said, pointing quickly to Ruth Yingling.

Ruth giggled at Hector's mistake before she sang her line correctly. The game continued until the entire class joined second grader Luis Gonzales in singing, "and a partridge in a pear tree."

"Very good," Nancy said smiling at their efforts. "Shall we sing another carol, or is it time for the food you all brought for the party?"

It was an easy choice for the hungry children. "Food!"

"I agree," Nancy said. "It all looks and smells delicious." She clapped her hands. "Now form a line by grade... youngest first."

The food was spread out on two long tables against the west wall of the room. Bread, sliced meat, and some devilled eggs were on the first table. Punchbowls filled with iced herb tea and lemonade and several trays of cookies and cakes were on the second. A stack of wooden plates and a stack of cups were together in one corner of each table. The children lined up as Nancy directed. She waited a moment until everyone was in line. "Fine, Inez," she said to the young girl who had sung with her, "you may start."

* * * * *

Ysabel Diaz watched Emma walking to the back of the line. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Why are you limping like that?"

"My feet're all swoll up," Emma told her. "I barely got my shoes this morning."

"Maybe you are just growing."

Emma shrugged. "I don't know. I feel tired, and my..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "...my blouse feels kinda tight, too."

"I think I know what it is, but I can't be sure."

"What do you think it is?"

"I'm not sure. Don't tell anybody - except Miss Osbourne and then only if you have to. Your momma can explain it all to you tonight."

"Why are you being so mysterious, Ysabel?"

"Because... oh, it's just hard to explain. Ask your momma tonight."

Emma agreed, not seeing any real alternative.

* * * * *

"I say, Trisha, might I have a word with you?" Trisha looked up from her reading to see Reverend Yingling facing her across the counter.

"I... I'm sorry, Reverend. What can I do for you?"

Yingling looked at her closely. "Are you all right, Trisha? You were staring at that magazine as if you were entranced."

"I..." She glanced down. She'd been reading that same page in the McCormick's farm equipment catalog for... she didn't know for how long. "I'm all right... just... out of sorts... can't seem to keep my mind on anything today. I-I don't know why."

"I can come back if you would prefer..."

She shook her head. "No... no, you took the trouble to come here. The least I can do is talk to you about whatever you came for."

"If you're sure." He gave her a moment to respond. Then he pulled up a stool and sat down. "The first thing I wanted to do is to congratulate you on keeping your place on the Board. I'm glad that you won."

Trisha raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Thanks, but it would have been an easier win if you'd come out for me."

"I've told you - and others - that I didn't want to take a stand. I don't believe it's useful to take a stand in a Board disagreement. After all, I still have to work with whichever side wins." He paused. "I especially don't want to take sides in a purely political issue like this one."

"Political my Aunt Hortense."

"Yes, political. For all his high talk, I believe that Horace Styron's primary motive was to get you, his political rival, removed from the Board."

"If you couldn't get involved, what was all that talk about me wearing dresses?"

"I truly considered that a moral issue."

"What? How can what I wear be a moral issue?"

Yingling frowned. "Deuteronomy 22:5 The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth into a man, neither shall a man put on a woman's garments: for all that do so are abomination unto the Lord thy G-d."

"Do you have the whole Bible memorized, Reverend? Seems to me that there verse came to mind awful fast."

"In this town - with O'Toole's potion - it is a verse worth remembering."

"Oh, is it? Well, you might want to think about this: I say I'm really a man, so the abomination would be to wear women's clothes."

"And yet, you wore - you still wear... woman's garments."

"Part of that is your doing. You threatened me - hardly the actions of a man of peace, to my thinking - if I didn't wear a dress. Besides, my... my old clothes don't fit very well, and Kaitlin won't cut them to fit." She took a breath. "What d you say to that, Reverend Yingling?"

The man held up his hands. "I say that I did not come here to fight you, Trisha. I seem to have upset you, and I'd like to apologize and change the subject."

"Afraid you're losing? - oh, he... heck, I'm sorry. I just seem to be on edge today. Apology accepted. What else did you want to talk about?"

Yingling looked around. Except for the two of them, the store was empty. Liam had headed for the storeroom when Yingling came in, so Trisha and the reverend could talk in private. "If you don't mind my asking, I was wondering how you and Kaitlin are getting along these days?"

"What do you mean?" Trisha eyed him with suspicion.

The Reverend's face colored slightly. "I was wondering about... well, ahhh... you... you are hardly the man Kaitlin married."

"We're... I-I don't know." Trisha fell her anger rise, even as she felt her eyes starting to burn. "Damn it to hell, I don't know." She sniffled. "What'd you have to go and bring that up for?"

"I-I just thought that you - you and Kaitlin both - might need help. If you did, I... I just wanted to you to know that I was offering."

"So when there's something in it for you, you will help."

"In it for me? What could possibly be in it for me?"

Trisha by now felt tears tickling the corner of her eyes. "Go... just go, dang it. When I figure out what's got me running off like a damned rabid coon hound, I-I'll talk to you then, okay?"

"I'll go." He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and put it on the counter. "Here, maybe this will be of some help for the time being." He made a motion as if tipping a hat and started for the door. "Please keep my offer in mind."

* * * * *

Nancy Osbourne reached for her cup of lemonade. 'Empty,' she thought. 'And those devilled eggs the Ortega children brought are spicier than I expected.'

She stood and walked towards the two long tables where the refreshments were set up. The walls she passed were covered with pictures of Christmas being celebrated in different countries. It was an old teachers' trick. There was a map of each country and a picture of its flag next to each picture, making each set a small geography lesson.

The decorations were more than pictures on the walls and the tables. Nancy had made wreaths in the English style. One hung on the front door of the school, the other was on the front of her desk. The Ybaá±ez children had brought in four poinsettias, la flores de nochebuena, flowers of the Holy Night, the Mexican children called them, in clay pots. Two pots sat on each window ledge on the sunny side of the room.

Next to the picture of a Greek Christmas hung a small metal triangle and a clay drum. The Stone children had brought these in, gifts from their Greek grandmother to their mother when she was a girl. Ruth Yingling's wooden shoe, filled with hay and sugar cubes, was next to the Dutch Christmas, and there was a tray of bannock cakes that Mrs. McLeod had sent in.

There was a small pine tree at the center of the table with the drinks and deserts. It was covered with paper rings and had a few small candles on some of its branches. The Christmas tree had become popular in Britain and America since Queen Victoria's German husband had introduced the custom a generation earlier.

Nancy stopped to admire the nacimiento, the Mexican nativity scene, at the center of the table with the meat and bread. "It is pretty, isn't it, Miss Osbourne?" Tomas Rivera asked her.

"Yes, it is," Nancy said truthfully. "It just looks more like a cave than a stable, though."

"It is a cave. My pappa says that the innkeeper used a cave for his animals, and that is where he put Joseph and Mary."

Nancy pointed to a dark clay figure hiding behind a tiny tree outside the cave. "Is that one of the kings? It doesn't look like a shepherd."

"Oh, no," Tomas said, trying not to laugh. "That is the Evil One, Satan. He watches, but he cannot get close to what is going on inside the cave."

"Satan at Christmas, that's certainly different."

"Sá­, but it is just as true as the rest of the tale."

* * * * *

"And I know," said Bob, "I know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was; although he was a little, little child; we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it."

"No, never, father!" they all cried again.

Nancy Obourne read on from the night of the Ghost of Christmas Future in Dickens' story.

Emma felt her eyes filling with tears. She lowered her head and hoped no one noticed. 'It's just a dang story,' she told herself, 'and one I've heard before. Why am I so ready to bawl like some little baby? What the Sam Hill is happening to me?'

* * * * *

"Let's go get some cookies before the spelling bee starts," Ysabel suggested. Emma nodded and followed her friend. Her feet still hurt, though, and she fell behind.

Most of their classmates were finishing up a second helping of dessert. A few had gone out to use the necessary, not wanting to leave while Miss Osbourne read the story.

Suddenly Yully Stone was standing in front of her. "Ah... umm, hi. You... ahh, having a good time."

"I guess." Emma was confused. Why was he so nervous just talking about this, the school Christmas party?

Yully shifted nervously and looked around. "It's kind fun learning how they celebrate all around the world."

"Ah, yeah. I liked what you said about Christmas in Greece."

"My gramma's from there. She told me - told all us kids - all about it." He looked around again. "I kind of like the way they celebrate in England, though."

"You mean the tree and the wreaths?"

"No," he pointed upwards. "I mean that."

Emma looked up. Miss Osboune had managed to get a friend back east to send her a few sprigs of mistletoe. One was hanging from the rafter a few feet above Emma.

Before Emma could react, Yully put his arms on her shoulders as if to steady her. Then he leaned in and kissed her lips.

Emma jerked her head back in surprise. Then she stopped. She felt a rush of warmth through her body. There was a sort of a vague tingling in her chest and down... down there between her legs. She froze, uncertain what to do.

"Why the Sam Hill did he do that?" she demanded. Emma's mind was whirling. 'Change the subject and quick before he tries it again.' Aloud, she asked, "You... ah, think anybody saw us?"

Yully made a face. "Fraid so." He pointed off to the side. Eulalie Mackecknie was staring at them, her eyes wide with surprise.

* * * * *

The boys versus girls spelling bee was the traditional end of the Christmas party. The winning side got the reward of a smaller set of assignments over the holiday break.

They were down to five girls and three boys. "Hermione," Nancy said, "your word is treachery. It means --"

"I know what it means," Hermione interrupted. "Treachery. T... R... E-as in Emma... A... C... H... E... R... Y. Treachery."

"Correct," Nancy said. "Though I do not approve of insults. Another example of such behavior, and you will have lines to write over the vacation." She turned to the boys. "Bertram McLeod, your word is 'librarian'. One who works as an assistant to the patrons of a library."

The contest continued. Bert misspelled his word and was out. Penelope Stone and Jorge Ybaá±es both spelled their words correctly.

Now it was Emma's turn. Nancy gave her the word, "maturity".

"Maturity," Emma said. She knew the word, but, all of a sudden, she felt tired, flustered. "M... A... ummm, C-H... U... R... I... T... Y. Maturity."

Nancy shook her head. "I'm sorry, Emma, but it's m-a-t-u-r-i-t-y. Please stand down."

"Such an easy word," Hermione whispered as Emma walked past her on the way back to her seat. "But I guess that you have to have it to be able to spell it." She spoke just loud enough for Emma to hear.

* * * * *

The Judge came in about for a drink about 2:30. Laura hurried home to get Arsenio, while Shamus made small talk to make certain that he didn't leave.

"All right," the Judge said when he saw the pair come in the door and over to his table. "What's so all-fired serious?"

Arsenio handed him the telegram. "This. I think we got a problem, Your Honor."

"Let's find out." The Judge motioned for Arsenio and Laura to sit down while he read. His face grew more and more grave. When he finished, he closed his eyes in thought.

"Well?" Laura blurted out.

The Judge nodded. "It's a problem, all right, and not just for you, Laura."

"For the two of us," Arsenio corrected him, taking Laura's hand in his. "This is our problem."

"It's also mine and Hiram's; Shamus', too, and Dan's and... let's just say there's more than enough of us to share the thing."

Laura was confused. "What do you mean? I'm the one who's supposed to be dead."

"And Hiram Upshaw is the doctor who supposedly pronounced you dead. Shamus and Dan gave you the potion, and I gave you a new identity. Oh, and don't forget Nick Varrick, he reported it all." He sighed and looked at Laura. "But that's all really moot unless your sister and brother-in-law make an issue of it." He waited a moment. "Will they?"

"I... I don't know. Elizabeth never was good at being surprised --"

Arsenio chuckled in spite of himself. "And finding out that her dead outlaw brother is now her live and pregnant sister will surely be a surprise. What about her husband - what'd you say his name was?"

"Theo... Theo Taft. He's a bookkeeper."

Shamus had joined them while the Judge was reading the telegram. He groaned. "And one o'them 'every i dotted; every t crossed' sort of laddies, I'll wager."

"I... I'm afraid so." She bit her upper lip and looked nervously about, ready to bolt.

Arsenio raised her hand to his lips, and gently kissed it. "I guess we've got two choices," he said without letting go of her hand. "Either we tell them the truth, or we come up with one bodacious lie." He laughed. "I don't suppose we could find a body to pass off as Leroy's."

"That would solve everything," the Judge said. "We do that, and we'll all be in the penitentiary by the time Laura's sister gets here."

"Sounds like a 'bodacious lie' ain't an option," Shamus said.

"No," Arsenio said. "It still is. I just hope that we have enough time to think of one."

* * * * *

Kaitlin spooned lima beans onto a plate next to the stew and handed it to Emma. "And how was school today?"

"Uh, okay," Emma answered with a shrug. She took a forkful of stew.

Trisha looked up from her own meal. "Wasn't today your school's Christmas party? How did that go?"

"Okay." Emma had spoken quietly, almost without emotion.

Kaitlin tried another tack. "Did the other children like those cookies I baked?"

"Mmhmm." Emma nodded once and took another forkful of stew.

"Blast it," Trisha snapped. "Answer your mother when she's talking to you."

"The cookies were fine!" Emma snapped back. "The party was fine! I'm fine!" She threw down her napkin and stood up. "May I be excused? Without waiting for permission, she turned and ran from the table and up the stairs. Seconds later, Trisha and Kaitlin heard her door slam shut.

"What the hell was that all about?" Trisha asked, sounding annoyed.

"What did you have get so sharp with her like that for?" Kaitlin replied. "Couldn't you see that something was bothering her?"

"That's no... oh, hell, I'm sorry, Kaitlin," Trisha said with a sigh. "I've been spouting off at the least little thing all day." She sighed again. "I guess it's from my shoes getting tight on me all of a sudden." She took a breath. "And my... my corset, too... up top, I, uhh, mean."

Kaitlin seemed lost in thought for a short time. "I wonder... I'll wager that Emma's feeling just the same way."

"Do you want me to go talk to her?"

"No, she'll still be mad at you." She stood up. "You take your shoes off and rest your feet. I'll see her."

* * * * *

As Kaitlin neared Emma's room, she thought that she heard sobbing. She stopped at the door and knocked.

"Go 'way!" came a voice from inside.

Kaitlin knocked again. "Please," she whispered. "I'm not going to yell."

"P-promise?"

"Cross my heart."

"Oh... oh, come in then."

Kaitlin walked in. Emma was sitting on her bed, crying. "Is it that bad?" Kaitlin asked.

"I-I'm sorry, Ma. I don't know what's happening to me today. It scares me."

Kaitlin nodded and sat down next to Emma on the bed. "It scared me the first time it happened."

"What? This... this happened to you, Ma?"

Her mother smiled. "Let me run down the list: you're on pins and needles, ready to yell or cry at the drop of a hat." She ticked off each item on a finger, as she said it. "Your... breasts feel, well, tender; they may have swollen up a little, too. Your hands or feet may have swollen some as well. You feel tired, distracted." She paused a beat. "Did I get it right?"

"Right down the line. What... what is it, Ma? What's happening to me?"

Kaitlin stood up. "The same thing that's happening to Trisha, I expect; that's why she yelled at you. Let's go downstairs, so I can explain it to you both at the same time." When she saw Emma hesitate, she added, "I don't think she's going to yell - except maybe at me."

"O-Okay." Emma sniffled and stood up. She slowly followed her mother back down the stairs.

* * * * *

Trisha was still sitting at the table. She had both shoes off and was rubbing her left foot. "'Bout time. You ready to --"

"Shush," Kaitlin said firmly. "The both of you just sit there and listen."

Emma sat down. She and Trisha were looking uncomfortably at each other.

"This better be good," Trisha warned.

"Oh, it's good," Kaitlin answered, "but I don't think that you - either of you - are going to like it." She took a breath and began. "Trisha, we've been married twelve years, right?"

"Twelve years, yeah, what does that have to do --"

"Twelve years, so you know that sometimes - about once... once a month or so - I get... out of sorts."

"Yeah, moody, kind of --" Trisha's eyes opened wide. "Shit! Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I'm afraid I am." Kaitlin put her hand on Trisha's. "You're showing all the signs, from the quick temper to the sore feet."

"What!" Emma interrupted. "What are you talking about? What ain't you telling me?"

Kaitlin looked at Trisha. "The... 'father and son' talk is your job... was your job, Trisha. Did you do it yet?"

"No, and I won't to do it now." Trisha fixed her jaw stubbornly. "Besides, I think that what Emma and me need to hear about is more in your line."

"All right," Kaitlin said. "Emma, do you know where babies come from?"

Emma nodded, not sure of the connection. "Uh-hunh. They grow in a momma's belly, then they come out her belly button when they're ready." She swallowed hard. "I... I ain't gonna have a baby, am I." She looked ready to panic.

"No, no, dear." Kaitlin put her other hand on her daughter's and smiled. She'd have to have that talk with Emma - and soon. "What's happening to you right now... and what's going to happen shows that you aren't having a baby."

"You know what... what went away... down there between your legs," Trisha asked, "when you changed, I mean, and what you've got down there now." She paused while Emma nodded nervously, then she continued. "Down there... that's where the baby comes out when it's born."

"How... how does the baby get inside the momma t'begin with?" Emma asked in a small voice.

"That is a story for another time," Kaitlin said. "What you need to know tonight is that, if she isn't gonna have a baby, a woman has... we call them our monthlies."

"Is that what's happening? My feet swelling up and all is my monthlies?"

Kaitlin shook her head. "No, your feet hurting and you getting mad like that is because your body is getting ready for your monthlies, same for Trisha."

"What's gonna happen - and it'll happen to us in a day or so - is a whole lot worse." Trisha made a sour face.

"Worse?" The panic was still in Emma's voice. "What could be worse than what happened... what's happening to us right now?"

Kaitlin tried to reassure them both. "I won't say that it's worse. It's... well, unpleasant... a bit messy, too. To be honest, I hadn't realized it was going to happen to you. Let me get some things, I'll... you'll need, and I'll explain it all to you both tomorrow night. Is that all right?"

"Uh humh." Trisha was looking at Emma, rather oddly. "What do you mean 'what happened', Emma? Did something happen to you? Something in school today?"

"No! Nothing happened... nothing happened." Emma looked down at the table, not wanting to meet the eyes of her parents.

"Would you like to try that again?" Trisha asked impatiently.

"I told you --"

"Yes, now tell me the truth." The pair were glaring at each other again.

"Nothing happened. Nothing... happened."

Kaitlin gently put her hand on Emma's arm. "It's all right. You don't have to tell us."

"Don't you baby her," Trisha said angrily. "Tell us what happened."

"I... I got... kissed." Emma's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, and almost without any emotion. "Yully Stone... kissed me."

Trisha exploded. "That bastard! That... that nancyboy! Who the hell does he... I'll... I'll kill him."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Kaitlin said firmly. "Emma, what happened... exactly?"

Emma looked up at her mother. "Miss Osburne hung up some of that - what do they call it - mistletoe that somebody sent her from Pennsylvania. She told us about it, how folks'll kiss --"

"I know the custom," Kaitlin interrupted. "What about it?"

"Miss Osbourne was getting ready t'start the spelling bee. Me'n some of the other kids went over to the food table t'get some cookies and such t'eat between turns. Yully Stone come over. We talked about the decorations some. Then he... he put his hands on my shoulder, to steady me, I guess. I didn't know wh-what he was doing, so I let'em stay there. And... and he... he leans in and k-kisses me, kisses me right on... on my mouth."

Kaitlin had an odd smile on her face until she saw how scared Emma still was. The smile vanished.

"You slugged him then," Trisha said eagerly. "Let him have it in the chops for doing something like that to you, right?"

"No, I..." Emma saw Trisha's angry expression. "Yes, 'm. I slugged him."

Kaitlin raised an eyebrow. "You hit him? Is that what really happened?"

"Of course, it's what happened," Trisha said proudly. "What else could happen?"

Mother and daughter's eyes met. "Emma... what else could happen?"

"It... I felt kinda... I-I was so mixed up; I d-didn't know what... what I was doing."

"Emma," Trisha asked, desperate not to hear what she somehow knew was about to be said, "what else could happen?"

"I think she's going to say that she didn't feel like hitting him." Kaitlin said it almost matter-of-factly. Emma nodded up and down quickly a few times then looked back at the tabletop.

Trish shook her head. "No! My son did not let another boy kiss him."

"Your son wouldn't," Kaitlin said, standing her ground. "But your daughter seems to have done just that." She took a short breath. "It wasn't really her fault, though."

"Not my fault, Ma?"

Kaitlin nodded. "For one thing, he took you by surprise. For another, a woman's monthlies - and you are a woman now, Emma - her monthlies can make a woman more... more... umm, receptive, you might say... more interested in a man's attentions to her."

"Makes her horny," Trisha muttered under her breath.

"What's that mean, Trisha?" Emma asked.

Kaitlin shot Trisha an angry look. "Never you mind what it means, young lady. The important thing is that what happened wasn't your fault. You have no need to feel guilty because no one blames you for how you acted."

"Yes they do," Emma said. "Hermione Ritter blames me. Eulalie Mckecknie saw us, and she told Hermione. Hermione got nasty about it twice during the spelling bee."

"No doubt," Kaitlin said, trying not to smile. "Cecelia Ritter's been boasting for weeks about how her daughter had the Stone boy all locked up. Looks like she was wrong."

Trisha did smile. "I'm none too happy about any of this, but somehow, the Ritters getting the short end of the stick on something makes it feel a little bit better."

* * * * *

Friday, December 22, 1871

Trisha sat back in her office chair. What was it Kaitlin had said? "More receptive to a man's attentions." It had certainly happened to Emma. She'd actually kissed that boy. 'And if it happened to her,' Trisha thought, 'will it happen to me?' She closed her eyes and lowered her head, as if trying to escape even thinking such a thing.

"Trisha... Trisha, are you awake." Liam stepped up behind his sister and put his hand lightly on her shoulder.

Trisha's head lifted, but she didn't turn to face him. "I'm all right... just thinking, that's all." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

"I suppose that's better'n yesterday. You went around all day ready to bite somebody's head off."

"I-I wasn't really that bad, was I?"

"You surely were. You let into Mateo for not sweeping the floor fast enough. What was the matter with you, anyway?"

"Same thing that's the matter with me today, to tell the truth."

"Well, you're surely handling it better than you did yesterday."

"Am I?" She turned around in her chair. Now Liam could see that her eyes were dewy.

"What's the matter? Are you all right?"

She laughed - or tried to; it seemed to catch in her throat. "I'm fine; healthy as a horse... as a mare, ac-according to Kaitlin." The tears had grown heavy enough to start running down her cheeks. "That's... that's what's the matter." She began to sob.

Liam took her in his arms. He rocked her back and forth, stroking her head and making soft, crooning noises, as if trying as best he could to comfort his distraught little sister.

* * * * *

A goodly crowd was already gathered in front of the church by the time Ramon arrived with Lupe and Ernesto. "I hope we are not too late," Ramon said to Father deCastro.

"No, certainly not," the priest replied. "I have only just sent Juan to get Rosaria, my burro." He looked down at Lupe who wore a white linen blouse and a long blue skirt. "Are you ready to be the angel?"

Lupe nodded happily. "Si, my wings are all ready for me." She pointed to a package under Ramon's arm. Ramon knelt down and opened the package. He handed Lupe the vest, which she quickly put on and buttoned.

"Now turn around," Ramon told her. When Lupe did, he took a wire and paper wing and carefully slid the wire down a tube in the back of the costume. He did the same for the other wing and tied them both with thin leather straps attached to the vest.

Father deCastro smiled. "Very impressive, Ramon. Lupe, you look just like a cherubs in a painting."

"Do you really think so, Padre?" Lupe asked. She turned slowly so both men - and everyone else could see how she looked.

"How soon do we start the march?" Ernesto asked impatiently.

"Very soon," the priest answered. He pointed to Juan, the church caretaker, who had just brought a burro from its small stable behind the church. The burro was covered with brightly colored ribbons. A large rag doll in a simple blue gown was strapped to the saddle, the representation of Mary.

DeCastro looked at the burro, then back at Ernesto. "Do you think that you can lead this burro today, Ernesto?"

"Me, Padre?" The boy was grinning. "Sá­, sá­. I can lead it all the way to the true Bethlehem."

DeCastro laughed at the answer. I think the few blocks to the Fernandez house will be far enough for today."

* * * * *

"Can I have some more cobbler?" Emma asked.

"May I have some more cobbler," Trisha corrected her.

"Are you correcting Emma or asking for yourself," Kaitlin teased.

Trisha thought for a moment. "Both. I never could resist your cherry cobbler."

"In that case," Kaitlin answered, smiling at the compliment, "you both may have another piece." She spooned some onto each of their plates. "After dinner, though, I want to talk to the both of you. Trisha, you go upstairs and get ready, while Emma does the dishes.

Emma frowned. Washing the dishes after dinner had been a chore of Elmer's, too, and she didn't like it any more now that she was Emma.

"Upstairs and get ready," Trisha asked. "What do you mean?"

"I'm certain that you both remember what I said last night," Kaitlin replied. When Trisha and Emma both nodded, she continued. "After the dishes are done, I'll tell you two more about a woman's monthlies and how we handle them - how you will deal with them - than you ever expected, or wanted, to know."

"And..." Trisha asked suspiciously.

"And," Kaitlin told her, matching stubborn for stubborn, "when I do tell you, I want us all to be upstairs and for you and Emma to be in just your camisole and drawers."

Emma almost dropped her forkful of cobbler. "You-you're joshing us, ain't you?"

"Do I sound like I'm joshing?" Kaitlin took a forkful of her own cobbler.

* * * * *

Ramon leaned against the back wall of the house and watched the children playing in the yard. That night's host, Miguel Fernandez, had hung a piá±ata from a tree, and the children were taking turns swinging at the clay pot with a long pole.

"Dale!" some children shouted at the young boy whose turn it was, "Hit it!" Other children yelled "Phoenix" or "Santa Fe", telling the boy to swing to the west (left) or east (right). The pi ±ata was decorated to look like a seven-pointed star to represent the Star of Bethlehem.

The boy swung again. He hit one of the points, almost knocking it off. The piá±ata spun wildly, but it didn't break. It must have been the boy's last try. He took off his blindfold and handed it and the pole to a tall girl who was standing nearby.

"How many years ago was that us over there?" Dolores had come up beside him.

Ramon smiled at the memory. "It doesn't seem like as many as it is." He took a breath. "Two of those little ones are the children of people we played with."

"No?" she said in surprise. "Which ones?"

Ramon pointed. "That boy in the green shirt sitting under the tree, his mother is... was Inez Rivera."

"Inez always did like... children." Her voice was soft. "The way you are watching them, is one of them yours?"

Ramon shook his head. "No, I am not married. Two of the children, the little girl who was the angel today, and the boy who led the burro, I... I know their mother."

"Ah, and you two are..." her voice trailed off.

"Friends... only friends, that's all." He didn't seem happy with his answer.

Dolores rallied. "As we are friends... good friends, too, I think."

"We are." He wasn't sure what else to say.

She touched his arm gently. "Miguel just mixed up a batch of ponce, his special ponce with the tequila piquete. Why do we not go and have a toast to our friendship?"

"Why not?" Ramon shrugged. He took her hand and let her lead him away. He just glanced back for an instant when he heard a solid "Thunk!" and a child's voice yelling, "Hit! A good hit!"

He didn't see the piá±ata shatter, spilling candy and fruit. Most of the child ran forward, eager to grab their share. Some of the younger children couldn't make their way into the throng. Miguel Fernandez was standing nearby. He came over and handed each a small bag of the same sweets.

Ramon also didn't see Ernesto and Lupe, standing where they had been before the piá±ata burst and watching a lady that they had never seen before walking Uncle Ramon back into the house.

* * * * *

Trisha walked into her bedroom, all but slamming the door behind her. "Do I sound like I'm joshing?" she muttered, imitating Kaitlin. "Do I sound like I'm joshing? I'm going crazy. My son is kissing boys, and she says it's natural."

She began to unbutton her blouse, stopping to look down at her breasts. "Damn, I think they are bigger." The buttons at the level of her breasts were pulled tight. She moved carefully. "I popped enough buttons on my shirts; I'm not gonna pop these, too."

"There." She took off the blouse and tossed it onto a chair. As she did, she noticed the bottle of Irish whiskey perched atop the armoire, where Kaitlin - and now she - kept her dresses. The bottle (and the two glasses that were up there with it) had been for Patrick and Kaitlin's "private celebrations."

"Now that's an idea," she said as she reached for the bottle. "I could surely use a drink now." She managed to get it down, but she was too short to even touch - let alone get a hold of - either of the glasses. "The hell with it; I just need this." She pulled the cork out of the bottle and took a long drink.

The whiskey burned a bit, but she just stood and let its liquid warmth move down to settle in her belly. "Ahh,' she sighed, setting the bottle down on the table. "Damn, that's good."

"Skirt first, then another drink." She unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She stepped out of it, picked it up, and tossed it onto the chair, covering her blouse. "Now another drink."

She took another swig of whiskey and put the bottle back down. She felt a little unsteady but ignored it. "Corset, too." She unbuttoned the garment, which was soon resting atop the skirt and blouse.

"Feels good to be outta all that." She absentmindedly began to scratch her ribs. As she did, her palm slid across her left breast. It was... interesting. She shifted her hand, so that she was caressing her breast. By accident, her thumb brushed against her nipple. "Oh, Lord." She shivered, surprised at the intensity of the sensation.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Damn, that feels good." She was using both hands now, sliding them into her camisole to cup and caress her breasts. Her eyes were closed. She saw herself as Patrick again, making love to... "Oh... Kaitlin, you... you feel so good."

Trisha's breathing grew heavy. She could feel her nipples stiffen beneath her fingers. She leaned back, her head almost resting on her left shoulder. Her breasts felt warm, almost hot. It was a wonderful sensation, and it seemed to be flowing like honey through her body. "K-Kaitlin... I... oh!... Kait-Kaitlin!"

One hand moved down from her breast. It was following that flow of pleasure to the furnace between her legs. A hand slipped down into her drawers. She drew a nail up along the lip on one side of her slit, then down the other. She felt weak; her bones were melting from the heat in her breasts and at her crotch. She collapsed backwards onto the bed. "Kait... Kai... K... K... uhh... uhhh."

Her whole body trembled. One - no, two fingers slid into her. It was a penetration that she'd never wanted, but, at this moment, she needed it more than she had ever needed anything. All she could do was moan. A finger found that small nub inside and began to pluck it like a banjo.

Her legs moved together. Her hand was trapped. She had to keep moving that finger against herself. It seemed as if that hand - and the part of her that it was touching - were the only things in the universe. She was dripping with sweat, and her hips jerked in time with the motion of that finger. Something, some glorious thing, was building inside her, taking her higher and higher, growing like one of those carnival balloons.

Then it burst. A blast of pleasure, like a wind racing off a forest fire, flew through every part of her. She shook from the force of it, her eyes flung open wide as if in surprise. "Ah... ohhhhhh!"

She was still on the bed, her feet on the floor, and her legs so very wide apart. The last waves of sensation washed over her. Then, it was like she was sliding down into a cool lake. She could breath again. Her hand came out of her drawers, fingers wet with her own fluids, and slid across her stomach. Her camisole was pushed up out of the way, coming down to just below her breasts. Her other hand still was caressing her breasts.

Suddenly, her mental image shifted. She was herself, Trisha, on her back, her legs spread, and looking up into the face of... "Ohhh," she said without thinking, "ohh... P-Patrick... that... that was wonderful."

"What the hell?" An angry voice came from the doorway. "What've you been doing up here?" Kaitlin asked.

Trisha raised her head. From the look on her face, Kaitlin knew exactly what Trisha had been doing.

And she didn't like it, not one little bit.

* * * * *

Maggie opened the door on the second knock.

"I believe that these belong to you." Ramon stood on her doorstep holding Ernesto's hand. He was holding Lupe "piggyback" style. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted sideways atop his, sound asleep.

Maggie held the door open wide. "They are; bring them in. I was beginning to wonder where you were."

"Miguel had fireworks set up in his yard. They wanted to stay to watch."

The talking woke Lupe. "They were so pretty, Mama, like flowers in the sky."

"Flowers in the sky," Maggie said. "What a pretty way to say it. My daughter is a poet, Ramon."

Lupe giggled at the compliment. She tapped Ramon on the shoulder. "Please put me down, Uncle Ramon."

"Anything for you, my little poet." He lowered his arms and Lupe slid gently down to the ground.

"Sá­, but a sleepy poet," Maggie added. "And a sleepy brother, too, I think. Say thank you and goodnight, and then up to bed."

Ernesto stood ramrod straight. "Good night, Uncle Ramon. Thank you for taking us to the podesta." He reached out and shook Ramon's hand.

"And a good night to you, seá±or." Ramon chuckled and patted the boy gently on the back. It was as close to a hug as Ernesto would allow.

Lupe did allow hugs, and she gave him one now. "I had so much fun. Thank you, Uncle Ramon."

"It was fun for me, too." Ramon hugged her back. Maybe it would give Maggie some ideas. "But now, your mama wants to put you to bed, so I will say goodnight." He bowed low.

Maggie acknowledged the bow with a tilt of her head; no hug from her this night. "Good night to you, as well, Ramon, and thank you for all your help."

"For you, Margarita - and the children, of course - any time." He smiled and left, closing the door behind him.

Maggie looked down at the pair. "You..." she pointed to Ernesto, "off to bed. I will be up soon to hear your prayers."

"Sá­, Mamma." Ernesto nodded and ran up the stairs.

Lupe was next. "Turn around, so I can get those wings off you."

"You... you are not going to throw them away, are you?" She turned around slowly, as if to protect the paper wings.

Maggie knelt down. "They are much too pretty. I thought maybe... maybe we could hang them on your wall. Then, when you see them, they will remind you to act more like an angel."

"That is silly, but thank you." Lupe yawned. "I had so much fun at the party."

"I hope that you and Ernesto were no trouble for Ramon."

She shook her head. "Oh, no. Mostly we just played with the other children. Sometimes, we saw Uncle Ramon watching us."

"Good, I'm glad he took some time to enjoy himself."

"Oh, he did. He and the lady had a lot of fun."

Maggie looked up from the knot she was working on. "What lady? Who was she?"

"I don't know, Mamma, and Ernesto said that he didn't know her either."

"Maybe I know her. What... what does she look like?"

"She is young and very pretty. She wore a yellow dress with ruffles on it, and she had long hair; it went way down her back." Lupe took a breath. "Do you know her, Mamma?"

"No," Maggie said, an odd expression on her face, "but I think that I want to."

* * * * *

Saturday, December 23, 1871

Kaitlin was sitting on the side of Emma's bed when the girl woke up. "Ma, what's the matter?"

"Nothing, dear. I was wondering how you felt this morning."

Emma sat up. "I - ow! My... my... it started t'hurt some during the night." She reached down and rubbed her stomach. "Is... is this what you told us about yesterday?"

"It is? Do you have the pouch I gave you?"

"I do." It's right over there." She pointed to the top of her dresser. A long, rectangular strip of cloth with cloth strap at each corner was hanging there, half on, half off.

"Seems to me, that should be someplace else, shouldn't it?"

"Do I gotta, Ma?"

"Yes, you gotta. I want that on you and I mean now."

Emma made a sour face. "Yes, ma." She climbed out of bed and took off her nightgown. There was no sign of any blood yet. She draped the cloth between her legs and quickly tied it off.

"Very good," Kaitlin said. She reached into an apron pocket and pulled out a roll of white cloth. "Put this in. I want you to be ready."

"Yes'm." Emma put the cloth into the pouch. "It feels kinds weird, but not... too bad."

"Good," Kaitlin said. "Get dressed now and go downstairs. You can set the table, while you wait for Trisha and me to come down."

"Is she wearing one of these things, too?"

"Not yet," Kaitlin admitted, "but she will be soon enough. Hurry now, no dawdling." She was out the door while Emma was still getting into her drawers.

* * * * *

Kaitlin found Trisha sitting in a chair staring at her pouch like it was some sort of dead animal she'd just found in her dresser. "I suppose that I have to wear this." She held it up by one strap.

"After last night, I'm not sure I care... Oh, hell, yes, yes, you do. You'll wear it unless you want to be a smelly mess for the next few days." She waited a moment. "I just had Emma put on hers."

"And I have to be in mine, then, even if I --"

"Right now, Trisha, I don't care what you want or think or whatever. You'll put that pouch on, and you'll do it right now or so help me..."

"All right, all right." Trisha stood up and took off her own nightgown. In a few minutes, she was tying the last two straps together over her left hip.

Kaitlin handed her a roll of cloth, and she very carefully placed it in the pouch. "Feels awful strange," she said.

"Probably still tender from that workout you gave it last night." Kaitlin frowned. "Just what did you think you were doing?"

"Kaitlin, come on, I-I was drunk half out of my head. I... I didn't know what I was doing. It just... just felt so..." Her voice trailed off. Her breathing was a little husky.

"...so good?" Kaitlin finished the thought. "Made you want to do it over again, didn't it?"

Trisha blushed. "Y-yes." She said it in a soft voice, barely loud enough to be heard.

"So, it was all right for you to be doing it, then, and I shouldn't be mad?"

"Yes... no... no, you shouldn't be mad."

"And is it all right for Emma to do it, then? She's got the same... features down that there that you do, and she's having her monthlies now, just like you."

"Emma? Hell, no, it wouldn't be right. She's... she's just a kid."

"And you're a grown-up, so it's all right for you to be playing with yourself like some common whore."

"I... damn it, Kaitlin, I couldn't help myself."

"Just like she couldn't help herself when that Stone boy kissed her."

"It-it's not the same thing."

"Oh, yes, it is. It is exactly the same thing. You've both got new bodies - new feelings - you never had before, and you're both having a hard time learning how to live with them."

"A damnably hard time." She looked at Kaitlin. "How do you... how does any woman deal with them?"

Kaitlin smiled. It was the first time Trisha had even come close to calling herself a woman. "You begin," she stated firmly, "by not letting them make an animal out of yourself the way you did last night. I won't stand for it if you do, either of you."

"No, ma'am. What else do I need to know?" Trisha sounded like she really meant it, like she really wanted to know.

"You respect yourself - and you expect that same respect from others. I think Emma did that yesterday with the boy. And with that Ritter girl."

"You make it sound kind of easy."

"It isn't, believe me it isn't." She looked Trisha in the eye, and it's going to get a lot harder the next few days. That, m'girl, is what you're wearing your pouch for. Now get dressed and come help me with breakfast."

Old habits died hard in Trisha. "Make breakfast, that's women's work."

"So it is, and if there's any qualification for being one to do women's work that you don't meet right now, I don't know what it is." She gave Trisha's bare rump a slap that was only partly playful. "Now get moving."

* * * * *

"Dance, Jessie?" a voice asked.

Jessie looked up to see Enoch Ryland standing there, smiling, and offering her a dance ticket.

"You got your damned nerve, Enoch."

"Never said I didn't." He offered the ticket again. "You gonna dance with me?"

Jessie frowned, but she took the ticket. "You try anything funny, and you'll be searching the room for your balls."

"If you're that eager to play with my balls, I'll be happy to talk about it later. Right now, I came to apologize."

"You apologized on Monday." The band started a polka, and they moved out onto the floor.

"I apologized on Monday because you were screaming like a banshee and waving a shears not two feet from my crotch. I want to apologize now because I was wrong."

"So you admit what you done was wrong?"

"No, I apologize because my judgment was wrong. There are many women who enjoy my games. I thought you were one of them, and, sadly, you aren't."

"That's not much of an apology."

"Jessie, you threatened my physical manhood with a shears and got yourself a gown at a big financial loss to my brother and me. That's as much of an apology as you're going to get."

* * * * *

Ramon smiled as he and Maggie moved to the music. "I always enjoy dancing with you. Margarita, but I think I enjoy it most when we dance to a waltz."

"What about her, Ramon?" Maggie asked, trying to keep in her anger. "What kind of dances do you like to dance with her?"

"With her? Who... oh, you must mean Dolores. Who told... how did you happen to hear about her?"

"I want to know why I didn't hear about her from you? Who is this Dolores, Ramon?"

"Dolores Ybaá±ez, a friend... a childhood friend and nothing more. Her family moved to near Mexico City years ago. She came back up to visit for Navidad, for Christmas. She wanted to see as many of her friends as she could, so she... she went out on all the posadas... yes, all of them. I saw her briefly at Whit and Carmen's and again last night at the Fernandez' house. We talked some... about when we were children, that - that is all."

Maggie raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Is it?"

"Margarita, take a close look around. Who is it that I am here dancing with?"

Maggie smiled wryly. "That is very true." She rested her head on his chest, but she didn't sound totally convinced. He just hoped that she didn't notice the slightly guilty look on his face.

* * * * *

Sunday, December 24, 1871

"Time to close, I think." Aaron Silverman locked the front door to his store and turned around the small sign posted on the door, so that the "Closed" side faced outwards.

Ramon looked at the clock on the wall behind the cash register. "Aaron, it is not yet 5:30. Why are you closing so early?"

"You see any customers come in here - any at all - for the past hour?" He swept his arm out to the empty store. "As they say, 'Time flies faster than the light at sunset', too precious to waste keeping this store open when nobody's coming in to shop." He paused a moment. "Besides, there is some sort of a party at your church tonight, no? A - what do you call it - a pastooda?"

Ramon chuckled at the mispronunciation. "A posada, Aaron," he pronounced the word slowly for his friend and employer, "a party to celebrate the birth --"

"So go... celebrate. Me, I'm going upstairs to celebrate that mine Rachel is back from San Francisco. Like a teapot, she is, too, bubbling over with stories about our new grandson, Avram."

"I could stay a while... get things ready for tomorrow."

"We're closed tomorrow, and you know it." He looked close at his employee and his friend. "What's the matter that you don't want to go to a party?"

"Dolores --"

Aaron raised an eyebrow "Dolores? Not Margarita?"

"Dolores and Margarita, then. Dolores' full name is Dolores Ybaá±ez, since you must know. We grew up together, and... I guess everyone expected that we would marry when we were old enough. Then, about a month after her quinceaá±os - you know, the celebration when a girl turns 15."

Aaron nodded. The store sold dresses and decorations for two or three such celebrations each year.

"Anyway," Ramon continued, "about a month after her quinceaá±os, she and her family moved to Mexico City. Now, she is back - just for a visit, she says - but it seems as if she wants to continue as we were."

"And you, do you want things to continue as they were?"

Ramon sighed. "I do not know. Dolores is pushing very hard. She is a muy... a most beautiful woman... and an old friend besides."

"And Maggie... Margarita?"

"Aaron, you know how I feel about her. And I think - no, I am certain that she feels the same about me, but she will not do anything about her feelings. Her children must come first, she says, and nothing and no one can interfere." He took a breath. "And Dolores comes, and she has feelings, also, feeling that she wants to act on, and I... I wonder..."

Aaron nodded as if suddenly understanding. "And they'll both be there tonight, at the... the posada won't they?"

"Sá­. There have been posadas all week, but the one tonight at the church is the biggest. There will be food and dancing, games and songs, silly plays and fireworks. And it will all lead up to the Misa de Gallo, the Rooster's Mass, at midnight."

"Well, Ramon, as the sages say, 'trade may make a man a king, but it robs him of his leisure.' I'll not tell you to stay for a while and work on Christmas Eve, but I'm going upstairs. If you were to think of something that had to be done after I left - who's to stay that you couldn't stay for a while to take care of it." He started for the door that led to the steps to his apartment above the store.

"Thank you, Aaron, and Felice Na... and congratulations again on your new grandson."

Aaron chuckled. "Don't be so quick with the mazel toivs, the congratulations. Remember, there's always lots of things to say congratulations about with a new baby. You work for me, so you'll have to say it over and over... and sound sincere each time."

"I am sure that I will mean it each time."

"So am I, Ramon; you're a mensch, good man. Just one thing, though. Don't stay too late. The sages also say that putting off a decision, not making it, is also a way of making it."

* * * * *

Four-year old Josiah Whitney III, Jose to his mother, had run ahead with his friends, Lupe and Ernesto. Now he hurried back to where his parents were walking into the church courtyard, carrying his baby brother, Felipe. "Mama, Papa, they have empanadas... panaderias, too. Can we have some?"

"I... suppose," Carmen said, shifting Felipe in her arms. "Go run back and get in line for us."

The boy nodded and turned back. "Lupe and Ernesto are already in line for us."

"You sure this won't spoil their supper?" Whit Whitney asked his wife.

Carmen shook her head. "Their real supper - and ours - will not be until after the Mass. Let them have something now to tide us over. Just be sure that they have tamales with corn atole filling or meat empanadas, instead of fruit empanadas or sweet pan breads. You and I can eat now, as well, or we can wait for Margarita and Ramon to join us."

"Are they coming together?"

"Heavens, no. Seá±or Silverman closes his store about 7. Margarita serves food at her restaurant until 8, and she will probably be busy tonight. I would guess that she will not join us until almost 9, hours from now."

* * * * *

Satan made a mystical gesture. "Greymalkin, come forth."

There was a puff of smoke, and an attractive female demon stepped forth. "What dost thou wish of me, Oh, King of Liars?"

"Soon comes the Angel to tell these fool shepherds of the Holy Birth. I would not have them hear such tidings. Better that they should seek a ram gone astray than their Savior." He laughed. "And it falls to you to lead that ram astray."

Now the female laughed. Her laugh was low and full of sexual promise. "Leading rams astray is what I do best." The demon, Lucinda Gomez in a long black dress and with blackface and wooden horns, reached behind her back and pulled out a long, white wig that looked like a fleece. She put it over her head. "Baaa!" Hips swaying invitingly, she walked offstage behind the makeshift curtain.

Satan, who was really Edmundo Riaz in black pants and shirt, his face blackened and wearing faked horns and tail, laughed a practiced wicked laugh. "And what male, on two legs or four, could ever resist the likes of you, my Greymalkin?"

"The same play every year," Dolores said.

Ramon turned in surprise. "Ho-hola, Dolores. I did not see you standing there."

"I was walking around - looking for you, I might add. When I saw you watching the pastorela, the shepherd's play, I came over." She put her arm around his. "You always did like this play even if it is the same, exact play that we saw as children."

"But it is funny," he protested. "The way the shepherds flail around looking for the lost ram..."

"The humor of little boys."

"But the ram and Greymalkin."

"That is the humor of little boys who think they are grown men. The way --"

"Shh," he cut her off. "It is starting again."

Gaspar Gomez, Lucinda's husband, played the ram. He wore whiteface except for the blackened tip of his nose, a fleecy vest, and an over-elongated pair of wooden horns that were an unspoken pun. He was lounging on a rock, eating a large, sugar crystal flower when Lucinda appeared from stage left.

They had been performing the scene for some twenty years and knew how to get the most laughs from each line, each stage direction. Even Dolores chuckled - quickly covering her mouth - when Lucinda kissed Gaspar's cheek. He pretended to blush and pulled a small, hidden string that made his horns stand straight up instead of pointing out to the sides. After that, his face was an eager smirk as he happily followed her off stage.

The rest of the play was predictable. The Angel was upset that the shepherds were too worried about the lost ram to listen to his news. After admonishing them with what were actually a colorful string of Biblical quotes, he helped them find the ram. Satan and Greymalkin were dealt with. The Angel defeated Satan after a short, if fierce, battle with wooden swords. Greymalkin did her sensual best to convince the shepherds to let her stay until a long, black hook pulled her offstage. The shepherds then drove their wayward ram back to the herd with their staffs.

One of the staffs was special. The "business end" was actually two boards connected by a hinge. When the shepherd swung his staff and hit the ram's, Gaspar's backside, the two pieces came together with a loud "smack". Gaspar yelped and jumped into the air, grabbing for his rump as if in terrible pain each time the slapstick - as it was called - hit.

The Angel gave his news to the shepherds, and they decided to seek the Child. After a bit of consideration and some very earthy reminiscences about Graymalkin, the ram decided to go with them. Arm in arm in arm, the two shepherds and their ram set off towards Bethlehem, as a silvered star rose on a string in the east.

The crowd applauded and a few tossed pennies at the actors.

"Do you want to stay for the next play?" Ramon asked.

Dolores thought for a moment. "Mmmm, I think that I would rather walk around with you - if you do not mind, of course."

"No, no, that sounds like a fine idea."

She took his hand as they started walking. "It's nice to be back here, to see the old church and my friends and all after so many years. Everything is exactly as I remembered it."

"Everything?"

"Well, certain people have gotten taller... and more handsome, I think."

"And others are even more gracious... and lovely."

"One other thing has changed." Her face broke into an impish grin.

"What is that?"

"Father deCastro will let us drink the ponche that has the piquette, the sting, now." She gave a quiet laugh. "We will not have to try to sneak some the way we used to."

"It is just as well. We never did fool him. Now that we can drink the piquette, we should take advantage of the privilege. Shall we try to find some?" He offered his arm. She took it and let herself be led into the crowd.

* * * * *

"Who wants sparklers?" Maggie asked cheerfully. She had come up quietly behind Ernesto, Jose, and Lupe, who were watching a pastorela about a man who tricked two shepherds into giving him their prize ram. Even now, the ram was begging to be returned to his "true, sweet masters". Gaspar was overplaying his lines and getting howls of laughter for his trouble.

The children spun around. "I do, I do."

"Do not hold them too close to your faces," Maggie said. She lit the long sticks on a nearby torch and handed one to each child. "Now, do we stay and watch the end of the play or do you show me all of the sights?"

"The play," Lupe said with a giggle. "It is so silly." The two boys wanted to walk around.

Maggie gently took her daughter's hand. "This is not the last play, and, if we walk, we have a better chance of finding your Uncle Ramon, no?"

"I suppose," Lupe said with a sigh, giving in. "I do want to see everything that is here." Maggie nodded. "Jose, you are welcome to come with us."

"Of course he is," Ernesto answered, ever the "man of the house." He took the younger boy's hand, and they set off with Maggie.

* * * * *

Ramon and Dolores were standing at the fence surrounding the nacimiento, the live nativity scene set up near near the edge of the church courtyard. The fence was to keep the livestock that were a part of the nativity, a cow, three sheep, a burro with a saddle, and a pig, from straying.

"Who is Mary this year," Dolores asked. "She looks familiar."

"She should," Ramon told her. "That is Inez Gonzales and her little girl."

"Inez... the ram's little daughter? She is a year younger than I... than us."

"Sá­, she performs, too, but this year, she has a quieter part to play."

Just then, Ramon saw a familiar face - four familiar faces coming towards the nativity, Maggie, her children, and his older nephew. 'The moment of truth,' he thought to himself. 'Be brave, Ramon. You can only die once." He swallowed then answered himself. 'Too bad it will not be tonight.'

He gently took Dolores' hand. "Dolores," he began, "I have enjoyed our time here tonight."

She looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, Ramon, as have I."

"But I am afraid that it must end. I... I promised to meet someone... to spend the posada with... with her, and I see her coming just now. So I must say goodbye to you." He took a breath. "I am sorry."

Dolores tried to hide her disappointment. Men didn't like a woman who was jealous. "I am sorry, too, Ramon, but you did promise. Will you also promise to see me again sometime?"

"I will." This seemed too easy, but he wasn't going to ask questions just now. He kissed her hand and slowly released it.

Dolores watched him walk away from her. He circled the crowd and came up from the other side of the nacimiento. A tall woman in a pale blue dress met him. She had three small children with her, but she seemed to have the fresh look of a young maiden, rather than the haggard look so many mothers had.

Ramon kissed her hand, too. Then he hugged the little girl and the smaller of the two boys. He shook the other boy's hand before he led them all away towards a booth selling panaderá­as.

"This will not be as easy as I had hoped," Dolores whispered to herself.

* * * * *

Arnie Diaz walked over to a pair of familiar faces. "Seá±or Shamus, Seá±ora Molly, what are you doing here?"

"Same as ye are," Shamus answered, "looking at all the pretty girls - only I already got meself the prettiest of the lot." He winked and gave Molly a quick peck on the cheek.

Molly dimpled. "Och, such blarney. We come for the Midnight Mass, Arnie."

"Ye come for the Mass," Shamus argued. "I come t'be with ye." He looked around at the activities in the church courtyard. "I can't never get used to the way they celebrate like this before the Mass. It ain't exactly the way we did things back in the Auld Country."

"The Mass is the same," Molly countered. "That's what's important. And besides, when did ye ever object to people having thuirselves a good time?"

"When they ain't having it at me saloon. Half our regulars must be here. That's why we could be letting ye leave so early, Arnie." He looked serious for a moment, then smiled, "Still, I ain't never seen no bar so full of life on Xmas Eve as this. I left R.J. t'handle them what's over thuir, and took part of the night off with me best gal."

"Then stop taking up this boy's time, and be showing yuir 'best gal' around," Molly teased. She took Shamus' arm and led him away.

Arnie stood for a moment and watched them. He smiled at the thought that two people who seemed ancient to him were still still teasing and flirting with each other like couples his own age.

"Even here, you play up to those gringos," a voice behind him said.

He spun around. "Pedro... what do you want?"

"To have a good time here at the posada," the other boy said. "I was having one, then you showed up and gave a foul smell to the air."

Arnie stiffed as his hands balled into fists. "May I should help you on your way, then."

"Fine," Pedro said, "We cannot fight here in the courtyard. Where...?"

"Beyond the gate, near the stable. No one will bother us there."

"That is because I will bother you here." Father deCastro stepped between them. "To speak of fighting here on the holy ground of a church and tonight... this night of love and joy, with only an hour or so to the Misa de Gallo, the Rooster Mass, at midnight."

Pedro pointed a finger at Arnie. "He started it, Padre."

"Me?" Arnie raised a fist. "I was just standing here and you --"

"I don't care how it started; it is over," the priest said firmly. "There will be no fighting tonight. Is that clear?"

"Sá­, Padre," the pair said, almost in unison.

"Do you both promise that... promise by the Holy Mother, by our Lady of Guadalupe?" Both youths nodded. "Fine. Whatever else you two hotheads are, I know that you will keep such a promise. Now go, enjoy the posada, and I had better see the two of you at Mass." The short priest hurried off.

Arnie looked daggers at Pedro. "I will keep my promise; will you?"

The other nodded. "Of course. We will not fight... tonight."

"No, not tonight."

* * * * *

Monday, December 25, 1871

"Emma," Kaitlin called up to her daughter. "You have company." Emma walked out of her bedroom and looked over the railing. "Ysabel! Hi... and Merry Christmas. C'mon up."

"Hola," Ysabel said as she climbing the stairs. "And Merry Christmas to you, as well."

Moments later, they were in Emma's bedroom. Emma sat on the bed, giving her visor the only chair.

Ysabel looked around. The room was painted a light brown and sparsely decorated. The bed was covered by a deeper brown blanket that had the words "U.S. Army" lettered on it in yellow. The window curtains were the same color as the blanket. A cow's skull, horns and all, hung on the wall above a low, dark brown dresser. The only things on top of the dresser were an enameled pitcher and bowl and a man's brush and comb set. A small mirror in a plain brass frame was nailed to the wall to the right of the dresser. A red and yellow paper kite hung from the ceiling near the opposite wall, its long paper tail pinned along that wall. There were some toys, a ball, a set of lead soldiers, and a checkerboard on a set of shelves. The lower shelves held some books and a few neatly folded blouses.

Three dresses and a couple more blouses were on hangers on a wooden clothes rack along the wall with the door. Two sets of the boy's shirts and pants that Kaitlin had added feminine flourishes to were also on hangers. 'Except for the clothes,' Ysobel thought, 'this is still Elmer's room.' Aloud, she asked, "How is your Christmas?"

"Not too bad," Emma answered. "Ma and Trisha gimme girl presents." She looked like she'd just sucked raw lemon. "A new dress and a broach. I think Ma did the shopping, and Trisha just went along with what Ma got. Ma said she might have t'take me into Silverman's soon for a corset 'cause I'm starting t'... t'show." She looked down at the small bumps of her new breasts and frowned again.

"Uncle Liam, he got me a book on Napolean and his wars." Her voice lowered to a near whisper. "He got me a new penknife, too. He had t'wait and give it to me when Ma wasn't looking. She wasn't too keen on me having a knife even when I was..." Her voice trailed off.

Ysobel jumped into the silence. "I got a blouse from Mama and a box of handkerchiefs from my brothers and sisters. My cousin, Dolores, came up from Mexico City to visit, and she gave me these earrings... See." She pulled back her hair to show a pair of dangling turquoise earrings.

"Real pretty," Emma told her. "They look good on you, too."

"I think you got the best present."

"The knife? Yeah, it's got a mother of pearl case and a spring action blade. You wanna see it." She started to get up.

Ysobel shook her head. "Not the knife, Emma. The best present you got was the kiss from Yully Stone."

Emma's face reddened. "I... I don't want t'talk about it."

"You don't? Madre de Dios, if... if Stephan Yingling had kissed me, I would want to shout it from the rooftops."

"Stephen? You like him?"

"Sá­," she sighed, "but what can come of it? His father is the padre at your church, and I am just a poor Mexican girl... and a Catholic, at that."

"You're my friend, Ysobel, and I don't want to hear you talking like that. Nobody can know what's gonna happen in their lives." She looked down at herself. "I'm surely proof of that."

"Sá­, you are. Yully Stone kissed you."

"That wasn't what I --"

"What was it like?" Ysobel leaned forwards, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"What do you mean? You saw it." She thought of Hermione and frowned. "All sorts of people saw it."

Ysobel shook her head. "No, no, Emma. How did it feel? I read some of the dime novels my brother buys. In Death at Commanche Pass, the school teacher, Miss Rose, feels 'a heat like a prairie fire' when Sheriff John Slaughter kisses her. And in Brock Cody and the Highland County War, Ernestine 'trembled and felt her limbs go weak' when Brock Cody kissed her. Tell me, then, how did you feel when Yully kissed you?"

"Embarrassed. I ain't no dumb girl for him to kiss."

Now Ysobel frowned. "You say 'dumb girl' just the way Clyde Ritter and the other boys said it, when they would not let you play ball with them."

"I... I didn't mean nothing like that. I just meant that I wasn't no girl, and I didn't want Yully to kiss me."

"May not, but you enjoyed the kiss. I saw that, too."

"I... I didn't know what I was doing. My - Ma calls 'em my 'monthlies' - they was coming. She says I was crazy and didn't know what I was doing."

As she spoke, Emma realized that she was beginning to feel the same vague tingling in her body that she had felt when Yully kissed her. "I-I don't wanna talk about it any more."

"But --"

"Ysobel, please. I just... I don't wanna..."

Ysobel saw the panicked look on Emma's face. "All right, then. We will talk of something else, of Christmas, maybe." She put her hand on Emma's arm. "But if you ever do want to talk about such other things, I will be there to listen."

* * * * *

Cerise raised her wineglass and tapped it gently with her fork. "Attention, attention, s'il vous plait." The crowd around the table quieted. "I wish to make a toast, so, if you would all fill your glasses." She waited while the group complied; then, she began again.

"Mes amis, my friends, we are gathered together here on this day of hope and joy. Working with you this past year has been a joy, and I hope that we shall be together in that same joy for the next year. And so, to you all: to Beatriz, Mae, Rosalyn, and Wilma, my delights; to Daisy who takes care of us all, and to her husband, Jonas, who takes care of our lovely home; and to mon coeur, my love, Herve, who takes such good care of me; to you all I wish a Joyeux Noá¨l, a Merry Christmas, and a most Happy New Year."

They all clinked glasses with Cerise and proceeded to drink some of her most expensive wine.

Now Jonas stood and refilled his glass. He was a tall, thin black in his early 30s, looking a bit uncomfortable in the suit he wore instead of his usual overalls. He might tend bar on occasion, but working with his hands was his true joy in life. That, and his wife, whose hand he held, even as he began to speak.

"My Lady," he began. "I thinks I speaks for us all when I wish you the same. You is the prettiest boss me and Daisy ever worked for, and the best thing o'all is that your prettiness ain't skin deep like the saying goes. No, ma'am, in you that prettiness, it done go all the way down to your soul." He raised his glass. "I say, here's to the Lady, and may her year be filled with all them good things she deserves."

"To the Lady," everyone echoed, drinking deeply.

Cerise wiped a tear from her eye. "Jonas, all of you, thank you so much. I am truly blessed in you, my friends and in the vie douce, the sweet life, that we all enjoy. And..." she took another sip of her wine. "...with that in mind, I want to make an announcement. Life is too sweet not to be enjoyed. There have been times this past year, when so much was happening that I did not have the time to share in that enjoyment. I have decided that this should not be."

Mae was the first to speak. "What exactly are you saying, Cerise?"

"You are not leaving us?" Beatriz asked.

Cerise shook her head and laughed. "Non, non. I am not leaving. Since I wish to share the fun, I have decided to share the work. Wilma, please to stand."

"Sure, Cerise." Wilma stood up slowly, bracing herself for what would follow.

"From now on," Cerise said, "Wilma is my... assistant. She will still have her gentleman - as if I could stop her - but now some of the duties of managing La Parisienne shall be hers. And so, a toast to mon brave, my brave Wilma, who does not know what she is getting herself into."

Cerise looked around the table. Herve, Daisy, and Jonas had joined in the toast. So had Mae. Beatriz and Rosalyn were just staring at Wilma.

"You may sit down now, Wilma," Cerise finished. She waited while Wilma did just that. "Daisy, while some people remember to close their mouths, would you be so kind as to bring in those lovely strawberry crepes that you made for the dessert?"

* * * * *

Edith Lonnigan took a last sip of wine. "My, I don't know when I've had a more pleasant Christmas day."

Davy Kitchner smiled back at her. "Same here. It must be the company."

"Thank you, Davy," Edith said. I am so glad that you decided to spend the winter here in town."

"Well, now, I may have to go back up... just for a while, mind you. The law says I lose my claim if I don't work it some now and then, and I can't stop just 'cause there's snow on the ground."

"You wouldn't have to be up there for very long, would you?"

"Prob'ly not. It'd depend on the weather. O' course, if I found me that rich vein I been looking for... well, I'd want to stay for a while to work it."

"Then I hope that you don't find it," she said firmly. Then she smiled. "At least, not until the spring."

"You know, you could always ride up there with me. There's room for two in that cabin." He gave her a sly wink.

"Oh, I-I couldn't. It would leave Hiram - Dr. Upshaw - in the lurch. He depends on me so."

"Hiram, eh? I shouldn't be jealous of the Doc, now, should I?"

Edith's face flushed. "I'll have you know that my relationship with the doctor is purely professional; thank you very much. I'm his nurse. I help in his practice, and I work in his office... keeping his records and such. That Mr. Kitchner is the some total of it."

"Well, I am truly glad to hear that. I like the Doc too much t'want to do him in." Davy slid his finger across his throat. Then he gave a laugh to show that he was just teasing.

"He's a fine man and an excellent doctor. I'm proud to be working with him. Besides, right now there are several pregnant women in town. I'm a trained midwife, so I do much of the work on such cases."

"I always knew how important you was to me, Edith. I'm right proud to hear you're important to everybody else." He paused a beat. "But I will miss you whenever I do go back up to my claim."

"As I shall miss you."

"So let's enjoy ourselves while we's still together." Davy leaned over and kissed her bare nipple.

Edith smiled in expectation. Her hand reached down under the coverlet and found his manhood. 'Hard again,' she though happily. 'For a man his age, he certainly recovers quickly.

* * * * *

Tuesday, December 26, 1871

"Good morning, Miss O'Hanlan... Mr. O'Hanlan," Roscoe Unger said as he walked up to the counter at the Feed and Grain. "And a Merry Christmas to you both."

Liam nodded. "It's a day late for that, Roscoe, but thanks, and a Happy New Year to you. What brings you over here this morning?"

"I asked him to come over," Trisha answered. "I wanted to put a special ad in next week's paper."

Liam raised an eyebrow. "Special ad? We having a sale or anything you forgot to tell me about?"

"No," she said. "I... I thought it'd be nice... be a good idea to use our regular ad space to wish everybody a Happy New Year."

"Wish everybody... Why, for Heaven's sale?"

"If you'd like to talk about this, I can come back," Roscoe said cautiously.

Trisha gave Liam a hard look. "I don't think that we need to talk about it. We never have before."

"I think I'm entitled to an answer, though," Liam said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Fine," Trisha shot back. "People all year gave us their trade, even when there was the... question at the church. What's wrong with saying, 'Thanks', and hoping that they'll do the same next year?"

Liam thought for a moment. "Not a thing, I suppose. I just would've liked to know about the idea in advance, that's all."

"It's a good idea," Roscoe said, trying to spread oil on troubled waters. "In fact, I was coming over here anyway to do the same thing."

"How's that?" Liam asked.

"A drummer gave me the idea when he came through last month," Roscoe began. "Of course, he gave me the idea to make a sale, but I thought it was a good one."

Roscoe had come in with a brown leather valise. He hefted it onto the counter and opened the clasp. "These are for you."

He opened it wide and pulled out two small packages wrapped in white paper. "Trisha." He handed her the one with a pink bow. "And Liam." The second package had a blue bow.

"Ooh, what is it?" Trisha asked, pulling at the pink ribbon.

"Yeah," Liam said, "What's in here?"

"Mr. O'Hanlan, yours is a bottle of bay rum," Roscoe told him, "And yours is rose-scented toilet water, Miss O'Hanlan. It's my way of saying, 'Thanks and Happy New Year' to all my customers for standing by me when I took over the paper - and the print shop - from Mr. Pratt."

Trisha had unwrapped her present, being careful not to tear the paper it was in. She opened the bottle and took a sniff. "Smells nice. Thanks, Roscoe."

"I think that drummer saw you coming, Roscoe," Liam said. "This must've set you back plenty."

Roscoe shrugged. "Not as much as you may think. I bought fifty some bottles and got a pretty good deal. Besides, as far as I can tell, the business is doing all right. People could've cut back on their ads - cut back their paper orders, too - when Mr. Pratt left things to me. Almost nobody did. They had faith in me, and I want to thank them for it."

"I'm not saying it's a bad idea, Roscoe," Liam said, "and I do thank you for it. I just hope he didn't charge you too much."

"He didn't, at least, not as far as I can tell." He pushed the valise almost closed. "Well, I have other stops to make. Do you want that special ad after all, Trisha?"

Trisha looked at Liam, who nodded. "From now on, I just want to know when you're going to do something like this, okay."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm supposed to be your partner in this business, and I... I figure I should be pulling my weight more."

"I suppose you have a point," Trisha said, still a little suspicious. "Okay, Roscoe." She reached under the desk for a folded sheet of paper. "Here's the advertisement I want."

Roscoe took the paper and opened it. "Hmm, around the border, you want, 'We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for days of Auld Lange Syne...' That's a song, isn't it?"

"Actuually," Trisha told him, "It's from a poem by a Scotsman named Robert Burns. It's about remembering good friends."

Roscoe read on. "And the main body of the ad is 'O'Hanlan's Feed and Grain thanks its customers for their patronage and wishes them a healthy and prosperous new year.' Is that right?"

Liam laughed, "That's it, live long and prosper? Well, I suppose that it won't do any harm."

"Might even do some good," Trisha added.

Roscoe refolded the paper. "It's as good as any other copy - that's what we call any material we're going to use - for next week's paper. In fact, it's better than most." He put the paper in the valise and closed the clasp. "Well, like I said, I have to be going." He nodded a "Goodbye" to them both, said, "Happy New Year" and left.

* * * * *

"'Bout time you came by."

Arnie had been walking back to the Saloon after super at his mother's house. He was still savoring her stew in his belly. Now, he turned at the words. "Pedro, what do you want?"

"I want to beat the shit out of you, Diaz," Pedro said, stepping out of the shadows. "The Padre may have stopped us the other night, but he ain't around now to save you."

"I don't need his help... not with the likes of you."

"Big words; let's jut see if you got anything to back them up." He swung at Arnie.

Arnie dodged and jabbed at Pedro's stomach. He hit, then jabbed again, but Pedro shifted out of his way. Pedro got in a couple of quick, painful shots at Arnie's ribs, but when he closed, Arnie countered with a blow to the head.

Pedro staggered back. Then he growled low in his throat and charged. The two teens grappled for a bit. Arnie tried to break the lock of Pedro's arms. He lost his balance and fell to the ground, dragging his opponent along with him.

They rolled around in the dirt, trading blows until they heard a deep, commanding voice. "I thought I told you two I didn't want any more fights."

The two quickly moved apart. "Sheriff," Arnie said. "He... he started it."

Dan shook his head. "And I expect he'll say that you started it. To tell the truth, I don't care who started it. I'm finishing it. Get up."

He waited while the two rose to their feet and began to dust themselves off. "I've had it with the pair of you. I think, maybe, you need a little time to cool your heels... and your heads. So I'll give you some and the place to cool them." He drew his pistol and pointed. "Head for the jail, boys. You two'll be my guests for the night."

"But, Sheriff..." Arnie said, "My job... Shamus is expecting me..."

"Maybe so," Dan replied, "but he won't be seeing you till tomorrow. I'll give him your regards when I go by there later." He motioned with the pistol. "Now get moving."

* * * * *

Jessie sat on a chair on Shamus' small makeshift stage, her guitar in her lap. "I got time for a request or two. Anybody got one?"

"Play a Christmas song," someone yelled.

Jessie smiled. "Christmas was yesterday, 'case any of you ain't heard."

"Still can't help thinking about it," someone else yelled. "Out here in the desert, ya can't help remember back east and them snowy white Christmases, the ones we used t'know before we was dumb enough to come out here."

She picked up the guitar. "All right, all right. Matter o' fact, Hans Euler's been teaching me this one song he learned back in Austria. Hans, I'm gonna sing part of it in German like you taught me. That'll be for you, then I'll do it in English for all these yahoos here." She looked out into the crowd and saw Hans nod.

"Stille nacht," she began, strumming the guitar softly in accompaniment. "Heilige nacht."

She finished the German verse, then switched to English, "Silent night..." By the end of the verse, many of the men had joined in, and when she finished the last, "Sleep in heavenly peace", the money almost rained down on her.

* * * * *

Shamus was sitting at a table with Molly and listening to Jessie sing.

"She's got a real pretty voice," someone said.

Shamus looked up to see Sheriff Dan Talbot standing near him. "Aye, that she does. That she surely does."

"This is a whole lot better than when she was starting fights," Talbot added.

"That was a different Jessie t'my thinking," Molly answered. "She's changed." Molly didn't add how much the sheriff's deputy, Paul Grant, had played a part in that change.

Talbot nodded. "Very much a change for the better." He took a breath. "I'm just glad everything's so nice and quiet. It makes my job that much easier."

"Which it ain't always, is it?" Molly guessed that he was leading someplace.

"No, and I'm afraid that I made your jobs a little harder tonight." He shifted, feeling a bit uncomfortable in the telling. "I caught Arnie Diaz and Pedro Escobar fighting in the street again."

Arnie wasn't hurt, was he?" Shamus asked.

Dan shook his head. "Neither of 'em is much the worse for wear, but I've warned them about this before - more than once. They'll be spending the night in jail, I'm afraid."

"Don't be fretting yuirself," Shamus told him. "Ye was only doing yuir job. The one that's got to be worrying is Arnie." The concern on his face gave way to a scowl.

Molly put her hand on her husband's arm. "Ye ain't gonna be firing him, are ye, Love? The boy was doing so well."

"I know." He patted her hand. "I ain't about t'be spitting the lad out, but I am gonna chew on him some when he comes in tomorrow morning." He lifted her hand and kissed it gently before setting it down. "Now, if ye'll both excuse me, I need t'be talking some business with Jessie now that she's finishing up with her singing." He stood up and walked towards the makeshift stage.

* * * * *

Jessie was sitting on the stage, scooping the money into a small basket, she'd borrowed, when Shamus came up to her. "That's quite a haul ye got there."

"We got there," she reminded him. "Half this is yours... unless you wanna give me a late Christmas present."

Shamus shook his head. "No, Jessie lass, I'll be more'n happy t'be taking me share. What I wanted to talk about was giving ye a chance to be earning more of the same." He paused a moment. "In a bit more private spot than this, if ye don't mind."

"Fine by me," she answered. They walked over to a table by the wall. No one was sitting with easy earshot. "Just what sort of a chance, Shamus?" Jessie began cautiously.

"This Sunday is New Year's eve, ye know, and I'll be throwing a big party here in me saloon to celebrate."

"I know, you already put up signs: food, dancing - which means me, Jane, Bridget, Maggie, and Laura, I suppose - and other entertainment. Is that the band, or you got other things planned?"

"The band and I got other things planned - you for one. I thought ye could be singing a couple of times - plus again at midnight, o'course."

"Sing and dance," she said sarcastically. "My, I'm gonna be busy, ain't I." She looked him straight in the eye. "How much you paying for this, Shamus?"

"Paying? Ye get yuir salary, don't ye? And tips, too, as I recall."

"My salary - what we agreed on - don't cover nothing like this. I figure I'm entitled to a little bit more money."

Shamus nodded. "Aye, I suppose ye are, too. I just wanted to see how ye'd ask. I'm figuring... oh, an extra $5."

"Our deal is $7.50 a night, why should I do an extra night for less?"

"Ye'll already be there, dancing with the men. I figure what I pay ye for that should count for some of it."

Jessie shrugged. "Then I won't dance, and you can pay the full $7.50."

"Why ye cheating..." he sputtered, then made a face. "All right, $7.50, plus what ye get for being one of the waiter girls, dancing with me customers. Is that enough or would ye be liking some of me blood, too?"

Jessie laughed. "Tempting as it is, I'll pass on your blood. Maybe another time, though." She grinned and offered her hand. "We got us a deal, Shamus."

"Done and done," Shamus said. He spit in his hand, then shook hers. "And I thank ye for one of the best haggles I've had in a while."

"Same here." She stood up, brushing the front of her dress.

"I'm just sorry if I'm spoiling any plans ye and Paul may have had."

She almost dropped the basket with the money. "Paul? What... what d'you mean?"

"Jessie, Jessie, I hope ye wasn't thinking that nobody knew that Paul and ye been... let's just say, been keeping company. There's afternoons ye sneak away, and nights yuir bed ain't slept in. If that ain't enough, I've seen the way ye act anytime Paul comes in. Ye might have been careful enough t'be fooling a lot of people, but Shamus O'Toole ain't one of them... and neither is me Molly, I'm thinking."

Jessie shook her head. "Oh Lord." She stopped to take a breath. "Molly knows, I... uhh, talked to her about it. I... you think many other people do?"

Shamus thought for a moment. "Jane does. She's seen ye coming in more'n once in the morning. Laura may, too, 'cause of ye leaving her and Jane in the lurch when ye was supposed to be working. Getting me t'be giving ye time off on days when ye sing was a good idea, though."

"Now that you know, you ain't gonna make trouble about it, are ye?"

Shamus shrugged, "Long as ye give me the work I'm paying ye for, what do I care what ye're doing on yuir own time?" His eyebrows narrowed. "I'll be thanking ye, though, t'stop sneaking over on them days when ye are working for me."

"I'll stop, Shamus. I... promise." She hugged him impulsively, "And thanks."

Shamus pulled free. "Ye stop that right now, Jessie. If Molly sees ye hugging me like that, I'll be the one in trouble."

* * * * *

Wednesday, December 27, 1871

Arnie Diaz glanced nervously at the clock as he walked into the Saloon. '11 o'clock,' he thought, 'at least I ain't late this morning.'

"Well, now, good evening to ye, Arnie."

Arnie turned and saw Shamus standing near the door. He didn't look happy. "Uhhh... evening, Mr. O'Toole?"

"Aye, when I let ye go home for supper last night, I expected ye back that evening, not the next morning."

"Mr. O'Toole... the Sheriff... he --"

"I know what he done, Arnie. He came in last night and told me." Shamus shook his head. "I'm disappointed in ye, lad."

"It wasn't my fault. I was on my way back here and Pedro started in on me."

"And ye had to give in t'his teasing, didn't ye? They was holding a pistol to yuir head, so ye had to fight, wasn't they?"

"N-no, Mr. O'Toole; it... it wasn't like that."

"I know it wasn't, lad. That's why I'm disappointed, because we both know that ye could have walked away."

Arnie sighed. "Mr. O'Toole, you don't know what you're asking. Pedro... him and me have hated each other since..." He shrugged. "...since we was kids."

"And ye can go right on hating each other for I care, except when it interferes with yuir working for me. Then, either it stops..." He made a gesture as if cutting a rope. "...or ye stop... stop working for me, that is."

"That ain't fair."

"Arnie, yuir whole argument with me was that I didn't treat ye like you was grown up. Well, now I am. Ye can prove that ye are or that ye aren't. I ain't decided which, but I'll be watching ye to see which it is." Shamus took a breath. "O'course, you can always give up on yuirself and quit right now."

Arnie gave Shamus a hard look. "I ain't no quitter, Mr. O'Toole, and I'm staying here to prove it." He walked past Shamus and towards the kitchen to start work.

"I hope ye are, me lad," Shamus whispered to himself, "and nothing would make me happier to see ye prove that very thing." He sighed. "But ye'll have a hard time of it, I'm thinking."

* * * * *

Emma looked at the section of hillside one more time. "We're agreed, then; this is the spot?" The hillside was a gentle slope covered with low brush.

Tomas nodded. "Sá­, we can start work next week as soon as the doctor takes this darned cast off my arm." He absentmindedly scratched his arm at the edge of the cast.

"I figure we can dig out the hillside in a couple of days. Then two, maybe three, more to build the fort and entrance tunnel, and a couple more to bury it, especially putting some of that brush back."

"Better figure more time. Remember, we start back at school next Tuesday. And we got to figure the time to bring in the table and chairs before we finish the fort. That'll take some time, too."

"We can't take too long. Somebody else'll find the thing." She thought for a bit. "Maybe we should let a few more boys in on the project."

"Maybe... who you got in mind?"

She didn't have to think. "Yully Stone... for one."

"Why him?"

"Why not? He's strong, more'n strong enough, and I figure that I owe him for sticking up for me when I wanted to play ball after I... y'know."

"I know, and I agree about bringing him in. But is that why you want to ask him?" He took a breath and waited for Emma to answer.

Emma's face flushed. Was there another reason? She didn't want to think about it, but why had Yully's name come into her head so fast? "Why else would I want to ask him?"

"Why indeed?" Tomas answered. "Okay, who else should we ask?"

* * * * *

Rachel Silverman looked up at the sound of the bell over the front door to her store. "Nu, Laura, I was wondering when you was coming in."

"Hello, yourself," Laura answered walking over to the counter. "How was your trip?" Aaron was back at his desk in a corner, working on a ledger. He looked up just long enough to nod hello. Ramon was talking to a man Laura didn't know over near the men's wear shelves.

Rachel made a face. "The trip, all those days on that verkochteh stagecoach, pfeeh, don't ask." Then she smiled. "Of course, if you want to ask about mine angel, my new grandson Avram. Him, I'll be glad to talk about." She stood out and came out from behind the counter. "But let's go look at some clothes while I tell you all about him." She took Laura by the arm and led her away.

"A treasure he is," Rachel continued, as they walked, "and so much like his papa, my Shmulie, he looks, the same round face and green eyes. He even has blonde hair, like Shmulie did when he was little - he had a curl of it when he was born. He was born two days before I got there, but when they let me in to see him, he looked up and smiled at me - such a happy baby, kine ahora.

"And by the time I left, sleeping through the night, he was, except for one feeding, of course. When you have your own little one..." She gently patted Laura's stomach. "...you'll see how important that can be."

"I-I guess," Laura said uncertainly. Babies don't sleep through the night? She thought sleep was pretty much all they did. And she'd have to get up and feed it. She shook her head. Arsenio could do that; she'd sleep.

Rachel chuckled. "But enough of my kvelling, my boasting. You, we need to get some clothes for." She reached into a drawer and pulled out a large white corset. "Let's start with this."

"I've already got three or four corsets."

"Yes, but you shouldn't be wearing them much longer. The last thing you need to wear when you got a baby growing in your belly is something that don't give it room to grow. Now, this..." She held it up. "...first off, it's for a woman with more belly than you got now. Already that's good. What's better is that it don't have any ribbing, not whale bone, not steel. Maybe it won't hold you in quite as tight, but that stretch is better for you... and for the baby."

Laura looked at the corset, not sure what to think. "What are those patches on the front up top?"

"These?" Rachel reached down to the rubbery lozenge shape on the front of one cup. "These is for when you nurse the baby." She pushed the lozenge aside to reveal a small hole. "The nipple goes through here, so you doesn't have to take it off."

Laura's eyes went wide. "Nurse... my... my baby." Her face was full of uncertainty.

"Of course, nurse. Ain't your breasts feeling sore by now from getting ready to make milk?"

"I... yes, but I... I guess I hadn't really thought about it." She took a breath to brace herself. "Wh-what's it like... to nurse a baby, I mean?"

Rachel smiled gently. "Such a wonderful feeling, like the love was going right from you into your little one. To tell the truth, it's as good as when someone else is... is at them."

Laura flushed a bright red, and Rachel laughed heartily. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. The love between you and Arsenio is why you're in here like this right now. What you do to share it between you is nobody's business, especially some old yente storekeeper like me."

"O-okay, I guess I'll take the corset. Am I gonna need anything else?"

"Are you gonna... Like mine Aaron says, some women is all long hair and short sense, or are you just gonna walk around town in your drawers and this new corset?" She guided Laura to a rack near the dresses that held what looked like dresses opened at the front. "These..." She pointed. "...are wrappers."

"They look like robes. Can I wear them outside?" The wrappers were bright colors or checks. A few had wide print trim the length of the front edges.

"Most women don't; they wear them at home. Except..." she stretched out the word to at least three syllables in her husband's singsong style of speech. "Ex-ce-ept, when she's pregnant. Then she wears them around town, sometimes with a pretty petticoat to show in front from the waist down."

"I don't know." Laura studied the garments. "They're kind of fancy."

"So not for every day, then. You're still working at them dances Shamus has, ain't you? You could wear them then. Maybe wear them sometimes in the evening, like on nights when Jessie's singing, so she ain't the only one in fancy-shmancy clothes."

"And what do I wear at other times?

"Can you sew, clothes and like that?"

"I can sew some, a button maybe, or patch a pair of jeans. I never did any dressmaking, if that's what you mean."

"You think maybe you could rip out a seam?"

"Like to make a pair of pants longer?" She shrugged. "I guess."

Rachel gently ran a finger along the front of Laura's fitted top. "These thin seams is called 'darts.' They're why that dress you got on shows off your figure so nice the way it does."

"Yeah, and..."

"And? And if you rip them out - real careful so you can sew them back in - your dress gets a whole lot looser... a few inches it'll add at your stomach, more up top by your breasts." She held up a small, pink sheers. "This is what you use to cut the dart. I'll show you how when we're finished."

"What else will I need?"

"Some ribbon for your drawers and your camisoles, and that should do it."

"Why ribbons? What do I do with them?"

"All them pretty unmentionables gets held in place with ribbons. You just make them longer, and you can wear things looser. Then... unless you get too fat from the baby, you can wear what you got now. And if you do get too fat, you just come back here, and larger sizes I'll sell you." She chuckled at her own joke. "Now which of the wrappers is you gonna buy? Two or three, maybe, you should get, and - for you - they're on sale today."

* * * * *

Rosalyn met Wilma on the stairs. "Just what do you think you're doing, Wilma?"

"What do you mean, Rosalyn?"

"I can understand why the Lady hired you. I mean, it's better to have somebody as... eager as you working for her than have her as competition, giving it away for free, but how the hell did you fool her into making you her number one girl?"

"I didn't 'fool' her into nothing. She come to me with the idea - surprised the hell outta me when she did."

"I doubt that very much. You may look like sweetness and light, but I'd say you're the same vicious criminal who rode into town last summer. You did something --"

'I saved you from being scarred,' Wilma thought, but she didn't say it. "I just wanted to fit in..." she giggled, and tried to make a joke "...or, maybe I should say, all them nice men wanted to fit in... into me, that is. You ain't just jealous of me 'cause all them men been picking me instead of you, are ya?"

"Ha! Jealous because a few men prefer a common slut like you."

"More'n a few by my count, but that ain't what put the burr up your drawers, is it now?"

"No, no it isn't. Somehow you managed to have the Lady to name you as her second. If anybody were to have that position, it is by rights mine."

"You may think so, Rosalyn. Hell, I may think so - not that I do - but we don't count. It's what the Lady thinks that counts, and she says I get it."

"But will you keep it? There, Wilma, is the rub, as they say."

"The rub? You know somebody wants t'rub me bring him on."

"No, but I know someone who thinks that you have no right to be the Lady's assistant, and she... I have every intention of proving it."

"I don't think so, Rosalyn, but I reckon it's your right t'try." She offered her hand. "Good luck."

Rosalyn snorted. "As if I'd shake your hand." She walked past Wilma and up the stairs.

* * * * *

Thursday, December 28, 1871

Cap Lewis took another long drag of his cigar. 'Nothing better after a good meal,' he thought, 'except maybe some brandy... and we've got that inside.' He heard a board squeak, and turned to see his uncle coming out onto the porch. "'Evening, Uncle Abner."

"Good evening, Matthew," Abner Slocum said. "Fine supper, wasn't it?"

"It was. Whatever you're paying Tuck, it isn't enough by half."

"Quiet; he may hear you." Slocum pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket and bit off a bit from one end. He ran a match along the porch railing and lit his cigar with it. He took long drag before speaking again.

"Matthew," Slocum began, "how much money do you think that Kelly woman has in the bank?"

Cap grinned. "I don't know how things were back in your day, Uncle Abner, but these days, a gentleman doesn't ask a lady he's courting how much money she has."

"Point taken. Make a guess, then. You go into town often enough to play poker with her - you think she has enough to pay off what she still owes me?"

"I'd be very much surprised if she did. After all, most of her games are a quarter raise limit." He thought for a moment. "Besides, a big chunk of whatever she has would be reserved to pay what Shamus charges her each month for the table."

Slocum pursed his chin. "Hmmm, I wouldn't really want to put her out of business - regardless of what I may think of her just now."

"What you think...? Uncle Abner, I thought that you liked Bridget."

The older man frowned. He had liked her, but now... "I admire the woman's skills as a card player - that's what I invested in. It's her character that I have doubts about."

"Her character? Why, I'll be more than happy to vouch for her."

The older man chuckled. "You, my boy, are thinking with your johnson."

"Maybe so, but I do trust her." He paused a beat. "So did you, otherwise you wouldn't have grubstaked her. Why are you changing your mind now?"

"I'm not saying that I am. I... I just think that I might be happier if there were some faster way for that woman to pay off her remaining debt to me."

"You could always forgive what she still owed. If she does as well this month as she did in the past two - and I don't know why she wouldn't - you'll have gotten back your $250, plus a bit more."

"No, thank you. I see no reason to let her off the hook. Besides, when I make a deal, I expect to get my full return from it. She can pay back the full $500, and then, well, it may be that neither of us need to have any more dealings with her."

Slocum took a drag on his cigar and let out a long trail of smoke as if to emphasize his point. Then, before a surprised Cap could say anything, he walked back into the ranch house.

* * * * *

'Am I ready?' Dolores stopped at the door and made a quick self-inspection. Her hair was combed and brushed till it shown. She was wearing her second-best dress - she would wear the best one for Ramon if her plan worked. This one was pale blue with a wide skirt that fit more than well enough to show off her figure and still let her be a lady. And, yes, she could smell the scent of wild flowers from the cologne she had used.

She was ready. Dolores took a deep breath to calm herself, smiled in anticipation, and walked into Silverman's General Store.

Ramon was sitting behind a counter. He looked up at the sound of the bell over the door. When he saw who it was, his face broke into a broad smile. 'So handsome,' Dolores thought.

He quickly stood up and walked over to her. "Hola, Dolores. What brings you here today?"

"You." She gave him her best pout. "You have not come to see me since the posada on Sunday. I thought that I might need a new dress to get your attention."

Ramon looked embarrassed. "You do not need a new dress for that, although..." ever the salesman, "...we have several here that you would make look even lovelier."

"If I have your attention, then why do I not have your company?"

"What do you mean?"

"At the church, you promised to spend some time with me, but this is the first time we have been together since then."

"Dolores, you are a visitor here; you do not have to work. I... I have a job. How much time could I have had since Sunday?"

"Do you work here until midnight every day?"

"No. Aaron closes about 7 most evenings."

"Bueno, then I will meet you here tomorrow night at 7. You can take me to dinner, and we can talk."

"I... uhh, all right, dinner." Just then, the bell over the door rang again. They both turned and saw several men come in. "Dolores," Ramon stammered. "I... Aaron is at lunch. I... I have customers."

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "I will go then. I will see you tomorrow night." Her voice was low and full of promise. "I hear that there is a very good restaurant in one of the saloons. I think that it should be fun."

Ramon stood for a moment watching her walk past the men and out the door. Then he realized what she had asked. "At a saloon... ai, Margarita's!" He sighed. "No, Dolores, I so not think that it will be fun... at least, not for me."

* * * * *

Kaitlin looked up at the clock on her mantle. 'Almost 10,' she thought. 'Emma should be asleep by now. She carefully put her needles down into the yarn basket being careful with the glove she was knitting. Trisha was sitting across from her, lost in the new issue of Farmer's ome Journal.
"Trisha," Kaitlin said softly, "can we talk a bit?"

Trisha laid down her magazine. "What? Oh... what do you want to talk about?"

"You... and what you were doing the other night."

"Are you still mad about that?" She sighed loudly. "I told you, I was drunk. I didn't know what I was doing. It doesn't mean anything."

"I'm not mad - not too mad, anyway, but I do think that we need to talk about it. I waited till tonight to give us both time to calm down."

"But it doesn't mean anything, Kaitlin. I was upset at what Emma had done, and my monthlies were coming. I saw that liquor, and I... I just had a bit too much of it. That's all."

"I seem to recall more than one occasion over the years when Patrick was upset and drank a little too much. I can't remember a single time when he did anything like that."

Trisha frowned. "To tell the truth, there were times when I was Patrick that I got drunk and... and horny. The thing was, you were always there with me. We - you remember the time I got stuck with something like $500 worth of extra feed stock. I thought I was ruined. Then Abner Slocum came in and all but bought me out."

"I remember. You brought home a big bottle of scotch. We drank, and we toasted Abner till that bottle was empty. Then we..." She stopped, her face bright red.

Trisha nodded, smiling at the memory. "We sure did. We --" The memory was a very vivid one. Patrick would have felt himself harden. He probably would have gotten up and taken Kaitlin to their room to re-enact that evening.

Trisha felt the same arousal, but she felt it as a warmth in her breasts and a crinkling of her nipples. She felt a warmth down between her legs, as well. "Damn!" She looked down at her body in disgust.

"Feeling something, are we?" Kaitlin studied Trisha's expression. "Sort of like what you felt the other night?"

"Y-yes." Her voice was an embarrassed whisper.

"Do you want to... take care of it the way you did the other night?"

Trisha shook her head. Giving in to the female impulse was the last thing she wanted to do. "Can you h-help me?"

"That would be sinful, to have relations with another woman."

"It's sinful for a wife to refuse her husband."

"Are you sure that I'm what you want? When I came in that other night, you were calling Patrick's name, not mine. It was like you wanted to be Patrick's wife."

"No, that can't be. I remember, when... when I started, I was pretending that I was Patrick again, and that it was your body I was touching."

"Maybe that's how you started, but it isn't how you ended. Do you think, maybe, you're starting to think like a woman?"

"No... no, it can't be. I can't be thinking that way." The idea that she might be scared her more than she would admit - not even to herself.

"I'll tell you what, Trisha. If you'll think about the idea that you may be changing, I'll think about doing what you just asked me to do. That is, if you still want me to be the one doing it."

"Think about... for how long?"

"Let's say... a week. We'll talk about this again next week. Agreed?" She offered Trisha her hand.

"Umm... agreed." They shook hands, the both of them nervous about what they had just agreed to.

* * * * *

Friday, December 29, 1871

Amy Talbot walked slowly into the Sheriff's Office. Her husband, the sheriff, was at the wall nearest to his desk tacking up some newly arrived wanted posters. "Dan," she said softly.

"Amy," Dan put the posters and hammer down on his desk and walked over to her. "What brings you and Jimmy to town this afternoon?" Jimmy, their year-old son was half sleeping in his mother's arms, his head resting on her shoulder. He lifted it at the sound of his father's voice.

"I was just at the doctor's, and I... wanted to stop by and talk."

"The Doc's! Are you all right? Is Jimmy?" He looked quickly from one to the other. "What did you --"

Amy smiled shyly at her husband's concern. "I'm fine, honestly, and so is he. Would you like to hold him for a bit?"

"Ah..." Talbot glanced quickly at the door. "Can I give him back to you quick if anybody comes in?" Much as he enjoyed holding his son, doing so hardly made him look like the gimlet-eyed shootist he wanted people to see when they looked at him. If folks saw him like that, it made his job much easier.

She nodded and tried not to smile at his discomfort. "Oh, of course." She gently lifted Jimmy and handed the boy to his father.

Jimmy squirmed and made a soft mewling noise. "Shhh!" Dan whispered, rocking the boy gently. He laid Jimmy on his right shoulder - his star was on the left side, over his heart. Jimmy stuck his thumb in his mouth and settled in.

"You do that very well," Amy told him. "You should do it more often."

"I might - at home, of course. Trouble is, working all day and half the night, I don't have much of a chance. By the time I get home, Jimmy's already in his crib for the night."

"I think your chances will be improving."

"Improving? How can they improve?"

Amy could barely meet his eyes. "Because... because you'll have his little brother or sister to hold."

"His little... Amy... are you saying you're... you're..."

"The word is pregnant, Dan," Amy said. "And, yes, yes, I am." She took a breath to brace herself. "You... you don't mind, do you?"

Dan's face broke into a broad grin. "Mind?" he said with a loud and rowdy laugh. "Do I look like I mind?" He kept one arm around Jimmy, but he used the other to pull her in close. "I... Thank you, Amelia Reid Talbot. Thank you for being my wife. I love you very, very much."

"And I love you, Dan." They stared at each other just long enough to close in for a kiss.

* * * * *

Jane bustled into the kitchen. "Maggie, Maggie, Ramon's here."

"Is he?" Maggie put down the spoon she was using to stir a pan of gravy. She wiped her hands on her apron and looked to the door Jane had just come through. It didn't open.

Lupe and Ernesto were sitting at the end of the work table eating. They both looked up. "Can we go see Uncle Ramon?" Lupe asked.

"Not till you have finished your supper," Maggie answered.

She had a lot of work to do on the meals, but maybe she could take a moment or two - just to greet a family friend. "Is he coming in, or did he want me to come out?" she asked Jane.

"I don't know if he wanted any of them things," Jane told her. "He and that lady sat at one of the tables. He ordered supper for the two of them: steak with mashed taters and peas for him and chicken pie for her."

Maggie stared at Jane for a moment, not believing what she'd heard. She turned and walked slowly towards the door Jane had just come through. She opened it just a crack and looked out.

The four tables that made up "Maggie's Place" were arranged so they could be seen from the kitchen. That way, she could check and see how people were enjoying their meals. Ramon was sitting at the second table with a slender young woman in a long, very flattering, green dress. Her hair was long, disappearing behind her.

There was a flower, a courting flower, in her hair.

Maggie gasped and let the door close.

* * * * *

"Arnie, go get them empties from the poker table." Shamus pointed to the table where Bridget was running her game.

Arnie hurried over with the half-filled tray of dirty dishes. "Thank you," Bridget said, as he circled around, clearing the table.

"My pleasure, Bridget," he answered. He glanced down at her cards and smiled. He wouldn't say anything, even to her, but her three queens beat anything else at the table. 'She probably knows,' he thought.

He stopped at two other tables on the way back to the bar. His tray was almost full. Shamus added a few more glasses, then looked sharply at him. "Well, what are ye waiting for? Get that glassware back t'the kitchen and bring out a tray of clean ones. And be quick about it. I ain't paying ye t'be lollygagging around, and thuir's still the time from Tuesday ye need t'be making up for."

"Yes, Shamus," Arnie mumbled, muttering to himself, as he picked up the tray. He hardly wanted to be reminded of having spent Tuesday night in jail. 'Damn Pedro and damn Shamus, too.' He wasn't sure who he was madder at just then.

Jane was at the sink, working on the pots from the restaurant when he came in. "Put them over there." She pointed to the worktable by tilting her head in that direction. "I'll get to 'em soon as I can." Then she added, "and don't go making no mess."

'Even the women tell me what I am doing wrong,' he thought. He looked around the kitchen as he set the tray down. Jane at the sink had her back to him, as she scrubbed one of the frying pans. Maggie was busy getting her two little ones packed up to go home.

He looked down into the tray. Yes, a couple of the glasses were almost full. "I need something to get through this night," he whispered to himself. He grabbed one of the glasses and downed the contents in one quick gulp. It tasted pretty good, and he could feel its warmth in his belly.

No one had noticed, but he wasn't going to chance a second drink. Besides, Shamus was waiting to yell at him again, and the longer he took, the worse it would be. 'At least, I finally managed to get a drink in here,' he thought. He picked up a tray of clean glasses and walked towards the door back out to the bar.

* * * * *

"Mama, why wouldn't you take us out to see Uncle Ramon?" Lupe asked the question for the third time as they neared their house.

Worn down, Maggie finally answered. "Because I was busy. I had people to cook dinner for."

"I could have taken her out," Ernesto suggested. "I wanted to see Uncle Ramon, too."

"He did not want to be bothered," Maggie muttered. "He was with someone."

"Who? Who?" Lupe was even more curious now.

"I do not know her. I do not want to know her," Maggie snapped at her daughter. "Talk about something else or just be quiet."

Lupe looked as if she had been struck. "Mama... What is wrong?" Ernesto looked just as hurt.

Maggie looked down at her children. 'Madre de Dios,' she thought, 'I-I was ready to h-hit Lupe.' Aloud, she whispered, "Lupe... Ernesto, I-I am so sorry."

She knelt down and took Lupe in her arms. Then she opened them wide and motioned for her son to come over. For once, the boy didn't feel too grown up and he let her hug him as well. When he looked at her, he saw tears running down her face.

"Ramon,' Maggie thought, as she pulled her children close, 'Why did you do this to me?'

* * * * *

Saturday, December 30, 1871

"Damn," Laura muttered, as she watched her chemise slide down onto her body.

Arsenio looked at her from where he was standing, buttoning his shirt. "What's the matter?"

"The baby." She ran her hand over the slight bulge of her stomach. "Pretty soon, I'm going to be too big for these nice clothes. It's hard enough learning how to be a woman, dammit. Now I got to learn how to be a fat woman."

"I always said you were too big for your britches." He walked up behind her and kissed her cheek. "That was one of the things I first loved about you."

"I'm serious, Arsenio. I'm going to be huge. I remember how Mama got with my youngest two sisters. My clothes... my corset. My breasts are getting ready to make milk. They're going to be heavier, and I'll need that special fat corset Rachel had me buy to support them. And I'll still be waddling around with breasts big as melons and twice as heavy."

"Well... as your husband, supporting your breasts is something that I'm always happy to help with." He reached around and cupped her breasts in his hands. As he did, his thumbs moved to gently stroke her nipples.

"Ah... aaah... Arsenio, y-you st-sto-ooh-stop that." Her eyes were wide with surprise at how sensitive her breasts were. Her whole body felt the warmth of sudden, strong arousal. She moaned and pressed her body against his.

Arsenio felt her nipples tighten between his fingers. He felt himself grow hard, too, as she rubbed her ass against his crotch. "What's --"

Laura spun around and stopped his question with a kiss. Her arms were around his neck, pulling his head to hers, as if in desperation. He could feel her tongue darting into his mouth to play with his and he began to kiss her back. Their hands began to roam hungrily across each other's bodies.

Eventually, Arsenio broke the kiss. "What's got into you, Laura?"

"Nothing yet, damn it." She began pulling at the strings on his drawers. "It's just... I... I need you. I can't explain it any better than that."

Arsenio looked at her closely. 'She hasn't been like this since our honeymoon.' Whatever it was, he quickly decided that it would be easier to take her and then to figure out what was going on. "If you need me, I'm right here. A man'd be a damn fool to refuse what you're offering, and my mama and papa didn't raise no fools."

"Just shut up and do it."

"Anything you say, ma'am." He let her work on his drawers while he lifted her chemise. She stopped for a moment as he slid it off, then got back to work.

Laura's nipples stuck out like two small chisel points. Arsenio leaned down and sucked one. It was hard as a chisel point, too, but he could feel Laura shiver as he sucked.

Arsenio felt cool air on his legs. 'She must've finally got that knot out,' he thought. Still not bothering to look, he reached down for her drawers and touched bare flesh. 'She got hers off quick enough.' He thought. "All right then," he said, straightening up.

She fell back onto the bed, her legs spread. "Do it... please."

He climbed onto the bed and on top of her. "You are so beautiful." He kissed her forehead, her nose, and on to her mouth.

One of her arms circled up around his neck. She reached down with the other and took hold of his manhood. She guided him into her. She was wet, ready for him. He slid in easily.

Arsenio pushed in with his hips. She broke the kiss and moaned, arching her head backwards. Arsenio pulled back, and she lifted her hips to keep him in her. He pushed down, starting a rhythm. She matched him. They almost seemed to be a single being.

He could hear her calling his name, urging him on between her moans of pleasure. As it was, he could barely answer. He felt the pressure building in him until finally, with a loud grunt, he spurted into her.

Laura screamed and began to claw at his back. She kept moving, trying to get every bit of energy out of him.

He felt himself grow soft. He slipped out of her and fell back onto the bed. She was still thrashing. He slid an arm under her and pulled her closer. "You were wonderful," he said, stroking her arms, her stomach.

She grew still. She was breathing more evenly now. Her body was drenched with sweat. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

"My pleasure."

Laura giggled. "Not all of it. Not by a long shot." She felt more in control, more herself now.

"My share was more than enough," he answered, relieved that she seemed to be all right.

"You... you think this had anything to do with that damned potion?" She spat out the last two words. "I... Just now I acted the way W-Wilma did when... when she got her s-second dose."

"I don't know. Maybe we should talk to the doc before we talk to Shamus."

"M-maybe." Now she did sound scared.

He stroked her cheek. "We can worry about it later. For now, I'm just going to chalk it up to time well spent with the woman I love." He kissed her again.

"With the woman who loves you." She kissed him back and gave a small sigh of relief before her body relaxed and she fell asleep.

Arsenio decided to let her have the nap. 'She'll be working hard enough at the dance tonight,' he thought. Besides, he liked just laying there next to her.

* * * * *

'Arnoldo was right,' Dolores thought almost as soon as she walked into the Eerie Saloon. 'This is a muy lively place.'

The Happy Days Town Band had finished not long after she had come in. Now, as she watched, many of the dancers were milling around the bar getting drinks.

A small group of women walked over and took seats along one wall. The woman she had seen with Ramon at the church was one of them. Dolores frowned. She was pretty, too, just as Dolores had thought when she had first laid eyes on her, and Ramon was standing there with her. Those two others were they - she looked closely - sá­, they were twins, also very pretty.

"'Scuse me, ma'am," a voice broke her train of thought. A tall, heavyset man with reddish hair had stepped into her line of sight.

"Si, seá±or?" She wasn't certain what to say.

The man held up a small stub of paper. "Here's m'ticket." He pressed the paper into her hand. "Let's you and me dance."

"Ticket?" She looked down at the paper in her hand. "I do not..."

The man shook his head. "You must be new. Trust my luck to pick a new gal. Hell, Shamus must've es-plained it to ya. I gives you m'ticket, and you 'n' me dance."

"Oh, si." Dolores nodded, finally understanding. She had heard of such places, such women who danced for money. This man thought that she was such a woman. 'Why not?' she thought. 'This man is reasonably polite and not that unhandsome. It might be... interesting.'

She put the ticket in a pocket in her dress and stepped next to the man. They waited together for the band to start playing again.

* * * * *

"Bridget," Cap asked as they moved across Shamus' dance floor, "did something happen recently between you and my uncle?"

Bridget shook her head. "No... Come to think of it, we haven't really talked in a while. Usually, when he comes in for a drink, he walks over to say 'hello'. Sometimes he stays a while and watches. I've invited him to sit in, but I guess the stakes are too low."

"I think it's more a case that one of the other players might be one of his hands. He wouldn't want a man to feel uncomfortable because he's playing against his boss."

"I think you may be right about that, but he could've still come over to watch."

"You've seen him, then?"

"About a week ago. I happened to look over towards the bar. He was talking to R.J. about something. I waved, but I-I guess he didn't see me, or he was short on time, or something." Her expression darkened. "Did he say something about me? Is that why you're asking?"

"He did, but I'm not sure just what he meant."

"Could you try and find out? I like your uncle, and I'm surely beholding to him for grubstaking me like he did."

"I'll try. I'm kind of curious about it myself. I warn you, though, Uncle Abner can be very good at keeping secrets when he wants to be."

"Please do try. I don't want to be on the outs with him."

Cap gave her a smile that was just sort of a leer. "And tell me, little girl, just what will you give me if I do find out what's bothering him?"

"That will be my secret," she leered right back at him, "but I do believe that you'll like it."

* * * * *

Shamus made his way over to Dolores and her partner, Milo Nash, just as the music was ending. "Might I be talking to ye for a wee bit, Lass?"

"Sá­, seá±or... Shamus?" She tried not make it sound too much like a question.

Milo slapped Shamus on the back. "Great new waiter girl, ya got there, Shamus, a grand addition to your staff."

"Thank ye, Milo," Shamus replied. "But if ye'd be excusing us..."

The other man nodded. "I'll just go get me a beer." He pointed at Dolores. "And I'll be looking for another dance with you later." He smiled and started towards the bar.

"We're busy, so I'll have t'be quick. Like Milo said, I'm Shamus... Shamus O'Toole, the owner of this establishment, and ye are...?"

"Dolores Ybaá±ez, I am cousin to Arnoldo Diaz and visiting here for a while. He told me about the Saturday dances where he works, and I thought that it would be amusing to attend one."

"Ye did more than 'attend', Dolores. I saw ye take Milo's ticket."

"I did not wish to embarrass him." She smiled and took the ticket from her pocket. "Besides, I like to dance."

She started to hand Shamus the ticket, but he drew his hand back. "How long will ye be staying on this here visit?"

"A few weeks." She gave a shrug. "Perhaps longer."

Shamus glanced quickly towards the long line at the bar. "I'll be making this quick, if y don't mind. Ye can keep that ticket and any more the men give ye for dancing or that they use t'be buying ye a drink. If ye do, I'll trade 'em for half of what they cost - fifty cents - and ye'll be me new waiter girl every Saturday for the rest of yuir visit. Oh, and tomorrow, too. It being New Year's Eve. I'll be having another dance then."

"And all I would be doing is to dance with the men... and let them buy me drinks between the dances?"

"Aye. The drinks'll be near beer, though. It looks and smells real enough, but ye could drown in the stuff before it got ye drunk." He looked over at the bar again. Molly caught his eye and motioned for him to hurry over.

"Look, I've got t'be going over t'tend bar. Are ye interested?"

"Can I think about it, maybe overnight?"

Shamus rolled his eyes. "All right, all right. Me offer's good till 3 PM tomorrow - both offers. I'll pay ye for tonight's tickets whether ye take the job or not. Is that enough time?"

"Sá­, and thank you, seá±or." She smiled and watched the man all but run towards the bar through the crowd of thirsty men. 'It might be fun to work here,' she thought to herself. 'It must be an honorable place; cousin Teresa has no problem with Arnoldo working here.'

She decided to go sit by those twins. Already a number of men were lined up to dance with them or one of the other women. Perhaps she could even talk to her... her rival for Ramon. Finding out about the woman would be a bonus for taking the job.

"Dolores." Ramon suddenly stepped in front of her. "What are you doing here?" He wasn't smiling.

She smiled anyway. "Dancing. Arnoldo, my cousin, told me of the place. I like it. The owner - Shamus - he just offered me a job here."

"He did what? I... Are you going to take it?"

"I may. It would be a chance to see you, to dance with you, and to meet other people."

Ramon thought he knew what other people - what other person - she meant. "I don't think you would like it. Why don't you let me take you home?"

"I will if you will dance with me first. One dance, and I will - what do the gringos say - I will go quietly."

"Very well then." He took her hand and tried to lead her off, closer to the dance floor and farther from Maggie."

She stood firm. "First the ticket, Ramon."

"What?"

"Shamus said that he would pay me for the tickets I get tonight, even if I do not accept his job offer." She held out her hand. "So... if you want to dance, please give me a ticket."

"If I want to..." Ramon muttered under his breath. He tore a ticket loose from the ones in his shirt pocket and handed it to her.

She stuffed it in her skirt pocket. "Thank you. I suppose that if I take the job, Shamus will give me an apron... just like all the other women. Won't that be nice, Ramon?"

"Lovely." The band struck up a mazurka, and he led her onto the floor.

* * * * *

There was a knock on Lady Cerese's office door. "My Lady, may I come in?" a familiar voice called from outside.

"Certainement, Wilma," Cerese answered, putting down the book she'd been reading.

Wilma walked in. She pointed to a chair and, when Cerese nodded, sat dowm. She wore a pale lilac robe over a dark red corset and silky white drawers. Her stockings matched her corset. "Mae said you wanted to see me. I come as soon as Jamie McGraw 'n me was done."

"Oui, I did wish to see you. Perhaps I am just being cautious, but I wished to know how the preparations for tomorrow's party are progressing."

Wilma grinned. "Checking up on me, are you?"

"This is the first assignment I have given you as my assistant. One cannot help but worry in such a situation."

"Don't rightly blame you, I guess. This is my first time doing it." She chuckled. "Now there's a line I don't say too often."

Cerise chuckled deep in her throat. "Non, I suppose that you don't, but inexperience, as they say, is a condition that is easily cured."

"And there's so much fun in the learning - but to get back t'what you was asking, I think things is moving right along."

"Details, Wilma." Cerese clapped her hands together twice. "Details, s'il vous plait."

"Daisy's washed all our best clothes - even Jonas', so we'll all look real good." She ticked each item off on her fingers as she said it. "They been cleaning the place extra good the last two days, and they'll finish it all up tomorrow morning. Jonas is gonna tend bar; he'll set that up in the afternoon. The Euler boys promised t'drop off two extra barrels of their best by noon."

"Excellent, but won't we have problems with any afternoon callers getting underfoot, while all this is going on tomorrow?"

"Underfoot ain't where I want my men. They's never more 'n a couple or three men here in the afternoon, so I figured we could close. Beatriz, Mae, Rosalyn, and me is going over to Carmen Whitney's bathhouse. I reserved it for 1 PM. If you wants, you and Daisy can join us."

Cerese nodded. "Tres bon, very good. Is there anything more?"

"When Daisy done our clothes, she did the linen, too. We're gonna set up a table with a fine cloth and real plates and glasses and cloth napkins for a - watcha-call-it - a buffet. We'll have chicken and roast beef, bread and rolls, sliced fruit, and some of your fine wine. It'll be like the 'Free Lunch' at Shamus', but with class."

"Incroyable!" Cerese sat back in her chair. "You have done all that in just the two days, since I gave you the charge to handle the New Year's Party?"

Wilma almost looked embarrassed. "It wasn't that much, really, especially with Daisy and Jonas helping."

"Have any of the others - has Rosalyn - offered to help you?"

"Not really. I don't want to push; they'll come around in time. 'Course, if anybody offers - even just a little - I surely won't say no."

* * * * *

"So, you came back." Maggie's words to Ramon were measured, as if she was trying to control herself.

Ramon shrugged. "I am here, no?"

"Sá­, you are here. I thought that would not be coming back."

"Margarita, all I did was to walk a friend home."

"You use that word, 'friend', too easily, I think."

"Some people have told me that all they want to be is my 'friend', even if I might --"

"I have heard this speech before." She looked down at the ticket in his hand. "I suppose that you want to dance with me."

"That, Margarita, is why I came back."

"Another very pretty speech." She took his ticket and put it in her apron pocket. "I will dance with you, but you will forgive me if I do not feel like very much talking."

* * * * *

"Paul, why do you keep looking at that clock?" Jessie asked as they waltzed across the dance floor.

"I'm sorry, Jessie. I go on duty at 11, and I promised Dan that I wouldn't be late. He's a lot more anxious to get home now that Amy is expecting again."

Jessie pouted. "It ain't fair that we get t'spend less time together 'cause him and Amy is gonna have another kid."

"I agree. To tell the truth, Dan agrees."

"Oh, yeah, and what's he gonna do about it?"

"There's a meeting of the town council coming up in early January. He's going to ask for permission to hire a second deputy."

"You think they'll let him. His wife being pregnant don't seem like the best reason for hiring somebody."

"It isn't, but he'd been thinking about it for a while. In a lot of towns this size, the sheriff has four or five deputies. Eerie isn't Tombstone or Dodge, but there's enough going on to justify one more person."

"So Amy being pregnant is just icing on the cake?"

"Not entirely. Dan wanted to think about it some more. Amy just sped things up. She'll probably help, too. Arsenio will probably vote for it because of Laura, and Aaron Silverman's kind of softhearted about kids. Whit hates to spend the town's money, but with two small kids of his own, he knows how distracting a pregnancy can be."

Jessie nodded, agreeing with the logic. "Dan got any idea who he wants t'hire?"

"Tor Johansson."

"He's a miner, ain't he, him and his brothers?"

"He was a miner. He's given up on it and he's looking for other work. He's big, and he knows how to use his fists and a pistol."

"Sounds perfect... 'cept for one thing. Where's he gonna sleep?"

Paul chuckled. "Not with me; that space is reserved, I'm happy to say. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. When Tor came down from his brother's mine, he took over a shack at the edge of town, the one that Zack Barrows left behind when he moved on last month."

"Well, I'm surely glad that there'll still be room for me in that bed of yours." She stepped in and rubbed up against him.

"There will be - always, and if the bed gets smaller, we'll just snuggle in even closer."

"Sounds good t'me." She said it in a voice that was full of promise. "You gonna be on duty tomorrow night?"

"I am, but I'm hoping to get the early shift, so I can be here at midnight."

Jessie looked up at him, a mischievous smile on her lips. "You better be, Mr. Deputy Sheriff Paul Grant. 'Cause if you ain't, I'm gonna find me somebody else t'give my real special New Year's kiss to."

* * * * *

Sunday, December 31, 1871

Dolores walked into the Saloon just before noon.

"Greetings, lass," Shamus said, coming out from behind the bar to greet her. "Have ye decided about the job?"

Dolores nodded. "Sá­, I think that it would be fun."

"Well, then, we'll just have t'be making sure that it is."

"I have always found that being paid was fun."

Shamus cocked an eyebrow. "It is. What do ye say t'... $1.50 a night, half of the money from the tickets ye collect or that men use t'be buying ye drinks, and any tips the men give ye?"

"I say that it seems muy generous, and I say thank you... jefe... boss."

"Shamus'll do nicely, Dolores... Ye're name is Dolores, right?"

"Sá­, Dolores Ybaá±ez."

"Good, and now that we both know who we are, let me be introducing ye t'the people ye'll be working with here." He gallantly took her arm and led her to the bar. "This big galloot is R.J. Rossi, me assistant barman, and a better one ye'll never find. R.J., this is Dolores Yba ±ez, come to work her for a while at the dances."

R.J. looked up from the bottles he was stacking under the bar. "Hi, Dolores. Welcome to the Eerie Saloon."

"Thank you, R.J., I am very happy to meet you." Her eyes roamed over his tall, muscular form. 'This job has all manner of possibilities,' she thought.

Shamus pointed to a group of people over at a table, a woman dealing cards to four men. "That's Bridget over there. It looks like she's just starting a hand of poker, and I'll not be bothering her." He looked around. There weren't many others in the bar. "So, let's just be going to the kitchen."

He led her through the door into the kitchen. "Free Lunch" wasn't out yet, so Molly was having herself a quick bite, while Jane and Maggie hurried to fill the trays with food to put out.

"That pretty lass dining over there is me own lovely wife, Molly." Molly turned and looked up at the sound of her name. "Molly, this is Dolores, the lass I was telling ye about."

Molly swallowed quickly. "Welcome, Dolores. Ye have any questions or any problems, ye be sure t'be bringing 'em to me, okay?"

"I-I will, thank you. Molly."

"Ye might as well bring'em to her," Shamus said with a chuckle. "Me Molly'll know about the problem before anybody else, anyway, and she'll be after me t'fix it, soon enough."

Maggie hadn't seem the pair come into her kitchen. She looked up when she heard voices. Shamus was standing there with... her. Maggie stood, her mouth open wide, blinking to fight back the tears she felt coming.

"And that tall lass standing there like she's froze to the spot is Margarita - Maggie, t'all of us. She fixes up the 'Free Lunch' for me customers and runs the restaurant we have here every evening. Maggie, this is me new waiter girl, Dolores."

"Hola." Dolores watched Maggie's reaction. 'Like the bull in the ring who doesn't even where the picador is waiting,' Dolores thought. 'Interesting.'

Maggie blinked again. "H-hola." She looked from Shamus to Dolores, then back to Shamus.

"By the way, Maggie," Shamus added as the thought struck him, "the other day, ye was asking if I'd let ye sneak out for a bit around 11;45, so ye could ring in the New Year's with yuir children. I told ye 'no', when ye asked, but, with Dolores, I'll let ye leave for the night at 11:30 or thereabouts. How's that?"

"Th-thank you, Shamus." Maggie tried hard to smile. She couldn't.

Jane stepped forwards before anything else could be said. "Since nobody seems t'be interested in introducing me, I'll do it m'self. I'm Jane, Maggie's helper."

"And I am Dolores. You are one of the twins who work here, no?"

"Twins... oh, you mean my sister, Laura, and me. We's more than twins. I'm the spit 'n' image of her thanks to --"

"A most benevolent Lord," Molly quickly interrupted.

Shamus rolled his eyes. 'Or one with a frightful sense of humor." He paused a beat and gave Jane a nasty look that Dolores couldn't see. "Now that ye've met the folks in the kitchen, let's us go see if Bridget's won enough of those gents' money t'be willing to stop playing poker and talk to us.

He took her arm again and led her from the kitchen as quickly as he could without seeming to be rushing her.

* * * * *

Molly waited almost a full minute after Shamus left the room with Dolores - just to make sure the woman was out of earshot.

"Are ye daft, Jane?" she exploded. "T'be talking that way to a woman ye just met?"

Jane looked confused. "What's the matter with how I talk?"

"What's the matter?" Molly looked skyward as if for help. "Good Lord, ye was about t'be telling Dolores about me Shamus' potion. Don't ye know how dangerous that could be?"

"D-dangerous? Now how can it be dangerous? Everybody hereabouts knows --"

"Everybody don't know. She don't know about it. And we don't know her or what she'd do if she did find out."

"But what could she do that'd be so bad?"

"What could she do? She could tell people, outsiders, all sorts of outsiders. Before ye could be saying 'Jack Robinson' she could have this here town fulla gawkers in t'look at the freaks like ye and Laura, and me other girls. Worse yet, it'd be full of schemers out t'be getting some of the potion to use for thuir own nasty purposes, people with morals that'd make Ozzie Pratt look like a church altar boy."

Jane turned white. "No!"

"Aye, and worse." Molly was determined to scare Jane into obedience. "The Governor or the Army might decide that they should be the ones in control of the potion, and not me own Shamus."

"But he'd never give it to them - would he?"

Molly shook her head. "It might not be his choice. Thuir's ways of convincing a man t'do what ye want him t'do. Thuir nasty, but that might not stop the Army, say, from doing 'em."

"No, no, they can't hurt Shamus like that." Her eyes glistened with tears.

"They might, they just might, if somebody was t'be telling them about the potion.

"I won't; I won't. I swear I won't." She sank down into a chair.

Maggie had been watching silently from near the worktable. "That is enough, Molly. She will not talk."

"No, no, I won't," Jane said softly.

Maggie helped her to her feet. "I know you will not. The trays are ready. Why do you not take it out and set up the 'Free Lunch' for me?"

Jane nodded and hurried out with the trays of food that she and Maggie had been working on when Shamus and Dolores had come into the kitchen.

"It is not bad enough what you and Shamus do to me. No, you have to scare poor Jane half out of the few wits she has." Her brows furrowed in anger.

"What we done to you?" Molly saw Maggie's angry expression. "Maggie, let's tell Jane that she's in charge of the kitchen for a wee bit and go up to my room."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because ye're more in need of a talking to than Jane was just now. It may take a while t'be straightening things out, and I'm think that some of what needs t'be said may not be things anybody else needs t'be hearing."

* * * * *

"You're bluffing, Sam," Bridget said confidently. "I'll see your quarter and raise another."

"'Fraid not." Sam Braddock smiled and put a last quarter in the pot. "One... two... three...nines... and a pair of fives." He laid the cards on the table as he named them. "Can you beat that full house of mine?"

Bridget shook her head. "Nope, I've got two and two, queens and sixes. I didn't think you got that third nine."

"It came to me in a dream." He laughed and raked in the pot.

Bridget noticed Cap walking slowly towards the table. He smiled when their eyes met. "If you gentlemen don't mind," she said, "I've some business to conduct with Cap Lewis, who's come in just now, and he may be joining the game afterwards."

She looked sternly at Sam. "Whether he does or not, we'll just see how long that dream of yours lasts." Then she grinned, eager to see if his win had been luck or skill.

"Some dreams last forever," Sam answered with a grin of his own.

"Spoken like half a millionaire," she replied.

Sam looked puzzled. "Half a millionaire?"

"Yes," she said with a laugh. "You don't have the million, but you surely have the air."

Bridget stood, prompting the men to do the same. "We'll just stay here and get in some much needed practice till you get back," Joe Osbourn told her.

Cap had take a seat a couple tables away. He stood as Bridget walked over, carrying her cashbox. He sat back down when she did.

"Good afternoon, Cap."

"Same to you, Bridget. You look very nice today. Is that a new dress?"

Bridget smiled; her sky blue dress was new. "I have to wear something formal every day for the game. I thought it was time for a new outfit." Somehow, she was pleased that he noticed, more pleased that he seemed to like what he saw.

"You must be doing well, then. Uncle Abner'll be happy to hear that. Me, I'm just enjoying the chance to spend a little time with you, especially when you look so pretty. In that dress, with your hair like that, you're like sunrise on a clear spring morning."

Bridget felt her cheeks warm. "Th-thank you, Cap." To get her mind back to where it was supposed to be, she opened the cashbox and took out her ledger. "I had a pretty good month, took in just over $400. Would you like to check the numbers?" She slid the ledger across the table.

Cap reached out, but he took her hand, not the book. "I trust you, Bridget, maybe sometimes more than you trust yourself."

"L-let me get your... your uncle's check, then." Her face was nearly crimson, and her body - oh, Lordy, how she could feel herself tremble, feel the warmth spread down to her nipples. And further down in her privates. She took longer than she needed to in finding the envelop with Slocum's check. That meant she didn't have to look him in the eye for the time she need to regain control.

She couldn't take forever, though. "Here's your uncle's check. My total for the month was $404.12, so his share is $101.03." She handed him the envelop.

"Not bad, not bad at all. That makes about $320 you've given him. You should be home free in a couple more months." He put the envelop in the inside pocket of his jacket. "Now, as I was saying --" He smiled gently at her.

She didn't want him to start. "Is your uncle still mad at me?"

"I'm afraid so. I got the oddest answer when I tried to pin him down on it."

Bridget sensed trouble, but she suspected that she couldn't avoid it. "What did he say?"

"He said it wasn't anything Bridget Kelly did. He liked her well enough. He said it was something the old you, Brian Kelly, did... back in Texas during the War."

Bridget felt like she'd been dipped in ice water. "D-during the War. Cap, did you... you didn't tell your uncle what I said about... about being in... the Army, did you?"

"Come to think of it, I did. It stuck me as a funny story, a lady as pretty as you knowing enough about Army life to compare me to an Army paymaster."

"Did you tell anyone else?" Her face had gone from crimson to ash.

Cap shook his head. "Just Uncle Abner."

"That," Bridget said, with a deep sigh, seems to have been more than enough."

* * * * *

"All right, then," Molly said, as she and Maggie walked into the two room "apartment" she and Shamus had on the floor above the Saloon. "Sit yuirself down, Maggie, and we'll talk."

While Maggie clumped over to the sofa and begrudgingly sat down, Molly settled herself into her favorite wing chair.

"I do not see what we have to talk about," Maggie grumbled.

"Ye don't, eh? For starters, ye can be telling me why ye think Shamus and I betrayed ye."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'll keep asking till ye do, and Maggie, ye're up against a woman that can out-stubborn a cat if she has to."

Maggie only crossed her arms and looked sullenly at Mollie.

"I'm warning ye," Molly said, ignoring the way Maggie was looking at her. "Me brother, Timothy, used t'call me 'Muley' when we was little."

Maggie had to smile at that. "That is not fair, to make me laugh."

"Ye already said that I'm treating ye unfairly. What I'm waiting t'hear is why ye think I am."

"You... you hired her - Dolores - to be one of the waiter girls."

"And how is that a betrayal, I'd like t'know? We ain't firing you, not none of ye, to be making room for her, are we? No, we ain't. Thuir's more'n enough men want t'be buying them tickets, so they can dance with the lot of ye. Ye'll lose no money because she's here."

"I know that, but --"

"In fact, didn't me Shamus say that ye could be leaving early tonight, so's ye could be with them darlings of yuirs at midnight?" Maggie nodded, her eyes glistening. "So then how, in the name of all the blessed Saints, is that a betrayal?"

"Because it is her. She will be here every night that there is dancing. And... and Ramon can c-come, and he... he can... dance w-with her... and... and not... not with... me." Maggie put her face down in her hands and began to sob."

Molly hurried to her, pulling out a handkerchief from her apron. "Here, here, now. It can't really be that bad?"

"Sá­, it can. He - he walked with h-her at the posada. He br-brought her to dinner at... at the restaurant - at my restaurant! Now... now he d-dances with her."

"He danced with you, too, and more than once, as I recall."

"But still he dances with her - and now he can do it again and again because you... you and Shamus, you hired her, so he can dance with her."

"Now, hold on a minute, Maggie. We hired her so anybody that wanted could be dancing with her. That's why we hired ye and Laura, and the others, so any man that could put together the price of a ticket could be dancing with ye."

"But --"

"Let me finish, if ye please. Ramon's a free man, ain't he? Ye've no claim on him, have ye?"

"No... but I... he..." Maggie didn't know how to answer.

"In point of fact, Maggie, ye've been pushing him away, haven't ye; saying how ye only want t'be friends with him?"

"But my business, and the house, and Lupe and Ernesto. How can I take care of all of them and still let myself be courted as he wishes?"

"That m'girl is what ye've got t'be figuring out for yuirself. Ramon wants ye as much as ye want him. That's as plain as the nose on yuir face."

Maggie wiped her eyes and tried to smile. Ramon wanted her.

"And he's been a patient man," Molly continued. "Maybe more patient that ye deserve, I'm thinking."

"He does not seem so patient now."

"No, no he doesn't. Now, he's got himself another choice. He still wants ye - that's still pretty clear t'me - but now, thuir's Dolores t'be thinking about. And Dolores is thinking about him, too, from what ye said."

"So... so what am I to do?"

"Ye've got some thinking of yuir own t'be doing." She counted off on her fingers. "One, ye let things go on as they are. Ye take care of yuir own business and hope that Ramon'll still be willing t'settle for being yuir friend."

"Two, ye give him up. Ye smile and push him over t'Dolores."

"No! No, I do not want to do that." Maggie stared at her, appalled at the suggestion.

"Then, three... ye fight for him. Ye're as pretty as Dolores - maybe more so. Let loose of yuir business a wee bit and be a woman for him. Be approachable, let him know that ye want him. For a starter, put that - what did ye call it - that 'courting flower' back in yuir hair."

"I-I do not know. I want so much to make a good life for Ernesto and Lupe, to be a good mother for them."

"But ye want Ramon, too, don't ye." Molly watched her nod sadly. "Then ye'd better be deciding which is more - no, forget that - they're both important to ye. What ye need to decide is how to balance the two."

"Balance... like a tightrope across one of the canyons back home?"

"Aye, and ye'll have t'be watching yuir every step. But ye know what?" Maggie shook her head ruefully, and Molly continued. "T'my way of thinking, ye've every chance in the world of making it across to the other side, where happiness is waiting for ye."

Maggie's eyes glistened again. The two women embraced, tears running down both their faces, but they were both smiling.

* * * * *

Wilma walked quickly from her room to the top of the stairs. She looked carefully down into the parlor. No men were waiting; La Parisienne wasn't due to open for another half hour. She wrapped her lilac robe about herself and hurried down, instead of using the seductive glide she used when men were there to watch her.

Cerise had put her in charge of the buffet and drinks for the New Year's Eve Party that La Parisienne as throwing, and she wanted it to be spectacular. She'd had two large tables set up next to each other in the parlor by the door to the kitchen and covered them with the House's best linen tablecloth.

Stacks of plates, silver, and napkins were at one end. Next to them, sat a flat tray with a display of fruits, apples, oranges, and peaches, whole and sliced, and a large cluster of grapes. A large fan of smoked oysters stayed cool in a pan filled with ice. Next to it, two chafing dishes kept a mass of sliced roast beef and a tray filled with pieces of roast chicken warm. A tray covered with rolls, bread, and tins of mustard and horseradish was placed next to the two dishes. A tray of small cakes waited near the end of the table. At the end of it all was a large pan where a dozen bottles of wine were chilling in ice.

Jonas, wearing his suit and tie, was setting up the portable bar a few feet away. He had bottles of scotch, rye, bourbon, and the necessary ingredients for various mixed drinks at the ready.

Wilma walked over to admire the buffet. She saw the problem almost immediately, and quickly rang the bell at the back of the table. "Daisy," she said when the other woman came in from the kitchen, "these ain't the wines I asked for."

"But they's all on your list, Wilma." She pulled a folded sheet of paper from her apron pocket and handed it to Wilma.

Wilma opened the paper and glanced at the list. "Hell, this ain't my list; it ain't even my handwriting. The Lady said to put out the good wines. This stuff here on the table is some of the cheapest stuff we got."

"I thought it was funny, you changing your mind like that, but Miz Rosalyn, she says --"

Wilma frowned. "I'll just bet that she had a lot t'say, and none of it was to my good." She looked over at the clock. "And there ain't time t'switch the stuff."

"I'se sorry, Wilma. I truly is."

"It ain't your fault, Daisy. I just gotta figure - wait a minute. Daisy, go fetch the biggest punch bowl we got and a ladle and a mixing spoon, a big one. Jonas, you move the wine to make room for it."

"Here's the punch bowl," Daisy said, returning quickly.

Wilma nodded appreciatively. "That looks like it'll hold three or four gallons, easy. Set it down there, Daisy and dump about a quarter of that ice into it. Jonas, you got any kind of fruit at the bar?"

"Yes'm," he answered. "Lemons and limes, oh, and some cherries for the drinks."

"Great," Wilma told him. "Cut a couple of the lemons and limes into thin slices and squeeze the juice out of another two and dump it all in the punch bowl. Put in a few cherries, too."

"Yes'm. I thinks I knows what you's making." He looked at his wife. "Daisy, open about five bottles of wine and pour 'em out in the ice. Then toss in a few of them sliced oranges and peaches."

Daisy looked over at Wilma, who nodded. Then she did as Jonas asked. He added the fruit and juice from the bar to the wine, while Wilma stirred in some bourbon. She ladled some of the mixture into a cup and took a sip. "Perfect," she said, smiling with satisfaction.

"What is perfect?" Cerise asked, coming down the steps. She was wearing an elegant, lime green gown, her hair in a carefully concocted upsweep. Herve walked next to her. He wore a sea green frock coat with matching pants and his best ruffled silk shirt.

"This is, my Lady." Wilma filled a second cup and handed it to her employer. "Try it for yourself."

Cerise looked at the cup for a moment. "I believe that I shall." She shrugged and took a sip. "Bon, tres bon - very good. I did not know that you were familiar with sangria, Wilma."

"I got t'know it and like it when I was... living in New Orleans. They made it often enough that I learned the recipe. I... uh, thought that it'd be more fun than just wine for the party. And it turned out that Jonas, he knew how t'make it - maybe even better than how I remembered."

"A good idea whoever made it." Cerise thought for a moment. "And cheap... less expensive than the wines I had expected. Bon, Wilma, you have done well with this."

Wilma smiled, a nasty thought coming to mind. "Thanks, my Lady. I'll be sure t'tell Rosalyn ya said so."

"Rosalyn?" Cerise asked.

Wilma grinned. "Yes, Cerise. Y'see, it was something Rosalyn done that give me the idea for the sangria."

* * * * *

"Did you get a chance to talk to the Doc today?" Arsenio asked, while he and Laura were dancing. "About yesterday I mean?"

Laura shook her head. "No, but I'm not sure he's the one I should ask."

"Why not? He's you're doctor, isn't he?"

"Of course, he is, but this... this is the sort of question I think a woman would know more about. I thought I'd ask Molly, or, maybe Edith Lonnigan."

"Hmm, I suppose. I'd say ask Molly first. She sees herself as your mother, and she'd be hurt if you didn't ask her."

"I'll do that. I think I'd have asked her already, except things were so hectic here today." It would be better to ask Molly, especially the way she'd hurt her so recently.

"Ask tomorrow, then, while everybody's recovering from tonight's party." He waited a beat. "Have you had those same... feelings since yesterday?"

"No, but if I do, you'll be the first one besides me to know about it." Her voice had a low purr in it.

Arsenio pulled her closer, so that her body pressed against his. She felt the hardness of his chest against her bosom, and a second, very pleasant hardness farther down "You know where to find me."

"And you know that I'll come looking."

* * * * *

Maggie knocked a second time at the front door.

This time someone must have heard. There was a muffled voice from the other side. Moments later, the door opened.

"Maggie," Whit Whitney said cheerfully. "I thought that you weren't going to be able to come over tonight. C'mon in."

Maggie stepped inside. "We... Shamus hired... he said I could leave at 11:30." She smiled wryly. "He even said that I do not have to come back until it is time to make the 'Free Lunch' tomorrow."

"Well, you're more'n welcome. You can even stay the night if you like. That way you don't have the struggle of getting two sleepy kids home. We'll just fix up another cot in the room they're already sleeping in."

"I do not wish to be any trouble."

"You are no trouble at all," Carmen stepped in next to her husband. "You are a good friend. Please, stay."

Maggie nodded. "All right, I will sleep over." She glanced around. "Are the little ones asleep? I thought that they could stay up for midnight."

"They tried," Carmen replied, "but they got tired. We promised that we would wake them up in time for the celebrating at midnight."

"Your Ernesto was so determined to stay awake," Whit added. "We left him curled up on the couch where he finally dozed off."

"Sá­, he is like that," Maggie said. "Is it time to wake them yet?"

Whit looked at his pocket watch. "We've got close to a half hour till midnight. Let's let 'em sleep a while longer."

"Sá­," Carmen said, "an in the meantime we can show Margarita the kalliope you bought."

"A kalliope," Maggie asked, "what is that?"

"We will show you." Carmen took Maggie's hand and led her out into the garden. A large, odd-looking wooden box sat on a table near the door. A pile of brass disks, with patterns of holes on each disk, sat on the table next to it.

"This is a kalliope." Whit lifted the lid of the box. Another metal disk rested on top of it. "It's like a music box except the melodies are on these disks, so you can change it."

There was a large crank on the side of the box. Whit turned it several times, then moved a lever on top. The disk began to rotate slowly, and the familiar notes of "The Blue Danube" came forth.

Maggie was delighted. "It sounds like little bells."

"So it does." Whit turned to Carmen. "Care to try it out?" Carmen nodded and stepped into his arms. A moment later, they were waltzing around the garden.

Maggie watched them dancing. She sighed and sat down in a chair next to the table.

"Shall we join them?" a voice asked.

Maggie looked up. "R-Ramon?"

"I have a ticket if I need one." He reached into a pocket and took out one of the tickets that Shamus sold.

Maggie stared up at him. She remembered what Molly had said about Ramon. He seemed to want her now. She wasn't certain that she agreed with what the older woman had said, but she was willing to take a chance this one time.

"You will not need a ticket," she said, slowly rising to her feet. She stepped up close and took his hand.

"Then we shall dance." He put his arm around her waist, and they began to move out to the music.

Maggie felt a pleasant warmth run through her body, as Ramon held her. She sighed, happy for the moment, and rested her head on his chest.

Twenty minutes later, they were all sitting around the dining room table. Even Felipe, a week shy of his first birthday, sat in his high chair next to his father. Carmen sat on his other side, carefully crushing grapes in a small bowl.

"Now, remember," Ramon said, "you eat one grape at each peal of the bell. If you do, you'll have a sweet year."

"Really?" Lupe asked.

"That is what the legends tell," Ramon told her. He broke stalks of grapes from a large cluster on a plate in front of him, and handed the stalks to Lupe and Ernesto. Whit was doing the same for Carmen and Jose.

"And where are my grapes?" Maggie asked, feeling left out.

Ramon winked. "I thought that I would feed them to you."

"That is silly," Lupe said with a laugh. "Then how could you eat your own grapes?"

"For your mama," Ramon answered, "it would be worth the risk."

"Thank you, Ramon, but I can not let you risk a bad year on my account," Maggie said. She broke a large stalk from the cluster of grapes and put it down in front of her.

* * * * *

"Okay, folks," Hiram King said, motioning for the rest of the band to stop playing. "It'll be midnight in a few seconds." There wasn't a sound in the saloon as all eyes turned to watch the minute hand on Shamus' big clock move to the 12.

"Happy New Year!" they all yelled. A few men fired pistols. Arnie and Jane came out of the kitchen banging pots with wooden spoons.

A number of couples took advantage of the noise, the confusion, and the custom to embrace and share their first kiss of 1872. Milt Quinlan gently took the pot out of Jane's hand. "But it's New Year's, and I wanna --" Milt leaned in and kissed her before she could say another word. The spoon she'd been beating the pot with slipped from her other hand as her arms wrapped around him.

R.J. had been dancing with Bridget when Hiram spoke up. He stopped and took her head in his hands. "Happy New Year, Bridget," he said softly, pulling her close and kissing her. Her arms wrapped around him as she felt her whole body warm to the kiss.

Cap had moved in close while R.J. and Bridget kissed, and was waiting for the kiss to end. "Bridget," he said as it did. She turned to face him. "My turn, now." He pulled her close and did his best to beat R.J. in both duration and passion. Bridget responded as well to him as she had to R.J., moaning softly and pressing her body against his.

Arnie grabbed somebody's drink and downed it before its owner or anyone else could object. Feeling satisfied with himself, he quickly had another. After that, he climbed up on the bandstand with the "Happy Days Town Band." While they played the rest of the song, he banged his pot in time with the music and shouted, "Happy New Year" over and over again.

* * * * *

"And a Happy New Year t'all our readers," Molly said cheerfully, "Even if we are a wee bit early." She and Shamus had been another of those couples, sharing a long kiss was something they seldom did - in public.

"Aye," Shamus added. "Chris and Ellie've been working on this story for... well, for longer than they've liked. Even so, they ain't taking a rest neither, not them."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "I should say not - not them two. Right now, even as ye're reading this, no doubt, they'll be working out the plot of the next part of the story."

"Thuir's the big poker game, and Laura's sister, and Wilma, and the painter. Och, that painter." Shamus counted things out on his fingers. "Whoost, that's a lot of story t'be telling, and that's not the half of it."

"And telling it they will, but, right now, they want t'know what ye think of the tale so far." Molly looked out at the audience of readers.

"So ye all be sure to be posting a comment of what ye think." Shamus said.

"Tell 'em now, and, if ye have a good notion about what happens - or should be happening next - tell 'em about it. They might even be using some of what ye say in thuir story." Molly smiled, happy to have gotten in the last word.

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change - Autumn Part 3: December - pp. 227-363 page 137 of 363

Part 3: December - pp. 227-363 page 227 of 363

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Winter
By Ellie Dauber and Christopher Leeson (c) 2010

Part 1 -- January

Monday, January 1, 1872

"Happy New Year, Mama," Ernesto and Lupe yelled, running into the room.

Maggie sat up with a start. "Not-not so loud, Ernesto." She tried to
shake her head, but stopped. The way her head hurt, she was afraid that
she'd shake something loose inside -- or maybe she already had.
"Please." She closed her eyes tightly against the brightness of the
morning.

"We are sorry, Mama," Lupe said in a whisper. "Are you sick like Uncle
Whit?"

Maggie opened one eye and looked around, remembering. She was in the
guest bedroom at Carmen and Whit's house. She was in her camisole, and
drawers; she could see her dress, petticoat, and corset draped over a
chair. A lightweight blanket had been thrown over her. "Sick? I am --
just a little -- but I am sure that it will pass."

"I have some medicine here that will help," a woman's voice said softly.
Maggie looked up to see Carmen standing a few feet away, a cup of coffee
in her hand. "Why don't you children go play out in the garden with
Jose?"

Ernesto nodded. "See you later, mama," he said, running from the room.

"Happy New Year, again, Mama," Lupe called as she ran after her brother.

Maggie stood up, grabbed for the coffee, and took a long drink. "Ahhh."
It was hot and black and _very_ strong. "Bless you, Carmen."

"If you want it, there is still some breakfast in the dining room,
Margarita."

"Still? How late is it?"

Carmen smiled. "About eleven. The children have been up for hours.
Whit is just eating."

"And Ramon?" She took another long drink of coffee.

"He is not down yet." She winked. "You could always go and wake him."

"Carmen! What are you saying?"

"That you need to try harder. Be... approachable."

Maggie looked down at herself. "How 'approachable', Carmen? Should I
go to him like this?" She made a broad sweep with her hand as if to
point out what little she was wearing.

"If you wish," Carmen smiled, "and Ramon would be happy to see you that
way, a little surprised, I think, but very happy."

"But it would not be right. We are not..."

"No, but you want to be; don't you?"

"I do." Maggie felt a vague warmth run through her body at the thought
of being with Ramon.

"So does Dolores. It comes down to which of you want him more."

"No, it comes down to which one _he_ wants."

"Then you have to show him that you are the one he wants." She smiled.
"You, better than anyone, should know that is how a man thinks."

* * * * *

"Good afternoon, Seá±or Shamus," Arnie said. "And to you, too, Seá±ora
Molly."

Shamus looked up from behind the bar. "And a good afternoon to ye,
Arnie, but just what are ye doing here?"

"I work here... don't I?" He looked nervously at the clock. "It is
12:30, so I'm not late. That is when you have me come in, so I can bus
the plates from the free lunch."

Molly smiled at the boy. "Ye're not in trouble, Arnie. Me Shamus meant
that it's so quiet today that ye didn't need t'be coming in."

"The seá±or didn't say not to come in. I have a job here, so I have to
come in to work unless he says not to. Isn't that what a man does?"

"It is, lad," Shamus replied, "and ye're a good boy t'be thinking that
way." He looked around. "There's not much need of yuir services just
now, but tis glad I am that ye're on the job."

"Why don't ye go make some work for yuirself," Molly added. "Go over
and dirty up a plate with some of the lunch that's out there. Then
we'll see what else there is for ye t'be doing."

"I'll do that, Seá±ora Molly. It smells very good."

"It is, Arnie," Shamus said, "even if it's just reheated leftovers from
last night. I remembered t'be telling Maggie that she could come in
late today, even if I forgot to tell ye the same." He made a motion
with his hands. "Go on over, then; have something t'eat and see if I'm
not right."

* * * * *

"What do you think, Mother?"

Cecelia Ritter studied her daughter's appearance. They were in
Hermione's room, laying out her clothes for the next day. "It's
certainly a lovely dress, Hermione, and you look lovely in it. I do
think that it's a bit fancy to wear to school, though."

"Perhaps, but I... I wanted to make a good impression."

"On whom?" her mother teased. "Miss Osbourne already knows what a fine
young lady you are."

"On... oh, Mother, on Yully Stone. You know that."

"I do, indeed, Hermione. I just wanted to hear you say it."

"I... I am saying it, mother. I will not let that _freak_, Emma, get
away with kissing him the way she did."

"I should hope not. The nerve of her, trying to steal the boy's
affections like that, and her not even a real girl."

"I know, mama, but I'll show her."

"The one you have to show is that Stone boy; you let him see what a
prize you are, and that Emma won't stand a chance."

"I will, mama. I will."

* * * * *

Beatriz walked down to the first floor of _La Parisienne_ arm in arm
with Sebastian Ortega, a tall, muscular young man with slicked-back
hair. "Thank you for a wonderful time," she told him in Spanish.

"It is I who should be thanking you, Beatriz." He took her in his arms
and gave her a long kiss.

She sighed as they finally broke the kiss. "Perhaps we should go back
upstairs."

"If only we could," he told her. "Still... here is something to
remember me by." He pulled a gold eagle from his pocket and tenderly
tucked it into her corset between her breasts.

Beatriz smiled and gently ran one finger down the length of the bulge in
his pants. "Mmm, and I have so _very much_ to remember."

"Until next time." He bowed low and walked towards the door, a broad
smile on his face.

Beatriz moved the coin slightly. It would be safe, there in her corset,
until she could give it to Lady Cerise. It was payment -- and a
generous tip -- for her services. She looked around, then walked into
the parlor.

Rosalyn was alone, sitting on one of the couches reading an issue of
_Godey's_ _Lady's_ _Book_. 'Looking at the new fashions, no doubt,'
Beatriz thought. Aloud, she asked, "Where is everybody?"

"The Lady and Herve are in her rooms doing... something," Rosalyn
answered, putting down the magazine. "Daisy's downstairs fixing supper;
Jonas is helping her. Wilma and Mae are upstairs with gentlemen." She
looked straight at Beatriz. "Do you wish to talk about... things?"

Beatriz nodded. "It did not work out so well, did it, your idea about
the party last night?"

"Not hardly. I heard Cerise telling Wilma how clever she was about that
punch she made and what a good job she did putting things together on
such short notice."

Beatriz shrugged. "It _was_ a good party."

Rosalyn glared back at her. "Don't you go soft on me now, Beatriz. You
yourself said that you didn't think that Hanks bitch deserves to be the
Lady's second any more than I do."

"I do not care about her job. I just hate that she is being rewarded
for stealing the men who would come to see me." She hesitated, then
added, "or you or Mae."

"Whatever. We are agreed that she has to be put in her place. Our
first plan may not have worked out the way we wanted it to, but I've got
a few other ideas. One of them should do the trick."

* * * * *

Tuesday, January 2, 1872

"Okay," Yully Stone said. "Let's get started." He pulled out his
pocketknife and, in one move, opened it and threw it into the ground
next to the schoolhouse. "There's your mark." He pulled out the knife
and smoothed the hole it had left down to a small point.

Bert McLeod, the Ybaá±ez twins, and Stephan Yingling lined up and, in
turn, each pitched a penny towards the wall just above Yully's mark.
The coins bounced off the wall and landed around the hole. The boys
repeated this three more times.

Yully studied the coins. "You're farthest, Stephan. You're out." Bert
and both the twins had coins closer to the hole.

"Guess, so." Stephan picked up his coins.

This was how the captains of the two ball teams were determined each
week. Only the boys in the top two grades were eligible. Yully had
been the winning captain the week before Christmas break, so he didn't
play. "Fair's fair, after all," Yully would have said, "and this way
everybody gets a chance."

The remaining three boys repeated the contest. Hector Ybaá±ez was
eliminated this round. "You 'n'me, Jorge," Bert called out, his voice
breaking just a little on the other boy's name. "This week, it's you
'n'me."

"Me 'n' you," Jorge answered. "Winner and loser."

Bert chuckled. "We'll just see who's who on Friday... loser."

Emma had been standing with the boys watching to see who won. 'Jorge's
not too happy about my playing,' she thought, with a shrug, 'but Bert
was on Yully's team with me last game. He should be okay.'

The two new captains ran off in different directions, plotting strategy
with a few friends before Miss Osbourne called them inside. The other
boys scattered to get in some play.

"Can I... umm, talk to you a minute, Emma." Yully had walked over to
where Emma was standing.

"I... ah... I guess so," Emma replied, not certain what to say. She'd
been dreading this, the first time she and Yully talked after they...
kissed.

"I-I wanted to apologize for what I... for what happened at the
Christmas party when I... when... when 'you know what' happened."

"Apologize?" Emma looked at Yully trying to understand what he was
saying.

"Yeah. A couple of the others -- and I ain't saying who -- had started
in to tease me about letting you play on my team. They said I didn't
know if you was a boy or a girl."

"I said that you looked like a girl, but you played good as a boy. Long
as you played that good, I didn't care what you was."

Emma looked at him. She wasn't sure whether she was relieved or
disappointed. "You... you didn't care."

"I let you play, didn't I?" he continued. "So... one of 'em said that
if I didn't care you was a girl, I should treat you like one, instead of
like a boy. Then another one said I should treat you like you was my...
girlfriend and give you a kiss. They all laughed and dared me to do it;
said I was a chicken if I wouldn't." He took a breath. "Well, I
couldn't let them say that, could I?"

Emma shook her head. "No, I-I guess you couldn't." Why wasn't she
happier? It was just a dare, a prank, no worse than what she and Tomas
had done with that snake that they'd put in Hermione's desk.

"That's why I done it." He tried a smile. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed
you or anything, and I sure didn't mean for Hermione to get mad at you
like she done."

"But she did, and she's probably gonna still be mad about it."

He sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry. I don't know what t'do about that."

"Maybe you should kiss her -- just to make it even." She chuckled at
the sour expression on his face. "No, I didn't mean that. We'll have
to see what happens." She shrugged. "In the meantime, Tomas Rivera and
I wanted to talk to you and Stephan Yingling about something."

Before either of them could say another word, they heard Miss Osbourne
ringing the bell. "Inside, children, no dawdling, just because it's
your first day back from vacation."

"We'll talk about it later, okay?" Yully said as they both ran for the
door.

* * * * *

Jessie walked over to a table where Arnie was gathering up glasses to
take into the kitchen. "You still wanna learn how t'shoot?"

"Si," he answered quickly. "If you will teach me."

"I decided I better, or you'll go off 'n' try t'learn by yourself, and
_that_ never works." She grinned. "Many a boy your age ends up with a
hole in his foot."

"When can we start?"

"You don't come in here till after noon. How 'bout at 11, but we're
gonna have t'do it outside of town. You know a good spot?"

"There is a place, a field, just past the town line on the way to the
hill you Anglos call Chiracauah Mesa. Can we start tomorrow?"

"Nope, tomorrow, you're gonna bring whatever pistol you're gonna use in
for me t'look at. I ain't gonna teach you nothing unless I first check
out the weapon you wanna use."

* * * * *

"Fives and sixes, do you have your lunches?" Nancy Osbourne asked. She
excused the children at midday by grade, youngest first, to avoid a
bunching up when they stopped to get their meals.

"Yes'm," Tommy Carson answered.

"Yes, Miss Osbourne," Miriam Scudder corrected him.

Nancy continued. "Fine, then sevens and eights may go." She reached in
a drawer for her own food, while the oldest of her students ran for the
shelves by the door, where their dinner pails were.

Hermione Ritter waited for Yully by the door, stepping in the way as he
approached. "Hello, Yully," she said warmly. "A belated happy new
year."

"Umm, thanks, Hermione." Yully frowned as Hector walked behind her,
paused, and pretended to be kissing someone. Hector grinned at Yully
and headed out the door.

She didn't notice. "Did you have a nice Christmas?"

"I suppose," he shrugged, then, just to be polite, asked, "Did you?"

"Oh, my, yes. My parents gave me this dress." She turned slowly to
show the pale yellow dress to him. "Do you like it?"

"It's nice enough, I guess." He looked around. They were the only
students still in the room. Their teacher was eating at her desk.
"Look, Hermione, I gotta go. I'm -- the fellows and I -- we're working
on some stuff."

He hurried around her and all but ran out the door. "See you later," he
called back to her over her shoulder. "And that _is_ a nice dress."

"He liked my dress," Hermione sighed happily. She picked up her own
lunch pail and walked out onto the schoolhouse porch.

Eulalie McKecknie, Penny Stone, and Ysabel Diaz were sitting together at
one of the picnic benches. Hermione joined them, then looked around as
she sat down.

"Looking for my brother?" Penny asked her. "He's over there with most
of the older boys." She pointed to a nearby bench.

Hermione looked over. The boys were laughing and talking. Judging from
their gestures, they were talking about that silly game they all played
at recess. She smiled, laughing to herself about how foolish it was to
get so concerned about what was just a schoolyard game.

Just then Bert McLeod shifted on the bench as he talked about something
with the others. Hermione's jaw dropped as she now saw Emma sitting
there, laughing along with her teammates.

Just like one of the boys.

* * * * *

Molly saw Mrs. Lonnigan walk into the saloon and hurried over. "Edith,
now what're ye doing in here this fine day?"

"And a good afternoon to you, Molly," Edith replied, "and how are you?"

"Fit as a fiddle, as they say, but ye still didn't answer me question."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I came by to see Laura Caulder. She asked me to be her
midwife, you know, and I thought that I might check up on her today."

"She's upstairs doing a bit of cleaning. Why don't I take ye to her?"

"Yes, that would be fine." Edith looked at Molly's anxious face. "It's
just a simple check-up. I'll be giving her one a month for the next few
months. You're welcome to stay, if Laura doesn't mind."

"If ye're sure..." The two women headed for the stairs, walking past a
table Arnie Diaz was clearing. "When ye get a chance, Arnie," Molly
told him, "please tell me Shamus that I'll be upstairs with Mrs.
Lonnigan here t'be talking with Laura. We'll be down directly." Arnie
nodded, and Molly hurried over to the stairs where Edith was waiting.

Arnie watched the pair of them head up the stairs. He got back to work,
putting a pair of empty beer steins in a large tray. Someone had left a
dime under one of the glasses. He put it in a pocket until he could give
it to Shamus.

* * * * *

Ramon was arranging a display of men's shirts on a counter when he heard
the bell over the store door jingle. "May I help -- Dolores, what
brings you in here today?"

"To see you, of course." She gave him her best smile. "You should wear
that blue shirt when you come over on Saturday." She pointed to one of
the display shirts.

"Saturday? I am afraid I don't understand."

"Oh, come, now. The Ramon de Aguilar that I remember counted the hours
until Dia de los Reyes Magos, the Day of the Magical Kings."

Ramon laughed, remembering. "He was a greedy little boy, that Ramon.
He could hardy wait for the Christmas presents he was going to get that
day."

"He was not greedy. He was a sweet boy, and he always shared his
presents with his friends."

"Not always, and my friends did not always share their presents with me.
I remember when I was nine, and a certain girl would not even show me
her presents."

"I did not think that he... you would want to play with my new doll.
You never liked to play games with me and my dolls." She paused a
moment. "In fact, I came to see if this has changed."

"I fear that I am still not very good at pretend parties with dolls."

"How are you at real parties, ones with real people and real food?" She
smiled as if thinking of a joke.

"Much better." He smiled back at her. "You should try me some time."

"I will... on Saturday. I came to invite you to the Dia de los Reyes
Magos party that my cousin, Teresa, is having Saturday afternoon."

Ramon thought quickly. Had Maggie mentioned any party to him? Had
Ernesto or Lupe? No, not that he recalled, but if Dolores was just
asking, they might have as well. "Can I think about it? Saturday...
Saturday is our busiest day, and --"

"And the party is at five. The sign on the door says that this store is
only open to six. You can come over when it closes." She decided to
bait the hook further. "Do not worry about presents, either. You are
my guest; they will not be expected... except, perhaps, one from that
greedy little boy to his childhood friend, the one with the doll."

Ramon felt trapped, but he had to laugh. "I will _try_ to be there.
Sometimes, Seá±or Silverman has work for me after the store closes."

"But that greedy little boy will not want to stay at his work." She
kissed a finger and touched it to his lips. "I will tell Teresa to
expect you. If you do not come, she... she will put too much starch in
those shirts she washes for you." She winked and left the store,
stopping only to look back once and say, "Goodbye, Ramon," in a low,
husky voice.

* * * * *

Laura tried not to move while Mrs. Lonnigan ran her hand along the small
bulge at her waist. The two women were in her old room. Laura was in
her drawers; her blouse, skirt, corset, and camisole were on one of the
beds. Molly was sitting on the chair watching the examination.

"Everything seems fine, Laura," Edith Lonnigan said calmly, trying to
reassure her nervous patient. "You don't seem to be putting on too much
weight. Are you having any problems, especially anything new?"

Laura looked a bit embarrassed. "Just that it seems to take forever
when I... uhh, sit on the necessary."

"A little constipation's to be expected. Try drinking more liquids --
water, not beer or anything else with alcohol."

"All right, not that I drank that much beer anyway." Laura sighed.
"First Shamus won't serve me anything 'cause I'm working for him. Now
you tell it isn't good for my baby. I think that this whole thing is
just a plot to keep me sober."

"There's nothing wrong with an occasional glass of wine, dear," Edith
told her, "but I've never thought that there was anything served by
heavy drink."

Molly laughed. "'Cept that serving heavy drink is how Laura's earning
the money t'be paying ye."

"I didn't mean to insult you, Molly," the midwife said quickly. "And
I'm hardly one of those Daughters of Temperance ladies from back East.
I know that a lot of the men around here live very hard lives. They
need -- some of them do -- something to help them get through the day.
With a woman, particularly a _pregnant_ woman, it's an entirely
different matter."

"And if the... pregnant woman used to be a man shouldn't she be entitled
to a little something?" Laura asked.

"Just that occasional glass, dear," Edith said. "Just that."

Molly nodded in agreement. "Aye, the 'little something' ye should be
thinking of is the one that's growing inside ye."

"I can see that I won't be getting much of anything had to drink then,"
Laura told them. "Not if it'd be bad for..." she gently patted her
stomach. "Is there anything else I should be doing?"

Edith walked over and picked up Laura's corset. "I was glad to see that
you're not closing the bottom two buttons on this. Has it gotten that
tight?"

"Not yet, but Rachel Silverman told me not to do the buttons. She made
me buy a couple of bigger sized corsets for later, too."

"I know the sort she sold you. You will need the support for your
breasts, so keep wearing a corset, but be sure to give the baby the
space inside you that it needs." She paused a moment. "Speaking of
which, you should start sleeping on your left side. We really aren't
certain why, but it seems to be better for both you and the baby."

"How do I stay on my left side when I'm asleep?"

"Tuck some pillows behind you. Put one between your legs as well."

"That doesn't sound very comfortable."

Molly chuckled. "'Tis only fitting, Laura. 'Twas something hard
between yuir legs that got ye this way. Now, something soft down thuir
will help that wee one that's coming."

"Molly!" Laura said. Then she chuckled, too. So did Mrs. Lonnigan.

"This examination is _clearly_ over," the midwife said wryly, regaining
her composure. "You can get dressed now."

Molly handed Laura her camisole. "Anything else we... she should be
doing?"

"Try some raw fruit and vegetables for that constipation. I'll be back
for your next check-up in about a month, but _please_ if anything seems
wrong, please come see me at _once_."

"She will," Molly promised quite firmly before Laura could answer.

"Can she... Can _I_ ask you one last question?" Laura asked softly.
"While you're both here?"

"Of course," the midwife told her. Molly nodded as well. "Is something
else bothering you?"

Laura fidgeted as she spoke. "Uh... yeah, sort of. The... uhh, other
day, Arsenio touched me... my breast, and I got so... so hot, it was
like I--I was Wilma that day she took that second drink of potion. I
wasn't myself till... till after we..."

"Till after ye made love with yuir husband," Molly finished the thought.
"I ain't sure that's what I'd be calling a problem."

"Molly." Laura replied, "I almost _raped_ Arsenio. I never... _never_
acted like that before, not even on my honeymoon." She looked over at
Edith. "Is something wrong with me? Is the potion doing something?"

Edith patted her hand reassuringly. "I'm not an expert on Shamus'
potion, of course, but I have heard of such a thing happening to other
mothers-to be. You see, you're expecting --"

"I hadn't noticed!" Laura interrupted.

Mrs. Lonnigan ignored her retort. "You are, and because of it, your
body is working very hard to get you ready for that baby. Sometimes,
that can make it overly sensitive, easily... aroused. There's nothing
to be concerned about. It won't happen every time, and it will lessen
as the baby comes closer, I should think."

"But what do I do in the meantime?"

"Enjoy it," Edith and Molly said almost in unison. All three women
laughed.

Edith continued. "To be serious for a moment, it is normal, and, as
much as you and Arsenio love each other, there's certainly nothing wrong
with what you're doing."

"Thanks, Edith. I'll be sure to tell Arsenio what you said." She
smiled, both in relief and at the thought of how she was going to tell
him.

Edith seemed to understand. "I'm sure you will." She paused a beat.
"I'll be going now. Oh... and let me know when the baby quickens...
begins to move, that is."

Laura froze, her eyes wide and her smile gone. "Move? It-it's gonna...
inside... inside me?"

"Yes, dear, in the next three weeks or so. Don't be alarmed. You can
even let your husband put his hand on your stomach, so he can feel it.
The father should be able to share in a pregnancy, I think."

Laura looked down at herself, almost expecting the baby to move that
very moment. When nothing happened, she slowly slid her palm along the
small bulge. "Oh, Lord," she said, and it sounded very much like a
prayer for help.

* * * * *

Wednesday, January 3, 1872

"You be sure to hold that arm steady, Tomas," Doc Upshaw said, reaching
for his saw. "Seá±or Rivera, you help him."

Tomas Rivera, Senior, put his hands on both sides of his son's cast to
brace it. "You can look away if you want, Tomasito."

The boy shook his head. "No, Papa, I want to watch. I saw the cast get
put it on, and I want to see it taken off." His arm was stretched out
on the examination table, his fingers grasping the edge of the table.

"Can I, Dr. Upshaw?" He looked at the doc, his eyes wide.

"If you want to," Doc replied. "Just be careful not to flinch." He put
the saw blade against the edge of the cast and began to carefully draw
it back and forth. He moved slowly, watching as it bit into the
plaster.

Tomas and his father kept still as the doctor worked. He cut about two-
thirds of the way through the cast, moving down its length. He stopped
every so often to check his progress.

"You shouldn't tax that arm much for a day or so," Doc warned them at
one point. "It -- and you -- need to get used to it being free of this
cast."

"Can I play ball?" Tomasito asked. "At school, we -- the boys -- play a
game every day during recess. Can I get into the game tomorrow?"

Doc Upshaw thought for a moment. "I'd say that you had best wait until
Friday, or, better yet, next week. Besides, you probably couldn't get
into the game before then."

"Probably not." The boy frowned. "Whoever's side I got on this week,
the other side would yell about it."

"It will not hurt you to wait," his father told him. "And your mama
will be happy to see you come home from school with clean clothes for a
few more days."

Tomas laughed at his father's joke. His mother did scold him sometimes
when he came home after playing too hard and getting his clothes dirty.
"She may be happy, but I won't be."

"All boy and a yard wide." Upshaw patted the boy's head. He put down
his saw and used a scissors to cut away the remaining plaster. Grasping
the edges of the cast with both hands, he pulled it apart. "You can
take your arm out now."

Tomas pulled out his arm and held it up, wiggling his fingers. "It
looks so pale, so thin." He moved it around. "Is it going to be like
that from now on?"

"It's thin from lack of exercise, Tomas," Doc answered. "And it's pale
because it's been out of the light for six weeks. It'll be back to
normal in no time; you wait and see if it isn't."

"It'll also be a tad sensitive for a short time," Doc added, putting a
small dish of soapy water on the table. "Hold it over this dish."

The boy did as he was told. Doc took a washcloth, dipped it in the
water, and used it on his arm. Tomas yelped in surprise at the sudden
pain.

"It doesn't hurt that much, does it?" Doc Upshaw asked.

Tomasito shook his head. "Not really. I just didn't expect it to hurt
at all."

"Sometimes, a little pain can be a good thing; it reminds you not to
overdo." He gently dried the arm. "You can take your son home now,
Seá±or Rivera. He seems fine, but you be sure to bring him in if he
still has any pain tomorrow."

"Thank you, Doctor." Tomas Rivera happily shook the man's hand. His son
did the same thing a moment later, smiling at both the doctor and his
father.

* * * * *

"Here is my father's pistol," Arnie said proudly, showing Jessie the
weapon, still wrapped in a thick, white cloth.

Jessie unwrapped the firearm and examined it closely. "This Colt must
be ten year's old. You got ammo for it?"

"I do." He pulled a small wooden box from his pocket.

She slid the box into her apron. "I'll look at it later. Right now, I
can tell you that this thing ain't ready for lessons. It needs a good
cleaning. There's a lotta rust on it, too, but nothing that a good soak
in some mineral oil can't handle."

"How long will all that take?"

Jessie had to smile at his eagerness. "It'll be ready t'use come Friday
morning. I'll meet you then, and we'll get started."

* * * * *

"Anyone home?" Ramon asked as he came through the door and into the
kitchen of the Saloon.

"Uncle Ramon," Ernesto and Lupe called out, almost in unison. They both
started to get up from the table where they were having their supper.

Maggie was on them at once. "Sit back down, the two of you, and finish
eating." She turned and smiled warmly at Ramon. "You are welcome to
join them... us, if you wish, Ramon." She nervously pushed back an
errant curl from her forehead. "If you want to, I mean."

"Thank you, I will." He took the narrow space between the children, who
shifted their plates to make room. "The food smells wonderful -- as
always."

Jane looked up from the vegetables she was chopping. "Why don't you
take your dinner break now, Maggie? Then y'all can eat together."

"But the stew," Maggie protested. "It needs watching."

Jane looked at her and shook her head. "It's just that meat stew with
them hot peppers and spices. You taught me how t'make that weeks ago.
I can watch it just fine." Under her breath she added, "you go over
there and sit down with the man."

"Matchmaker," Maggie whispered, trying not to smile.

"Damn right," Jane whispered back. "I'm tired of seeing you moping
around."

Maggie filled two bowls with stew and brought them and two large chunks
of bread to the table. She set one of each down in front of Ramon and
the other opposite him. She fetched them both glasses of lemonade and
silverware.

"What brings you here, Ramon?" she asked, sitting down. Then she
quickly added, "not that I am not glad to see you."

Ramon raised an eyebrow. "Rachel was over here this afternoon to talk
to Molly, and she told me that you wanted to see me." Was his
employer's wife mistaken, or was she also playing matchmaker?

"Oh, sá­," Maggie replied, as if remembering. "I was so busy that I
could not come over myself to ask you."

"Ask me? Ask me what?"

"To come to the Dia de los Reyes Magos party," Ernesto blurted out.

Maggie glared at her son. "Ernesto! Finish your supper and do not
interrupt again." She took a breath, and her scowl became a smile. "As
Ernesto said, I am having a small party at 2 PM on Saturday in honor of
the Three Kings on their holy day. It will just be Carmen and Whit and
their two, this noisy one..." She ruffled Ernesto's hair. "... and his
sister, Laura and Arsenio -- Carmen told him about the party, and they
asked if they could come -- and me. And you, of course, if... if you
can come."

Ramon sometimes sat in at Bridget's poker games. He hoped his best
poker face was good enough. 'All that planning,' he thought, 'and she
asks me the day after I have accepted the invitation from Dolores.
Should I have waited?' He paused a moment, not liking the idea of
having to choose between Maggie and Dolores.

Aloud he answered, "I wish I could, but Saturday afternoons are the
busiest times at the store."

"You could at least ask Aaron. He has let you take time off before.
You would not have to be away long, not if you did not wish to be." She
tried to keep the regret out of her voice.

Lupe put a hand on Ramon's arm. "Please come, Uncle Ramon. Please."

"Yes, do come," Ernest said, trying to sound grown-up. "I am sure that
Zayde will let you if you ask him." Ernesto had spent enough time
visiting Ramon at the store that Aaron Silverman had told the boy to
refer to him by the Yiddish word for grandfather.

Ramon sighed. Aaron had reluctantly agreed to let Ramon leave early to
go to Dolores' party. 'It would not be fair to ask for more time,'
Ramon thought, 'and I have already promised Dolores that I would be at
her party.' He shook his head. "I-I cannot. We are just too busy."

"You will not even ask?" Maggie gave it one last try.

"No." He said the word softly and with regret.

* * * * *

"You mind if I sit down here for a minute?" Laura asked Bridget. The
gambler was sitting alone, playing "Maverick solitaire" and waiting for
a game.

Bridget pointed to an empty chair. "Take a load off. Say, you want me
to teach you how to play this?"

"No thanks." She carefully lowered herself into the chair. "I never
was much for poker." Laura smiled as she leaned back and lifted her
feet up onto the seat of an adjacent chair. "Damn, that feels good."

"I can imagine."

Before either of them could say another word, Jessie walked over. She
spun a chair around and sat down. "Can I talk t'you two?"

"Can we stop you?" Laura asked, her lips curling in amusement.

Jessie shook her head. "No, you can't." She chuckled. "Besides, this
is kind of important." She leaned in close and continued in a low
voice. "Do either of you know what happened to our guns, the ones we
had when we rode into town?"

"You know," Bridget answered, "I never thought about them, not after
we... changed. I wonder why that is."

Laura shrugged. "Me neither. If I ever stopped to think about them,
I'd have guessed that the sheriff was keeping them until after our
sentence was up. But by the time it was up, I had so much else on my
mind that it never occurred to me to ask."

The redhead's voice dripped with sarcasm. "It was about the same with
me. It wasn't as if I was planning to go back on the dodge in a shape
like this. Why do you want to know about them now?"

"'Cause Arnie asked me t'teach him how t'shoot," Jessie replied. "And I
promised I would. I'll need a pistol of m'own for that."

Bridget's expression soured. "Damn, when I asked him to take a job
here, I told him it was because I wanted him to protect me. I never
thought he'd take me so literally."

"It ain't you," Jessie countered. "Least ways, that ain't what he told
me. He said he wanted it so people'd respect him - that and t'protect
his family."

"Whatever he gave as a reason, be careful with him," Bridget cautioned.
"He's got a lot of pride. Boys his age usually do, but he's a lot more
sensitive about things than I remember being." She sighed. "I just
hope he's not planning anything crazy to earn that respect."

Laura looked thoughtful for a moment. "When are you giving him his
first lesson?"

"Friday morning," Jessie answered. "I gotta clean the pistol he wants
t'use."

"You mind if I come along? He's the oldest of a bunch of kids, with no
father. I went through that after my pa went off to the war. Maybe I
can talk to him some about what that means."

The singer shrugged. "Don't see why not. Besides, seems t'me you
wasn't too shabby a shot youself, _Leroy_."

* * * * *

"Is there any other business?" Horace Styron looked at the other
members of the church board sitting around the teacher's desk in the
schoolhouse. When no one answered, he looked out at the small crowd of
church members sitting around the room. A few were wedged into the
children's desks. The rest were on benches that were set up for the
meeting.

He looked at Rev. Yingling, sitting at his own chair at the desk. "Did
you have anything to add, Reverend?" The minister shook his head.

"Anyone else have anything that they want to bring up?" he asked the
members.

"Let's just go home," a voice called.

Clyde Ritter rose to his feet. "I've got something." Someone groaned,
but Clyde continued. "I just wanted to ask the clean-up crew to do a
better job after the meeting. Last month, my Clyde Junior brought home
a couple of cigar stubs that he'd found, and I had to throw them out."

"Why don't you stay and help, Clyde," another voice called out. "Maybe
you'll find one or two you can keep." The room exploded with laughter.
Ritter spun around trying to figure out who had insulted him.

Styron hammered his chairman's gavel and called for order. "I think
that's enough of that." He banged the gavel one last time. "Meeting
adjourned." Then he stood up and walked over to where Ritter was still
standing, a sour look on the man's face.

Jubal Cates, the board secretary, gathered up his notes from the meeting
and walked over to join them. "Calm down, Clyde. Harry was just joking
around. You know how he is."

"Yeah, he's a damned fool," Ritter answered. "But we need his vote now
and then, so I'll just ignore his so-called wit."

Rupe Warrick was sitting between Trisha and Judge Humphreys. Dwight
Albertson sat on the other side of the Judge. "Good meeting," Rupe
said, shaking their hands. "Glad we got all that nonsense 'bout you
settled, Trisha."

Albertson, the board treasurer, mumbled something in agreement with Rupe
and put the church ledgers back into the case he'd brought them in. His
monthly report went in as well.

"So am I," Trisha said, gathering up her notes from the meeting.
"Tonight's meeting went pretty well. Even Horace didn't give me a hard
time -- well, no more than usual, but I think that the February meeting
can be a better one."

The Judge raised an eyebrow. "Just what did you have in mind, Trisha?"

"Why don't you all come over to my house, say, about 7 o'clock a week
from today, and we can talk about it."

"Sounds sneaky," Warrick said with a soft chuckle.

She nodded, smiling slightly. "Who, me? I just wanted to discuss some
matters without Horace or Jubal or Willie interrupting." Willie
Gotefreund, the last member of the board, had missed the meeting.

"Making trouble, same as always," Rupe said with a chuckle. "I knew
there was a reason I voted to keep you on the board."

* * * * *

Thursday, January 4, 1872

Tomas and Emma were eating their lunches alone at one of the farther
picnic tables. Yully Stone and Stephan Yingling looked around for a
moment, then walked over to join them.

"The other day, you said you got something to show me and Stephan,"
Yully said, throwing a leg over a bench on one side of the table. "What
is it?"

Stephan Yingling sat down next to him, and both boys opened their lunch
pails. "It better be good." Stephan took out a ham sandwich and began
eating.

"It is." Emma took a rolled-up magazine out of her own pail. She pulled
at the green lace ribbon tying it until the knot gave and handed it to
Yully. "Take a look; page 34."

Yully unrolled the magazine. It was printed on cheap pulp stock with a
garishly colored cover. "_Boys_ _of_ _America_, I didn't know you got
it." The magazine was aimed at boys aged 8-15 or so, with stories and
project ideas.

"My Uncle Liam got me a subscription for my birthday," Emma told him.
"Go on, look at page 34."

Yully and Stephan turned to that page and began reading, while Tomas and
Emma finished their lunch. The two older boys were getting more and
more excited.

The article was about an underground fort built in a space dug out of
the side of a hill and then reburied. Properly done, the article
promised, someone could walk within a few feet and never know it was
there.

"You think you can do it?" Stephan asked.

"I don't see why not," Yully said. "I just want to know why you two are
showing this to us."

Emma shrugged. "We weren't going to show it to anybody, not at first,
but Tomas and me decided that we couldn't do it, not by ourselves
anyway. it'd take too long and everybody'd find out about it."

"We already have a place picked out," Tomas added, "on the side of a
hill about ten minutes from here."

"I figure that the four of us could do most of the work in a weekend,"
Emma said.

"Maybe..." Yully looked interested. "What do you say, Stephan?"

"I say, where're we gonna get the lumber?"

"We got it already," Emma said. "Me and Tomas was taking it from empty
shacks here'n there before... before the... accident. It's all stored
in a corner of my folks' barn just waiting for us. We got us a bucket
of nails, too."

"Then I say, I'm in," Stephan told them.

"Okay, then," Yully said. "We'll take a look at this spot you and Tomas
picked out after school today. Unless we decide -- we _all_ decide to
find someplace else, we'll meet at Emma's 'bout 9 Saturday morning and
get started."

"We will have to start much later on Sunday," Tomas said. "My papa will
make me go to church, and your papa..." He looked at Stephan. "I am
sure that you _have_ to go."

Emma thought for a moment. "Is 1 PM good for everybody? That'll give
us all time t'eat lunch and change."

Yully and Tomas nodded. Stephan just shrugged. "My pa don't like me
doing any work on the Lord's Day." He took a breath. "So I don't think
I'll tell him."

The four spit in their palms and shook hands. They spent the rest of
the lunch break making plans.

* * * * *

"Hey, Shamus," Jessie said, "can I talk t'you for a minute?" When he
nodded and started to walk over to where she was standing, she added,
"in private."

Shamus cocked an eyebrow. "In private, is it now? Well, me office is
right over there. Lead the way." He came out from behind the bar and
followed her to his office, closing the door once they were both inside,
and sitting down behind his makeshift desk. "Now then, what is it ye
need t'be talking to me about in private?"

"My pistol, the one I had when we all rode into eerie, where is it?
Come to think of it, where's my horse and the clothes I was wearing?"

Shamus chuckled. "I wondered if ye - any of ye - would ever be asking
me that question." He looked at her for a moment. "T'be telling the
truth, Jessie, ye're wearing yuir pistol right now."

"Wearing it?" She looked down at her hips out of old habit. "I ain't
wearing no gunbelt."

"I never said ye was." He chuckled again. "But ye are wearing a dress
me Molly bought ye while ye was a... a guest o'the town, ye might say.
Are ye thinking that the town o'Eerie bought ye and the others yuir
clothes with its own money? No, we sold yuir pistol, sold yuir horse
and yuir clothes, too, and we used the money t'be buying the clothes all
of ye wore."

"I paid good money for that horse -- for the saddle and bridle, too,
_and_ for the gun. What right've you got t'sell 'em?"

"What right did ye have t'be riding in t'town t'kill the sheriff? Ye
all needed clothes t'be wearing and food for yuir bellies. That stuff
paid for it. Besides, we didn't spend all of it."

"What did you do with what was left, throw a party?"

"No, Jessie, we gave it back t'ye. It was part of the money I gave each
of ye when yuir sentences was done."

"I don't like it, but I... I suppose that was fair enough."

"Well, thank ye for that. Now, would ye mind yelling me why ye was
asking about that weapon of yuirs in the first place?"

"Arnie. He--he wants me to teach him how to shoot. I need a firearm to
do that right."

"Why does he want to learn something like that, and what makes ye think
ye should be teaching him?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I don't suppose me saying that I don't like it'd be enough of a reason
tt'be stoppiung ye, would it?"

"Not by half. Look, Shamus, the kid's in a hurry to grow up. He's
gonna try to do it on his own, if I don't help him. But if I do, I can
try to make him know what he's letting himself in for if he ever picks
up a firearm t'use on somebody. Ain't that better than hoping he
figures it out for himslef?"

Shamus thought for a moment. "Maybe... but not by much. Ye just be
careful what ye're doing t'that boy."

* * * * *

Kaitlin was sitting on the couch, darning one of Emma's stockings, when
Trisha came up behind her. "It's Thursday," she said. Trisha leaned
over and softly kissed Kaitlin's neck. "You did promise, you know."

"Yes, I know." Kaitlin squirmed at the kiss. "But all I promised was to
_talk_ about it. _You_ promised to think about whether you still...
_thought_ like a man."

Trisha nodded. "I have thought about it, Kaitlin. I may look like a
woman, but I'm still -- "

"Look like? My Lord, Trisha, you _are_ a woman. You've even had
monthlies. "

"I'm still only a woman on the outside." She tapped her head with a
finger. "In here -- where it counts -- I'm still a man."

"Are... are you so sure? You're so very much a woman on the outside?"

"Try me." Trisha kissed her neck again. "I want you as much as I ever
did."

"But... I-I'm not sure that I want you. I-I never even thought about...
about _being_ with a woman before last week."

"You have thought about it, though, didn't you? You promised that you
would."

Kaitlin looked embarrassed. "I-I have. You were my husband --"

"I _am_ your husband. That hasn't changed."

"Hasn't it? To tell the truth, I don't really don't know if it has."
Kaitlin paused a moment. "But I do know that I still love you just as I
ever did. If you really... really want me to do... what you _say_ you
want me to do, then I-I'm willing to try it -- this one time, at least."

Trisha smiled. "Then, let's get to it."

"No, it's... it's early. Emma --" Trisha tried to kiss her a third
time, but Kaitlin shifted away. "Please don't kiss me again. Emma will
hear if we... do anything right now."

Trisha put her hand on her wife's shoulder. "It's well after 8 o'clock.
We'll tell her to go -- to shut her door and read or just go to bed. If
we shut ours, too, she shouldn't hear anything." Trisha began to gently
massage Kaitlin's shoulders. "We've done it that way before, you know."

"Yes, but... but I always worried that Elmer might be listening. Now,
she's Emma, and she's still learning to be a woman herself."

Trisha continued the massage. She was kneading Kaitlin's shoulders,
working out the tired feeling. "You did say just now that you would,
Kaitlin. There'll be solid wall and two locked doors. She can't
possibly hear anything."

"Mmmm." Kaitlin sighed, enjoying the relaxing feeling of Trisha's
fingers on her muscles. "I... I suppose we could." She sighed again.
"If we were quiet." She stood up slowly.

Trisha stopped the massage and took Kaitlin's hand. "We will be."

* * * * *

"See that quarter," Calvin Snyder said, looking very serious, "and raise
you another."

Bridget pretended to be studying her cards, while she studied the man.
Snyder claimed to be a drummer, in town to sell hardware to some
storekeepers and tradesman, but he handled his cards like a man who did
it for a living.

Still... "Right back at you." She pushed another two quarters into the
pot.

Arnie was watching from the back of the crowd that had gathered around
the poker table. Bridget and Snyder had been dueling for each hand.
She was the winner so far, but not by very much. 'This is getting
good,' he thought.

"Arnie," Shamus gently put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm not
paying ye t'be watching Bridget play poker, am I?"

Arnie looked over his shoulder at the barman. "Just a little bit
longer, Seá±or Shamus, till the end of this hand."

"And then one more... and one more. I'm sorry, lad, but ye can't be
standing around that table all night."

Before Arnie could answer, Bridget called. They were using the newer
"eastern" rules. Snyder had a flush, the ten, seven, six, four, and two
of clubs, but Bridget had full house, nines and threes. She raked in
her winnings to the applause of the crowd, including Arnie.

"Fine, then," Shamus said sternly. "That hand is over, so I'll tell ye
again t'be getting back t'work. There's glasses all around the room
that need t'be cleared."

"All right, all right, I'm going." Arnie walked slowly over to the
table where he'd left a tray partly full of used glassware. There was a
pair of almost empty beer steins on the table with it. He put them into
the tray and went on to the next table.

Arnie worked his way slowly around the room, straining his ears as he
did, to try to listen to the poker game. Judging from the groans he
heard, Bridget lost the next hand. He started to move back towards her
table; there _were_ some empty glasses on the nearby tables.

When he did, though, he saw Shamus looking at him. The barman shook his
head and pointed back in the opposite direction. Arnie gave him a sour
look, but he did turn around and walk the other way.

"Finally," he said, looking down at the tray two tables later. It was
about as full as he could get it without serious risk of something
falling out. With a sigh, he headed through the door and into the
kitchen.

He set the tray down next to the sink and looked around. No one else
was in the room. "Good," he said with an angry nod of his head. There
were three steins in the tray that still had some beer in them. On an
impulse, he poured it all into one on them, and looked around again.
Satisfied that he was alone, he quickly downed the beer.

It was only later that he thought of the smell on his breath.
Fortunately, no one seemed to notice, but he knew that he'd have to be
careful if... when he tried the trick of drinking from the "empties"
again.

* * * * *

Trisha locked the bedroom door. "If Emma does come to see what we're
doing, she'll have to knock."

"Now what... what do we do?" Kaitlin was standing by the bed, trying
not to look at it.

Trisha stood on a stool to reach up above the armoire. She managed to
pull down one of the bottles and the glasses from their place atop it.
"Maybe this will give us some ideas."

"The Madeira." Kaitlin sounded a bit surprised. It was their best
wine, a gift from Liam on their tenth anniversary and still unopened
years later. "It should, indeed." She giggled, sounding more than a
bit nervous.

Trisha opened the bottle and poured them each a glass. "I wanted things
to go well." She raised her glass. "To new beginnings."

"New, indeed." Kaitlin raised her own glass and lightly touched it to
Trisha's. She took a sip. The wine was delicious, full-bodied and
fruity. She felt its warmth as it settled in her stomach and closed her
eyes to better enjoy the sensation.

Kaitlin opened them again at the sound of a rustle of cloth. Trisha had
stepped in close to her. Trisha wore shoes with a two-inch heel, while
Kaitlin was in comfortable slippers. That made them about the same
height. Trisha put her hands on either side of Kaitlin's head to steady
it. "Maybe this will be a better start." She leaned forward and kissed
her wife full on the mouth.

Kaitlin opened her mouth in surprise. She could taste the wine on
Trisha's breath. She felt Trisha's tongue slip between her lips,
searching for her own. 'Pretend she's still Patrick,' she thought.
Kaitlin closed her eyes. Trisha kissed her deeply, just as Patrick had.
She remembered her husband and all the times they'd made love in this
very room. She pictured his strong, male body in her mind, and she felt
her nipples tighten. There was an emptiness down between her legs now,
and an eagerness for him to fill it.

Kaitlin reached down and touched the soft cotton of Trisha's dress,
feeling the stiff petticoat under it. She felt something else, too,
Trisha's lush breasts brushing up against her own. Kaitlin opened her
eyes and pushed the other woman away. "This isn't going to work."

"It will if you let it," Trisha replied. Without waiting for an answer,
she reached over and began to work the buttons on Kaitlin's dress.
"Let's get... more comfortable."

It seemed reasonable. 'I'll have to take this thing off sometime,'
Kaitlin thought. She started unbuttoning Trisha's blouse. They both
finished at about the same time. Trisha slid her arms out and tossed
the blouse onto the chair.

"I'll have to take off my petticoat before I get out of this dress,"
Kaitlin said. She reached down under her dress and yanked at the bow
that held the petticoat in place around her hips. It slid to the floor
with a soft rustling sound. Kaitlin stepped out of it. She picked it
up and placed it over her dressing table.

Trisha copied Kaitlin's actions, except that she just tossed the garment
on the floor over her blouse. She still had Patrick's smirk, and she
showed it as she unbuttoned her skirt, which joined her other clothes a
moment later. Kaitlin took off her dress and put it with her petticoat.
The two women faced each other in only camisole, corset, and drawers.

"Pretty as the day I married you," Trisha said, "or maybe that night."
There was a leer in Trisha's voice now as she eyed Kaitlin. "Let's try
that kiss again."

Before Kaitlin could protest, Trisha stepped over and gave her another
kiss. She squirmed, and Trisha shifted position. Her mouth left a trail
of kisses and small bites, as it moved across Kaitlin's face, first on
the lips, then the cheek and jaw line before moving on to her neck. She
finished at the base of Kaitlin's throat, at that spot where each kiss
sent a small wave of pleasure through the other woman's body.

At the same time, Trisha's arm reached around her wife. She grasped
Kaitlin's firm, rounded buttocks and began to gently knead them. The
result was another wave of pleasure. Kaitlin moaned and her head lolled
backwards, her eyes half closed.

Then the old phrase, "sauce for the goose" suddenly came into Kaitlin's
mind. Or was it "do unto others"? She leaned her head forward and
began to kiss Trisha on the neck. She felt the other woman tremble at
the new sensation. Kaitlin continued the onslaught. Her hands reached
up to caress Trisha's breasts through the fabric of her corset.

"Oh, Lord." Trisha gasped in surprise at the intensity of what she was
now feeling. She was distracted now and stopped her massage of
Kaitlin's body.

Finding herself in charge, Kaitlin pressed on. One hand continued to
caress Trisha's breast. The other moved away to be replaced a moment
later by Kaitlin's lips. The taller woman left a trail of kisses across
the other's breast, with an occasional love bite.

Trisha trembled as Kaitlin did to her what Patrick had so often done to
Kaitlin.

At the same time, the finger of Kaitlin's other hand moved slowly down
the front of Trisha's corset. With the skill born of years of practice,
she opened hook after hook.

The corset fell open. Trisha felt it slide free from her body. Before
she could think about where it went, she felt Kaitlin's hands cupping
her breasts, felt the roughness of Kaitlin's palms against her erect
nipples.

"Let me show you what it's like for a woman." Kaitlin's voice was husky
with arousal.

Trisha shook her head. "No... no... I'm not... I-I want to make love to
you like... like Pa-Patrick did." She began to undo the hooks on
Kaitlin's corset. Her hands were shaky, but she managed.

The corset dropped to the ground. Trisha's fingers pulled at the bow at
the neckline of Kaitlin's camisole. The ribbons came apart, and Trisha
slid the camisole down, exposing one -- no, both -- of Kaitlin's firm,
rounded breasts. Without warning, Trisha lowered her head and began to
suck on a nipple. She rolled her tongue around Kaitlin's sensitive
flesh, sucked again, then gave a gentle love bite.

"Ooooh!" Now, Kaitlin trembled, as little jolts of pleasure ran through
her body. 'I could get used to this,' she thought. Then, she realized,
'No! I-I mustn't get used to it. A... a woman shouldn't do this to
another woman. Not... not even if they used to be man and wife;
_especially_ if they used to be man and wife.'

That was what she'd finally decided on during a week of heavy thought,
and she tried hard to concentrate on her decision, not on what Trisha
was doing to her. It was not easy.

'She... she still thinks she's a man, still my... husband,' Kaitlin told
herself. 'I have to show her that she's _not_ a man.' An odd look of
determination mixed with the lustful expression on Kaitlin's face. She
began to pluck at Trisha's nipples like a banjo player.

Trisha stopped her sucking. She was distracted by what Kaitlin was
doing, by the warm ripples of pleasure that ran through her and most
_certainly_ went directly to her groin. 'It-It's so... oh! d-different
from wh-when I was a man,' she told herself.

Kaitlin took Trisha's head in her hands and raised it upwards.
"What..." Trisha said just as Kaitlin kissed her. Kaitlin's tongue
invaded her mouth, teasing her tongue. Trisha moaned and wrapped her
arms around her wife, pulling their bodies close together. She felt
Kaitlin's fingers exploring her body, and she seemed to tingle with
delight wherever they touched.

Suddenly, Trisha let her arms fall away. She took a step back. "I-I
think we're ready to go on." Trisha felt oddly uncertain now, and she
looked down. Almost of their own will, her fingers were undoing the
buttons of her camisole. When she had finished, she looked up. Kaitlin
had undone her own camisole and was just now sliding it off her
shoulders.

"Yes," Kaitlin said, trying to sound confident. "So we are." She
looked closely at Trisha, whose own camisole was open, revealing the
curves of her breasts and the soft, inviting slope of her stomach. Her
face was flush from Kaitlin's stare as much as from her own arousal.

'So much for my manly, oh, so experienced Patrick,' Kaitlin told
herself. 'Trisha's acting like... like a virgin, like she's making love
for the very first time.' Feeling even more in charge, Kaitlin took her
former husband's hand, and led her to their bed.

* * * * *

Jessie sat on a barstool looking at Shamus' big clock. 'Just a little
longer,' she told herself.

"You may've got off to a bum start, Jessie," Blackie Easton said, taking
the stool next to her, "but you turned out t'be one helluva good
singer."

She smiled at the compliment. "Thanks, Blackie, I'm glad you enjoyed
the show."

"I did; I surely did." He took a breath. "Say, can I buy you a beer or
something? You must be thirsty after all that singing you done."

Before Jessie could answer, Angel Montiero sat down on her other side.
"I would be proud to buy you a beer also, Jessie. You are like the a
sweet, trilling songbird."

"Thanks, boys." She nodded at R.J., who poured her some of Shamus' fake
beer. She didn't like the stuff any more than she ever had, but she
wanted her head clear for later.

'Whenever later comes,' she thought taking a drink. She glanced up at
the clock again, hoping neither man noticed.

They didn't. They were busy telling Jessie how much they'd enjoyed her
singing and talking about songs that they liked.

"You do not know 'La Paloma de la Montaá±a', Jessie? 'The Mountain Dove'
you call it in English." Angel asked, mentioning an old Mexican tune.
She shook her head. "Then I teach it to you." He started to sing in a
rather good tenor voice.

Jessie sighed and let her eyes trail up to the clock. 'Dang,' she
thought, trying to keep her disappointment from showing. 'I can't head
over t'be with Paul right after I sing; people'd notice. But when I
wait around for a while something like this most always happens. Be
nice if I could just sneak him in upstairs, but then where'd Jane
sleep?'

* * * * *

Friday, January 5, 1872

"Good morning."

Kaitlin slowly opened her eyes at the sound of Trisha's voice. She was
in bed, her head resting, almost from force of habit, on Trisha's
shoulder. They were both nude beneath the blanket.

'It's silly that I still sleep like this,' Kaitlin said to herself,
'seeing as I'm bigger than Trisha now.' She glanced down at Trisha's
breasts for a moment. 'Well, I'm _taller_, anyway' she corrected
herself and smiled. Aloud she just answered, "Good morning."

Kaitlin looked to the opened window and back at the alarm clock ticking
on the nightstand. "It's barely 6:30, still almost dark. Why'd you
wake me up so early?"

Trisha's arm snaked around Kaitlin's waist. "I thought we might have us
a little more of what we had last night." She turned her head slightly
and kissed Kaitlin on the cheek.

To Kaitlin, Trisha sounded too much the way Patrick had.

"You mean some of this?" Kaitlin' hand snaked down past Trisha's belly
to the patch of blonde below. She ran a nail along the lips of Trisha's
feminine slit.

"Oh... oh... yes." Trisha's voice was high and breathy. Kaitlin could
feel the other woman shiver.

"Or maybe this?" Kaitlin suddenly plunged a finger into the moistened
slit. At the same time, another finger found the small nub at the top
of the opening and began to rub.

Trisha moaned and her legs spread wide apart. Kaitlin used two fingers
now, moving them in and out. After a moment or two, Trisha's hips began
to move in a rhythm that matched her partner's hand.

Trisha tried to reach up, to touch Kaitlin and pleasure her as she
herself was being pleasured. But the sensations that her wife was
arousing were overwhelming. Then Kaitlin shifted her body, trapping the
new woman's left arm beneath it.

Kaitlin began to suck on Trisha's nipple again. Something like a train-
yard switch closed in Trisha's body. Jolts of sexual energy sped back
and forth between Trisha's breasts and her groin. She moaned, and her
hips began to buck. Her body shivered and shook.

"Yes, yes," Trisha cried as the energy exploded like a blast of dynamite
through her body. "Yeesss!" she screamed and collapsed on the bed,
gasping for breath, a sublime warmth filling her.

Kaitlin leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. "I thought
you'd like that." She began to caress Trisha's body.

"You... you were right," Trisha replied, catching her breath.

"Yes," Kaitlin said dryly, "most women do. I know that I always did."
She stopped her caresses and climbed quickly out of bed. "Now hurry. We
have to get cleaned up. I've got breakfast to make, and you've got to
get Emma ready for school and get yourself ready for work."

* * * * *

"Let's sit here," Hermione said, taking a seat at one of the picnic
tables outside the school. "It has a lovely view of the meadow." She
was sitting backwards, so she could lean back against the table.

"The meadow?" Eulalie Mckecknie giggled and sat down beside her. "Yes,
I suppose the meadow is nice... too." It was, but the view also
included the open area where the boys were playing ball.

One of the Ybaá±ez twins -- nobody could ever tell them apart -- had the
ball. He suddenly kicked it up into the air, towards his brother. The
other twin was running towards the elm tree that the boys used as a
goal-line marker. Bert McLeod came out of nowhere, jumped up, and
caught it. He pivoted as he landed and ran flat out towards the other
end of the playing field.

Eulalie squealed in delight and clapped her hands. "Wonderful catch,
Bert."

"I didn't know you were sweet on Bert, Lallie," Hermione said, using the
other girl's nickname.

Lallie nodded once. "I am... sort of. My daddy says Bert's going
places. His daddy already talked to mine about getting him a job as
page in the legislature after we finish school next year." Her father
operated a freight service and had a contract with the territorial
government that sometimes brought him to Prescott, where he had
befriended several legislators.

"So he'll be a page. What's so wonderful about that?"

"It means he's gonna be somebody important someday, a judge, or a
legislator himself, maybe even the governor. I don't want to be the
wife of some farmer or storekeeper." She said the words like they were
hanging offences. "I want to be important. Your mama is always going
on about how she's 'first among the women of the community', and that's
what _I_ want to be when I grow up." She held her head up trying to
look important.

"And maybe you will be," Hermione told her. "But I'm sure that Yully
will be important, too... in his own way. I just want a husband who's
strong, and handsome, and..." She giggled. "...who'll do what I tell him
to."

"The first thing you have to tell him is to stop kissing Emma."

"Oh, I'm not worried about her any more."

"You're not? Why? After all, he did kiss her."

"Maybe so, but that was some kind of fluke, I think. Clyde told me that
Yully just did it on a dare. I didn't believe him at first, but I've
been watching them all week."

"And? What did you see, what... what?"

"I've seen them play ball together at recess and sit together with the
other boys and talk about it at lunch. That's all. For all the
attention Yully Stone pays to Emma O'Hanlan, she might as well still be
Elmer." Hermione smiled. "Besides Yully told _me_ on Tuesday that he
liked my dress."

"So you don't think there's anything going on between them?"

"Just that stupid ball they pass back and forth." She shook her head.
"No, I'm not going to waste time worrying about her. I'll spend it
getting Yully to notice me."

"I hope you're right." Lallie sounded unsure. At that moment, Bert
passed the ball to Yully. The taller boy caught it and ran for the
stump that marked the other goal line. He crossed it just as the bell
sounded that recess was over.

Bert and his teammates jumped up and down, cheering and waving their
arms. From the way they -- and the other team -- were acting, there was
only one conclusion.

"Bert won!" Lallie cheered. "Bert -- his team won!"

Several of the other girls ran out to congratulate the winners. Eulalie
joined them, heading towards Bert.

Ysabel and Tomas ran out towards Emma, who was talking to Yully and
Stephan about something. Tomas joined the conversation, while Ysabel
fell in quietly next to Stephan.

* * * * *

Arnie was whistling as he walked down the dirt path that led from Eerie
to Chiracauah Mesa. The path curved around a low hill and opened out
into a meadow. Ahead of him, sitting on a fallen tree, were Jessie
Hanks and...

"Seá±ora Laura, what... what are you doing here?"

Laura rose, brushing her dress as she did. "I heard Jessie was giving
you lessons, and I asked if I could come along." She cocked an eyebrow.
"You don't mind, do you?"

"I suppose," he answered cautiously. "Do you want to learn how to fire
a pistola, too?"

Laura smiled. Arnie saw that she was holding his father's weapon in her
right hand. "I... I think I already know how." She turned to Jessie,
who was still sitting. "ready... go!"

Jessie tossed something, three bottles, far into the air. Laura raised
the Colt and fired in one smooth motion. A bottle shattered. She fired
twice more, and the other two bottles were blown apart.

"You were slow on that last one," Jessie scolded, rising to her feet.

Laura nodded. "I haven't fired a gun in almost six months. I guess I'm
a little out of practice."

"Just as well; seems t'me, Arsenio was the last one you took a shot at."
Jessie smiled. "Well, Arnie, can she shoot?"

The boy laughed, then bowed to Laura. "I only hope that I can shoot as
well someday."

"You will." Laura flipped the pistol around, so that she was holding it
by the barrel. "Here." She handed it to him.

He took the gun and looked at it closely. "There are no shells."

"I just put in the three I fired," Laura told him. "Today, we want to
teach you how to clean and load it."

"I just want to learn how to shoot the thing."

"Why?" Jessie asked.

"I told you, to be respected as a man."

"Guns don't get you respect," Laura answered, "not real respect."

"To protect my family, then; I am the man of the house. I have to
protect them."

"That's not what a 'man of the house' does - not all of it, anyway,"
Laura said. "Trust me, I know."

"What do you know?" He was getting irritated with the delay and the
unimportant details of gun care.

"Arnie," Laura began as she sat down on the fallen tree. "I was just
like you. My pa rode off to war in 1861. All of a sudden, I was the
man of the house with an ailing ma and five little sisters t'take care
of." She took a breath. "That's what the man of the house does. It
takes a lot more than a firearm to protect 'em. You gotta watch out for
the mistakes they make as much as for anybody out to hurt them. A man
of the house - a big brother, he helps his family with whatever problems
they got, takes care of 'em, helps them get what they want and what they
need to be better than they would be without his help. You understand
that?"

"I think so." He hadn't bargained for a lecture, just shooting lessons,
but she did seem to be making sense.

Jessie smiled. "Seems t'me that doing stuff like that takes a lot of
patience and care, just like you gotta give that Colt of yours. You
ready t'learn how t'do that?"

Arnie nodded. "I am - if you are ready to teach me."

"I am." Jessie took the box of bullets out of the pocket of her apron.
'"That's a Colt repeating pistol you've got. It fires six shots before
you need to reload. First, you pull the hammer half back." She did so
with her left hand. "that makes the cylinder move... you see it?"

Arnie nodded. "Then what, the bullet goes in?"

"This old piece don't use bullets. You put the powder and ball in
separate." Arnie watched as Jessie continued her lesson.

Laura watched, too, wondering if the boy had taken her words to heart.
'Learning how to be a man is at least as important to him,' she thought
to herself, 'as learning how to fire that Colt.'

* * * * *

"Children," Teresa Diaz scolded. "Do not eat so fast. You will not
enjoy your supper."

"Arnoldo is hurrying," her younger son, Enrique, protested. Since there
were no "Anglos" around, the family was speaking their native Spanish.

Arnoldo, Arnie Diaz, looked up from his meal. "Arnoldo has to get back
to work; do you, small one?" His eight-year old brother shook his head.

"Sá­," Teresa continued. "Seá±or O'Toole is a good man to let you come
home every night for dinner."

Arnie's face soured. "He says that it is cheaper than feeding me
himself. He also watches the clock and yells if I am five minutes late
coming back. And he watches me and yells if I do anything he does not
like."

"He is not that bad," Dolores answered.

Arnie shook his head. "Cousin, you only work for him one night a week
for the dance. Try working for him every day, cleaning tables, carrying
dirty glasses into the kitchen, and washing them. All while he watches,
ready to pounce like a cat on a mouse."

"I never thought of you as a mouse, Arnoldo," Constanza, the younger of
his sisters, teased him. "As a rat maybe --"

"Constanza Diaz," Teresa said sternly, "apologize to your brother."

"But Mama."

"Apologize, and right now, or it may be that the Three Kings will not
leave any presents for you tomorrow." Mexican tradition held that the
Three Wise Men of the Nativity story brought presents to children on
Epiphany, January 6. Presents were often left in the children's shoes.

"That is why _they_ are hurrying with dinner," Ysabel told her mother.
"Enrique and Constanza want to put out their shoes for the Three Kings."

"And you don't?" Constanza asked her. "I saw the letter you wrote to
King Melchior asking him for a new blouse and some hair ribbons."

"Clothes?" Enrique was scandalized. "You asked him for clothes. I
asked him for a good present, a pocket knife like the big boys have."

Teresa frowned. "I am not sure that you are ready for a knife."

"I am," Enrique answered her confidently. "I'll put out some extra
water and hay for their horses, and they will surely give me such a
knife."

Arnie laughed. "Even if you put cookies out for them, they may still
agree with Mama." He took a quick drink of lemonade. "I have to go.
Like I said, Shamus gets mad if I am late."

"Do you have time for a present?" Dolores asked him.

"Presents on Dia de los Reyes are for children, Dolores, and --
regardless of how Shamus treats me sometimes -- I am not a child."

"And I am not a wise man," she replied, "even after all the leagues I
traveled to be here." She took a small package from a pocket of the
apron she was wearing.

Arnie took the package and began to tear off the paper. "What is it?"

"A medallion blessed by the Brothers at the Church of Our Lady of
Guadalupe in Mexico City. It has her picture on it."

The package was unwrapped now. Arnie looked at the small metallic
object. "It is very pretty, but why?"

"It is said that such medallions bring luck. They give a man patience
and lead him to his destiny. You were so angry just now, I thought that
I would not wait until tomorrow to leave it in _your_ shoe."

* * * * *

Trisha gave one final wipe to the dish she was washing and set in the
drying rack. Before she started on another, she glanced over at the
couch. 'Damn,' she thought, 'Emma's still there.'

Emma looked up from the issue of _Boys_ _of_ _America_ she was reading.
"Did you want something, Trisha?"

"No, Emma," Trisha answered. "I just happened to look your way." She
picked up a dish and began to wipe off the grease from dinner. "I wish
Liam had never bought her that magazine," she whispered.

Kaitlin heard her. "It may not be as appropriate as it was, but we can
hardly take the magazine away from her."

"Maybe not," Trisha replied, "but couldn't we tell her to take it up to
her room. Then we could go up to our room and --"

"We could not," Kaitlin said firmly. "I wouldn't do something like that
with Elmer and Patrick, and I'm not about to do it with Emma and Trisha.
It... It would be like... _flaunting_ our behavior before the child."

Trisha sighed. "No, I guess we can't."

* * * * *

Saturday, January 6, 1872

Wrapping her robe around herself, Dolores walked out of the bedroom she
was sharing with her cousins, Ysabel and Constanza Diaz, and into the
main room of the house. The girl's mother, Teresa, was already making
her rounds, dropping off clean clothes and picking up dirty things to be
laundered.

"Look what I got," Constanza said. She held up a cloth doll in a bright
blue dress with yellow and green trim.

Dolores looked at the doll. "Muy pretty. And what is her name?"

"Juanita." Constanza smiled and gave the doll a hug.

Enrique came over to Dolores. He was holding a small leather
container. "Dolores, Dolores, look what the Kings brought me."

"Not so loud," Dolores whispered. "You will wake up your brother. He
was working late last night."

A second door opened. "Too late for that." Arnie walked out of the
room he shared with Enrique, scratching his head. "All right,
pipsqueak, what did you get?"

"This." The boy opened the case and a small pocketknife slid out and
onto the palm of his hand.

Arnie grabbed the knife away. He opened the blade and tossed the knife
into the air. "Good balance," he said approvingly as he caught it.

"Give it back." Enrique grabbed for the knife. Arnie dodged out of his
way.

Dolores shook her head. "Do not be so upset, Enrique. Arnoldo is just
being a good brother and testing the knife. Aren't you, Arnoldo?"

"Maybe." Arnie didn't want to say either way.

"Testing?" Enrique asked.

"Sá­," Dolores said. "A good brother, when his little brother gets a
knife, wants to test it out, to make sure that it is safe... safe for
when he... teaches his little brother how to use it."

Enrique's eyes grew wide. "Is that what he is going to do, Dolores?"

"Of course," she answered confidently. "A father or a big brother,
whoever is the man of the house, takes care of the little brother and
teaches him what he should know."

Arnie thought for a moment, remembering Laura's words and matching them
to what Dolores was saying. Then, with a proud smile, he folded the
blade back into the knife and carefully handed it back. "She is right,
Enrique. I am the man of the house, and it is my job to teach you such
things."

He looked over at Dolores and gave her a quick wink. She smiled and
winked back at him. "Indeed, the man of the house."

The pair turned to Ysabel, who had been sitting quietly at the table.
"And you, sister," Arnie asked, "what treasure did the Kings leave for
you?"

"Hair ribbons, just like I asked for." Ysabel turned her head. Her
hair was tied into a long ponytail by a bronze-colored ribbon that
Dolores had never seen before. She held up another, this one turquoise,
in her hand. "And this beautiful blouse." She put down the ribbon and
showed them a pale blue blouse with a darker blue ruffled collar.

Dolores studied the items -- and the look on Ysabel's face. "They are
very, very pretty. I am certain that he will be impressed."

"He?"

Ysabel tried to sound innocent. "I do not know what you mean."

Constanza giggled. "She means Stephan Yingling. You _know_ you got a
crush on him." The two boys chuckled along with Constanza.

"I do not!" Ysabel said quickly.

Dolores stood up and put a hand on her cousin's shoulder. "Let us get
dressed, so we can make breakfast for everyone."

"Very well." Ysabel glared at her younger sister and brother. "I
suppose that _children_ do have to eat." She started towards her
bedroom door.

Dolores was right behind her. As she closed the door after herself, she
added, "And while we get dressed -- in private -- you can tell me more
about this boy that you do not have a crush on."

* * * *

"Wish we didn't have to be so careful with this brush," Stephan Yingling
complained. "It'd be a lot easier if we could just take an axe to it."
He was slowly digging down to expose the roots of some burro brush at
the side of the hill.

"We're gonna use that one to hide the door," Emma told him. "It's thick
enough that nobody'll ever see that there's anything behind it."

"That's why we gotta be careful with the sod, too," Yully Stone chimed
in. "Once we got the fort built and buried, we'll put the sod back and
nobody'll ever know there's an underground fortress beneath it."

Yully went back to cutting the sod into squares about a yard on each
side. When he was done with a section, Tomas and Emma loosened the last
of the dirt, pulled each piece out and stacked them nearby.

* * * * *

"Daisy," Rosalyn asked, walking into the kitchen, "do we have any
liniment?" She kneaded her left shoulder as she spoke.

The black woman thought for a moment. "Yes'm, I keeps it in the
pantry."

"Would you get it for me please? I fear that Clyde Ritter and I...
overdid things somewhat." She put her hand in the small of her back and
stretched, moaning slightly as she did.

Daisy laughed. "You always was an eager one, Miss Rosalyn. I'll go
fetch it." She hurried into the walk-in pantry, returning almost at
once with a large green bottle. "You wants I should rub it on you?"

"No, but thank you," Rosalyn told her. "I, ah... ache in several
places. I intend to go upstairs, apply the liniment where it's needed,
and lie down for a bit. There doesn't seem to be anything happening at
the moment; is there?"

Daisy shook her head in agreement. "No, ma'am, there ain't. The Lady
is in her office listening to that fancy music box of hers. My Jonas is
down in the basement with Herve putting away some liquor that one of Mr.
Mackecknie's mule skinners brung over, and the other ladies is all
upstairs."

"All of them? I didn't think we were that busy this early in the day."

"Miss Mae's the only one still got a gentleman. Miss Beatriz is
sleeping in, I thinks." She remembered something. "Oh, and Miss
Wilma's over visiting her sister." She paused a moment. "You sure you
don't need me t'help with that liniment?"

Rosalyn smiled sweetly. "No, Daisy. I'm quite sure that I can get it
exactly where it needs to go."

* * * * *

"Another tamale, anyone?" Carmen held up the plate. There were only
three left of the pile she had brought to the table.

Laura shook her head. "Not me. Mrs. Lonnigan says it's too easy for me
to overeat... especially when the food is this good." Everyone else
seemed to agree.

"Can I have some more of the chocolate?" Carmen's older son, Jose,
asked. She poured him another glass, then refilled the glasses for
Ernesto and Lupe.

"Do you need help?" Maggie asked.

Carmen shook her head. "No, I'll just get the rosca." She stood up and
started for the kitchen.

"My favorite part of the feast," Whit said. "It's a lovely custom --
and a good excuse for a very fine dessert."

Carmen turned. "As if you need an excuse." She hurried to the kitchen
and returned moments later with a large plate covered with a cloth.
"Before we cut the rosca, does anyone remember the 'Song of the Three
Kings'?"

"I do," Whit said. "You and Ramon... ummm, you worked long and hard
teaching it to me." He stood and began to sing in a gravelly tenor
voice.

"The Wise Men are coming.
The Wise Men are coming,
On their way to Bethlehem.
Ole, ole, Holy Land and ole.
The Holy Land can be seen..."

Carmen, Maggie, and the children joined in. As she sang, Maggie
couldn't help glancing over at the empty chair where Ramon _should_ have
been sitting. 'A man must work,' she thought. 'At least I will see him
at the dance tonight.'

"Carrying lots of toys
Carrying lots of toys
For the children in Bethlehem
Ole, ole, Holy Land and ole.
The Holy Land can be seen..."

As soon as the song ended, Carmen pulled the cloth away. The rosca was
a cake in the shape of a ring, covered with strips of candied fruit and
dusted with powdered sugar.

"Very nice," Arsenio said. "Just like you described it, Whit."

Whit nodded. "I thought that you and Laura would enjoy the party;
that's why Carmen and I invited you."

"Besides," Carmen added, "you and Maggie are... sisters of a sort, and
it is good to be with family on a day like this."

Maggie looked at Laura's expanded waist. "You can have such a party
yourself, when your little one is old enough."

"I-I suppose," Laura answered. "So how do we do this?"

Carmen picked up a silver cake knife. "Each of us cuts a piece of the
rosca, the ring. A small clay model of the baby Jesus is baked inside
it. Whoever cuts that piece wins -- sort of."

"Sort of is right," Whit said with a laugh. "Whoever finds the baby has
to throw a party on February 2nd, Candlemas, for everyone who's at this
party." He took the knife from Carmen. "Well, here goes nothing." He
cut a slice and transferred it to his own plate.

"Do you have it?" Laura asked.

Whit shrugged. "Sometimes you can't tell till you start eating. We'll
hold off till everybody cuts themselves a slice."

"I am next." Carmen took the knife from her husband and cut a wedge from
it. Then she and Jose both held the knife while he cut his piece. Jose
was four, the same age as Lupe. Maggie did the same for Ernesto and
Lupe before she cut her own piece of cake. Finally, Laura and Arsenio
each cut themselves a slice. Felipe, Carmen and Whit's infant son, got
some of his mother's cake.

"Can we cut a slice for Uncle Ramon?" Lupe asked.

"We will save him one," Carmen told her.

"If he is not here," Maggie added, trying to keep the disappointment out
of her voice, "he cannot be looking for the baby."

"There's still a lot of that... rosca left." Laura tried to change the
subject. "What if that baby is still in where we didn't cut?"

"Then we try again," Carmen said. "Delivering a baby can take time."
She chuckled. "You may find that out for yourself in a few months."

Laura laughed nervously. "Just so the Doc doesn't have to use a knife
t'get it out. Can we start eating now?"

"Si," Carmen said, taking a forkful of her own cake.

Everyone was quiet until Ernesto suddenly jumped up. "I found it; I
found it." Everyone looked. An enamel figure of an infant was half
exposed in the cake on the boy's plate.

* * * * *

"Hey there, Herve," Wilma said as she walked through the door and into
_La_ _Parisienne_. "How they hanging?"

Herve chuckled, used to the sexual banter between himself and Cerise's
ladies. "Large and proud, as always. Did you have a good visit with
your sister?"

"I did. Anything going on over here?"

"Oui. I believe that there is a gentleman in the parlor who has been
eagerly awaiting your return."

"I do love it when they're eager. You tell him that I'm here, and I'll
be down t'see him in half a tick. I want to get myself ready for him."
She hurried past Herve towards the steps.

* * * *

Emma put another board atop the stack on her old wagon. "I think we're
going to have to make another couple trips." She and Yully had gone
back to her family's barn for another load of lumber. The hill was dug
away, and the two of them, plus Stephan Yingling and Tomas Rivera, were
building the frame of what would be their underground fort.

"Maybe this'll help." Yully held a long coil of rope he'd spotted in a
corner of the barn. "We can use it to tie on more lumber."

"Maybe even a piece of the furniture or two." Emma said. "We need to
have the pieces inside the fort before we finish the walls. We'd never
get them through the tunnel."

"I know. That thing's coming along pretty good. We dug out the side of
the hill quicker'n I thought we would." He stood and flexed his arms a
bit. "Hard work, too." He and Stephan Yingling had done most of the
digging.

Emma stopped and looked at him, at the way his shirt stretched tight
over the muscles of his arms and chest. She felt an odd, but somehow
pleasant tingle run through her. 'Must be getting tired,' she thought.
She went back to work, loading lumber onto the wagon, but she couldn't
resist glancing at Yully every now and then.

* * * * *

Wilma had worn a scarf against the slight chill. She tossed it onto her
dresser. Her reticule went in the bottom drawer. She did a quick
inspection in the full-length mirror near her bed. 'Perfect,' she
thought, turning this way and that. No stains or dirt on her dress and
the "warpaint" on her face wasn't smudged.

She sat on the bed and opened the top drawer of her night table. She
took out a small box and set it down next to her. The box held six
brown, doughy-looking spheres, each about the size of a walnut. These
were pessaries, vaginal suppositories that Wilma and the other ladies
used along with condoms to keep from getting pregnant.

"What the?" She crinkled her nose at the odd smell when she opened the
box. Some of the spheres looked... off. She picked one up using two
fingers like tongs and brought it to her nose. "Liniment?" she said,
raising an eyebrow.

She held the sphere in her palm for a moment. Her skin warmed in
reaction to the chemical on the pessary. "If I'd put this in..." she
shivered at the thought of what the liniment would have done to her
"working parts."

The sphere went back in the box. 'Thank Heavens I don't keep all my
eggs in one basket,' Wilma thought, as she put the box back in the bed
table.

Daisy usually made a dozen pessaries at a time for each lady. Wilma
kept half in the box by her bed. The others were in a second box in the
same dresser drawer that she'd put her reticule in. She quickly checked
these. Yes, whoever it was -- hell, it had to be Rosalyn -- that had
ruined the first six hadn't gotten to these others.

"Wouldn't do t'mess with Rosalyn right now when there's so many folks
about," Wilma said to herself. "Besides I'm as 'eager' for some fun as
that gent waiting for me downstairs." She laughed. "Be a lot quieter
on Sunday. I'll see to Rosalyn then." She clenched her fists. "Maybe
I'll even let her try out one them pessaries she made for me -- if she's
still conscious."

* * * * *

Ramon turned nervously to Dolores. "Do they have to stare at me... at
us like that?" They were on the sofa at her cousin's house. Teresa
Diaz and Ysabel were putting the finishing touches on the dinner table,
while her two youngest children sat watching Ramon and Dolores.

"Courage," Dolores whispered. "It won't be much longer." In a louder
voice, she added, "So, Constanza, Enrique, why don't you show Seá±or de
Aguilar what the Kings brought you?"

Constanza slid off her chair. She had been playing with a doll and she
cradled it in her arms as she walked towards the sofa. "Her name is
Juanita. She's just a baby."

"And a very pretty baby she is, too," Dolores told her. "Do you take
care of her like your mama takes... took care of you when you were
little?"

The girl smiled. "Oh, yes. I dress her and I tell her stories and I am
even going to let her sleep in my bed with me -- if she behaves."

"I am sure that she will," Ramon said. "She seems like a very well
behaved little one." He glanced over at Enrique for a moment before
asking Constanza. "And what did your brothers and your sister get?"

Enrique made a face. "Ysabel got clothes. She _asked_ for them."

"Girl's do that sometimes." Ramon had to smile at the boy's
mortification over his sister's presents. "They want to look pretty
like your cousin, Dolores..." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
"...or your mama."

"Thank you, Ramon," Teresa called over from across the room. "Enrique,
tell him what you got?"

Enrique grinned and reached into a pocket. "I got this knife." He
pulled it out. "Isn't she a beauty?"

"Just remember, Enrique, you are not to play with that thing in the
house."

The boy shook his head. "I won't, mama. I promised Arnoldo that I
wouldn't even open it again until he is there to teach me how to use
it."

"Oh really?" Teresa asked, sounding a little dubious.

Arnie came in from the back room with an extra chair. "He promised me,
and I will be sure that he keeps his word." He grinned at Dolores.
"That is what big brothers do, or so I am told."

"It is, indeed," Ramon answered. "My own brother taught me how to use a
knife when I was about Enrique's age."

Teresa turned towards Ramon. "How is Gregorio? I have not seen him in
ages."

"He keeps very busy at the old ranchero over on the other side of the
Hassayampa River. I have not seen him since early last summer. He does
write me, though, so I know that he is well."

"The next time you write him, please tell him that I said, 'hello,'
would you?"

Ramon nodded. "I will be glad to."

"Thank you." Teresa went over to check the oven. "In the meantime, the
tamales are ready, so everyone come to the table."

* * * * *

"Great Heavens, Emma, what have you been up to?" Kaitlin stared at her
daughter. "You're.... You're filthy."

Emma looked down at herself and smiled. That was the sort of question
Elmer had often gotten. It was nice to hear it again. "Me and Tomas
was just playing."

"The two of you play all the time. You haven't gotten this dirty
since... since I don't remember when." Kaitlin made it a point not to
talk about the accident when she didn't have to.

Emma gave her a self-satisfied nod. "Yeah, but this is the first
weekend that we could really have us some real fun. Doc Upshaw took his
cast off on Wednesday."

"So you two decided to celebrate by digging to China. Well, get
upstairs and take those clothes off. Put a robe on, too. You can take
a long bath after dinner tonight. You'll need one to scrub away the top
layers of soil on you."

Emma headed for the stairs. "Yes'm."

"At least she wore pants and an old shirt of Elmer's instead of one of
her new dresses," Trisha noted.

Kaitlin's face soured. "Small blessing that. I was hoping that she was
finished with such things."

"We seem to have a tomboy on our hands," Trisha said with a proud smile.

"Don't be getting so happy, Trisha. This ends any ideas _you_ might
have had for this evening. It'll take a long bath to get that child's
body clean and a longer one, I expect, to get the last of the dirt out
of her hair. I'll have to be helping her, especially with the hair.
After that, and my own bath, it will be too late for anything but
sleep."

* * * * *

Enrique looked down at the slice of the rosca he'd just cut. "No sign
of the infant," he said, happily.

Teresa disagreed. "Do not be so sure. Sometimes the infant is not
found until you start to eat your slice."

"It's not in my slice," Enrique said confidently. "Here, Stanzi, it's
your turn." He handed the knife to his sister.

Constanza took the knife and began to cut a piece. 'I hope I don't find
it,' she thought, but even as she did, she felt something resisting the
knife.

"I found it," she shouted. "Oh, but how can I throw a party?" She
looked at the others at the table.

Arnie looked at her. "Hurry up, Constanza."

"What?" She looked at her older brother wondering why he was teasing
her now.

Arnie frowned. "I said, hurry up." When she didn't move, he carefully
took the cake knife from her hands. "If you won't finish cutting our
piece of cake, then I will."

"Our piece?" She looked at him and blinked.

Arnie smiled back at her. "Sure, we're going to share this piece.
'Course that means you'll have to let me help with the Candlemas party."
He shrugged. "I guess that's just something that a big brother has to
do."

* * * * *

"We are here," Dolores said, as she walked into the Saloon with Ramon.
"And right on time for the dance, too. Thank you for walking me over."

"After the fine time I had at your cousin's house, I should be thanking
you," Ramon told her.

Dolores put her hand on his cheek. "Why don't we thank each other?"
She put a hand on each side of his face and pulled him towards her. The
kiss was deep and full of passion.

And it lasted just long enough for Maggie, who was looking out from the
kitchen, watching for Ramon to arrive, to see them kiss.

* * * * *

Sunday, January 7, 1872

"More, anyone?" Carmen asked.

Ramon reached for the serving plate. "I will have more of the eggs and
sausage. They are delicious, Margarita."

"I am so glad that you like them," Maggie said coldly.

Ramon gave her an odd look. "What do you mean?"

"I had thought that you preferred _Dolores'_ cooking to mine," Maggie
told him. "That certainly was true yesterday."

"Is that it?" Ramon said with a sigh. "Is that why you would not talk
to me, even when we danced together last night, because I did not come
to your party for the Dia de los Reyes Magos?"

"I am not mad that you did not come to _my_ party," Maggie answered.
"I-I am mad that you... you lied and went to _hers_."

"And now he is at _ours_," Carmen interrupted. "This is supposed to be
a nice family desayuno, a meal we can all enjoy together after church.
I will not have such fighting in front of my children, and, Margarita,
you should not behave this way in front of yours."

Maggie glanced over at Ernesto. He quickly looked down at his plate
and took another forkful of eggs. Lupe stared back at her mother, eyes
wide and worried. Maggie blinked, and her cheeks flushed pink.
"Excuse me." She rose without explanation and walked stiffly into
Carmen's kitchen.

"Margarita." Ramon stood up and started after her.

Carmen took him by the wrist. "Ramon, stop."

"Carmen!" He tried to step around her, but she dug in her heels and
held him fast.

She shook her head. "No, brother. Right now, you are the last one
that Margarita needs to talk to." She pointed back at the table. "Go
back and have those eggs that you liked -- that _she_ cooked for you.
I will talk to her."

Ramon was about to answer when he felt a hand, Whit's hand, on his
shoulder. "I think she just may be right, Ramon. Let be for now."

"I... very well," Ramon sighed. "Eating those eggs and sausage seems
to be the only thing that I can do right this morning."

* * * * *

Yully reached into the pouch tied to his belt. Empty. "I need some
more nails, somebody," he yelled to the others working with him on the
fort.

"You'll have to get them yourself," Emma answered. "We're all busy,
too." She and Tomas were carrying a chest of drawers into the wooden
framework of the fort. The drawers themselves were still in the wagon.
They would go in next.

"I can't help either," Stephan Yingling chimed in. He pulled a nail
from his own pouch and began to hammer it in, attaching a long
horizontal board to the framework.

"Where are the nails?" a new voice asked. Everyone turned to see...

"Ysabel," Tomas said in surprise. "What're you doing here?"

Emma stared at her friend. "Yeah, how'd... how'd you know about what
we was doing?"

"I was there when you told those two..." Ysabel pointed at Stephen and
Yully. "...about it, and showed them the pictures, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, you were, weren't you," Yully said. "We just didn't think
you was interested. Besides, if you were, where was you yesterday
instead of helping us?"

"I got stuck at home," she answered quickly. "We were having a party
for the Dia de los Reyes Magos -- a holiday for us. I had to stay
there and help with the cooking and the cleaning."

"But I'm here now," she added, "and I want to help. Where are those
nails Yully wanted?"

Emma pointed as she and Tomas set the chest down inside the framework.
"Over there by my wagon."

"Say," Stephan asked, "do you know how to use a hammer'n nails?"

Ysabel hesitated a moment. "Some. I haven't done it in a while,
though."

"Let's just see how well you remember." Stephan walked over towards
the wagon. "Toss me your pouch, Yully." The other boy untied his
pouch and threw it straight to him.

When Stephan reached the wagon, he refilled Yully's pouch and his own
from a large bag of nails resting against one wheel. "C'mon, Ysabel."
He turned and walked back to where he'd been working. Ysabel hurried
behind him.

"Here." He handed her a nail and his hammer. Then he pointed to the
board he'd been working on. Yully, Emma, and Tomas came over to watch.

The board hung down, attached to the framework at one end by a single
nail. Ysabel walked the length of the board, lifting it as she did.
When she reached the other end, the board was horizontal, with its end
flush against the framework.

She propped the board with one arm and held the nail between her
fingers. She tapped it a half dozen times before she took her hand
away. The nail stayed in the board. It stuck straight out. She
braced the board with one hand and swung the hammer. It took more
strokes than it would have taken Yully or Stephan, but the head of the
nail was soon flush with the surface of the board. And the board was
firmly attached to the framework.

Stephan inspected her work closely. "Looks like we got us another
carpenter." He patted Ysabel on the back. She blushed and managed not
to giggle. The others also took a moment to congratulate her. Then
they all got back to work.

* * * * *

Carmen walked into the kitchen carrying a tray full of dirty dishes,
cups, and silverware. "Are you feeling any better, Margarita?"

"Not really," Maggie answered. She was standing at the sink, scraping
a small bit of burnt sausage out of a frying pan. "Are the children --
"

"Your children are playing outside with my Jose," Carmen told her.
"Felipe is in his playpen, and Whit is... upstairs."

"And Ramon?" Maggie asked, hesitation in her voice.

"Also upstairs. He and Whit are playing chess in Ramon's rooms."
Ramon lived in what had been the guesthouse when the property had
belonged to his and Carmen's parents.

Maggie looked towards the ceiling for a moment. "Why don't they play
down here as they usually do? Was Ramon in that much of a hurry to get
away from me?"

"It was Whit's idea. He thought that you needed time to let your anger
cool."

"Do you think my anger is not justified? I asked him to come to a
party, and he... he..." Her voice broke.

Carmen finished the thought. "He goes to Dolores' party instead. Your
anger is not unjustified, but it _is_ misplaced. Dolores did ask him
first, and he could only take the time from work to go to one party."

"Why are you defending him?"

"Because, no matter how foolishly he may be acting, he is still my
brother. And besides," Carmen took a breath, "the fault is partly
yours."

"Mine! How is it my fault?"

"It is your fault that the poor man is so confused. Look what you said
to him. I like you, Ramon. Help me with my problems, Ramon. Court
me, Ramon." She raised a finger as if ticking off each item. "And
then you say, do not court me, Ramon. I must put my children first,
Ramon. Just be my friend, Ramon. No wonder he is confused."

"But... Dolores."

"'But Dolores', indeed. _She_ does not confuse him. They were children
together. She went away, but now she is back. She is pretty. She
flatters him and tells him that she wants to be with him. She does not
push him away or say that others come first. Why should he not be
attracted to her?"

"Then you think she has won?"

"If I did, Margarita, I would not be in here talking to you like this.
You lost the 'Battle of the Three Kings' -- maybe, but, as my Whit
says, you have not lost the war."

"What do you mean?"

"How do you think Ramon feels right now?"

"Guilty -- I hope -- for what he did."

"Si, and do you think Dolores wants him to feel guilty?" Maggie shook
her head, and Carmen continued. "That is right; she wants him to feel
happy. When you were a man, who was better, a woman who wanted you to
feel guilty or one who wanted you to feel happy?"

"The one that wanted me to be happy, of course."

"Then be that woman. Apologize to --"

Maggie stiffened. "I will _not_ apologize. Is it my fault that he
went to Dolores' party?"

"No, but it is your fault that you got mad at him."

"I had every right to be mad."

"Perhaps, but where did it get you? Try saying this, 'Oh, Ramon, I am
so sorry. I did not mean to get mad at you, but I was _so_
disappointed." Carmen pouted and put on an exaggeratedly sad
expression.

Maggie rolled her eyes and laughed. "You think that something as silly
as that will work on him?"

"Margarita, when you were Miguel and your Lupe pouted like that while
you were arguing, what happened?"

Maggie smiled, remembering, then laughed again. "I forgave her, of
course. Sometimes a man has no choice."

"Si, and Ramon will have no more choice than Miguel ever did."

* * * * *

"You interested, Mae?" Joe Ortlieb asked, standing up.

Mae stood quickly and took Joe's arm. "With you, Joe? Always." She
gave him a peck on the cheek and giggled softly.

"Then let's get to it." Joe grinned and led her towards the steps.

Rosalyn and Wilma watched them go. Now the two women were alone in the
parlor at _La_ _Parisienne_. Wilma leaned back and stretched like a
cat, giving a silent yawn. Rosalyn reached under a chair and pulled
out a copy of the latest issue of _Goodey's_ _Ladies_ _Book_. Lady
Cerise encouraged her ladies to keep up on the affairs of the world, so
long as they didn't read when men were about.

Rosalyn turned pages until she found the article she'd been looking at.
She settled back in her chair and began where she'd left off.

"You mind putting that down for a minute, Rosalyn," Wilma asked. "I
been wanting to talk with you."

Rosalyn didn't look up. "You're welcome to talk, but I have no
intention of listening to anything you might have to say."

"You'll listen to this." A note of anger crept into Wilma's voice. "I
want to talk to you about that liniment you --"

"I'm sure that you had a real _hot_ time with it," Rosalyn interrupted,
a nasty smile on her face. "You and whatever man was unfortunate
enough to be with you." She went back to her reading.

Wilma grabbed the magazine from her hands. As she did, the cover tore,
so that Rosalyn was still holding it. "My journal," Rosalyn yelled,
almost jumping to her feet. "How dare you?"

"How dare _I_?" Wilma answered. She grabbed the torn cover from
Rosalyn's hand and crumpled it into a small ball. "You try anything
else with me, bitch, and this..." She shoved the wad of paper in
Rosalyn's face. "And this'll be you."

Rosalyn sneered. "You wouldn't dare, you peasant slut."

The two women glared at each other. Their fingers arched like claws,
as if each were ready to attack.

"Hey, we gonna see us a cat fight?" a voice from the doorway asked.

The two women turned quickly. "Why if it isn't Mr. Phineas Pike and
Mr. Clay Falk." Rosalyn's voice turned low and seductive. "Is that
what you two boys want?"

"If I'm gonna wrestle with anybody..." Wilma's voice was just as
sexually inviting, "...I'd rather it was with one of you two handsome
fellahs."

Clay walked over and put an arm around Wilma's waist. "Well, now,
that's just what I had in mind when I came in."

"Same here." Finny walked over and took Rosalyn in his arms. She
moved in close and kissed him.

As the two couples walked towards the stairs, Wilma shifted arms, so
she was next to Rosalyn. She leaned in close and whispered, just loud
enough for the other woman to hear. "You just remember what I said,
bitch."

* * * * *

Martha Yingling heard someone at her kitchen door. "Who is -- good
heavens, Stephan, you're filthy."

All five, Emma, Yully, Stephan, Ysabel, and Tomas, had finished the
fort late in the afternoon. In their haste to bury it, they had been
sloppy, and all five had gone home _very_ dirty.

Stephan grinned in satisfaction at his mother. "Yes'm, I guess I am."

"Well, you're not coming into my clean kitchen like that." Martha
blocked the doorway. She was a rather plump woman, although only an
inch or two taller than her son. "Ruth," she called to her oldest
daughter.

Ruth Yingling was getting a serving bowl for the peas cooking on the
stove. "Yes, Mama?"

"Go get a spare blanket and a towel from the closet and hurry."

"Yes, Mama," Ruth said, running off.

Martha gave Stephen a closer look and clucked her tongue. "Just look
at you. You're wearing a pound of topsoil at least. Get undressed."

"Ma, out here on the porch?" The boy looked around. The porch was
closed in on three sides, and it was after dark. Still, someone
_might_ see him.

"Start with you shirt and your shoes," his mother told him. "You can
take off the pants when Ruth comes back with a blanket. In the
meantime, you fill that wash basin from the pump." She pointed to a
large metal basin hanging from a hook on one wall. "I'll bring some
soap for you. Be sure to wash your hands and face and neck. Oh, yes,
and do your hair, too. Stay out here till you're clean."

"What about supper?"

"What about it? You'll not be eating covered with all that dirt. Now
get started."

"Yes'm," Stephan said. He sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt.

A few minutes later, he was sitting at the edge of the porch untying
his left shoe. His shirt and undershirt were in a pile nearby. He
stopped when he heard the kitchen door slam behind him.

"Put the blanket and towel down anywhere, Ruth." He pulled off his
shoe and sock.

"Stand up, boy," a firm male voice ordered. "Now."

Stephan sprang to his feet. "Pa, yes, sir."

Reverend Thaddeus Yingling stared at his son. The boy's face and neck
looked like a blackamoor's. His hands and arms were black opera gloves
that stretched halfway to his elbows.

"My boy," the Reverend finally said, "if cleanliness is next to
godliness, then you are a world away from our Lord." He handed Stephan
a bar of yellow lye soap then continued. "How did you manage to get so
dirty?"

"I-I was playing with some of my friends."

"Playing what, dig to China?" He draped the blanket over Stephan's
shoulders, covering him down to his ankles. "Get out of those pants
while you're talking."

Stephan unbuttoned his pants. They fell to the floor and he quickly
stepped out of them. "We was just... playing. You know... playing
around like guys'll do."

"Judging from your clothes, I'm fairly certain that you and your
friends were digging." He began to work the pump handle. A stream of
water filled the basin. "I trust that you were not looking for gold,
not on the Sabbath."

The boy put his arms under the pump to wet them. He wet the soap in
the basin and began to work up a lather on his hands and arms. He
recognized his father's tone. It would be best for him to tell the
truth, but, somehow, he knew that he shouldn't. "No, sir. We... Uhh,
we cleared some land in the woods and, uhh, built us a fort. Today...
Today, we played at attacking and defending it. That... that's how I
got so dirty."

"A fort." Yingling stroked his beard in thought. "And whose idea was
it to build such a thing?"

"Do I have to say, Pa?" He rinsed his arms in the basin, whose water
was now quite black.

"No, but if you don't want to have to stand while you eat supper, you
will _tell_ me, and you will do so _immediately_."

"Emma, Pa, Emma O'Hanlan. She's the one that used to be a boy, and she
--"

"I know who she is."

By now, Stephan's limbs were clean. He dunked his head under the pump,
then started rubbing the soap into his wet hair. "She gets that
magazine, _Boys_ _of_ _America_, and it told how to do it."

"And she talked you into helping her with this foolish notion."

"It ain't foolish, Pa. It really ain't."

"Isn't, Stephan. Saying 'ain't' paints a man as unworthy of Grace."

"It _isn't_ foolish. Yully and me... and _I_ --"

"So, the Stone boy was involved as well. Who else?"

"Ah... umm, Tomas Rivera and... and Ysabel Diaz."

"I see. Well, I'm sure that none of them will escape some punishment
from their parents if they come home as filthy as you did." He stopped
and looked at Stephan. "You're lathered enough, I think. Come here
under the pump and let me rinse you off."

When Stephan put his head under the pump, his father worked the handle
again. The boy shivered as the cold water ran down from his hair.
"Clean enough," Yingling told the boy. "Dry off and get in the house.
You may leave those soiled clothes out here for now."

"You may eat supper in the blanket," Yingling continued. "It would be
cold by the time you got dressed."

"Thank you, Pa," Stephan said.

"Don't be so quick to thank me. You worked, you did hard manual labor
on the Sabbath, our Lord's day of rest. You shall balance that out
with some hard _mental_ labor. I'll expect a translation of another
ten arguments from Cicero's 'Treatise on Friendship' by Wednesday
evening." He pronounced the name as the Romans had, "Kick-ero."

Stephan wrapped the blanket around himself and sighed. "Yes, Pa." He
walked into the house, shoulders slumped. His younger brothers didn't
say anything, but his mother had to stop his sisters from giggling at
the way he looked.

Yingling tossed the water from the washbasin out into his yard, rinsed
it under the pump, and hung it back on its hook. "A fort," he muttered
softly, so no one inside could hear. "More military nonsense. That
boy is going to be a minister like his father, and no boy-turned-girl
is going to stop that from happening even if her... even if Trisha
O'Hanlan _is_ a member of the church board."

* * * * *

Monday, January 8, 1872

The early morning light filled the bedroom.

Laura was half sleep. 'Damned pillow,' she thought as she shifted
position. After a week, she still wasn't used to sleeping on her side
with a pillow between her legs.

"Mmmmf." Arsenio mumbled in his sleep. He was behind her, spooning
her. His left arm was draped over her, just below her breasts. She
could feel his breath on her shoulder.

She shifted again, and it woke him. "You all right, Laura?"

"Just trying to get comfortable," she answered.

He moved closer. "You just lean back against me." He lifted his head
to glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand. "It's early yet; you
can go back to sleep for a bit."

"If _I_ can." She sighed softly.

"What's the matter?"

"I... I'm scared. That -- what'd Molly call it? -- morning sickness
was bad enough. Now it feels like there's a ball inside my belly, and
it's getting bigger."

Arsenio's hand slid down to her stomach and along the small bulge.
"Feels nice."

"St-stop that." Laura shivered, fearing the extreme arousal his touch
sometimes caused in her. There was none of _that_, but she did feel
her nipples grow tight.

"Well, it does feel nice to me. There's nothing to worry about. It's
natural for a woman to show that she's pregnant."

"I know, but being pregnant is so... different from _anything_ I ever
expected to be. Mrs. Lonnigan's been a lot of help -- so has Molly --
telling me what's happening and what's... what's going to happen, but
last week, she -- Mrs. Lonnigan -- she... she said..." Her voice
trailed off.
Arsenio took her hand in his. "That the baby was going to start moving
inside you. That's what you're still scared about, isn't it?"

"She... Mrs. Lonnigan said I'd-I'd feel it."

"Did she say that it would be a bad thing if you did?"

"N-No, she acted like it was... normal."

"Then it is. It must just be a sign that the baby's growing the way
it's supposed to."

"Yeah, but... moving, and inside me. What am I going to do? Does
it... hurt?" Her body tensed, as if she were about to run.

"Don't think about what _you're_ going to do." He gently kissed her
shoulder. "Think about what _we're_ going to do."

"What _we're_ going to do?"

"Yep. 'Cause whatever happens when the baby starts moving, I'll be
there with you. You remember what Molly said when we asked her about
it?"

Laura nodded nervously. "Uh huhn. She said it was natural; the baby's
way of introducing itself to its mother."

"To its _parents_ is what she said. I'll be able to feel it almost as
soon as you will, especially if I'm holding you close." He kissed her
again. "As if I needed another reason to hold you close."

Laura put her hand over his. "You're a sweet man, Arsenio Caulder."

"Yes, I am," he joked. Then he moved even closer. "In the meantime,
if you'd like to feel something else moving inside you..." Laura felt
something hard press against her buttocks.

"Mmmm, I suppose that might be good practice."

* * * * *

The five of them met at lunch.

"Now that the fort's finished," Yully asked, "what're we gonna do with
it?"

Emma shook her head. "It ain't finished, not quite. We gotta make
sure that all that sod got put back right. It was dark by the time we
had it all laid down, and we couldn't tell if we done it right."

"We can check it out after school today," Tomas said.

Stephan shook his head. "Not me, sorry."

"What's the matter?" Yully asked.

"My folks hit the roof when I came home yesterday," Stephan complained.
"I had to all but take a bath before they'd let me in the house."

"A bath," Ysabel giggled, "right out there on your porch for everyone
to see."

Stephan shook his head. "Not a bath, but I did have to strip down to
my... uhh, union suit and wash off at the pump; even had to wash my
hair."

"You was the one that wanted us to put all that sod back in the dark,"
Yully reminded him.

Emma completed the thought. "And tripped over a piece and rolled down
the hill."

"I know," Stephan sighed, "and I'm surely paying for it. My pa says I
got to do three pages of Cicero for him by tomorrow night."

"Who or what the dickens is Cicero?" Yully asked.

"Some old Roman fellah," Stephan answered. "Pa's been teaching me
Latin, so I can go away to some finishing school like Junior did."
Thaddeus Yingling, Jr., Stephan's older brother, had been away at a
Methodist school in Ohio since early September.

"He wants to send you away," Ysabel gasped. "Oh, how dreadful." The
others nodded in agreement.

"He wants Junior and me to be preachers like him and Uncle Obediah and
grampa. Probably wants the same for Matt and Sam. Junior may want to,
but I ain't sure I do."

"I hope you don't go anywhere," Ysabel said. "Unless you want to, of
course," she added quickly.

Stephan shrugged and kept talking. "Like I said, I ain't sure what I
want to do, but there's other things that some extra learning can help
with. Anyways, I'm far enough along that Pa gives me translations to
do for practice. I started on this Cicero piece, 'On Friendship' just
after New Year's. Usually, Pa lets me set my own pace, do two or three
pages a week. For punishment, he said I gotta do the next three pages
by tomorrow night. That's why I can't go with you; I gotta go home and
work on that translation."

"That sounds like a good reason to me." Yully put an arm around his
friend's shoulder. "You can help out when you get that Cicero fellah
done."

"You just have to keep from getting so dirty that your papa gives you
more to do," Tomas added.

"One thing," Emma said, sounding very serious. "You gotta -- we _all_
gotta promise to keep the fort a secret."

Tomas looked puzzled. "Why? Why can't we tell anybody or even show it
off if we want to?"

"We can... in time," Emma said, "but we gotta be careful for now.
There's them that would want to wreck it or to take it away from us."

"Who would do that?" Tomas asked.

Yully made a face. "The Ritters, for one. Clyde'd love to have a
place like that for himself."

"Si," Ysabel said, looking over at to the table some distance away
where Clyde and a few of his cronies were having lunch. "Clyde is very
much the sort of thing that comes slinking out from a hole in the
ground."

Yully continued. "And 'Whiney Hermione' couldn't wait to tell Miss
Osbourne or our folks if she knew about it. She'd probably make it
sound like it was dangerous, too."

"It ain't dangerous," Emma protested. "We built extra supports into
the framework of the room and the tunnel, just like the magazine said
to."

"She wouldn't care," Stephan said. "It ain't -- isn't -- the sort of
thing that she would do, so, to her, it _has_ to be bad. She'd try to
make the all the adults think so, too. If she did, they'd close it up
-- maybe even punish us all for building it."

Emma looked at the others. "You know, I've been thinking that we need
a name for the fort."

"So?" Yully asked.

"So," Emma answered. "How about we call it 'Fort Secret'? Secret by
name and secret by nature." She put out her arm, palm down, a few
inches above the table.

One by one, the others, Yully, Stephen, Ysabel, and Tomas, put their
hands on hers. When all five hands were stacked together, they all
softly repeated, "Fort Secret, secret by name and secret by nature."

* * * * *

The jangle of the bell over the door brought Kirby Pinter back from the
Jules Verne novel he was reading. "Looks like the Baltimore Gun Club
will have to wait," he said, closing the book. "Can I help you ma'am?"

"Yeah, I'm Jessie Hanks, and I --"

"Oh, yes, Miss Hanks. I've heard you sing over at Mr. O'Toole's
saloon. You're quite good." He stuck out a hand. "I'm Kirby Pinter,
by the way, and I'm very pleased to meet you."

Jessie shook his hand. "Thanks. You got any songbooks in here?"

Pinter smiled, happy to show off his wares. "You've come to the right
place. I've all manner of books, new and used, and I'm sure that I
have a few songbooks."

He stood up from the stool he'd been sitting on. He was a short man,
only a few inches taller than Jessie, in his 30s with thinning brown
hair. He had a round face partially hidden by a burnsides, a mustache
that arched across his cheeks and merged into his sideburns. "Please
follow me."

"I need one with the words _and_ the music."

"New material for your act, I expect. I believe that I've got a couple
of books that might be what you're looking for."

Pinter's store was small, with tall bookcases along all the walls.
Papers tacked to each shelve told the sort of books it held. Four long
tables, also piled high with books, took up most of the floor space.
He led Jessie past the tables to a bookcase with one section labeled
"Arts and Music."

"Here we are," he said. He moved things around on a shelf, so that
three books were standing upright at one end. "Any of these should do.
I'll just leave you to them. Please let me know if you need any more
help." He nodded and walked back to the counter.

Jessie looked at the books. The first, _Anglican_ _Hymns_, was of
little use. The second, a book of children's songs and games, did have
a couple of songs she might use. The third one looked promising.
"_Songs_ _of_ _the_ _Ozark_ _Hills_ _and_ _Other_ _Popular_ _American_
_Music_," she read aloud. She took the book from the shelf and opened
it. "There's a whole section of Stephan Foster songs in here, and
'Yankee Doodle', and a bunch of other tunes I already know, but
here's... I don't know that one or that one either." She read down the
table of contents. "Hell, there's more'n enough in here."

She turned to the first unknown song. "Nice," she said, considering
the words. "Music sounds good." She hummed the first few notes.
Reading music was a skill she'd picked up over the years.

Jessie closed the book and walked over to Pinter with it under her arm.
"How much?"

"The price is written inside." He took the book and showed her where
he'd penciled in the price. "This is two dollars." When he saw her
frown, he corrected himself. "But, since I look forward to hearing you
singing some of these tunes, is a dollar all right?"

Jessie smiled, and opened her reticule for the money. "More'n all
right, and the first one I sing'll be for you."

* * * * *

Tuesday, January 9, 1872

Ernesto looked up from his Reader. He'd been reviewing the spelling
words from one of the stories, sitting behind the counter at
Silverman's. "Zayde," he asked Aaron Silverman, who was standing at
the nearby cash register, "is it quiet enough in the shop so I can ask
Uncle Ramon a question?"

"Look around," the shopkeeper told him, "does it seem busy to you?"

Ernesto shook his head. "No, the only customer in the store is a lady,
and Bubbie Rachel is helping her."

"So, is that quiet enough for you?" Aaron asked. The boy shrugged, and
Aaron added, "Go. Ask."

"Thank you, Zayde." Ernesto jumped down from his stool. "I will be
right back."

Aaron chuckled, as he watched the boy walk over to Ramon, his back
stiff as a soldier's. "Like an almond that boy is, so much in a hurry
to blossom, as the sages say."

"Uncle Ramon," Ernesto asked, "can I talk to you?"

Ramon turned and smiled at the boy. "Certainly, Ernesto, what do you
want to talk about?"

"The Dia de los Reyes."

"Oh, si. What did the three kings give you?"

"A pair of fighting tops; you set them going and see which one knocks
the other over."

"I had a set like that years ago. Maybe, I will come over and try them
out with you."

Ernesto brightened. "Do you mean it? You do not come over as much as
you used to."

"I know... and I am sorry. Is that what you wanted to talk to me
about, that I did not come to your mama's party?"

"Sort of. On Dia de la Reyes... when we cut the rosca... _I_ was the
one who found the Baby Jesus."

"You did? Well, good for you."

"Thank you, but maybe it is not so good. I found the rosca, so I have
to give the party for everyone on Candlemas Day."

Ramon smiled at the boy's seriousness and tousled his hair. "Is that
really a problem? I am certain that your mama does not expect you to
do that."

"But I _want_ to do it. I am the man of the house, and she _should_
expect me to do it."

"I see." Ramon nodded, beginning to see the boy's problem.

"And I _can_ do it." Ernesto took a deep breath. "If you will help
me."

"Me? Why do you not just ask your mama for help?"

"Because that would be the same as saying that I cannot do it.
Besides," he continued. "If I am the man, shouldn't I ask another man
for help?" He looked up at Ramon, eyes wide with hope. "Please, Uncle
Ramon. Please."

Ramon smiled gently and tousled the boy's hair again. "All right,
seá±or. I will be honored to help you."

* * * * *

Abner Slocum settled back in his chair and took a long sup of after-
dinner brandy. "Matthew, didn't you say something about going into
town tomorrow?"

"Yes, Uncle Abner," Cap answered. "I'm riding in about mid day.
There's some supplies Tuck asked me to pick up. I'll have dinner with
Bridget and ride back up afterwards with Arsenio Caulder."

"Is it that time already? Seems like only a couple of weeks ago that
he was up here shoeing horses."

"No, sir, three months, just like you and he agreed. Besides the
horses that need shoeing, there're some tools that need fixing: an ax
that needs a new edge, a broken branding iron, and such."

"I'm surprised he's willing to come up the night before, what with his
wife expecting."

"True, but with these short January days and what all we have for him
to do, he'd probably wind up staying the night if he rode up first
thing in the morning."

"You're probably right." Slocum paused a moment. "Still, that's not
the reason I asked in the first place." He paused again. "I'd be
happier if you would cancel your dinner with Miss Kelly and head
straight out here with Arsenio."

"Uncle Abner, you've been saying things like that for days now. What
turned you against Bridget? I've asked and asked, and you keep putting
me off."

"Until today, all I had were my suspicions."

"What changed today?"

"I got this." He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. He
looked at it, then handed it to Cap.

Cap read the address. "Texas Board of Military Affairs, Official
Document -- you asked your friend, Issachar Bailey, for Bridget's war
record, didn't you?"

"I did."

"What gave you the right to do that?"

"The fact that I invested a goodly sum of money in her, as well as
giving her the weight of my own good name by doing so."

"You knew who she was when you grubstaked her. Why do this now?"

"I knew that she'd been an outlaw, yes, but I had thought that her
actions since she came to Eerie had redeemed her."

"They have." He held up the letter. "Whatever's in here is ancient
history."

"The War Between the States is still very much with us, thank you. Ask
Tuck about his lost leg if you think that it isn't. And cowardice
under fire, fomenting mutiny, and the theft of military supplies during
wartime are not so easily redeemable."

"If any of those charges are true."

"Those papers in your hand say that they are. Look at them."

"Uncle Abner, I was in the navy for almost five years, and I know that
the truth and what gets written up as the truth in military records can
be poles apart."

"Not in something like this." He shook his head. "You're thinking
with your Johnson, Matthew."

"_Especially_ in something like this. And even if I am, I won't believe
any of it until I hear Bridget's side of things."

* * * * *

'Now or never,' Trisha thought. She moved over a few inches in the bed
and ran a finger along Kaitlin's hip. "You awake?"

Kaitlin shifted. "I am now, Trisha. What do you want?"

"I was just, uhh... wondering; it's the middle of the night, and Emma's
a sound sleeper. I thought maybe we could, ummm, do... like we did the
other night." Trisha's hand moved, and she began to gently rub
Kaitlin's hip.

The rubbing felt good, very good. It was a trick that Patrick had used
more than once to initiate a session of lovemaking. She sighed softly,
remembering some of those nights. "So, you woke me up because you want
to do... it."

"I did, and I do." Trisha leaned over and kissed the back of Kaitlin's
neck.

Kaitlin shivered from the kiss. "Mmm, you do seem to need it just now,
don't you?"

"I said I do." She kissed Kaitlin's neck again.

"Didn't you say -- and more than once, I might add -- that women didn't
need _it_ the way men do?"

"Are you starting that again? I'm still a man, Kaitlin, even if I do
have this damned woman's body."

Kaitlin stiffened for just a moment. 'Damned? We'll just see about
that.' She twisted around in the bed so that she was facing Trisha.
"Shall we get to it, then?" Without another word, she took Trisha's
head in her hands and pulled it to her own. Their lips met in a
passionate kiss. Trisha's arms rose of their own accord and wrapped
themselves around Kaitlin's neck.

When they finally, reluctantly, broke the kiss, Trisha was smiling.
"That was nice."

"It was, indeed, and it'll get nicer, but first..." Kaitlin sat up and
began to unbutton Trisha's nightgown. Trisha watched for a moment,
then she sat up and did the same to Kaitlin.

The nightgowns were identical, white cotton trimmed with lace, with
buttons down the front. When Kaitlin had unbuttoned Trisha's down to
her waist, she stopped and pushed Trisha's hands away from her own
nightgown.

"What?" Trisha asked, uncertain of what Kaitlin was doing. "Why do you
want me to stop?"

"So I can do this." Kaitlin slid the nightgown off Trisha's shoulders
and down to her elbows. Kaitlin leaned forward and began to suckle at
Trisha's right breast, lapping at it like a kitten. At the same time,
she began to massage Trisha's left breast, rubbing her finger against
the nipple.

Trisha tried to reach for Kaitlin, but her nightgown effectively pinned
her arms. "Let me get this... ohhh!" Trisha trembled as Kaitlin
playfully nipped her breast.

Kaitlin pushed with her right arm, and Trisha fell back onto the bed.
Kaitlin smiled; she was using all of the tricks that Patrick had used
on her, and she found that she enjoyed being in charge. Best of all,
she was getting Trisha to behave like the woman that she felt Trisha
had to become if she was ever going to have a normal life.

And to Kaitlin, a normal life was the best foundation for Trisha to
build a happy life on.

She moved slowly downward, kissing and biting Trisha's breasts and on
down to her belly. Her left hand never left Trisha's breast. When she
reached the new woman's navel, her tongue swirled in. Kaitlin felt
Trisha's trembling and heard her moan.

Trisha felt the warmth spreading through her body, the need growing in
her. She tried to move, but Kaitlin's weight pushed her down. Her
arms were still tangled in the nightgown. 'Can't get out of... oooh!
...this d-damned n-night -- oohh! -- gown,' she thought. The
delicious hunger Kaitlin was creating in her was a terrible -- a
wonderful! -- distraction.

Kaitlin's hand moved down. She ran a finger through the blonde curls
at the entrance to Trisha's slit. She heard a moan and smelled the
familiar scent of female arousal. "Want me to keep going?"

"Y-yes," Trisha gasped, her breath shallow.

"Then ask me for it -- ask nice." She moved her finger along the slit,
this time using her nail to add to the sensation.

"P-Please..."

"Say... 'Pretty Please', Trisha."

Trisha moved her hips, trying to keep the contact with Kaitlin's
finger. "Pl... please, Kaitlin, pr-pretty please, g-give me s-s...
give me s-sex."

"That's my girl," Kaitlin said. She quickly stuck two fingers into
Trisha, who moaned in delight. Kaitlin began an in-and-out motion that
Trisha soon matched with her hips.

Trisha moaned, her head back and her eyes half-closed. "Y-yes!" she
gasped and arched her back.

Kaitlin felt her own nipples grow taut. She felt the need in her own
groin. Her free hand rose to fondle her breast, and she let out a
small gasp. She wanted to satisfy her own needs, but she kept her
fingers inside Trisha.

Kaitlin's hand moved downward from her breast to her own nether
opening. She slid a finger in; she was wet herself and more than
ready. In a moment, both her hands were moving in tandem, each
exciting a different woman's innermost self.

Trisha's hands trembled, and she clawed at the sheet beneath her. A
moment later, her eyes opened wide, and she cried out in delight as
pleasure raced like a locomotive throughout her body.

Kaitlin's own orgasm hit her at almost the same time. She screamed and
collapsed on top of Trisha.

"Ohh, my," Kaitlin said when she could speak again. "I certainly
enjoyed that. Did you?"

"Y-yes," Trisha answered, still a little breathless.

Kaitlin helped Trisha free herself from the nightgown. The two lay
back down on the bed. This time, Kaitlin maneuvered it so that
Trisha's head was resting on _her_ shoulder. She reached down and
caressed Trisha's breasts. "A woman needs a bit of attention...
after," she explained.

"Should I do it to you, too?" Trisha asked, feeling a sort of happy
warmth spreading through her.

"No, Trisha, just let me do you."

After a while, the caresses stopped as Kaitlin drifted back off to
sleep, a satisfied smile on her face.

'Damn, she got me again.' Trisha thought back on what had just
happened. 'Got me acting just like some horny woman. Next time, I
won't ask. I'll just start in on her, and by the time she knows what's
going on, she'll be the one squealing and squirming.'

That seemed like the perfect answer. Trisha giggled in satisfaction
and let sleep take her.

* * * * *

Wednesday, January 10, 1872

Daisy knocked lightly on the doorframe of Lady Cerise's office.
"They's a man here f'you, Miss Wilma."

"There's a lot of men for me, Daisy," Wilma answered, looking up. She
was sitting at Cerise's desk, studying the account books. "Who is it?"

"Mr. H. James Kellogg, he says. He asked 'special' for you."

Wilma smiled slyly. "He did, did he?" She stood up. "Well, pleasure
before business I always say." She was already in her "work clothes",
off-white silk camisole and drawers and a blue-violet corset.

"Ain't he the one that broke your bed the last time he was hereabouts?"
Daisy asked.

Wilma nodded. "He just got a little... enthusiastic. You know how men
can be."

"I surely does." Daisy laughed. "'Course, you gots a lot more
experience than I does in that quarter."

"And I surely enjoyed getting all that experience," Wilma told her, as
they reached the door.

As they walked out of the room, Wilma almost bumped into Rosalyn.
"Watch where you're walking, peasant," Rosalyn shouted. "You almost
made me spill my tea."

"You just enjoy that there tea," Wilma told the blonde. "Me, I got a
gentleman caller to enjoy." She hurried past, a smug smile on her
face.

"I'm sure I will." Rosalyn stood in the hall watching Wilma and Daisy
going into the parlor.

Beatriz came out of the kitchen and joined Rosalyn. "You got something
in mind, chica?"

"I do, indeed." Rosalyn stepped into the office, closing the door
behind her. "You stay there and keep lookout."

Wilma had left the account books open on Cerise's desk. Rosalyn took a
sip of tea and walked over. The most recent book was in the center.

Rosalyn put the saucer for her tea down next to the book and carefully
poured a little of the tea into it. She put the cup onto the saucer
for a moment, then moved it onto the page. When she lifted the cup to
put it back in the saucer, she saw that it left a wet circle on the
page.

She repeated this three more times, leaving the cup balanced on the
page. "Perfect," she whispered. The tea was staining the paper and
making the ink blur and run.
"Poor Wilma," she said, clicking her tongue. "To be so careless with
the Lady's financial records."

She walked to the door. "Is the coast clear?" she whispered.

"Clear as it is ever going to be," Beatriz answered opening the door.
"You done in there?"

Beatriz chuckled. "Yes, and so is Wilma."

* * * * *

Arnie walked over to the now-empty table and carefully set down the
half-full tray. It was early in the afternoon, and the men at that
table had lingered over the food they took from Shamus' Free Lunch.
"They left some," he whispered as he carefully set three the three
steins into the tray. "Left some money, too, seems like."

He pocketed the two nickels and moved on to the next table. As he made
his rounds, collecting glasses, plates, and silverware, he was careful
not to put anything in or on the steins from the first table.
Customers had left money at a couple of other tables, mainly to pay for
their drinks. Arnie pocketed all of it.

He stopped at the bar on his way to the kitchen. "Drink money," he
told R.J. and reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of coins.

R.J. tallied the money. "Yeah, that's pretty much what they owed." He
rang the money up and put it into the cash register.

"I think Maggie and Jane are having their lunch right now. Have you
had anything yet?"

"Some... a sandwich."

"Well, have something else if you want it. Then best get started on
those glasses."

Arnie picked up the tray. "I will."

Maggie and Jane were eating down at the far end of the kitchen
worktable when Arnie came in. They nodded hello and went back to their
meal. He put the tray down on the counter, standing so his back was to
them.

Most of the glasses went directly into the sink. He left the steins
for last, pouring the beer from two of them into the third. When he'd
finished, it was well over half full. He'd found a fourth one with
some beer left in it at another table, and he added that as well.

Arnie glanced quickly over at the two women, who didn't seem to notice.
He turned back and quickly drank the beer. The now empty steins went
into the sink. 'Well,' he thought to himself, 'R.J. did say I should
have something else.'

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small pack of sen-sen. He
opened it, and popped one into his mouth. He'd always liked the
licorice-flavored candy, but never more than now. It was a fine breath
freshener, easily covering the scent of alcohol.

The pack went back into his pocket. He used a pot to transfer hot
water from the reservoir built in the stove into the sink and used the
pump to fill the second sink with rinse water. Rolling up his sleeves,
he began to wash the glassware.

* * * * *

Wilma came down the stairs arm in arm with a tall, muscular looking man
in a brown frock coat. "You sure you gotta go, Jimmy?" She ran her
fingers across his chest.

Jimmy, H. James Kellogg, took her hand in his and raised it to his
lips. "I'm afraid so, Wilma. I have to catch the stage to El Paso, if
I'm going to close that land deal. Don't you worry that pretty little
head of yours, though. I'll be back this way in a few weeks, and we'll
have more than enough time." He took a gold eagle from his pocket and
handed it to her. "Consider this payment for today and a down payment
for the next time."

Wilma put her hands on either side of his face. She pulled him close
and kissed him deeply and passionately. When they finally broke apart,
she gave him a satisfied smile and said, "And you can consider _that_ a
return on your investment."

"And an incentive to return." Kellogg kissed her again. He bowed to
Wilma and then to Lady Cerise, who was standing nearby. "Ladies," he
said and headed out the door, a smile on his face.

Lady Cerise waited until Kellogg had gone before she turned to Wilma.
"Now zat you have had your fun, I wish to talk to you, Wilma."

"Sure thing, Cerise." She handed Kellogg's gold eagle to Cerise.
"What can I do for you?"

"It is what you have already done. Come with me." She grabbed Wilma
by the arm and began walking towards the office. "Now!"

"Hey, what put the bee in your bonnet?" Wilma asked as she was dragged
along.

By now they were in the office. "'What put zhe bee?' -- look. See
what you have done to my accounts." Cerise pointed at the pile of
books that were still opened on the desk.

"I don't see what the problem is?" Wilma asked, looking at the books.

Cerise grabbed the teacup from the book it was on. "You don't? You do
not see what your tea has done to zhis book? _Incroyable_. Read where
it has ruined the page."

"_My_ tea?" Wilma said. "But I... I wasn't drinking no tea, and I sure
as hell know better than to leave something like hot tea there on your
books."

"I thought that you knew better. Now... now, I am not so sure." She
sighed. "Perhaps, I was... presumptuous. It may be zhat you are not
ready for to be my assistant."

"Wait a minute here, Cerise. You say that's tea in there?"

"Mai ouis." She raised the cup and took a whiff "Zhe chamomile tea."

"When'd you ever see me drink that stuff, Cerise? I always been a
coffee man -- coffee gal; just ask anybody."

"Zhen who did zhis. And why?"

Wilma knew the answer at once. "Rosalyn. When me'n Daisy was heading
to see Jimmy Kellogg, she was coming outta the kitchen holding a cup of
something -- of tea, she said it was tea."

Cerise nodded. "Perhaps. She _is_ fond of chamomile tea."

Wilma glared at Cerise. "Good thing, too. When I get finished with
her, she ain't gonna be in no condition t'eat solid food for a while."

"You will do nothing of the sort," Cerise said firmly. "Rosalyn can
hardly be of use to this house if you break her jaw or destroy her
smile that so many men pay so much for."

"But she..."

"You will do nothing to harm her -- or Beatriz who was no doubt her
accomplice."

"Then you know --"

"I know zhat they have always been jealous of you. Making you my
assistant has surely not improved their opinions."

"Then why can't I just lay into them? When I was running a gang, they
knew that the surest way of getting their asses beat was to cross me."

"I am sure of zhat, but you are not 'running' zhis House, I am, and I
do not want any of my ladies to look like they got -- as you say,
'their asses beat.' I make my money by selling those asses. And the
rest of them -- and of you."

"Then what can I do to make them stop, if I can't beat on 'em?"

"Wilma, I made you my second because I thought zhat you knew zhe answer
to such questions." She put a hand under Wilma's chin. "Please do not
prove me wrong."

* * * * *

Bridget took a sip of wine to chase down the last piece of grilled Gila
trout. 'No time like now', she thought and took a deep breath. Aloud,
she asked, "Have you found out why your uncle's been so dead set
against me lately?"

"Ummnn." Cap hurriedly swallowed a mouthful of Maggie's beef stew with
chili peppers. "Just... just a second." He took a quick swig of his
own wine. "I-I'm afraid that I have. Uncle Abner has an old friend
who works for the Texas Bureau of Military Affairs back in Austin."

Bridget's expression grew dark. "Military... you got hold of my
record, didn't you?"

"No -- that is, _I_ didn't. Uncle Abner, he did it."

"You had no right. Those are supposed to be private."

"Not to somebody like Issachar -- Issachar Bailey, that's Uncle Abner's
friend. He works there. Besides..." he gave a sheepish smile. "There
isn't any Confederate government anymore. I don't think it's against
the law or anything."

Bridget ignored his attempt at humor. "If it isn't, then it should be.
You and your uncle have no right to go sneaking around in my past."

Cap held up his hand, palm out. "Hold on there. I didn't go 'sneaking
around' anywhere. Uncle Abner did. And if he'd mentioned it to me
beforehand, I'd have told him not to do it."

"You'd have told him." She spat the words. "If you hadn't 'told him'
about my being in the Army, dammit, he wouldn't have gone looking in
the first place."

Cap's face reddened. "Yeah," he said with a sigh. "I-I guess that was
my fault. I'm sorry. I thought it would improve his opinion of you."
He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

"Now what happens?" she asked, sounding scared as well as mad. "You
gonna blab it to the paper?"

He shook his head. "Bridget, I'm not going to 'blab it' to anyone.
And I don't think that Uncle Abner will either."

"Yeah, sure." She looked straight at him. "Why?"

"Uncle Abner won't because he doesn't want to queer your game -- at
least not until you've paid back what you owe him."

"So, bad as he thinks I am, it's not the principle of the thing, it's
the money."

"A little of both, I think. Uncle Abner prides himself on getting the
most return he can from any investment. After that, well, he knows
that you make your living on that game. Ruining it would be a nasty
thing to do to a lady, even one he personally disp... disliked. Uncle
Abner considers of himself as a gentleman, so he --"

"A gentleman!" Bridget snorted. "I don't think that he even knows the
meaning of the word." She glared at him. "And I'm not sure that you
do either."

"Wait a minute, Bridget. I... I didn't have anything to do with what
Uncle Abner did. I don't like it any more than you do."

"Then why are you defending him?"

"I'm not. I said I would have stopped him. What more could I have
done?"

Bridget closed her eyes for a moment then stood up. As she turned to
walk away from the table, she spoke in a small, quiet voice. "You
could have said that you don't believe it."

* * * * *

"Looks like I'm late," Rupert Warrick said, stepping into the O'Hanlan
house. "Sorry."

Trisha shook her head. "You're not late, Rupe. Dwight and the Judge
got here early."

"We had dinner together at 'Maggie's Place'," the Judge said by way of
explanation, "and walked over here afterwards." He and Dwight
Albertson were sitting at the kitchen table. Kaitlin and Emma were
standing at the sink, doing the dishes.

Trisha walked over to the table with Rupe. "Have a seat. There's
coffee if you'd like some." She pointed to a large, blue enameled
coffeepot sitting on a trivet and surrounded by cups.

"Maybe later," Rupe answered, as he sat down. "What's this all about,
Trisha?"

She sat down herself and looked at the three men. "A new church. I
wanted to work up to it slowly, but after that vote I got last month, I
figgered it was time to strike while the iron was hot."

"While you can bask in that vote of confidence, eh," the Judge said
with a sarcastic snort. "Sounds like a good idea."

"Maybe," Rupe said, "but it's an awful big pig in a poke. Folks are
gonna have a lotta question they'll want answered before they vote
t'build a whole new church."

Dwight frowned. "We'd have to draw up plans; that takes time. It
costs money, too."

"I thought you'd all be in favor," Trisha said, sounding a little hurt.
"Especially you, Dwight. It'd be your bank the money was in while we
built the church. You'd get to handle the mortgage we'd probably have
to take out, too."

"I'm not saying no," Dwight replied. "None of us are. It's -- well, a
chicken and egg kind of thing; plans first or vote first."

"There has to be some way to crack that egg," Trisha said. "Do we have
_any_ money now we could use to hire somebody to draw up some sort of
plans?"

"A little," Dwight said with a shrug. "There's the 'Building and
Maintenance' account. We use that to help pay the upkeep on the
school." He paused a beat. "But I think it would take a vote to use
it on something like plans for a new building."

Trisha pouted. "So we're back where we started."

"I don't think the Town Council would be very happy to think that we
wanted out of our agreement to share the school," the Judge told the
others. "Don't forget, Arsenio Caulder's on the council, and he's
become a fairly active member of the church lately."

Dwight thought a moment. "Maybe we could just make improvements in the
school building. We could get what we want with less money, and the
school would benefit, too."

"Just what _do_ we want?" Rupe asked.

Trisha ticked off the items. "An office for Rev. Yingling; a real
altar, so we don't have to use the teacher's desk --"

"Some more comfortable benches," Rupe interrupted. "Those school
benches are small. Kinda hard, too."

"They are that," the Judge replied, "even if we don't have to sit on
them. At least, not while we're elders."

Dwight nodded. "Get some real chairs for the board -- and the
Reverend, too, then."

"And a room we could use for a Sunday school," Trisha added.

Kaitlin had been listening as the men talked. "A real kitchen would be
nice, too. We had to set up fire pits for that fried chicken lunch we
had."

"Add that to the wish list, then," the Judge said.

"Wish list?" Trisha asked. "You talk like it won't happen, Judge."

The Judge shrugged. "Perhaps it will, but it'll take time. We can't
really go off half-cocked on something like this."

"We could make some kind of a start," Trisha asked, "couldn't we? We
gotta, before that -- what'd you call it, Judge, that 'vote of
confidence' is gone."

Dwight scratched his chin. "We could start by setting up a more formal
building fund, money set aside to pay for something after we decide
what that something is." He looked at the others. "We could vote to do
_that_ at next month's meeting."

"It'd be a start," Rupe added. "Saying we was going to have the money
would make people be more willing to do something with it."

"It would help more if there _was_ some money in that fund," Dwight
said. "There's not a lot in the 'building and maintenance' account,
and it's pretty much all spoken for."

"Why not vote to hold some sort of fund raiser t'get things off to a
flying start?" Rupe asked.

Everyone agreed. "That'd make people feel more committed to the idea,"
the Judge said, "but what sort of a fund raiser?"

"A dance," Kaitlin suggested. "I think that's something most of the
women in the church would enjoy. Clyde Ritter, for instance; he might
not like the idea of the building fund, but I know for a fact that
Cecelia Ritter loves to dance."

Trisha smiled proudly at Kailtlin. "That would certainly blunt the
opposition. All right, gents, at the February meeting we vote to
establish the Building Fund and to start it off with a dance at the end
of the month. That should give us time to plan the thing out and sell
the tickets."

"Especially with the ever-efficient Kaitlin O'Hanlan as chairwoman of
the dance committee," the Judge added. "She can start planning it
right now."

Kaitlin looked surprised. "I wasn't saying that I'd volunteer for
something like that."

"If you don't -- if we don't have a candidate," the Judge continued,
"Cecelia will wind up with the job. We surely don't want that."

* * * * *

Thursday, January 11, 1872

Milt Quinlan knocked on the half-opened back door to the Eerie Saloon's
kitchen. "May I come in?"

"Milt?" Jane called from inside. "Sure, c'mon in."

He pulled the door wide and walked into the kitchen. "Thank you.
Hello, Jane... Maggie."

"Hola, Milt," Maggie greeted him. "What brings you here?"

"I... ah, came to see Jane," he told her. "On business, of course.
Dwight Albertson, asked me to have her sign some papers." He took a
fat envelope out of his jacket.

Jane had been dredging pieces of chicken in herbed flour. She put down
the piece she was holding and wiped her hands on her apron. "What're
they for?"

"You're buying more stock, I think -- or maybe selling some. I'm not
sure. All Dwight said was that it was a good deal and would make you a
lot more money." He handed her the envelope.

"Fine with me." Jane took the papers from the envelope and laid them on
the worktable. She opened a drawer and pulled out a pen and a bottle
of ink. She uncorked the ink and stuck in the pen. Then she carefully
signed the papers.

She put the pen and ink away and handed the papers back to Milt. "Here
ya go, Milt."

"Thank you, Jane." Milt took hold of the hand that she was holding the
papers in. "I... ah... umm." He stared at her, trying to speak.

Jane looked up at his face and smiled. Her hand, the one he was
holding, felt warm. She felt her nipples tightening, and there was a
warm, pleasant tingling down at her crotch. "Y-yes, Milt," she managed
somehow to say.

"I... ah... I'd... ummm... better get these papers back to Dwight." He
felt relieved to have found words, no matter what they were. "Once be-
begun, ha-half done, they say."

He let go of Jane's hand and put the papers back in his jacket pocket.
"See you later, Jane... you... ah, you, too, Maggie." With that, he
turned and walked briskly out the door.

Jane watched him go, and, as the door closed behind him, she finally
spoke. "Damn!"

* * * * *

"Bye, Sam." Wilma waved as her latest "gentleman" left _La_
_Parisienne_. With a satisfied smile on her face, she walked into the
parlor.

No men were around, so Rosalyn and Beatriz were sitting on one of the
couches in the room having a late afternoon snack.

"Wilma," Rosalyn greeted her with feigned politeness, "Do have some of
this lovely chamomile tea." She lifted her own cup. "It's so very
good, and there's nothing in here you can ruin."

Wilma's hands balled into fists. "_I_ can ruin? Listen, you little
bitch, the Lady's on to you and your little tricks, same as me. And if
you try anything, I'm gonna beat the living --"

"No," Beatriz interrupted. "You are not going to beat anything out of
anyone, Wilma, and you know it."

Wilma turned her glare on the Mexican woman. "I don't know anything of
the sort."

"Si, you do," Beatriz answered smugly. "You know that the Lady won't
let you hurt either of us."

She tried to bluff. "Says who?" .

"Says me," Beatriz told her.

"Says the both of us," Rosalyn chimed in. "As far as the Lady is
concerned, the only reason for Beatriz or myself to be in bed during
the day is because we're with some handsome gentleman; not because you
put us there."

Wilma gritted her teeth. They knew. Frustrated, she turned to leave.

As she walked out of the parlor and down the hall towards the kitchen,
she heard Rosalyn's voice calling after her, "Are you sure you don't
want any tea, Wilma?"

* * * * *

Bridget stared at her cards. "See your dime and raise another." She
tossed two coins into the pot.

"I _called_, Bridget," Carl Osbourne said softly.

She shook her head as if trying to clear it. "Sorry." She put down her
hand. "Umm... three eights."

"Dang," Carl Osbourne said. "I thought I had you." He showed his own
cards, two pair, jacks and threes.

Joe Kramer laughed. "She don't even know what's going on and she still
wins the hand."

"Yeah, Bridget, are you okay?" Carl Osbourne asked. "You been playing
like you was half asleep."

She blinked, as if to hold back tears. "I-I'm sorry. It's just been
one of those days." She sighed and regained some control. "One of
those _lousy_ days..."

R.J. was suddenly standing at the table next to her. "I think the lady
needs a break, if you boys don't mind." He put a hand on her shoulder.

"What?" She looked up. "R. J.?"

He smiled down at her. "You're taking your dinner break. Come on."

Bridget shook her head. "But the game..."

"You go have supper," Joe Kramer told her. "We'll be here when you get
back." The others at the table agreed.

"There, you see? It's all right if you take a break." R.J. gently
helped her to her feet and led her over to one of the tables that
served as Maggie's restaurant. It was the far table, a bit removed
from the others to give them some privacy.

R.J. pulled out a chair. "Sit. Please." When she did, he pushed the
chair in closer to the table and took his own place opposite her.

Jane came over and handed them both menus. R.J. waited until she left
before he spoke again. "Now, what is it that's got you so upset?"

"Can... can we order first?" she asked.

R.J. nodded, and they looked at their menus in silence until Jane came
back for their orders. "Now don't go saying you want to wait until the
food comes," R.J. told her. "I'll only keep asking you." He reached
across and took her hand in his. "Please...tell me what's bothering
you."

"Nothing. Nothing's bothering me. I-I just got a little distracted
during that last hand."

"More than a little distracted, if you can't see the difference between
a call and a raise. I heard what Carl Osbourne said. You've been
going around all day like your head was a hundred miles away."

"I-I'm sorry. I can't... it's not important; really it isn't."

"I think it is, or you wouldn't be so upset."

Before he could say more, he saw Jane coming from the kitchen. "But
here comes our meal. You eat a little, and we'll talk some more."

Jane set down the food and left. R.J. ate some of his baked chicken,
while he watched Bridget do no more than pick at hers.

"You're really not doing Maggie's cooking justice," he finally said.
Then he decided to take a chance. "You did much better when you were
having supper with Cap last night."

She dropped her fork. "Cap! What did he tell you about last night?"

"Not a thing. I haven't seen him since your dinner ended so abruptly.
I understand that he and Arsenio Caulder rode back to his uncle's place
right after that." R.J. took Bridget's hand again. "What is it that
you don't want him to have told me?"

"Nothing. Please... please don't ask any more questions, R.J."

"Bridget, I'd be lying if I didn't say that I don't mind you and Cap
having problems. But not if it's going to get you this upset. Please,
is there anything, anything at all, I can do to help?"

Bridget smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You already did."

"I did? What did I do?"

"You didn't ask what I did wrong. You just offered to help."

* * * * *

"Unger, ye lying paltroon, what're ye doing in me saloon?"

Roscoe sighed and looked at Shamus. "We've gone over this before, Mr.
O'Toole. The _Citizen_ sends me the paper on a copper sheet. I can't
make changes."

"Then ye don't have t'be printing it, printing them damned lies."

Molly put her hand over her husband's. "He does, Love. 'Tis his job
t'be telling folks what's going on in the world." She sighed. "No
matter how ugly it is."

"To tell you the truth, sir, I agree with you," Roscoe told him. "The
_Citizen_ is using the story to whip up the crowd against the Apache,
but I couldn't edit the story even if it wasn't on a boilerplate. The
contract I have with them says no changes."

"But it says them bastards killed a band of bloodthirsty savages."
Shamus' face was almost purple. "They... they was women mostly... and
little children that got killed at Camp Grant."

"Aye, Love," Molly answered, trying to calm him. "But the men that did
it ain't running free; they're on trial for what they done. Justice
will be done, you wait and see if it ain't."

The barman looked grim. "It will be -- one way or the other." He
glanced down under the counter. "I've got more'n enough potion t'be
making sure of it."

* * * * *

Friday, January 12, 1872

Something wonderful was happening to Kaitlin. She lay there half-
asleep enjoying the sensations of a hand on her breasts, of kisses and
gentle love bites on her neck.

She moved her head, angling it slightly to encourage whomever was
kissing her. Her actions wakened her. "Mmmm, Patrick." Her voice was
a gentle purr.

Not Patrick, she suddenly realized. "Trisha!" She opened her eyes.

Trisha smiled -- no, leered -- down at her. "You just lay there and
enjoy, Sugar Dumpling." It was one of Patrick's pet names for Kaitlin.

Kaitlin's first impulse was to do just that. Trisha was making her
body feel _very_ good. But could she let Trisha act this way, act like
the man she no long was?

No.

In the end, it wouldn't be good for Trisha.

"T-Trisha," Kaitlin said, her breath coming in short gasps. "Pl-
please, stop."

"Aren't you enjoying it?" Trisha asked, sarcastically. She leaned
down and kissed her mate's neck again. Then she began to move slowly,
leaving a trail of kisses and bites as she moved towards Kaitlin's
breast. "Maybe this will be better."

Kaitlin suddenly realized that her nightgown was unbuttoned down past
her breasts. This wasn't a spur of the moment thing on Trisha's part.
"I said, 'Stop', Trisha."

"You sure about that?" Trisha leaned down and ran her tongue over
Kaitlin's nipple. "Now I know how much you always must have liked
this."

Kaitlin shivered in spite of herself. "You asked for this," she said
firmly. "I, Kaitlin McNeil O'Hanlan, do hereby command you to obey,
and I order you to stop touching me --"

"No!" Trisha screamed. She pulled herself away from Kaitlin, unable to
continue. "Please."

"Stop touching me and go to sleep," Kaitlin completed the command.
"Right now!"

"Kaitlin... please." Trisha yawned once and collapsed back onto the
bed. In a moment, she was snoring.

Kaitlin buttoned her nightgown back up. "Oh, Trisha. What _am_ I
going to do with you?" She shook her head and lay back down.

* * * * *

Teresa Diaz was making the last of her Friday rounds, delivering clean
laundry to her customers and picking up their dirty clothes and linens
to be washed and mended. She never expected to see --

"Arnoldo, what are you doing out this way?"

The boy stopped walking and turned to face his mother. "H-Hola," he
greeted her nervously. As he spoke, he shifted the boxes he was
carrying, from his left arm, the one nearest her, to the right. "I...I
am just...just taking a walk."

"A walk? A walk while you have boxes to take somewhere?" Teresa
studied her son, giving him that look that made him feel like he was
still three years old. "Then what are you -- Madre de Dios..." She
crossed herself as she realized what he was trying to hide. "That is
your father's pistol. What are you doing with it?"

"I am learning how to use it," he replied proudly, bracing himself for
her reaction.

"But why? You are yet just a boy. You do --"

"I am a _man_, Mama...Mother. It is my right to learn to shoot. And
my duty."

"Your duty? What are you saying?"

"Papa promised me that he would show me how to use his pistol when I
was old enough. I am 16 now; that is old enough, even if..." His
voice softened for a moment. "...Even is he is not here to teach me."

"No," she sighed. "He is not. There are many things he is not here to
do."

"Then I will do them for him -- in his name. When he left that day --
to join the others against the Apache -- he told me that I was the man
of the house, and that it was my job to take care of you and Isabel and
Constanza and Enrique until he came back."

He looked straight at her as he spoke, and Teresa was struck by how
much his expression was the mirror of her Luis' face when he was at his
most stubborn.

"Who is going to teach you?" Her question conveyed surrender, but only
for the time being.

He tried not to smile in his victory. "Jessie Hanks, from the saloon,
said that she will teach me. Laura -- Seá±ora Caulder -- is helping.
They were both men, and they are still good shots."

She frowned. What did she know about these women, except that they had
both come to Eerie as banditos? True enough, she did the laundry for
Laura Caulder, who seemed to be a gracious lady. And she knew of
Jessie -- a little -- through Molly O'Toole. Molly had always spoken
very fondly of the singing girl. 'I will trust them, for the time
being,' she decided. 'But I will watch Arnoldo and pray that he does
not get into trouble.'

* * * * *

"Can I see Wilma?" Bridget asked Herve as she walked through the door
at _La_ _Parisienne_.

She'd no sooner asked than Wilma came out of the parlor. "'Course you
can, Bridget. C'mon in."

"In private?" Bridget glanced into the room. Rosalyn was sitting in a
chair. When she saw Bridget, she looked up from her magazine, smiled
smugly, and went back to her reading.

Herve gestured towards the stairs. "Oui. Why do you not take her up
to your room, Wilma?"

"All right." She chuckled and added, "Congratulations, Bridget."

The redheaded gambler looked confused. "Congratulations?"

"Yep," Wilma explained. "You're the first one ever got t'be alone with
me in my room without paying for the privilege." She paused a moment.
"That is what you're doing, isn't it... _Brian_?"

Bridget blushed as she followed her friend up the stairs.

She blushed again when they walked past a closed door. A muffled pair
of voices, male and female, could be heard from the other side.

Once they were in her room, Wilma shut the door firmly behind them.
"Have a seat," she said pointing to a straight-back black maple chair
in the corner. "I'll take the bed." She laughed again. "But then I
always do."

"The chair is fine." Bridget sat, fidgeting with her hands.

Wilma flopped down on the edge of the bed. "Now what's so blamed
important that you had t'drag me up here to tell me in private?" She
raised an eyebrow and studied Bridget closely. "You ain't pregnant,
are you?"

"Wilma!" Bridget's face was scarlet. "How could you think...? I've-
I've never even... _ever_."

"Relax, relax. I was just teasing. Though I gotta say that, if you
haven't, it's a damned waste of two good-looking men." She sighed.
"What is your problem, then?"

"Sometimes, I'm sorry I didn't just shoot that bastard, Forry Stafford,
when I had the chance. They wouldn't have done much worse t'me --
t'the both of us -- than what _did_ happen."

"Are you crazy? They'd've hung the two of us from the nearest tree!"

"Probably, but I'd've still had the pleasure of giving him what he
deserved."

"Well, you didn't, and I didn't either, and we both _know_ what
happened. That record Slocum got is probably from the court martial."

"Which is all Forry's side of things." Wilma frowned. "What I wanna
know is what're you gonna do about it?"

"Me?"

"You. Them ain't my records Slocum's sent for. And if he wanted to
look down on me, well, he's got plenty of reasons to do that without
needing my army records. The way I see it, you got two choices."
Wilma raised two fingers. "First off, you make a deal with Slocum;
you'll stop keeping company with Cap or pay him double what you owe --
or whatever else he wants, if he don't tell nobody about that record."
She lowered one finger and left her middle finger up.

Bridget frowned. "What's my other choice?"

"You tell Slocum t'go to hell. Cap, too, if he stands by his uncle.
Then get yourself ready to be treated like a mangy coyote by all the
fine people of this town, while your business goes to hell. Shamus
probably couldn't even keep you on as a waitress after that." Now she
folded the second finger, her point being made.

Bridget sighed. "Some choice."

* * * * *

'Arm straight...line up the sights...' Arnie went through the steps
Jessie had shown him. '...And..._squeeze_.' He slowly tightened his
finger around the trigger until --

"Bam!" His arm jerked back from the recoil. He quickly used his thumb
to pull back the hammer and fired again. He kept going until all six
chambers of his Colt were empty.

He stared down at the crude target nailed to a tree about twenty yards
away. "How did I do this time?"

"Not too bad." Jessie walked down to the target. "You hit the target
three times, and one shot even got in scoring range."

Laura was sitting on a nearby stump. "You need to remember to hold
your breath while you aim and shoot. When you breath, your arm moves."

"Holding the gun handle too tight'll make your hand shake, too," Jessie
observed.

"And relax," Laura added, "don't tense up, expecting the kick. If you
do, you'll be wincing at the same time that you pull the trigger, and
that will spoil your aim."

Arnie shook his head. "So much to remember."

"Ain't as easy as you thought, is it?" Jessie asked.

"A gun is a tool, Arnie," Laura advised. "Shooting is an art. You
have to practice to be able to use the tools, just like any other
craftsman."

Jessie was looking at her pocket watch. "We still got some time. You
wanna reload and try again?"

He nodded and sat down next to the box he kept his pistol in. 'I am
using up the shot too quick,' he thought. 'I will need more very
soon.' He shrugged and began to pour powder into one of the pistol
chambers.

After all the chambers had powder, he put a soft lead pellet into one.
The ramrod forced it in, creating an airtight seal on the powder. The
charges went in the back, against the firing nipples.

"You're getting faster at reloading," Jessie told him as he stood up.
"Let's see how much you remember about firing without being told."

* * * * *

Shamus knocked at the bedroom door. "Jessie, what are ye doing in
there?"

"Just a minute, Shamus!" Jessie called.

He knocked again. "Can I be coming in to talk t'ye?"

"Sure, c'mon in." She laid her guitar down on the table next to her
new songbook.

He did. "What the devil are ye doing up here playing that gee-tar,
when I've work for ye t'be doing downstairs?"

"Practicing a new song."

"What's the matter with the ones ye been singing?"

"Everybody's heard them."

"Aye, and they like 'em, judging by the money they been throwing at
ye."

"They won't, not if I keep singing them over and over. I bought this
book..." she pointed at the book, which was propped up on the table, so
she could read it. "...with a bunch'a new songs. Thing is, it takes
time t'learn 'em."

"I expect it does. Are ye asking me t'be giving ye that time?"

"If I ask, will you lemme have the time?"

"That'd depend on how much time ye ask for. Ye already work a lot less
than Jane does, and ye already took off an hour this morning -- and
right before it was time t'be putting out the free lunch, I might add -
- t'be teaching Arnie how t'shoot."

Jessie thought for a moment. "Ummm... a half hour a day... that sound
like too much to you?"

"It does, but I'll be giving to ye. Only ye'll be taking it when I
tell ye, in the middle of the afternoon when things're slow."

She shrugged. "It ain't the best deal, but I'll take it." She offered
her hand to him.

He shook it firmly. "Fine, but ye won't be taking it till tomorrow.
Right now ain't the middle of the afternoon; it's after five. I need
ye downstairs to be waiting the tables, so get a move on."

* * * * *

Saturday, January 13, 1872

"Is there a Mr. O'Hanlan here?" A tall, barrel-chested man called from
the doorway of the Feed & Grain. "I got a delivery for him."

Tricia looked up at the sound of her name. "Right here," she said,
raising her hand. "What've you got?"

"I'm from Mckechnie Freight." The man walked over. "I got me a wagon
fulla timothy fresh in from California by boat by way of Arizona City.
Where's Mr. O'Hanlan?"

"Right here." She stood up. "That is... umm, I can sign for it."

The man looked at her closely, his eyes lingering at her breasts. "You
may be able to sign for it, pretty lady, but you's the furthest thing
from a _mister_ I ever seen." He set the freight voucher down on the
counter. "I'm Rhys Godwyn, and I'd be proud t'take ye out for a drink
after we's finished here."

"I... uhh." Trisha looked down, unable to meet the man's eyes. Her
body felt warm, and she found Godwyn's attention somehow _interesting_.
"I... I'm Trisha, and I-I _really_ couldn't... not _now_. I've got
work to do."

Her brother was suddenly standing next to her. "I'm Liam O'Hanlan.
I'll take that voucher, Mr. Godwyn, and I'll thank you to go around
back and get one of my men to help you unload your wagon."

"Just a minute, Mr. O'Hanlan," Godwyn replied. "I ain't done talking
t'Miss Trisha here."

Liam picked up a pen from the inkwell on the counter and signed the
voucher. "Yes, you are, sir. And the lady's spoken for... married in
fact."

"Well, now why didn't she say something?" The drover took the voucher
back from Liam. "I ain't one t'poach somebody else's woman." He
turned and walked out.

Liam looked at Trisha. "Yes, Trisha, why didn't you say anything?"

Why hadn't she? "I-I don't know. I-I was going to. He-he just took
me by surprise." She wasn't sure she believed what she was saying.
Why hadn't she done something, said something, to fend off Godwyn's
interest in keeping company with her?

Liam started walking towards the door. "I think I'll go out and make
sure we got all the timothy we ordered, and that it didn't start to rot
on the way here."

"O-Okay, Liam," she called after him. "And... and thanks."

* * * * *

"I'll get the lock," Tomas said. He knelt down next to a bush that was
growing near the side of a hill. The bush hid a 3-foot square wooden
frame that seemed built into the slope. The frame held a padlocked
door. Door and frame were painted a dull gray-brown color to match the
earth around it. The lock hung low, almost hidden by the grass.

Emma handed Tomas a small brass key. He unlocked the door and pulled
it open. "Here's the key, Emma." He handed it back to her and started
to put the lock back on the ring.

"Best take the lock in with us," Yully told him. "Somebody finds it,
they could lock us all inside."

Emma put the lock in her apron pocket along with the key. "We can put
a latch on the inside. Then we can lock ourselves in."

"Good idea," Yully said. "Let me get that light, and we can go in."
As the largest of the group, he was going in first to try out the
tunnel, carrying an old miner's lantern. He lit the candle inside and
put it down on the floor of the tunnel behind the door. He knelt and
moved into the passageway pushing the lantern ahead of him.

"Who's next?" Emma asked.

Stephan looked around. "Seems t'me, this whole thing was your idea,
Emma. You go next." The others quickly agreed.

"Okay, then." She shrugged and climbed in. Yully was in the fort, but
he'd left the lantern at the far end of the tunnel. It was enough
light to see by, but not much more than that. She waited a moment for
her eyes to adjust and started forward.

Or tried to.

"Dang!" She muttered in an angry voice. "How d'you crawl in one of
these dresses?" Her long dress was pinned by her own knees, held
tightly enough that she couldn't move forward.

"You should've worn pants," Stephan called from outside. "Like you did
last week."

She shook her head. "I didn't think I'd need 'em anymore." She lifted
her left leg and pulled the dress free from under her knee. "I just
thought I'd wear something different the first time we met inside,
that's all."

"You stop it, Stephan," Ysabel ordered. "Emma's proud of the job we
all did. She's entitled to celebrate it a little." She leaned down by
the doorframe. "Pull your dress way up in front," she told Emma,
"almost to your waist; then crawl through as quick as you can."

Emma did as Ysabel told her. She moved as fast as she could. The
flooring felt hard against her knees, especially with just her drawers
for protection. "Thanks, Ysabel," she called behind her.

"Let me give you a hand." Yully was standing by the far end of the
tunnel, waiting for her. She let the dress fall, so that she was
properly covered, and took his hand.

"Thanks, Yully," she said and let him help her to her feet.

"You're welcome, Emma." He looked at her closely. "Best remember in
the future to wear pants." He suddenly looked embarrassed and let go
of her hand. "That is a nice dress, though."

She smiled at the unexpected compliment. "Glad you like it."

"I'm just glad that you got through the tunnel all right," Ysabel said
as she came out of the passage.

Emma brushed the front of her dress. "You got in here a lot faster'n I
did."

Ysabel smiled. "I've been wearing a dress a lot longer than you have.
You'll get the hang of it."

"Never fails," Stephan said as he climbed out of the tunnel. "Get two
girls together, and they start talking about their clothes." He gave
them a wink and stepped out of the way.

Tomas was right behind him.

"If we're all here, let's get started." Yully hung the lantern from a
hook in the ceiling.

Fort Secret, as they'd decided to call the underground structure, was a
6 by 8 wooden box, a bit over 6 feet high. The only furnishings were
an unpainted trestle table surrounded by five mismatched chairs and a
chest of three drawers against the far wall. The lantern hung directly
over the table. A metal grate about a foot away was at the bottom of
the chimney that brought in fresh air through a narrow copper pipe.
The top of the pipe had a screened shield to keep both rain and small
animals out. It was hidden in a patch of brush on the side of the
hill.

The five took seats around the table. "This place needs more light,"
Tomas said squinting.

"Yeah," Emma answered, "but candles cost money."

Stephan shrugged. "What doesn't? But you got the money for all the
wood and nails we used t'build this place. Can't you get a little more
for candles?"

"Tomas and I got the wood and nails and all this furniture from a
couple of empty shacks," Emma told him. "One got wrecked when a tree
branch fell on it in that storm last summer. The other, I don't know
what happened, but nobody lived there. It took days for Tomas'n me to
pry the wood apart and get it to my folks' barn."

"It wouldn't be fair to ask Emma to pay for everything, anyways," Yully
said. "If each of us kicks in... umm, a nickel a week, we'd have more
than enough."

Ysabel shook her head. "That is a lot of money."

"How about ten cents a month?" Stephan asked her. "Can you manage
that?"

Ysabel thought for a moment. "Si, I can."

Emma looked at her friends. "Me, too. How 'bout the rest of you?
Yully? Stephan? Tomas?" Each one nodded when she called his name.
"Then it's settled."

"Who keeps the money till we need it?" Yully asked. "For that matter,
who keeps the key to this place?"

"The head of the club keeps the key." Stephan said. "The treasurer
keeps the money."

Emma looked surprised. "Are we a club?"

"Sounds like it t'me," Yully said. He looked around. "So who's gonna
be umm, president?"

Tomas shook his head. "This is a fort. The head of it is the
commander."

"Commander, then," Yully said. "Who's it gonna be?"

"Seems t'me there's only one choice... _Commander_ Stone," Stephan
answered quickly. "All in favor say 'Aye'."

Ysabel looked at Emma for a moment and said, "Aye."

"Aye... I guess." Yully shrugged.

"That ain't fair," Tomas said. "This was all Emma's idea. She should
be commander."

"Maybe... maybe she should." Yully wanted to be commander, but he
wanted to be fair, too, especially to Emma.

Emma shook her head. "That's okay. Yully's been captain of the ball
team a lotta times; he'll do a better job than me."

"Yeah, but you'll make a great treasurer and _assistant_ commander."
Yully replied. "All in favor."

Three other voices all shouted, "Aye."

* * * * *

"Hola, Laura," Teresa greeted her, as she walked into the kitchen.
"Your laundry is over there with Margarita's." She pointed to a pair
of packages wrapped in brown paper and set off in a corner of the
table.

Laura nodded. "What do I owe you?"

"It is $2.95; that includes the mending and sewing you asked for."

Before Laura could get her coin purse out of her apron, Jessie walked
into the kitchen. "Jane said somebody wanted to see me."

"I do," Teresa answered her. "I wanted to talk to you and to Laura."

Jessie raised an eyebrow. "What about?"

"My Arnoldo," the laundrywoman answered. "He tells me that you are
teaching him how to shoot."

"We are," Laura answered. "Well, Jessie is; I'm sort of helping."

Teresa frowned. "Why...Why do you teach him such a thing?"

"'Cause he asked me to," Jessie said. "He asked me to back around
Christmas. I didn't see no harm in it...No real harm anyway."

"No harm; to teach a _boy_ to use a pistola?"

"He ain't a boy, Teresa," Jessie told her gently. "He's 16; I was a
man off on my own when I was his age."

Laura put her hand on the older woman's shoulder. "He _is_ old enough,
Teresa, _and_ he already had that gun. Isn't it better he learn from
somebody -- somebody who can tell him how to handle it _and_ how to
handle himself -- instead of going off on his own to figure it out?
You can't watch him all the time, and when a lad wants something so
powerfully, he's going to go and get it."

"It would be better if he never learned." Teresa fought back her
tears.

Jessie shook her head. "Out here, a man needs t'know how to use a
weapon. But he has to know that having one and knowing how to use it
don't make him a man. Being a man is a big part of what me and Laura
is trying t'teach him."

"A big part," Laura added.

"I-I am just afraid that he will do something foolish, that he will go
after the apache that killed Luis, this father."

Jessie gave a low chuckle. "A man who goes after Apaches, by himself
and with just a pistol, is the worst kinda fool. I don't teach gunplay
to no fools. If he starts acting like one -- and you tell me if he
does when I ain't around -- the lessons stop. That's a promise,
Teresa."

"I only pray that you will not have to keep it," Teresa answered,
trying hard to smile back.

* * * * *

"You have learned this mazurka dance very well, Dolores," Ramon told
his partner.

She smiled back at him. "I've danced it a few times back it in Mexico
City, Ramon. I would love to show you the city sometime."

"Perhaps someday Aaron will send me to there on business, and you will
have the chance."

"I hope so. You are a good dancer."

He grinned at the compliment. "I am a man of many, many talents."

"No doubt." She looked up at him, smiling like a cat in a creamery.
"And you must show me all of them."

"Perhaps I will."

"Would you care to show me something on Tuesday night?"

"That would depend. Why Tuesday?"

"That one." Dolores pointed at Jessie, who was dancing nearby with Milo
Nash. "I hear that she sings, here in the Saloon, on Tuesday and
Thursday nights."

"She does. Jessie has a very good voice."

"Then I would like to hear it. Will you take me?"

The request took Ramon by surprise, and he almost stopped dancing. 'I
do not see Maggie until Wednesday for the bookkeeping lessons.' Ramon
thought to himself. 'Most nights, she takes Ernesto and Lupe home
about 7:30.' The odds seemed good.

"I would be honored to do so," he told Dolores. "Jessie's first show
is at 8 o'clock. I will pick you up at Teresa's at 7:30."

* * * * *

Sunday, January 14, 1872

"Amy... Amy."

Amy Talbot turned in the aisle of the church at the sound of her name.
Laura was hurrying towards her amidst the crowd of people leaving at
the end of the service. "Good morning, Laura, and how are you this
fine Sunday?"

"Pretty good," Laura answered, "considering. Can we talk a moment?"
She slipped back into a pew.

Amy nodded and stepped into the pew and out of the line of people. Her
twenty-month old son, Jimmy, was holding her hand. He followed his
mother in and climbed up onto a seat. "What did you want to talk
about?" Amy asked.

"What else, the baby." She gently touched her stomach. "It's starting
to get big." She frowned slightly. "Uncomfortable, too."

Amy smiled and looked down at her own body. "I remember." Just over two
months pregnant, she hadn't begun to show yet. She glanced down
quickly at Jimmy, who was playing happily with a stuffed horse that his
mother had brought with them to church.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You've been through this
before. You know what's going to happen to you. I... I don't."

"Scary, isn't it?"

"You got that right. I talk to Arsenio about it, but..." She trailed
off, not sure how to continue. "It... he... he tries to help, and he
does have a way of making me feel better for a while."

Amy smiled knowingly. "Mmm, I'm sure he does."

"Amy!" Laura blushed, then giggled. "Well, I admit _that_ does help,
but I still feel like I need to talk to somebody who knows what I'm
going through and how scary it is for me."

Amy thought about how she'd felt when she'd been carrying Jimmy. "To
tell the truth, it's still a little scary for me, too. Every pregnancy
is different. You should ask Carmen about that. She's had _three_
children, you know."

"I do. She told me about that... the one that... that died." Laura
shivered, as if trying to shake the possibility out of her mind. "You
and her are both my friends -- I hope."

"We are. I know I am, and I'm sure that she is, as well." Amy held
Laura's hand in her own. She had come to respect Laura for her courage
in the face of what must seem very strange to her.

"She is, and I do talk to her sometimes, but you, you're going through
it right now, the same as me. That's -- I don't know -- it makes you
seem closer."

"Like two ships caught in the same storm at sea."

"Sort of." Laura bit nervously at her lower lip. "I was wondering...
are you using Mrs. Lonnigan as your midwife?"

"I am. Doctor Upshaw is a most competent man, but I prefer a midwife,
unless there's a problem -- Heaven's forbid. Edith works with the
Doctor; he'll jump in if need be, but as they say, a man has no more
business delivering babies than a woman has to be a sea captain."

"I'm using her, too. I was wondering, can I... can I sit in on your
next exam with her... or have you sit in on mine? Then the three of us
could..." she paused, still unsure of herself. "...share. We could
talk about what was going on and like that. If you don't mind, of
course."

"Actually, the two of us sharing an appointment sounds like a good
idea. It would be nice to have another woman to talk to about all
this." She thought for a moment and looked around. "If Edith doesn't
mind; I didn't see her here in church today."

"She sometimes sleeps in on Sunday," Laura told her, not adding that
Davy Kitchner was likely sleeping in with her. 'Her business, not
mine,' she thought.

Amy shrugged. "Well, I'll ask her about it later."

* * * * *

"Daisy," Beatriz asked, walking into the kitchen, "have you seen my
bracelet, the turquoise one?"

Daisy looked up from the sink full of lunch dishes. "Ain't it in your
jewel box like always?"

"No; I looked there for it, and it was gone." She sighed. "Sebastian
Ortega gave it to me. He is coming here today, and I wanted to wear it
for him."

"I'll help you look for it soon's I'se finished with these dishes."
She looked at Beatriz. "Don't suppose you wants t'help me with 'em,
does you?"

"Like this?" Beatriz gestured at her body. She was dressed for
callers, wearing white satin drawers, a dark blue corset, and matching
blue stockings. Her hair was combed until it shined, and it flowed
down about her shoulders.

Daisy shrugged. "I guess not. You gots any idea where that bracelet
might'a got to?"

"I have looked every place it might be," she answered stubbornly. "You
do not think someone took it, do you?"

"Well, you sure got 'nuff men going in 'n' outta your room."

"Si, but when the men come to my room, they are after other things
besides bracelets." She posed, her hands on her hips. "And those
things, I am happy to give them."

"More'n happy, I'd say." Daisy said with a laugh. "I gots me a basket
of clean clothes t'take upstairs once I'se done with these here dishes.
I'll look round your room in case you missed something."

Beatriz bit her lip. "Could... could you look in the other rooms, as
well?"

"You thinks you lost it in one of the other ladies' bedrooms?"

"Let us just say, that I think it may be in someone else's room. How
it got there -- _that_ is another story."

* * * * *

Tomas got ambitious. One of the two miniature wheelbarrows was sitting
near the top of the pile of jackstraw pieces, seemingly in the clear.
He guided his wire hook under the crossbar and began lifting the small
wooden item.

It looked good, an easy 20 points. But at the last moment, the wheel
touched a second piece, one with a shape like a banner at the end. The
banner piece slid a fraction of an inch. "Dang!" Tomas spat.

"Your turn, Emma," Ysabel said. The other girl didn't seem to hear.
"Emma, Emma," Ysabel repeated. "It is your turn now."

Yully put his hand on her shoulder. "You all right, Emma?"

"What?" Emma blinked and looked at him. "What did you say?"

"Just that it's your turn."

She shook her head. "No, it isn't. It's Tomas' turn."

"I just went," Tomas told her. "Didn't get anything." He handed her
the small dowel with the wire hook at the end. "You go now."

Emma gathered all the pieces in her hand and tapped them against the
table until the ends were even. She raised her hand about three inches
above the table and opened her fingers. The wooden pieces fell,
landing in a jumbled pile.

She managed to free three pieces, a hoe, a maul, and a battleaxe, one
at a time and without disturbing any other piece. On her fourth try --
a banner, ironically -- a square jackstraw also moved.

"My turn now." Stephan began to gather up the remaining pieces.

Ysabel tapped Emma on the shoulder. "Can we talk now that your turn's
over?"

"I... I guess," Emma replied. "What about?"

"You. What's bothering you? You mind is like you're off in the clouds
someplace."

Emma made a sour face. "Nothing. I'm... I'm fine."

"And I'm the Governor," Ysabel answered. "Please, Emma, I want to
help. What's the matter?"

"You're gonna keep pestering me till I tell, ain't you?"

"Of course, what else are friends for?"

Emma sighed. "Okay, it's my... it's Ma and... Trisha, they're fighting
again."

"Do you know what about?"

"Not a clue. They was acting kind of weird the last couple weeks,
whispering around me and locking their bedroom door like they was
hiding something."

Yully had come over to listen. "My folks do that sometimes. Pop says
they're doing what he calls 'grown-up stuff.' He says I'll learn about
it soon enough, and I shouldn't to worry when they act that way."

"That's what Pa used to say, but they stopped acting like that after
he... uhh... after Trisha came. They started up again about a week
ago, and I didn't think nothing of it." Emma sighed. "But they had
some kind of a fight a couple days ago. Trisha called Ma all kinds of
names, and Ma said she'd do worse than what she done -- whatever it was
-- if Trisha tried whatever she done."

Stephan pulled a ladder-shaped piece free and looked up. "My folks
fight all the time. Pa even throws Scripture, quotes words from the
Book, at her sometimes."

"What's your mama do?" Ysabel asked.

Stephan grinned. "Ma teaches the lady's Bible study. She throws 'em
right back. But they don't yell for long... not too long, anyway, and
they get all mushy when they make up."

"My mama and papa are like that, too," Tomas added. "All parents are.
There is nothing to worry about, Emma."

"Ain't nobody's parents like my ma and Trisha," Emma told them. "Not
the way Trisha got changed and all."

"They are still grown-ups," Ysabel said. "Grown-ups are all the same.
You will see; everything will be fine. Just wait."

Emma shrugged. "I'll wait. There's not much else I can do." She
managed a little smile. "In the mean time, whose turn is it?"

* * * * *

Wilma knocked on the door to Lady Cerise's office. "Entrez," came her
voice from inside.

"You wanted t'see me 'bout something, Cerise," Wilma said as she walked
in. It was more of a question than a statement.

Cerise motioned for her to close the door. "Oui, Wilma. Sit please."

"This sounds serious." Lady Cerise was at her desk. Wilma took a
chair opposite her.

The Lady nodded. "It is. Beatriz lost her turquoise bracelet, the one
Sebastian Ortega gave her for Noel... Christmas." She took a breath.
"Daisy found it. In your bedroom, it was hidden in your lingerie
drawer."

"My room? You... you don't think I took it, do you?"

"No." She frowned. "I am certain that Beatriz hid it there herself.
It seems that she also does not like the idea that I want to make you
my second."

"Want to, Cerise? I thought I already was? You sound like you're
changing your mind about it."

"I have not changed my mind -- but I may." She sighed. "Wilma, this
is hardly the first time that Beatriz or Rosalyn have tried to throw
the shoe... have tried to sabotage you."

Now Wilma sighed. "Tell me 'bout it." A thought occurred to her.
"Say... did Daisy give Beatriz her bracelet back?"

"No." The Lady opened a drawer and took out the bracelet, putting it
on her desk. "I thought that _you_ should return it."

"Return it? I'd like to shove it right up her --"

"No." The other woman's voice was firm. "I have told you that I will
not allow violence against either of them. If you do not understand
that..." Her voice trailed off.

"I understand. I said that 'I'd like to', not that I was going to."

"What are you going to do, _mon_ _petit_?"

"I'm gonna give it back t'her, o'course, but I'm gonna make her sweat a
little when I do -- it is okay if I make her sweat, ain't it?"

"It is." Cerise smiled. "Perhaps it will even make her learn, and you
as well."

"What d'you mean, Cerise?"

"I mean that this business between you, Rosalyn, and Beatriz is
becoming tiresome -- and disruptive as well. I cannot allow that in my
House."

"Then tell 'em t'stop."

Cerise shook her head and looked sternly at Wilma. "That is _your_ job
as my second. I need to see that you can exercise authority in a way
that brings results without resorting to violence. You need to act
soon, to make it so. Otherwise -- I am sorry -- but it will no longer
_be_ your job."

* * * * *

Bridget studied the cards on the table in front of her, five hands of
five cards each. "Do I put those four 7s together," she asked herself,
"or should I save them for something else?"

"What are you doing, Bridget?" Arnie had come up behind her.

She looked up from the table. "Just a little solitaire to kill some
time; there don't seem to be many players about just now."

"Will you teach it to me?" He pulled out a chair, spun it around, and
sat down, leaning his elbows over the back.

"I don't know." She looked around. "Shamus doesn't pay you to play
cards. I don't want to get you in trouble." There was no sign of the
barman about, but he might come back any time.

"He's in his office," Arnie said." He pointed to the door near the
bar. "There don't seem to be many customers round here just now, so
he's doing inventory."

"Sunday afternoons are always quiet," Bridget told him. "Okay, then,
I'll teach you." She gathered up the cards along with the rest of the
deck and gave them a quick shuffle. "I call this game 'Maverick
Solitaire' after the man I learned it from. She gave an ironic smile,
remembering what a flamboyant ladies' man he had been. How would he
regard her now, especially if he didn't know that she was Brian Kelly?
"You deal out five poker hands, face up." As she spoke, she dealt the
cards. "Then, you try to re-arrange the cards into five _fighting_
hands."

"Fighting hands?"

"Five hands good enough that a skilled player would have a strong
chance to win with, two pair or better."

"I see... I think."

"Okay." She shifted over one chair. "There're your five hands. Show
me what you can make out of them."

Arnie moved around to her old seat. "Can I use straights and flushes?"

"Go ahead. Just don't start thinking that it'll make the game any
easier."

Now Arnie studied the cards. "Hey, here's one." He moved five of the
cards together, a queen-high straight. "And another." He combined
four 7s and a jack. "And another, yet; full house, 4s and aces."

"You still need two more."

He stared at the cards. "There's hardly nothing left, two pairs -- one
more hand -- and a bunch of single cards."

"You sure?" She waited while he kept looking at the cards.

Finally he shrugged in defeat. "I give up. It can't be done with
these cards."

"May I try?" When he nodded and mumbled a "yes", she began moving
cards. The straight and the hand with four 7s disappeared, but when
she was finished, there were five "fighting hands", the lowest held a
pair of jacks and a pair of 6s.

Arnie shook his head. "Well, I'll be danged. There was five good
hands there."

"This game's a lot like life." Bridget smiled, as she gathered the
cards back into a deck.

"How d'you mean, Bridget?"

"If you first think a little about what you're doing, you can do pretty
well with whatever cards you're dealt. If you just know how to look at
things the right way, you can see opportunities that other people will
miss."

Arnie made a sour face. "Now you sound like my ma."

"Sorry," she said, pretending to show some regret. "I won't do it
again." She gave the cards a quick, professional shuffle and put them
down on the table in front of Arnie. "Here, you want to try again?"

"Can I? I didn't do too good last time."

"Sure you can. After all, you're just learning." She watched as he
picked up the cards and began to deal the five hands. 'And about more
than just a card game, I hope,' she added to herself.

* * * * *

Wilma waited in the hall until she saw Beatriz and Sebastian Ortega
coming out of the parlor. They were walking hand-in-hand towards the
stairs.

She smiled and walked towards them. "'Scuze me, Beatriz, but you left
this..." she held up the bracelet. "...in my room. You gotta be more
careful; it could get lost."

"May I see that?" Sebastian took the bracelet from Wilma and looked at
it closely. "This is the bracelet I gave you, Beatriz. Does it mean
so little to you that you can just leave it lying about?" He let go of
her hand.

Beatriz shook her head. "No, I... I didn't just leave there. I...
I..."

"Now don't you be getting mad at her, Sebastian," Wilma said. "It
ain't really her fault."

The man raised an eyebrow. "It isn't? This is an expensive bracelet,
Wilma, turquoise set in burnished copper. I wonder now if it is maybe
_too_ expensive for her."

"What!" Beatriz glared at Wilma. She turned to Sebastian. "No...
please."

Wilma interrupted. "See, it's like this, Sebastian. Beatriz, she just
loves that there bracelet. She brung it in t'show me, and we got to
talking. She couldn't stop saying how much she liked you and what a
good man you are. When a gal starts talking about a man like that, she
gets..." Wilma giggled and fanned herself with her hand. "...
lightheaded." She said the word in a seductive purr.

"Is that what happened?" Sebastian looked sternly at Beatriz.

She nodded quickly. "Si, si; just as Wilma said."

"Then here is your bracelet." He put it gently back on her wrist. "Do
not lose it again."

Wilma took a half step towards him. "There you go, Sebastian. I knew
you was too big a man to get mad over something silly like that." Her
hand suddenly moved down to brush against his erection. "Oh, my, you
surely _are_ a big man, ain't you." She giggled, but she didn't take
her hand way.

Sebastian smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

"If you will excuse us." Beatriz glared at Wilma and pushed her hand
away. "We were on our way upstairs when you so _rudely_ interrupted."
Her voice turned seductive. "Weren't we, Sebastian?"

"Oh, ahh... yes." He nodded once towards Wilma and put an arm around
Beatriz' waist. "Yes, yes, we were."

* * * * *

Monday, January 15, 1872

Someone was touching Kaitlin's breast; the sensation of it woke her
almost at once.

It was dark. She could hardly see the time on the clock by her side of
the bed, but she could _feel_ Tricia's body spooned up against her own,
feel Trisha's fingers on her breast.

"Trisha, stop that!" she hissed. When there was no answer, she jabbed
her elbow backwards into Trisha's ribs.

That worked. "Wh-what's the matter?" Trisha asked in a sleepy voice.

"Your hand," Kaitlin told her. "It's on my breast, and I don't like it
there."

The hand moved down to around Kaitlin's waist. "Is that better?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You're welcome." Trisha waited a moment. She shifted slightly and
kissed Kaitlin's shoulder.

"Now what are you doing, Trisha?"

"Well, I thought maybe... I mean, we... uhh... we are awake. I
thought, maybe we could..." Her voice trailed off as she kissed
Kaitlin's shoulder again.

"No! And please don't ask me again, not tonight, anyway."

"But, Kait--"

The other woman cut her off. "Trisha, it's the middle of the night.
I'm tired, and I am most definitely _not_ in the mood." She thought of
something and added, "And don't go trying anything while I'm asleep --
remember, I can make you stop. _And_ I can make you go sleep in
another bed if you keep trying."

"Can I keep my arm around you, at least?"

Kaitlin sighed. It was nice, a reminder of earlier, much happier
times, but... "That depends on _where_ you keep it when it's around
me."

* * * * *

Wilma was sitting back in her chair in the kitchen, enjoying a late
breakfast when Beatriz stormed in. "What did you think you was doing
last night?" the Mexican demanded.

Wilma just smiled like a cat at the cream pitcher and dabbed at a bit
of sausage gravy with a slice of toast. "Didn't you like it, Beatriz?
Sebastian certainly seemed to be enjoying our little conversation."

"You stay away from him."

"Oh, I will... probably. I don't see what you're so upset about. All
I did was return your bracelet. You know the one you _accidentally_
left in my room."

"In a pig's eye. You were all over Sebastian."

"I was just playing with him a little." She chuckled then turned
serious. "I was just playing with you a little, too."

"With... with me?"

"Yep, just like you and Roselyn been playing with me lately. I thought
I'd give you back a little o' your own." She glared at Beatriz. "I
can play them games, too. You keep it up, and you'll both be getting
it back." She stood up and started to walk out of the kitchen. At the
doorway, she turned back and added, "In spades."

* * * * *

"Sheriff Talbot?" The speaker was Tor Johansson, a tall, muscular man
with mass of dark blonde hair pulled back and tied in a ponytail that
reached down past his shoulders.

Dan looked up from the latest issue of _Police_ _Gazette_. "Tor, come
on in. How are you doing?"

"Not too bad. Sam Braddock, he say you vant to see me. Dhere is
problem?"

Dan stood up and pointed to a chair. "No, no, sit down. I just wanted
to talk to you for a bit." He paused a beat. "You still do want that
job as a deputy, don't you?"

"Yah, sure I do."

"Good, the town council meets in a couple days, and I'll be asking them
for permission to hire you."

"Permission? I thought you vas da sheriff. A sheriff vorks for da
county; he don't need some town's permission to be hiring deputies."

Dan leaned back in his chair. "Normally, he... I wouldn't; not if I
was _just_ the sheriff. I'm also the town marshal, and, as marshal, I
do have to ask the town council before I take on another deputy."

"Sheriff unt marshal, how dis can be?"

"When they split Maricopa County -- where we are -- off from Yavapi
County about a year and a half ago, I was just the marshal. Ben
Farrell, the county sheriff over in Phoenix, needed an under-sheriff
for this part of the county. Nobody really wanted the job -- nobody
that Farrell trusted, that is. Judge Humphreys fixed it so I could be
under-sheriff _and_ marshal for a while till they could find somebody
else."

"A year unt a half is more dan 'a vhile'. I t'ink."

"Tell me about it. The problem is, Ben likes the way I do the job, so
he's in no hurry to find anybody else. You take the job; you'll be my
deputy for both jobs. You still interested?"

The big man shrugged. "Don't see vhy not. Is still a goot job."

"Glad to hear it. You got anything else you want to ask?"

Tor shook his head.

"Good, because I've got a couple of questions, the sort the council is
likely to ask on Wednesday. I figure I'll ask now and see what sort of
answers you got. That okay with you?"

"Be practice for Vednesday, ask avay."

"Okay, first question is, where'd you learn to shoot so good?"

"In da army. I vas a soldier in da Second Minnesota regulars in da
Var. Dey taught us t'shoot mit pistol unt rifle."

"You have any trouble in the Army, they bring you up on charges or
anything?"

"No, sir. Dey giff me a medal for the goot conduct and another for
fighting so hard at some place called South Mountain. I got dem in a
box in my shack if you vant t'see dem."

"No, but you might bring them with to the council meeting. You have
any trouble with the law since the War? I'm sorry to be asking, but
they will, so I will."

"Ja, I know, for da job, you gotta ask. No, sir, I been in no trouble.
I just been minding mine own business unt trying t'get rich from
digging in the ground mit mine brudder."

"Why'd you quit mining?"

"Same reason ve qvit farming back in da old country. Ve do all dat
vork, unt nothing come up from the ground. My brudder still got hope.
Me, I vanted to try something else."

"There's a lot of other jobs to be had, safer ones than the law."

"Ja, maybe, but after digging in da ground for t'ree years, I vant
something vhere I be with people, maybe do dem some goot, instead of
just vorking for myself like I vas doing." He stopped and smiled. "I
answer goot, no?" He stuck out an oversized hand.

"Good enough for me." Dan shook the hand. It was half again as big as
his own, hard and callused from years of mining. "We'll see what the
town council says on Wednesday."

* * * * *

Bridget was taking her dinner break when Cap walked over to the table.
"What do you want?" she asked angrily.

"To talk." He gave her his best smile. "May I join you?"

She frowned. "If I say no, you'll probably sit down anyway."

"Probably." He pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her. "Just
shows how much I want to talk to you."

"You're sitting, you may as well talk."

"Thank you. First off, I've read the records Uncle Abner got from
Texas."

"So now you know the awful truth about me, don't you?"

"No, I know what the records say. The story sounds like something Will
Hanks... Wilma might've done, but it... it doesn't sound like you." He
reached for her hand.

"It isn't me." She pulled it back, out of his reach. "For that
matter, it isn't Wilma, either."

"What is, Bridget? What's your version of what happened back there at
the Battle of Adobe Wells?"

"My version? Do you think this is some kind of tall tale, where
everybody has a different way of telling some made-up story?"

As they spoke, Cap tried to read her body language. He couldn't. She
was too good at hiding her reactions, just as she was when she played
poker.

"Now you're putting words in my mouth, Bridget. I never said you made
up a story."

"Yes, you said it just now."

"Bridget, that report says that you and Will... Wilma did some terrible
things back then. Obviously, _something_ happened or there wouldn't
_be_ a report, would there?"

"No... something did happened, but the truth barely got discussed at
that court martial they gave us. And it never got into the official
report."

"What was it -- and is there any way that you can prove what you say?"

"How about I just give you my word that I'm telling you the truth? Or
isn't that good enough for you, Mr. Lewis?"

"It is, but I'm not the one that you have to convince. Uncle Abner --"

"Can go to hell. And so can you, if you need his permission to believe
what I tell you."

Cap shook his head. "Bridget, this has gone wrong six ways to Sunday.
I want to... I _do_ believe you."

"You do? What do you believe, if I haven't told you anything?"

"I believe what you _have_ told me, that the record Uncle Abner has
isn't the whole... the _real_ story."

"That's a start. Come back when you're ready -- no, when you and your
uncle are ready to listen to the real story."

"I'm ready to listen right now."

"Maybe you are, but I'm not ready to tell it, not without your uncle
here listening along with you." She picked up her fork and began
eating again, as if Cap wasn't even there.

A moment later, he wasn't.

* * * * *

Tuesday, January 16, 1872

"Wilma, a word with you if I may."

Wilma looked up from Lady Cerise's ledger book. Rosalyn was standing
in the doorway, her arms crossed beneath her breasts.

"Sure, Roslyn." She paused a beat. "Long as you ain't bringing me no
cup of tea."

"No," Rosalyn said, ignoring the comment. "I just wanted to talk to
you about Beatriz. She told me how you tried to take Sebastian Ortega
away from her with that lie about her bracelet."

"I did nothing of the sort, and she knows it. The only lie I told was
to cover for _her_ about how that bracelet got in my room. I was just
trying t'teach her a lesson for what she tried t'do t'me."

Rosalyn raised an eyebrow. "Just teach her a lesson?"

"Yep, and it's one you might want t'learn, too."

"I have no intentions of learning anything from you, and neither does
Beatriz. Besides, who are you to presume to teach _me_ anything?"

Wilma raised a fist. "I'll be glad t'show you just who I am."

"Ah, but you won't. I know Cerise. Touch me, and you'll be doing
exactly what I want."

"Which is?"

"Getting rid of you. You don't deserve to be Lady Cerise's second."

"Says you, Rosalyn."

"Yes, says me... and Beatriz. I'll be honest, our intention is to
continue harassing you until you give up and resign. However, if you
strike me... well, you know how the Lady feels. Her women have to be
perfect. If you hurt me -- or Beatriz -- bruise either of us, even
just a little bit, you can forget about being her second. Why she
might..." Rosalyn chuckled, "...she might even come to her senses and
throw you out of here."

* * * * *

"Someone to see you, dear," Martha Yingling told her husband.

Rev. Yingling put down the concordance he was reading. "Give me a
minute, then send them in." He stood up and walked around his desk.
There was not much space in the small room he used as an office. He
moved a stack of books from the only other chair to the top of the
bookcase. He gave the chair a quick swipe with his kerchief and sat
back down behind the desk.

"Reverend?" Trisha said. She stood in the doorway, clutching her
reticule, not sure if she could enter.

Yingling stood up and motioned to the chair. "Trisha... please come
in, sit down. What can I do for you?"

"It's... it's what I... what some of us on the Board want to do for
you... for the church." She adjusted her skirt and sat down. "I... I
wanted to talk to you about something we're planning for the... for the
next meting."

The man leaned back in his chair. "You were only just reconfirmed as a
member of the Board, and already you're starting new projects. Isn't
that a bit... presumptuous?"

"Like you said, Reverend, I just got reconfirmed. The congregation
decided that they wanted me on the Board. I figure that makes this the
best time to get something done."

"And what do you propose to do... exactly."

"You remember, before the election last fall, I told you that I wanted
to build us a better church if I got on the Board."

"I remember. I thought that you were speaking figuratively. Most
people seem satisfied with the arrangement we have with the school."

"I'm not satisfied, and I don't believe that you are either."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I think that you'd like a real office, with a bigger desk and
shelves for all your books."

"It would be nice, I suppose, but hardly necessary."

"Maybe not, but it's not the only thing we were thinking of."

"We? Who all were doing this thinking?"

"Me, of course, the Judge, Rupe Warrick, and Dwight Albright. We met
at my place about a week ago."

"Might I assume that Horace Styron, Jubal Cates, and Willie Gotefreund
were not invited?"

"You may, indeed." She seemed to stifle a giggle.

"And what exactly did you plan -- or should I just ask how soon before
the construction starts?"

"We didn't get that far. You're right. A lot of people like the deal
we have, and two members of the town council, Arsenio Caulder and Whit
Whitney, belong to the church."

"What are you planning to do then?"

"We're going to start a church improvement fund. We'll raise the
money, while people think about what they want to do. With luck --"

"With the Lord's help," Yingling interrupted. "Most assuredly, with
our Lord's help."

"With the Lord's help," Trisha continued, "when they decide what they
do want, we'll have the money for it."

"And how do you plan to get this money?"

"To tell the truth, we only came up with the _beginning_ of a plan.
We're gonna move to start the fund at the next meeting and..." her face
lit up as she continued, "...we're going to start off starting off by
holding a dance the end of February."

"A dance." The reverend's eyebrow raised skyward. "And who thought of
that?"

"My... Kaitlin did. I wasn't sure at first, but it does seem like a
good idea, now; doesn't it?"

"I suppose it does." He paused a beat. "And this will all happen at
the next meeting of the church board?"

"It will. We didn't want to call a special meeting or anything."
Again, she seemed almost ready to giggle. "Not so soon after the last
one, and not for a dance of all things."

"No, I can see that."

"I'm glad that you understand. Can I ask... you don't have any
objections to this, do you? I'd hate to call things off, but if you
don't approve..." She let the thought trail off.

"There are many things that the church could use, Trisha, and all of
them take money. This seems to be as good a way as any to raise it.
Even if it doesn't go to building me an office, there are -- I'm
certain -- any number of things that we are much more in need of."

"Probably. We just thought that we'd like you to have one."

"I appreciate the thought, but it isn't really necessary."

"Why don't we let the congregation decide that -- once we have the
money, of course?" She stood up, and so did he. "I'd like to ask one
thing, though."

"And what is that?"

"Like you said, Horace wasn't there at my house. I felt like I should
tell you, but I... I'd kind of hope that you don't feel like you have
to tell him."

"You know that I don't enjoy playing politics with the Board."

"I do -- believe me, I do. I'm not asking that you take sides. Horace
will do that quick enough. If he doesn't know, he can't ask you.
He'll find out anyway. It just won't come from you." She put out a
hand. "Okay?"

Yingling took her hand in his. It was still amazed him how small and
delicate Patrick O'Hanlan's large, rough hands had become. "I won't
tell, but I won't deny it either, if Horace asks."

"Fair enough, Reverend. Fair enough."

* * * * *

Someone knocked on the door. "Just a minute," Teresa Diaz answered.
She wiped her hands on her apron and walked from the sink full of
dishes to the front door.

"Buenos noches, Teresa," Ramon said when she opened the door. "Is
Dolores ready?"

Teresa shook her head. "Not quite. Constanza, go tell your cousin
that Seá±or de Aguilar is here."

"Si, Mama." The young girl was doing her numbers. She put down the
pencil and climbed off the stool she was sitting on. She walked over
to a bedroom door and opened it a few inches. "Dolores, he is here."

"Please ask him to wait," came a voice from the bedroom. It was loud
enough for everyone to hear.

Teresa motioned to a nearby chair. "Have a seat, Ramon. I'm sure that
she will be out very soon."

"Thank you, Teresa." As he sat down, Ramon took a watch from his
jacket pocket.

Teresa raised an eyebrow. "Are you late for something?"

"Dolores asked me to take her to hear Jessie Hanks sing," Ramon told
her. "Jessie's first show begins at 8, about twenty minutes from now."

"You have more than enough time. It is barely a five minute walk from
here to Seá±or O'Toole's saloon, close enough that my Arnoldo can come
home from working there to eat supper with us."

Ramon nodded. "I know. I was just checking the time." He smiled
sheepishly and put the watch away. "A bad habit, I am sorry."

"Such things happen." Teresa nodded in agreement. "If you will excuse
me, Ramon, I have a sink full of dinner dishes to wash."

Ramon watched her walk back to the sink. He wouldn't, he _couldn't_,
say that he was actually concerned about Maggie. She usually took Lupe
and Ernesto home about 7:30, but sometimes she stayed a bit later.
He'd prefer not to walk in with Dolores on his arm if Maggie was still
there.

'Even if Jessie or Jane tells Margarita we were there -- and they
probably will,' he thought, 'it is better than for her to actually see
us.'

At that moment, as if on cue, the bedroom door opened and Dolores swept
into the room. She wore a dark brown dress with pale yellow trim at
the cuffs and collar. The dress hugged her figure, showing off her
slender waist and firm breasts without being vulgar. Her hair was
pinned up, with a sprig of flowers the same color as the trim tucked in
above her left ear, a courting flower.

"I am so sorry that I kept you waiting, Ramon," she said softly.

Ramon stood up and stared at her, a smile forming on his lips. "To see
you like this, Dolores, was well worth the wait."

* * * * *

Jessie waited for the applause to die down. "Thank you, folks. It's
been grand singing for you tonight."

"Give us another one," someone yelled.

"Betsy From Pike," said another man. A few others called for specific
songs.

Jessie beamed at the crowd. "How 'bout I sing you a new one?"

"Don't wanna hear a new one; sing 'Suzanna'."

"Aw, and I worked so hard learning this one." She made a pretty pout.

"Let her sing it." There were more supportive shouts until she picked
up the guitar and began,

"Arise, arise, Collee, says he.
` Arise an' come with me.
` An' to the land of Ireland go
` An' married there we'll be."

"She then took all her father's gold
` Likewise her mother's fee,
` She took two steeds from out their stalls
` Where they stood thirty by three."

The song told how they rode to the coast, where the man revealed his
true plans.

"There's six king's daughters in this sea,
` An' you the seventh shall be."

"But first take off that costly ring
` An' give it unto me
` 'Twould be shame for that costly ring
` To be moldering in the sea,"

But the best of plans, as they say...

"As he stood for to look around,
` To view the grass an' trees,
` She picked him up right manfully..."

Jessie flashed a wicked smile.

"An' _throwed_ him in the sea."

There was a collective laugh. Jessie continued singing how the maiden
cursed her murderous beau before she rode home.

"She then put back her father's gold,
` Likewise her mother's fee
` She put the steeds back in the stalls
` Where they stood thirty by three."

And when the noise she makes awakens her father, the girl's pet parrot
covers for her sneaking about.

"The old gray cat come to my cage
` An' tried to weary me.
` An' I called Collee up to drive
` The old gray cat away."

"An' I called Collee up to drive
` The old gray cat away."

Jessie finished the song with a flourish and stood listening to the
clapping, the catcalls, and the sound of coins hitting the small stage
she was standing on.

What she didn't see was Shamus scowling at her from behind the bar.

* * * * *

Wednesday, January 17, 1872

"When ye've finished yuir breakfast, Jessie," Shamus said, sitting down
across from her. "I'd like t'be talking to ye."

Jessie took a sip of coffee to wash down the last of her toast. "Sure,
Shamus; I'm just finishing. What d'you want to talk about?"

"Something I'd rather be discussing in private if ye don't mind."

Molly walked over. She sat down next to her husband and put her hand
on his arm. "Thuir's nobody about but the three of us, Shamus. Why
not be talking now instead of making the lass wait and worry?"

"She's got what t'be worrying about, Molly Love. Ye well know how much
songs like that upsets me just now."

"I know, Shamus, and I know why," Molly answered. "But she don't, and
ye won't be telling her, I'm thinking. But, for me, at least try t'be
keeping yuir temper while ye're talking."

"For you, Molly, I'll try." He put his hand on hers and smiled. "And
I'll just hold on t'ye as a way t'help keep me from losing me temper."

Shamus turned to face Jessie. "Lass, what was ye thinking t'be sing
that new song ye sang last night?"

"You mean 'Collee's Ride'? Most of the folks loved it. What's the
matter?"

"That song's about lying and deceit and... and murder. 'Six king's
daughters drown in the sea, and the seventh t'follow; except she drowns
him that meant to do it, instead." He scowled. "That ain't the sort
of song I want t'hear in me saloon."

"But they _liked_ it," Jessie argued. Her was voice almost a whine.
"I made over seven bucks last night in tips. That's a lot more'n I
usually do."

"Jessie, dear," Molly said quickly, cutting off whatever her husband
was about to say, "a saloon's supposed t'be a happy place, a place men
come to enjoy themselves. They can't do that if ye're singing such sad
songs at them."

"What about Lorena?" Jessie argued. "That's a song about somebody that
died."

"No," Molly answered. "It's about a love that lasts forever and the
joy the singer feels knowing that they'll be together again in the life
to come."

Jessie tried another tack. "What about them that comes in to drink so
they can forget about life and what it done to them?"

"If they're drinking t'forget," Shamus said angrily, "then they don't
need ye t'be singing songs that remind them."

"But..." Jessie tried to think of another argument she could use. "But
there's always been songs about murder. They're nothing new. In my
book there's an old one called "Edward...."

"No buts," Shamus said firmly. "I don't want ye t'be singing that song
again." He paused for effect. "Understand?"

"She understands, Love," Molly said.

Shamus stood up. "Good." He walked away without another word,

"No, she don't," Jessie said softly. "Molly what's biting his ass so
damn bad that he came down on me like that?"

Molly sighed. "That damnable trial down in Tucson, it's truly wearing
on him. Please, Jessie, could ye be giving himself a little slack."

"I... I suppose," Jessie said. She was still mad, but the sorrowful
look on Molly's face kept her from arguing. For now.

* * * * *

"Hey, Milt," Jane called as Milt came into the Saloon. "Where you been
keeping yourself?"

"Uh... Good afternoon, Jane," Milt answered, feeling embarrassed. It
had been a while since he'd been in the saloon. "How are you today?"

"Busy, too _dang_ busy, in fact."

"I didn't think Shamus got this busy so early in the day."

"He don't, not usually, but Laura was feeling kinda tired. Shamus said
she could go upstairs and lay down. She's been up there for a while; I
think she fell asleep."

"She must be tired, to fall asleep in the middle of the day."

Jane nodded. "A baby'll do that, I guess. She's my sister, and I want
her t'have a good, healthy one. But I do miss her when there's a lotta
folks in here wanting drinks, and I gotta take care of 'em by myself."

"It's good of you to be concerned about her, Jane. I'm sure she
appreciates it, and that she'll be back down here soon."

"She better be. Jessie was around, too, but she went off someplace.
Looks like I'm the only one left t'wait on folks. So if you got
something for me to read or sign or anything, it'll have to wait." She
hurried off to get an order from the bar.

"Yeah, Miltie," Matt Royce said. "You'll haveta cool your heels for a
while, maybe do something useful for a change."

Milt ignored the man. "Actually, I was looking for Mort Boyer or Jerry
Domingez." He looked around for the men. "I need some papers taken to
Phoenix."

"Mort was in here 'bout an hour ago, but he left. I ain't seen Jerry
all day," Fred Norman said.

"Maybe he's off doing some real work," Royce chided. "You should try
it some time; it ain't nothing t'be afeared of."

"I do my share and more, Royce," Milt replied. "What's it to you?"

"I don't know about that. Seems to me, you spend most of your time
these days, sucking up to Jane. It must be nice t'work for the richest
woman in town. Even nicer when she likes you, or is all that sucking
up you do the reason she likes you?"

Milt's expression soured. "I'd better go find Mort or Jerry. Those
papers have to get filed." He turned and left.

Jane looked back over from the bar just in time to see Milt walk out
the door. "Now where is he...?" Her voice trailed off. She sighed.
"And couldn't he even take the time t'say goodbye t'me?"

* * * * *

"I think that answers my questions," Aaron Silverman said. "Thank you,
Mr. Johansson." He turned to Whit, who was acting as chairman of the
Town Council. "Now we vote."

"Hold on," Joe Kramer called out. "I still got some questions."

"We usually don't allow questions from the floor," Whit said patiently.

Kramer stood up. "I got some anyway. For a start, why do we need to
hire another man for anyway?"

"Out of order." Whit hammered his gavel on the tabletop.

Dan Talbot slowly stood up. "Mr. Chairman, even if it was out of
order, I'd like to answer that question anyway."

"Sets a precedent," Whit replied, shaking his head. "We don't want
t'be doing something like that."

"Better we should answer, Whit," Aaron told him. "Unanswered
questions, as the Sages say, are like a swarm of angry bees buzzing
about a man's head."

Whit shrugged. "All right, Dan... Sheriff, answer the question."

"Whit... Mr. Whitney just called me 'sheriff.' That there's part of
the reason," Dan began. "I'm the town marshal for Eerie, _and_ I'm the
under-sheriff for eastern Maricopa County. That means I've got to be
outta town on a regular basis. Right now, when I'm doing that, Paul
Grant gets to be marshal all by himself. That's not fair to Paul _or_
to the town."

"That ain't been a problem so far," another man yelled.

Dan shook his head. "Yes... yes, it has. Most folks just didn't
notice 'cause Paul does such a good job." He waited a beat. "The
thing is, it's getting worse. There's more n'more men working claims
up in the mountains and more n'more men working on the ranches
hereabout."

"And more people in the town, now, too," Arsenio Caulder, the third
Councilman, added. "Not to mention that Dan's got a little more on his
mind now with a baby coming."

"Why should the town pay for his baby?" Kramer asked.

Dan glared at the heckler. "Nobody's paying for that but me, and, if
having a baby on the way does anything, it makes me work harder.
Arsenio -- Mr. Councilman Caulder there -- will be finding that out for
himself soon enough. I want to make sure that Eerie's a good, safe
place for my new little one _and_ for my wife and my boy, Jimmy."

Now Aaron stood. "It seems to me that hiring another sheriff or deputy
or whatever is a good thing. It means that the town's growing. Just
like I might want to hire another clerk for all the new business --
_kayn_ _ahora_ -- I got coming to my store. Besides, Dan says Mr.
Johansson is going to be deputy marshal _and_ deputy sheriff. That
means that the county is going to pay half his salary." He winked at
the crowd. "By me, that's a bargain we shouldn't let pass. I say,
'Yes' to hiring him." He sat down quickly.

"So do I," Arsenio added.

Whit pounded his gavel. "Same here; vote's unanimous. You're hired,
Tor. Congratulations."

* * * * *

Paul folded his pants and laid them over the chair in his room. "I
liked that new song you sang last night, the one about the Irish girl."

"You mean 'Collee's Ride?' I'm glad you liked it," Jessie said, as she
stepped out of her dress.

"Uh huhn, it gave me an idea." He grinned and turned towards her.

Jessie posed for him in her camisole and drawers, the same wicked smile
on her face as when she sang the song. "And what exactly was that, Mr.
Grant?"

"To throw you into the sea, Miss Hanks. I wanted to do that as soon as
I heard you sing about it. A song like that gives a man ideas."

"I think Shamus would agree with you. But we'll have to ride quite a
ways from Eerie before we get t'the sea."

Paul shrugged. "Maybe I can't throw you into a seabed out here in the
desert, Jess..." He stepped towards her, still grinning. "...But I've
another, a much better kind of bed right here, that I can throw you
into."

Without saying another word, he swooped down on her. He picked her up
in his arms before she could react and tossed her onto the bed.

Jessie landed with a squeal of surprise, but before she could climb off
or even voice a protest, Paul landed next to her. "I thought I'd throw
myself in, too," he explained. "It seemed only fair."

"Well, now that you got me on this here sea bed, what're you going t'do
with me?"

"Same as I did that night I fetched you out of that flash flood, take
off all your clothes and rub your body all over till you get warm."

"Mmm, that may take a while, but you're more'n welcome to try."
Jessie's arms reached out and pulled him towards her.

"I'll certainly do my best," he managed to reply before their lips met
in a long, torrid kiss.

* * * * *

Thursday, January 18, 1872

Dolores sat back on her bed and read the letter again.

"Hola, Dolores."

"You have been gone from the City for so long that I
am writing to see how you are and what you are doing."

"There is so much excitement here. All I hear people
Talking about is their plans for Carnival. I am
having a new dress made, dark green with silver lace
brocade. Luis is taking me to the dances. I think
that he is getting serious about me. I am not
ready to marry -- I am a butterfly like you -- but
he is so _very_ insistent."

"And persuasive, too. When he kisses me, my toes
curl, and when we -- but a _maiden_ should not say
such things, even in a letter."

"Oh, but his kisses, they are _so_ good."

"Are you coming back in time for Carnival? In your
last letter, you said you were seeing someone, an
old friend. If you and he have gotten serious about
each other, you should bring him back with you.
I am sure that he would want to leave a flea trap
like Eerie for Mexico City, especially to be with you."

"Even if you are not serious, you should bring him.
If only to make Ximon more sorry than ever that he
agreed to what his parents arranged with the Guzmans.
I just _know_ he is marrying Elvira for her money.
She is not the beauty you are, and we both know what
a _bitch_ she can be."

"Should I cross out that last paragraph?"

"No, I want you to get mad, mad enough to stop feeling
sorry for yourself and come home. Especially if you
bring home a handsome souvenir like this Ramon you
told me about."

"Or has _he_ made you stop feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Please write soon and tell everything to"

"Your friend,
` Perdita Moralez"

Dolores folded the letter and put it back on the small table next to
her bed. She had things to think about and plans to make.

* * * * *

"Well, boy," Horace Styron asked, "you find what you're looking for?"
The man was beginning to sound impatient.

Arnie pointed to a tray inside the glass cabinet. "Si... yes, there,
the box on the far left."

"For the navy pistol?" When Arnie nodded, Styron took a small brass key
from his vest pocket and unlocked the cabinet. He opened the door and
picked up the box. "Box of six hundred cartridges..." He flipped the
box over. "...that'll be $8.25."

Arnie's eyes went wide. "So much?" It was more than he made in a week,
even counting his share of the tips, and he turned most of what did he
earn over to his mother. "I-I do not... can I pay you some of it now
and the rest later?"

"I don't give credit, boy, not to new customers, anyway. You got the
$8.25, you get the shot, otherwise..." He let his voice trail off.

Arnie shook his head. "Not today; I-I am sorry."

"You best start saving up your pennies, then." The merchant frowned
and replaced the box in the cabinet. As he locked the door, he added,
"When you get enough, you come back, and I'll sell 'em to you." He
chuckled. "Or you could ask your ma and pa to give them to you for
your birthday."

The boy bristled at the insult. "I will get the money, seá±or. I will
be back for the cartridges, and _sooner_ than you expect, you will
see." He turned and stormed out of the hardware store.

'I just have to figure out _how_ I will get it,' he thought, as he
started down the street.

* * * * *

Amy took a firm hold of Jimmy's hand. "I have to go into here, dear.
Hold my hand, and don't talk to anyone unless I say that you may."
When the boy nodded in agreement, she opened the door and walked into
Doc Upshaw's office.

Edith Lonnigan was working at a desk near some file cabinets to her
right. To her left was the waiting area, a set of chairs scattered
along two walls. The place was nearly empty. A farmer Amy didn't know
sat in the corner, his arm in a cast.

Amy gave Jimmy his toy horse and told him to sit down on one of the
chairs. The boy walked over and climbed up onto one a few feet away
from the man. He settled in it and began to play with the toy.

"Amelia," Mrs. Lonnigan said, looking up from whatever she was working
on, "and little Jimmy. How are you both today?"

"Very well, thank you, Edith," Amy replied. "And you?"

"Doing well enough. I do hope Jimmy isn't sick."

Amy shook her head. "Goodness, no, I came to talk to you about my...
condition."

"Is something wrong? Are you in any sort of pain?" The older woman
was purely a professional now.

"I'm fine. Still a bit queasy in the morning, but that's all. It's,
well, I was talking to Laura Caulder the other day. She... uhh... she
asked if I was your patient, too. I told her I was, and she asked if
we could have our check-ups together. I said I'd ask you if we could."

Edith smiled. "I think it's a grand notion. The poor dear is
terrified. This being pregnant is something she never expected in her
wildest dreams. I think that it would do her a world of good to have a
friend to share it with."

"That's what I thought, too. Laura is a strong person, but being a
woman is so new to her, even now. And to be _pregnant_, no less."

"It's good of you to want to help, Amelia, and I'll be happy to
cooperate."

"I was flattered that she asked me. Besides, to tell the truth, I'm a
little afraid, too."

"There's no shame in that. Childbearing is not the easiest thing a
woman ever has to do." Edith looked down at a calendar. "I'm seeing
Laura the first Tuesday of the month right now, early in the afternoon.
That would be the 6th of February. Is that all right with you,
Amelia?"

"I believe so. Does she come here to the doctor's office?"

"No, I walk over to the Saloon. Mr. O'Toole lets us use one of his
upstairs rooms. Is that agreeable to you?"

"It is. I'll tell Laura, and we'll both see you in about three weeks,
then."

* * * * *

"Here, lad, let me get that door for ye."

Shamus held the door to the kitchen opened while Arnie walked through
holding a heavy tray full of glassware. "Thank you, Shamus," Arnie
said as the door closed behind him.

Arnie walked slowly over to the sunk and set the tray down on the
counter. He looked around quickly. He was alone. "Bueno," he
whispered.

Two glasses were almost full. They were propped against the side of
the tray, held in place by several other glasses. He carefully lifted
one out and checked it again. There was no sign of dirt, cigarette
butts or food. "Still has some of its head left." He leaned back
against the sink and slowly drained the glass.

"Very nice." He put the glass down into the sink. He could feel the
alcohol flow down into his belly, feel it warm him from the inside. "I
believe I'll have another." He lifted out a larger beer stein and
began to drink.

"Put that down, Arnie." Shamus' voice echoed through the kitchen.
"Now!"

Arnie almost dropped the glass. "Seá±or Shamus, I... I did not hear you
come in."

"Ten years I lived with the Cheyenne," Shamus told him. "I can still
move as quiet as any of them if I'm wanting to." He glared at the boy.
"And what did ye think ye was doing?"

"I... I was bringing in the glasses like you told me to."

"I told ye t'be bringing them in to be washed, Arnie, not so's ye could
be drinking in the privacy of me kitchen."

"I only did it this one time... Honest."

"Ye mean, I only caught ye this one time. I been smelling sen-sen on
yuir breath for a good while now. I was hoping I was wrong, but I
wasn't." He took a breath. "It stops now, Arnoldo."

"Seá±or?"

"It stops now. Ye'll be drinking no more from the glasses ye bring
into me kitchen or any other time so long as ye're here working for me.
D'ye understand?"

"I... I understand."

"Ye'd better. If I catch ye drinking again I'll be given serious
thought t'whether I want ye in here at all, let alone as me employee."
With that, Shamus turned and walked away without another word.

Arnie watched him go. "I'll think about this later. For now..." He
picked up the stein and looked at it for a moment. Then he smiled
grimly and poured the beer that was still in it down into the sink.

* * * * *

Jessie finished "Betsy from Pike" with a guitar flourish; her daily
practice sessions were paying off. Most of her audience had sung along
with her at the end. "Thanks," she said happily, as the audience
applauded, and a few of them tossed money.

"Hey, Jessie," somebody yelled. "Sing that song you done the other
night, the one about the girl and the parrot."

Jessie winched. It was the song Shamus hated for some reason.

"You mean 'Collee's Ride'? Nah, you don't want t'hear that old thing.
How about I sing --"

"Collee's Ride" another voice yelled. A few others joined in.

"How about I sing 'Lorena' for you?" she asked hopefully. She liked
the other song, but she _had_ promised Molly. Sort of.

"I think she just wants to be coaxed." A coin came out of nowhere and
landed at her feet. Two more followed from other parts of the room.

Jessie glanced over towards the bar. Shamus was watching her, an angry
expression on his face. Molly stood next to him, whispering something.
Her hand was on his arm.

"Are you sure?" Jessie asked. "There was them that didn't like that
song."

"Who cares?" The crowd was getting restless. A few were clapping
their hands or pounding a stein on a table. They were chanting
"Collee... Collee."

Jessie shrugged and looked over at Shamus as if to say, "I tried." He
glared back at her and turned away to pour someone a beer.

She picked up her guitar and began to play.

* * * * *

Friday, January 19, 1872

Arsenio woke up and rolled over, still under the covers. "Mmm, good
morning, Laura." He stopped when he saw the look on her face.

"What?" She was sitting up, her eyes wide with fear, staring at the
far wall. "What did you say?"

"Never mind that." He leaned over and took her hand in his. "What's
the matter?"

"I... I don't know. I felt... I feel odd, all fluttery like, down by
my stomach."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, it's like a gas bubble or something, uncomfortable but not...
painful."

He raised an eyebrow at her hesitation. "What's wrong?"

"It's... the... whatever it is, it's down by where the baby is? I...
I'm... what am I going to do?" He could see her eyes beginning to
tear.

Arsenio threw the covers back. "You're going to stay right there and
try not to worry. I'll be back with Doc Upshaw as soon as I can."

"Do... do you think it's that serious?"

"Damned if I know, but if it's got you scared, that makes it serious as
far as I'm concerned." He tucked his nightshirt into his pants and
pulled on his shoes without putting on socks.

Laura started to get out of bed. "Do you want me to come along?"

"I want you to stay put. I'll be back soon enough." He finished tying
his shoe and stood up. "You just relax." When he saw her climb back
under the covers, he leaned over and gently kissed her on the forehead.
"Don't worry, Laura, and... I love you."

She smiled up at him. "Oh, I never worry about that."

* * * * *

Shamus stopped Jessie as she was coming down the stairs. "Ye couldn't
resist, could ye, Jessie?"

"Shamus, is this about last night?"

"Of course, 'tis about last night. I told ye not t'be singing that
song."

"You were there. You know I tried not to."

"Aye, ye _tried_. Trying and doing, them's two very different things."

"Come on, Shamus. They were yelling, pounding their glasses. What'd
you want me to do?"

"Sing something else -- _anything_ else. They'd've settled down if
ye'd started t'be singing some other song."

She thought about that for a moment. "Maybe they would have -- or
maybe not. I don't know. But what's so damn bad about 'Collee's Ride'
anyway? Nobody else gets mad when I sing it."

"_I_ get mad, and that's more than enough."

She still wanted to argue. "I still don't see what the problem is."

"Oh, ye don't, do ye." He glared at her, trying not to lose his
temper. "Well, there's only two things ye _need_ t'be seeing, Miss
Jessie Hanks." He raised a hand, the index and middle finger pointing
at her. "First, I'm yuir employer." He lowered one finger. "And,
second, while I am, ye'll not be singing that song again."

Shamus lowered the other finger and walked past her up the stairs.

* * * * *

Doc Upshaw carefully moved his stethoscope from one point to another on
Laura's abdomen. "Take a deep breath and hold it."

Laura nodded and inhaled sharply. At the same time, she felt Arsenio
squeeze her hand. "It's okay, Laura," he whispered. "I'm here."

"Shhh," Mrs. Lonnigan hissed at him. The four of them were crammed
into the bedroom. Laura was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her
nightgown was unbuttoned to make the examination easier.

Doc stood up and let the stethoscope fall to his side. "It's just what
I thought. You can get dressed now, Laura."

"Am I all right, Doc," Laura asked nervously. "Is the baby all right?
I... I didn't lose it, d-did I?" She was trembling.

Arsenio moved closer and put his arm around her. "Yes, Doc. Is she --
and the baby -- are they all right?" he asked.

"She's fine." Doc smiled. "And so is the baby." He took off the
gloves he had worn for the examination and put them in his bag.
"Edith, you told her about the baby quickening, didn't you?"

Mrs. Lonnigan snorted. "Of course, I did, Doctor." She turned to
Laura and Arsenio. "Don't you remember, dear? I told you at your last
appointment that the baby was going to start moving very soon."

"You... mean that's... that's what I'm feeling..." Laura looked down
and gently put her hand on her swollen stomach. "...the baby?"

"That's exactly what he's saying," Mrs. Lonnigan told her. "The...
_your_ baby is far enough along that it's begun to move."

"And it's supposed to do that?" Arsenio asked.

Doc chuckled and put his hand on the other man's shoulder. "That's
exactly what it's supposed to be doing, Arsenio."

"Ohh!" Laura's eyes went wide. "It's moving again. I... I think I
can feel it when I put my hand on my stomach."

"It might be a little early for that," Doc said, "but you'll be able to
soon enough."

"Indeed, the baby will start kicking soon," Mrs. Lonnigan added. "Then
you'll both be able to feel it."

"Both of us?" Laura asked uncertainly. "How?"

Mrs. Lonnigan smiled. "Well, you have to be close... hugging, perhaps,
but you two don't seem to have any problem with that."

* * * * *

"Is something wrong, Trisha?" Liam asked.

Trisha looked over at her brother from behind the counter where she was
sitting. "What? Oh, uhh... no, I'm... I'm fine."

"So you say, but you've been fidgeting all afternoon. Are you sure
you're all right?"

"I'm just feeling... ah... a little out of sorts," she admitted, "but
it's nothing serious... really."

Even as she said it, Trisha hoped it was true. Her shoes were pinching
her feet, and her corset felt tight around her breasts, as if it had
shrunk. When she'd gone into the office to try and adjust her corset
in private, her breasts had seemed... bigger.

'More tender, too,' she remembered. 'It had felt so good to touch --
no, Trisha,' she chided herself. "Don't be thinking like that. Think
about your work -- your work, damn it!"

She closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten. It helped. Some.
'Maybe tonight,' she thought, 'I can get Kaitlin to help me.'

Trisha had just been thinking about asking Kaitlin for advice.
Somehow, though, the picture of the two of them on the bed in just
their chemises had popped into her mind. She shook her head, trying to
shake away the image like a wet dog shaking itself dry.

It didn't work. The image faded, but it kept coming back, now and
then, for the rest of the day. And whenever she saw it in the back of
her mind, Trisha fidgeted even more.

* * * * *

Jessie walked past Herve and into the parlor of _La Parisienne_.

"Hey, Jess," Wilma said cheerfully. "What brings you over here this
afternoon?"

Jessie's face soured. "I needed to get out of Shamus' for a while, so
I decided to come over 'n see you." She looked around the room.
Besides Wilma, Mae, and Roselyn were there in the parlor. So were
about half a dozen men.

"I ain't interrupting anything, am I?" Jessie asked. A couple of the
men were looking at her in a way that was making her feel...
uncomfortable.

"No, little darling," one of the men said, patting the sofa next to
where he was sitting. "You're more'n welcome. Come on in and join the
party."

Wilma glowered at the man for a moment. She stood up and walked over
to Jessie. "What's the problem with Shamus?"

"I sang a song the other night, and he didn't like it. He liked it
even less when I sang it again yesterday."

"If he hated it so much," Wilma asked, "why'd you sing it the second
time? You _trying_ to make him mad at you?" She laughed and added,
"Not that it don't sound like a fun idea."

"I didn't plan to -- I sorta... promised Molly I wouldn't -- but the
folks last night, they kept yelling for me t'sing it. I finally did,
and I got some nice tips. They throwed good money the first time I
sung it, too."

Wilma thought about that. "Seems t'me the money's all the reason you
need. Shamus is always saying he's a businessman; he should understand
that."

"I suppose. You know I never was one t'turn down an honest dollar."

"You never had no trouble going for the dishonest ones, neither." They
both laughed at that.

"'Scuse me, little lady," the man on the couch interrupted. "Instead
of talking, why don't you let us all hear this song of yours that
causing all your trouble?" A few of the others agreed.

"Seems fair." Jessie cleared her throat and took a breath.

She was about to start, when Wilma put a hand on her arm. "Wait a
minute, Jess. Gents, my sister's a professional; she gets _paid_ for
singing."

"You saying we gotta pay her, Wilma?" the man asked wryly. Wilma
nodded. "So," he continued, "she don't give it away for nothing any
more'n you do." He laughed heartily, and the other men joined in.
Roselyn snickered at Wilma's embarrassment.

Wilma put her hand on her hip and batted her eyes at the man. "I never
heard you -- any of you boys -- complain about what you got for your
money, Otis."

"Point taken, Wilma." He reached into his pocket and took out a silver
half-dollar. "And if that pretty sister of yours is half as good at
what she does, it'll be worth the money t'hear her." He tossed the
coin to Jessie, who caught it on the fly.

"Okay, then." She smiled and began to sing "Collee's Ride."

After a few lines, the men were smiling and nodding their heads in time
with the song. When she repeated the last verse, ending the song, they
broke into a round of applause. Three of the other men tossed coins at
Jessie.

"Sing us another one," Otis said. "A happier one this time."

Jessie thought for a moment. This was a new situation, and that seemed
to call for a new song. "Well, there's this song I been learning. How
'bout I try it out on you?"

"Do it," said another of the men, a tall lanky fellow she'd heard
somebody call Nate.

She looked at Wilma, who nodded back at her, and she began.

"When the dance hall girls kick high,
` They never ask the how or why.
` When joy is lost, they merely sigh;
` The tune of love is not a lie."

"Miss Amanda Walford-Biddy,
` She's the toast of Kansas City.
` A. has boyfriends, one-two-three;
` She'll have twenty, wait and see."

It was a merry tune, and the men in the room were soon clapping along.
And tossing coins when the song ended.

"Tres bien," Cerise called out, leading the applause. "Tres bien."

"My Lady," Wilma said. "I didn't know you were listening. You don't
mind Jessie singing here, do you?"

Cerise shook her head. "Not in the least, Wilma." She turned to
Jessie. "I heard you speak of the troubles you have with Monsieur
Shamus. If they continue, you are more than welcome to come here to
sing your songs."

"I always knew you'd wind up working here, Jess." Wilma laughed and
slapped Jessie back.

Jessie wasn't sure she liked the sound of _that_. "I'm hoping that
Shamus and me can still work things out, Lady Cerise, but thanks for
the offer."

"Just a thought," Cerise said. "Mayhaps you could sing here in the
afternoon and over there at night."

"Maybe I can," Jessie said. "We'll be busy tomorrow setting up for the
dance. Lemme come back Sunday, and we'll see how it works."

"Bien, Sunday it is," Cerise said, nodding in approval at the
suggestion.

* * * * *

R.J. took a sip of wine. "I see that you taught Arnie that game of
Brett's."

"You mean 'Maverick Solitaire'?" Bridget said, cutting a slice of her
roast beef. "Yes, I did. Jessie and Laura have been giving him
lessons on how to shoot a gun. I thought a few lessons on thinking
before he did something risky would be a good idea."

"Besides," she continued, "he gets bored when there isn't work for him,
and you know what they say about idle hands."

"I do indeed. Just the same, it was a good-hearted thing to do."

"He jumped in when those men were ready to shoot me. I owe him."

"I seem to recall having something to do with that, myself."

Bridget gently touched his arm. "I remember, and I thank you again for
that help, but you're a grown man, R.J. He's still a boy. He can be
rash, and I worry about him, especially if he might have a pistol on
hand."

"And I've noticed you trying to keep an eye on him, too. You've been
watching him while he's working, watching like a mother hen."

She smiled, feeling a bit embarrassed at the comparison. "I guess I do
-- and why exactly are you watching me, R.J. Rossi?"

"I'm old-fashioned, I guess. I like to look at my friends, now and
then." He took her hand in his. "One friend in particular; do you
mind?"

"Not really, I suppose. Can you do me a favor and keep an eye on
Arnie, too?"

"If you want, but it won't be near as much fun as watching you." He
grinned, then turned serious. "Do you really think he needs watching?"

"I don't know. When he first started working at the saloon, he did
pretty well, but now..."

"Have you tried talking to him? He'll surely listen to you. He likes
you -- which shows he's got good taste, if not good sense."

She felt her cheeks warm at the compliment. "He doesn't listen -- not
to me, at least. His cousin, Dolores, he listens more to her."

"Then I'd say you should talk to her." He smiled again. "But right
now, I'm glad that you're talking to me." He gently lifted her hand to
his lips and kissed it softly.

* * * * *

Kaitlin stood watching Trisha changing into her bedclothes. She was
already in her nightgown, while Trisha was still fumbling with the
hooks of her corset. "Is something bothering you, Trisha?"

Trisha frowned and looked down at her body. "It's my... my breasts.
There's something wrong with them?"

"Do they hurt?"

"No, they seem a little bigger somehow, more tender, too."

Kaitlin nodded. She thought she knew what the problem was. "Tender?"
she prompted.

"Yes, when I touch them... like this..." She slid a finger across her
left breast, just above the lace trim of her corset. "I -- ooh! -- I
feel it so much more than usual."

"That sometimes happens to a woman." Kaitlin counted in her head.
Yes, she was right; Trisha's monthlies were due in a day or so.

"I think it's, maybe, because we haven't..." Trisha glanced towards
their bed. "...haven't... umm, you know... in so long."

Kaitlin gave her a wry smile. "Are you asking what I think you're
asking?"

"Uh huhn." Trisha still had a hand on her left breast, one finger
dipping down under the corset lace, touching her nipple. "Could we...
please." Her voice was breathy and a bit uneven. She moved to undo
the rest of the corset hooks. She finished and let the garment drop to
the floor. "Please."

Kaitlin looked at the woman, now standing before her in only her
camisole and drawers. "I do believe that your breasts _have_ gotten a
bit larger, Trisha." They had, and Kaitlin could see that Trisha's
nipples were erect and pushing out the thin, soft muslin of her
camisole.

"They have," Trisha said. "And they feel so good... so _very_ good."
She took a step towards Kaitlin. "Let... let me show you." She
grabbed Kaitlin's right hand and pressed it against her breast.

Kaitlin pulled her hand away from Trisha's breast as if from a hot
stove. "Trisha! Stop that."

"But..." The shorter woman put her arms around Kaitlin's neck and
moved in close so that their bodies were touching, their breasts
rubbing against each other. "I thought you liked it."

Kaitlin began to feel her own arousal. Should she give in? 'No,' she
thought. 'Better that Trisha spends the night feeling like she does
now. She'll never be more aware of her female body and its needs.'

She pushed Trisha away. "Not tonight," she stated firmly.

"No?" Trisha pouted prettily. "Why... why not?"

Kaitlin took a step back. "Because I said so; now get your nightie
on."

"Aww." Trisha pulled off the camisole. But, instead of taking up her
nightgown, she raised her hands to her breasts. "I... I need to --"

"_You_ need to sleep someplace else tonight. So I, Kaitlin McNeil
O'Hanlan, do hereby command you to obey, and I order you to get your
nightie on and go downstairs to sleep."

"That's not fair," Trisha complained. She didn't want to, but the
voice in her head made her pull the nightgown over her head and let it
fall down over her body towards the floor.

Kaitlin shrugged. "Maybe it isn't, but let's go. Now."

"Don't want to," Trisha protested, but even as she did, she walked over
to the door. She sighed and walked out of the bedroom and towards the
stairs. Kaitlin followed behind her with a pillow and blanket.

Patrick had slept on the sofa before when he and Kaitlin were fighting
over something. Now it was Trisha's turn.

And, as had happened before, the noise of her parents walking passed
her half-opened door, woke Emma. She lay in bed quietly, listening to
them argue.

* * * * *

Saturday, January 20, 1872

"G'morning, father," Stephan Yingling and his brothers and sisters
greeted their father when he came into the kitchen. The Reverend liked
to sleep in on Saturday mornings, since he had to be up so early on
Sundays.

"Good morning, children," the Reverend answered, greeting his family.
"A pleasant good morning to you all." He sat down at the head of the
table and whispered a short prayer of grace.

"And to you, dear." Martha Yingling had come over. She kissed her
husband on the cheek and poured him a cup of coffee. "How would you
like your eggs?"

"Hard scrambled, I think." Yingling added a cube of sugar to the
coffee. He stirred it twice and took a sip. "So tell me, Stephan," he
asked. "Have you given any thought to what you want for your birthday?
It's but a few weeks away."

The boy took a bite of his own scrambled eggs. "Yes, sir, I have. I
was looking in the wish book... in the toy section. They had these
sets of tin soldiers --" The reverend frowned slightly. The "wish
book", the oversized winter edition of the Sears and Roebuck Company
mail order catalog, included a well-illustrated section of children's
toys.

"Soldiers?" His father answered slowly. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes, sir. They had this one set --"

Now his mother interrupted. "Is there anything else you'd like, dear?
Your grandfather and your uncle and aunts will want to send presents,
too, I'm sure."

"There was a bunch of different sets," the boy said eagerly. "If I got
enough of 'em I could do real battles."

"Surely there are other presents you'd like," Mrs. Yingling asked,
trying to lead him in a different, safer direction. "Clothes, perhaps,
or a book?"

Stephan made a face. "Clothes! No, thank you. There were a couple
books I saw, though, history books."

"Excellent," she replied. "After breakfast, you can show them to me."
The "wish book" also offered a small library of available books. If
she could just get him to point to one or two Thaddeus would approve
of.

"Now enough talk of birthdays." She brought over the pan and dumped
three scrambled eggs onto her husband's plate. "Finish your
breakfasts, the both of you." And to herself, she added, 'in peaceful
silence... please.'

* * * * *

"Fold that blanket please, Trisha," Kaitlin asked.

"Do I get to take it upstairs," Trisha said sourly, "or am I sleeping
down here again tonight?"

"That depends. Should I expect a repeat of last night?"

Trisha shook her head. "No, I don't feel as... eager as I did last
night. I don't know if I should be upset or relieved?"

"Do you understand any of what happened to you yesterday?"

"I understand that you refused me again. I'm your husband, blast it.
I have certain rights --"

"At the moment, _husband_," Kaitlin told her coolly, "your rights
include the right to wear a pouch again. The reason you were so
'eager' last night is that your monthlies are about to start."

"Shit!" The thought of her monthlies stole all the wind from Trisha's
sails. She sighed and began to fold the blanket.

"You might as well take that blanket upstairs," Kaitlin added. "I
don't expect to have any problems with you for the next four nights."

Trisha stiffened. "Oh, you'll have trouble with me, Kaitlin. I can
still argue with you, even if that's all I can do."

"In that case, Trisha, leave the blanket -- and the pillow -- down
here. It will save you the trip upstairs to fetch them tonight."

"I'll sleep in my own bed, thank you."

"You'll sleep down here as long as you think like that." Kaitlin
crossed her arms in front of her and glared at Trisha. "I can make it
an order, or you can keep your dignity and do it of your own pigheaded
free will."

* * * * *

Dolores gently tapped her knife against the side of her glass. "I do
not mean to interrupt, but I have an announcement to make."

"What is it?" Teresa asked.

"I have had a wonderful visit here with you all," she told them, "but
it is time for me to be going home."

"Do you _have_ to leave?" Constanza asked sadly.

"Yeah, do you have to?" Enrique repeated his older sister's question.

"Please stay," Arnie insisted, "for a little while at least."

Dolores shook her head. "I have already paid for my ticket. I will
leave on Monday, the 29th."

"I... we will all miss you, Dolores," Teresa said. "It has been a
pleasure to have you here, and you've been so much of a help." She
didn't add that much of that help had been in dealing with Arnoldo.

"It had been _my_ pleasure, cousin," Dolores answered. "Seeing you
all, seeing how much my young cousins have grown." She looked at
Arnie. "And seeing how my cousin, Arnoldo, has grown into the man of
the house."

Arnie looked at her and then at Teresa. "Mama, we must throw her a
going away party, the biggest one ever."

"That... that is not necessary, Arnoldo," Dolores told him. "And it
would be so much work for your mother."

"I will help," Arnie said. "We will all help." He looked at his
sisters and his younger brother. "Won't we?" The children also
agreed. "There, you see, Dolores. It is decided. We will do such a
good job that Mama will not have to lift a finger."

Teresa raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and who will cook the food for this
fiesta you want to have for Dolores?"

"Well," Arnie replied, "that much of a finger I will let you lift." He
grinned at his own joke.

"Oh, thank you," Teresa said sarcastically. "I will try to help and
not get in your way." She wasn't going to show it, but she was proud
of how he was trying to be the one in charge. 'Thank you, Dolores,'
she said to herself. 'For this, thank you.'

* * * * *

"That is surely a lot of drink, Cerise." Wilma put down her pen and
closed the inventory book. She'd spent the best part of an hour
entering the latest delivery of wine and hard liquor.

Her employer shrugged. "For a house this size and in such a place as
Eerie, perhaps. When I worked for Madame Gabriella in Savannah -- ah,
but that is a story for another time. Just now, I wish a story, as it
were, from you."

"From me?" Wilma scratched her heard for a moment. "I guess. What
kind of a story d'you want t'hear?"

"I wish to hear that you have settled the matter between yourself,
Rosalyn, and Beatriz. Can you tell me that story?"

Wilma sighed. "'Fraid not, unless you wanna hear a fairy tale. Things
ain't at all settled between us -- not yet, anyway."

"They must be settled -- and soon. Beatriz' last attempt to discredit
you involved a patron of this house. He was displeased. I will _not_
lose business because of this fight between the three of you."

"If you'd let me whup them -- even just one of them -- that'd put an
end to it."

"No, I will not have one of my... staff injured -- not in any way that
a patron might see."

Wilma smiled wryly at that. "And they do see everything, don't they?"
She chuckled. "That's what they pay for."

"Ma oui, and they will not pay -- I will not ask them to pay -- for
less than the best."

"You got me then," Wilma admitted. "I'd probably have t'do some damage
t'break their spirits enough to stop bothering me."

"We understand each other, then," the other woman said. "I do not wish
their spirits -- or anything else -- broken." She thought for a
moment, as if remembering something she disliked remembering.
"Besides, if you hurt them, but you do _not_ break their spirits,
things could become truly worse."

"I can take care of myself, Cerise. Don't you worry none about that."

"I most assuredly shall worry. That is a part of my job. And do not
be so certain. You can be... distracted, after all."

Wilma smiled, thinking of how she was so easily and so often distracted
by men. "Well, there are times when I got other... things on my mind."

"To be sure. And at such times, _things_ can happen. There are... I
know of stories where one girl settled an argument with another...
permanently."

Wilma's expression soured. "Cerise, if you'll warn me 'bout _that_,
why won't you let me deal with Rosalyn and Beatriz the way I want?"

"Because you will deal with them the way that _I_ want. You have two
choices."

"And they are?"

"This matter will be settled to my satisfaction -- _my_ satisfaction --
by... let us say, by the end of the month."

"Or..."

"Or, as much as it pains me to say this, you will no longer be my
second in this house."

* * * * *

Dolores leaned her head on Ramon's shoulder as they danced to the waltz
the band was playing. "Mmm, I think that I will miss these dances most
of all."

"Miss," Ramon asked. "Won't you be coming to the dances any more?"

"After next week, I won't be able to," she told him. "I am going home.
I have a ticket for the stage a week this Monday."

"Why are you leaving? I thought that you liked... like Eerie."

"There are many things about Eerie that I do like, one thing in
particular." She smiled up at him. "But I am homesick. Besides,
Carnival is coming, and I want to be there. The Carnival fiesta in
Mexico City is something truly amazing to see."

"So I have heard. Maybe someday --"

Dolores stopped moving and stepped back so that they were facing each
other, still holding hands. "Why 'someday', Ramon? Come with me."

"What? I... my job at Aaron's... and where would I stay? I have no
family in Mexico City."

"You could stay at my... at my parents' hacienda on the outskirts of
the city. We have quite a large place with many rooms, many
_bedrooms_." She said the last word in a low purr.

"I... I will have to think about it."

"Of course. It is not an easy decision." She stepped in close and put
her arms around him. As they began to dance, Ramon could feel her
pressing her body against his. "And this," she whispered, "is just my
way of helping you make that decision."

* * * * *

Sunday, January 21, 1872

"Hola, Arnoldo, nice suit."

Arnie and his family were outside the church, starting home for their
noon meal. Arnie stopped when he heard his name.

"Isn't that Pablo Escobar?" Teresa Diaz asked, pointing to the boy
standing some ten feet away.

Arnie made a face. "Si, it is Pablo."

"You may stay here and talk to him," Teresa told her son, "but do not
be long. Seá±or O'Toole expects you at noon, and I want you to eat
something first."

"Why don't I just go home with the rest of you. If I want to talk to
Pablo, I can do that another time."

"Arnoldo, I know that the two of you do not get along. Today, it seems
that Pablo is trying to be polite."

"There is no shame in trying to make peace, Arnoldo," Dolores added.
"If nothing good comes from it, you still will be the man who tried."

That convinced him. "Very well, Dolores... Mama." He shrugged and
walked over to Pablo. "Hola."

"That is a nice suit you wore to church today, Arnoldo. Is it new?"

Arnie shook his head. "You know this suit. I've had it for almost a
year."

"I know it. It is a shame that Seá±or O'Toole does not pay you enough
to buy some decent clothes. This suit..." He turned around slowly.
"_is_ new. It is good to work for someone like Seá±or Ritter, who pays a
man properly for good work."

"If he pays for _good_ work, then why would he be paying you?"

"Ha! I suppose the boy who scrubs spittoons knows about a man's work."
The two youths glared at each other. They balled their fists,
circling, looking for an opening.

A stern voice stopped them. "In the very yard of our Lord's house, on
His day, is this the way you act?"

"Padre," Arnie said. "He started it."

Father de Castro shook his head. "You two have been fighting for so
long that I do not believe either of you know remember what you are
really fighting over."

"But he insulted me," Arnie argued. "I came over because I thought he
wanted to talk, and he insulted me."

"That is a lie," Pablo yelled.

"Truth or lie, that is enough," de Castro said. "Just go home and
think about what you want to do with your lives, and if you will let
this hatred between you sour those lives."

Pablo laughed. "Let him go running home to his mama, Padre. Me, I
have a man's job to do." By way of apology, he added, "But I, at
least, will think of what you said."

"I will go, Padre, because it is you that asks." Arnie turned to glare
at Pablo. "But this is not over. I am the better man, and I will
prove it."

* * * * *

Rachel gently put her hand on Ramon's arm. "So tell me, Ramon, what's
the matter with you?"

"Rachel." Ramon blinked and looked up at her. "I... I did not see you
standing there."

"If it's me you're asking, you ain't seen much of anything since you
came in today. Not the way you been looking up at the ceiling."

"I am sorry. I have been thinking about something."

"Something serious, I'm sure. So, _nu_, what is it all ready?" She
took a breath. "And don't you say it's just nothing. From such
nothings, a world can be built, as the Sages say."

He laughed. "I never could fool you, Rachel." He sighed. "It is
Dolores, Dolores Ybaá±ez. She is my problem."

"Seems to me that this Dolores has been a problem for you -- and for
mine Maggie -- for a while now. Something is changed, maybe, to get
you so _verklempt_... so upset."

"She's leaving Eerie. She told me last night that she's going home
next Monday."

"And it bothers you that she's leaving?" She looked at him closely.

He nodded. "It is more than that, Rachel. She... she asked me to go
with her."

"And..." Rachel raised a questioning eyebrow.

"And..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head again. "I do
not know. _That_ is what I have been thinking about all day."

* * * * *

"Once Amy gets a man to keep
` She'll be alone when not asleep.
` But until that day her life's her own;
` Her wedding gown is still unsewn."

"Whenever dance hall girls kick high,
` They never ask the how and why.
` When love goes wrong, they hardly cry;
` The tune of love is not a lie."

Jessie finished the song with a flourish and bowed low to a round of
applause as a few more coins joined the ones already at her feet.
"Thank you, gents," she said to the crowd gathered in the parlor of
_La_ _Parisienne_. "Glad you liked my act."

Most of the men were standing, though a few sat on chairs or the long
sofa. Mae and Wilma were sitting on the laps of two of them.

As Jessie bowed, the man whose lap Mae was on whispered something in
her ear. "That's a grand idea, Ralphie," she answered and stood up.
She took Ralphie's hand as he got to his feet. "Nice show, Jessie,"
she added. "You, too, Rosalyn."

"Thank you so much," Rosalyn replied. She played the piano, and Lady
Cerise had told her to accompany Jessie. She tried to smile as she
watched Mae lead Ralphie towards the stairs. 'Beatriz is upstairs for
the second time,' she thought, 'and Wilma's been up and down with her
gentleman, while I have to sit here and listen to her sister's
howling.'

"You done with the show, then, Jessie?" a tall, bearded man asked.

Jessie was kneeling down to pick up the money the men had thrown. "I
am, Max."

"In that case," Max ventured, "how 'bout me and you go upstairs, and
you can sing something just for me."

Shamus' canary, as some called her, shook her head. "Sorry, Max, but
the only singing I do here is downstairs."

"The hell you do." He took a step towards her. "A gal who works in a
place like this --"

"I ain't the singer my sister is," Wilma said, stepping in front of
him, "but I got _other_ talents you might wanna try out."

Max's eyes ranged up and down Wilma's form. Her hair was down around
her shoulders, and she was wearing a lavender corset that exposed most
of her pillowy breasts and a silky white pair of drawers that clung to
her wide hips and teardrop ass. "You'll do, darling," he said, "and
then some." He took Wilma's hand as his lust overcame his anger.

Another man walked over to stand besides Rosalyn. "I want to see what
else this pretty lady can do with them clever hands of hers."

"You would be surprised, sir," she answered in a sultry voice, "and
very much pleased." She reached over and ran a finger over the bulge
at his crotch. "Mmm, lovely. As my friend, Blanche Dubois, used to
say, _I_ have always delighted in the hardness of strangers."

Cerise walked over to Jessie, who was putting the money the men had
tossed at her into her reticule. "And I have always delighted in
whatever my guests have delighted in, Jessie. Here is the money we
agreed upon." She handed Jessie a five dollar silver piece. "And I
would be more than delighted to continue paying, were you to sing for
my guests in a regular basis."

Jessie put the coin in with the others. "And _I'd_ be delighted t'take
the money, Cerise, but... can I think about it for a little bit more?"

"Oui, cherie, but do not take too long."

* * * * *

Maggie was browning the cubes of meat for the stew she was making, when
she heard the kitchen door slam. "Hello," she called, turning to see
who had come from the yard.

"Mama, mama, say it is not so." Lupe ran over and wrapped her arms
around her mother.

Maggie put down the fork she was using to turn the meat and looked
down. "Lupe... why are you crying?"

"Uncle... Uncle Ramon." the girl was sobbing, the words coming out one
at a time. "He-he... is... going... away!"

She reached down and gently hugged her daughter. "Now who told you
that?"

"He... he... did. I-I went over to... to ask why he did not go to
church with us." She let out a sob, then continued. "He was t-talking
with Bubbe Rachel. I stood quiet and waited. And... and I heard him
say he... was -- that lady, Dolores. She is going home, and he... he
is going to... to... to go with her."

Lupe hugged Maggie tightly. Tears streamed down her daughter's cheeks,
and she was crying too hard to continue talking.

"Now what's ailing you, little one?" Jane had just come in from the
bar.

Maggie picked up her daughter. "Jane, please take over for me. I am
making that spicy stew with the chilis. You know the recipe, I think."

"I do." Jane went over to the stove. She used Maggie's fork to begin
to turn the meat.

"Bueno," Maggie told the other woman. "I am taking Lupe upstairs to
lie down for a bit. I will return as soon as I can."

Lupe rested her head on Maggie's shoulder. "Are you going to talk to
Uncle Ramon, mama?"

"Yes," Maggie told her. "But not right now, Lupe. You are too upset
to leave alone for very long, and I have to make the meals for the
restaurant."

"But Uncle Ramon..." Lupe's voice trailed off. She was still
sniffling.

"I do not think that he is leaving today," Maggie said. "I will talk
to him and find out what is going on. I promise." It was as much a
promise to herself as to Lupe.

* * * * *

Monday, January 22, 1872

Jessie was sweeping the floor near the front of the saloon, when Laura
came in. "Morning, Laura," she greeted the other woman.

"Hi, Jessie," Laura answered. "This is handy. I wanted to talk to
you."

"What about?"

"Arnie's lessons. I don't think I can help out with them anymore."

"Why not?"

"The baby." She gently touched her stomach.

Jessie looked worried. "Ain't nothing wrong, I hope."

"No... it's nothing like that." She smiled, grateful for her friend's
concern. "Last Friday, the baby started moving. I could feel it...
feel it moving inside me."

"What's that got to do with Arnie?"

"Not Arnie - not exactly. But every time he fired his pistol, the baby
moved - jumped, almost. I think the baby heard the noise, and - maybe
- got scared by it." She rubbed her stomach, the bulge that marked her
pregnancy. "I can't exactly tell it not to be scared, so I figured
that it'd be better if I wasn't there when he's practicing."

Jessie chuckled. "You're probably right." She lightly placed her hand
next to Laura's. "You behave yourself for now, little one, and don't
give your mamma no trouble. You do that, and, when you get old enough,
I'll teach _you_ how t'shoot."

"Thanks for the offer," Laura replied, "but I sort of plan to do that
myself." She smiled at Jessie again and added, "But you're welcome to
help."

* * * * *

"Hola, Ramon," Maggie said softly as she walked into the Silverman's
store.

Ramon was restocking a display of shirts. He turned at the sound of
her voice and smiled. "Margarita... what brings you over here?"

"I-I heard that you were l-leaving Eerie, and I... I came to say
goodbye."

His smile faded. "Who told you that I was leaving?"

"Lupe heard you telling Rachel about it yesterday." Maggie felt a
spark of hope. "Did she not understand something she heard you say?"

Ramon shrugged. "Only in part." He looked around. It was mid-
morning, and Rachel Silverman was waiting on the only customer in the
store. Aaron was sitting near the register reading. "Can we talk in
private?" Ramon asked.

"Where?"

"We can go in the back of the store. Would that be all right?"

Maggie nodded. She followed him through a curtained doorway into the
storeroom. He turned a corner and stopped next to a high set of
shelves filled with boxes.

"What did you mean 'in part', Ramon?"

"Dolores Ybaá±ez is going back to Mexico City next Monday. She --
Margarita, she asked me to come with her."

Maggie's eyes went wide. "Are you going?"

"I-I have not decided. It is a big step. I have --" He paused for a
beat and seemed to be considering something. "Margarita..." he began
again, "... how would you feel if I... if I did go with her?"

It was an unexpected question. "I... I would miss you very much. You-
-you are a... a good friend."

Ramon gave her a wry look. "A good friend? Yes, and, perhaps, more
than just a friend." On a sudden impulse, he pulled her to him. Then
he paused, his lips above hers, just long enough for her to push him
away if she wanted to. When her only reaction was a surprised widening
of her eyes, he kissed her, deeply.

A pleasant warm feeling ran through Maggie's body. Before she realized
it, her arms were around his neck and she was returning his kiss with
an urgency that surprised her. 'He will stay,' she thought with
boundless relief. 'Wait until I tell Lupe and Ernesto.'

Lupe and Ernesto -- the thought of them drove the passion from her.

With a gasp that was almost a sob, she lowered her arms and pushed
Ramon -- no, she pushed _herself_ away. "I cannot do this," she said,
shaking her head.

"Margarita." Ramon reached for her, but she twisted away from him. He
sighed. "I do not understand your changeable ways. Tell me
truthfully, what is it that you cannot do?"

Eyes filling with tears, she seemed to struggle to find the words that
would not come. But, a moment later, still silent, she turned and ran
from the store.

* * * * *

Reverend Thaddeus Yingling walked around his desk to greet the two
parishioners coming into his small office. "Trisha, how good to see
you again. And Kaitlin, as well. How can I help you two la..." He
stopped as Trisha's expression changed. "...you two on this Monday?"

"You can sit down for a start," Trisha told him, smiling again. Both
she and Kaitlin sat down. Trisha waited until the man was sitting
behind his desk to begin. "A while back, you came into the store and
asked how Kaitlin and I were getting on. Do you remember?"

"Indeed. I offered my services if you were having any problems because
of your... because of what happened." He put his fingers together,
forming a small tent with his hands. "May I assume that you've come
here today to take me up on that offer?"

"You may," Trisha replied. "Kaitlin's been making a lot of trouble
where there shouldn't be any."

"_I'm_ making trouble!" Kaitlin glared at Trisha. "You're the one who
keeps forcing me to --"

"A husband shouldn't have to force his wife." Trisha looked straight
at Yingling. "You tell her that, Reverend. I've got my -- what do you
call them... conjugal -- I've got my conjugal rights."

Yingling looked askance at her, but he quickly regained the calm face
he customarily used when a parishioner threw some unpleasant news his
way. "Trisha, are you saying that you want to have... _relations_ with
Kaitlin?"

"I am." Trisha nodded. "Doesn't the Good Book say that a man should
cleave to his wife?"

"Matthew 19:3," Yingling answered her. "It also says that maid shall
not lie with maid."

"But I've got... needs," Trisha protested, "the same as I always had."
She giggled. "Well, maybe not the _same_, but damned -- excuse me,
Reverend -- darned close. Kaitlin's my wife. It's her duty to --"

"Duty!" Kaitlin spat. "It's not supposed to be a _duty_, Trisha.
'Rejoice in the wife of your youth.' That's in the Bible, too. Isn't
it, Reverend?"

"It is; Proverbs, chapter 5, verses 18 and 19." Yingling wasn't
certain how to proceed. "The Bible says many things, Kaitlin. And all
of them are intended to guide us to do our Lord's will."

Trisha shook her head. "I don't know what got into you, Kaitlin. When
I first asked you..." She stopped and looked at Yingling as if studying
him. "Can I trust you, Reverend Yingling, trust that you won't tell
anyone else what we say to you?"

Yingling seemed to be studying the pair in return. "Have you ever
heard of my telling anyone what I was told in confidence?" When
Kaitlin and Trisha both said no, he continued. "I am here as the
representative of our Savior, to give aid and solace in His name. I
would betray Him, as well as the two of you, were I to reveal what I am
told in secret, and _that_ I will _never_ do."

"That's more than good enough for me," Trisha said. "When I first..."
She paused and looked over at Kaitlin.

"_Now_ you're having second thoughts?" Kaitlin said angrily. "You
dragged me over here, and the good reverend has promised not to say
anything. Go ahead and tell the man what you think is so important."

Trisha frowned. "All right, then. When I first asked Kaitlin to
have... relations with me, she said that she wanted to think about it a
while. I gave her --"

"You gave me!" Kaitlin interrupted. "I think not. I asked you for a
week to think about it, and you agreed. And reluctantly, I might add."

"Whatever," Trisha continued. "When that week was over, you seemed
more than happy to go along with the idea. We went at each other
pretty good for more than a few times. And it felt _real_ good."
Trisha's face reddened. "Then, all of a sudden, she _won't_ do it
anymore."

"Do it?" Yingling asked, not certain that he wanted to hear the answer.

"Yeah," Trisha answered. "I'd start out kissing her, touching her
where she likes to be touched, but she makes me stop -- that potion I
took, it makes me obey her. That ain't right. A wife's supposed to be
-- what's the word... submit, yeah, a wife's got to submit to her
husband, not the other way around." She looked at the minister, trying
to gauge his reaction. When she couldn't, she continued. "She
wouldn't let me touch her, even when she was touching _me_, touching my
--"

"Th-that's enough," Yingling quickly interrupted. "I get the idea."

Trisha pressed on. "But now she won't even do that. A couple of days
back, I really needed --"

"I said that is enough!" Yingling interrupted her again, using his
best preacher's voice. Trisha stopped, and both women looked at him.
"It is just as well that Kaitlin has stopped... stopped being a part of
what you described."

"What are you saying, Reverend?" Kaitlin asked, sounding a little
hesitant.

"Kaitlin, you and Trisha are both valued members of my congregation.
I've enjoyed working with you on various projects as well as being your
spiritual advisor." The man's voice turned harsh. "But, _as_ your
spiritual advisor, I tell you that what you and Trisha have described
to me just now must come to an end now and forever. It is unnatural,
evil."

Trisha looked shocked. "Evil? Don't you think you're being a little
hasty, Reverend?"

"Hasty, why do you say that?" He sounded surprised to be questioned.

"It seems to me that you're jumping the gun on this," Trisha said
carefully, not wanting to insult the man. "You're giving an answer
without really taking the time to think it through."

Yingling sighed. "I doubt that I shall change my opinion, but I will
agree to take more time to consider the matter -- for your sakes and
for the sake of the friendship that I believe we have shared. Please
come back Friday afternoon at... ah, is 2 PM all right?"

"Two, it is." Trisha stood and offered the man her hand. "We'll see
you then."

Yingling shook the offered hand. "Fine, and I'll give you both my
_thought-out_ opinion."

* * * * *

Arnie backed through the door into the kitchen, holding a heavy tray of
glassware. The room seemed empty. "Anybody here?" he asked
cautiously.

"Just me," Jane answered him. She was kneeling down, feeding the fire
in the wood stove. Her back was to him. "Maggie's in the pantry,
getting some more carrots."

Arnie nodded. He carried the tray the rest of the way to the sink and
set it carefully on the counter. Most of the glasses were empty and
went directly into the sink, but someone had left almost two fingers of
whiskey in one glass.

He looked around quickly. Jane was still working the fire. 'Better
hurry,' he thought. He took the glass and downed the liquor in one
quick gulp. The now-empty glass went into the sink.

Before he took another glass out of the tray, Arnie reached into his
pocket for a small, unmarked tin. He opened it and popped a sen-sen
into his mouth. He tasted the sweetness of the candy, a "breath
perfume" the manufacturer called it, in his mouth, even as he felt the
warmth of the whiskey settling in his stomach. It was a pleasant
combination.

At that same moment, Maggie walked in carrying several large bunches of
carrots. 'I took that sen-sen just in time,' Arnie thought. 'Must be
my lucky day.'

He was smiling when he came out of the kitchen a short time later with
a second tray, this one full of clean glasses. He walked behind the
bar and set the tray down under the counter.

R.J. watched him closely. "You look a little unsteady there, Arnie."

"Seá±or?" What was R.J. talking about?

"Unsteady, like you were having trouble walking... or you were drunk."
The barman leaned close and sniffed. "I don't smell anything, but that
doesn't mean there isn't something to smell."

Arnie laughed. He'd fooled the man. "There is nothing there, R.J."

"I hope not, 'cause I heard Shamus warn you. He's not in the best of
moods right now, and I'd advise you not to cross him."

"Aaah," Arnie said, trying to sound blasé. "He ain't gonna find
nothing,"

"Like I said, I hope not." R.J. shrugged. "By the way, the folks at a
couple of those tables you bussed owed money. You pick it up?"

Arnie reached into his pocket and pulled out several coins. "Here you
go. I think we even got a tip or two."

R.J. put the money on the counter and sorted it into two piles. "We
did." R.J. put most of the coins in the register, but a few went into
the "Tips Jar" Shamus kept behind the bar. Tips were split between
R.J., the women, and Arnie, with Shamus taking only a share as
bartender.

"I better go back and wash those glasses," Arnie said. R.J. nodded and
started to sort the glassware.

Arnie started back towards the kitchen. He was trying not to laugh.
"Fooled him about drinking _and_ managed to keep twenty-seven cents
from the tips," he whispered to himself. "This _is_ my lucky day."

* * * * *

Tuesday, January 23, 1872

It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and Miss Osboune was allowing her
students to eat their lunches outside. Emma, Ysabel, and Tomas took
their usual places at one of the tables farthest from the schoolhouse.

Tomas was the first to take the lid off his lunch pail. "I got tamales
again and... coricos." He held up three of the yellow, ring-shaped
cornmeal cookies. "Anybody want to trade?"

"I got tamales, too, and some dried apple slices," Ysabel said.

Emma took out a sandwich, a thick cut of roast beef between two slices
of home-baked bread. "Trade you each half of this for a tamale, okay?"

"Done," Tomas replied. Ysabel nodded as well. Both placed a tamale on
the lid of Emma's pail, which served as her plate.

Emma glanced around. "Is anybody looking?" When her friends shook
their heads, "No", Emma twisted around on the bench, so that her right
leg was resting on it. She leaned over and pulled her mumbly-peg knife
from her high-button shoe.

She opened the knife blade and used it to cut the sandwich neatly in
half. She wiped the blade clean with her napkin, folded it into its
sheath, and slid it back down into her shoe.

"You oughta just wear pants, Emma," Tomas said, as he took his piece of
chicken. "Then you wouldn't have to hide it in your shoe like that.
You could just keep it in your pocket."

"I'd probably have to hide it anyway," Emma answered. "Ma was real
angry at Uncle Liam when she found out he give it to me."

"Why didn't she just take it then?" Ysabel asked, taking a bite of
chicken.

"She did, but Trisha gave it back. She said a boy my age had every
right to have a knife like that."

"Ma said I wasn't a boy, but she agreed to let me keep it, as long as I
kept it in my room. She checked my pockets when I wore pants. I left
it in my room or hid it in my shoe, same as I do now. Since I'm
wearing dresses, she figures I can't be carrying it."

"Is that why you stopped wearing pants," Ysabel asked, "so you could
sneak out with that knife?"

Emma shook her head. "Nope. I got tired of being called 'Patches.' I
know Hermione and Clyde started it to tease me, but it was getting to
be a nickname. Last week, when we was playing ball, and I had it, Bert
yells, 'Toss it to me, Patches.' That was the last straw, my own
teammate calling me that."

"Did it work?" Tomas asked, "or is he still calling you that?"

"Not since the next day when I came to school in that yellow dress of
mine," Emma replied. "The one with the lace at the cuffs." She
finished the first tamale and wiped the corners of her mouth, copying a
quick gesture Ysabel had made moments before. "I'd've thought I'd get
more teasing if I came in a dress instead of pants, not the other way
around. It doesn't make a lick of sense."

* * * * *

Someone once asked Molly O'Toole, "Why does Shamus mostly curse in that
funny talk of his?"

"That's Cheyenne, he's talking," Molly explained. "They raised him, ye
know. As for why himself cusses in it, well, that's me doing. I'm not
one for using profanity; I heard too much of it as a lass from me
father and me brothers. So, when we was first married, I asked him if
he'd stop."

"And he stopped?"

"Whust, no. He said it weren't natural for a man t'not be cussing,
said it was part of what made a man a man. 'When a dog can't bite the
one that's hurting it, it whimpers,' he says t'me, 'but when a man
can't strike back, he can still curse.' Now, what could I be saying
t'that?"

"You must've said something, to make him change."

"I did," Molly said with a satisfied chuckle. "I told him how his
cussing was bad for business. He had such a talent for it, says I,
that a man that's feeling the need t'be cussing some while he drank
wouldn't come in t'our place for fear of being outcussed by himself
behind the bar."

"And that worked?"

"O'course it did. He's a man of business, me Shamus. Besides, he
found that he got just as much satisfaction -- which is half the joy of
cussing, ain't it? -- doing it in the Cheyenne. Not one man in a
hundred knows what he's saying, especially here, where there ain't no
Cheyenne about, so they don't care what he says." She laughed. "And
neither do I."

* * * * *

Shamus was keeping his promise. For more than an hour, he'd been going
strong in Cheyenne on the results of the Fort Grant trial. He was
calling down the wrath of the spirits that his Cheyenne stepfather
worshipped and the Trinity and saints of his own Roman Catholic
heritage down upon William Orry, the judge and jury, and the Papagos
Indian tribe. In between calls for vengeance, he prayed for the souls
of 100 Aravaipas Apache, all but 8 of them women or children.

The victims had been repeatedly shot or had their brains beaten out of
them, many of them in their sleep. Some of the women were raped before
they died. Bodies were mutilated. Thankfully, some 30 children had
survived, but they were the prisoners of the Papagos.

The perpetrators of this evil were 48 Mexicans, 8 Anglos, and 94
Papagos, all led by Bill Orry, former mayor of Tucson.

"That Orry bastard calls it a 'memorable and glorious morning', may he
rot in hell." Shamus was speaking Cheyenne as he quoted from the
newspaper next to him on the bar. "Some lying judge tells the jury
it's all right for folks t'be defending themselves if the Army won't,
and it takes them misbegotten vermin all of 19 minutes t'be letting
Orry and them other sons o'the devil go free."

Molly stood near him. When he downed another whiskey -- she'd lost
count how many, she finally spoke up. "Are ye sure ye should be
drinking like that so early in the day, Love?"

"And why shouldn't I?" Shamus answered her in English. "This here is a
'memorable and glorious morning', ain't it?"

She shook her head sadly. "No, it ain't, I'm sorry t'be saying." She
took his hand. "Shamus, Love, for me, please go and have yuirself a
bit of a lie-down."

"Gotta stay." His voice was shaky, his words slurred. "I-I got me a
saloon t'be running."

"There ain't that many here just now. It's early, and, besides, R.J.'s
here t'be helping me if there is a crowd."

"R.J., aye, he's a good man, R.J."

The taller man had held back, standing some distance away to give Molly
and Shamus some privacy. Now he stepped over at the mention of his
name. "Let me give you a hand up to your room, Shamus."

"I can... can m-manage by meself, R.J," Shamus told him. "The People -
- that's what the Cheyenne called themselves -- they taught me how t'be
walking, silent as a shadow."

R.J. put Shamus' arm over his shoulder. "Really? Can you show me how
you do that on the way up to your room?"

"All r-right," Shamus agreed. "Ye start like this..." He took an
unsteady step and, with the sort of dignity that only a very drunken
man can ever assume, let R.J. lead him upstairs.

* * * * *

Ramon took a second, longer sip. "This is an excellent madeira,
Sebastian."

"I thought you'd like it," Sebastian Ortega replied. "We have several
cases of it at the store, if you'd like to buy some more." Sebastian's
family ran the only grocery in Eerie, stocked mostly with produce from
the land-grant ranch they still controlled and had converted to
farming.

The two men were in Ramon's sitting room, part of the old guesthouse
attached to Carmen and Whit's home. Carmen and Ramon had inherited the
town house from their parents. Carmen and Whit had taken the main
house, and Ramon had moved into the attached guesthouse.

Ramon chuckled. "Ever the storekeeper."

"And you are not, over at Silverman's?"

"I try. To tell the truth, I enjoy working there more than I probably
would have enjoyed being a rancher like my brother."

"I wish you were more like your brother. I know that he will buy some
of this madeira. In fact, he already has."

"My brother can afford 50-year old wine far better than I can."

"Not a case, perhaps, but you can buy a bottle or two, surely."

"Perhaps, for now, I will enjoy this gift bottle you brought."

"I thought that it might make things easier," Sebastian said, pouring
himself a glass. "You sounded most troubled when you asked me to drop
by tonight. What is it, money or women?" He hesitated a moment, then
smiled wryly. "From what you just said about this madeira, your
finances are the same as ever, terrible. It must be women."

Ramon chuckled. "It is. Dolores... she is leaving for home next
Monday."

"Ah, and you don't want her to go, is that it?"

"No, she asked me to go with her."

"Poor Ramon, a beautiful woman wants him to run away with her. I
should have such trouble, my friend."

"I... do not... I am not certain that I-I want to go with her." He
took a breath. "Margarita..."

Sebastian finished the thought. "Wants you to stay? Or is it that you
want to stay with her?"

"That's the problem. I-I don't know what... _who_ I want."

"They are both muy attractive woman. I would not mind having either of
them --"

"Sebastian, Margarita is not that sort of woman."

"I meant as a sweetheart." He raised an eyebrow. "Is Dolores _that_
sort of woman? Ramon... having you been holding out on me?"

"I have not... _we_ have not. Not yet anyway, but Dolores has all but
promised that we will if I go back to Mexico City with her."

"I can see how you would want to avoid having to suffer such a thing."

"I am hardly inexperienced in such matters, Sebastian. It is just
that, for so long, it has been Margarita that I have... wanted."

"Leaving town with another woman would certainly not help your chances
with her, would they?"

"No, and now you see my problem."

"Actually, I see two problems," Sebastian told his friend.

"Two?"

Sebastian reached over and topped off the wine in Ramon's glass. "Si,
the problem with your decision, and the problem that the madeira in
this bottle is not enough to help you decide what to decide."

* * * * *

"Just remember what I told ye," Shamus said gruffly. "Don't be singing
_that_ song."

Jessie glared back at him. "I know what you said." She waved him
away. "You just go downstairs and introduce me."

Shamus grumbled something under his breath. He walked downstairs and
over to the small stage. "All right, folks; all right." He clapped
his hands to get the crowd's attention. When things were quiet, he
continued. "As the owner of the Eerie Saloon --"

"And a damned Injun lover," someone shouted.

Shamus eyes narrowed to thin slits. He looked around to see who might
have yelled. When he couldn't, he counted to ten and took a breath.
"I'm proud t'be presenting -- even if some of ye don't deserve it --
the pride of Eerie, Jessie Hanks." He began to clap his hands, and
most of the crowd soon followed.

"The years creep slowly by, my darling..."

Jessie started down the steps. She finished the song, standing on
stage, to a hearty round of applause. She bowed and moved on to "Betsy
from Pike."

As the second round of applause died down, somebody yelled, "Sing
'Collee's Ride' next." A few other voices agreed.

"Aw, you don't really want me t'sing that one, do you?" Jessie said,
trying to smile.

"I think she wants to be coaxed," someone yelled.

Others chimed in. "Sing it, Jessie."

"C'mon."

"Collee's Ride... Collee's Ride."

Jessie looked over at Shamus, standing over at the bar. He frowned,
shook his head slowly, and mouthed the word, "No".

"You sure?" Jessie asked, still looking at the barman. The crowd
thought that she was talking to them and began to applaud.

Shamus glared at her and nodded once, firmly. He was sure.

Jessie picked up her guitar, still not certain what to do. She saw
Molly come over and stand next to her husband. Without saying a word,
she took his hand in her own. Her face was a mask of sadness.

"I know how much you all like 'Collee's Ride', but I just learned me
another song. I like it better, and I'm gonna sing that one instead,
whether you like it or not." She frowned for a moment, as if
challenging them to protest. Then she winked and began to sing.

"When the dance hall girls kick high..."

There were a few protests, but the crowd settled down. By the end of
the song, they were clapping along. And more than a few tossed coins,
when she finished.

"I think you like that one, too," Jessie said, bowing. She glanced
over at Shamus and Molly. His expression didn't change, but Molly
nodded slightly and mouthed the words, "Thank you."

* * * * *

Maggie turned down the wick. The lamp dimmed so that the hall was
almost dark. Satisfied, she stepped through her bedroom door...

...into a room she did not know.

It was larger than her bedroom, but with no windows. A fire blazed in
a six-foot high hearth that took up much of one wall, the only light in
the room. A high-backed chair stood near the fireplace and turned away
from her. There was a bed in the center of the room, wider than her
own, with the covers pulled back and a sloping cloth canopy above it.

She sniffed the air; cinnamon, one of her favorite scents. The floor
was covered with a thick rug; fur of some sort; she could feel it
between her toes.

Between her toes? She had been wearing slippers.

Maggie looked down. Yes, she was barefoot. More than that, her dress
and apron were gone. She wore a pale blue silk chemise and matching
drawers, both trimmed in white lace. The chemise was sheer enough that
she could see her dark nipples press against the material. When had
she bought such a garment? For that matter, when -- and why -- had she
put it on?

A figure rose from the chair and turned to face her. It was a dark
silhouette against the flame. "Margarita?"

"Ramon," she gasped in surprise. "What is happening?"

"What do _you_ want to happen?" He moved towards her.

Maggie realized that he wore only a pair of gray, cotton drawers. As
never before, she appreciated his broad shoulders, his well-muscled
arms and chest, his narrow waist.

The bulge in his drawers.

Her nipples crinkled and grew tight. There was a warm, somehow
pleasing ache between her legs.

His arms went around her and pulled her close. Her breasts were
pressed against his firm chest. His bulge was pressed against her
groin. "Ramon," she whispered, "this is not right."

"Do you really care?" he answered. He took her head in his hands then
and steadied her as they kissed.

She moaned softly as their lips met. Her mouth opened slightly. His
tongue slipped in and began to tangle with hers. She trembled at the
sensations running through her body.

An instant later -- though she didn't know how it came to be -- they
were on the bed, still kissing. Her chemise, she realized, was gone.
Ramon broke the kiss and smiled at her. "Do not be afraid, Margarita.
Everything that happens is what _you_ wish to happen."

Astonished, she began to shake her head and mutter, "No...noooo..."

He stilled her protests by kissing her again, softly, on the lips,
before moving his head lower. He left a trail of kisses down past her
chin, on her throat, and on down to her chest. He kissed one breast,
then the other. He switched between them, alternating kisses, with his
rough tongue, and with gentle love bites.

Maggie arched her back, pushing her breasts to his mouth. She trembled
again, nearly lost in the pleasure.

Her hand snaked down of its own will, and her fingers took hold of his
member. Madre de Dios, he was naked! She felt him throb as she
carefully guided him into -- she was naked, too! -- into _her_.

Maggie's eyes went wide with surprise as he slid inside her. She
hadn't known how wet she was -- or how much she wanted him. She almost
purred as he filled her. It was like...

A blessing, a healing.

Ramon shifted his body and began to pump in and out of her. It was as
if she had become Lupe, and Ramon was Miguel. She started to move her
hips to match him, and the sensations became even more intense. She
wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper. Her hands
clawed at his back.

Waves of sexual heat spread from her groin like a spill of warm syrup
to every part of her. Her fingertips, her hair, even, tingled. The
pleasure grew deeper and warmer, and pushed against her like she were a
dam. At long last, the dam broke and flowed across her like a flood.
Maggie gasped.

She screamed.

She woke up.

Maggie was in her own bed. Alone. Her left hand was on her breast,
under her nightgown, a nipple between the finger and thumb of her left
hand. Her right hand -- no! -- it was flat against her crotch, rubbing
against her most intimate place through the thin material of her
drawers.

She pulled her hands back as if from a hot stove. She cast off the
covers and clambered quickly out of bed. A bowl and a pitcher of water
sat on her dresser for washing herself in the morning. She splashed a
handful of water in her face, shivering at how cold it felt.

"This has never -- never! -- happened before," she whispered.: "Oh,
Ramon, why did you have to kiss me like that, and why -- Madre de Dios
-- why did I kiss you back?"

She sank back onto the bed, her head in her hands. And she began to
cry.

* * * * *

Wednesday, January 24, 1872

Tommy Carson knocked on the half-opened door. "Telegram, Sheriff."

"He's not here right now, son," Paul Grant called out. "Will I do?"

The boy looked at the envelope he was carrying. "It says, 'Sheriff
Talbot' on it, but I don't think my pa'll mind if I give it to you,
sir." He handed Paul the telegram and stood quietly watching while the
deputy read. "Is it something important?" he finally asked.

"Yep." Paul tossed the boy a penny. "Here, you go. Thanks."

Timmy caught the coin. "Thank you, sir," he yelled as he ran out the
door.

"Heading straight for the penny candies at Silverman's, I'll bet," Paul
said with a chuckle.

Paul picked up his hat and headed for the door himself. "Might as well
deliver it; things are quiet enough just now."

The telegram was addressed to "Dan Talbot, Sheriff of Eerie, Arizona,"
but it really belonged to Laura. It was late afternoon, and she was
probably at the Saloon working.

"I'll just take it over to Laura and head back," he said to himself.
"Of course, if I _happen_ to run into Jessie while I'm there..." His
smile grew broader. If it things were as quiet at there as they were
in the office, there might be time for Jessie and him to do a bit of
talking -- or whatever.

* * * * *

Ramon turned at the sound of the bell at the door of the Silverman's
store. "Hola, Dolores."

"Hola, Ramon. Have you decided?"

"De... decided?"

"Si, are you coming with me to Mexico City?" She walked over to him.
She was wearing the green dress he liked, and he could smell the
familiar rose scent of her perfume. "It will make the trip back go so
much faster." Her voice was low, soft and sultry, full of sexual
promise.

"And when we get to Mexico City, Ramon, we will have so... so much
_fun_, won't we?" She stood close, her hand on his arm.

"I sup... Dolores, please, I-I have not yet decided if I want... if I
_can_ go with you."

She pouted prettily. "Oh, but you must decide, and soon. The stage
leaves Monday, and you will need time to pack."

"I know that." He decided that it wasn't fair to keep her waiting.
"Dolores, have dinner with me tomorrow night, the restaurant, at 6:30.
I-I promise that I will have my answer then."

She smiled. "And I know that it will be the right answer." She kissed
him, quickly, but with feeling.

"Just a hint to help you decide," she told him as she broke the kiss.
She smiled and left the store.

Ramon watched her go. Then he turned to see Aaron, Rachel, and the
customers who had been in the store all staring expectantly at him.
"Th-thank you for your interest, Miss Ybaá±ez," he said from habit of
waiting on trade. A moment later, he had the good sense to blush as
everyone laughed.

Aaron came over to Ramon a few minutes after Dolores left. "I saw
you... ah, you was talking to that young lady just now."

"_Everyone_ saw me. I will be teased about what happened for days."

"The easiest misfortunes to bear are somebody else's." Aaron shrugged.
"So tell me, have you decided yet?"

Ramon shook his head. "No, but I told her that I would give her my
decision tomorrow night. That will _force_ me to decide."

"That's a good idea. As the sages say, it's easier to hit the target
once you decide what the target is."

"I'm taking her to Margarita's restaurant. I'll tell her there."

"To Maggie's restaurant -- _veys_ _mer_. Whatever you decide, that's a
brave thing to do. Good luck, _kayn_ _ahora_."

"Thank you, Aaron."

"Don't be so quick to thank me. Luck, you'll need." He stopped for a
moment. "I don't want I should influence your decision, but, if you do
decide to stay, there's something you and I, we should maybe talk
about."

"What is that, Aaron?"

"Pheh, when you decide, _then_ I'll tell you. Maybe. In the meantime,
while you're trying to make this big decision of yours, do you think
you could find _ein_ _bissel_... a little time to wait on the
customers?"

* * * * *

"And what are ye so happy about?" Molly asked Arnie. The boy was
whistling as he stowed a tray of clean glasses under the bar.

Arnie looked up and all but grinned. "Didn't you read the paper today,
Seá±ora O'Toole? Those men down in Tucson, the ones who killed all them
Apaches, the jury set 'em all free."

"And ye're happy about that? A hundred souls murdered in thuir beds,
and that makes ye happy?"

"Not people... Apache." He spat the word.

Molly was surprised. Arnie had never shown that kind of strong
feelings before, except for that feud he had with Pablo. "Arnie, lad,
most of them was women and children. Some of 'em was wee babes."

"Like my brother, Enrique, was a baby when the Apache killed our
father. I say good for the men who done it. I-I hope they go out and
kill 100 more... 200... a thousand."

Molly stiffened, trying not to show her own anger. "Arnie, I'll not be
telling any soul what t'be thinking, but don't ye say that -- or
anything like that again -- not where me Shamus or I can be hearing
it."

* * * * *

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Jessie... Miss Hanks."

Jessie was standing on the boardwalk in front of the Saloon, getting a
breath of air. She looked to see a tall man staring down at her. "I
suppose. What d'you wanna talk about, Sam?"

"I'm pleased that you remember me," the man said, a broad smile on his
face, "what with everything that's been going on over here."

"Sure, I remember you, Sam. You run the Lone Star Saloon. You offered
me a job as a waitress as while back."

"That's right. You turned me down, said you just wanted to work here
for Shamus."

"That I did. Why're you over here bringing it up now?"

"'Cause I hear you ain't just working for Shamus these days. A couple
of my customers was talking how you was singing over at Lady Cerise's
place on Sunday. They said you was pretty good."

Jessie smiled. "They did, huh? Well, whoever they was, you tell 'em
thanks for me."

"Why don't you come over and thank 'em yourself?"

"What d'you mean? Are they over at your place?"

"Not right now," Sam explained. "What I mean is, you come work for me,
sing at my place, and I'll point 'em out t'you the next time they come
in."

Jessie smiled. "I'll take that as a complement, Sam, but I got me a
job singing for Shamus."

"I know, buy I figure if you was happy working for Shamus, you wouldn't
be working at Cerise's place, too. Well, you can keep on working for
her days, so long as you're singing in the Lone Star at night."

"I... I do like working for Shamus."

"Maybe, but you'll like working for me more. I'm as good a boss as he
ever was, and I'll pay you a dollar a day more'n he does -- however
much that is. You can pick your own music, too. I heard there was
some song he wouldn't let you sing." He took a breath. "I don't know
what it was, or what Shamus has against it, but you can sing it at my
place."

"I won't say 'yes', Sam, but I won't say 'no', neither -- not right
now. I'll think about it some and let you know in a few days. That
okay?"

"Since I don't got a choice, it is. I'll talk to you later." He
smiled and walked away. He was whistling happily as he sauntered off.
The prospect of putting one over on Shamus was a pleasant one. The
prospect of stealing his star attraction and, he suspected, a
guaranteed moneymaker, was even more pleasant. Besides, the men were
flocking into O'Toole's every damn night to see the prettiest girls in
town. And the prospect of having one of them at his place instead of
Shamus' saloon appealed to him, as well.

* * * * *

Laura heard the sound of Arsenio's hammering. As she walked towards
the smithy, she watched him working metal, enjoying the sight of the
firm muscles of his broad, tanned back moving as he worked, shirtless,
at the forge. "Mmmm, nice," she whispered, hugging herself.

But that wasn't why she was there. "Arsenio... ARSENIO!" She had to
yell to be heard over the noise.

Arsenio stopped, cocking an ear. "Somebody there?" he asked turning.

"Me." Laura stepped towards him.

He smiled broadly and carefully put down the hammer. He laid the iron
bar he'd been working on back in the fire and walked towards her.
"Laura... what brings you over here this time of day?"

"This." She handed him the telegram. "We've got company on the way."

He read a few lines and looked up. "Your sister and her husband are
coming. We know that."

"Look closer. We knew they would be coming _someday_. Theo sent that
letter from St. Louis between trains. This says that they'll be here a
week tomorrow, eight days from now. Eight days, and they'll be looking
for _my_ grave."

Arsenio took a step and put his arms around her. "And I'm very happy
to say that they won't find it."

"Arsenio, what are we going to do? How can I tell Elizabeth that _I'm_
her brother Leroy?"

"I wish I knew. We'll have to tell them something. They're coming out
her for your... for Leroy's body."

"Maybe... maybe the Judge could just refuse to let them dig... me up."

"I don't know. If there was some sort of law against it, the Judge
would've told 'em right away by telegram, wouldn't he, not wait till
they came all the way out here."

"I don't know... would it hurt to ask the Judge if he could tell them
no?"

"I suppose not. We'll go ask him when we're done."

Laura looked up at Arsenio. "Done?" She asked, not certain what he
meant.

"Well, I was just thinking that... since you _are_ here..." He lifted
her chin with his hand, lowered his head, and kissed her.

Laura put her arms up around his neck and pressed her body against his.
When they finally broke the kissed, she sighed. "They're not going to
be here for a week, after all. I suppose we do have _some_ time."

* * * * *

Ramon was waiting on the boardwalk outside of Silverman's, when Ernesto
walked past on his way to Maggie's kitchen after school. "Ernesto," he
called after the boy.

Ernest kept walking.

"Wait." Ramon came over. His long stride let him catch up with the
boy easily. "I have not seen you in a while," he said, taking
Ernesto's hand in his. "Why have you not come over to the store this
week?"

"Why should I?" Ernesto shot back.

"Well," Ramon began, "you always told me that you were coming over so
that you could have a talk with a _hermano_... a man." He tried to
smile.

"A _man_ keeps his word." The boy spat the words angrily. "Did you
not promise that you would help me with the Candlemas party?"

"Si, I did."

"But you will not. You are going away. You will be long gone by the
time Candlemas comes."

"Ernesto, I... please let me explain."

"I do not want to hear more lies." He pulled his hand free from
Ramon's. "I do not want to talk to you at all."

Ernesto kicked Ramon in the shin and ran off. "Liar!" he yelled back
as he ran.

Ramon watched the boy dart into the alley next to the saloon before he
turned and limped back to the store.

* * * * *

Cap slid a quarter to the pile of coins on the table. "I call. What
do you two have?"

"Two pair." Hans Euler laid down his cards. "Tens and fours."

Bridget smiled sympathetically. "Sorry, Hans, we were playing new
rules, you'll remember."

"Ja, I do," Hans answered. "Mr. Leighten here asked us to, und nobody
said no."

He glanced at Leighten, a tall, leather goods drummer visiting some of
the merchants in town. The man had dropped out of the hand after the
first round of betting. "You got something dat beats me mit dem new
rules, Bridget?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," she replied. "A straight, the eight,
nine, ten, jack, and queen." As she spoke, she put down each card in
turn.

"Those new rules _are_ interesting," Cap said, "but they still don't
beat a good, old-fashioned full house..." He showed his cards.
"...sevens and threes."

Euler shook his head and laughed. "Looks like you beat us both, Cap."

"Congratulations, Mr. Lewis," Bridget said coldly. "If you gentlemen
don't mind, it's almost seven. We've been playing for over an hour,
and I find myself growing hungry. I wonder if we might stop for some
dinner and resume play in thirty minutes?"

"I've just come into a small bit of money, Bridget," Cap said as he
scooped in the poker pot. "May I buy you supper?"

Bridget frowned. "My meals are included in my arrangement with Shamus.
There's no need --"

"Yes, there is a need, Bridget," Cap answered, "_I_ very much need to
talk with you. In private."

"But do I need to talk with you, sir?"

"Please." Cap's voice was low and very sad.

Bridget just managed not to smile. "Oh, all right. You may join me."

"Thank you, Bridget, I knew you couldn't resist that puppy dog look of
mine. No woman has since I used it on my mama when I was a boy."

"You are incorrigible, Cap... Mr. Lewis." She lost her resolve and
smiled at his joke.

"Maybe, Miss Kelly, but it still got me the chance to have supper with
you." He took her arm and led her to one of the restaurant tables.
Neither spoke until Laura, the waitress that evening, had taken their
orders.

"Now, what was so important?" Bridget asked brusquely.

"Getting back in your good graces. I can't think of anything more
important." He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. "I want
to apologize, Bridget."

"I shouldn't have doubted you," he continued. "Uncle Abner kept
insisting that the facts in that report he got had to be true."

"And you believed them."

"No, I told him that there had to be more than that." He smiled. "He
said I was thinking with my John... letting my affection for you
overcome my reason."

"I know how influential Mr. Johnson can be. I knew him myself once,
remember?" She looked at him closely, trying to find his tells, to
read what his body language was saying. "Are you saying he was right?"

"Bridget, I hurt you, and you have every right to doubt me. If my mind
was overruled, it was my _heart_ that was doing it. I knew that there
was more to the sto... to what happened, because I can't believe what
the report said about you. Please tell me the rest of it."

"That's all very well, but I'm not sure that I'm ready to say what did
happen. Especially when the man that I need to convince isn't ready to
listen."

"Please don't hold me responsible for my uncle. I can't control what
he thinks any more than _he_ can control what _I_ think."

"Cap, I almost think that I can forgive you, but your uncle can't
forgive me, and until he's willing to listen -- well, we can be
friends, I suppose, but things won't be the way they were."

He reached for her hand again, and this time she didn't draw it back.
He picked it up and gently kissed her palm. "Bridget, I'll work on
Uncle Abner, I promise I will. For now, I'm just happy that you're
calling me 'Cap' again."

* * * * *

Thursday, January 25, 1872

"So this is how the 'Songbird of Eerie, Arizona' spends her time."

Jessie spun around from the bed she was making. "Wilma, what brings
you over here? Something going on I don't know about?"

"Just visiting m'sister," Wilma replied. "You come over t'see me the
last few times, and I figured it was my turn t'come over here."

"I'm glad you came. I'll be done here in a minute, and we can have
some lunch."

Wilma pulled a chair over and sat down. "I'll wait."

"Be done sooner if you'd help."

"I don't help _gals_ in beds, Jessie," Wilma said with a sly grin, "not
even you."

"You never were much help, not even when you was stuck working here."

"Maybe that's 'cause I wanted more outta my life than making beds and
cleaning spittoons for Shamus."

"I got more than that. You said it yourself; I'm the 'Songbird of
Eerie, Arizona', ain't I?"

"That songbird's still in a cage if you're still working for Shamus.
Once you serve your time, you don't hang around the jail."

"It's been a long time since I thought of this place as a jail. I
don't mind the work -- not too much, and it was Shamus, after all, that
got me t'be a singer. You got something against Shamus? You still mad
about that potion of his?"

The brunette swept a wisp of hair back behind her ear, like a cat
grooming itself. "Not hardly. Taking the second dose of that potion
was the best thing that ever happened to me, and _that_ was my idea."

"Feeling charitable, Wilma?"

Jessie's sister smiled wickedly. "Not a bit. He tried to stop me from
drinking that second dose. No, I'm just saying that Shamus helped you,
maybe, by making a singer outta you, but you worked here long enough
t'say 'Thank you.' Now that everybody knows how good a singer you are,
you're gonna get other offers. Hell, Cerise'll be happy t'have you
sing over at her place as much as you want."

"She ain't the only one," Jessie admitted. "The other day, Sam Duggan
asked if I wanted t'come and sing for him at the Lone Star."

"When d'you start? What'd Shamus say when you quit?"

"I... I ain't quit yet."

"Hell's bells, do it now, Jess. I wanna watch his face when you tell
him."

"Wilma, I-I don't know if I'm gonna quit. I like working here.
Molly's got t'be... family. Hell, Shamus is even kinda family. I-I'd
-- well, I'd feel bad quitting." She sighed. "I ain't sure what
t'do."

"Sounds t'me like you're getting to like the life the potion gave you,
_little_ _sister_."

Jessie scowled. "Better the potion than a bullet in the gut, and
that's where we was all heading. You know it's true. We got off easy,
maybe."

"I guess that Paul Grant is pretty easy to take, but I still can't get
my head around the idea of mean-as-hell Jesse Hanks spooning with a
lawman."

Jessie gritted her teeth. "If you can't give any useful advice about
my real problem, maybe we should just go and get that mouth of yours
stuffed full of grub instead of sass."

"Oh, that. Well, I'd say you got two choices. You can take them other
jobs and be done with Shamus -- and have the fun of sticking it to him
when you do, or you can use them other jobs to drive a deal with him,
one that's more on _your_ terms."

Jessie shrugged thoughtfully, impressed with Wilma's insight. "You
just may be right, I'll have to think about it. I gotta admit, I did
enjoy singing at Cerise's. I think the men that was listening enjoyed
it, too. Hell, even that gal, Rosalyn, enjoyed it. I could see her
sitting there and smiling while she played that piano."

"That's 'cause she got to sit there and act like the lady she likes
t'tell everybody she is. Rosalyn loves t'play at being the lady she
used to be, instead of what she is now."

"Yeah," Jessie said with a laugh, "and her friend, Beatriz, just loves
t'play_. She went upstairs twice while I was singing."

Wilma laughed with her. "She does enjoy playing. She must like it
near as much as I --" She suddenly stopped talking and stared ahead at
the wall.

"What's the matter, Wilma?" Jessie asked nervously.

Wilma smiled, her lips curling up cruelly. "Nothing, little sister,
and thank you. You just give me the start of an idea that's gonna save
my job."

* * * * *

"Arnie," Shamus called from behind the bar. "Bring that tray over
here. I got some more dirty glasses ye can be taking back t'be
washed."

Arnie walked over and put a half-filled tray down on the bar. "Okay,
Shamus, here y'go."

While Shamus piled glasses into the tray, Arnie reached down into the
pocket of his apron. He pulled out a small handful of change. Leaning
over the bar, he put it down on the counter. "That's from tables 3, 5,
and 8."

"I know, lad." Shamus divided the coins into three piles, payment for
the drinks at each table, and put them into the register. A few coins
remained, and these went into the "tips jar" behind the bar.

Arnie carefully picked up the tray, which was now full almost to
overflowing. "I better get these to the sink," he said. He stepped
back, away from the bar, and carried the tray into the kitchen.

"Anybody here?" Arnie looked around as he set the tray down. He was
alone. He took a couple of empty steins out of the tray and reached
for a glass, still filled with whiskey. The taller steins had hidden
the whiskey in the smaller glass.

"Before ye take that drink, lad, I'll be asking ye t'be for the change
ye left in yuir apron."

Arnie spun around. "Sh-Shamus, I didn't hear you come in."

"I told ye, lad," Shamus explained, "Ten years and more, I lived with
the Cheyenne, and I can walk just as quiet as any of 'em." He held out
his hand. "Now give me the rest of the money, what ye held back just
now."

"You set me up, didn't you, you damned Injun lover," the boy muttered
under his breath.

"What did ye just say?"

"I said that I didn't keep any of that money."

"Oh, really?" Shamus' hand shot into the apron pocket before Arnie
could stop it. "What's this, them?" Shamus brought out his hand and
showed Arnie the three dimes he'd found pushed into a corner of the
pocket.

"I-I thought I'd gotten all the money out." He tried to lie, even as
his anger grew. "I guess I was wrong."

"Ye knew them coins was there. Ye left 'em there, and don't be lying
and say that ye didn't."

"You calling me a liar, Squaw Man?" He was caught, but he was too mad
to care. It wasn't stealing if it was for a good cause... wasn't it?
And getting the shot he needed _was_ a good cause.

"Don't push me, Arnie. The tips've been light the past few days. I
watched, and I finally caught ye at it."

"All right, you caught me. What're you gonna do, scalp me?"

"No," Shamus answered, his face red with anger. "I'm gonna fire yuir
insolent ass. Get outta here. Now."

"You don't have to tell me twice. I can barely take the Injun-loving
smell of the place." Arnie glared at Shamus for a moment, then walked
out through the back door.

* * * * *

Emma came over as Ysabel was packing her books at the end of the school
day. "Hey, Ysabel, you wanna go over t'the fort and play some cards or
something?"

"I got chores at home, Emma. You know that. Maybe on Saturday, we can
all play there."

Emma sighed. "Oh, okay. Maybe Tomas..." She looked around just in
time to see the boy run out the door. "Dang!"

"What's the matter?" Ysabel put a hand on the other girl's shoulder.
"You don't sound too happy."

"I... I just hate going home. These days, all my folk seem t'do is
fight."

"Is your father --"

"Trisha. She's Trisha now. When we first changed, Ma told me all I
could call her was Trisha, and that potion I took -- that's still what
I have t'call her."

"She must hate that. You must hate that."

"I don't think either of us liked it at first. Now I'm used to it,
just like I got used to being called Emma."

"I never thought about that. I've called you Emma from the first day
you came to school." She thought for a moment. "But... well, Elmer
was just a boy in the class. He and I weren't friends like we are
now."

"No, I... I guess we weren't," she waited half a beat. "So, _friend_
are you sure we can't to over to the fort today?"

"I wish we could, but Mama expects me to come home and help with the
housework after school. Are you that afraid to go home to your parents
arguing?"

"They won't be arguing. Trisha don't get home from the store till
almost six. But they do argue so much that Ma... well, she's grumpy
all the time, on a hair trigger. It seems like anything I say or do
sets her off."

"Can you hide from her or does she make you stay where she can watch
you do chores when you get home?"

"I wouldn't call it hiding; she don't mind if I go upstairs and study
or do my homework till suppertime." She sighed again.

"What's the matter? It gets you outta your Ma's hair, and you get you
homework done, too."

"It just seems... I don't know. Maybe I'm doing it too much. I... I
don't like being in my room. I'm..." She shrugged. "...tired of it, I
guess."

"Maybe you need a change."

Emma looked down at herself and laughed. "I've had more'n enough
change in my life, thank you."

"No, silly. I mean your room. When did you fix it up the way it is
now?"

"There wasn't one time. I found that skull I got on my wall about a
year ago."

"Then you're due." Ysabel nodded her head once, very firmly, for
emphasis. "Instead of going to the fort Saturday morning, I'll come
over, and we can fix up your room real pretty."

"Pretty? Why does it have to be pretty? I'm still a boy... sorta."

"I meant that like nice... pleasant, that's all."

"Oh, okay, I suppose we can do that."

Ysabel suddenly hugged Emma. "Wonderful. This'll be so much fun. I
don't have a room I can decorate at home. I share with my sister and,
now, my cousin. I love them and all, but the place isn't... mine."

"My room ain't yours either." Emma laughed and broke free. "But you
come over Saturday, and we'll see what we can do with it."

* * * * *

"Shamus, can I talk to you for a minute?" Bridget asked.

Shamus sighed and walked closer to where she was standing at the bar.
"I been wondering when ye'd come over, Bridget. I'm truly sorry for
what happened."

"What did happen? I saw you follow Arnie into the kitchen, then you
come storming out of here, and I haven't seen him since."

Shamus frowned and shook his head. "He was stealing, keeping some of
the money he picked up when he bussed them tables. When I told him
that I'd seen him do it, he lied t'me and tried t'be weaseling out of
it. I threw him out the back, the same as I'd be doing to any other
trash."

"I-I can't believe it. Are you sure there wasn't some mistake?"

"I'm sure. I won't be having no thief working for me. Especially not
one that..." He let his voice trail off.

Bridget gave Shamus a curious look. "That what?"

"That -- never ye mind what. He's fired, and that's the end of it."
The barman turned and walked back to where he'd been working.

Bridget returned to her table to wait for a game. "Maybe it is," she
whispered to herself, "but maybe it isn't." She could see how angry
Shamus was, but, to her, he sounded a little sad, as well.

* * * * *

Dolores took a sip of wine to steady her nerves. "You are not going
with me; are you, Ramon?"

Ramon studied her face. "How did you know?"

"You have been quiet all through the meal, hardly the manner of a man
planning to run away with his... lady."

He took her hand in his. "Dolores, I am sorry. You are a beautiful
woman --"

"Just not beautiful enough," she finished the thought looking down at
the tablecloth.

Ramon heard the sadness in her voice. "Beautiful enough for any man
who was not a fool or blind or... or in love with someone else."

"Margarita?"

"Si, Margarita. I spent the last few days thinking about my choices,
you or her. I did almost nothing else." He shrugged. "Aaron
Silverman was very cross at how little attention I paid to our
customers this week."

"I am sorry if I got you in trouble."

"I told him that I first had to pay attention to _my_ life." He paused
a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "Dolores, if I went to
Mexico City with you, we would... there would be much we would enjoy,
wouldn't we?"

She smiled at the thought. "Si, there is so much to enjoy at
Carnival."

"At Carnival," he said gravely, "but Carnival does not last forever.
Life comes back on Ash Wednesday. What do we do then?"

"A silly question. We go to church, of course, and the padre will mark
our foreheads."

"And after that?"

Dolores shrugged. "Home for breakfast. Why do you ask about such
things?"

"Because I want to know. After breakfast, do we go see the sights?"

"Why not? It is a beautiful city, after all."

"I am not a rich man, Dolores. How do I pay my way in this 'beautiful
city' of yours?"

"You are my guest. I will pay."

"And what would you think, in time, of a man who depended on you to pay
his way?"

"It would not be forever. You could find some sort of work."

"I do not have the money to start a business. I would have to start
over as a clerk in some other man's store, a man who does not know me,
where the hours are long, and the pay is very low. I would still not
have the money then -- or the time -- to be with you."

"I could ask my father to find you a place in his business."

"And he might -- he probably would. Your father is a good man as I
remember him, but what sort of a place would he find for someone whose
only recommendation was that he was your friend?" He took her hand.
"Or am I more than a friend?"

For the first time since this conversation began, Dolores smiled.
"More than a friend. You must know that."

"So, who would you be asking your father to hire... your lover?" He
shook his head. "No, he would not be happy with that. But he would be
most eager to employ your fiancé or your... husband."

Dolores' lips pursed gravely and she shook her head. "I... No, I am
not ready for that. Someday, perhaps, but for now, I am young and
free, and I want to enjoy myself for a while before I settle down and
become some man's wife."

"Yet you ask me to come with you to Mexico City, to give up my life
here to be with you. How -- _why_ should I do such a thing unless you
plan for us to be together, to marry, perhaps to even have children
someday?"

"I do not know. I had not thought about it." Was he right? Had she
implied that she wanted to spend her life with him? Why _had_ she
courted his attention so fiercely? Had it only been a game on her
part? Was she only trying to forget the man who had abandoned her, the
man she had truly wanted?

"You are a beautiful, charming, caring woman, Dolores, and I would
enjoy spending Carnival with you."

"Thank you, for that at least."

"But," he continued, "you did not ask me about Carnival. You asked me
to think about so much more, to think about the rest of my life. But
now you tell me that you are not truly ready for me to ask the question
that would give it all meaning."

"And you, I think, do not want ask to it."

"I would not ask you to do something that you are not ready to do, that
you do not _want_ to do."

She felt somehow relieved. This wasn't a rejection; it was a release -
- from a trap that he had not set for her, but which she had set for
herself. "But you would ask it of Margarita, would you not?"

"I would." He glanced over towards the door to the kitchen. "I
believe that the time is coming when she will want to be asked."

Dolores sighed. Something told her that it was all true. She had not
won the game -- in part because she hadn't known, truly, what the
stakes were. "It has been great fun spending time with you, Ramon,"
she said, finally. "But there is no one with whom I want to share the
settled life that you seem to be ready for. I thank you for our time
together, and I hope that we can still be friends."

"Dolores, we have been friends for as long as I can remember. Why
should that stop now?"

"Why, indeed? And as your friend, Ramon de Aguilar, I tell you to stop
talking to me, and to go back and tell Margarita how much you love
her." When she saw him still sitting across from her, she made a
motion with her hands. "Go, Ramon, go."

Ramon stood up. "Thank you, Dolores." He kissed her hand and started
towards the kitchen until...

"One moment, old friend," she called after him. "You invited me to
dinner. Have you forgotten that?"

"No," he said uncertainly.

"Then you should remember that _you_ are the one who pays for our
meal."

* * * * *

The five men walked into the Saloon laughing. Three of them staked out
a table near the stage where Jessie would be singing. The other two,
Blackie Easton and Joe Ortleib, continued on to the bar. "Bottle of
whiskey, Shamus," Joe said, "the good stuff." He put a five dollar
gold half-eagle on the counter.

"And five glasses," Blackie added. "And I expect we'll want us another
bottle when that first one's empty."

Shamus handed over a bottle and took the coin. "Seems like ye boys is
celebrating something. What's the happy occasion?"

"That trial down in Tucson," Blackie answered. "The jury did what it
was supposed to and set them all free."

"Hell," Joe said, "there wouldn't've even been a damned trial if
General Grant hadn't put his nose into it. Took 'em long enough t'let
them fellas off."

Shamus's smile disappeared. "Ye're talking about the Camp Grant trial,
ain't ye?" Both men nodded. "That was women and children that was
killed. I don't see that it's worth celebrating that thuir murderers
got off scot-free."

"You ever seen what Injuns do to a man they catch out on the range,
Shamus?" Blackie asked. "I have. Mr. Slocum lost more'n one hand to
them devils."

"There's been times we had to ride herd in pairs," Joe added, "even at
night, t'keep 'em from getting the jump on us."

"Aye," Shamus answered, "I've heard them stories, but these was just
woman and children, most of 'em asleep and not bothering a soul."

"I see a rattler in the grass, I ain't gonna wait till he strikes
t'shoot it," Blackie's voice was angry. "I ain't gonna check t'see how
old it is or if it's a boy or a girl. I'm gonna do what I need t'do
and -- blamm! -- it's goodbye rattler."

Shamus clenched the bottle he was still holding. "Blamm! Why ye
lousy, stinking, no good --"

R.J. hurried over. "I'll finish this, Shamus." He gently took the
bottle from his boss's hand and gave it to Blackie. "I... I think
Molly was looking for you." Shamus muttered something under his breath
and walked away. "Shamus is a little upset just now," he told the two
men. It was an explanation, not an apology.

Blackie left with the bottle. Joe stayed while R.J. put five glasses
in a tray. "Y'know, R.J., I always liked Shamus; I thought he was good
man, and he runs a square place here," Joe said slowly. "His having
the ladies here for dancing don't hurt neither."

R.J. studied the man. "What's your point, Joe?"

"Me and the others'll come t'hear Jessie sing tonight, and we'll stay
for that, but it just might be... well, not to make too fine a point of
it, this Saloon ain't the only place in town a man can buy himself a
drink."

* * * * *

Maggie was taking a break to have dinner with Lupe and Ernesto, when
she heard a door slam. "Ramon, what are you doing here?"

"I-I came to see you," he said. "To talk to you."

"You have nothing to say to us, you... you _liar!_" Ernesto spat the
words.

"Ernesto, hush," Maggie ordered. "Behave yourself." She turned to
him. "What do you have to say to me, Ramon?" She braced herself for a
"Goodbye."

"I... ah, I was having dinner with Dolores --"

Was he going to rub it in her face? She decided not to give him the
satisfaction of seeing how upset she was. "I know," she interrupted.
"Laura told me when she came in with your orders. Did you enjoy your
meal?"

"It was fine, delicious as always."

"And Dolores, did she enjoy her supper?"

"As far as I could tell. Maggie, listen to me."

She ignored his protest. "I am glad she liked it. My skills are
hardly up to the standards of the restaurants of Mexico City. When you
get there..." She ached to say the words. "...you will see how fine
the food --"

Now he interrupted. "Margarita, will you be quiet a moment?" He put
his hands on her arm, just below the shoulder. "I want you to listen
to me, listen carefully." He almost sounded mad until, at the end, he
added, "Please."

Maggie made a determined effort to stem her rush of emotion. "Y-yes,
Ramon." She looked up into his face and saw him begin to smile.

"I am not going to Mexico City, Margarita. When I told Dolores, she
said to come in here and tell you."

"Oh, she did, did she? And _why_ are you not going?"

"Three reasons. First," he raised a finger, "Aaron told me that there
was something that he wanted to talk to me about if I decided not to
go. I think that I am going to get a raise, maybe a big one."

"A raise, congratulations." Was he staying just for the promise of
money? That hardly sounded like Ramon, or had she been wrong about
him?

"Gracias. Second, as Ernesto rather forcibly reminded me..." He
reached down and rubbed his leg. "...I promised to help him with the
Candlemas party."

Maggie looked past Ramon to where her son was sitting. The boy smiled
a very guilty smile and hurriedly resumed eating his supper. "We will
talk of _how_ you reminded him when we get home, Ernesto." She looked
at Ramon again.

"And the third reason, what was it?"

"Something that I think is _muy_ important, if only I can convince you
of it."

She cocked a dubious eyebrow. "What can be so important?"

"This." He pulled her towards him and used his left hand to lift her
chin, tilting her head back. Their lips met in a kiss.

She gasped in surprise and staggered back. The half-remembered dream
rushed back to her. In it, Ramon had said, "Everything that happens is
what _you_ wish to happen." Was _this_ what she had wanted?

Then she heard noise and looked back. Ernesto and Lupe were clapping
and yelling. "Yes, Mama, yes. Kiss him again."

Ernesto and Lupe! What must they be thinking of her?

Maggie closed her eyes and sighed. "Ramon, we-we cannot, we must
not... not _do_ this." She held him away from her, reluctantly, oh, so
very reluctantly. "In front of the children, it... it is not...
proper."

"We can go out and play, Mama," Ernesto suggested.

"Si," Ramon agreed. "That is a wonderful idea, children."

Maggie looked up at Ramon, her eyes now glistening with tears.
"Ramon... please..."

"As you wish, Margarita." Ramon stepped back. He took her hand and
raised it to his lips, gently kissing it. "If you say that it is not
proper, then I shall go. But I will be back sometime soon and make it
proper."

He bowed low, then turned and walked briskly out of the kitchen.

* * * * *

Friday, January 26, 1872

Molly was alone behind the bar when Laura came in. "Good morning,
Molly. Is Shamus around?"

"Morning, Laura. He's off on an errand just now. Is thuir something I
might be helping ye with?"

Laura nodded. "I need a room."

"Och, there's not trouble between ye and Arsenio again is thuir?"

"No, no, things are fine. It's for my sister, Elizabeth, and her
husband. They're coming to Eerie. According to the telegram they
sent, they'll be here in about a week."

"Ah, that'll be nice, seeing family and all."

"I... I don't think so; not in this case, anyway. They read that story
Nick Varrick wrote about the big shootout between Dan Talbot and the
Hanks gang. They're... They're coming for me... For my.... Oh, hell,
Molly, they're coming for Leroy Meehan's body. They want to take it
home and bury it in the family plot back in Indiana."

Molly covered her mouth and tried _very_ hard not to laugh. "Now
_that_ might be a wee bit of a problem."

"Molly! This is serious. How can I tell them that _I'm_ Leroy, that
I'm married to Arsenio, that I'm..." she took a breath. "...that I'm
pregnant?"

"I don't know, dear, but I'm sure that ye and Arsenio will think of
something."

"Arsenio?"

"Aye. Ye're his wife. That's his baby ye're carrying. And ain't them
his new in-laws? He loves ye, and that makes this his problem as much
as it is yuirs. That's what marriage is about. Ye've a week t'be
figuring it out, and me and Shamus'll be helping, too." She took a pad
and pencil from her apron pocket. "In the meantime, I'll just be
fixing up that room way in the back. 'Tis the farthest from the noise
of the saloon." She made some notes and put the pad away.

"Did I hear you talking about family coming, Laura?" Jane had come out
of the kitchen while Laura and Molly were talking. She was carrying a
large tray of dishes and silverware for the "free lunch."

"Little pitchers have big ears, Jane. Ye've better things t'be doing
than listening in on conversations that don't concern ye. And if ye
haven't, I'll be glad t'give ye something to be doing."

Jane looked mad. "Not concern me? Molly, Laura's family is _my_
family. We're sisters, ain't we?"

"No, Jane," Laura said. She took a deep breath and shook her head.
"We just look alike." She then realized, dismally, that her
resemblance to Jane was one more impossible thing that she'd have to
explain to Elizabeth.

"We is so sisters," Jane countered. "You said so lotsa times." She
did a little dance step over to the free lunch table and began setting
things out from the tray.

"I didn't have much family when I was Jake," she continued. "Now I got
Laura and Arsenio for a sister and a brother-in-law, and I'm gonna be
an aunt. And now you say I got even more family, and they're coming to
meet me. Yippee!"

Molly put her hand gently on Laura's arm. "We'll think of something
for this, too, Laura. Don't ye worry."

* * * * *

Arnie stormed into the saloon and over to Jessie. "Where were you?" He
demanded.

"What d'you mean, Arnie?" She asked. "I been here working all day?"

He glared at her. "It's Friday. I waited over an hour for you to show
up for my lesson."

"Well, it ain't like you had anyplace else t'go... seeing as you ain't
working here no more."

His eyes grew wide in surprise. "No... I am not. Shamus... he and
I... did not... agree..." His voice trailed off.

"That right. You thought it was all right t'steal from him, and he
didn't." Her eyes grew angry. "And I agree with him. I ain't
teaching no crook."

"Pretty fancy words from Jesse Hanks the bank robber and cattle thief."

"Maybe I was all that, but I told you back in December that I don't
hold with backstabbers that steal from their own gangs."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"You steal from your boss, from the people you work with, it says I
can't trust you. A gun in the hand of a man with no sense of honor is
a bad mix. Till I know you're the sort who can be trusted to stand by
his own kind, I sure as hell ain't teaching you how t'handle a colt."

"But --"

"No buts, no _nothing_, not till you show me that you're a better man
than the one you acted like yesterday." She looked around. "And now -
unless you're planning to apologize to him - you better get your sorry
ass outta here."

"I am honorable. You will see - you will _both_ see how wrong you are
about me." He turned and stomped out of the saloon.

Jessie watched him go. "I hope so, kid. I really hope so."

* * * * *

Martha Yingling knocked on the open door of her husband's study. "The
O'Hanlans are here to see you, dear."

"Thank you, Martha, dear." The Reverend rose from his chair. As he
did, he heard the grandfather clock in the parlor chime twice. "And
right on time, too. Please show them in."

Martha turned to face Kaitlin and Trisha, who were waiting in the
parlor. "He'll see you now." As the couple walked past, she asked,
"Would you like some tea while you're here?"

"I... don't think so," Trisha told her. "This ain't exactly a social
call."

"Thank you, though, Martha," Kaitlin added.

"That will be all, thank you, Martha," Yingling said firmly. "Please
close the door behind you."

Martha took the hint. "Perhaps another time." She smiled and left,
closing the door.

"Well, what'd you find?" Trisha sat down quickly, motioning for
Kaitlin to sit next to her.

Yingling went back behind his desk. "Before I start, Trisha, may I say
again how much I value you and Kaitlin, both as friends and as members
of my congregation."

"We've always thought highly of you, Dr. Yingling," Kaitlin said.
"And I don't believe that will change, whatever you tell us today."

"That goes for me, too, Reverend," Trisha said, "You're a good man.
Kaitlin's been worried the last few days about what you were gonna say,
but I'm not. I just know you're gonna tell us that there's nothing
wrong with what we've been doing."

Yingling shook his head. "I'm afraid that's not the way of it, Trisha.
As your spiritual advisor, I must tell you that what you have described
to me must come to an end, now and forever." The man's voice turned
harsh. "It is unnatural, evil."

Trisha looked shocked. "Evil? How can what goes on between a man and
his wife be evil?"

"First Romans says it is." He picked up an opened bible from his desk
and read. "Chapter 1, verse 26. 'Their women exchanged natural
intercourse for unnatural.' Paul calls it 'degrading passions' and
'shameless acts.' And it says of those who do such things... 'those
without natural affection are worthy of death.' Would you argue with
him?"

"But..." Trisha shook her head. "...we're married, Kaitlin and me.
How can our love be unnatural?" She thought a moment. "It seems to me
that you're still jumping the gun on this."

"It may be that you two are... not married. 'Man and woman, he made
them.' You are not man and woman anymore."

"The hell we aren't," Trisha said angrily. "I may be stuck in this
woman's body, but inside -- where it counts -- I'm still a man."

"Perhaps you do still have the soul of a man, Trisha, but marriage is
for the body, not the soul. It is the Lord's way of making the sinful
urges of our bodies into a force that can serve His holy purpose."

"That's what I'm saying. Kaitlin and I, we have urges, sure, but we
can satisfy those urges with each other because we're still married."

"The Lord's first commandment was 'be fruitful and multiply.' The
animal urges you talk about are to procreate, to produce children to
serve the Lord. Can two women produce a child between them?"

Kaitlin shook her head. "No. No, they can't." She spoke with an air
of sadness.

"Kaitlin! Do you know what you're saying?"

"I... I'm afraid that I do, Trisha. I'm saying that -- maybe -- we
aren't married anymore."

"No! He's wrong. Yingling is wrong; he has to be. You're my wife,
and you always will be. Like Dr. Norquist said when he married us back
east. 'What the Lord has joined together, let no man tear asunder.'
No man, not ever."

"Perhaps it was G-d's Will that you drank that potion," Yingling
answered. "Male and female He made you, but, when you drank it,
Trisha, _you_ became female, and two females can _not_ be man and
wife."

"I think I knew that from the first day," Kaitlin said softly, her eyes
filling with tears. "I... I just didn't want to admit it, not... not
even to myself." She buried her head in her hands and began to cry.

Trisha hugged Kaitlin, trying to comfort her. "See what you did,
Reverend."

"All that I did was try to help you face the truth about yourselves. I
am so very sorry that it is such an unhappy truth." He reached into
his pocket and offered Trisha a handkerchief.

Trisha snatched it out of his hand and gave it to Kaitlin. "Face the
truth, the man says. I'm not sure that I --"

"No, Trisha," Kaitlin suddenly said. "Please don't say anything that
you may regret." She wiped her eyes. "Th-thank you, Dr. Yingling, for
your help, but I... I believe that we should go now."

"But..." Trisha was too surprised at Kaitlin to respond.

Yingling nodded. "Perhaps you're right, Kaitlin. I am most truly
sorry about what I had to say and at how it upset you. I do hope that
you both will come to speak to me about it again, once you have had
time to consider all the implications of it."

"We will, Reverend, but for now, good day." Kaitlin took a deep breath
and stood up. "Come, Trisha." She took Trisha's hand and started for
the door. At the last minute, she looked back at the Reverend and
added, "And please thank Martha, again, for her hospitality."

* * * * *

"What'll it be today, Milt?" Whit Whitney asked, as Milt Quinlan
settled back in the barber chair.

Milt rubbed his cheek. "Shave, I think, and a haircut."

"Done." Whit laid a barber's cloth over Milt and tied it behind the
man's neck. "I'll have you looking real nice for the dance tomorrow at
Shamus'."

"I suppose," Milt said, not sounding very happy at the prospect.

Whit picked up a comb and began working on Milt's hair. "Here now,
what's the matter?"

"It's Jane... no, it isn't her; it's me."

Whit had the scissors, now. "You two have a fight or something?"

"No, it's her money, that gold she brought down from her claim."

"What about it? You told me that you made her put it in the bank;
sensible thing to do, if you ask me." He paused a moment. "She's not
mad at you about that, I hope?"

"She's not mad at me about anything as far as I know, and I'm not mad
at her either, before you ask." He sighed again, then he held still as
Whit moved to trim the hair near his left ear.

"Milt, there's nobody else here, so why don't you tell me what's really
troubling you. Barbers are like bartenders, you know, we're here to
listen to people. The only difference is, we barbers apply the alcohol
externally."

"I suppose I have to tell someone, but you have to promise not to
laugh."

"I promise. You don't want that in writing, do you?"

"No," Milt said with a chuckle. "I'd only have to charge you to draw
up the papers. The problem is, I'm... well, I'm afraid of Jane."

"Afraid? You saved her life, Milt. Why would she want to hurt you?"

"No, no. Sometimes I-I'm... afraid of being seen with Jane. I'm
afraid of people saying that I'm some kind of... that I'm just after
her money."

"Nobody's going to say anything of the sort -- hold still; I'd hate to
have you leave here with only one ear."

"Matt Royce and Fred Norman already have. I was in the saloon...
getting her signature on something for Dwight Albertson, and they
starting in on me about it. I-I was so embarrassed that I all but ran
out of there after she signed the paperwork."

"You let those two fools run you off like that?"

"I know that it wasn't the smartest thing I ever did. I... panicked."

"Panicked? The man who stood up to Ozzie Pratt's pistol with nothing
more than his fists panicked when a couple of barflies ragged him.
That's a tad hard to believe."

"Maybe, but it's true. I worked hard to become a lawyer, and I've
worked harder since - especially since I came out west -- trying to
build a professional reputation. I didn't realize how sensitive I'd
gotten about that reputation until Royce started in on me. That was
what I panicked about."

"So you care more for your reputation than you do for Jane?" Whit made
a clicking sound of disapproval. "I wouldn't have thought it of you,
Milt."

"I wouldn't have thought it of me, either, and it bothers the hell out
of me that it might be true."

"Might be true?"

"I care a lot about Jane, and I think she cares for me, too."

"Then keep thinking about her, and don't let it bother you. If
somebody says something, you just consider who he is and if his
opinion's worth caring about." Whit had been working as they talked.
He put down his scissors and turned the chair around, so Milt was
facing the mirror on the wall behind the worktable. "In the meantime,
what do you think about this haircut?"

Milt sat up and looked at his reflection, turning his head to see how
he looked from each side. "Good job -- good advice, too."

"Thanks." Whit turned the chair and tilted it back. "Thanks. You
want a hot towel before I shave you?"

"Just the shave, I think."

Whit took Milt's shaving mug, black enamel with a scale of justice and
Milt's name in gold on the side, down from the shelf. "Fine, you just
lean back then." He poured in some shaving soap and began to work up a
lather. "And don't forget about my good advice, when you're figuring
how much to tip me for the haircut and shave."

* * * * *

Dolores was sitting on the porch reading, when she looked up and saw...
"Arnoldo, what are you doing home in the middle of the afternoon.
Should you not be at Seá±or Shamus' saloon?"

"I don't work there no more, Dolores," Arnie explained.

She frowned perplexedly. "What happened? Why did you quit?"

"I... I didn't quit. He... fired me."

Dolores closed her book and put it in the table next to her. "What
happened, Arnoldo? I thought that he liked you."

"So did I, Dolores. He found some money in my apron, money I didn't
turn in."

She put her hand in front of her mouth, fingers spread wide. "Oh, no.
Arnoldo, did you steal from him?"

"I... it was just three dimes. They got caught down in the apron seam,
and I didn't get them when I took out the other money. Th-that was
all."

"Shamus is a good man. I am sure that if you explain -- apologize --
to him, he will take you back."

"That Injun-loving bastard, I will never apologize to him."

"You did not call him that, I hope."

"I did. Apaches killed my father. Who is he to defend them, to be
sorry that men were not punished for killing them?"

"Madre de Dios, that trial in Tucson. You knew how upset he was about
that, and you still talked that way to him?"

"I did. I am happy that they went free. _That_ was why he fired me,
not because I took that money."

"So, you did steal it?"

"What if I did?"

"Arnoldo, how can you say such a thing? Think how hard your mother has
to work for thirty centavos."

"If the Apaches hadn't killed Papa, she wouldn't have to."

"And you think that makes it right, Arnoldo? Stealing from Shamus will
not bring your father back."

"But..." He was stung by her disappointment and anger.

"Your mother will not be proud to know that you were fired for
stealing. And your brother, your sisters, is this what you want them
to think being the man of the house is about?"

He hadn't thought of that. "No, but what can I do? I will not
apologize to Shamus."

"Why not?" She pointed a finger at him. "You are a proud boy,
Arnoldo. Think about what you did and how it will affect the people
you love. Maybe, if you do, you will see how much differently you must
act to be a proud _man_."

* * * * *

Liam O'Hanlan looked across the dinner table at his sister. "Okay,
Trisha, it's later."

"What are you talking about, Liam?" Trisha asked.

"You've been mad about something since you came back to the store from
the Reverend's place this afternoon," Liam explained. "And every time
I asked about it, you growled and said, 'Later.' Well... it's later,
and I want to know."

"And I don't want to tell you." Trisha pouted and crossed her arms in
front of her. "So it looks like you're stuck."

"Oh, go ahead and tell him," Kaitlin said. She and Emma were doing the
dishes. She dried her hands on her apron and walked over to the table.
As she sat down, she saw that her daughter had followed her. "Emma,
you go back over and finish the dishes. You can set them in the rack
to dry."

"Do I have to, Ma?" Emma whined.

"You do." Kaitlin pointed towards the sink. "Get going." After a
moment, she added, "As long as you keep working, you can listen to the
conversation."

Emma's hopeful look shifted into resignation. "Yes, Ma." She walked
back over to the sink and picked up a dish.

Now Kaitlin looked at Trisha, the same stern expression on her face.
"Well, tell him."

"If you're in such a hurry for him to know our personal business,"
Trisha said, "you_ tell him."

"All right, I will." Kaitlin took a breath. "Trisha kept insisting on
her... _rights_ as my husband, rights that I didn't think _she_ was
entitled to."

"You thought so those first few times when --"

"You confused me those first few times, Trisha, but I decided that it
wasn't right."

"But it was right when you did it to me?"

Liam shook his head. "I'm not sure that I want to hear any more of
this."

"Suffer, little brother," Trisha shot back at the embarrassed man.
"You asked for it. Besides, she won't even do _that_ anymore. I went
over to see the Reverend, to get him to tell Kaitlin that she should...
cooperate."

"And did he?"

"Just the opposite," Kaitlin answered. "He said that what Trisha
wanted to with me do was the worst kind of sin, and we should never,
ever, do it again."

Liam gave her an odd look. "I guess he didn't buy Trisha's saying that
it was a husband's right."

Trisha laughed bitterly. "Buy it? The good reverend said I had no
such right because Kaitlin and I weren't married anymore."

They heard a crash and looked over to see Emma kneeling down to pick up
the pieces of a broken dish. She had a scared look on her face. "You-
you and Ma ain't married no more?"

Kaitlin ran over to Emma and pulled her to her feet. The girl threw
her arms around her mother, trembling. "Now look what you did,
Trisha," Kaitlin scolded. "You've no call to be scaring Emma like
that."

"Me? I didn't do anything." She glared at them both. "Emma, let go
of your mother. You're acting like a child."

Emma shook her head and held her mother even tighter. "She's acting
like a fearful young girl," Kaitlin shot back, "which she is, because
of what you said."

"Well, I won't have it." Trisha banged her fist on the table. "First,
Yingling, then you and Emma. Doesn't anyone understand all the trouble
I'm having?"

Liam put his hand on Trisha's shoulder. "Seems to me, you're the one
who doesn't understand, Trisha."

"What, you, too, Liam? Are you taking her side against me, too?"

Liam shook his head. "I'm doing what _you_ should be doing. You're so
eager to have your 'rights' as Kaitlin's husband that you forgot about
the responsibilities, standing with her at hard times -- and believe
me, she's having one danged hard time right now."

"And now you know more about being her husband than I do."

"Maybe I do -- right now." Liam had an odd, embarrassed look on his
face.

"And _right now_, pigs are flying home all over the territory." Trisha
stamped her foot. "Well, to hell with you, Liam, and... and to hell
with Yingling... and O'Toole and his damned potion... and... and...
everybody!" Trisha glared at them all and started for the stairs.
"I'm going to bed -- _my_ bed, thank you very much, and _you_ can sleep
on the sofa tonight, Mrs. O'Hanlan!"

* * * * *

Saturday, January 27, 1872

"I think you missed a spot," Ysabel said.

Emma was sitting on the floor while she painted her dresser. She
stopped and looked up at her friend. "What do you mean?"

"Over on the left side, there..." Ysabel pointed. "...you missed a big
spot just below the hole for the top drawer."

Emma looked closely at her dresser. Most of it was now a cheery canary
yellow, instead of the dark brown it had been. However, there was a
thin patch of brown where Ysabel had said. "Dang, you're right. I
don't know what I'm thinking of, to have missed that."

"Some boy, maybe." She giggled when she said it.

"Am not." Emma said quickly, a little too quickly, she thought to
herself afterwards. "Well... to tell the truth, I am."

"Ha, I knew it!"

"Not like that. I'm a boy myself -- inside, I am, anyway. I was gonna
say, I was thinking of Tomas. He come over t'play, like he always
done, and we chased him away."

"We did not chase him. We... _you_ asked him to stay and help. He was
the one that decided that he didn't want to."

"I know. He said that spending the day fixing my room was silly, that
it was girl's stuff and not for him." Emma paused a beat. "Is it... I
mean, am I acting like a girl, doing something like this?"

Ysabel shook her head. "You are acting like a... person, one who wants
a place to hide out because her parents are acting loco... crazy... all
mixed up. That is what you told me, anyway."

"It's true, too. Last night, Mama and Trisha were yelling about if
they was still married. How can they not be married?"

"I don't know, but it seems to me that you don't need to be a part of
that yelling. And if you're going to be spending a lot of time hiding
away from them here in your room, it makes sense to me that your room
should be a place where you want to spend all that time." She stood
back to look at the new curtains she had just hung. "And now it is."

It was mid afternoon. The room had a different look after several
hours of work. Kaitlin had helped, when she found out what Emma was
doing, but the pair had done most of the re-decorating themselves.
"It's my room," Emma had said, "and I'll fix it as I want."

The new curtains were the same color as Emma was painting her dresser.
Both matched the quilt now covering her bed. Two lace ribbons were
hung on the wall besides them, so that the curtains could be tied back
to let in the sun. A long strip of yellow cloth trimmed with the same
lace framed the top of the window. A pair of ruffled pillows lay
together at the head of the bed.

"Yellow is a nice, bright color," Ysabel had suggested when she'd gone
shopping for the room with Emma and Kaitlin that morning. It also was
feminine without being so obvious that Emma would get obstinate, as
Ysabel knew she might have, if pink had been the suggested color. Mr.
Silverman had given them a good bargain on everything once he heard
what it was for.

The low table that Emma used as a desk was also painted yellow. The
paint was drying now, the desk, back in its place. A small vase filled
with dried summer flowers sat in a corner on a small, embroidered
cloth. There were similar vases of dried flowers on the bed table and
the window ledge, all supplied by her mother.

Ysabel had wanted to get rid of the skull that still hung on the wall.
Emma had flatly refused. She had let Ysabel tie yellow bows onto both
horns. The ribbons trailed down a foot or so from each horn. Emma had
said that the bows looked silly, but hadn't taken them down.

What Ysabel wasn't saying, except to herself, was, 'It has become a
room any girl would be happy to live in.'

* * * * *

Whit Whitney stood for a moment in the Saloon door and looked around.
When he saw Shamus at one end of the bar, he quickly walked over to the
barman.

"Hello, Whit," Shamus greeted him. "I ain't seen ye in here in
donkey's years. What're ye drinking?"

"I... ah, didn't come in here for a drink, Shamus."

"Just like I go over t'yuir shop to _not_ get me hair cut," Shamus
teased. Then he saw the serious look on the other man's face. "All
right, then. What did ye come in for, if it weren't t'be having a
drink?"

Whit took a breath. He straightened his stance and began. "Mr.
O'Toole, may my family and I call upon you, Mrs. O'Toole, and Miss
Margarita Sanchez --"

"Of course, ye may, Whit. What's all this silliness about?"

"Let me finish, Shamus. I promised Carmen and Ramon I'd say this
speech the way they made me learn it." Shamus nodded, and the man
continued. "You and Molly and Miss Margarita Sanchez tomorrow at 2 PM
at your home? We wish to discuss a matter of some importance."

"And how long did it take ye t'be learning that pretty speech?"

Whit shrugged. "An hour, maybe. Ramon insisted that I have it
perfect." He made a sour face. "And Carmen backed him up every time I
tried to beg off. When she gets that look in her eyes..." He
shivered. "...and I thought winters in Maine were cold."

"Aye," Shamus agreed. "It ain't easy t'be refusing yuir wife when she
truly wants something." He laughed. "Not if ye love 'em."

"Something we both know personally, I think." He paused a beat. "So,
Shamus, can we come over tomorrow afternoon?"

"Molly and me ain't got a home, but we have a nice couple o'rooms
upstairs. We'll be happy t'be welcoming ye thuir at 2 on Sunday."

"We'll be there, then. Carmen said she got somebody to watch the
children."

"Then Molly, Maggie, and me'll be waiting for ye."

"Are you that sure you can speak for Maggie?"

Shamus raised an eyebrow. "I am -- if ye're talking about what I think
ye are."

"I probably am, but I'm not supposed to say anything." He started to
go, then stopped. "One last thing, Shamus."

"And what'd that be?"

"I didn't come in here for a drink, but after all that, I believe I
need one." He put a silver dollar on the bar. "Beer, if you please,
and draw one for yourself."

* * * * *

Teresa Diaz stood in the doorway watching her cousin packing. "I still
cannot believe that you are going."

"I would not be packing if I were staying," Dolores replied with a weak
attempt at a smile. She took a pile of neatly folded undergarments
from a drawer and put them carefully into a large carpetbag.

"Si, and I wish that you _were_ staying."

"I will be back again one day." She reached for more clothing. "You
could always come to Mexico City for a visit, you know."

"Oh, of course. I can just leave my business and travel all that way
any time I want to." Teresa's voice was full of sarcasm.

"Perhaps not, but I will visit again, I promise."

"How easy you say that."

"What do you mean?"

"You talk like everything was fine, like Arnoldo... Arnoldo..." Teresa
tried hard not to sound angry.

"I am sure that everything will work out."

"How? I do not know what to say to him. He-he is so mad about losing
the job, and I-I cannot... h-help him." Her eyes began to fill with
tears.

Dolores walked over and hugged her cousin. "You are his mother. You
will find the words."

"I-I never have before. I talk and talk, but he says he is a grown
man, and he does not listen to me."

"I am sure that things are not as bad as you say."

"No, they are worse. You, Dolores, he listened to you."

"He was being polite to a guest in your house, that was all."

"No, he listened. He listened because you knew what to say, and I
didn't."

Dolores tried to smile. "I said the same things you did. Maybe I said
them a little differently, but --"

"No, you can talk to him -- you _must_ talk to him, find out what
happened and make him go back. Tell him to apologize to Seá±or O'Toole,
to ask -- to beg -- for his job back."

"Arnoldo is _muy_ proud. He will not beg."

"He will if you tell him to." Teresa clutched at her cousin. "You
must. He... he sounds so angry, I am afraid for what he might do. And
now, he... he has been... practicing with Luis'...pistola."

"I will talk to him, but I am leaving Monday. I may not be able to
persuade him by then."

"Then stay, at least, until you _can_ persuade him. Please, stay and
help my Arnoldo."

"Teresa, I... the Carnival, Mexico City, I have --"

"What do you have? What is there in Mexico City that is more important
to you than what happens to your cousin, Arnoldo, here in Eerie?"

* * * * *

R.J. was setting the stage up for the dance when he saw Blackie Easton
and Joe Ortleib walk into the Saloon. He stood up and walked over to
greet them. "I hope you boys aren't here to make trouble."

"Make trouble?" Blackie answered. "It's men like President Grant and
that pissant Quaker, Colyer, he put in charge of Injun Affairs that
make the trouble, coddling them red bastards."

R.J. shook his head. "If you're going to talk like that, you might as
well leave now and save us the trouble of throwing you out."

Joe held his hands up as if in surrender. "Whoa, whoa, R.J. We'll
behave. Won't we, Blackie?"

"We will," Blackie conceded. "At least for tonight, we will."

R.J. raised a dubious eyebrow. "No insults? No picking a fight with
Shamus?"

"No, sir," Joe said. "None of that tonight."

"Why the sudden change, and what do you mean it's for tonight?" R.J.
looked at the pair of them.

"It's like this," Blackie began, "we start telling Shamus how wrong he
is about them Injuns, he's likely to throw us out of here, just like
you said."

R.J. nodded. "And I'd be helping him."

"I didn't think you was no Injun lover, R.J.," Joe said.

"I believe in backing up my boss, Joe," R.J. told him. "You still
haven't said why you're going to be on such good behavior tonight."

Joe laughed. "It's simple. Regardless of what we think of Shamus, we
care about them pretty ladies that'll be here for the dance."

"Yeah," Blackie said. "It wouldn't be right t'deprive them of our
presence just because the man they're working for is a pig-headed,
Injun loving fool."

* * * * *

Milt stepped in front of Jane. "May I have this dance?"

"You sure you wanna be seen with me, Milt?" Jane asked sourly. Still,
she took his ticket and tucked it into her apron pocket.

"Of course I do." He took her hand and led her out onto the dance
floor.

"You got a funny way of showing it," she said as they took up their
position and waited for the music to start. "You hardly come around
here any more, and, when you do, you only talk t'me to order a beer or
get me to sign something."

Before he could answer, the music began, a waltz. Jane continued as
they danced. "Are you mad at me for something?"

"No, you--you've done nothing to anger me." All of his resolve about
telling her about what the trouble really was seemed to melt away. She
was so full of doubt. He was suddenly afraid that hearing the truth
would hurt her too deeply.

"Then... then you're ashamed t'be seen with me. Is that it?" She
spoke softly, afraid to hear his answer.

Milt almost stopped in surprise. "Ashamed? Now why would I be ashamed
of you?"

"'Cause you're a lawyer -- college trained and all -- and, me, I never
got past fourth grade."

"So what? I doubt that many of the men in here had much more education
than you. Look at Shamus; he was raised by the Cheyenne, and probably
never had a day of school in his life."

"Then what is the matter with me?"

"Nothing. It's... it's hard to explain."

"'Cause I'm too dumb to understand?"

"No, it's because... because _I'm_ too dumb, too dumb to be able to
explain it, even to myself."

"Now, I really don't understand. You're a lawyer. Only a judge can be
smarter."

"You don't have to understand, Jane. I do. When I figure things out
well enough to put them into words, I'll tell you. I promise."

"And just what am I suppose t'do in the meantime?"

"You just have to be yourself and let me hold you close while we
dance."

Jane smiled and put her head on his chest. "I can do that, I guess."

* * * * *

Sunday, January 28, 1872

"I gotta tell you, little missy, you are one fine singer." The speaker
was a tall, dapper-looking man in a dark blue frock coat.

Jessie dimpled. "Thanks, and, please, call me Jessie."

"All right... Jessie, and I'm Randolph... Randy, to you. And Randy
_for_ you," he added with a wink. "You are as pretty as an ace-high
straight."

"Well, now, thanks for that, too." Her smile grew even broader. She
liked being told she was pretty, even if it wasn't Paul doing the
telling.

"Yes, sir, damned beautiful. What do you say we go upstairs, and you
can show me just how beautiful."

"I'm sorry, Randy... Randolph, but all I do for Lady Cerise is sing in
her parlor."

"A woman as pretty as you, in a place like this, and all you do is
sing?" He raised an eyebrow. "Surely, that can't be true." He looked
at her closely. "Or do they just charge more for something as special
as you?"

Herve stepped between them. Randolph was tall, but Herve was just as
tall and much more muscled. "Ma'm'selle Jessie told you, sir. She is
here to sing -- and _only_ to sing."

Randy took a step back. "Which she, ah, does very well. I just
thought... _hoped_ that there was more, that just she had to be coaxed,
perhaps. That was all. I meant no harm."

"Except for the last part," Jessie told him with a forced smile, "I
took what you said as a compliment." She wanted to keep things
friendly, so Cerise wouldn't lose any business on her account.

The man grinned back nervously. "I'll just take my leave of you then."
He hurried over to talk to Mae. She smiled at something he said and
led him out of the parlor and towards the stairs.

"This is getting to be a habit with you," Cerise said, joining Jessie
and Herve. "Last week, it was Max and today Randolph. I hope it has
not put you off the idea of singing at my establishment."

Jessie shook her head. "No, but I didn't expect I'd get propositioned
so often. I'm just glad that Herve came over when he did."

"It was my pleasure to rescue such a fair damosel," Herve replied,
bowing low with a broad sweep of his arm.

"Thanks, Herve, but I didn't really need rescuing. If Randy there
_had_ tried anything..." she smiled mischievously, "...what I'd'a done
with my knee would've put _him_ off."

* * * * *

Whit Whitney took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair.
"This is really good scotch, Shamus." He grinned. "Better than what
you serve downstairs, I think."

"I have a bottle of it down in me bar, and I'll be serving it t'any man
willing t'pay me what it's worth."

Carmen was sitting on Whit's left in the parlor of the two-room
apartment that Shamus and Molly kept on the second floor of the Saloon.
"Shall we get down to business finally?" she asked, shifting the cloth
bag on her lap.

"Please." Ramon was on Whit's right. Shamus, Molly, and Maggie sat
across from them.

"All right then." Whit took a final sip. "Normally, Ramon's parents
and his godfather would handle this, but, well, his parents're dead,
and, these days, Juan Ortega's too old and sick to leave his house.
That leaves it to Carmen and me to ask."

Molly took Maggie's hand in hers. "And what would ye be asking, Mr.
Whitney?" She felt Maggie's hand clench as soon as she said it.

"They call it a 'peticiá³n de mano', a request for a lady's hand," Whit
told her, "and, normally, Ramon and Maggie wouldn't be here, but --"

Ramon interrupted. "But I wanted to be here, to be the one to ask."
He looked across at Maggie. "Seá±or and Seá±ora O'Toole... Margarita,
will you give me the greatest gift any man can ever receive, the hand
of the woman he loves in marriage?"

"Ramon, I..." She looked rattled. "You know that I cannot --"

Molly jabbed Shamus in the ribs. "Very well said, Ramon," Shamus
quickly interrupted. "Now, as I understand it, the girl's parents --
which'd be Molly and me in this case -- are the ones who answer the
boy's family -- which would be ye, Whit and Carmen. Ain't that right,
Maggie?"

"Si," she answered, "but I..."

"We answer for ye, Maggie dear," Molly interrupted this time. "'Tis
our answer that counts, so be a darling and leave it to us." She gave
Maggie's hand a gentle squeeze. "Trust us, dear."

Maggie sighed. "I do, but..."

"We'll talk about it later." Molly gave a reassuring smile and patted
Maggie's hand before she turned to face the others. "Carmen told
Shamus and me how this petition thing works, and we've given some
thought about how t'best be answering the question." She tilted her
head towards Shamus for a moment.

"We'll talk about what ye asked," Shamus continued, "aye, we'll be
thinking long and hard on it, and we'll be giving ye yuir answer a week
from today, if that's all right with ye?"

Whit stood and reached out. "That's fine." He took Shamus hand and
shook it. "We'll be back then for your answer."

"His answer?" Maggie said, sounding almost angry. "Custom or not,
should _I_ not be the one to answer?"

Carmen smiled. "Only if it is the right answer. In the meantime..."
she opened the bag. "...custom calls for a _sabucan_... a gift of food
and drink to celebrate that our peticiá³n is so well received."

"Uncle Juan -- our godfather -- could not be here, but he sent this
bottle of madeira, and I brought _rosas_, a bouquet for the... bride."
As she spoke, Carmen took the bottle and a stack of flower-shaped
pastry swirls sparkling with pink sugar out of the bag and laid them
out on the table. She smiled and handed out the rosas, while Shamus
opened the bottle and poured everyone a drink.

Maggie sat quietly, not knowing what to do or say. Or what she
_wanted_ to do or say.

* * * * *

"Cream and sugar, Phillipia?" Kaitlin asked.

"Just sugar please." Phillipia Stone was Yully's mother, a slender
woman whose olive skin and curly black hair proudly showed her Greek
ancestry. She waited while Kaitlin added the sugar and passed her the
cup. "I've spoken to several women -- discretely, of course -- and
they've agreed to bake for the dance."

"Wonderful, Phillipia." Kaitlin had put two spoons of sugar in a
second cup and was handing it to Trisha.

"Could I have some milk, too, please," Trisha asked.

Kaitlin added the milk to Trisha's tea, while she continued her
conversation with Mrs. Stone. "And will you be making those little
layered honey cakes of yours?" She passed the cup to Trisha.

"My baklava? Of course," Phillipia said. "And you'll make the mint
tea?"

"Yes," Kaitlin answered. "And Martha Yingling will bring the big
punchbowl and the glasses and plates that belongs to the church.
They're all kept at her house." She took a sip of her own tea. "I
also spoke to Nancy Osbourne about decorations. She'll have the school
children make paper chains and paper lanterns as a craft project."

"She'll need a lot of paper for that," Trisha said thoughtfully. "It
really isn't fair to ask the school to pay for it. I'll... I'll talk
to Roscoe Unger about donating some when he comes in to see about my
store's advertisement for next week's paper."

"You should ask him to give us space in the paper to promote the
dance," Phillipia suggested.

Trisha nodded. "That's a good idea; I will." She thought a moment.
"I'm sure he will. He's a nice... a good man, and the church gives him
a lot of business."

"It certainly sounds like we're ready," Kaitlin said. "All we need is
for the board to approve the whole idea of holding a dance."

"They... _we_ will," Trisha replied. "That is, I think we will. We've
got the votes."

Phillipia nodded. "My papa used to say, 'don't sell the fish until the
boats come in.' It sounds better in Greek, but you get the idea." She
sipped her tea. "Do you think Mr. Styron knows what we're trying to
do?"

"No." Trisha shook her head. "If he did, I'd have heard of it --
probably from him directly. Still... there's still more than a week
left until the meeting."

"Can he do anything?" Phillipia asked, "If the votes are there, I
mean."

"He could try," Trisha replied. "Rupert, the Judge, and Dwight all
said that they liked the idea, but..."

"But what?" Kaitlin asked.

Trisha continued. "But if enough people raise an objection at the
meeting, any one of them _could_ change his vote."

"Then it's your job to see that they don't," Kaitlin said, a determined
look in her eye.

"Yes, ma'am," Trisha answered quickly.

* * * * *

Maggie watched Shamus walk Ramon, Carmen, and Whit down from the
apartment. She and Molly were left to clean up and put things away.
"Why did you not let me answer when Ramon proposed?" she asked Molly.

Molly looked at her carefully. "And what answer would ye be giving
him?"

"I..." she sighed. "I do not know."

"And that's why we didn't let ye answer, 'cause ye don't know." She
waited a half-beat. "Don't ye want to marry him?"

"I... I love him, and I so very much want to be with him."

"Aye, only thuir's a 'but' ain't there?"

She looked at Molly, her eyes beginning to glisten. "But... but I
promised Lupe, my Lupe, that I would take care of our children. I... I
cannot put my happiness ahead... ahead of that promise."

"Maggie, dear, ye've been saying that t'poor Ramon for months. Ye've
been caught, caught like that dog in the manger, between love and
duty."

"And I still am."

"Then ye couldn't be answering him today, could ye?"

"I couldn't," she admitted, choking on the words. "And it will be the
same next week, when he comes back for his answer, the one you and
Shamus promised him." She stared down at the floor, unable to look her
friend in the face.

Molly gently lifted Maggie's chin with her hand. "No it won't, Maggie,
dear," she said smiling. "We've got us a week, me, ye, and Shamus,
t'be figuring out a way for ye to give Ramon the _right_ answer. We'll
find that way, ye'll see."

* * * * *

"And where the devil have ye been?"

Jessie ignored Shamus while she tied on her apron. "Where I said I was
going, over t'see Wilma. What's the matter with that?"

"She did say she'd be going over there, Love," Molly added, trying to
keep things calm. "And it wasn't like we was so busy this afternoon."

"That ain't the point, Molly," Shamus answered stubbornly. "We're
never busy on Sunday afternoon. What I'm wondering is, was she
visiting with her sister or was she singing for all them men over there
at Lady Cerise's?"

Jessie glared at him. "I'm not saying that's what I did, Shamus, but
what if it was? You don't have me singing in here on Sundays, so why
can't I sing over there if I want to?"

"If she pays ye to, ye mean. Sam Braddock was in here an hour or so
ago, and he was telling me how ye was singing there, singing 'Collee's
Ride', too. The song I told ye not t'be singing."

"You pay me for singing in here two days a week -- three, if you count
the times I sing at the dance on Saturday. That's all. You never said
I couldn't sing nowhere else." She took a breath. "And _I_ decide
what I sing. I don't sing 'Collee's Ride' in here because Molly asked
me not to, _not_ because of anything you said."

Shamus looked over at his wife. "Molly? Because _she_ asked ye..."

"I was just trying t'keep the peace, Love," Molly told him. "I
couldn't stand t'see the way it hurt ye t'be hearing that song." She
put her hand on his shoulder. "Please don't be mad."

Shamus reached up and put his hand over hers. "I'm not mad, Love. Not
at ye, anyhow. But this one..."

"Look, Shamus. I wasn't here this afternoon, so don't pay me for it.
As far as what I did do, that's my business. It ain't like we got a
contract. We shook hands on my singing for you two nights a week, and
that's the end of it."

Shamus let out a deep sigh. "It is for now, Jessie. It is for now.
Go wait on me customers."

* * * * *

Teresa Diaz looked over at the couch where Arnie was stretched out.
"Arnoldo, are you asleep?" It was after 10, and her younger children
were all in bed.

"No, Mama." He turned his head to face her. "Just thinking." He
paused a beat. "Dolores is leaving tomorrow. I thought that, after we
see her off, I would go look for another job."

"What about your old job? Maybe Seá±or Shamus would give it back to you
if you asked him."

Arnie sat up quickly. "No! I will not ask that old bas -- that old
man for my job."

"But you always said that he was a good jefe."

"A good boss would not have fired me like he did, for no reason."

"But you _stole_ from him, Arnoldo. You told me so yourself."

"One time, Mama, one time, and it was only thirty cents."

"If it was only the one time -- only a mistake -- then he will forgive
you. You must ask him."

"You mean I must _beg_ him. I _will_ _not_ beg some Apache-loving son
of a bitch -- yes, son of a bitch -- for a job."

"But... but who will hire you if they find out that Seá±or Shamus fired
you? He is a man of importance in this town."

"I'm a man of importance, too. You just don't see it."

"What I see is a boy, a boy trying hard -- maybe too hard -- to be a
man."

"Then you see nothing." He stood up. "And we have nothing to talk
about." He turned and walked towards the front door.

"Arnoldo!" Teresa started after him. He ignored her and kept walking,
slamming the door hard behind him. She shuddered at the sound as if
struck and sank down into a chair. "Arnoldo!" she moaned. "Why do you
have to be so much like your papa?"

Dolores had heard everything through the half-opened door of the room
she shared with her cousins. She was beside Teresa almost at once, her
arms around her. "He just lost his temper," she told the grieving
woman. "He will be back, and you two will be able to talk it out."

"Si," Teresa answered, "he will be back, but I will be no better at
talking to him than I was just now. He would talk to you, but you...
you will not be here to help me." She put her head on Dolores'
shoulder and began to cry.

* * * * *

Monday, January 29, 1872

"You awake, Jessie?"

Jessie opened one eye. "Jane, it ain't morning yet. Go back to
sleep."

"I can't. I been trying and trying." She sounded mad about something.

"What's the matter?"

"Milt. I-I can't figure him out. Sometimes, he acts like he really
likes me. And sometimes... sometimes it's like he can't stand t'be
around me."

"Did you ask him why?"

"I did. He said he couldn't explain it t'me. You think it's 'cause
I'm... I'm too dumb?"

'Don't answer that,' Jessie told herself. Aloud, she asked, "Did he
say you was dumb?"

"He... he said he couldn't figure it out for himself, but that don't
make no sense t'me. What d'you think?"

"I-I don't know." Jessie yawned. "It took me a long while t'figure
Paul out."

"Well, you musta got him figured out now. You two are together so
much." Jane giggled. "'Specially at night."

"Jane!"

"It's true, ain't it? Fact is, I can't see why you spend any nights
over here."

Jessie felt her body warm at the thought of being with Paul every
night. But she couldn't. "Paul says -- and I agree with him, I guess
-- that there room of his over t'the jail is like a fishbowl." She
sighed. "It'd be too much if I was t'move in with him."

"He could move in here. There's lotsa room."

"Sure, and put on a show for you every night? Go to sleep, Jane."

"I can't. I still don't know what t'do about Milt."

"I'll tell you what; you think about what I'm gonna do about Paul for a
while, and I'll think about you and Milt. How's that?"

"You will? You promise?"

Jessie stifled another yawn. "I promise."

"G'night, then." Jessie heard Jane shifting on her bed. She lay
still, there in the darkened room, until they both were asleep.

* * * * *

Teresa stirred the eggs in the skillet. "Constanza," she called to her
younger daughter, "please go tell Dolores that breakfast is almost
ready."

"She is not here, Mama," Constanza answered, putting the dishes in
place on the table. "She went someplace early this morning."

Teresa looked over at the door. Dolores' luggage, two large
carpetbags, was still waiting there. "Do you know where she went?"
Dolores had said nothing while they had talked the night before.

'Of course,' she added to herself, 'I was so busy worrying about
Arnoldo last night that I --.' Her eyes started to fill with tears.
'No, I will not get upset this morning. Let Dolores see me smile when
she leaves.' She wiped her eyes quickly, hoping her children would not
notice.

Ysabel was pouring milk for everyone. "Maybe she went to say goodbye
to Seá±or de Aguilar," she suggested, giggling at the thought of how
they might be saying their goodbyes.

"She had better get back here soon from wherever she is," Teresa said.
She took the scrambled eggs off the heat and folded in a mixture of
onions, tomatoes, and shredded beef she had cooked earlier. Setting
the skillet down, she continued, "Otherwise, she will not have time to
eat before Arnoldo and I take her to the stage."

"Can we go with you, Mama?" Enrique asked, "or do we have to say
goodbye here and go to school?"

Teresa thought for a moment. "I think that you can be late this one
time, but you will say short goodbyes and run to the school as soon as
the stage leaves." She walked around the table spooning portions of
the egg and meat mixture onto everyone's plates, including some for her
missing cousin.

"Something smells very good," Dolores said, choosing that moment to
come in.

"I made machaca con huevos," Teresa told her. "I wanted you to have a
good meal before you left." Food at the stations along most stage
routes was notoriously bad. "You had best hurry, though."

Dolores sat down at her place and took a forkful. "I have plenty of
time. I am not going -- not today, at least. I was just at the depot
turning in my ticket."

The younger children cheered, and Ysabel gave Dolores a hug. "I am so
glad you are staying."

"As am I," Teresa said, "but I have to ask why?" Teresa felt
embarrassed. She knew that she needed help, but was Dolores staying
out of pity?

Dolores looked at the children and shook her head. "For now, let us
only say that I decided last night that staying here in Eerie might be
just as exciting in its own way as Carnival back home."

"Last night... you mean when I..." Teresa's cheeks felt warm. It _was_
pity.

Dolores hugged Ysabel back and reached out to gently put her hand on
Teresa's arm. "I mean that I decided that I love my cousins -- _all_
of my cousins -- here in Eerie too much to leave yet. I will spend
Carnival right here."

She looked over at Arnie's empty chair. He had eaten earlier, not
wanting to be around his mother. It was a feeling she reluctantly
shared. At the moment, he was out back getting Teresa's small laundry
wagon ready to carry Dolores' luggage to the stage. "I am sure,"
Dolores added, "that there will be some interesting fireworks
hereabout."

* * * * *

"Ramon," Aaron called from behind the counter, making a broad motion
with his arm. "Come over and join us for some lunch."

"Why?" Ramon answered. "I do not mean to be rude," he added quickly,
"but do you not always say that we should not all eat at the same time,
so there will always be someone to wait on any customers that come in?"

Aaron chuckled. "Ma nistana ha-yom hazeh? Sorry, that was a joke,
sort of. It means 'why is this day different from every other day?'
That's something we say as part of the seder, the special meal we have
for our Passover holiday."

"And I'm sure he has at least four questions," Rachel interrupted her
husband. Without any explanation of what she'd just said, she
continued, "Please come join us, Ramon. And if it bothers you so much,
you can turn the sign on the door around, and we'll be closed. It's
quiet now," she said with a shrug, "closed for ten or twenty minutes--
feh! -- what can it hurt?"

"In that case, I will be happy to join you." Ramon walked over to the
door and reversed the sign before taking a seat at the small worktable
they had set up for the meal. "Especially for some of Rachel's
brisket." He put two slices of meat on a slice of the bread.

Rachel handed him a small jar filled with a very pungent, grayish-brown
paste. "Try some of this horseradish on it, but not too much. It's
strong."

"I know." Ramon used a knife to spread some of the paste -- as strong
as any chili paste he'd ever eaten -- on the second slice of bread. He
topped off the sandwich with a slice of lettuce, added the bread, and
took a bite. "Delicious," he said truthfully. Then he turned to face
Aaron. "What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Always to the point," Aaron said, laughing. "When Fortune calls, as
the Sages say, get her a chair quick. Since you ask, I'll tell you.
Better yet, I'll ask you. Ramon, how would you like to be a partner in
the store -- one third share each to me, Rachel, and you?"

Ramon's eyes went wide. "Partner? I had thought, perhaps, a raise,
but this... I am very flattered, Aaron.... Rachel, but should it not be
your sons that are your partners?"

"You mean like Michael Goldwasser -- excuse me, keineh horah,
_Goldwater_ -- and his boys over in Phoenix?" Aaron said, a sarcastic
tone in his voice. "Being partners with my sons would be nice, but do
you see them standing around here anywhere? Shmulie, my oldest, is a
rabbi in San Francisco, working with Rabbi Belinski, the chief rabbi of
the city, no less. Yitzchak, my other boy, has his own store -- and
it's doing well, he tells me -- up in Denver. And my daughter, Tuva,
her husband works in San Francisco, too, for the Port."

"Don't be so hard on Moische," Rachel scolded. "Not after he and Tuva
gave us that pretty granddaughter two years ago."

"I'm not mad, Racheliebe," Aaron said, taking her hand in his. "I'm
just saying they aren't here to be partners with."

"And so you are stuck with me," Ramon said wryly.

Aaron shook his head. "Stuck? Gottenu, no. _Lucky_ is what I am with
you. You're a good boy, a real mench, as we say, and a hard worker.
I'll be proud to have you as my partner." He held out his right hand.
"If you'll take my offer?"

"I will be proud to your partner, Aaron, my friend." He shook the
older man's hand. "And yours, as well, Rachel."

"A handshake is good," Aaron told him, "but where there's room for a
question, something is wrong. I'll have Milt Quinlan draw up papers to
make everything kosher. We can sign by Shabbos."

Rachel smiled contentedly. "Now that we've settled that, Ramon, try
one of these pickles."

* * * * *

Cerise looked up from her paperwork at the sound of the knock on the
office door. "Entre vous, come in."

"Morning, Cerise," Wilma said, stepping into the office and closing the
door behind her. "How you doing today?"

"Bien, mon brave, and you?"

"Just dandy." Wilma grinned. "I think I got an answer t'what I should
do about Rosalyn and Beatriz."

"Tres bien; what is it that you are going to do?"

"Nothing. _You're_ gonna do it."

Cerise frowned. "I 'ave told you, Wilma, that it is you that must
solve this problem if you are to truly be my second."

"And I have. Lemme ask you something, what you do t'them two for
getting tea over all those ledgers of yours?"

"I... I scolded them for their impertinence, of course. What else
would you have me do?"

"Seems t'me they oughta be put t'work replacing what they ruined.
Then... long as they're working on them books anyway, they can enter
all the expenses since."

"It will take them hours to do all of that. They will..." Celeste's
lips curled into a wry smile. She nodded in approval. "I see what you
mean, and... I think that it will work." She gave a deep, hearty
laugh. "And they will work."

Wilma joined the laughter. "I thought you'd like it."

"I do; I very much do like it. Brava." She clapped her hands in a
brief applause. "I shall call them in this very afternoon."

"Exactly. They wouldn't do it if I asked, but they'll have to do it
for you." She thought for a moment. "But I'd wait till Wednesday
t'have them do it."

"Why? There will not be that many more bills to enter by Wednesday."

"No, but I just remembered that Beatriz said Sebastian Ortega's coming
over here Wednesday afternoon." She pretended to look sad. "Be a real
shame if she was too busy doing the work in here, and he went and
picked somebody else t'be with."

* * * * *

"Be careful as you bone the fish," Maggie warned Jane. "We could not
get as much of the fresh Gila trout as I would have liked."

"I done this before," Jane answered. "Mr. Mckechnie's wagon's've
brought 'em up more'n once."

Before Maggie could reply, Ramon burst into the room, a broad smile on
his face. "Margarita, I have news."

"Ramon, what is it that is so important?"

He rushed over to Maggie. "Wonderful, wonderful news. I-I had to come
over and tell you. Aaron, just now he... he offered to make me a
partner in the store."

"An equal partner in his business? That is good news."

Jane slapped him on the back. "Yeah, congratulations, Ramon."

"Actually, Aaron, Rachel, and I will all be partners," he continued.
"They asked me to sit with them for lunch. He made me the offer, and
I... I said yes. Milt Quinlan will write something legal, and we will
all sign."

"I am proud of you, Ramon," Maggie told him. "What did Whit and Carmen
say when you told them?"

"I have not told them yet." He took a step closer. "You -- oh, and
Jane -- you are the first ones to know."

"Me?" Maggie felt a warm tingling run through her.

"Who else would I want to share this news with?" He nudged up close to
her, very close.

"Ramon, I have fish all over me. " She tried to push him away with an
elbow that was reasonably clean.

He took hold of her waist and held firm. "Something to remember you
by," he said with a smile and kissed her. Maggie shifted from pushing
him away to encircling his neck. Their bodies flush, they held their
embrace until breathless.

And time and Jane and the fish all went away for a while, lost in the
depths of the couple's feelings, like a school of fish lost in the
depths of the ocean.

Ramon reluctantly broke the kiss. He drew in a deep breath, stepped
back and brushed some bits of fish and skin from his shirt. "Not your
best perfume, but a memorable one." He looked at his pocket watch. "I
must go. I promised my... partners that I would not be gone too long."

"And a promise is a promise," Maggie said with a sigh. "I should know.
Goodbye then."

Ramon turned to go, but then he glanced at his shirt and brushed
another small scrap of fish away. "What is this that you are cooking?"

"Grilled trout with salsa verde," Maggie answered. "That and fried
chicken will be the menu tonight."

"May I join you then for dinner -- with Ernesto and Lupe, of course --
I want to tell them the good news, too." He paused a beat. "I will
get a bottle of wine from Shamus, and we can all toast my becoming a
partner."

"You are welcome, of course." She tried not to seem _too_ happy at the
prospect of dinner with him. "But what about Carmen and Whit. Should
you not tell them?"

"I will, and I will drink a toast with them, also. Whit has a very
good wine cellar." He took her hand. "And on Sunday -- I have every
hope that -- we will be drinking a toast to another, and much better
partnership."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. Maggie trembled,
but before she could answer, could say anything, he released her hand,
bowed low, and was gone.

* * * * *

Tuesday, January 30, 1872

Dolores was writing a letter, to explain to her friend, Perdita
Moralez, why she would not be coming home for carnival. Arnie watched
her for a bit, then sat down across from her at the table.

"While Mama is out delivering laundry, I wanted to thank you for
staying for a while longer. You made her very happy."

She put down her pen. "You are welcome. I enjoyed my visit, and I
decided that it would be more fun to spend carnival here with all of
you than to go back to Mexico City. I _know_ what the festival is like
there."

"Just the same, it was good of you to do it for her."

"You are a good... son, Arnoldo, to care so much for your mother's
happiness."

"What sort of a son would I be if I did not think of my mother?"

"What sort of son would you be if you thought even more of your
mother?"

"What do you mean?"

"She is very worried about you."

"I know. I am trying to find a new job."

"And I am sure that you will." She studied his face for a moment, then
added, "but your job is not the only thing that worries your mother."

He tensed. "What do you mean?"

"Your papa's pistolas, are you still trying to learn how to use them?"

"No, I..." he looked down at the table top. "I decided to stop for a
while. I will use the time to..." His mind raced. "...to find a
job."

"That sounds like a good idea. Have you told your mother this?"

"No." He sensed a trap.

"Then do so. Better yet, give her the pistolas to hold while you are
not using them." She put her hand on his. "do it for me... and her.
Show us that she does not need to worry, that you are the _man_ I know
you to be."

He thought for a moment. 'Jessie will not give me lessons, and I have
no money for bullets. Why not let Mama think I am doing it for her?'
He nodded. "Very well, I will do it. I will give them to Mama as soon
as she comes home."

"Maravilloso!" She came around to his side of the table and hugged him
tightly. 'And I will talk to the people at the saloon. Maybe I can
help you to get your old job back.'

* * * * *

Rev. Yingling stood up as Trisha walked into his study. "And how are
you today, Trisha?" he asked as she sat down opposite him at his desk.

"Hopeful, Reverend," she answered, as he took his seat.

"Hope is a truly blessed state. Are your plans for a building fund
progressing that well?"

"I think they are, but that isn't what I'm hopeful about right now."

"And what is it that you are so hopeful about?"

"I'm hopeful that I can get you to change your mind on what you said
about Kaitlin and me."

Yingling shook his head. "I fear that is not possible, Trisha."

"But --"

"Please let me finish. When we first talked last week, you asked me to
think about what your relationship with Kaitlin was and what it ought
to be. I did. For three straight days, I thought of almost nothing
else. I had to rush to finish last Sunday's sermon."

"It didn't seem rushed to me. You talked about repentance and trying
to follow G-d's Will."

"I'm glad you were listening."

"I always listen to your sermons, Reverend."

"Really, tell me, just as a guess, how many times I've spoken on the
subject of repentance in the past year?"

"I... I never kept count... umm, a dozen times, at least."

"And how many times would you say I've spoken on understanding our
Lord's Will or on following his Laws?"

"Are you saying that this..." She gestured at her body. "...is His
Will?"

"Who can say what is or isn't His Will? That isn't my point."

"What is your point, then?"

"Have you ever heard me change my position on repentance... or on any
other topic I've spoken of in my sermons? Even when such a change
might seem warranted because of something that was happening to a
member of my congregation?" He stared directly at Trisha, as if daring
her to answer.

"No... no, I-I haven't."

"Then why... how can you expect me to change my mind on this? I am
sorry to say it, but say it I must. Your marriage to Kaitlin ended the
moment that your body changed. Woman cannot be married to woman,
_that_ is Holy Writ."

"I wasted my time -- and my hopes, then." She sighed. "You can't --
or won't help me."

"I most certainly can help, Trisha. I can help you -- you and Kaitlin,
both -- to find solace in our Lord and to come to terms with what has
happened to you." He gently placed his hand on hers. "Please let me
try to help the two of you in this, help you to find the peace that
lies in His Love."

Yingling's hand on hers bothered Trisha. She pulled hers away and
shook her head. "Someday, maybe, Reverend. Today, all I feel is hate,
a hate for what Shamus' potion did to me."

"I am of several minds on Mr. O'Toole's potion, but I remind you that
it did save your son's life."

"No, it ended it. Based on what you said before, it ended mine as
well. Patrick and Elmer O'Hanlan are dead and gone. What happens to
what's left, to Trisha and Emma O'Hanlan, remains to be seen."

"All things are in the Lord's hands. Pray with me. Ask Him for His
Blessings and Mercy."

"Not today, I think." She stood up. "I do thank you for your time,
though."

* * * * *

"Can I talk to ye for a bit, Maggie?" Molly asked, walking into the
kitchen.

Jane answered first. "Sure you can, Molly. We was just taking a break
before starting on tonight's supper."

"I was talking t'Maggie, Jane," Molly said patiently, "and I'd like
t'be talking to her alone if ye don't mind?"

"Can't I stay? I'll be quiet." Jane sat down at the worktable. "I'll
just sit here and not say a word."

Maggie put a hand on her helper's shoulder. "Please, Jane. I know
that you want to stay, but this is something... something just between
Molly and me."

"Oh, all right." Jane frowned but she did stand up. "I'll go sit out
front and hope that Milt'll come in t'see me."

"I hope that he will," Maggie said, "I truly do. And thank you."

Jane was almost to the door. She stopped and turned around. "Don't
thank me, Maggie. You owe me one for this, and don't you think I ain't
gonna collect." She winked and walked through the door and into the
saloon.

"She's a good girl," Molly said, watching the door close behind Jane,
"but sometimes..." She let the words trail off.

Maggie poured Molly a cup of coffee. "I do not think she knows how
important this is." She poured herself a cup and sat down. "Have you
thought of anything?"

"Aye, dear. I've thought of a question." She added sugar to the cup
and stirred. "What exactly was it that ye promised that wife of
yuirs?"

"I..." Maggie looked surprised. "I promised what I said, that I would
take care of Ernesto and Lupe."

"D'ye remember yuir exact words when ye made the promise?"

"Remember?" she sighed. "I remember it too well. Lupe... my wife, had
a hard time giving birth to L... to our daughter. We thought that she
was getting better, but a few months later, she woke up in pain and
with a terrible fever. There was no doctor, just Father Telles and the
midwife." Maggie stopped and closed her eyes.

"It's all right, Maggie." Molly gently laid her hand on Maggie's right
arm. "It's all right. Ye don't have to be telling me."

Maggie's left elbow was on the table, her arm bent and her hand
covering her eyes. "Si, I-I do. They did all that they could, but it
was... it was not enough. Even I knew it, though I did not want to
admit it, even to myself."

"Late in the afternoon, Lupe asked to see the children. My sister,
Juana, was taking care of them, and Mother Gracia, the midwife, went
for them. Then Lupe asked Father Telles to let us be alone. My... my
heart beat so hard that it hurt. I feared that she was saying goodbye
to me."

Molly could feel the tears in her own eyes. "And was she?" Molly
asked softly.

"She was, in her way. 'Miguel, mi corazá³n' -- my heart, she called me.
'You must promise me something.' I said that I would promise anything.
I would have. I would have sold my soul if it would have made her
well."

Maggie continued. "She tried to sit up, but she could not. I shifted
some pillows behind her. 'Thank you,' she said. 'You have always been
so good... so good..." Maggie sobbed, holding her head in her hands.

Molly hurried around the table and took the younger woman in her arms.
She began a gentle rocking motion, trying to calm Maggie, as she might
try to calm a suffering daughter.

It seemed to work. Maggie' voice grew steadier. "I am... better," she
finally said. "Thank you."

"D'ye think ye can be telling the rest of it?"

Maggie nodded. "Lupe was saying, 'you have always been so good to me,
Miguel. You must promise to me that you will take care of our
children, mi corazá³n.' We will take care of them together, I said. I
knew it was a lie, but I could not say the truth."

"Lupe shook her head. She smiled and kissed my hand. 'We both
know...' she stopped. She could not say the truth any more than I
could. 'Just promise, mi corazá³n, promise that you will care for them
as we would have if we... I were there to care for them with you."

"I closed my eyes, so that she would not see the tears. I will
promise, I said, but you will be there with me, you will see."

"Before she could argue, there was a knock on the door. Mother Gracia
was back. 'Good,' Lupe said, 'I know that you will keep that promise.'
Then she called for Mother Gracia to bring the babies in. She... _we_
played with them for a while. She even nursed Lupe one last time. Then
she said that she was feeling tired."

"Mother Gracia took the babies back to Juana's. Lupe asked for Father
Telles. We prayed together, the three of us, for some hours. I could
hear Lupe's voice getting weaker. At last, she... she asked the padre
for the last rites. He gave them to her. She thanked him and took my
hand. 'Mi corazon,' she said, 'remember your promise.' I said that I
would."

Maggie began to cry again, and Molly held her. "Lupe and I... we held
hands like... like the lovers we were. I-I held her until... until she
slipped away to the world be-beyond." Maggie's voice fell away into a
moan and she laid her head against Molly. She didn't try to speak
again; she was sobbing too hard.

"So that's the size of it," Molly whispered. She held Maggie in her
arms, even as tears ran down her own cheeks.

* * * * *

Horace Styron calmly watched Dwight Albertson as the older man re-read
the loan application. "Everything in order, Dwight?"

"It is. Are you certain that you want to borrow this much?" He set
the form down on his desk.

"I am. I need those funds to restock for the spring. Between the
miners coming down from the mountains to get supplies and the farmers
looking to put in their crops, I have to have a bit of everything in my
store."

Albertson signed and carefully blotted both copies. "And you will."
He handed the papers to Styron, who also signed them.

"And your bank'll get the payments, same as we do it every year." He
folded his copy and slipped it into a pocket in his suit.

"Can't argue with success." Albertson put the bank's copy in a folder.
He paused, trying to change the subject. It was never good to let a
customer dwell on a loan. "You ready for the church board meeting next
week?"

"I am. It'll be nice to have a quiet meeting, even if it's with...
Trisha still on the board."

Albertson fidgeted with his pen. "A... ah, quiet meeting, yeah,
that... that'll be nice."

"What's going on, Dwight?" Styron asked, sensing trouble.

"Nothing, nothing."

"Dwight, you just approved a $7500 loan without batting an eye, but you
start twitching like a scared little boy when I mention the board
meeting." He stood and leaned over the desk. "What aren't you telling
me?"

"The... uh, budget. I was just thinking that we have to start working
on next year's budget."

"No, you weren't. You never worried about the budget before. This is
something else. This is... Trisha! Yes, it has to be." He looked at
the banker and knew that he'd guessed right. "All right, Dwight, what
is that bitch up to now?"

* * * * *

"Mind if I join ye, Jessie."

Jessie was sitting at a table, nursing a fake beer, and killing time
until her next show by sorting the money her audience had tossed at her
earlier that evening. She gestured at the chair opposite her. "Sit
yourself down, Shamus."

"Thank ye." He pulled out the chair and settled down into it. "That
was a good set of songs ye was singing t'night. The men enjoyed it,
too, judging from all them coins ye got there."

She shrugged. "It ain't bad, but I'd've gotten more if you'd've let me
sing 'Collee's Ride.' They keep asking for it; you heard 'em tonight."

"I heard. I also heard the clapping -- just as loud, it was t'me
thinking -- when ye sang that 'Jimmy with the Light Brown Hair'
instead."

"Maybe they's clapping as loud, but they ain't throwing as much money
as they do when I sing 'Collee's Ride.' Are you offering t'make up the
difference?"

"No -- 'cause ye can't be proving t'me that there _is_ a difference."

"They want to hear 'Collee's Ride', and they're getting tired as a
tomcat walking in the mud of me not singing it."

"Aye, and I'm getting just as tired of arguing with ye about it."

"Then let me sing it."

"All right, then. Ye can sing it in yuir room upstairs or when ye're
doing chores. Ye can sing it when ye go walking with Paul Grant -- or
whatever else it is the two of ye is doing. Ye can sing it wherever
else ye want t'be singing that blasted song, but ye'll _not_ be singing
it on me stage as part of any show ye do for me. Understand?"

Jessie's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I understand, Shamus; I really do."

* * * * *

Wednesday, January 31, 1872

Sam Duggan was sweeping the boardwalk in front of his saloon. He could
have had one of the help do it, but it was a chance to, as he said, "To
get a look-see at what's going on in the world."

"Mr. Duggan..."

He turned to see... "Jessie Hanks, what brings you over to the Long
Branch? Good news, I hope."

"Can we go inside?" Jessie looked around nervously. "I ain't got much
time, and I'd just as soon we wasn't seen."

Duggan pushed aside the swinging door to the saloon and gestured for
Jessie to go in. "After you then." She walked through, and he
followed her inside.

"I told Shamus I was going out to get some air," she told him. "Is
your offer still good?"

"Sure is. When can you come over here?"

"Now, I ain't quitting Shamus -- not yet anyways, but I don't sing for
him every night."

Duggan frowned. "So... you'll sing for him some nights, and me other
nights. Is that how it works?"

"For now, anyway -- _if_ I like working for you. How 'bout I try it
on Friday, and see what happens?" She offered her hand. "Okay?"

"No, but if it's the best I can get..." He shook her hand. "...I'll
take it."

"We got a deal then. And, by the way, Shamus pays me $7.50 a night, so
that'll be $8.50 from you." She smiled. "A dollar more a night _was_
your offer."

* * * * *

'Wish I could practice some card tricks,' Bridget thought as she
shuffled the deck. 'Just to do something different with my time.' She
sighed, feeling out of sorts. 'Yeah, girl,' she told herself, 'and if
any of your regular players see you doing them, they might get to
wondering if you're doing sleights like that _during_ a game. And then
it's _goodbye_ players.' She sighed again, and began dealing out the
five hands for yet another hand of Maverick solitaire.

She looked around. "Maybe I can get R.J. to play a game with me. We
could make another bet and --"

A finger gently tapped her on the shoulder. "May I speak with you,
Bridget?" A moment later, Dolores stepped around into view.

"Sure, sit down," Bridget said, glad for anything to break the long
afternoon monotony. She gathered up the cards while Dolores took a
seat at the table. As she did, she looked carefully at the other
woman. 'Her tells say she's nervous about something,' she noticed.

"I thought you'd gone home a couple of days ago," Bridget continued,
trying to make Dolores feel more comfortable. "I guess I heard wrong."

Dolores shook her head. "No, I... I was going home. I changed my mind
at the last minute. Teresa -- my cousin -- needed my help." She took
a breath. "And I need yours."

"I'm not promising, but... what do you need?" The two women had
occasionally talked on the Saturday nights when Dolores had worked as
one of Shamus' waiter girls. They weren't exactly friends, but Bridget
liked the tall Mexican. She admired loyalty, too, and that seemed to
be why Dolores had stayed.

"Teresa -- and I -- we are worried about her son, Arnoldo --"

"Arnie, the boy who worked here?" She saw Dolores nod. "I saw you
talking to him, now and then, but I didn't know you two were related."

"Si, Teresa's mother and my mother were sisters."

"What can I do for you two, then?"

"You know what happened to Arnoldo?"

"He and Shamus had a big fight. Shamus caught him drinking, I think,
and he called Shamus some nasty names --"

"He stole some money from Seá±or Shamus, also."

Bridget raised an eyebrow. "No wonder Shamus fired him." She hoped
that very few people knew the truth. Arnie would be disgraced.

"Si, but now... can he hire Arnoldo again? Arnoldo is not really a bad
boy; he is a boy straining hard to be a man. So hard that he does
foolish things."

"I don't know. Shamus was awful mad, and us Irish are a stubborn
bunch."

"I understand, but Shamus... the boy looked up to him. Arnoldo is
angry that he was fired, angry at himself, I think, but he won't admit
it."

Dolores took a breath and continued. "I thought... if he could get his
job back..." she let the words trail off.

"And you want me to talk Shamus into hiring Arnie again after what
happened?"

"His mother is so afraid that he will come to harm if he does not
settle down. You would be saving his life as far as she was
concerned." She looked straight at Bridget. "Just as he once saved
yours, or so I understand."

Bridget's expression soured. "_That_ was low, but you made your point.
Arnie's too young to get his life ruined for one dumb mistake." She
knew about such things from her own life.

And he _had_ jumped on Bill Hersh, when Hersh and Parnell tried to rob
her at gunpoint. She owed him, she had to admit, and she set great
store in paying such debts. "I'm in, Dolores. Heaven knows for what,
but I'm in. I think you'd better ante up some more into this game,
though."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll work on Shamus, and I think I can get Molly to help, but three of
a kind beat a pair any day. Long as you're staying around, why don't
you ask Shamus for a job, too?"

"Dancing with the men? I had thought about that. It was...
interesting."

Bridget shook her head. "No, I mean full time, waiting tables during
the week. Shamus is shorthanded with Jessie's singing and Jane
spending so much time in the kitchen. That's why he hired Arnie to
begin with."

"Then why should he hire both me and Arnoldo?"

"Because he's going to get more shorthanded as Laura gets closer to
having her baby." She let her voice drop down to a whisper. "And
because, even if he won't admit it, I think Shamus is sorry he had to
fire the boy."

There was sense in what Bridget was suggesting. Teresa hadn't said
anything, but Dolores could guess how much it her cost to feed another
mouth. Teresa wouldn't take charity, but she would accept being paid
room and board, and this job would give her the money to do that.
"I... I will think about what you have said."

"And I'll think about what you have asked." She glanced towards the
kitchen for an instant. "Just make sure that the only boy you're
trying to help is Arnie. Maggie's my friend, and I won't help you get
Ramon away from her."

Dolores sighed. "You do not need to worry. Ramon made it very clear.
He still would like to be my friend, but he _wants_ Margarita."

* * * * *

"January 23, 1872," Beatriz said in a tired voice. "Euler Brothers
Brewery... one barrel of dark beer, $23."

"Dark beer, $23," Rosalyn repeated the information, as she wrote it in
a column in a dark green ledger book. The two women were alone in
Cerise's office, sitting at her desk, which was piled high with ledgers
and bills.

"Same date and name," Beatriz continued. "Barrel of ale, also $23."

"Ale, $23." They heard a cough from the door and looked over to see...
"Daisy," Rosalyn scolded. "How long have you been standing there,
spying on us?"

"Spying?" Daisy answered, indignant at the thought -- even if it was
true. "Well, I like that. You two's been in here all afternoon, and I
was just thinking I'd bring you in some tea." She turned and picked up
a tea tray that she has set on the chair in the hall.

Rosalyn sighed and put her pen back in the inkwell. "I... I'm sorry,
Daisy. A break for tea would be lovely. Thank you." She saw the maid
walking straight for the desk and quickly pointed to a small table in
the corner. "Set the tray over there, if you please." She tried to
make it sound like an order.

Daisy smiled innocently and did as asked. "There you goes, Miz
Rosalyn. Don't blame you none for being careful. If anybody'd know
what this tea could do t'them papers, it'd be you and Miz Beatriz."

"How long have we been at this?" Beatriz kneaded the muscles on the
back of her neck. She turned and looked at the small brass clock on
the corner of Cerise's desk. "Madre de Dios! It is almost 5.
Sebastian Ortega will be here --"

Daisy chuckled. "That gentleman, he been here for a while. Miz Mae
tole him you was busy in here. She give him your best." She giggled.
"Then they went upstairs, and she give him _her_ best. They was still
up there when I came in with this here tea." She waited while her
words sank in. "Oh, and Miz Rosalyn, that Mr. Ritter that come here
sometimes..."

"Yes, what about him?" Rosalyn tried not to sound anxious.

"He and Miz Wilma, they's upstairs, too."

"That little bitch," Rosalyn hissed. "Who told her she could just step
in and take the attentions of one of my gentlemen?"

"Lady Cerise done that," Daisy told her. "She says she knows how long
it was gonna take you and Miz Beatriz t'get that there work done, and
she wasn't gonna close her doors just 'cause you two was busy."

"Thank G-d, then, that we are almost done," Rosalyn answered.

"You ain't done; you'se just finishing up for now. That's what the
Lady tole me."

"What!" Beatriz protested. "You do not mean that she planned for us to
do this work from now on, do you?"

Daisy nodded. "No, ma'am. She planned for Miz Wilma t'do it, but she
says that if'n you and Miz Beatriz was gonna be messing up Miz Wilma's
work, then the pair of you could take it over from now on." She
chuckled heartily. "And when Miz Wilma, she heard that, she says that
she'll be glad t'take over doing whatever..." She chuckled again.
"...or _who_ever you been doing."

* * * * *

Dwight Albertson walked slowly into O'Hanlan Feed & Grain. "Good
afternoon, Liam. Is... is Trisha around?"

"She's in the office, just now," Liam told the banker. "Working on the
books, as a matter of fact." He cupped a hand to his mouth and called
towards the half-closed door. "Trisha, you've got company."

Trisha came out a moment later, a lead pencil tucked into her hair
above her left ear. "Dwight, what brings you over here?"

"Bad news," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Horace Styron was at my
bank yesterday for some business. Afterwards, we... uh, we got to
talking about the board meeting next week. I-I guess I got nervous,
and he -- he spotted it."

"How much did you tell him, Dwight?" Liam asked.

"What makes you think I said anything?" Albertson tried to sound
indignant.

Trisha scowled. "Because you wouldn't be over here hemming and hawing
if you hadn't."

"I-I'm sorry." The banker took a handkerchief from his pocket and
began wiping his brow. "He took me by surprise when he started talking
about the board out of the blue like he did. I-I reacted before I had
time to think about what I was saying."

"You're the president of the bank," Liam told him. "It shouldn't be
that easy to take you by surprise."

"It isn't. He... all right, he did. I admit it. He caught me off
guard. We'd just... he came in to take out a big loan -- he does it
every year, so he can get a cash discount when he orders all the
hardware and equipment for spring. We'd just signed the paperwork.
You... ah, give a man all that money -- I won't say how much; it's his
business -- you give it to him; you're in a frame of mind to trust
him."

Liam shrugged. "Much as I hate to say it, that makes a certain amount
of sense."

"No, it doesn't." Trisha glared. "You shouldn't be spouting off like
that. It's irresponsible. It's foolish. It's likely to --"

"And it's done," Liam cut in. "Let's find out how bad things are." He
looked at Albright. "What did you tell him, Dwight? Give me -- us --
every detail."

"He was saying how much he was looking forward to a quiet meeting,
even..." He looked at Trisha nervously. "...Even if Trisha still was
on the board."

"What!" Trisha yelped. "Why that dirty son of a bitch. What'd you say
to that, Dwight?"

"I'm afraid that was when I gave the game away. I don't expect the
meeting to be quiet, not when you spring that building fund idea on
him. I... I started stammering. I do that sometimes."

"You do still support the idea, don't you?" Trisha looked Albright
squarely in the eye.

He nodded. "I do." He took a breath. "And I didn't tell him too
much. Honest, I didn't."

"How much did you tell him?" she asked suspiciously.

"I said that you had some... some new ideas about the budget and...
about fundraising. You were going to bring them up at the meeting, so
they could be a part of the new budget."

Liam cocked a wary eyebrow, as Albright continued. "No, honest. I
said that I was working with you on the financial part -- that was how
I knew you had something planned. He tried, tried hard, to get me to
say more, but I told him that I didn't know all the details, and he'd
have to ask you about them."

He put his hands on the lapels of his coat and tried to strike a pose.
"I admit that I may have slipped up -- a little. But now that I think
about it, I think that I recovered rather well, don't you?"

"Not really," Liam said, a wry look on his face. "But the damage
doesn't seem too bad." He shrugged. "We can handle it."

* * * * *

Molly set a tray with an empty pitcher and three almost empty glasses
down on the bar. "Here ye go, Love," she told Shamus. "These is from
table three..." She took a five dollar gold half-eagle from a pocket.
"...and this here's what they owe us for it."

"Thanks, Molly." Shamus put the glasses and pitcher in a tray sitting
on the counter behind the bar. The coin went into the register. "I'm
sorry ye had t'be doing the heavy lifting again."

"They wasn't that heavy, though I'd be glad t'be seeing Arnie busing
the tables again."

"I'm afraid that won't be happening. He shouldn't've been talking like
he was, drinking on the job, and stealing from me, too. He didn't give
me much of a choice, now did he?"

Molly shook her head. "No, he didn't, but I'm thinking that maybe ye
went too far."

"Maybe I did, but there ain't no going back now." He waited a beat.
"If ye're going to be trying to help somebody just now, ye might t'be
working on solving Maggie's problem."

"I have been thinking about that, but I ain't come up with anything."

"Seems t'me Maggie's problem is Maggie. She made a promise, that's for
sure, but I ain't never seen a promise that couldn't be... 'finessed',
as they say."

"Shamus! This ain't no poker bet Maggie has t'be paying off. This is
a deathbed promise t'her wife."

"I know that, Love. She swore that she'd take care of those two
youngsters, and she's bound and determined t'be keeping that promise."
He gave a sympathetic sigh. "They'll get the care she promised, even
if it she has t'be throwing away her own happiness t'do it."

"I know, and what bothers me the most is that I'm sure there's a way
out for her. I can feel it as sure as I'm standing here. I just can't
see it yet."

Shamus gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I know, Love, and I know, sure
as I'm standing here besides ye, that ye'll keep looking till ye find
it."

* * * * *

Bridget looked up from her cards and saw Cap walking towards her table.
"See your dime and raise another," she told Stu Gallagher, the only one
still in the game with her. As an afterthought, she added, "We'll deal
you in next hand, Cap."

Gallagher scowled. "Fold." He laid his cards on the table, but when
Bridget reached for the pot, he shook his head. "Not till I see what
you beat me with."

"Six... seven... eight... nine..." She put the cards face up. "Jack."
She smiled sweetly and raked in the money.

Gallagher turned over his own cards. "Two pair, the best hand I drew
all night, and she bluffs me out of the pot." He smiled in defeat and
shook his head.

"She surely did." Fred Norman said, as he gathered in the cards.

Bridget gave the three men at her table a smile. "That's the way the
game's played, gentlemen. Of course, there's always the next hand."
She motioned towards Cap, who was still standing. "There's room at the
table, Cap. Sit yourself down."

"Thanks." Cap sat down. "Before we start, could I take care of some
business?" The others agreed. "It's the end of the month, and I came
for my uncle's money." He held out his hand towards Bridget. "Could I
have it now, please?"

Her smile looked strained. "Don't you trust me, Mr. Lewis?"

"With my life, Bridget." He tried to smile but saw that it was wasted
on her. "I just thought that I'd take care of it now. I have to leave
--"

"Don't let me stop you."

He ignored her tone. "I have to leave by ten. I thought that I'd get
the business out of the way now, so I could have the pleasure of
playing... playing _cards_ with you."

"I think you and your uncle are playing with me more than enough." She
opened the tray she kept her cards and chips in and took out an
envelope. "But never let it be said that I welshed on a debt." She
put in on the table in front of Cap.

"I have my account book here, too," she added. "In case you didn't
trust my word that this is the amount your uncle is due."

He took the check without looking at it and put it in his shirt pocket.
"I've never looked at your records before, and I don't intend to start
now."

"You sure a woman with my past can be trusted?"

"I trust you. I always have." He tried smiling at her again.

Norman shuffled the cards. "Can we just play some poker? You two can
fight this out on your own time."

Enoch Ryland put a hand on Bridget's arm and gently squeezed. "I trust
you, too, Bridget."

"But can she trust you, Enoch?" Norman handed the cards to Enoch. He
cut the deck and handed it back.

Norman began dealing. "Game is seven card elimination. Everybody ante
up."

* * * * *

"So you're going to do it?" Paul asked. "You're going to sing at the
Long Branch."

"I said I was, didn't I?" Jessie answered.

They were sitting in the Sheriff's Office, Paul behind the desk and
Jessie across from him. Tor Johansson, the new deputy, was on patrol,
and he wasn't due to check in for at least an hour.

Paul shook his head. "Shamus isn't going to be very happy about it."

"That's part of what makes it so much fun. T'tell the truth,
though..." She grinned mischievously. "...he told me I could --
sorta."

"He didn't?" It was more of a question than a statement.

Jessie sat up straight in her chair and gave her head a sort of a
shake. "He did. 'Ye can sing it in yuir room upstairs or when ye're
doing chores,' he says." She had lowered the pitch of her voice so it
was closer to Shamus's tenor and was doing a passing imitation of his
Irish brogue. "Ye can sing it when ye go walking with Paul Grant -- or
whatever else it is the two of ye is doing."

"I shoulda socked him one for that." She smiled and continued. "Ye
can sing it wherever else ye want t'be singing that blasted song, but
ye'll _not_ be singing it on me stage as part of any show ye do for
me."

"Maybe he did say that. It sounds like him. But I don't think that
your doing it in Duggan's place is quite what he had in mind."

Jessie cocked an eyebrow and gave him a wry smile. "You trying t'talk
me out of it, Mr. Grant?"

"No, ma'am!" Paul held up his hands in mock surrender. "I don't spit
into the wind. I know better than to try and talk you out of
anything."

Jessie suddenly stood up. "Good, 'cause I'd hate t'have you spoil what
I got planned for tonight." She picked up her reticule, a large one
that seemed to be stuffed with something. "You gimme 'bout fifteen
minutes, then come knock twice on your door, okay?" She started
towards the storage room that was Paul's -- and sometimes her --
bedroom.

"What're you up to now, Jess?"

"Fifteen minutes. You'll find out then." She gave a wink and
disappeared into the storeroom, closing the door behind her.

Paul spent the next quarter hour looking at the clock. Finally, the
time was up. He went over and knocked on the storeroom door. He
knocked twice, just as she had said. "You ready, Jess?"

"On-tray," a voice from inside called. "Kawm inn."

He did. "Why're you talking so -- _holy_ _shit!_"

Jessie stood before him in a blood red corset that lifted her breasts
so that they seemed even larger and white silk drawers that hugged her
lush hips. Her left hand was on her hip, her right knee bent. Her
hair was piled high in some elaborate hairdo that framed her face, with
a single, long curl hanging down over her forehead. She wore a dark
red lipstick and had a small, heart-shaped beauty mark on her right
cheek. Her smile hinted at mischief and lechery.

"Very nice, Jess. Very nice, indeed." As Paul came closer, he caught
the strong scent of lilacs. The room had a pink tinge from the red
kerchief she'd draped over his lantern.

She shook her head. "No, no, m'syur. Ah emm Giselle, zee finest --
'ow you say -- zee finest whore in zee Ahri-zoona Terra-toory. You
have paid zee moonie, and Ah emm yours for zee night."

"A whore?" He shrugged, a bit surprised but willing to go along with
her game. "Why not? But do you have to talk like that?"

She gave a pretty pout. "M'syur, Ah emm zee _Fronch_ whore."

"How about, if we're pretending you're a whore, we pretend you're
talking with that funny accent, okay?"

"But zis is 'ow Giselle tawk."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "I _paid_ for you, Giselle," he said
firmly. "I'll tell you how to talk."

"But I wanted..." She pouted, caught in her own game. "Oh, all right,
_m'syur_." She wouldn't use the accent, but he hadn't said anything
about the occasional word. She could still pretend.

"Good." He pulled her to him. "Besides, I have better things for that
mouth of yours to do than argue with me." He steadied her head with
his hands and, before she could say another word, kissed her. Jessie
let out a soft moan and pressed her body against his. Her arms went
around him, palms against his muscled back. Her lips parted, and her
tongue met his, then slipped backwards, inviting his to follow into her
mouth.

The kiss continued, feeding on their mutual need. Their hands freely
exploring each other's bodies. Finally, for lack of air, they had to
separate. "Mmm," Jessie said, "m'syur is a danged good kisser."

"You aren't too bad either, Je... Giselle. Now what've you got in
mind."

She smiled and licked her upper lip. "Whatever m'syur wants. Maybe...
this." She began to unbutton his shirt. When she finished, she pulled
it out from his pants and slipped it off him. He hadn't worn anything
under the shirt, and she paused for a moment to run her fingers through
his thick chest hair.

Paul reached for her, but she stepped back. "No, I'm your whore
t'night, bought'n paid for. Lemme do the work."

"Who am I to refuse an offer like that?" He stood still while she
undid the buttons on his pants and, with on quick yank, pulled them
down past his knees.

He'd loosened the laces on his boots while he waited for her to get
ready. Jessie knelt down and held each one in turn as he stepped out
of boot and pants leg at the same time.

She looked up. Paul was in only his own gray muslin drawers. His
erection was tenting those drawers only a few inches away from her
face. "Oh, oh my," she said. She ran her finger down the bulge and
heard Paul gasp. She grinned, her face growing warm, and took it in
her hand. She could feel it pulsing through the material. She
remembered another bit of French. "Ooh-la-la-la, it sure is big."

"Once I get these drawers off, you can kiss it... if you want,
Giselle."

She looked up at him in surprise, but she didn't take her hand away.
"What? K-kiss it? Put my lips right on it?"

"You never have before, but I figured... if you _were_ Giselle, you
might even want to do... even more than kiss it."

"You don't mean..."

"Not if you don't want to."

Jessie remembered the women of the brothel in New Orleans. A whore
there would be willing -- would be _more_ than willing -- to give Paul
the sort of oral pleasuring he seemed to be asking her for. Could she?

She stood up. "I... I don't wanna play this game no more."

"I didn't say that you had to, Giselle. I asked if you wanted to." He
could see how serious she had become.

"And I don't. This here's just a game. I'm pretending; I ain't no
real whore."

"I never said you were -- never thought it neither. This is your
game."

"I-I just... the last two times I sang over to Cerise's House, somebody
thought I was a whore and wanted t'bed me. I had t'tell 'em I wasn't."

"Of course, you aren't."

"Damned straight, but it got me... wondering -- wondering what it'd be
like if I was. I thought I'd find out t'night, play that I was... here
with you."

"Jess -- I'll call you that instead of Giselle, okay?" He waited until
she nodded agreement. "You're no whore, and you never were. You're a
mustang, my mustang."

She cocked an eyebrow. "And how is being a horse is better'n being a
whore?"

He put up his hands as if to ward off an attack. "No, no. I meant
that you're like a mustang, wild and free, beautiful and full of
spirit."

When she smiled, he pulled her to him. "And I'll play any game you
want, with any rules you want, if it'll get you into my arms. And my
bed."

She looked into his eyes for a moment, and they kissed, a short kiss,
but one full of passion. "Then help me outta this corset," she said
when it ended, "and I'll _be_ your mustang."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. I'll be your mustang, and you can do just like they
do in all them dime novels." She giggled. "You can ride me into the
sunset."

* * * * *

Thursday, February 1, 1872

"Here they come! Here they come!" Jane pointed at the stage couch
heading for the boardwalk in front of the Wells Fargo depot where she
was standing with Laura and Arsenio.

"Calm down, Jane" Laura ordered. "Remember, Elizabeth and Theo don't
know you. They don't know me, for that matter, and I'm -- I was --
Elizabeth's brother."

"They'll know me soon enough," Jane answered. "We's family now."

Arsenio was standing next to Laura. He reached over and took her hand,
giving it a reassuring squeeze. "They'll know us _all_ soon enough --
Lord help them, and us."

The stage came to a halt at the edge of the platform. "This here's
Eerie!" the driver, a burly, red-haired man called out. "They'll be a
30-minute wait while I unload a couple of you folks and we change
horses."

Even as he spoke, Pablo Escobar and a thin black man began to unhitch
the horses. Both Pablo and Caesar, the black man, wore vests with the
words "Ritter's Livery" painted on the back.

The passenger door nearest the platform opened, and a tall man in a
rumpled, gray suit came out, blinking his eyes at the sunlight. The
leather window curtain was down to keep the dust out. It worked, but
it made the inside dark, stuffy, and very hot. "Do you need help,
Elizabeth?" he asked someone still inside.

"I can manage, Theo." A woman stepped out. Her dress showed days of
being worn inside the stagecoach, and some of her mouse-brown hair had
been shaken loose by the ride from the tight bun she wore it in. She
stretched and took a couple of tentative steps to uncramp her legs.

Then she took notice of Theo. "Don't just stand there. See to our
bags. I'll talk to that sheriff, _if_ he ever gets here." The man
mumbled something and walked back to where a clerk for the stage line
was opening the rear boot to unload their luggage.

Laura stood a few feet away. Arsenio could feel her nervousness. He
let go of her hand and gave her a gentle push. "Arsenio," she said in
surprise, as she stumbled forward. She saw her sister staring at her.
"W-Welcome to Eerie, Elizabeth."

"Do I know - Trudy! Trudy Muller, what are you doing in this G-d
forsaken place?" Elizabeth asked.

Laura could see the confusion in her sister's face. "I-I'm not Trudy;
I'm Laura... Laura Caulder, but you do know me. It... it's kind of
hard to explain."

Jane stepped forward. "I'm Jane. Laura's m'sister. You are, too."
She took another step, arms opened wide to hug Elizabeth, but Arsenio
grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Twins? _My_ sister? What is going on here?" Elizabeth demanded,
stepping back in case Jane tried to hug her again. "Where is that
Sheriff Talbot we wrote to?"

"I... uhh, I asked the Sheriff to let me meet you. I'll explain it all
later. I promise." Laura tried to smile. "Right now, let's get you
to the room we've arranged for you."

Arsenio walked over to Theo, who was surrounded by a trunk and three
smaller bags. "I'm Arsenio Caulder, Laura's husband. Let me help you
with those bags... Theo, isn't it?"

"It is." He looked at Arsenio's broad shoulders. "Can you give me a
hand with the trunk?"

"I've got it." The smith grabbed the leatherbound Jenny Lind trunk
with one hand and hefted it onto his shoulder. "Jane, come and get one
of these bags." As he spoke, he reached down and picked up a smaller
valise with his other hand.

"Coming." Jane took the other two bags. "That leaves none for you...
Theo. I expect you'd rather take m'sister Elizabeth's hand anyway."
She giggled, happy to be helping her new family. "We'll have you two
over t'the saloon in no time."

"Saloon?" Elizabeth asked indignantly. "Why should we go to a saloon?"

"That's where you'll be staying," Laura told her. "There's no hotel in
town, but Shamus -- he owns the saloon -- rents out rooms on the second
floor. He's fixed up one for you, way in the back, nice and quiet."

Elizabeth looked from one of the women to the other. She _knew_ that
Trudy was the Muller's only daughter, yet these two, whoever they were,
were identical twins. "It's still a saloon. You say you're family.
Couldn't we stay with you?"

"Jane works in the saloon; she lives there herself," Arsenio answered,
walking over. "And I'm afraid that we only have one bedroom... one bed
at our house."

"Which you might be gracious enough to yield to guests... out of town
family, so you claim." This was the final straw. How could women who
worked in a saloon, let alone this... Jane who actually _lived_ there,
possibly be any kin of hers?

Arsenio raised an eyebrow. "Laura and I are expecting our first child.
The bed is reserved for her."

"Perhaps I could share it with her, and you and Theo could sleep
elsewhere." Elizabeth wouldn't give up.

Arsenio shook his head. "I suspect that the two of you would be better
served in your own room." The prospect of having in-laws was much less
appealing now that he was actually meeting them.

"Give you a chance t'get... reacquainted." Jane giggled again at the
notion. "You two must be looking forward t'having some time _alone_
after them five days on a stage."

"Well, I never!" Elizabeth answered, glaring at Jane.

"Then y'should. Y'are married, after all." Jane turned and starting
walking towards the saloon. The others scrambled after her, Laura and
Arsenio trying hard not to laugh.

* * * * *

"That'll do it, Trisha. This ad will be in the next two issues of the
paper." Roscoe Unger put the order form in his briefcase. "Tell Liam
I'll see him next time I come in." Liam was making a delivery to one
of the nearby ranches.

"Can you keep a secret, Roscoe?"

"That's not a fair question to ask a man who runs a newspaper. It's my
job _not_ to keep secrets." He looked at her expression and sighed.
"What's the secret?"

"Remember when I ran for the church board? I said I wanted to build a
better church." She saw him nod. "At next week's Board meeting, I'm
gonna make a motion to set up a building fund to do just that."

"Are you sure you want to do that? A lot of people like the
arrangement the church has with the school. They may not want to build
a separate building."

"I never said we were gonna build one. I'm saying we can have better
than we have now; maybe a library or an office for the reverend, or a
kitchen."

"And you're telling me this, but you don't want it in the paper?"

"I... I was just hoping you could wait till after the meeting. We
haven't worked out all the details."

"I'll wait... _if_ can I can an interview with you to find out those
details." He offered his hand.

"Thanks." She shook hands. "One detail we... uh, have worked out...
we want to kick off the fund with... uhh, with a dance."

"A dance? When?"

"Some time around the end of the month. That's why I'm telling you.
Can you help us get the word out in your paper."

"That's what it's there for. I'll mention it in the story. And, if
you buy those larger ads we were talking about, I'll give you free
space to advertise it." He thought for a moment. "I'll give you a
real good deal for printing the tickets and whatever posters you want,
too."

"Fair enough. I wanted to ask another favor, though."

"Well, I normally don't go to dances," he smiled wryly, "but I'll be
happy to be your escort."

Trisha shook her head. "Thanks, but, uhh... no thanks." The offer
sounded... interesting. 'Don't think about such things,' she chided
herself. Then, aloud, she added, "I just wanted to ask if you'd
donate some colored paper to the school. The kids will be making
decorations: paper lanterns, chains, and such."

"Fair enough, if I can get a sign up at the dance thanking me for all
this help I'm giving."

"If it's not too big a sign."

"It won't be. You really seem to have this thing in hand."

"I hope so. The Board hasn't voted yet, and I'm afraid that Horace
Styron knows what we're up to. He's gonna try to get people roused up
against us."

"Why don't you do some of the same?"

"I-I don't want make too big a personal deal out of it. If people see
it just as a fight between Horace and me, they won't take it serious."

Roscoe thought for a moment. "There is one way you could do it. Write
a letter to the paper -- you're pretty good with words -- about how the
church needs to fix up the schoolhouse, so it'll serve both the church
and the kids better. Don't mention the fund you want to set up or any
real details. Write like you're somebody else, somebody who doesn't
know what Trisha O'Hanlan's planning. Sign a made-up name, too."

"I... that's a great idea. I'll get that letter to you by tomorrow."
She took a step towards him, arms outstretched. At the last moment,
she stuck one arm forward and vigorously shook his hand.

* * * * *

"Uncle Ramon!" Ernesto greeted Ramon at the kitchen door. "You came."

Ramon smiled and stepped into Maggie's kitchen. "Of course I did. A
man keeps his word. Especially..." He made a show of rubbing his leg.
"... when he is so strongly reminded of it."

"I... Uncle Ramon, I am sorry." The boy looked down at the floor,
rather than look Ramon in the eye.

Maggie looked up from her worktable, where she was chopping onions.
"Sorry enough not to do it again, I hope."

"Never, I promise."

"And I am sure that you will try your best to keep that promise."
Ramon tousled the boy's hair. "So I will forgive you." He turned to
look at Maggie. "And a very good evening to you, Margarita. And to
you, as well, Lupe."

Lupe was sitting near her mother. She was tearing apart cornhusks,
separating the individual leaves. "And Inez, too." She stopped for a
moment and held up her doll.

"Of course." Ramon bowed. "Forgive me, Inez. I did not see you
there."

"She is a good baby," Lupe said, "always nice and quiet."

Ernesto made a face. "She is a _doll_. It is foolish to pretend that
she is a real baby."

"Mama," Lupe whined.

"Ernesto, what have I told you about teasing your sister?" Maggie
sounded angry.

"But, Mama, she is," Ernesto protested.

Ramon tried to change the subject. "So how many tamales are we making
for the party tomorrow?" He took off his jacket and draped it over the
back of a chair. Maggie handed him a plain, blue apron. He put it
over his head and tied the straps around his waist.

"Let me see." She counted on her fingers. "Four adults, Carmen, Whit,
you and me, each get three; that is twelve. Lupe and Ernesto and Jose,
get two --"

"Don't forget Inez, Mama," Lupe interrupted.

"She is a doll," Ernesto said loudly.

"Mama!" Lupe was sniffling.

Ramon spoke before Maggie could. "Lupe, be calm. I am sure that your
mama thought that you would feed Inez, just like your Aunt Carmen will
feed her baby, my nephew, Felipe." He looked at Maggie and winked.
"Is that not right? Margarita?"

"Si," Maggie answered. "I... I did not count Inez or Felipe."

"Naturally," Ramon told her, "they _are_ babies, after all." He turned
to look at Ernesto. "I know it can be hard, my young friend, but if
you _are_ the man of the house, you must take care of the women, not
tease them."

Lupe stuck out her tongue. "So there."

"And you, Lupe, must be worthy of his protection," Ramon added.

"Is that how it was with you and Aunt Carmen?" Ernesto asked, his eyes
wide with curiosity.

Ramon smiled. "To tell the truth, _my_ big brother, Gregario, looked
after Carmen and me." He paused a beat. "But he always told me that I
should look after Carmen when he was not around." His voice grew
serious. "Do you think that you can do that?"

"I can try," Ernesto said seriously. "If Lupe behaves." He smiled.
"And Inez, too."

"I am sure that they both will." He tousled the boy's hair again and
winked at Maggie. "Now, let us get back to the important matter of
making tamales."

* * * * *

"Have you talked to Rev, Yingling, yet?" Kaitlin asked. She and Trisha
were in their room getting ready to go to bed.

"I have," Trisha answered, "but how'd you know? I never said that I
was going back to see him again." She hung her blouse on a hanger.

"Because I know you, my dear. You never were good at taking 'No' for
an answer." Kaitlin unbuckled the wrap she was wearing, a sort of mix
of robe and housedress, and draped it over a chair. "So what did he
say?"

"The... the same as he did before." She sat down on the edge of the
bed and sighed. "We aren't... we aren't married any more. We haven't
been since the day Emma and I changed."

Kaitlin sat down next to Trisha and put her arm around the other woman.
"I-I'm sorry. I truly am."

"It's my fault. If I hadn't drunk that potion..." Her voice trailed
off.

"If you hadn't pretended to drink that potion, Elmer wouldn't have
either. Our son would be dead. It wasn't your fault that it made you
choke, and you accidentally swallowed it."

"I know, but... look at what we are now, what it's done to our lives."

"We're together, the three of us. Emma seems to be getting used to her
new life. I... I just hope that you can, too."

"I lost more than Emma did." She took Kaitlin's hand in hers. "I lost
you."

"No, you haven't. We're still together, good friends, sisters,
almost." She leaned over and softly kissed Trisha's cheek.

"I never wanted to be your _sister_, Kaitlin." Trisha turned to face
her wife. "I wanted to be your _husband_... and your lover."

"Please, don't start that again."

"Can we hug, at least? Sisters do hug."

Kaitlin raised an eyebrow. "Just a hug?"

"Just a hug."

"All right, a hug." The two women moved close and put their arms
around each other. Even sitting, Trisha was shorter than Kaitlin. She
rested her head on the taller woman's shoulder and closed her eyes.

"We can do this for as long as you want," Kaitlin told her, "but then
we need to talk."

"Talk about what?" Trisha tried to move, but Kaitlin's arms held her
tight.

"Rev. Yingling says that we aren't married any more. That's fine for
him, but what's true in the eyes of the Lord isn't always true in the
eyes of everybody else." She tilted her head down and kissed Trisha on
the forehead, as she might a small child. "I think that we need to
talk to a lawyer."

* * * * *

Friday, February 2, 1872

Laura walked through the saloon to the table where Elizabeth and Theo
were waiting. Theo was reading the Eerie edition of the _Tucson_
_Citizen_, while Elizabeth was finishing a cup of breakfast coffee.

"Morning," she greeted the couple.

"About time you got here," Elizabeth said. "When we told Mrs. O'Toole
that we were going to go over to see Sheriff Talbot, she insisted that
we wait for you. For some reason, she seemed to think that he had put
you in charge of dealing with us. She all but threatened to tie us to
these chairs until we promised to wait for you." She took another sip
of coffee. "Can you tell me why she should be so insistent?"

Theo closed the paper. "Mrs. Caulder claims to be your sister.
Perhaps --"

"She is no sister of mine," Elizabeth interrupted.

Laura shook her head. "I see you're still the same 'snapping turtle
Lizzie' you always were."

"Who told you about that horrible name?" Elizabeth glowered at her.
"You _must_ be Trudy Muller. What are you doing in this G-d forsaken
place? For that matter, where's Fred Hanson, and why is that Mr.
Caulder claiming to be your husband instead of Fred?"

"I'm not Trudy," Laura answered, "and Arsenio -- _is_ my husband."

"Then what's your connection with my late brother -- rest his soul?"
She looked closely at Laura, her eyes moving slowly down from Laura's
face to her stomach. "Mr. Caulder said that you were... with child.
Is... is it my... my brother's child?"

"Elizabeth," Theo scolded, "that's a very personal thing to be asking
someone we only just met."

"My brother is dead, Theo," Elizabeth replied angrily. "He may have
died a desperate criminal, but he was still my brother. If this woman
is carrying all that remains of Leroy Meehan, then I have every right
in the world to know it."

Laura sighed. There was no way to avoid the truth now. "Leroy isn't
dead, Elizabeth, not really, and this baby... it is his... in a way."

"I knew it!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I knew that story Mr. Varrick wrote
wasn't true. It sounded too much like those foolish dime novels that
Leroy was always reading." She looked around. "Where is he? Is he in
jail? Is that why Mrs. O'Toole insisted we wait until you arrived?"

"He... he's not in jail," Laura told her. "He... he's right here in
front of you. I-I'm -- I was -- I still am, sort of..."

"Get on with it, woman," Elizabeth insisted. "What are you trying to
say?"

"Or trying not to say," Theo added wryly.

Laura braced herself. "I-I'm your brother, Elizabeth, _I_ am Leroy
Meehan."

Elizabeth looked at the young matron with incredulity. "That is the
most absurd nonsense I have ever heard," she said. "How could you
possibly be Leroy?"

"Part of the story Nick Varrick wrote was true. When we rode into
town, we did fall into a trap. Shamus..." She pointed at the barman,
who was busily setting up for the day's business some feet away.
"...slipped us some of a potion he makes -- it's some of mix of Indian
and Irish magic, he says -- and it turned us all into women."

For a moment Elizabeth stared, as if she hadn't really heard. "What
kind of joke is this?" she finally asked. "It is very foolish, young
woman -- Trudy -- Laura -- whatever you're calling yourself."

"I can't explain it much better than that. It's magic. Shamus thinks
that because Trudy was always so much on my mind the spell made me take
her shape."

Elizabeth's sneer was dismissive and derisive. "And I suppose that...
that monster, Will Hanks, who led you all to ruin is the public school
teacher, now. And does she sing lead soprano in the church choir,
too?"

Laura had to laugh at that. "Not hardly, she... uh, Wilma -- that's
her name, now -- works over at the local... ummm, the local 'den of
iniquity', you might say. Her sister, Jessie, was one of the gang,
too, and now she sings here at the saloon."

Elizabeth frowned. "You can hold a straight face, I'll grant you
that."

"I'll prove it." She turned her head and yelled, "Shamus..."

Shamus turned his head at the sound of his name and came over to the
table. "Ye called me, Laura?"

"I did," she replied. "Do you have any more of your potion handy? I
want to use it on a stray dog or something to prove to Elizabeth that
it works."

"Och, I was afraid ye'd be asking for that. I don't have any just now.
I used the last of what I had with the O'Hanlans, and I didn't think
t'be making more for when yuir family came. I can be brewing up a new
batch, o' course, but I won't have it ready till Monday."

"Well isn't that convenient?" Elizabeth smirked. "The same day as the
stage back to Utah. I suppose it won't be ready until after the stage
leaves."

"I thought you could make up a batch overnight." Laura was confused
and a little exasperated.

Shamus shrugged. "I can, _if_ I've the time it takes t'be working on
it. Ye know how busy we are on the Saturday, with the dance and all.
I'd not have the time to do it proper." He shook his head. "No, I'll
have t'be starting it Sunday."

He looked over at Elizabeth, "and ye'll have t'be waiting for the
Thursday stage, if ye're so all fired stubborn that ye need to see the
potion work t'be believing what ye've been told." Then the barkeeper
put on his best professional smile. "We have a nice friendly town
here, Mrs. Taft. I think ye'll enjoy your stay."

* * * * *

Beatriz took a sip of breakfast coffee and leaned back in her chair.
"Rosalyn, do you think Daisy knew what she was talking about?" The two
women were alone in the kitchen, enjoying a late breakfast.

"She's rather smart -- for a darkie," Rosalyn answered. "And I
wouldn't be surprised if Lady Cerise confided in her about what she has
planned."

"I hope that you are wrong." She shook her head. "I do not want to
spend my time working on Cerise's ledgers. Sebastian -- and all my
other men, they will find someone else, Mae... perhaps even..." She
shuddered for dramatic effect. "...Wilma. I like the men, I like
being with them, having them touch me... having them in me. Mmm, and I
like the presents that they give me."

"You'll get no presents from any man for keeping the Lady's books. You
can count on that." Rosalyn sopped up the last of her fried egg with a
biscuit and took a bite. Then she added, "And Cerise is more than
welcome to those ledgers of hers."

"You did not like doing that work anymore than I did, I think."

"Of course, I didn't. I am an aristocrat -- F.F.V., in point of fact,
in a direct line from Lord Colin and Lady Viola Wessex of Jamestown --
and I was not put on this Earth to be a... a _bookkeeper_." She all
but spat the word.

"A bookkeeper, si, that is what you are, that is what we both are, if
she keeps us at that work." She sighed. "I wish you had not spilled
the tea on the records Wilma was working on."

"Me? I don't seem to recall you doing anything to stop me; quite the
opposite, in fact."

"But it was your loco idea, and I wish we had not done it."

"Are you saying that you actually _want_ that... that troll, that
changeling, Wilma, to be Lady Cerise's second?"

"If it means that _she_ is the one copying records into ledgers when
the men come, and _we_ are the ones waiting to greet them, then maybe -
- just maybe -- I do." She smiled wickedly. "A puta like Wilma will
hate it absolutemente while all the rest of us are having a good time."

Rosalyn frowned. "I'll not say that I agree with you, Beatriz, but
menial work like that is more suited to someone of her class than it is
to one such as myself."

"Or you," she quickly added.

* * * * *

Elizabeth walked into the Sheriff's office, with Theo right behind her.
"Which of you is Sheriff Talbot?" she asked the two men inside.

"Is him." Tor Johansson pointed at Dan. "I am der deputy."

"Please to meet you," Theo said, extending his hand. "We're --"

"I am Elizabeth Meehan Taft. This is my husband, Theo. I've come to
see about taking my late brother, Leroy's body, back to Indiana for a
proper burial."

"I don't believe that's possible, Mrs. Taft," Dan said.

"And why is that?" Elizabeth asked indignantly. "I have every right as
his next of kin." She put her reticule down on the sheriff's desk and
began looking through the contents. "I have some papers here from my
lawyers testifying to that fact."

Tor laughed. "It ain't possible 'cause he ain't dead, missus. He
ain't a 'he' no more, neither."

"I beg your pardon," Elizabeth said.

"Laura was supposed to tell you herself, Mrs. Taft."

"All Mrs. Caulder told me was some fool joke that Leroy and the whole
Hanks gang was turned into women."

Dan grimaced uncomfortably. "She was telling you the truth, ma'am.
Leroy -- the whole gang, in fact -- got turned into women by a potion
Shamus -- he owns the Eerie Saloon -- that Shamus made. Leroy is Laura
Meehan -- Laura Caulder, now. She's married to Arsenio Caulder, and
they're expecting a baby in a few months."

"Is the whole town participating in this ludicrous hoax?"

Theo took a step forward. "I've met this Laura Caulder, Sheriff. Are
you saying that that preposterous story she told Elizabeth and me is
true?"

"If she told you that she was Leroy Meehan, Mr. Taft, then yes, that's
just what I'm saying. I know hard it is to believe what must sound to
you like some sort of a cock 'n' bull story, but that's the simple
truth of it."

Elizabeth snorted and drew herself up to her full height. "I don't
know what sort of game you're playing, but I will not be lied to." She
glared at the two men and turned to leave. "Come, Theo." She left
without another word.

"Uhh, nice meeting you," Theo said before he hurried after her.

Tor shook his head. "Dat, Sheriff, is one stubborn voman."

* * * * *

"Maggie," Shamus called from the doorway between the kitchen and the
bar, "could ye be coming out here for a wee bit?"

"Si, Shamus," she answered. "Just give me a minute." She made a few
quick cuts with her knife, and the chicken was divided into pieces.

"I will be back as soon as I can," she told Jane. "You do the other
chickens while I am gone." Jane nodded and began slicing the drumstick
off one bird.

Maggie walked towards the door, wiping her hands on her apron. "What
did you want to see me about?" she asked Shamus when she reached him at
the door.

"Well, to tell ye the honest truth, it ain't me that wants t'be seeing
ye -- not directly, anyway." He turned and pointed to where a lone
figure sat at a table near the wall.

"Dolores!" Maggie all but spat the name. "What is she doing here? I
thought that she went back to her precious Mexico City."

"Either she didn't, or somebody's gone and moved me saloon south of the
border." He smiled at his own joke. "Go over, and I'm sure that
she'll be telling ye all about it."

"Why? Why should I talk to her?"

"Because it's me that's asking ye to, yuir partner and yuir friend,
Shamus O'Toole." He looked at her very seriously, then added,
"Please."

Maggie looked back at him, then over at Dolores. "Only... _only_
because you said 'please' will I do this." She glanced quickly at the
clock on the wall. "And not for very long; I have to get back to my
kitchen."

Head straight and back very stiff, she walked over to the table.
"Shamus said that you wanted to see me," she said as she sat down
across from the other woman.

Dolores studied her for a moment before speaking. "Actually, it was
Seá±or O'Toole who wanted me to talk to you. I asked him for a job, and
he said that I had to get your permission."

"Me, why did he say that?"

"He-he knows about Ramon... how we were rivals --"

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Were rivals or _are_ rivals?"

"I will not deny that I am attracted to Ramon. He is a handsome man."
She stopped and looked at Maggie's reaction. "But he wants things that
I am not ready to give, a home, a family, a... a wife." She shook her
head. "No, I am not ready to give up my freedom for a man -- for _any_
man."

She took a breath, then continued. "You... you are what he wants...
what he _always_ wanted. And I want him to have you, even if you do
not believe that I do." She smiled wryly.

"I would believe you more if you were on the stage back to your home,
not standing here asking for a job." She glowered at Dolores. "Why are
you still here? The truth! Why?"

"The truth?" She sighed. "Perhaps it is the only way. Very well, I
am not ready to make a new family, but I am part of _a_ family, one
that needs my help. I stayed to give it."

"A very noble story... if it is true."

"Arnoldo Diaz, the boy that worked here, he is my cousin. I was -- I
am -- staying at his house."

Maggie nodded, remembering. "Si, Shamus caught him drinking...
stealing. He denied it, and he called Shamus some terrible names."

"He is my cousin. His father was killed by the Apache, and his mother
has had nothing but trouble from him ever since. He wants so hard to
prove that he is a man, so he can go after them and avenge his father's
death."

"I heard him tell Shamus once how much he hated Indians. That, I
think, was part of why Shamus fired him." She paused a moment, "But
what has this to do with you?"

"His mother cannot cope with such anger from one fast becoming a grown
man. She thinks of him as her little boy, and she is afraid of what
would happen if he rode out after those Apache." She smiled. "I had
two older brothers, and I know about the demons that drive a boy his
age. Teresa, his mother, begged me to stay so I could help him calm
down, maybe even get him to try and get his job back here."

"And you think you will have an easier time if you are already working
here yourself."

Dolores shrugged her shoulders. "Si, also I do not wish to impose on
my cousin's charity any longer. With a job, I can pay my own way.
Besides, Arnoldo has one friend here already." She pointed to Bridget,
who was in the middle of a game at her corner table well across the
room from the two of them. "It may be that the two of us can get Seá±or
O'Toole to take him back."

Maggie was quiet and thoughtful for a moment, as if wanting to believe
the other woman's side of the story, but not being quite sure. Finally
she seemed to come to a decision: "There can be three of us." Maggie
put her hand on Dolores' arm. "You are a good person -- if you have
really stayed to help Arnoldo. If you are telling the truth, we have
no problem. I will not stand in your way."

"Thank you. Teresa has had a hard time trying to raise four children
alone. She is a good mother, one of the best, but takes more than one
person to really do the job well."

"You are hardly their father."

"No, and I will not try to be, but I can be a second voice, a second
adult for them to look to."

Maggie smiled. "Just so long as you look to them and not to a certain
store clerk that we both know..." She let her words trail off.

"Why should I bother, when you are the one _he_ looks to?"

* * * * *

"Does anyone want any more champurrado?" Teresa asked, walking over to
the stove. A pot filled with what looked like dark brown porridge was
simmering over a very low flame.

Enrique raised his hand. "I do, and can I have some extra piloncillo in
it?"

"Si." Teresa brought the pot to the table and poured some of the
chocolate and corn-based drink into his cup and into several others.
She put the pot on a trivit on the table and took a small, dark
triangle from her apron. "Here is your piloncillo." She crumbled the
cone of sugar in her hand and let it fall into the boy's drink.
"Anyone else?"

Ysabel took a sip of her chapurrado. "Mama, can we play the candle
game now?"

"I will set them up," Arnie said. He walked over to a cupboard and
brought three candlesticks, each with a candle, red, blue, or green,
back to the table. "Who goes first?" He set the candlesticks down and
held up a long white strip of cloth.

"Me, me!" Ysabel waved her arm eagerly

"Dolores is our guest," Arnie told his sister. "Maybe she should go
first."

Dolores shook her head. "The game was Ysabel's idea. Let her go
first." Then she added, "but you are a good man for offering,
Arnoldo."

Teresa quickly followed Dolores' lead. "Si, very good of you,
Arnoldo." She tied the blindfold over Ysabel's eyes, while Arnie lit
the candles. He stepped away.

Teresa slowly turned Ysabel around one time and pointed her towards the
table. "There, now try to blow one of the candles out."

Ysabel took a step forward and leaned towards the candles. She puffed
heavily. "Try again," Arnie said.

It took two more tries before she actually blew out of the flames. The
family cheered and she yanked off the blindfold. "Which one did I
get?" Then she saw. "Blue," she whined. "I do not want to travel. I
wanted red... for romance."

"You are too young for romance," Teresa told her.

Arnie gave her a gentle jab in the shoulder. "Maybe next year." He
took the blindfold. "Your turn, Dolores." He offered it to her.

"Why do you not go next, Arnoldo?" She pushed it away.

Arnie gave her a wry look. "Me? Why should I --?"

"Why not you?" Teresa answered.

"Let one of the younger ones go next, if Dolores does not want it."

"Oh, go ahead, Arnoldo," Ysabel said. "After all, _you_ are old enough
for romance." She giggled. The other children voiced their agreement.

He shrugged. "If you truly want." He tied on the blindfold. "Someone
light the blue one again."

"I will get it." Dolores lit the candle while Teresa slowly turned her
son once around and pointed him towards the table. When he stopped,
perhaps a foot from the table, Dolores quickly shifted the red and blue
candlesticks out of reach.

Arnie puffed twice. On the second try, the flame on the green candle
flickered and went out. Dolores hurriedly moved the other two
candlesticks back.

"Green!" Arnie took of the blindfold. "Money. This must mean that I
will get a good new job very soon."

"Perhaps it means that you will get your old job back," Dolores said.

"I do not want my old job back," Arnie answered. "I would rather not
have a job than go back to work for O'Toole."

"You would rather stay home than do honest work," Ysabel scolded.
"That does not sound very grown up."

"How would you know, _little_ _girl_?" He shot back.

Teresa clapped her hands. "I will not have such arguing. This is a
holy day."

"You are a proud man, Arnoldo," Dolores said. "So is Seá±or Shamus.
Why do we not just keep an open mind? If you ask... if he asks..."
She clicked her tongue. "We will see what the _future_ asks. Is that
all right?"

"It is with me," Constanza answered. "Now blindfold me, so we I can
see my future next."

* * * * *

Sam Duggan put two fingers in his mouth and let loose a loud, high-
pitched whistle that brought every conversation in the room to a halt.
Once he was sure that everyone was looking at him, he bowed slightly
and began. "Gents, once again, the Long Branch has spared no expense
to bring you the finest entertainment to be had in the territory."

"What'cha get this time, Sam," someone yelled, "a dancing bear?" The
remark brought a howl of laughter.

Sam shook his head. "She ain't dancing, and -- more's the pity -- she
ain't bare. I've managed to get -- and at great expense, I might add -
-"

"Price of drinks is going up again, boys."

Another shout, "You can only charge so much for water, Sam," and more
laughter.

"As I was saying," Duggan pressed on, "at great expense, the Long
Branch is proud 'n' happy to present Eerie's own golden thrush, Miss
Jessie Hanks." He raised his arm and pointed with an outstretched hand
to the top of the stairs.

Jessie nodded, acknowledging the applause, and started down. "I'd like
t'start with a song I ain't sung for a while." She paused a moment,
watching the crowd's reactions and began singing.

" Arise, arise, Collee, says he.
` Arise an' come with me.
` An' to the land of Ireland go
` An' married there we'll be."

* * * * *

"Do you think it's true?" Theo asked. He took off his shirt and draped
it over a chair.

Elizabeth shook her head. "That ridiculous story about Mrs. Caulder
being Leroy? I most certainly do not. How could a grown man suddenly
turn into a woman?" She stepped out of her dress and carefully placed
it on a wooden hanger.

"I don't know," Theo said cautiously. "I don't know. If it were just
her saying it, or even just her and her husband, or even just them and
that Jane character --"

"Jane! I don't even want to _pretend_ that woman is my sister. She
was prattling on like some overeager puppy the whole time, insinuating
things about you and I as if it were any of her concern."

Theo walked over to his wife. "I agree about Jane, but it _has_ been a
long time." He put his arms around her waist and kissed her softly on
the neck.

"Theo, please." Elizabeth twisted away from him. "I-I'm too upset.
Besides, someone might hear us."

"We're at the far end of the hall from the steps and behind a solid,
wooden door." Theo argued. "I can't hear them downstairs, can you?"
He waited for her to shake her head before he continued. "If I -- if
_we_ -- can't hear _them_, then how can _they_ hear _us_?"

"I don't know, through the wall or the floor perhaps. I just feel
so... so uncomfortable here. We're living in a saloon, for heaven's
sake, as if we were vulgar... people of the street, while everyone lies
to us. How can I possibly be in the mood for what you're asking of
me?"

She took a breath. "And why is all this happening? Because I tried to
do my Christian duty to a brother who ran away from his duties and died
a disgrace to his entire family, that's why."

"_If_ he is dead." Theo sat on the edge of the bed and took off his
shoes. "Wouldn't it be a good thing if they _were_ telling the truth,
if Mrs. Caulder were Leroy? At least he'd be alive and well."

"Don't tell me that you believe what they've been saying? I thought
that you had some sense, at least."

Theo shrugged. "The sheriff backs up their story, Elizabeth. So did
that Judge Humphreys. If a judge says --"

"If he really is a judge. He came to see us in the saloon, you'll
remember. We never went to any courthouse."

"They don't have a courthouse here. The man said that he does some of
his business in an office. He uses a saloon if he needs more room."

"Oh, I've no doubt that he uses a saloon -- and quite often I suspect,
but I doubt that it's in the cause of justice."

"We're getting away from the subject. If you won't believe a sheriff
or a judge, who would you believe?"

"A minister," she answered at once. "A man of G-d wouldn't lie to me."
She waited a beat. "If there is one, a real one, in this horrible
place."

"We'll go look for one, 'a real one', the first thing in the morning."

"Fine, the sooner we find out the truth about whatever happened to
Leroy -- to his body, the sooner we can go back home to civilization."
She sighed and undid the hooks of her corset, setting it down on the
same chair as Theo's shirt.

All she wore was her chemise and her drawers. As Theo watched, she
pulled the pin that held her mouse-brown hair in a bun. It came free
and fell down around her shoulders. He reached over and ran a finger
along the length of her arm. "In the meantime..." He let his voice
trail off.

"Nothing doing," she said firmly. "It's late, and we have a big day
tomorrow." She pulled back the cover and climbed into bed.

Theo sighed. "Very well, goodnight." He walked over to the dresser
and turned down the wick in the oil lamp.

* * * * *

Saturday, February 3, 1872

Maggie rolled over and looked at the alarm clock by her bed. "3:17,"
she whispered, "six minutes later than the last time I looked." She
sighed and closed her eyes. "Why cannot I not get to sleep?"

"The promise," she answered her own question. "I promised Lupe that I
would care for our children. I must keep that promise even... even if
it means I cannot be with Ramon. I must be a good mother..."

"Good mother." Where else had she heard those words? Who had --
Dolores? What was it she said? "She was talking about Teresa Diaz.
She is a good mother, Dolores said, but she could not give her children
all the care, all the help they needed, to grow up right."

Maggie shook her head when she thought of Arnoldo. "Just like my
Ernesto." She shivered. Was Ernesto going to grow to be the troubled
boy that Arnoldo was?

"No, not with Ramon around. He and Ernesto are so good together. He
will help..." She stopped. What was it that Lupe -- the children's
mother -- had made her promise so long ago?

She could hear the words, hear Lupe's voice, weak with the sickness
that would take her that very day. "Miguel, mi corazá³n, promise that
you will care for them as we would have if we... I were there to care
for them with you."

Maggie's eyes went wide as she realized what Lupe had _really_ meant.
"She could not bear to say it, but she meant that I should find someone
else, someone who would care for them with me, just... just as she
had." Tears ran down Maggie's cheeks as she shivered, only partially
from the cold, and hugged herself. "And I... I have."

She rolled onto her side, smiling and still clutching the pillow.
"Ramon" was the last word she said before she lapsed into a deep,
untroubled sleep.

* * * * *

Jessie opened the door of the Sheriff's Office and started out onto the
boardwalk outside.

"Don't forget this," Paul called from inside.

Jessie turned. "My reticule." She took the large handbag from him.
"Thanks, I wouldn't want t'be leaving my stuff behind."

"But it's such a lovely behind." He gave her rear an affectionate pat.
"Giselle."

She shivered, remembering how they had played the "whore game" again
the night before, this time to a much happier conclusion. "M'syur!"
She giggled. "Ah muzz go now, but Ah weel return."

"You better." He pulled her close for a brief kiss, but their shared
desire made it last longer than he had intended.

Finally, with a sigh, she broke away. "I gotta go back t'Shamus',
Paul." She ran out the door and across the street to the Saloon. It
wasn't quite 7 AM yet, and the street was empty.

The doors to the Eerie Saloon were closed, locked overnight, but Molly
had given her a spare key. She used it and slipped inside.

"I see ye decided t'come back." Shamus was sitting at a table near the
door. A pot of steaming coffee rested on a trivet in front of him.

"'Course I came back. I live here don't I?"

"Aye, and ye work here -- at least ye used to."

"Used to?" What was he saying?

"Last night, Friday night, one o'me busiest nights, ye wasn't working
here. Ye was over at the Long Branch singing for Sam Duggan. And
singing that 'Collee' song no less."

Jessie decided to attack. "Well, you said I could."

"I... I said nothing of the sort, and ye know it."

"What I _know_ is that you said you didn't want me t'sing that song for
you. You also said I could sing it wherever or whenever I wanted. And
last night I wanted to sing it at the Long Branch."

"Ye're twisting me words, Jessie."

"Maybe, and maybe I'm thinking of taking Sam's offer to go work for
him."

Shamus scowled. "Are ye now?"

"I am... I guess. I could work for the both of you, sing one night
here, one night there."

"Ye can't be serving two masters, so ye'd best be thinking long and
hard about what ye're doing." He yawned. "In the meantime, go
upstairs and change. Ye might even want t'be getting an hour or two of
sleep."

She yawned back. "Maybe I'd better."

"Aye, we've a full day of work here, and there's the dance t'night."
He studied her expression. "At least there is for them that work
here."

"I work here, Shamus, for now at least, I do." She walked past him.
"G'night."

He watched her walk towards the stairs. "Good _morning_, and try not
t'be waking Jane. _She_ was working last night, while ye was off
singing."

* * * * *

Liam could hear the pounding in his room above the Feed & Grain. He
hurried down tucking his shirt into his trousers as he ran. He got to
the door and quickly unlocked it. "What do you want this early,
Horace?"

"Your sister." Horace Styron stepped impatiently into the store.
"Where is she?" He looked around, expecting Trisha to be there.

Liam closed the door behind the man. He left the "Closed" sign on the
door, to the annoyance of several men waiting outside. 'They didn't
stop Horace,' he told himself. 'Let them wait.'

In the meantime, he still had Horace to deal with. "She'll be along
directly. I'm the only one here. What are you in such a hurry to see
her about? This is our busiest day; yours, too, come to think of it."

"That just says how important this is. If I can take the time, why
can't she?"

As if on cue, Trisha walked through the front door. She closed it
quickly before anyone else could follow. "I'll decide what -- and who
I take the time for, thank you, Horace."

The man turned to face her. "What are you plotting for the next board
meeting?"

"I'm not _plotting_ anything," Trisha said smugly. "Who says that I
was?"

"Dwight Albright," Horace answered. "I got him started talking about
it, but I couldn't get anything specific out of him."

She smiled. "You'll find out the specifics next Wednesday, the same
time as everybody else."

"I'll find them out now, by thunder!" He took a step towards her.

Trisha instinctively took a step back. She was suddenly aware of how
much larger -- and stronger -- than her Horace Styron was. "I-I don't
have to tell you anything, not if I don't want to. And I don't." She
stamped her foot for emphasis.

"Don't you play games with me, Trisha. I won't stand for it."

"Well, you'll just have to -- so there."

"You little bitch, I oughta --" He raised his arm, hand open as if to
strike.

"The hell you will." Before Trisha or Styron could react, Liam grabbed
Horace's arm and twisted it behind him. At the same time, his other
arm went around the man, pulling him back.

"Lemme go." Styron twisted, but couldn't get free. "I'll sic the
sheriff on you."

"Go ahead," Liam warned him. "When Dan Talbot hears how you burst in
here and threatened to hit my little sister, he's likely to throw _you_
in jail."

"You lousy... lemme go!" Styron kept struggling.

"Certainly," Liam said. "Trisha, open the door." She did. Liam
steered the man over and pushed him through. Styron stumbled out and
fell into the dirt. He growled at the crowd that gathered around him,
laughing at his expense. Then, without a word, he stood up and stormed
away.

"You okay?" Liam asked Trisha. He had closed the door. "I can wait a
bit for you to recover before I open."

"I-I'm fine -- except, what'd you mean 'little sister'? I'm three
years older than you."

Liam stepped over and put his hands around her waist. Without another
word, he effortlessly picked her up and sat her down on the counter.
"Oh, I don't know; it just seemed appropriate at the time."

* * * * *

Theo knocked on the frame of the half-opened door. "May we come in?"

"Yes, of course." Yingling stood up from behind his desk and walked
over to the door to greet his visitors. "Welcome to town. I am Dr.
Thaddeus Yingling, minister of the Methodist Church of Eerie." He
offered his hand.

Theo shook it. "Thank you. I'm Theodore... Theo Taft, and this is my
wife, Elizabeth."

"I am very pleased to meet you both." He shook Elizabeth's hand as
well before he went back to his chair. "Please..." he pointed to the
chairs by the desk. "...do have a seat." He waited while they both
sat down. "Now then, I understand that you are in need of some aid.
How may I be of help to you?"

"You can tell us the truth," Elizabeth answered. "What do you know
about the death of my brother, Leroy Meehan?"

Yingling thought for a moment. "I'm sorry to hear of your loss -- may
I call you Elizabeth?" She nodded, and he continued. "The name rings
a bell, Elizabeth, but I fear that I can't place it. Was he also new
to town?"

"According to the lie everyone keeps telling us, he rode into Eerie
back in July with Will Hanks."

"Leroy?" Yingling made the connection. "Yes, of course. But I feel I
am under some restraint. I really don't know how freely I should let
myself speak on this matter. May I inquire about the 'lie' that you
have just referred to?"

"The lie that everyone is telling me -- that Caulder woman, the saloon
keeper, the judge and even the sheriff -- is that Leroy turned into a
woman because of some magic spell!"

"Ah, so you have met Laura. I can confirm what she told you. Your
brother isn't dead, Elizabeth. They -- the sheriff with the permission
of the judge, I understand -- tricked him and the entire gang onto
drinking a potion prepared by Shamus O'Toole. It... aah... changed
him, changed him -- _her_ for the better, I should say, into a woman.
I see her and her husband in my church almost every Sunday, and I look
forward to christening their firstborn sometime this summer."

Elizabeth started again. " Everyone is saying the same thing you are.
I find it hard to believe. How can a man change into a woman?"

"I'm sure that I don't know. It... umm, happened in O'Toole's saloon,
a place where I am not likely to be found."

"It would have to be witchcraft," she insisted. "Black magic."

Yingling shrugged. "Perhaps, or a miracle, who can say? I've barely
met any of the others who changed that day." In fact, the brief
conversation he'd had with Jessie Hanks on the night before Christmas
had been something of a strain for both of them.

"That day? You make it sound like that wasn't the only time people
have been changed. How can such a thing happen? Why don't the
authorities stop this crazed man?"

"In one case, it was 'the authorities' -- Judge Parnassas C. Humphreys,
a good man and an elder of my church, I might add -- who ordered the
change as a sentence for crime. In another circumstance -- well, I'd
rather not talk about that. It involved a family, members of my
congregation."

Elizabeth pointed a finger at the reverend. "You sound as if you
approve of this potion and what it does."

"Actually, I'm of two minds on that. Giving it to the Hanks gang saved
the town from their evil -- robbery and probably even murder. Another
time, an innocent life was saved. Still, not all of the members of the
gang are as doing as well as Laura Caulder, and I know for certain fact
that the family I mentioned are having a difficult time of it."

"Sounds like it's good _and_ evil," Theo said, a wry smile on his face.

Elizabeth glared back at her husband. "Theo! You're taking like you
actually believe this silliness!" she challenged.

"Dearest, Rev. Yingling is a man of the cloth."

Elizabeth replied with a "Hummpt!"

"There is both good and evil in many things, Theo," Yingling replied.
"In the case of O'Toole's potion, I am still trying to decide which is
the predominant. I've heard that one of the Hanks gang tried to escape
from confinement last fall. Before she was re-captured, she ended up
saving a mother and child from Mexican bandits. Truly, the Lord works
in mysterious ways."

Elizabeth looked uncertain. "What you would have me believe then is
that the story is true, that Laura Caulder is my brother, as she
claims?"

"Yes, your brother, Leroy Meehan, is now Mrs. Laura Caulder, a happily
married woman expecting her first child."

In the quiet that followed, Theo and Elizabeth looked uncertainly at
one another.

* * * * *

Molly walked slowly over to where Maggie was standing, watching the
band set up. Maggie wore the white blouse, white ruffled apron, and
black skirt that were the uniform for the dance, but she also had a
yellow flower, a courting flower tucked neatly into her hair. "Good
evening, Molly," she said when she saw the older woman coming towards
her.

"And t'yuirself as well," Molly answered. "Ye look real nice t'night."

"So do you, Molly."

"I just hope ye'll be thinking as well of me after I tell ye the news I
got."

"News? What is the matter?"

Molly sighed and shook her head. "Maggie, darling, Shamus and me been
thinking all week, and between us, we can't think of any way t'be
getting around that promise ye made. I... 'Tis truly sorry I am."

"There is no need to be sorry." Maggie smiled at her friend. "I have
been thinking, also. The promise is not what I believed it to be.
Tomorrow --"

"Yes, what about tomorrow?" While the women had been talking, Ramon
had come over and was now standing behind them.

"Ye shouldn't be sneaking up on a poor woman like that, Ramon," Molly
scolded.

Ramon tried to look sorry. He failed. "I did not mean to scare you,
Molly. I am just anxious for the answer. When I saw the two of you
talking..."

"You will have the answer tomorrow, Seá±or de Aguilar, as was agreed
on," Maggie said sternly.

"Very well, then," Ramon answered. Now he did look sorry. "I will
wait."

Maggie smiled, suddenly shy. "But perhaps, I can give you a clue."
She carefully took the flower and moved it over to the other side of
her head, just above her ear. It was a sign that a woman no longer
wished to be courted, that she was "taken."

"Margarita, do you mean...?" Ramon just stared at her.

"It seems you need another clue." Maggie walked over to Ramon. She
put her hands on the side of his head and pulled it gently down towards
her own. Their lips met in a kiss that was full of love and future
promise.

* * * * *

To be Continued