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

Sunday, April 7, 1872

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

Arnie did as her mother asked.

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

“I am setting an example, neutrality.”

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m thankful that ye didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Monday, April 8, 1872

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

` “My dear, Margarita,”

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

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

` “Via con dios,
` Gregorio”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for that then.”

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

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

* * * * *

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

“Can I see?” she asked coyly.

“Of course.”

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

“It only reflects the beauty of the model.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Very well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” Emma asked.

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

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

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

“I… suppose,” Emma said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… you take that back, Yully Stone.”

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I-I should not, not now.”

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not, may I ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Tuesday, April 9, 1872

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yes, if you would, please…”

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

The girl smiled. “I do.”

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

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

“No, I-I never learned.”

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More?” Hedley asked.

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I’ll… I’ll be okay in a minute.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Please. I’m… I’m fine.”

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

And his mother’s necklace and earrings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a very special occasion, indeed.

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

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

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

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

“But you are wearing them now.”

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

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

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

* * * * *

Wednesday, April 10, 1872

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

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

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

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

“Laura wasn’t feeling too good yesterday.”

“Nothing serious, I trust.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get back? Are you going away?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

Fred Norman frowned. “Gimme two.”

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

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

“The bet’s to you, Fred,” Stu said.

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks. Is there time for another hand?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Could you ask her now?”

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Thursday, April 11, 1872

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ye did these, Dolores?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

“I did,” the cook answered.

Laura smiled. “You wear anything else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She did.

* * * * *

Friday, April 12, 1872

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trisha turned and saw… “Patrick?”

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

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

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

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

Emma smiled reassuringly. “Nothing… yet.”

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

“Well, look who we got here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We-We was just talking to --”

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not help so much as… protection.”

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

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

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

Bridget looked perplexed. “One?”

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

“Thanks a lot,” Bridget said irascibly.

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When can I get back to real work?”

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

“That is wonderful news.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You cannot. Just be careful.”

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

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

* * * * *

Saturday, April 13

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’d you do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“So what do we do now?” Jessie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why me, Clara? It’s your dress.”

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I don’t know how to dance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My dress!” Clara cried out.

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He did so say it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It helped some,” Stafford admitted.

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

“Forry… please.”

“Okay, Forry, good to meet you.”

* * * * *

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

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

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

“Next Saturday, what happens then?”

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

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

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

“Lunch, too; yes, sir!”

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

“What is the problem?” Maggie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jane frowned, saying nothing as she considered his words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shamus nodded. “That you did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shamus smiled. “Only an ounce, Jessie?”

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And does he ever pick Wilma over you?”

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

“You better be,” somebody yelled.

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change – Spring, Part 3 of 13
By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson © 2014

Sunday, April 14, 1872

Reverend Yingling braced his hands on each side of the podium and smiled confidently at his congregation. “As you know, I will be appearing before the town council next week to demand that they vest control of that transformative potion of the barman O’Toole in more trustworthy, more moral hands. The church board of elders has voted to support me in this, and Horace Styron, the board president has circulated a petition on behalf of this effort.”

“Before we sing our final hymn and go out to enjoy this glorious day that our Lord has given us, I wanted to ask Horace how the work of that petition is proceeding.” He turned and nodded to Horace, who was sitting with other board members. “Horace?”

Styron stood. “Thank you, Reverend, but for a full report, you should ask Mrs. Cecelia Ritter. After her enthusiastic support of your – of our cause, I asked her to take charge of the petition.” He extended an arm towards the woman. “Cecelia, can you give us some idea of how it’s going?”

“Oh, I… I couldn’t.” She slowly rose to her feet. “I – oh, very well.” With a determined look on her face, she walked to the front of the room.

Miss Osbourne’s desk had been pushed forward and covered with an alter cloth. The small speaker’s podium was placed atop this. Yingling moved aside as she came around the desk and took his place.

“I’m very pleased to report,”she began, “that, at last count, we have over sixty signatures. There are copies of the petition at Mr. Styron’s hardware store, Mr. Cates’ office, Mr. Warrick’s lumberyard, Mr. Albertson’s bank, and my own husband’s livery. Sadly, other members of this congregation – and of the board – have not been as cooperative… particularly the --”

Yingling cleared his throat. When Cecelia glanced over at him, he shook his head. She frowned but continued. “In spite of this lack of cooperation, I fully expect to have at least seventy-five signatures to present to the town council at it’s meeting on the 24th – perhaps even more, if certain –”

“Thank you, Cecelia.” The reverend stepped forward and clapped his hands. “Thank you for that excellent report and for all your hard work.” He glided back into his position behind the podium, so she had to step aside. The rest of the congregation joined in the applause. Cecelia nodded, accepting the ovation, as she returned, reluctantly, to her seat beside her husband and children.

Yingling smiled at her once more. “And now, if you will all turn to page 104 in your hymnals…”

* * * * *

“You wanted to see me, my lady?”Wilma stood in the doorway to Cerise’s office.

The other woman nodded. “I did. Come in, and close the door behind you, s'il vous plaît.”

“Okay.” Wilma did as her employer suggested before taking a seat by the desk Cerise was working at. “What’s this about?”

“A mystery. Wilma, you have always been one of my most enthusiastic ladies, always ready to… perform with one of my guests.”

“Uh, thanks. I guess I just like men, being with them, having them touch me, kiss me… fuck me.” She felt a delightful tingle of arousal run through her.

“Indeed, I can see that, even now, just the thought of such things brings the pretty blush to your cheeks.” Cerise frowned. “That is why I have to wonder when you refuse our three newest gentlemen.”

“Refuse? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, ma petite. When I came into the parlor with Monsieur Stafford and his associates, your smile disappeared. You backed away and slumped your shoulders, trying to look less attractive. When Ethan came in, you all but attacked him. And, I suspect, your actions were more out of relief that you had another choice than out of the all too obvious desire you have for him.”

“I-I like Ethan. You know that.”

“I do, but, if it had been any other man but Stafford – or one of his friends -- you would have been upstairs with him before Ethan ever walked in. I must know why you acted this way. It is bad for business, when one of my ladies rejects our guests.”

“Do I… do I really have t’tell you?”

“You most certainly do.” Her voice was firm. “Out with it. Now!”

Wilma looked surprised at the older woman’s insistence. She thought for a while, her head down, not able to look at Cerise’s face. Finally, with a deep sigh of regret, she began. “You know what I… what I was before I came to this town.”

“Ma oui, you were a man, a criminal much feared in this land.” She smiled. “A manly man, by all reports, one I would have liked to… meet.”

Wilma grinned in spite of herself. “I think I woulda liked that, too, but there’s no chance of doing anything about it now. We both like men way too much.”

“We do, indeed, but, please, mon amie, continue with your story.”

“Umm… okay. Before I was a crook, I was a soldier, a sergeant, during the War of Succession, and a good one. Stafford was my lieutenant, and he was a piss poor one. He almost got us – my whole platoon – killed or captured. I knocked him out and got us all away. And he…” She spat. “He paid me back by getting me – me and Bridget, she was my corporal then – court martialed. They could’ve shot us both. Instead, they threw us out o’the army. Everybody hated us, so we… we got back at them by turning outlaw.”

The madam nodded. “And now he comes here. Does he know who you are? “

“I don’t think so. Lord, I hope not! He’d be gloating about what happened to me like he done it himself.”

“Do you regret what happened to you?”

“I… No, I don’t think that I do. I liked being big, bad Will Hanks, doing what I wanted, scaring grown men into doing what I told ‘em to. But I like being Wilma Hanks, too. I still do what I want, and I still got grown men doing what I want, too. I just… want different things now, is all. I got a solid room over m’head, good grub, and a nice warm bed that I get plenty of use of.”

“That is certainly true.” Cerise thought for a moment, and then said, “I can easily understand why you would not wish to do such things with Monsieur Stafford.”

“Or his friends. Them two polecats backed up his lies at my trial.”

“Or his friends, then. I shall try to arrange that you are not available to them.”

“You gonna tell them – or anybody else -- why?”

Cerise gave her a wry smile. “This is my establishment, Wilma. I do not feel the need to explain myself to my employees or my guests.”

“Th-thanks, Cerise.” Wilma smiled and her body relaxed, unclenched. “You’re a true friend.”

Cerise chuckled. “Yes… yes, I am.”

* * * * *

Rupe Warrick walked over to where Judge Humphreys was standing, watching people leave the church. “You think the reverend has a chance with the town council?”he asked the taller man.

“Hard to say,”the Judge replied. “All three men have ties to Shamus. Arsenio’s married to one of his ‘girls’ and Whit’s the brother-in-law of another. Still, Thad Yingling’s a persuasive man, and he’ll have that petition – and our resolution of support…” He made a sour face. “…backing him up.”

“If you didn’t think we should support him, why’d you vote in favor?”

“Because I know better than to fight an angry mob. Cecelia Ritter got the crowd so riled up, that I didn’t think I had a choice.”

“I abstained. Why didn’t you?”

“It wouldn’t have done any good, and – much as I hate to say it – I’m up for reelection as Judge next year, and I’d like to keep my job. This whole matter is just the sort of tempest in a teapot that could come back to bite me in the ass.”

Trisha joined the men. “That doesn’t sound very moral, Your Honor.”

“No, it doesn’t,”Humphreys agreed. “To be frank, I was hoping that this whole thing would blow over.” He sighed. “Now, I’m not so sure, and it worries me.” He stroked his grayish goatee, as if in thought.

Rupe ran his stubby fingers through his curly, black hair. “It troubles me, too. That’s why I abstained.”

“I’d be happy to back you gents up if you want to go against Horace and the reverend,”Trisha said, “if you’ll back me when I need it.”

The Judge cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Next month the board – and the congregation -- is gonna be voting on kicking me off the board,”she explained. “It’d be nice to have some support. With all this nonsense about the potion, I really haven’t had time to work out any sort of… strategy.” She paled for a moment and looked down at her stomach.

“Something wrong, Trisha?”Rupe asked.

She shook her head. “Just my breakfast backing up on me, I guess.” She tried to make a joke of it, not wanting the reminder that her monthlies were due soon. “Either that or it’s some danged female thing.”

“Say no more, then.” The Judge quickly changed the subject. “Why don’t we… Rupe and I and, maybe, Dwight Albertson come over to your place one night this week and talk about what we’re going to do on both fronts, the potion and your staying on the board?”

Trisha smiled. She still felt a little queasy, but it was good to know that she had support. “That would be great. How’s… Wednesday, a week before the council meeting?” Both men nodded. “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

* * * * *

Kirby Pinker heard the bell over his door ring. He looked up from his back copy of Lippincott’s Magazine. “Can I help… Miss Osbourne, good day to you.” He put the periodical down on the counter and quickly ran his fingers through his thinning, brown hair.

Nancy smiled. “And to you as well, Mr. Pinter.”

“Kirby… please. You’re in here often enough looking at books.”

“Kirby, then.” She smiled again. “And you may call me Nancy. I was wondering if the dictionary I ordered for the school had come in yet?”

“I’m afraid not. I understand that there’s still quite a demand for the unabridged Webster’s, even now, eight years after it first came out. The Merriam Company has trouble printing copies fast enough. You might want to try back around the end of the week.”

She sighed. “I suppose we can use the old one that much longer. Very well, I’ll come back on Thursday or Friday. Good day, then.” She turned to leave.

“Wait.”he almost shouted the word. “Before you go, may I tempt you with… something else? I bought a few books from a miner a couple of days ago. He was short of cash -- and food, so he sold them. I know that you read to relax after a hard day’s work.”

“Yes, I do, mostly fiction or poetry. I deal with facts all day.” She was flattered that he’d remembered her reading habits from the times she’d been in his store. “What do you have?”

“Most are about mining, but I have two you might be interested in, Sonnets From the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Dickens’ Great Expectations. I can give you a good price on either, and a better price on the pair.” He pulled the two books from under the counter where he’d stored them for when she came in.

“As it happens, I own a copy of the Dickens, an autographed copy as a matter of fact.”

“Now how did you manage to get something like that?”

“He came to Hartford on a tour about four years ago. My Aunt Clementine went to one of his readings. She asked him to sign the book and sent it to me as a Christmas present.”

“I’d love to see it. May I come over to your home some time to look at it?”

“I-I live with the Carsons. They don’t appreciate my having gentleman callers.” She regarded him curiously. Was it just the book he wanted to see?

“Perhaps supper one evening would be better. I’m told that the restaurant in the Eerie Saloon is very good.”

She smiled at the thought of having dinner with a… friend. Unfortunately… “I am very sorry, Mr. P… Kirby, but my contract with the town council doesn’t allow me to meet men in any sort of social situation.” She frowned. ‘Male teachers get one night a week to go courting,’ she thought, and not for the first time, ‘but women teachers – no, we have a morals clause instead. It is so unfair.’

He considered the situation. “In that case, it’s a good thing that dictionary isn’t here yet. When you come back to check if it’s arrived, you can bring the Dickens along.”

“Why, yes, yes, I can do that. And in the meantime, may I see that book of sonnets?”

* * * * *

Jane walked over to the place at bar where Shamus was standing. “Can I talk t’you ‘bout something?”

“O’course, ye can,”he replied. “Wasn’t I just saying that to all ye girls just yesterday?” He pointed to the stool next to her. “Have a seat and tell me what’s on yuir mind.”

She did as he suggested. “It’s that painting of me and Laura, I’m… I’m thinking about buying it.”

“Why, if ye don’t mind me asking? I never knew ye t’be having any great interest in such things before.”

“I ain’t never been in a painting before. I thought it’d be… fun t’look up at the wall and see m’self looking back.”

“That don’t sound like much of a reason.”

“Ain’t it the reason you had two pictures done, one of Jessie and one of Molly?”

“Them two is different. The painting of Jessie is a… advertisement. It tells folks that she’s here singing for them every night, and that they should be coming in – and buying drinks from me – so they can listen to her. As for that other picture … well, why shouldn’t a man have a picture of his wife, especially when she’s as fine and as beautiful a lass as me Molly?”

“See, there, ya see; you want a picture of Molly ‘cause you’re proud of how she looks. Why shouldn’t I want a picture of me for the same reason?”

“For one thing, having that much pride in the one ye love and having that same pride in yuirself is horses of two very different colors.” He thought for a moment. “Besides, that picture has Laura in it, too. D’you think she’s gonna like having everybody see how she looked being with child, like she was?”

That stopped Jane, but not for long. “I-I wasn’t gonna hang it down here. I was gonna put it in my room. Who goes in there but me?”

“So ye’re gonna spend all that money t’be buying it for yuir own pride in how pretty ye are?”

“No, I… you think it’ll cost a lot?”

“I don’t know, Jane, but I know how much Mr. Thomas is charging me – which is none of yuir business, by the way – and I’m getting a discount for letting Laura and ye off t’be posing for him. I know ye got the money over in the bank, but ain’t it better t’be leaving it there than t’be spending it on something ye don’t really need, except t’be satisfying a streak of vanity I never knew ye had?”

“I ain’t that vain, Shamus, and you know it.”

“If ye ain’t, then, Jane, ye’d best be thinking, thinking long and hard about why ye want t’be doing what I’m telling ye is not a very good idea.”

* * * * *

Monday, April 15, 1872

Doctor Hiram Upshaw put on his best professional smile as he followed Trisha and Kaitlin O’Hanlan into his examination room. “Now, then,”he said, closing the door behind him, “what seems to be the problem?”

“Nothing,”Trisha answered, fuming. “Nothing serious enough to waste your time with, anyway.”

Kaitlin shook her head. “She threw up this morning, and she told me that she’s felt like throwing up the last three days.”

“Hmmm,”he pursed his chin. “What have you been eating, Trisha, anything unusual?”

Trisha thought for a moment. “Nothing different from what I always eat.”

“She’s been eating the same food as Emma and me, and we both feel fine,”Kaitlin added.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,”Trisha insisted. “My monthlies are due, maybe…” She shrugged. “…even overdue. I-I kind of lost track of them.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “How were they last month?”

“I… I don’t remember. They must’ve hit right about the time Kaitlin and I… when the judge… when he divorced us. I wasn’t really paying attention to anything else.”

He thought about what she’d said. “It could just be your time of month, but it could also be something else. How about if you take off your clothes and get up on the table, so I can have a look?”

“This is stupid,”Trisha said, “and I’m already late for work.”

Upshaw patted the table. “Humor me.” He grinned. “Sure, you’re late, but it is your store.”

“Please,”Kaitlin asked softly, taking Trisha’s hand. “For me.”

Trisha sighed and began to unbutton her blouse. “Dirty pool, Kaitlin. For you, I’ll do it.”

* * * * *

The exam took him less than ten minutes. “We’re done,”he told his patient, unbuckling her from the stirrup holding her right ankle.

“Thank heavens.” She sat up and worked on the buckle for her left ankle. “So how I do, Doc?”

Upshaw pulled off his gloves and tossed them into a bucket. “I don’t think that your monthlies were much of a problem last month, Trisha, and I don’t think they’re the problem today.” He took a breath. “In fact, I don’t think that your monthlies will be a problem for the next eight months.”

“What do you mean,”the blonde asked. She climbed off the table and started to put on her drawers. “Of course they’ll be a problem.”

He sighed. “No, they won’t, Trisha. Pregnant women don’t have monthlies, and you’re about six weeks along.”

* * * * *

“Eerie, ladies,”the driver yelled as the stage pulled up to the depot. “This here’s Eerie.”

As soon as the stage came to a halt, Sam Duggan stepped forward to open the door. “Which one of you lovely ladies is Sophie Kalish?”

“That would be me.” A tall brunette with a mass of black curls stepped out onto the platform. “Are you Mr. Duggan?”

“I am.” Sam gave a low bow. He pointed to a short, balding man standing nearby. “And that’s my assistant barman, Cuddy Smith.” The other man nodded.

Three other women climbed out of the stage, a slender brunette, a second, more buxom brunette, and a tiny blonde. “And these are Opal Sayers, Ruth Kantor, and Hettie Morris,”Sophie said. Each woman nodded as her name was mentioned. “Ladies, this is our new employer, Sam Duggan, and his associate, Cuddy Smith.”

“Cuddly,”Hettie said with a giggle in her voice. “He certainly is.”

The man smiled. “It’s Cuddy, ma’am, short for Cuthbert, but I’ll be glad t’be ‘Cuddly’ with – for you.”

The blonde giggled again. “I just bet you will.”

“I hate to interrupt,”Duggan said, trying not to smile, “but we need to get you ladies and your luggage to the Lone Star.” He looked around at the crowd that had gathered, mostly men who were staring at the women. “Anybody care to help?”

Ruth smiled at the men. “We’d be ever so grateful if one of you big, strong men could… give us a… hand.” She giggled at her joke, as number of men stepped forward.

“You can start with this here trunk.” The driver shifted a metal-banded trunk so it was sticking out over the side of the stage. Two tall men hurried to take it, grunting from the weight, as they lowered it down.

Pablo Escobar had been staring at the ladies instead of helping Hammy Lincoln change the team of horses pulling the stage for a fresh team. He moved quickly to the back of the stage. “I’ll get the boot opened, so you can get the rest of their gear out.” He opened the straps that held the netting in place behind the vehicle.

“Thank you, Mr. Ritter,”Ruth told him. “Those’re our bags, the ones with the blue star on ‘em.”

Pablo shook his head. “I’m not Mr. Ritter; I just work for him.” He pulled a green velvet carpetbag out of the boot and set it down on the wooden sidewalk.

“Oh,”Ruth replied, giving him a pretty pout. “I am sorry.” She giggled, amused that the boy took her flirting so seriously.

Pablo grinned. “Don’t be sorry. If I was Mr. Ritter, I’d be back at the livery stable instead of over here helping you. Over here’s a lot better.”

“That’s sweet.” Ruth stepped over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You be sure to come over to the Lone Star and see us once we get settled in.”

“That goes for all of you men,”Duggan announced in a loud voice. “These ladies’ll be performing for your pleasure, songs and dances to make you smile, starting…” He paused for dramatic effect. “…starting this Saturday night.”

* * * * *

“Somebody t’see you, boss,”Joe Kramer announced, standing in the half-opened doorway to Dwight Albertson’s office. “A Mr. Stafford.”

The banker looked up at his teller. “Stafford… oh, yes, send him in, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Joe held the door while Forry walked in, then closed it and headed back to his window.

Albertson stood and offered his hand. “I’m Dwight Albertson, Mr. Stafford. What can I do for you?”

“Read this, for a start.” Forry reached into his coat and took out an envelope, which he handed to the other man.

Dwight looked at the envelope. “From the Austin bank, eh. How’s Joe Cochrane doing these days?”

“Very well; he’s the general manager there now. That’s his letter there.”

Dwight opened the sealed envelope and took out a folded sheet of paper. “Letter of introduction…”he mumbled as he read. “…Forrest Stafford… business opportunities… letter of credit.” He whistled. “That’s a substantial sum of money.”

“Yes, it is. My father sent me out here to look for investments. I saw the name Eerie on a map of the territory and got curious. Can you tell me something about the place and what opportunities there might be?”

The banker nodded and frowned thoughtfully. “The town was a pueblo with some Spanish name that nobody remembers any more. Those mountains north of town are called the Superstitions for some reason. Some superstitions are ‘eerie’, so that’s what they named the town. Or, at least that's one version of how the town got its name.”

“There’s a lot of men up in those mountains looking for gold or silver. You might make some money grubstaking a lucky miner, but there’s no way of knowing who that lucky miner would be. We’ve a few cattle ranches in the area – they’re sometimes looking for money to buy more stock or more land. But you're from Texas; I expect that you know about such things.”

Stafford cocked an eyebrow. “You're right. My pa started out with ranching. If we’re going to start investing out here in Arizona, ranching might be a good place to start. Who owns the biggest spreads in these parts?”

“The biggest, that’d be Abner Slocum. Jo Beth Smith’s place is the next biggest, but Abner’s ranch is a good bit larger. The Ortegas – they’re one of those Spanish land grant families – have a pretty fair-sized spread, but they don’t like doing business with us gringos.”

“What can you tell me about this Mr. Slocum? Would he be open to some outside money?”

“Well, I don’t know as he’s looking for any investors just now. Abner came out here just after the War – from Arkansas I think – with about fifty head and a few hands. He took over a small parcel of land with water rights and worked his way up to… a couple thousand head now, at least.”

Forry frowned. Back in Texas we have to drive them into Kansas to get them to the railroads. I never heard of a cattle drive from Arizona to Kansas.”

“He doesn’t send them east to be slaughtered; he sells to the miners and the Army – oh, and to the Indian Agency.”

“What sort of a man is he?”

Dwight shrugged. “Hard worker, stubborn, he’s got a few other investments hereabouts, and he’s done well by them. He likes to play poker, if you’re looking for a game, and he’s not bad at it. He takes my money more often than I take his.” He looked sharply at the younger man. “I’ll be glad to introduce you two… and to assist you on any sort of a deal you cook up, but I have to tell you, Abner’s a friend. He’s also my biggest depositor, and he’ll be here a long time after you go back to Austin, so don’t ask me to give you any help against him.”

Forry grinned. “I wouldn’t expect you to, Mr. Albertson.”

“Dwight… if we’re going to be working together, we might as well be friendly about it.”

“Fine by me, Dwight. You struck me as an honest man as soon as I walked in. I may just take you up on that offer of an introduction, and I do look forward to doing business with you – and with Mr. Abner Slocum.”

* * * * *

“Sorry I’m late,”Amy Talbot said, rushing into Jane’s bedroom.

Edith Lonnigan glanced over at her. “You needn’t have come, my dear. You’re still at the stage where a monthly check-up is enough.”

“I know,”Amy replied. “I just came to keep Laura company.” She chuckled. “Besides who else do I have to share pregnancy stories with?”

Laura finished unbuttoning her blouse. She draped it over the chair. “I don’t know; who?” She smiled. “Whatever the reason, Amy, you’re more than welcome.”

“Thanks.” Amy sat down on the bed. “How’s it going?”

Laura unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall to the floor. “Not too bad. The baby’s not moving around as much.” She started to untie the ribbon on her petticoat.

“Lucky you; mine’s been doing somersaults all day.”

Edith looked closely at her patients. “Your baby’s gotten bigger, Laura. It doesn’t have a lot of room left to move around in, so it’s settling down. Amy, your little one still has a good bit of space, so it’s taking advantage of that to learn how its body works.” She made a few quick notes. “Laura, do you have anything else – good or bad – to report.”

“Something bad, I’m afraid. Last Tuesday, I suddenly felt – I don’t know – dizzy, weak. Maggie and Jane brought me up here, and I stayed in Jane’s bed for a couple hours.” She took a breath. “After that, I felt fine, so I went back to work. It-It – whatever it was -- hasn’t happened since, thank Heavens.”

Edith frowned. “But it did happen. Your body is preparing you to have that baby. That takes a lot of energy, sometimes more than you have. The worst of it is that it can get too ready. Your water could burst, or you could actually go into labor. If that happened… well, we could probably save you but…” Her voice trailed off.

“But not the baby,”Laura finished the thought in a terrified whisper. The horror of having so many hopes and dreams dashed was obvious in her voice.

The midwife nodded sadly. “No, not the baby. If you feel another spell like the one you described, lie down immediately. I’ll talk to Shamus and Molly when we’ve finished up here. I’ve no doubt that they’ll want to help. You should take more breaks, too, and not exert yourself as much as you have been doing.”

“Maybe I should just quit,”Laura said in frustration. “Stay home and spend all my time in my own bed till the baby comes.”

Edith came over and took the anxious woman's hand in her own. “It may come to that, but don’t do it unless you have to.”

“Knowing you, you’d get a bad case of cabin fever,”Amy added, “even with all the company you’d have.”

“Company, you mean the baby?”Laura asked.

Amy chuckled. “The baby, too, but we both know that Molly would practically move in with you, and I’d be over to visit as often as I could. More to the point, I think Arsenio would close down his smithy, so he could take care of you; either that, or he’d move his anvil and forge right into your bedroom.”

* * * * *

Leland Saunders looked around the hardware store. A stocky man with thinning gray hair was standing behind a counter, talking to a taller, bald man. Leland waited until the other man had left before he walked over. “’Scuse me; you Mr. Styron?”

“I am.” Horace Styron studied the man, trying to judge what he might be able to sell him. “What’re you looking for, son?”

Saunders pointed to a display on the counter. “A can of Bull Durham chaw, for a start.”

Horace handed him a can of the chewing tobacco. “That’ll be two bits.”

“Here ya go.” He tossed the man a coin.

Styron started to ring the sale up on the cash register, but then stopped. “Anything else?”

“Some facts,”he replied. “I’m Leland… Lee Saunders.” The two men shook hands. “I work for Mr. Forrest Stafford. He’s figuring to do some business with a fella named Slocum, and he’s trying to find out what he can, so he can get a better handle on things.”

Styron made a thoughtful face. “There’s not that much I can tell you. Slocum’s a likeable enough man. He knows quality goods when he sees them, and he’s willing to pay what they’re worth – pays his bills on time, too. And I hear he keeps a pretty good grip on his hands, makes them work hard and doesn’t tolerate any guff.”

“Anything else?”

“He doesn’t meddle much in what goes on here in town, doesn’t try to run things just ‘cause he’s got the money and the men to try. We’ve got a petition going – trying to take control of some of the less desirable folks hereabouts. He ain’t signed it, but a couple of his men have – you’re welcome to, yourself.” Styron pointed to a sheet of paper attached to a small clipboard.

Leland shook his head. “I don’t figure t’be ‘round here long enough t’get mixed up with anything like that.”

“He told his men that they could sign it or not,”Styron continued. “He said it was their choice, not his. It would’ve been better if he signed it and told them they had to sign, too, but you can’t expect miracles, I guess.”

“I guess not,”Leland replied. “Thanks for your help, though.” He took a breath. “Say, you got any ideas who else I should talk to?”

“You might try talking to Clyde Ritter; he runs the local livery stable, and… ummm, Liam O’Hanlon over at the Food and Grain. They both do business from time to time with Slocum.”

“I’ll just do that. Thanks again, Mr. Styron.” He turned and walked out of the store.

* * * * *

“That’ll be thirty cents, Miss Osbourne,”the young clerk said.

Nancy dug through her change purse for the money. She counted out what she needed and handed the coins to the girl. “Here you are, Benita.”

“Thanks, it was nice seeing you again.” Benita Ortega had been a student at Nancy’s school. Now that she had graduated, she worked at her family’s grocery.

Nancy managed a smile. “Yes, it was.” Seeing a former student again had been pleasant. Being ordered like a housemaid to “Get your lazy self over to the market and get me a half bushel of potatoes,”by Zenobia Carson had been anything but pleasant. Still, one of those potatoes was going to be baked as part of her own dinner.

“And thank you for inviting me to your quinceanos party,”she added, as she picked up the bag of spuds and headed for the door.

Only to be stopped by a short, muscular man with greasy black hair who blocked her way. “Well, now, hello, pretty lady,”he said with a chuckle.

“Excuse me, sir,”Nancy replied, stepping to the left, “but I am in a hurry.”

He moved in front of her. “Now don’t you be that way. My name’s Dell Cooper, and I’m just trying t’be friendly. I had my eye on you when you were on the street.” He leered at her, his eyes roaming up and down her body. “You look like a gal who can be real friendly.”

“Not to the likes of you.” She stepped right and tried to go around him.

He moved to bar her way again. “Sure you can. What’s your name, honey?”

She made a sound of exasperation. “Let me pass!”

“I'm the new toll keeper here, and there’ll be a fare to get by.” He shifted in closer to her and ran a finger along her cheeks. “Them lips o’yours are probably the tastiest thing in this here store.”

“Taste this.” She slapped his face. “Now, good day!”and hurried around him while he recovered from the surprise of it.

“Damn,”Dell Cooper said, rubbing his cheek where she had struck him. “I do love a feisty lass.” He watched Nancy's pert little bottom strutting away until it left the store, and then, walked over to Benita. “You was waiting on her, child,”he asked her. “D’you know who that sweet, little bit o’fluff was?”

The teen frowned at him. “Won’t do you any good, señor. Miss Osbourne doesn’t hold with men who have no manners.”

“Don’t give me any lip, you Mex brat .” Dell raised a hand.

Sebastian Ortega walked swiftly over to his niece’s side. “Is there a problem, señor?”

“I just asked her a question, and she starts bad mouthing me. What kinda place you running here?” He gave the taller Mex his most intimidating glare. No damn storekeeper was going to scare him.

Sebastian didn’t take the hint. “A place where grown men don’t threaten fifteen year old girls.” He crossed his arms across his chest, ready to fight if need be. “If you have a problem with that, you can leave.”

“Look, mister,”Dell answered, taking a half step back, “all I want to know who this Miss Osbourne is.”

“Nancy Osbourne?”Sebastian replied. “She is the teacher over at the Eerie Public School, and she’s far too much of a lady to ever be interested in a peasant lout such as you.”

* * * * *

“I’m home, Kaitlin,”Trisha said sheepishly, as she came into the house. “What’s for supper?”

Kaitlin spun around from the stove where she was standing. “Nothing – not a damned thing – until we talk. Now get upstairs.” She pointed at Emma, who was sitting at the table ding her homework. “Emma, you get over here and watch this stew. Make sure it doesn’t scorch.”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”Emma closed her book and hurried over to the stove.

Trisha was about to argue until she saw the look on Kaitlin’s face. “Yes, Kaitlin.” She walked over and began to go upstairs, with the other woman right behind her. When they reached their bedroom, Trisha went in first. Kaitlin followed. And locked the door behind her.

“You ran out of the doctor’s office like the building was on fire,”Kaitlin stormed, “and without saying a word. I want some answers, Trisha, and I want them now.”

“Please, Kaitlin, let me explain.”

“Explain what? You told me that all you did at the dance was let that… that Godwyn man kiss you. A woman doesn’t get pregnant from kissing.”

“I… I… I know.”

“You know. Do you know what you’re going to do now? Are you going to marry the man, so your child has a name?”

“Marry?” Trisha’s eyes went wide.

“Yes, marry; when an unmarried woman gets pregnant, she usually marries the man who did it.”

“But he… I don’t know...” She bit her lip and stared down at the floor, unable to meet the other woman’s eyes.

Kaitlin studied Trisha’s reaction. “There’s something you aren’t telling me, isn’t there?”

“No!”

“Yes, there is. And I… I, Kaitlin McNeil O'Hanlan, order you to say what you don’t want me to know.” She used the phrase that, thanks to Shamus’ potion, Trisha had to obey.

Trisha trembled, trying hard not to speak. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, fighting… and losing. “He… he m-may not be… be the fa-father.” Her body slumped as she helplessly blurted out the truth. “I’ve… I’ve been w-with t-t-two other… men.”

Kaitlin, startled, needed a moment to fashion the next question. “Who… when?”

“E-Enoch R-Ryland when he w-was making my… my dress and Ethan… Ethan T-Thomas – he’s a painter. I-I met him a couple… a couple d-days after the… the dance.”

Kaitlin made quick mental calculations. “Close enough together that it could be any one of them, and one of them a man you had just met. I can't believe it! You’re even worse than Cecelia Ritter says you are. Maybe I should go to that meeting, tell everyone what you just told me, and help her vote you off the board.”

“No, please, Kaitlin… please don’t.” She was on the verge of tears. “You saying that would kill any chance I have of staying on the board.”

The other woman looked at her in disgust. “Is that all you’re worried about, your seat on the board?”

“No, but, if I get thrown out, so do all my ideas, everything I – you – accomplished with the dance would go to waste. You know what I want for the church. You want it, too.”

“Very well, I’ll keep quiet… for now.”

“For now? When… when are you planning to tell?”

“I won’t have to tell anyone. You can’t hide a pregnancy. You’ll be showing soon enough – showing the whole town soon enough the slut you are.” She sighed. “You certainly made your own bed, and I’m not sorry for what will happen to you. What bothers me is what’s going to happen to Emma when people find out.”

Trisha remembered her dream, her daughter grown up and a whore. “You… you think she’d do anything drastic?”

“I don’t know what she’ll do – except that she’s going to be very hurt. She’s a strong girl, though, and she’s got some good friends, I think – I hope – she can handle it.”

“I-I’m sure that she can.”Trisha tried to sound confident. ‘Please, Lord,’ she prayed silently, ‘give her the strength to handle it.’

“Thank you for your vote of confidence in Emma. As for you, I’ll be expecting you to take on a much larger share in the work around here.”

“Why? You haven’t had problems so far in the amount of housework I do.”

“I have; I just haven’t said anything. But it’s one thing to it’s one thing to do the lion’s share of keeping up the house for the three of us and an entirely different thing to be the one taking care of your baby.”

“You’re going to agree to learn how to cook and sew and do all the other things a baby needs done for it, or you can forget about my keeping quiet.” Kaitlan took a breath. “Do you agree?” She held out her hand.

Trisha half-closed her eyes and sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

“None at all.”

The other woman grimaced and shook her ex-wife’s hand. “Then I agree.”

“Good, and since we’ve settled things – for now, let’s go downstairs and have some supper.” She took a breath. “We’ve having chicken stew, by the way.”

“How are we going to tell our daughter?”

“We’ll think about that for a while. Right now, I have no intention of sharing my shame with anyone, not even Emma.” To herself, Kaitlin added, ‘or Liam.’

* * * * *

Tuesday, April 16, 1872

“Annie,”Mrs. Spaulding began, “might I ask you for another favor?”

Arnie had to smile. “Are you working on another dress for Clara?”

“No, silly,”Clara replied. “Yo soy ... yo quiero ... que ... los españoles, umm ... que me aprendí ... hacer.”

Arnie all but winced at her terrible grammar. “What did you just say – in English, please?”

“We wanted you to help us learn to speak Spanish. Would you… please?”she asked.

“Me? I am not a teacher.”

The girl shook her head. “We know that, but you are a friend, a friend who speaks both languages.”

“I… I would not even know where to begin,”Arnie told her.

Now Hedley joined in. “You needn’t worry about that. We have textbooks that you – all of us can use.”

“Yes,”Mrs. Spaulding continued, “when we first moved to Fort Yuma, there was a lieutenant out there, Lieutenant Kenner, who taught a course in conversational Spanish. My husband signed us all up for the course, but we… lost him not too long after that, and wound up here in Eerie. We still have the books for that class, though.”

Hedley picked up a book that had been placed on the empty chair next to his. “We even have father’s copy, so you’ll have one to use.” He handed it to her. “I can’t think of a more pleasant way to learn Spanish than to have you as our teacher.”

“I-I do not know,”Arnie said, nervously, blushing at his compliment. “Can I take a book home to look at? I will give you my answer when I bring back your laundry on Saturday.”

Hedley smiled at her. “If you decide before that, we could even start our class on Saturday… after lunch.”

“Yes.”Clara clapped her hands. “We could make an afternoon of it. You could even stay for supper.”

Arnie was taken aback. “I will have to think about that, too.”

“Just to give you an additional incentive,”Mrs. Spaulding replied, “we’re prepared to pay you for those lessons, a dollar for each of us, with two lessons a week, you’d be earning $6 weekly.”

That was what Shamus had paid. “I-I will give you my answer as soon as I decide, but, whatever I decide, thank you for the offer.”

* * * * *

` Potion Mob or Lynch Mob?

` For the past few weeks, The Reverend Thaddeus Yingling
` has been preaching on the topic of Shamus O’Toole’s
` amazing potion. Reverend Yingling has raised doubts
` regarding Mr. O’Toole’s code of ethics, and he has
` suggested that the people of Eerie would be better
` served if that potion were in other hands – specifically
` in his hands.

` While this paper is second to none in its admiration of
` Reverend Yingling as a spiritual leader, we must ques-
` tion his actions in this regard. No one felt the need to
` question Mr. O’Toole’s ethics when he first used his
` potion to save this community from the ravages of the
` Hanks Gang. Nor were they questioned when his potion
` prevented the untimely death of young Elmer O’Hanlon.

` We will freely admit that mistakes have been made, but in
` no way can Mr. O’Toole be blamed for them. Nor can anyone
` say that he has misused the potion for his own ends.

` What is, perhaps, the most disturbing point regarding the
` reverend’s efforts is the attitude of the allies he has
` acquired. We were present at the meeting of the Eerie
` Methodist Church board of elders when he sought the support
` of those elders in his cause. If that meeting had been a
` scene of calm deliberation of the issues involved, we would
` not be concerned.

` Unhappily, that was not the case. The cries of the crowd,
` particularly of its leader, Mrs. Cecelia Ritter, more closely
` resembled those of a lynch mob out for blood than a meeting
` of church members discussing a proposal made by its minister.
` We regret the decision that, we feel, the board of elders was
` forced to make, and we strongly urge the town council to
` resist the pressures that they, no doubt, are now being
` subjected to.

` It may be that, after taking the time to address Reverend
` Yingling’s concerns in a reasonable and logical manner, the
` council will choose to agree. However, such rational
` decision making cannot possibly occur in the highly emotional
` atmosphere that now exists. The members of the Eerie Town
` Council should wait on this matter until – we hope – cooler
` heads prevail.

Roscoe watched Trisha read the editorial. “What’d you think of it?”he asked when she finished reading and put the paper down on the counter of the Feed & Grain.

“Not bad for a man who says that he can’t put words together. It’s good to see that somebody agrees with me.”

“Thanks.”

“But you know that you’re gonna catch all kind of hell for it, don’t you?”

“I do, but Ozzie Pratt once told me that a newspaper’s job is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. It sounded like a good idea considering what’s going on. Besides,”he said with a chuckle, “I run the only newspaper and the only print shop in town. They can’t exactly pull their advertising, even if they want to – and they will… want to that is.” To himself, he added, ‘and I’m not about to be threatened by them again.’

* * * * *

Arnie pulled her wagon up to the covered porch behind her house. Teresa sat in her wheelchair supervising Ysabel and Costanza, who were stirring a cauldron filled with clothes and soapy water.

“Hola, Dulcita,”Teresa greeted her daughter. “Did you have a good visit with your friends?”

Arnie nodded and began to unload the bags of dirty laundry from the wagon. “Sì, Mama. They are nice people, and Mrs. Spaulding is almost as fine a cook as you are.” She took a breath, bracing herself for a reaction. “They offered me a job, Mama.”

“A job, what sort of a job?”

“They, all three of them, Hedley, Clara, and their mama, they want to learn Spanish, and they want me to be their teacher.”

Ysabel put down the paddle she was using to stir the clothes. “You’re no teacher. Like Papa used to say, ‘do not ask the elm tree for pears.’”

“He also said that ‘the man who limps is still walking.’ I have spoken Spanish my whole life. With the books they have, that should be enough.”

Her younger sister, Constanza, raised a curious eyebrow. “What books?”

“This one.” Arnie reached in between two sacks. She found the book Hedley had given her and passed it to Ysabel. “This is the book that the Army uses to teach Spanish. They each have a copy, plus this one for the teacher… me.”

Ysabel leafed through the book. “It seems like a good book, but can you teach from it?”

“The Spauldings believe I can,”Arnie replied. “They are sure enough of me that they will pay me $3 a lesson… with two lessons a week.

“That is good money,”Teresa said approvingly. “As your papa said, ‘a bird has to believe that it can fly.’ If you believe that you can do it, then I will, also.”

Arnie smiled. “Thank you, Mama. I still want to think about it some more. And, Ysabel, you are also right. I am not a teacher – not yet, anyway, but maybe I can be a teacher.” She laughed. “For $6 a week, I can certainly try to be one.”

* * * * *

“Duggan, ye dirty…”The rest of Shamus’ sentence was a long stream of Cheyenne phrases. It was the language he used for profanity.

When he didn’t show any sign of stopping, Molly interrupted. “What’s the matter, Love, that’s got ye spouting off like that?”

“This; read this.” He showed her the page of the weekly paper. In the center of the page was a large-type advertisement, set off in a box for extra emphasis. “Now I know what he was building that…” He used another Cheyenne term. “…stage for.”

` LOOKING FOR SOMETHING BETTER THIS SATURDAY NIGHT?

` Sam Duggan and the Lone Star Saloon are PROUD to present

` THE LONE STAR DANCING DARLINGS

` 4 Lovely Ladies Singing and Dancing Just For YOU!

` First Show 8 PM Saturday
` Fifty cent cover charge

“I can see what set ye off,”Molly said. “‘Tis bad enough he’s going up against ye like that, but t’be starting on our biggest night. It just ain’t fair.”

“‘Tis more than that, Molly, me Love. I’ve known about them girls all week, but I didn’t think he’d have the guts t’be starting them shows on Saturday, going up against our dance. ‘Tis an act of war, it is, and come Saturday night, we’ll be seeing just how bad a war it’s going t’be.”

* * * * *

Forry Stafford and his men eased up on their reins as they came near the ranch house. “Dogs, boss,”Dell Cooper said, pointing to a pair of hounds that, even as he spoke, were rising up on the porch. They ran down from the porch, barking as they came.

“I see them,”Stafford said sourly. When he saw Cooper’s hand reaching for his pistol, Forry added firmly. “Let ‘em be.”

Cooper’s hand moved away. “All right, but if either of them goes to snapping at me, all bets are off.” The pair stopped about five feet away from the horses, but they kept barking.

“Blue... Smokey, shut up!” A tall man wearing an apron over denim work clothes walked stiffly out onto the porch. “Can I help you, gentlemen.”

Stafford studied the man for a moment. “You can, if you’re Mr. Abner Slocum.”

“‘Fraid not. He’s inside working. I’m Elias Tucker… Tuck, they call me. I’m his cook.”

A tall, burly man came out onto the porch. “I’m Abner Slocum. What can I do for you?”

“Call off them dogs, for starters,”Leland Saunders told him.

Slocum stuck too fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. The two dogs went quiet and ran back up onto the porch to stand next to their master. “Anything else?”Slocum asked.

“My name’s Forry Stafford,”Forry said as he dismounted. “These here are Dell Cooper and Leland Saunders. We rode out here to ask you some questions, if don’t mind.”

At the sound of that name, Slocum squinted slightly and gave all three of them a second, and more careful, look. “They must be pretty important questions if it takes three of you to ask them.” Abner studied the men for a moment more. “I’ll talk to you, Stafford. Your men can wait outside. If you like, I’ll have Tuck bring them out something to drink.”

Leland grinned. “Whiskey, if y’got it.”

“You’ll have to settle for some lemonade,”Slocum answered. “Tuck’ll bring it out here for you.”

He watched the men walk up and onto the porch. “After you, Mr. Stafford.” He held the door, as Forry walked through, and then followed him into the house. The dogs moved over to a corner of the porch and laid down, still watching Dell and Leland.

Tuck had gone inside and was standing by the door. “Lemonade for the men on the porch, Tuck,”Slocum told him, “and then bring some for Lieutenant Stafford and me.” As Tuck hobbled off to fetch the drinks, Abner turned to Forry. “You are the Lieutenant Stafford in… Brian Kelly’s records, aren’t you?”

“I am, sir. In fact, those records were what I came out here to ask you about.”

Slocum waited for him to say more.

“You’ve obviously read them,”Forry continued. “Can I ask why you wanted to?”

“You can ask, but I don’t intend to answer.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say that I don’t believe them.”

Forry stiffened. “Sir, those records are the report of a military court. How can you say that they are in error?”

“You, for one thing. The very fact that you're here asking questions about them.”

“Sir, I don't follow,”Forry said, his tone guarded.

“It seems to me that the innocent lieutenant portrayed in those records would have no reason to worry that someone was reading them. A guilty man would. He’d do just what you did. He’d come all the way out here from Texas -- or wherever you came from -- to ask me the very question you just asked.”

Tuck brought in a pitcher and two glasses. “You and your men are welcome to a drink; it’s a long, dry ride out here from town.” Abner poured himself a glass and took a quick sip. “But, unless you have another question, one that I'd care to answer, I’ll ask you and your men to leave. I’ve a ranch to run, and I’ve no more time to waste on you three.”

“That, sir, is unfair.” Forry filled his glass and took a longer drink. “I have every right to know why you’re checking into my past.”

“No you don’t, Mister Stafford.” Abner gave him a sly smile. “And an innocent man would have protested his innocence, not my actions.”

For a moment, it looked like Forry Stafford would flare in anger, but then he calmed himself with a visible effort. Picking up the glass of lemonade, he downed it in two large gulps. “I thank you, Sir,”the Texan said afterwards, tonelessly. “I think my question has been sufficiently answered. As much as I have enjoyed seeing this part of the country, my men and I will be returning home very soon.”

Abner nodded, but said nothing. He only seemed to be waiting for his uninvited guest to leave.

* * * * *

Leland leaned back in his chair and took another sip of lemonade. Some feet away, two men were loading a wagon with branding irons, cords of firewood, and other equipment. “I surely do enjoy hard work. I could just sit here for hours and watch men doing it.” He laughed at his own joke.

“You got that right,”Dell agreed, settling back in his own chair.

One of the men noticed them on the porch. He stopped working and walked over to the porch. “You men here looking for work?”

“Maybe,”Dell replied. “What sorta boss owns this spread?”

“Mr. Slocum’s the boss,”the man answered. “He works us hard, but he pays good money for it.”

The second man came over from the wagon. “That is true. He respects his men, treats us like us like hombres, not peons. He is a good man to work for.”

“If you work.” A tall, well-muscled black man came out of the barn. “Joe, they’s waiting for you ‘n’ Angel out at the camp. Stop jawing and get that gear out there.”

Dell frowned and looked at the hands. “You gonna let that nigger talk to you like that?”

“I ain’t got much choice,”Joe Ortlieb told him. “That’s Luke Freeman; he’s the foreman.” He waited half a beat before adding, “And he’s right about where we've got to be. Good talking to you.”

Dell was astounded. “What kind of fool puts some nigger monkey in charge of white men?”

“Señior Slocum is no fool,”Angel Montiero answered, “and neither is Luke. He knows the job and he's good at it.”

The black walked up onto the porch. “Thanks, Angel, but I can speak for m’self. You ‘n’ Joe should get moving.” He watched the two men climb on the wagon and drive off. “You gots a problem with me, gentlemen?”

“I got a problem with any nigger who don’t know his place,”Leland said, standing up and glowering at Freeman.

Luke glared back at him.”This here is my place. I don’t know what you’s doing here, but when you’re done, I’ll be glad to talk t’you ‘bout it.”

“Anytime, boy.”

Forry stormed out of the house. “Cooper, Saunders, get moving.”

“Yes, sir.”Leland said. “We’ll settle this later, nigger.”

Freeman chuckled. “I’ll be waiting, boy!”

* * * * *

Dell Cooper had split off from the other two as soon as they got back to the Lone Star. Now he leaned against a tree and watched the door open as the first of the children ran out and scattered towards their homes. “So this is the school,”he said to himself. “It ain’t much t’write home about.”

“Can I help you with something, mister?”one student, curious about the stranger at his school, asked.

He looked down at the little brat. “Your teacher's a gal named Nancy Osbourne… a pretty gal with long light brown hair and big… brown eyes, right?”

“Yes, sir,”the boy said. He pointed. “Here she comes now.”

Nancy closed the front door behind her. She took a key from her reticule and locked it, testing once to make sure the lock had set.

“I don’t get run off that easy, Nancy,”Dell said from the foot of the steps.

She turned, putting the key away as she did. “Who… oh, you’re that man from Ortega’s.”

“Right on the first guess; Dell Cooper, at your service.” He leered. “And now that we know who we are, how ‘bout you give me that kiss you owe me?” He was on the porch with her, leaning in very close.

She gave him a hard look. “I told you, I have no interest in doing anything like that.”

“Sure you do.” He slid a finger along her arm. “I know spinster schoolmarms. You just wanna be talked into it.”

Nancy drew herself up. “I'm hardly a spinster, and I most emphatically do not want to be talked into anything by you!”

“The hell you don’t. We both know what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna act like the high ‘n’ mighty lady for a little bit longer. But then you’re gonna give me a smooch – tongue ‘n’ all – that’ll be more than worth all the trouble you’re giving me right now. And then we’re gonna go off someplace and really get to it.”

“Never!” She drew back her arm for another slap, but he caught her wrist in his hand.

Dell frowned. “Look, Missy, you can cooperate now or later. I’ll just give you a little time t’think about what I said. But it better not be long. It ain’t a good thing to keep me waiting too long. Something bad might just happen t’you.” He paused for effect. “Or maybe t’some of them precious kids of yours.”

“You… you wouldn’t.” Her eyes were wide with incredulity.

“Me? Why what would I do?” He made a show of letting go of her wrist. “Seems t’me if anything like that happened, it’d be on your pretty, little head.” He laughed and walked away. “You just think about what I said,”he called back to her when he reached his horse.

* * * * *

Forry walked into the Eerie Saloon. He'd come down the street, checking out each saloon as he passed it by. The first two along this side were just dark holes. This one, a bigger operation, seemed to be on par with the Lone Star. He looked around for the tables that marked “Maggie’s Place”, the restaurant that Zach Levy had recommended. He spotted them, but he found something else that looked just as tasty -- a redheaded woman in a green dress suit.

She merited a glance just for the shape of her. But as he looked closer, he blinked in disbelief. How was it possible? A familiar face out here, at the end of the world? So it was! Maybe it was fate that the two of them should meet up again, to complete some unfinished business. Forry grinned. Maybe it was a sign that his luck was going to change for the better, after that disagreeable encounter with Slocum.

He smiled in anticipation as he walked over to the poker table.

“Well, now, Tess Cassidy,”he said, “what’re you doing here?”

Startled at the sound of a name she knew so well, Bridget looked in the direction of the voice. She recognized Forry and immediately put on her very best poker face, the one she used when she was trying to bluff a full house with a pair of threes. “Do I know you, sir?”

“Sure you do. I’m Forrest – Forry – Stafford. I was a lieutenant in the 4th Texas Mounted Rifles. Your father was a sergeant in the same company with me. How is he, by the way?”

She shook her head. Her first instinct was to tell the truth, to make him go away. “I’m sorry, but I’m not this woman that you think I am.” She was certainly not about to tell him her real name.

“Look, Mr. Stafford,”Stu Gallagher interrupted. “We’re trying to play some poker. If you want to talk to Bridget, just be quiet for the rest of this hand, and she’ll deal you into the next one.”

Forry nodded. “So you’re calling yourself Bridget now, are you, Tess? I bet there's a good story behind that. I came in here for some supper, but as soon as that’s done, I’ll be back, and we can reminisce about old times -- and new secrets.” With a laugh, he headed off towards “Maggie’s Place”before she could answer.

The card players had glanced at one another during the brief exchange. They knew full well that Forry Stafford had the wrong woman.

With Forry moving off, it felt like a cloud had broken clear of the sun. But the card playing didn't go so well for Bridget. It was like the man had hexed her. “Damn!”she muttered. Bridget was so preoccupied with the unwanted meeting -- and the promise of another one -- that she lost that hand and almost lost the next. She was just getting back into top form when she noticed Forry coming back again.

* * * * *

“One card,”Forry said, tossing one of his down on the table.

Bridget dealt him a card, watching his face closely as he picked it up. “None for me,”she told the men at the table. She had two pair, jacks over fours. As far as she could tell, that was the best hand at the table. But she wasn’t sure that she could read Forry's tells. She'd never played cards with him back in the army.

“Bet a dime,”Stu Gallagher said.

Joe Kramer folded.

“See that, and raise five cents.” Forry tossed a dime and an old half-dime into the pot. “Care for a little side bet, Tess?”

“I’ve told you five times at least, I’m not this Tess Cassidy you say I am.” She sighed in exasperation. “What sort of a side bet?”

Forry smiled. “Stu was talking about this dance they have in here on Saturday. You’re one of the… dancing girls, aren’t you?”

“What if I am?”

“Then when I win, you agree to dance with me at least… umm, three times next Saturday.”

Bridget frowned. “We're not allowed to dance twice in a row with the same partner.”

Forry chuckled. “The dances don’t have to be one after the other.”

She considered the wager. She was willing to take his money, but…dance with him? Still, she had the winning hand… didn’t she? “Fine… and when I win you agree to call me by my real name, Bridget?”

“Done.” He offered her his hand. “Care to shake on it?”

She frowned, but she shook his hand, and then tossed in a quarter. “Raise another ten cents.”

“Too rich for me.” Gallagher laid his cards down on the table.

Forry called. “What’ve you got, Tess?”

“And that’s the last time you’ll call me that,”she told him triumphantly. “Two pair, jacks and fours.” She showed him her cards.

“Not bad,”Forry replied, a sly smile curving his lips, “but I’ve got better, full house… nines over threes.” He laid down his hands and leaned forward to rake in the pot. “And I’ll see you at the dance… Tess.”

* * * * *

Wednesday, April 17, 1872

“Laura,”Arsenio called out, as he walked back into the house from his smithy, “you leave for work yet?”

Laura groaned and looked up at him from the couch. “No… I… I’m over here,”she answered in a voice that wasn’t more than a whisper.

“What’s the matter?” He rushed over to the coach. “Are you all right?”

“I… I just felt a… a little dizzy, so I thought I’d… I’d lie down… just-just for a while.” She tried to smile.

“Do you want me to put you to bed?”

She gave a wan chuckle and ran her hand across her gravid belly. “Seems to me that’s how I got this way.” When he didn’t laugh, she added. “No, I-I’m fine right here.”

“Good,”he said firmly. “Then stay there. I’ll be right back.” He started for the front door.

“Arsenio, where are you going?”

“To get the doctor – and don’t argue – if you don’t need him, I do.”

* * * * *

“Baaa-aaa!”

Nancy Osbourne was at her desk, preparing for the next lesson, while the children were having recess. If she heard the odd sound coming from the open door to the schoolhouse, she ignored it. The sound came again, “Baaaaa!”

“What… who?” She looked towards the doorway. “Carl, is that you?”

Carl Osbourne stepped into view. “Who else, Nanny Goat?”he answered, using the teasing nickname he’d given her as a child. He walked the length of the room to where she sat. “Mr. Slocum sent me to town on an errand, and I figured I’d just pop in t’see my little sister.”

“I… I’m so glad you came.” She stood quickly and hugged him.

“What’s the matter?”

“Who said anything was the matter?”

“You did. I hear it in your voice, Nancy, and I felt it in that hug. Something’s troubling you, and I want to know what it is.”

“No-nothing. Nothing I c-can’t handle.”

“You’ll tell me what it is, or I’ll…” He gave her a mischievous grin. “I’ll call you ‘Nanny Goat’ and ‘baaa’ at you where all your kids can hear me do it.”

She smiled back in spite of herself. “You wouldn’t.”

“You know I would. Now, out with it; what’s the problem?”

“A man – a very nasty man – named Dell Cooper has been forcing his attentions on me. I first saw him at Ortega’s market. He demanded my name and that I-I kiss him.”

“What’d you do?”

“I slapped his face and hurried away.”

“He chase after you?”

“No – worse. He showed up here yesterday – after school – and insisted that I…kiss him, and then g-go off with him.”

“The coyote!”

“I refused, of course, but then he – oh, Carl, he threatened my students if I wouldn’t d-do what he wanted.” Her eyes glistened. “I don’t know what I’m to do. Was he only trying to scare me, or is he really crazy enough to hurt my children?”

“What’s this bas… this fellow look like?”

She smiled and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “Are you going to go all big brother on him?”

“And if I am – do you mind?”

“No, as far as I’m concerned. The bastard – and he is a bastard – has it coming for trying to use my students to intimidate me. He’s a short, burly man with rather greasy, black hair.”

Carl thought for a moment. “Sounds like one of the men that came out to the ranch yesterday. They gave Luke Freeman some trouble, but he handled it pretty good, from what I hear.”

“What’d Mr. Freeman do?”

“He didn’t shoot ‘em like the snakes they are.” Her brother waited a beat. “And now, I’m more sorry than ever that he didn’t. I’ll find this Cooper fellah and have a long talk with him. He won’t give you no more trouble.”

“Any more trouble,”she corrected him out of long habit.

“Baaa-aaa, you old Nanny Goat.”

* * * * *

“It’s perfectly normal for a woman this far along in her pregnancy to have moments of weakness,”Dr. Upshaw told Arsenio.

Laura took her husband’s hand. “See, I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

“I reserve the right to always worry about you,”he answered. “It’s part of the job of being your husband.” He kissed her cheek. “I don’t mind the job, and I do love the perks that go with it.”

She squeezed his hand. "I sort of like your perks, too.” Then she turned to the doctor. “Are the spells going to get worse?”

“They might – or they might not,”Upshaw told her. “There’s no way to tell. If they do get worse, you may wind up spending the last days of your pregnancy in bed. It’d be the best thing for you and for the baby.” He took a breath. “On the other hand, this may be your last dizzy spell. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Arsenio frowned. “That’s not much help.”

“I wish I could do more, believe me, I do,”the other man answered. “All I can tell you – the both of you – is that there’s nothing seriously wrong at the present, and that she shouldn’t over-exert herself. You’re the best judge of what over-exert means, Laura, but you should watch her when she’s here at home, Arsenio.”

The smith nodded. “I will, and I’ll ask Molly the do the same while she’s over at the saloon.”

“She won’t let me do anything, then,”Laura said, half amused and half frustrated.

Edith Lonnigan was standing next to the doctor. “I’ve already spoken to Molly, but I’ll talk to her again, And I’ll check back with her now and then.” She had another thought. “In fact, I’ll talk to her now, just to let her know that Laura won’t be in for a while.” She smiled. “At least, not till Arsenio lets go of her hand.”

* * * * *

Daisy stood in the doorway of Cerise’s office. “We’s got visitors, m’lady, two of them men you told me t’watch out for.”

“Show them to the parlor,”Cerise replied, “and ask Wilma to join me, if you would.”

The black maid nodded. “Right away.” She turned to Leland and Dell. “This way, sirs. The ladies is waiting t’see you.”

“I already made my pick.” Leland put an arm around her waist. “You go find somebody, Dell. We’ll be upstairs.”

She squirmed free. “I told you b’fore, mister, I’s married, and I ain’t one of the ladies.”

“Sure you are.” He grabbed her arm. “And when we get us upstairs, you can show me just how good you are at being one o’the ladies.”

A man’s hand seized Leland’s wrist. “No, monsieur, she will not. And you will let her go.” Herve began to squeeze. “And then you will apologize.” He squeezed harder. Leland tried to twist free, but he couldn’t.

“You… you’re right,”he finally said. “I’m -- ow! -- I’m sorry.” He released the woman’s arm and watched her hurry away. “Real sorry.”

“Do you promise – truly promise – that you will not bother her again?” The tall Frenchman twisted Leland’s arm so that it was pressed into his back.

“I do. Dammit, I do! Now lemme go.”

Herve did as asked. “Very well, since you have made such a sincere promise. You may stay, but know that I will be watching you. Bother Daisy – or any of the people in this house – and what happened just now will seem a pleasant memory.” He looked daggers at the other man. “Do we understand each other, monsieur?”

“We do.” He rubbed his wrist. He’d fix this damned Frenchy’s wagon, by G-d, but first, there were some fancy women here – especially that hot Mex slut, and he planned to have one.

* * * * *

“Closing time, Trisha,”Liam said in a firm voice.

Trisha looked up from the spot on the counter that she’d been staring at. “Wh-what?”

“It’s 5:30,”he told her. “Time to close up the store.” He studied her expression. “Your mind’s been a million miles from here all day. What’s bothering you?”

“That motion to kick me off the board. I know Cecelia’s gonna make it at next month’s board meeting.”

“You figure out what you’re going to do? You can count on my help, you know, whatever you wind up doing.”

“I-I’m still thinking – thinking about a lot of things.” She sighed. ‘Mostly about being pregnant,’ she added to herself.

Every time she’d tried to come up with a way to stay on the board, she’d pictured herself standing up in front of the congregation scantily – seductively – dressed like the whore she was afraid of becoming. Or worse, in a long, loose-fitting dress, its front pushed out as if she were four… no, six… no, nine months pregnant. She shuddered and tried to wipe the images from her mind.

“You better think of something soon. You talk to anybody else about it, Judge Humphreys or Rupe Warrick, for instance?”

“They’re coming over tonight, Dwight Albertson, too.”

“A council of war, eh; you mind if I join you?”

“You… why?”

“‘Cause you’re my sister. I can see how worried you are, and I have a notion or two about giving you a hand.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and I’ll bet that one of those notions is about having dinner with Kaitlin.”

“Maybe, but if it’ll make you feel better, I have dinner in my room upstairs and come over afterwards.”

“It does. The boys and I’ll be getting together around seven.”

“I’ll be there.” He chuckled. “It’ll give me time to wash up and put on a clean shirt – for the meeting, of course.”

* * * * *

Bridget glanced around as she shuffled the cards. Joel Keenan and Stu Gallagher were the only ones at her table. Were there any of her other regulars around?

She frowned when she saw Forry Stafford walk into the room. ‘He’s headed for one of Maggie’s tables,’ she thought, ‘but he’ll be over here to play as soon as he’s done.’

She sighed and handed the cards to Joel. He cut the deck and passed them back, saying, “Let’s play some poker.”

“No problem,”Bridget replied. She wished Stafford a hearty case of indigestion as she began to deal.

* * * * *

“Liam, what are you doing here?”

Liam turned to greet the speaker. “Same thing you are, Dwight. Trisha told me there was going to be a meeting of the minds here tonight, and I asked if I could sit in.”

“I don’t see why you can’t.” Dwight Albertson knocked on the door.

Kaitlin opened it a moment later.

“Dwight, good evening,”she said, “and Liam…” Her smile of greeting warmed. “Trisha didn’t tell me you were coming.” She stood aside as they walked into the house.

“And a good evening to you, Kaitlin,”Liam smiled back, just as warmly. “It was a last minute thing; I guess she… forgot.”

A voice came from the long dinner table. “Are we all here?”Judge Humphreys called out. “Come sit down so we can get started.”

“And a good evening to you, Parnassus,”the banker said. He and Liam took seats at the table. Kaitlin went back over to the sink where she and Emma were doing the dishes. The men were sitting so that their backs were to her.

Trisha looked at the group around her. “Shall we start then?” When they all nodded, she continued. “I guess the first thing is what do you all think of my chances of staying on the board?”

“A little better than 50-50,”Rupe Warrick said. “I’m not sure how much better.”

Humphreys frowned. “A fair bit better, I think. The problem is that she’ll be off the board in September, anyway. A woman can’t be elected, -- or re-elected.”

“Do you think we could get that rule changed?”Rupe asked.

The judge scratched his head. “Maybe; it’s a bylaw, though. It takes a couple months to change that. Introduce the motion one month, and vote on it the next.” He thought for a moment. “It’d be best not to start until June, and we don’t make it unless Trisha wins by a good bit.”

“Well, thank you very much,”Trisha said. He was probably right, but it annoyed her no end to hear. When she thought about what he said, it annoyed her more than even the fear of her pregnancy and how these men, her allies, would react when they learned of it.

Humphreys shrugged. “If you lose, there’s no point in making it, and if it looks like the only reason you win is because people are willing to wait until your term’s over in September, then there’s still no point.”

“We want you on the board, Trisha,”Dwight tried to reassure her. “We like your ideas, and, if your seat on the board is open in the September election, it’s even money that Ritter – or somebody like him – will get it.”

Rupe agreed. “It’s a lot easier to run as a – whacha-call-it – an incumbent. Some people’ll vote for you because you’re already there.”

“Unless they don’t like you, which brings us back to Cecelia’s motion.”

Kaitlin gave a small cough. Trisha glanced over towards her. When their eyes met, Kaitlin looked down and rubbed her hand up and down once against her stomach. She repeated the motion, but with her hand a few inches out. When she did it a third time, her hand was even further away.

The message was clear, too clear. Trisha’s pregnancy might not be apparent in May, when they voted on Cecelia’s motion, but it would be in July when a motion to change the bylaws would be voted on. There was no way she could win that, and she’d drag down the Judge and Rupe. Dwight, being the banker, might keep his seat, but any chance that the building fund might have had would surely die.

“Maybe,”she said in a soft voice, “maybe I shouldn’t fight the motion.”

Everyone was astonished. “What?”Dwight spoke first. “You mean that you’d let them kick you off the board? Why, for heaven’s sake?”

“I got on the board because I wanted to make the church better,”she explained. “With everything that’s going on, maybe I’d serve it best by getting off the board.”

“I can’t believe that you’d give up without a fight, Trisha,”Liam told her. “You resign, and you practically give your spot on the board to Clyde Ritter.”

She shook her head. “Not if I give it to somebody else.” She stopped, realizing what she was about to say – what she had to say. “Give it to… to you, Liam.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea.” The Judge scratched his chin. “He’d be an incumbent, and I think a lot of people would vote to re-elect him to see what he could do.” He studied Liam’s face for a moment. “You do support Trisha’s ideas about the church and the building fund, don’t you?”

Liam nodded. “Sure I do. In fact, I’ve got a couple of my own that I’ve been meaning to tell her.”

“Oh, really?”Trisha raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Rupe cut in. “Can we do it? Can we just put Liam in Trisha’s seat on the board?”

“We can. A board member can take a leave of absence and name someone to fill in while he – or she – is gone. Tom Rhodes did it a couple of years ago. He went east on business and wound up staying there three months.”

“Can we do it if Trisha is gonna stay in town?”Rupe asked.

Humphreys chuckled. “I don’t see why not. She can say that she’s doing it to quiet the dissension on the board.” He looked at her. “It also means that nobody has to vote on whether or not Cecelia’s accusations are true. I think people will like that.”

“Cecelia won’t,”Kaitlin mused. “But she’ll be so happy to have Trisha off the board that I don’t think it’ll bother her too much.”

Albertson sighed. “And we’re back to Cecelia, again. I just wish that the board hadn’t given in to her about the reverend’s crazy idea, and Horace made things worse by putting her in charge of that petition. I’m afraid that she’s getting as power hungry as he is.” The banker thought a moment. “Maybe it’s a good idea not to amend the bylaws. I’d hate to see her as a voting member of the church board.”

* * * * *

Thursday, April 18, 1872

“Hola… Hello,”Arnie greeted Mrs. Spaulding when she opened her back door.

She looked for any bundle Arnie might be carrying. “Hello, Annie, is our laundry done so soon? I hadn’t expected you to bring it back until Saturday.”

“And that’s when I will have it for you. Today, I came to tell you that, yes, I’ll teach you all Spanish – if you still want me to.”

“Of course, we do. Can you join us for lunch on Saturday and start the lessons afterwards?”

“Yes, sure.”

“Wonderful; can you come in for a visit now? Hedley is out running some errands and won’t be back for a while, but I know that Clara would love to see you.”

Arnie came through the open door. “Sì, I can stay for a bit.” She enjoyed talking to Clara, and they were quickly becoming good friends. Still, she was sorry – more sorry than she would have expected -- that Hedley wouldn’t be there as well.

* * * * *

“Hey, Wilma,”Jessie said, “what brings you over here?”

Wilma smiled. “Can’t a gal just come over t’see her sister and her best friend?”

“Not when she gives me an answer like that,”Jessie answered. “What’s the real reason?”

“Well, if you must know, I’ve been wondering when Shamus was gonna have that big showing of Ethan’s pictures.” She frowned. “I asked him a couple of times, and he won’t tell me.”

Bridget walked over to where the sisters were standing. “The unveiling is at eight tonight. Right now they’re locked up in Shamus’ office. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,”Wilma replied. “I seen ‘em all over at Ethan’s studio. I just wanna listen to everybody talking about how good a painter he is.”

Bridget shook her head. “You may not want to listen to everybody. Forry Stafford’s gonna be here. He came over Tuesday and yesterday, also, to have dinner and…” She sighed. “…play poker with me. I expect he'll show up again today.”

“How much money you take off him so far?”Wilma asked eagerly.

The lady gambler sighed again. “Not as much as I’d like. He-he rattles me, and I can’t read his tells as well as I should. He won't stop calling me ‘Tess.’ I keep telling him I'm not her, but he's got this idea that Tess has to hide her identity because of some deep, dark secret. I think he'd like to figure it out so he could blackmail me. “You remember Tess Cassidy, don’t you Wilma?”

“I do for sure, and I know that you… look just like her.”

“Oh? I hadn't really noticed,”Bridget replied acidly. She – as Brian Kelly -- could have been an honest man, and been married to the real Tess Cassidy right now, except for Forry Stafford. His perjuries concerning the Battle of Adobe Wells had ruined the chance for happiness that Tess and Brian had once had.

Bridget continued. “Anyway, he thinks I am Tess, and he’s… interested. He won a side bet that means I have to dance with him three times on Saturday.” She frowned. “If I had won, he would’ve had to promise not to call me Tess anymore. When he came in yesterday, he asked me out to supper tomorrow. I told him I'd think about it.”

Wilma shook her head. “I think you should go out with him. Cozy up to the snake; let him think that you really are Tess Cassidy.”

“What!” Jessie and Bridget both exclaimed. “Are you out of your mind?”Bridget added.

The demimonde chuckled. “Probably, but do you know a better way t’find out why he’s here? He ain’t likely t’talk about it at your poker table, Bridget, but alone, sparking a girl he thinks he knows, he’ll talk. You just see if he don’t.” She paused a moment. “Besides, what can happen with Shamus and R.J. and whoever’s waiting t’play poker standing around t’help if he tries anything?”

“Ya know,”Jessie considered, “when you put it like that, it almost makes sense. If he's got his hand into some dirty deal, we can find out and trip him up.”

Bridget hesitated, still very unsure. “I… I don’t know.”

“When’d I ever steer you wrong in all the years we been friends?”

Bridget smiled wryly. “Well, there was that time last July when you said we should go to some town called Eerie, Arizona. You said we wouldn’t have any problems there.”

Jessie chuckled. “I ain’t got no problem – not when I think ‘bout being with Paul. You got any problem about Cap?”

“Only that he won’t be back till next week.”Bridget answered with a laugh. She looked back at Wilma. “Somehow you always have the knack for landing on your feet, even when you do the riskiest things, and sometimes it rubs off on other people. All right. I-I’ll think about it. Stafford won’t be here for my answer until tonight, anyway.”

* * * * *

Carl Osbourne walked through the swinging doors of the Lone Star Saloon. He looked around for a moment, before he walked over to Cuddy Smith at the bar.

“Afternoon, Carl,”Cuddy said. “I ain’t seen you in here for a while. What’ll you have?”

Carl put a half dollar on the counter top. “Gimme a beer, Cuddy.” He waited quietly while the barman had poured the drink. After a sip, the younger man asked, “What’s that thing doing in here?” He pointed to a large platform set at the far end of the room.

“It’s a stage for the dancers. Didn’t you see our ad in the paper the other day?”

“Can’t say I did.” He took a long drink. “What sort of a dance you gonna have?”

“Not dancing, dancing girls, we figure to give Shamus O’Toole a run for his money.” Cuddy shook his head. “There was no competing with him after he got those pretty potion girls working for him. That Jessie Hanks is the biggest asset he's got. My boss tried to hire her away from him, but she wouldn't bite. So Sam went out of town looking to find some really fine looking ladies. He got us four girls that’re gonna be singing and dancing three or four nights a week.” He waited a beat. “They start on Saturday.”

Carl took another drink. “Right up against Shamus’ dances. That’ll be quite a fight.” He finished the beer and set the glass down on the bar. The ranch hand wondered if he should come over and see the girls' first dance for himself. He grinned, remembering the cancan dancers that he had seen in Tucson.

“You want another?”Cuddy asked.

“Nope, but I’ll take some information. I’m looking for a man named Dell Cooper. He ever come in here?”

“Come in – hell, he lives here. He’s got a room upstairs, him and two other fellahs.” Cuddy looked around. “Matter of fact, that’s them over there.” He pointed to a table where the three sat. “Cooper’s the --”

“I know which one he is. Thanks.”

Carl walked over to the table. The men were playing a game of penny-ante poker. “I’d like to talk to you, Cooper,”Carl told them.

“So?”Cooper didn’t bother to look up.

Carl frowned. “You should look at a man when he’s talking to you.”

“You should be polite to the gent, Dell,”a second card player at the table said wryly, as if Carl amused him. “He may actually say something worth listening to.”

Cooper laughed. “If you say so, Mr. Stafford.” He leaned back and stared up at Carl. “Say your piece, friend.”

“My name’s Carl Osbourne. You’ve been bothering my sister, Nancy. She doesn’t like it, and neither do I, so I came in here to tell you to stop.”

Dell stood up suddenly and scowled at Carl. “And if I don’t?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Cooper was wearing a gun belt, and his arm moved down so that his hand was only a few inches from his pistol. “Maybe we should just settle this right now.”

“Stop it, Dell,”Stafford ordered. Then he shifted in his own chair so that he was staring at Carl. “You’ve said your piece, Mr. Osbourne, and I’m sure that Dell will give your words all the consideration they deserve.”

“You see that he does, ‘cause if I hear different from Nancy, I’ll be back to settle things.” Carl turned and walked slowly out of the saloon.

Forry watched him go and, rising, shook his head. “Men, we can't afford to be too conspicuous while we're in town. Ease off that woman, Dell, until after we've settled our business with Slocum. Also, I want you both to play it especially careful while I'm over at the other gambling saloon.”

“What for, Boss?”Leland asked. “More poker playing?”

“Never you mind,”Forry said, but the men thought they spied a smile of anticipation on their employer's lips.

* * * * *

Forry Stafford studied the cards that Sam Braddock had just dealt him. “Have you thought about what I asked you yesterday, Tess?”he asked as he rearranged them in his hand.

Bridget sighed, but accepted the name and answered the question with a grudging nod. “I don’t need anybody to buy my dinner. The deal I have with Shamus O’Toole for my poker table includes all my meals.”

“Then have dinner with me someplace where he isn’t around to provide dinner. I’m staying at the Lone Star. The barman’s daughter is a tolerably good cook.”

Bridget tried not to scowl. Have dinner with this son of a bitch? It was bad enough playing cards with him. Wilma wanted her to start him talking, but the idea of keeping company with the man who had ruined Brian Kelly's best hopes was just so odious.

When she took too long to answer, Forry got impatient. “Oh, come on,”he coaxed. “At least be gracious enough to consider my offer.”

“Very well, I-I guess a little supper couldn't hurt.”

“Fine. I can hardly wait to find out what you've been doing since the War. I thought a woman as lovely as you would be married by now, not running a poker game under an assumed name. And on the wildest part of the frontier, to boot! Where's your father anyway? I haven't heard a word about him or you since the regiment was dissolved at the War's end.”

“Let's save that kind of questions for tomorrow, too,”she replied, refusing to look him in the eye.

“So, you've stopped denying that you're Tess Cassidy!”

“It doesn't do any good to deny it with you, now does it?”Bridget answered ambiguously.” We'll talk tomorrow at supper.”

Hans Euler snorted. “Gut! In der meantime, could we maybe play a little poker?”

* * * * *

Liam walked into the office of the Feed and Grain and shut the open door behind him. Trisha heard it close and looked up from the piles of paper spread out on the desk. “What… what is it, Liam?”

“You’ve been in here all day, and I wanted to talk to you...” He waited a half-beat. “…about what got decided at your house last night. I just want --”

She sighed and raised her hand up to her face. “Please, can we talk about something else?” She blinked and felt her eyes filling with tears. “Anything else.”

“Okay.” He pulled a red and green kerchief from his pocket and set it gently down next to her on the desk. “I’ll get back to work. We can talk later.” Without another word, he left, careful to close the door behind him.

* * * * *

“Can I have yuir attention?” Shamus had used a low stepladder to climb up onto the bar. Next to him were three easels, each holding a painting covered by a white cloth. When he was sure that everyone was looking at him, he continued, “I’ll be thanking ye all for coming to the unveiling of these pictures that Mr. Ethan Thomas – that’s him standing over in the corner – painted.” He pointed to Ethan, who stood well off to the side. “Ethan, do ye want t’be coming up here and say a few words?

Ethan shook his head. “I prefer to let my work speak for itself, Mr. O’Toole.”

“And so it will,”Shamus said. “Jessie Hanks, will ye come up here and show all these folks yuir picture?”

Wilma was standing next to Ethan, her body pressed close. “This is so exciting,”she gushed. Her hand, hidden by the crowd, slid across the front of his trousers. “Mmm,”she whispered in his ear. “Looks like I ain’t the only one who’s excited.” She leaned in and nibbled gently on his earlobe.

“Wilma, please.” Ethan shivered – and felt himself grow harder. “I promise you that we will have our own, lusty celebration later, but only -- and I mean only – if you behave yourself now.”

She pouted, a chastised child. “We better.” But she also stepped back in time to see Paul Grant help her sister up onto the bar.

“Here we go!” Jessie called out as she tossed the cloth back over the top of the portrait. It showed her sitting in a sturdy wooden chair and strumming her guitar. She was smiling, her lips parted slightly, as if in song. The figure in the painting wore the same dress that its model wore that night, a dark blue gown that hugged her figure, cut low to show her shoulders and the tops of her breasts.

The crowd cheered. “You can almost hear her singing,”Mort Boyer yelled. “Sing for us now, Jessie,”another voice added.

“Maybe later,”she answered. “First off, I wanna see them other two paintings.” Paul put his hands on her waist and lowered her slowly to the floor.

Shamus looked over to where Laura was standing with Jane. Arsenio and Milt stood with them. “Jane, get yuirself up here and show everybody yuir painting.”

“Laura, too,”Jane answered. “She’s as much in it as I am.”

Laura shook her head. “Thanks, Jane, but I better stay down here.” She rubbed her expansive stomach. “Be safer for ‘Junior’, if I don’t climb any ladders just now.”

“I guess so,”Jane decided. Milt walked her to the stepladder and held her hand as she climbed it onto the bar. She pulled the covering off the canvas and moved out of the line of sight.

The people stared at the image for a moment until Monk Dworkin called out. “They’s three of ‘em. Who the hell’s the third one?”

“And how come she looks so old?”Matt Royce asked.

Ethan worked his way to the bar and scrambled up onto it. “I apologize, ladies and gentlemen for any confusion. The picture is based on the old Greek story of the Fates, the goddesses that shape men’s destinies. According to the tale, there are three of them: Clotho, the maiden, who spins the thread of a man’s life; Lachesis, the mother, who measures the length of that life; and Atropos, the wise woman, who cuts the thread.”

“Jane is Clotho; you can see her holding the spindle.” He continued, pointing to the figure on the left, who wore a floor-length white tunic and held a spindle suspended below a half-formed woolen thread. “And, of course, Laura, there on the right, is Lachesis.” The figure on the right, almost as pregnant as Laura herself, was in an equally long green tunic and holding a yardstick with Greek lettering.

Ethan took a breath. “Both Jane and Laura modeled the third figure, Atropis. I added some wrinkles to the face and gray to the hair because the wise woman is supposedly older.” The third figure sat in an ornately carved wooden chair that very much suggested a throne. Her garb was black, and she held a pair of scissors with long, thin blades.

“That makes sense, I guess,”a man said, “but I don’t see why you had it done, Shamus?”

Ethan answered for the barman. “He didn’t. This painting is my own concept, and I intend to ship the work East for exhibition and – I have every reason to hope – sale.”

“If someone out here don’t buy it first,”Jane said, as Milt helped her down from the bar. The lawyer didn’t respond, but it was clear from his expression that he didn’t like the idea.

“All three pictures’ll be hanging here till Sunday night,”Shamus told the crowd. “Then Ethan’s gonna ship that one home t’Philadelphia, and I’ll be taking the last – and the best one, I’m thinking – up t’me and Molly’s rooms ‘cause that’s who’s in it, me own darling Molly. Come up here, Love, so ye can be unveiling yuir own portrait.”

Sam Braddock stepped in next to the bar and offered Molly his hand. “Let me help you, Molly. You ain’t quite as young and spry as Jane or Jessie.”

“Ain’t I?” She grabbed his hat, a gray, workman’s cap, and hurried up onto the bar unassisted. “Would ye be doing me a favor and put this on, Shamus?” She winked at him as she asked.

He winked back and fixed the cap on his head. “Ready when ye are, Love.” He stood as if at attention.

“La-da-da-dit-da-dah!”Molly did a quick jig step as she sang. With the last note, she did a kick, a very high kick. Her toe hit the brim of the cap, sending it flying off into the air.

Sam laughed the loudest of anyone. “Molly, I am so very, very sorry for what I just said.”

“Ye should be,”Molly replied, “and I’ll be happy t’accept yuir apology – and the beer ye’ll be buying me by way of apology.” She gave Sam a wink.

Shamus put his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. “And that’s another reason for loving ye, Moll,”he whispered. “Ye’re as limber as the… night we got married.”

* * * * *

Bridget was studying “The Three Fates”painting when Forry Stafford walked over. “It’s a rather odd painting, don’t you think, Tess?”he asked, trying to start a conversation.

“I don’t know. I read about the Fates in Bulfinch’s Age of Fables when I was a… girl. I’d say Mr. Thomas got them pretty much the way Bulfinch described them.”

Stafford chuckled. “It’s funny, you didn’t strike me as much of a reader when I knew you during the War.”

“People change,”she said, but the private joke was lost on Forry.

“As my father always says, 'The more things change, the more they stay the same.'“ He shifted the topic. “Can we, perhaps, discuss exactly how much you've changed at dinner tomorrow night?”

Bridget sighed “Yes, Mr. Stafford --”

“Forry, please. If we’re going to dine together we should be on a first name basis.”

“Very well, then Forry. You can pick me up here at 6.”

* * * * *

“Trisha,”Kaitlin said in a firm voice. “Could you come over here, please?”

Trisha looked up from the papers she was looking at, some correspondence with one of the Feed and Grain’s suppliers. “Why?”

“Because it’s time to start those lessons you agreed to. Now… come sit down across the table from me.”

“Very well.” She set down the papers and walked over to the supper table. The dishes and such from supper were gone, drying in the rack by the sink. In their place were Kaitlin’s sewing basket and a small pile. “What’s all this?”

“One thing a mother has to be able to do is sew; for a start, know how to repair hems, fix tears, and replace buttons.”

Trisha picked up a blue denim man’s shirt, the only one in the pile. “Like you wouldn’t replace the buttons I popped off this shirt all those months ago.”

“I still won’t,”Kaitlin replied. She took a pair of needles from a small, tin container in her sewing kit. “You will.” She set a spool of dark green thread down in front of Trisha and handed her one of the needles. “Thread that, and we’ll get started.”

* * * * *

Friday, April 19, 1872

Laura found herself sitting in a chair, lightly rocking back and forth. She felt something move on her lap and looked down to see… “A baby,”she raised her head quickly and said out loud, “this has to be a dream.” She glanced back down. The child was bigger than she expected a newborn to be. It was wrapped in a yellow blanket, so all she could see was its head and a mass of brown curls partly visible under a matching yellow cap. “Might as well enjoy it,”she said. “Hello…” What to call it? “…baby.”

“Hello, Mama,”it replied in a high, child’s voice. “Why don’t you say my name?”

“I-I-don’t know it.” She chuckled. “I don’t even know if you’re a boy or a girl.”

It stared up at her with Arsenio’s brown eyes. “If I’m a boy, I’m named after you and Papa.” It smiled – the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. “I’m Arsenio… Leroy Caulder.”

“L-Leroy?”

“Sure, why shouldn’t I have the name you had when you were a boy?”

“I don’t know. No reason, I guess.”

“And if’m a girl, I’m still named after you, Eleanor… Laura Caulder, like you told Papa.” The baby’s close-cropped hair was suddenly longer, tied into two delicate ponytails by a pair of yellow ribbons.

“Are you a boy or a girl?”

“I -- you -- don’t know yet.”

“What do you know?”

“Not much. I know you and Papa and Grampa Shamus and Gramma Molly and Gramma Rachel and Aunt Jane. I know Gramma Molly knitted my blanket and my cap.” It pursed its lips and made sucking noises. “And I know that I’m hungry, Mama.”

Laura began to unbutton her blouse. “I wonder what it feels like to breastfeed you.”

“We both enjoy it,”the baby said, smiling again, that same wonderful smile.

Laura was smiling back, when – for some reason – she woke up.

* * * * *

A noise woke Wilma. She glanced up to see Ethan tying his tie. “G’morning, Ethan,”she said in a low voice that was almost a purr. “How come you didn’t wake me? We coulda had us some fun before you had t’head over to your studio.” She sat up and stretched her arms up over her head. The blanket fell away, revealing her naked form.

“I can think of nothing that I would more enjoy than joining you for another sensual romp,”Ethan told her. “Unfortunately, I still have commissions to fulfill.” He picked up his pocket watch from its place on the dresser. “The Ortega’s carriage will arrive at my studio in a short time. Since the old gentleman is too infirm to travel to town to pose for his likeness, they send a carriage to convey me out to the ranch house.”

Wilma smiled and ran her tongue across her lower lip. “Well, I suppose if you have t’go, you have t’go, but can you, at least, gimme a kiss goodbye?”

“There is always time for that.” He walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. “Always time.” His arm wound around her bare waist, and he pulled her close. Their lips met, and she ran her tongue across his lower lip. It snaked back into her mouth, but her lips were parted, inviting his tongue to follow.

He did, and the kiss became far more torrid. His hands explored her voluptuous curves, while she began pulling at his shirt.

“Wilma, please.” He broke the kiss. “I cannot tarry with you, no matter how much you tempt me.” He stood up and began to tuck in his shirt. “I will, you can be assured, return to continue this session this evening, when I can give you the time that you deserve.”

“I'm luckier than you,”Wilma said mischievously. “I don't have to juggle business and pleasure. For me, they're the same thing.”

With a chuckle, he took her hand in his, raised it to his lips, and kissed it, sucking for just a moment on a knuckle. When she giggled at the sensation, he released her hand. “For now, my dear, adieux.” He gave a low bow, picked up his coat from a chair, and headed out the door.

“He’ll be back.” Wilma gave a contented sigh and collapsed against the pillows. “He wants to come back, and he wants me, just like I want him.” She sighed again. “I been teasing Jessie for so long ‘bout her and Paul – been teasing Bridget, too, since she and Cap finally done the deed, but, now, I know how they feel.”

All at once, her smile faded slightly. 'It would be nice if he were just a little bit jealous about what I do for a living,’ she thought.

Wilma threw away that idea and hugged herself, as if trying to keep all those luscious, wanton feelings she had inside of her. “Being in bed with a man was always a whole lot of fun – and I ain’t about t’give that up, but being in bed with a man that you love, one who loves you, it’s a hundred, no, a thousand, no, a million times better!” She closed her eyes, reliving what she and Ethan had done during the night, and thrilling with the delicious sensations that ran through her body as she did.

* * * * *

“Now hold still, Teresa,”Doc Upshaw told Teresa Diaz. “Grasp the edge of this table with your right hand.”

She did as she was told, as the physician carefully slid his surgical saw along her cast. She could feel the pressure of the teeth on her arm, but there was no pain.

“You are doing fine,”Dolores said, holding her cousin’s left hand in her own.

Upshaw put down the saw. “Of course, she is, but, then, she has an excellent doctor.” He winked at Teresa, as he picked up a scissors with small bumps at the tip of each blade. “Keep holding still, though.” He cut through the last layers of plaster and gauze. In a matter of minutes, the cast was opened. He took both halves and pulled them apart. They fell with a “thunk”onto the table.

“My arm, it is so thin, so pale.” Teresa raised her arm, twisting it back and forth.

The doctor nodded. “If you had stayed in bed, under a blanket for six weeks, your entire body would be that way. It’ll be fine in a few days.” He watched her moving her arm, looking for any sign of discomfort. “You don’t seem to be having any problems, but be careful for a while. And come back here at once if there is any pain, in your arm or your leg.”

“How soon can I walk?”

“Oh, any time. You could walk home today, if you liked. However, I’d advise you to wait until, umm… next Wednesday or Thursday before you start dragging that heavy laundry wagon of yours around town.”

“Can I go along with Arnoldo, while she ‘drags that heavy wagon’? I want to get back to work, to my customers, as soon as I can.”

“Yes, but wait until Monday before you do that much walking. Speaking of which, hop up on the table. It’ll be easier to get that leg cast off if I immobilize your limb in the stirrup.”

* * * * *

“Trisha… wait up.”

Trisha stopped, turned to see Liam running to catch up with her. “You know, you wouldn’t have to run if you’d just walked over from the store with me.”

“I had a couple of things to do first,”he explained. As he caught up with his sister, she noticed that he had changed his shirt and that he wore a tie a tie she’d never seen on him before.

She scowled at him as they began walking again. “So I can see. Is that a new tie?”

“It is. I thought I needed one.”

“I don’t know why you would. Your old ties were fine.”

“If you like old neckties, they were. I just felt like getting a new one, and they were on sale at Silverman’s.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“There was an ad in this week’s paper, but I guess you don’t read ads about men’s clothes anymore.”

“No, I don’t. Anyway, we’re here.”

They were at Trisha’s front door. “Allow me,”Liam said, holding the door open as she walked in.

“I’m home,”Trisha yelled, as soon as they were both inside.

Kaitlin and Emma were standing by the table, which was ready for supper. “I see you are,”Kaitlin replied. Then she smiled and added, “Hello, Liam.”

“Hello, Kaitlin… and you, too, Emma.” He stepped forward and held up the bouquet of flowers he’d brought with him. “These are for you, Kaitlin, my thanks in advance for a delicious dinner and for the pleasure of your company.”

She walked over and took the flowers from him. “They’re lovely,”she said. “Thank you.” She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Emma and Trisha could only stare as Kaitlin hurried over to the sink and arranged the flowers in the vase that had been waiting for them.

* * * * *

Bridget sat on her bed, gazing at the full-length mirror that hung on her door. “Damn,”she muttered and shook her head.

“Hey, Bridget,”a voice – Wilma’s voice -- called from the hallway. “Can I come in?”

The redhead shrugged. “Why not? Come on in.”

“What’s the matter? Why ain’t you getting downstairs, waiting for Stafford?”

“I-I I’m not sure that I want to have dinner with the bastard, after all.”

“You ain’t getting cold feet, are you?”

“Yes.” She looked down, not able to meet her old friend’s stare.

“This from the man who spit in the face of them Union blue bellies, who helped me rob the Ranchers and Merchants’ Bank back in Texas?”

Bridget made a gesture at her buxom, very feminine body. “I’m not him anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She was wearing one of Wilma's low-cut and very tight silk evening dresses. It was green, since Wilma agreed that the color best set off Bridget's complexion. They were almost the same size, but Wilma preferred her dresses to be somewhat tight, to better show off her supple body. Bridget felt this snugness mainly in her bust.

“Maybe not, but there was still enough of Brian Kelly’s cahones in you to face down Abner Slocum and them others and come out the winner in that poker game a few weeks back.”

“That… that was different. I know how to play poker. What do I know about…” She made a sour face. “…cozying up to a man, especially one like Forry Stafford?”

Wilma laughed. “I don’t think that Cap Lewis has any problems with the way you ‘cozy up’ to him – neither did R.J.”

“It’s not the same thing. I liked R.J.; I still do. And I – oh, hell – I love Cap. I – Hate is a mild word for what I feel for Forry Stafford.”

“I don’t like the man any better ‘n’ you do, but I do know something ‘bout getting close to a man I don’t particularly like. I can grin and bear it with the best of the ladies, but when it comes to Forry and his galoots, they're more than I can take.”

“Getting very close, I expect.” Bridget said wryly. “Okay, professor, how do I get that cozy with a man who turns my stomach?”

“You think of something else, something you do want. I just think of the fun I can have with most any man. In this case, you think of what you’re gonna find out about why Forry's here and how we can maybe use it against him.” She took a good look at her friend. “And act more confident, like you’re sure of yourself and what you’re doing. Damn, you look like you're on your way to your own hanging!”

“I-I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Maybe a little ‘dutch courage’, as they say. You got any…?” She glanced around the room before she saw a bottle and two glasses on a corner of the dresser. “That’ll do. Must be for when Cap comes back to town. You never was much for whiskey.”

“I’m still not that good with alcohol. I usually nurse a beer, two at most, through a night of poker.”

“I’d say that you need a little something more tonight.” Wilma fetched the bottle, opened it, and poured a drink. “You drink this up – right now.” She spoke in a firm voice that brooked no argument.

Bridget snapped a quick, military salute. “Yes, sir.” She took the glass from Wilma’s hand and swallowed in one, quick gulp.

“Good soldier!”remarked Wilma. “And that's a smart uniform you have on, too!”

* * * * *

Liam looked over at Trisha, who was looking daggers at him. “That was a delicious dinner, Kaitlin, but I think I’d better go.” He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin.

“Must you?”she replied, a note of sadness in her voice.

He nodded and stood up. “I think it would be better if I did.” He glanced over at Trisha again. She didn’t say anything, but her expression didn’t change.

“Very well, then.” Kaitlin took his arm and walked him to the door. “Thank you again for the lovely flowers.”

“No thanks necessary.”

“Yes, there is.” She kissed him again on the cheek.

Liam grinned. “You keep doing that, and I’ll bury this place in flowers.” He opened the front door. “Good night, Emma… Trisha.” He winked at his sister and left.

“What the hell was that all about?”Trisha demanded as she rose to her feet.

“Wait a minute,”Kaitlin said, answering the other woman’s harsh tone before she looked over to her daughter, who was clearing the table. “Emma, go to your room,”she ordered. “Right now!”

“But the dishes…”the girl said.

Her mother shook her head. “Now… and close the door behind you.”

“Y-Yes, ma’am.” The confused girl put down the dish she was wiping and all but ran to her room.

Kaitlin waited until she heard Emma’s door slam. “Now, you were yelling something.”

“I want to know just what was going on with you and Liam, kissing him like that. I want it to stop.”

“You can have relations with three men, men you barely know, and I can’t kiss a man I’ve known for fifteen years and more? I think not.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’ll do what I please, Trisha, including kissing your brother.”

“When are you planning to sleep with him?”

“Not any time soon, I should think. I’m not the loose woman you are.”

“Don’t you talk like that to me, Kaitlin.”

“Be happy that I'm the only one that does speak to you like that. What do you think would happen if I told Reverend Yingling that you’re pregnant… or told Horace Styron, for that matter?”

“You wouldn’t – would you?”

“I might, if you keep objecting to my friendship with your brother.”

“I don’t object – as long as it stays a friendship.”

“It may, or it may not. Liam is very much like the man that you used to be, the man I loved and the father of my child. It’s only natural that I might be attracted to him, and…” In spite of her anger, she gave Trisha a shy smile. “…I think that I am attracted to him.”

“Kaitlin!”

“Well, I am. I've got the rest of my life to think about, and our clinging to the past isn't going to help either one of us. If you don’t like it, you can – no, whether you like it or not, I think that you’ll sleep down here tonight. It’ll give you a chance to consider this mess you’ve gotten us into.”

“The hell I will. The worst thing about marriage, past or present, is the way that the woman always thinks that she owns the bedroom.”

“When you're someone's wife – and for your own sake, I hope that you do get married eventually – you and your husband can decide for yourselves who owns your own bedroom.”

Trisha looked at her incredulously. “You're being completely unreasonable. By your own logic, if I'm not your husband, you have no right to order me out of the bed that I bought and paid for!”

“Trisha,”she said in a still, but very firm voice. “You can do it of your own free will and keep a small shred of dignity, or I can order you to. And we both know I can do it.”

The pretty blonde sighed in resignation. “I’ll do it by choice.” She took a breath. “Shall I go get the blanket and pillow now?”

“Yes, and on your way, tell Emma to come down. She can help you finish the dishes.”

* * * * *

They sat across from each other at the small table set up for their meal. Bridget hadn't planned for dining in Stafford's room. When they had come in, those new dancing girls were rehearsing a dance on the stage in the back of the barroom, while a band played nearby. “We won’t be able to hear ourselves think,”Forry had said, a little too smoothly.

“Have your daughter bring the food up to my room,”he told Sam Duggan before he led Bridget upstairs. Forry brought along a bottle of wine and two glasses to, as he explained to her, “Give us something to do until our supper arrives.”

It upset her to be alone with him, so she hadn't been 'cozying up to him' very much. Stiff and nervous, even with all that wine she’d drunk, she hadn't gotten past his guard, not enough to learn anything about what he was up to in Eerie, anyway. Forry had remained gallant so far, but the redhead sensed a growing impatience in him. He must have had high hopes for this evening, but she wasn't meeting his expectations. More and more she just wanted to leave.

Once the meal was served, Bridget ate quickly, not paying much attention to the flavor. Now that she’d finished, she decided that she'd stayed long enough. 'Some Deliah I am,' she thought. Bridget looked at her watch. “I-I’d like t’say that it’s been a l-lovely supper, Mr. Staf… ford, but I --”

“Forry,”he interrupted. “I promised that I’d call you Bridget, but only if you called me Forry.”

“All… all right, Forry,”she said, thick-tongued from the wine. “But I do have t’get back to my po-poker… game.”

“Very well, but you should finish your drink before you go. This is very good wine.”

“I think I m-may have finished too much of it already, but, okay.” She finished the last of what was her third – or fourth -- glass. She’d lost count. By now, the bottle was almost empty.

The dapper man looked at her closely. “I believe that you spilled a bit on your dress.”

“I did?” She blinked and stared at him with half-opened eyes.

There was a blue porcelain pitcher on the dresser behind him. Stafford twisted around in his chair and dipped his napkin into the water. That done, he turned back and began to pat at the spot on her breast where he claimed the spill was. “Hmm, that doesn’t seem to be working,”he told her. “Let me try something.”

He rose and came around the table, moving in very close, startling her.

“I hope you don’t mind,”he continued as he began to undo the top buttons of her dress.

Bridget regained her composure.. “It’s okay. I like it when a man – one certain man -- undresses me.” She giggled for just an instant, remembering her time with Cap.

“And who would that be?”

“C-Cap Lewis, he can undress me any old time he wants.” Her lips curled in a happy smile at the thought. Bridget quickly lost her smile and began to wonder if she was drunk. ‘How could I have said such a thing to a rattler like Forry Stafford?’ she asked herself.

“How about me? Can I undress you?” He opened another button as he spoke.

She shook her head emphatically. “Nope.”

“Why not?”Though he held a grin on his lips, Forry betrayed an exasperated look in his eyes.

“I got a secret,”she whispered drunkenly.

“I know you do. Why are you pretending so hard to be someone called Bridget Kelly?”

“No, that’s not the secret.”

“Then what is?”

She stood, unsteady on her feet, and leaned closer to his ear. “The s-secret is, I don’t like you, don’t like you one li’l’ bit.”

Now Forry drew back, really annoyed. His smile slipped. “I thought that liking the man you're with wouldn't matter to a girl like you,”he said, his tone sneering.

“What'd'ya mean, a girl like me?”

“Tess, Tess, Tess. What do you think you're doing out here? What decent woman would host a card table? I've heard of women running a game before – but they were always whores.” He smiled lewdly and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, hard enough that it hurt her. “That's all right with me, though; I get along just fine with whores.”

Bridget pushed him away and shook her head. “Don't call me names! You d-don't know anything about me!”

He scoffed. “I know that you're nothing but the daughter of a no-account Irish sergeant. You're putting on airs now, but you were no more than an army brat. You'll dance with a man for a fifty-cent ticket. I wonder how much you charge for going to bed with him.” Forry sneered. “A fair bit, I’ll wager. I hear you made a small fortune off the men that played that big poker game here a few weeks ago.”

“I was in that game. In fact, I was the big… the big wuh- winner.”

He tossed his head. “That's not the way a woman wins. I can make you a big winner again tonight, but in the right way for a woman.” He pressed in on her, shifted his grip to her bare shoulders, and then tried to kiss her.

“Uhhhmmm!” Forry Stafford's lips on hers? Unbelievable!

Shocked, Bridget fell completely out of her role of cozying up to him. “Let me go, you stinking bastard!”

Her words were like a lash. Forry's lascivious hands suddenly became cold claws, digging into her flesh.
“What did you call me?”

“I called you a stinking --”she hiccupped -- “b-bastard.” She tried to shake herself out of his grip. “Let me go!”

“I'm not used to being called names by any dirty-mouthed slut,”he growled.

She managed to slip out of his grip and braced herself, as best she could, against his next attack. Her eyes flashed like green fire. “Since when? That's the only kind of girl who'd ever put up with you back in the army.”

His hand flashed, striking her cheek -- hard. Bridget cried out in surprise, grabbed her stinging face, and almost slipped from the chair, alarmed by the brutal evidence of his much greater strength.

“You bastard,”she repeated, anger burning the alcohol out of her. She tried to slap his face, but her grabbed her wrist and forced her arm around behind her back.

He laughed. “You bragged you always pay your debts. You owe me a little something for supper, Tess. You’re white trash, but you were always so beautiful. I've wanted you since I first saw you at the post in Texas. You only had eyes for that weasel, Brian Kelly, back then, and it made me hate both of you.”

“You scum! You're even worse than I remembered you.”

He pulled her in close, twisting her arm enough to make her cry out. “I don't care what you think of me; it isn't as bad as what I think of you.”

“My father taught me to take what I wanted, and I mean to have you, Tess Cassidy or Bridget Kelly or whatever phony name whores like you travel under. When I brought you up here, I was hoping I could have your pretty ass for a gold eagle, but you weren't nice about it. Now I’m not paying out anything more than the cost of that meal we just ate.”

He pressed her right arm hard into the small of her back. His other hand seized her left wrist and forced her arm down to her side.

“Let me --”she started to say, but he silenced her with a fierce kiss.

The young woman tried to bite him, but he twisted her captive arm. “Do that again,”he threatened, “and I’ll break it off, so help me. Understand?”

His grip hurt so much Bridget forced herself to stop struggling, thinking he might do exactly as he threatened.

“Good,”Forry told her when she nodded in agreement. He kissed her again, forcing his tongue into her mouth, a thing so repulsive it made her gag. She squirmed in his arms, trying to break free.

He ended the kiss and his eyes traveled around the room until he saw what he wanted. “That’ll do.” He let go of her left wrist just long enough to yank a necktie off the dresser. He quickly took hold of the wrist again and wrestled it behind her. A few hurried moves, a second necktie, and her two arms were bound together.

“You dirty… untie me!” Bridget yelled and twisted, but, try as she might, she couldn’t pull either arm free.

Stafford laughed as he watched her struggle. “I will… after I’m… after we’re done.” He grabbed the two sides of her partially opened dress and yanked them apart. Buttons popped, as the dress was now opened to the waist. He pushed it down off her shoulders and as far down both of her arms as it would go, far enough to truss up her arms even more.

“Very nice,”he said in a low voice, as he gazed at her breasts heaving in fear inside her pale blue corset and white camisole. “Very nice, indeed.”

Fright had forced her pride out of the way. “Help,”she howled. “Anyone, help me!”

He grabbed a towel that was set on the dresser top next to the pitcher. “The door and walls are too thick for anyone downstairs to hear, especially with that racket from the dancers. Still…”

He twisted the towel into a narrow length and shoved a portion into her mouth. Tying the ends of the improvised gag behind her head, he continued, “We won’t be sharing any more kisses – more’s the pity – but there’ll be an end to those annoying screams. Afterwards -- well, I’m going to do you so good that you’ll be showering me with kisses.”

He pushed her backwards, so that she fell onto the bed. He tried to rip open the corset, but the hooks held tight. With a curse, he began to open them one by one. She still tried to fight, but bound and gagged as she was, it didn’t do any good. He tugged at the open corset, pulled it from under her, and tossed it to the floor.

“Lovely, my dear,”he told her, “absolutely ravishing. A man could do absolutely anything to a body like yours and who could blame him?” He sat down on her legs, holding them in place. The bow at the neckline of her camisole was tied low, just above her breasts. With surprising care, he untied the bow. Once that was done, he tugged at the neckline, lowering it even more until her breasts were fully revealed.

Forry felt his heart beating in his chest. The night hadn't gone like he'd intended. ‘I didn’t plan to get so rough with this bitch,’ he told himself. ‘I didn’t think I’d need to, not with her kind.’ He looked down at the Irish beauty. ‘She looks mad as all hell, but…’

Bridget looked like she would kill him without a second thought, but, whether from fear or excitement, her nipples were erect, pointing straight up at him. ‘Just begging to be played with,’ Forry thought.

“That's more like it. You do like it rough,”he told her with a chuckle. “Well, I’m glad to oblige.” He leaned over and put his face into the space between her two breasts. “Boowaaah!”he mumbled, shaking his head back and forth, vibrating his lips against her tender flesh and inhaling her exquisite, female scent.

He thought that he could even smell a bit of the sweetness of feminine arousal. He moved his head towards her right breast, alternating between kisses and small nips, stopping at one point to suck, leaving a bright, purple love bite on her creamy white skin. At the same time, the fingers of his right hand were spider walking across her left breast, skimming on the surface, creating a maddening, tickling sensation. His lips reached her nipple, and he took it into his mouth, suckling like a hungry calf. Bridget gasped at what she was feeling; it was like a ghastly mockery of what she had enjoyed with Cap.

In spite of herself, she gave a small moan of pleasure, inhaling to fill her breathless lungs at the same time. She instinctively knew that she must act quickly if she had any chance of stopping him. She tugged as best as she could at the material binding her arms. At the same time, she rolled her head back and forth, trying to loosen the restraint in her mouth.

Nothing worked.

“This has been fun,”he said, sitting up, “but let’s get on to the main event. I've been waiting for this since 1861, and that's too long.” He stared at her intently. “How did you stay so young-looking? You must be thirty by now.” Shrugging, he began to roughly knead her left breast, his thumb playing with her nipple. At the same time, his other hand snaked down and grabbed onto the hem of her dress. He pulled it to where he was sitting, holding down her upper legs. Suddenly, he stood, just enough to slide it under him and up almost to her waist. He sat back on her legs before she could wriggle away.

Bridget’s green petticoat was now revealed. “Seems almost a shame, but time’s a-wasting.” He took his greasy steak knife from its place on the table and slashed at the flimsy garment, shredding the front of it. “Don’t move,”he warned her. “I’d hate to cut those pretty legs of yours.”

His prisoner froze in place. She looked into his gray eyes for any sigh of mercy, but found none. He looked as happy as a miner who’d been looking for color all his days… and had finally discovered it.

Forry still held the knife as he reached down with his other hand for the bow that held her drawers tight at her waist. He played with the ribbon for a moment before a quick yank undid the bow. “Raise that pretty ass of yours, Tess,”he mocked.

She stared at the blade still in his hand. She felt like she was standing at the edge of a cliff. Stafford was behind her, pushing her forward. She was afraid of the knife, and so raised herself a few inches off the bed.

The edge of that cliff loomed before her. He grabbed her drawers with his free hand and moved them down off her hips. She trembled as she felt his hand sliding the soft muslin down her legs. Then, with a “Ha!”of triumph, he had them off and waved them like a signal flag for one instant before tossing them away.

Forry dropped the knife and slipped his suspenders off his shoulders. He hurried with the buttons on his pants and left the trousers fall to the floor, stepping out of them and his shoes in one practiced motion. Bridget couldn’t help but stare at the bulge in the crotch of his gray union suit. He smiled when he saw her looking with eyes so wide. “So, you do want it after all,”he said with a laugh, “Eh, Miss High-and-Mighty. Looks like this Cap Lewis fellow isn’t the only one you like to have undressing you.”

‘Cap,’ she shuddered at his name. ‘Oh Lord, what was he going to do when he found out about this?' She felt herself leaping out from the cliff, but there was nothing on the other side, and she knew that her hopes for a future with him were as good as dead. No man could forgive a woman for something like this.

Stafford climbed up onto the bed and positioned himself between her legs. She was barely aroused, and it hurt when he entered her, and worse when he penetrated very deeply. He was like a famished man. He didn’t wait but began at once to thrust in and out.

She tried to bear his attack by pretending she was with Cap. It almost worked. Feminine passion from his lustful attack overcame her resistance. Tears rolled down her cheeks, as her arousal pushed her higher and higher. “Cap!”she cried, and she bucked her hips and moaned though the towel.

She felt – no, don’t! – felt him spurt into her, and it was the trigger for a rush of horrifying rapture. In her mind’s eye, she saw Cap’s face contorted in anger and disgust at what she was doing. Her eyes flooded with tears, even as her body convulsed in a carnal frenzy that she hadn't known was there and didn’t understand.

* * * * *

“Hey, Molly,”Fred Norman asked, “you got any ideas when Bridget’s gonna start her game?”

Molly shook her head. “She went out t’dinner with that Stafford fella that’s been coming in here t’ play cards the last few days.”

“Damn, she could be gone for hours yet.”

“I don’t think so, she --” Molly stopped at the sound of the batwing doors clacking into the wall as they flew open. Bridget had burst into the saloon. She stood panting, her eyes wide. Her dress was in disarray, the top hanging down from the back at her waist, and shreds of green cloth visible on the floor beneath her.

Her corset was gone, and… Molly gasped. “Oh, Sweet Lord, Bridget, yuir…” Her voice trailed off. Bridget’s camisole was pulled wide at the collar, so that one of her breasts was fully revealed.

Bridget looked down. With the weak scream of a badly injured beast, her hands flew to cover herself. Without another word, she bolted for the stairs, running up them two at a time.

Molly hurried after her. By the time she reached the second floor, Bridget was in her room and the door was locked. “Bridget,”Molly yelled through the door, “what happened?”

“G-go away!”

“I’ll not be going. Lemme in… please.”

“No, I-I don’t want to talk, not to you, n-not to anybody.”

“Maybe ye don’t want t’be talking, but ye need to, I’m thinking.”

“I don't…want you to ….see me, M-Molly.” Bridget’s voice broke. “G-go duh… downstairs. Let me die if I want to.” Her voice broke completely, and Molly only heard loud sobbing.

Molly tried coaxing, tried knocking. All that happened was that the sobbing grew louder. “All right, then, Bridget. Ye get some rest, and maybe we can be talking in the morning.” She turned and started for the stairs, her own eyes filled with tears. “Lord, let it not be what I think it is,”she whispered to herself.

* * * * *

Saturday, April 20, 1872

Bridget’s hands trembled as she tried to shuffle the cards. There were only a few men in the saloon, drinking and waiting for Maggie and Jane to bring out the Free Lunch. “Get ahold of yourself, girl,”she hissed in a sharp whisper. “You can’t play poker if you can’t even handle the damned cards.” No one seemed interested in playing cards with her at the moment – which was just as well.

“Want some coffee?”Jessie asked, sitting down across from her. “You look like you could use something t’steady your nerves.” The singer was burning with questions, but the strange look in her friend’s eyes told her that Bridget might fly off the handle if she asked the wrong one.

Bridget shook her head. “It’ll take something a lot stronger than coffee.” She chuckled, and it was the most disturbing chuckle that Jessie had ever heard. “Except I never could handle the stuff strong enough for what I need.”

“Maybe I’d better get you some of that stronger stuff, anyways,”Jessie said, pointing behind Bridget and towards the swinging doors of the saloon.

Bridget turned to see Forry Stafford walking towards her. He had a package wrapped in white paper under his arm. Bridget felt her heart rising in her chest. Why did she want to sink under the table and hide? Had that man turned her into a coward? ‘Calm,’ she told herself, ‘keep calm. You can find the right chance to kill him in just a little while.’

“Good morning, ladies,”he greeted the saloon girls in a chipper voice.

Bridget scowled up at him. “What brings you over here, Mr. Stafford?” She was holding her clenched fists under the table; they were shaking so hard. She fought to keep her teeth from chattering.

“I came over to make amends for last night.” He set his package down on the table.

“What’s in the package?”the lady gambler asked, her jaw clenched.

He pulled out a knife and opened the blade. Bridget flinched, remembering his threat with the knife the night before. In one quick movement, he cut the string around the package and opened it. “Your corset and your… drawers, of course.” He held the garments up one at a time. Bridget could hear murmurs from the men in the room, as he set them down. They’d seen what he had held.

“You left them in my room last night,”he said in a confident voice, one that she was sure everyone in the room could hear. “I thought to return them, as well as to pay for the mending of the other garments that we, ah… damaged in our exertions.” He fumbled in his pocket. “Will five dollars be enough?”

Jessie glared at the man. “You devil! We know what you did. You ain’t got enough money t’pay for --”

“Let be, Jessie,”Bridget said with a sigh, her anger giving way to humiliation. “Yes, five will do; just go away.”

“Glad to oblige a lady.” Forry tossed a coin onto the table.

Bridget looked at the ten dollar gold eagle. “I thought you said five dollars.”

“I did,”he said loudly. “Five dollars for the repairs and another five as payment for your… time.” He chuckled, tipped his hat, and walked away before either woman could react.

Jessie growled. “If I ever wanted my six-guns, I want them now.”

Bridget just sat there, sobbing too hard to even watch her destroyer leave.

* * * * *

Hedley Spaulding opened the back door just as Arnie knocked. “I thought I heard someone on the porch,”he said by way of explanation. “Good morning, Annie.”

“Don’t you believe it, Annie,”Clara called from her place at the table. “He’s been glancing out the window every five minutes, watching for you.”

“I have not,”he said indignantly. “Well, maybe I was, but only because I’m anxious to… to start our Spanish lessons.”

Mrs. Spaulding came in from the other room. “Whatever the reason, those lessons can wait until after I deal with the laundry and we all have some lunch.” She looked critically at Arnie. “You did remember that we planned on starting those lessons, didn’t you, Annie?”

“Si… yes, I did. Why do you ask?”

The woman frowned. “Your clothes. I’m sure that they are all well and good for delivering laundry, but I, for one, believe that a teacher should be dressed like a teacher… in a dress if she is a woman.”

“Oh, Mama,”Clara replied, “if it bothers you that much, she can borrow one of mine for our lesson.” She turned her chair so that she was looking straight at her friend. “You don’t mind, do you, Annie?”

Did she have to? Yes, she supposed that she did. “No, your dress will be fine.”

“Why don’t you change as soon as soon as you and Mother settle up for the laundry?”Hedley suggested. “That would make our lunch much more festive.”

* * * * *

Dell Cooper was sitting on a bench on the boardwalk in front of the Lone Star when Carl Osbourne rode by. Carl saw him and eased his horse over. “I talked to my sister. She said you’ve been behaving yourself like I told you to.”

“Nobody tells me what t’do,”Dell spat the words. “Least of all you, cowboy.”

“You can do whatever you want, Cooper, so long as you don’t want to give my sister any sort of trouble.” Carl glared at the other man. “You do, and you’ll answer to me for it. Understand?”

The Texan frowned. His hand started down for his pistol, until he remembered that, as per Mr. Stafford’s orders, it was stored upstairs in the room he shared with Leland Saunders. “I understand,”he said with disgust.

“Good, see that you do.” He turned his horse and headed down the street. He didn’t see Cooper hawk a wad of chewing tobacco onto the street before he ran inside for his weapon.

Ten minutes later, Dell was standing in the shadows, when he saw Carl come out of the bank, a well-packed saddlebag slung over his shoulder. He saw Carl attach the bag to his saddle, mount up, and head out of town on the road that, Cooper knew, led to the Slocum ranch.

“This just got a whole lot more interesting,”he said with a nasty chuckle, as he headed for Ritter’s Livery.

* * * * *

Wilma stood just inside the doors of the saloon and looked around. “Now where the – oh, there she is.” She started towards a table near the Free Lunch where Bridget was sitting with Molly and Jessie.

Jessie stood up and hurried over to her sister’s side. “Don’t go over there.”

“Why? What’s the matter? I been waiting all morning for Bridget t'come by the house and tell me how things went last night.”

“Bridget’s too upset to talk to you right now.”

“What’s she got to be upset about?” She thought for a moment. “Did something happen last night, when she --”

“He raped her, Wilma. That son of a bitch raped her.” She took a breath. “Then, just to make things worse, he came over here this morning.”

Wilma’s hands balled into fists. “He’d better have apologized for what he done.”

“Apologize?” Jessie gave a harsh laugh. “This is Forry Stafford we’re talking about. He brought back the clothes she left when she ran outta his room – showed them t’everybody like they was some kinda trophy. “

“So the whole town knows he raped her. Good! When’s the trial, or….” She grinned, showing her teeth. “…are they just gonna lynch the SOB?”

“They ain’t gonna do neither. Bridget hasn't said anything to anybody. We all know what must have happened, but she won't admit it.”

“Why the hell won't she file charges?”

“When Stafford finally gave her back her clothes, he paid her for what he done – and said he was paying, in a loud voice so everyone could hear him.”

“So what? Folks around here know Bridget. They know she ain’t a whore.”

“Some of ‘em believe it; some of ‘em don’t. The problem is, she probably half-believes it herself. She won’t talk t’nobody about it, including Paul or the sheriff.”

Wilma clenched her small fists again. “I’ll… I’ll kill that bastard myself.” Her face was wild with fury. “I’ll cut off his slimy prick and shove it down his throat till he chokes on it.”

Bridget looked up at her friends. “That’s the fuh-first time I ever heard you say s-something nasty about a man’s… private parts, Wilma.” Her voice sounded strained. “But don't… drag this out into the l-light. Let people for-forget about it.” She began to sob. Molly leaned over and put an arm around her.

“The hell I will.” Wilma pulled a chair over next to Bridget and sat down. “Jess, can you send word over to the Lady that I ain’t gonna be back for a while?” She took her best friend’s hand in her own. “I got me something important t’take care of.”

* * * * *

Arnie glanced at the opened book. “You never told me how far you all had gotten in your lessons before… before they stopped. Clara seems to know a lot of Spanish already.”

“My sister is one of those people who reads a textbook from cover to cover before the class even starts,”Hedley told her with a grin. “I, on the other hand, barely crack the book after class starts. This time, however, I plan to give the class -- and our lovely teacher – my undivided attention.” He smiled again and gave her a wink.

Arnie felt a warmth run across her face. She looked away, not quite able to meet his eyes. Only, this time it wasn’t the embarrassment of being seen dressed like a girl. It was the odd fact that, somehow, she liked that he wanted to look at her.

What was the matter with her? She was Arnoldo Diaz, a boy. She didn't want to start liking things like that.

* * * * *

Carl’s horse came around the turn in the road. The trees were getting sparse. ‘Bout fifteen minutes to the ranch,’ he thought.

A sudden pressure hit him in the chest, pushing him back, off his mount. He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him.

“That old rope trick still works,”a gruff voice said behind him. “Just like in the War.” Carl, lying there on his face, heard the click of a pistol’s hammer being pulled back. “Roll over onto your belly.”

Carl braced for the bullet. “Why, so you shoot me in the back?”

“Nope.” Whoever it was, he was right behind Carl. “What I got planned f’you’s gonna be more fun than just plugging you.”

Carl rolled over and started to stand up, A moment later, he felt a sharp blow to the back of the head. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

* * * * *

Jubal Cates stood in the middle of a clearing, carefully holding a long, marked pole in an upright position. He glanced up at the sun before he looked at his pocket watch. “It’s almost 5 PM, Emma. Do you have the reading?”

“Yes, sir.” Emma had been looking at the pole through a sort of telescope set on a tripod.

“Then write it down, and we’ll pack up. I promised your mother that I’d have you home in time for supper.” He chuckled. “I promised my Naomi that I’d be home in time for supper, too.”

Emma wrote the numbers from the theodolite, the device she’d been using, in a small notebook that was attached to the theodolite by a short chain. “How’d I do today?”

“Very well, so don’t worry. You can tell your parents that you have the job.”

She broke into an ecstatic smile. “Oh, thank you, sir.” She ran over and hugged him in gratitude.

“That’ll be enough of that, young lady. From the hug you just gave me, I think you’re strong enough that you can carry the gear over to where we parked the wagon.”

* * * * *

Carl felt the splash of water on his face. “You all right?”a deep voice asked. “We got worried and come looking for you.”

“I’m glad you did,”Carl groaned, slowly opening his eyes. He stared up at the dark face of Luke Freeman, his foreman. “Somebody hit – the payroll, is it safe?” He turned his head to look for his horse, groaning at the sharp pain he felt.

Red Tully was standing next to Carl’s mount. The saddlebag was still there. Red opened it and looked in. “It may be safe,”he announced, “but it ain’t in here.” He reached in and searched with his hand. “Wait a minute. There is something.”

“What is it?”Abner Slocum asked, looking down from his own horse.

Red pulled out a small stack of bills. “Some money and… a note.” He took a folded sheet of paper out from the band around the cash and read. “Carl, sorry I had to put that big bump on your head. Meet me in town tonight to get your full split.”

“That’s a damned lie, Mr. Slocum.” Carl jumped to his feet. “I swear it is.” He reeled, his hand clutching the welt where he had been struck. Luke grabbed him, to keep him from falling.

Slocum nodded. “I’m inclined to agree, Carl. You’re a good man, but, I must warn you, I’ll have to show this note to the sheriff when I talk to him.” He took a breath. “After we have the Doc take a look at that goose egg on your head.”

* * * * *

Molly looked up at the clock. “‘Tis, 8 o’clock, Love. Ye’d best be starting the dance.”

“I know,”Shamus said with a tinge of sadness in his voice. “I was just hoping thuir’d be a few more people here.”

She looked around the room. “Aye, thuir’s maybe half as many as we usually get, but we can’t be keeping them waiting, them that did show up. Besides…”Molly glanced over to the chairs where the ladies were sitting, waiting to be asked. “…Bridget looks ready t’bolt, and the longer she sits thuir, the more likely she’ll be running for the stairs.”

He shook his head. “Maybe ye should have let her stay in her room. It ain’t like we got us a mob waiting t’be dancing with her tonight.” He sighed. “Maybe, for this size crowd, we don’t need as many women for them t’be dancing with.”

“Maybe, but if I was t’pick one t’be sending home, it’d be Laura. Poor Bridget was talking like she wasn’t worth spit ‘cause of what happened to her. Small as the crowd is tonight, thuir’ll still be men lining up that want t’dance with her, and that should help her feel better.”

* * * * *

Carl lay down on the cot in his cell. He flinched as the back of his head touched the pillow. Even with the bandaging Doc Upshaw had put on it, the lump was still tender.

“Might as well get up, Carl,”Sheriff Talbot said, walking over to the cell.

The prisoner sat up. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Abner Slocum walked into view. “He’s letting you out.”

Carl started. “Mr. Slocum, what’s going on?”

“I’m not about to leave you in there, Carl. I know you didn’t do it, and I told Judge Humphreys that I wasn’t pressing charges. He said that there still had to be a trial because so much money was taken – Dwight Albertson insisted, but, even so, the Judge didn’t see why you had to be in jail till then.”

Luke Freeman joined the others. “Mr. Slocum, he done paid your bail.”

“Thanks, Mr. Slocum. I’ll pay back every penny, I swear it.” Carl watched the sheriff unlock the cell door. Once it was open, he walked out as quickly as he could. Damn! What a headache.

“You just be here for that trial, son. You do that, and I get my money back.”

The black foreman chuckled. “If’n you don’t, we’ll hunt you down like a dog ‘n’ take it outta your hide, you just see if we don’t.”

* * * * *

“I believe this dance is mine.”

Bridget trembled at the voice. She looked up from staring at her shoes and saw…”Stafford?”

“Indeed,”he answered glibly. “Once again I get to pay for the use of your body, even if it is a more public use.” He reached out and touched her forehead with a finger. “Perhaps…” He slid the finger down her face. “…we can negotiate terms for a more private use while we’re on the dance floor. I'm surprised you haven't suggested that yourself already.”

Bridget bolted to her feet. “Never!” Her eyes filled with tears as she ran for the stairs.

“You!” R.J. jumped over the bar and made for Stafford. He was carrying the knife that he sometimes used to slice fruit for fancy drinks.

Shamus leaped in front of him, grabbing the arm with the blade. “Ye’d best be leaving me saloon, mister. I don’t know how long I can be holding R.J. back. For that matter, I don’t know how long I want t’be holding him back.”

“I’ll go,”Stafford sneered. “You people are no better than she is, you know. After all, no decent people would care what happened to a whore like her.”

* * * * *

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change – Spring, part 4 of 13
By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson © 2014

Sunday, April 21, 1872

“Arnoldo,” Teresa hissed, “you are walking too fast.”

Her mother was holding onto her right arm, as they walked. “I am sorry, Mama.” She slowed her pace. “Is this better?”

“Si, fine.” The woman smiled. “I suppose that I should be happy that you are in such a hurry to get to church.”

“I’m just happy that I don’t have to push you in that wheelchair anymore.”

“Why, was I so heavy?”

“Of course not; I am glad because you do not need the chair anymore.”

“So am I. It is good to get around on my own two feet again.” She chuckled. “I will even be happy to pull that heavy laundry wagon around again.”

“And I will be happy to see you pulling it.”

“What will you do then, when I am back at work?”

Arnie shrugged. “I don’t know, give the Spauldings their Spanish lessons, I suppose.”

“That is only a few hours a week. You cannot just sit around the rest of the time. As your papa used to say, ‘The lazy man is brother to the beggar.’ I do not want that for you.”

“We can talk about such things later. We are almost at the church.” The young woman looked around nervously.

“What is the matter, Dulcita? Who are you looking for?”

“Pablo and his friends, I do not need to be teased for wearing this pretty dress.”

Teresa glanced at the churchyard. “I don’t see them, but I do see Father de Castro. You can relax. They won’t try anything with him watching.” She pointedly ignored the way Arnie had just described her dress, as the priest walked over to greet them.

* * * * *

“What’re you grinning about, Dell?” Forry Stafford asked his hireling. They were standing in the hall outside their rooms on the second floor of the Lone Star, ready to go down for breakfast.

Dell Cooper wouldn’t meet his boss’s eyes. “Nothing, Mr. Stafford, sir.”

“Bullshit,” Stafford spat. “What is it? Tell me, right now.”

Dell sighed. “I got that man I told you about, got him good.”

“What did you do, and who did you do it to? I don’t need people asking questions.”

“That cowhand you saw the other day, the one that all but called me out just ‘cause I been paying attention to his sister, the schoolmarm.”

Leland Saunders gave a quick laugh. “Trying t’get into her drawers, you mean. You have any luck?”

“Not yet,” Dell said with a nasty smirk, “but I expect to, now that her brother’s in jail.”

Forry sighed. Cooper was up to something. “And just why would he be in jail?”

“‘Cause he stole the money he was supposed t’be taking out to that Mr. Slocum’s ranch – or, at least, they think he did. I used that trick with the rope, the one we used against blue belly riders back in the War, t’knock him off his horse. Then I snuck up behind him and knocked him out. He musta had close to $400 in his saddlebag.”

Leland whistled in admiration. Stafford just glared at the other man. “Where is it now?” Forry asked.

“Most of it’s in the bottom of my valise. I left some in his saddlebag with a note t’make it look like he was in on the job.”

Forry glowered at his employee. “You stupid son of a bitch. If you’ve screwed things up for me in any way, getting turned over to the sheriff for trial will be the least of your worries.” His hand shot up and around Dell’s neck, forcing him back against the wall. “Understand?”

“Y-yes, sir, Mr…. Mr. Stafford, sir. Anyway, I -- I was always intending to divvy it up.”

Forry let him go. “Fine, bring me the money, so I can find a proper hiding place for it. The last thing we need is for that barman’s daughter to turn it up it when she cleans.”

“Yes, sir.” Dell hurried into the room he shared with Saunders, returning less than a minute later with a cloth satchel holding the cash.

His employer took the bag. “You two go down to get breakfast. I’ll be along momentarily.” He stood for a moment and watched them head for the stairs before he went into his own room. “Not a bad profit,” he whispered, hefting the Gladstone. “I may even give that idiot, Cooper, some of it back when we’re done here.”

* * * * *

“This Wednesday night,” Reverend Yingling began, “I shall be appearing before the town council, requesting that they vest control of Shamus O’Toole’s transformative potion in more responsible – more moral hands. In this effort, I am most pleased to say, I have the support of our church board and, more importantly, of this congregation. Like Gideon’s band, we are small in number, but we are rich in the spirit of our Lord.”

“Many of you have shown your support for my efforts by signing the petition that Horace Styron prepared.” He paused. “Horace if you would please.”

Styron stood up. “It was my honor to help, Reverend.” He waved and sat down.

“At this time, I must also thank Mrs. Cecilia Ritter, who worked so hard to ensure that as many people as possible were able to sign.”

Cecelia got to her feet. “I’m always ready to help in a noble cause.”

“Ah, yes, and that help is appreciated, Cecelia,” Yingling said, motioning for her to sit. “But we are not done yet. I know how busy you all are, but I would ask that those of you who can be there at the council meeting join with me. Let the men of the town council that you are serious in this matter.”

Mrs. Ritter hadn’t sat down. “We’re with you, Reverend Yingling,” she shouted. “Anyone who isn’t there has no right to call themselves a member of this congregation.” She suddenly burst into song. “Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war, with the cross of Jesus going on before.”

“Christ, the royal Master, leads against the foe;” Lavinia Mackechnie and Zenobia Carson rose to join Cecelia. Before Yingling or anyone else could stop them, much of the congregation was singing along. The reverend watched for a moment, looking surprised, before he smiled broadly and added his own deep, basso voice to the impromptu chorus.

* * * * *

“Good evening, Mr. O’Toole,” Ethan said in a cheery voice.

Shamus nodded at the man. “And the same t’ye, Mr. Thomas. What ye be having t’night?”

“Supper, first, I think. Then, I shall be wrapping ‘The Three Fates’ for shipping. I was wondering, though, if I might keep the painting here until morning. I find that the freight office is closed, alas, and your establishment is much closer than my studio.”

“O’course, ye can. The ladies are welcome t’be spending the night in me office.”

Before Ethan could answer, Jane hurried over from the kitchen. “You won’t have t’pack ‘em up, Ethan. I decided t’buy that painting m’self. We can go over to the bank tomorrow t’get the money, and you can move it up t’my room.”

“I’m sorry, Jane, but it’s not for sale.”

She pouted prettily. “But I got the money. I got lotsa money, just ask Shamus.”

“She does,” Shamus answered, scowling at the woman. “And she shouldn’t be wasting it on buying paintings and such.” He turned to look at Ethan. “I’d be saying that about any painting she wanted t’be buying, Ethan. I don’t mean nothing against yuir three ladies.”

Ethan looked gravely at Shamus. “I understand, Mr. O’Toole, and no offense is taken. Your generous payment for my portraits of Jessie and your wife, Molly, is obvious proof of your appreciation for my talents.”

“You are a lovely woman, Jane,” Ethan continued, “and it was a pleasure to have you as a model, but, as I said, ‘The Three Fates’ is not for sale at this time.”

Jane looked as if he had suddenly stuck her. “Why not; when I talked to you about buying it before, you never said nothing like you wouldn’t let me buy it.”

“If I did anything to lead you to think that it was available, I must apologize, but I must also repeat that it is most emphatically not for sale.”

“But --”

Shamus gently put his hand on her arm. “I don’t think it’s worth ye wasting yuir breath, Jane. The man ain’t budging. Besides, thuir’s three tables o’people over there…” He pointed to the tables of Maggie’s restaurant. “…waiting for thuir supper. Should n’t ye be in the kitchen helping Maggie t’be cooking it?”

She looked nonplussed. “Y-yes, but…” Her voice trailed off.

“Please go and cook, Jane,” the artist told her. “I’ve no wish to argue this matter any further, and I do look forward to once again sampling your excellent cuisine.”

She sighed. “Well, thanks for that, at least.” Without another word, she turned and walked slowly back to the kitchen.

* * * * *

Molly knocked on the door to Bridget’s room. “Who’s there?” came a voice from inside.

“‘Tis me, Molly. Can I be coming in?”

“Go… go away.”

“Please.”

Molly heard a sigh – or was it a sob – “Oh, all right, come in.”

“What… what do you want, Molly?” Bridget asked. She was sitting on the edge of her bed. Her dark blue dress was unbuttoned almost down to her waist.

“Thuir’s men downstairs waiting t’be playing poker with ye. I come t’see why ye’re still up here.”

“I-I spilled some of Maggie’s stew on my dress. I came up to change.”

“Aye, ye did, but ye’ve been up here the better part of an hour, and ye’re still wearing the dress ye came up here t’be changing.”

Bridget sighed heavily and stared down at her feet. “Why change? Nobody cares about me or how I look.”

“Now why are ye saying something like that? Of course, people care.”

“Why should they? I know how people think about women like me.” She sniffed, trying to hold back the tears she felt swelling in her eyes. “To them I’m just a… a wo-worthless... whore!” She gave a great sigh, buried her face in her hands, and wept loudly, her body shaking with grief. “Ask anybody.”

Molly hurried over. She sat down next to the crying woman and hugged her fiercely. “That ain’t true, and ye know it. Ye’ve lotsa friends hereabouts, and Cap, he loves --”

“Don’t say it. Please. How can he love me after what I’ve done?”

“What that spauleen, Stafford, did to ye, don’t ye mean?”

“No… I… he – oh, Lord, Molly, Cap’ll hate me.”

“That ain’t true, neither. Ye just wait till he gets back from Prescott.”

“I hope he never gets back, and… and if he does, I’ll just stay up here, so I can’t see his face when he finds out, so I won’t see the disgust in his eyes.”

“There won’t be none of that in his eyes – not for ye, at least, though I wouldn’t want t’be Stafford when Cap finds out. He loves ye, ye’ll see.”

“No, no I won’t. I won’t see him. I don’t want to see him – I don’t want to see anybody.”

“Ye ain’t serious about that. How could ye be playing poker if ye feel that way?”

“Maybe I don’t want to play poker. Maybe I just want to stay up here.” She took a breath. “Forever.”

Molly shook her head. “Not forever, surely, but I’m thinking that ye won’t be playing poker with them men downstairs tonight. Do ye want me t’be staying here with ye, or can I go tell ‘em?”

“Go ahead. I guess I owe them that much.”

“Spoken like the lady ye truly are. I’ll tell ‘em, and then I’ll be back. I’ll bring some nice tea, and we can sit and talk for as long as ye want.”

Molly stood up, but before she left, she gently kissed Bridget on the forehead, as she might her own daughter.

* * * * *

Jane was sitting at the bar, waiting to see if anyone wanted a drink. “Hey, there, Milt,” she greeted the man when he came close. “What brings you in tonight?”

“I realized how long it had been since I saw you last,” he answered, grinning at her, “and I decided that it was too long.”

Jane chuckled. “It’s no wonder you win all your cases, when you can say things like that.” She kissed his cheek. “And thanks for coming, I needed something t’smile about tonight.”

“Really, is something the matter?”

“Yeah, that painter, Ethan Thomas, came over t’pack up that painting he done of me and Laura. He’s shipping it off on the morning stage.” She frowned. “I told him I wanted to buy it, and he wouldn’t sell it to me.”

“He… he wouldn’t? What exactly did he say when you asked him?”

“Nothing much, just that it wasn’t for sale. I don’t understand. Ain’t he shipping it back east t’sell? Why waste all that money, when I can buy it?”

Milt tugged at his collar. “Perhaps he thinks he can get more for it in New York than he could ask you to pay.”

“New York?” She shook her head. “He told me he was from Philadelphia.”

“Really? I-I must have misunderstood.”

She suddenly brightened. “Hey, I got a idea. Milt, you’re so good with words. How ‘bout you try t’get him t’sell me his painting?”

“I-I don’t… I don’t know if I c-could. He sounds like his m-mind’s set on… shipping it out.”

“Will you, at least, try?” She gave him her best pout. “Please… for me.”

He sighed. “Very well.” Milt looked around. “Is Ethan still here?”

“No, he left ‘bout a half hour ago.”

“Good – I mean, okay. I’ll talk to him tomorrow morning before the stage leaves.” He smiled. “But, as a lawyer, I’m going to have to charge you for doing so.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You lawyers charge for everything. How much is this gonna cost me?”

“Something very dear, I think, a kiss, and not on the cheek.”

“Well… if I have to.” She leaned in close, and their lips met. Milt enjoyed the kiss so much, he almost didn’t feel guilty.

* * * * *

Monday, April 22, 1872

Jane hurried down the street towards the depot. The Monday stage sat next to the platform. From the distance, she could see a few people milling about. ‘Don’t you leave yet,’ she mentally ordered the driver, or whomever that was climbing up onto the seat.

People were still standing and talking as she came closer. She recognized Ethan… and Milt. ‘They’s shaking hand,’ she thought excitedly.

“You done it, Milt,” she called out as she reached the crowd. “You got me my painting.”

Both men turned to face her. “I-I’m afraid not,” the lawyer told her.

“But I saw you ‘n’ him shaking hands, like you just made a deal about something.” She asked, uncertain of what was going on.

“We… uh, we did talk, but he-he wouldn’t sell.” Milt replied. “Yes, that’s it, and I-I shook hands with him to show that… that there were no hard feelings.” He sounded relieved, as he finished.

Ethan stepped forward. “I am sorry, Jane, but I feel that it would be more… profitable to ship the painting back east for display and sale there, more profitable in a number of ways.”

“But I got the cash t’pay you right now,” she protested. “And I’m in the painting. Don’t all that count for nothing?”

The painter shook his head. “Not in this case, I fear.” He looked at a watch connected by a fob to his jacket pocket. “And now, I must bid you adieu. Mr. Lyman will be arriving at my studio shortly, so that I may work on the portrait he has commissioned for his place of business.”

“See you later, then, Ethan,” Milt said. “And thanks… for, uh, listening to my-my offer, anyway.”

Ethan bowed slightly. “The pleasure, I assure you, was entirely mine.” He nodded to Jane. “A very good day to you both.”

* * * * *

As Arnie stepped up onto the back porch, she could see Mrs. Spaulding watching her through the kitchen window. The older woman was frowning.

“Good afternoon, Annie,” Mrs. Spaulding said, opening the door before Arnie could knock.

Arnie tried to smile. “And a good afternoon to you, too, Señora Spaulding.” When the woman didn’t respond, Arnie added, “Is anything wrong?”

“I had hoped that you would take our discussion of appropriate clothing to heart, Annie. The sort of outfit you’re wearing might be the right thing for a laundress, but it is most certainly not the proper attire for an instructor – instructress – of Spanish.”

“May I put these bundles down before I answer?” Arnie hefted the four packages she was carrying. When Mrs. Spaulding nodded, Arnie carefully set them down on the kitchen table. “Most of today, I was a laundress,” Arnie continued.

As she spoke, the young woman separated one package, a bright green “X” on the top, from the others. “And I am a laundress right now, bringing you your clean clothes. She pushed the three packages towards her customer. And that will be $4.44, by the way.”

“I have a dress and petticoat in here.” She lifted the remaining package for a moment. “And when we are finished with this business, I’ll change into them.”

* * * * *

“Enjoying your lunch?” Nancy looked up from her sandwich. That rude man – Dell… Something -- she remembered him now from Ortega’s Grocery, was standing a few feet away from her desk, watching her.

She glanced around quickly. Her students were all outside eating their own meals. “What are you doing here?” She asked him angrily. “I made it clear that I wasn’t interested in you – or your threats. My brother --”

“Your brother told me not t’bother you. I ain’t here t’bother you. I come here t’help you – t’help him, matter of fact – if you’re interested.”

“To help him, what do you mean?”

“I heard ‘bout what happened t’him th’other day.” The man walked around her desk, stopping no more than two or three feet away from her. “Shame on him letting somebody steal all that money.” He gave a nasty chuckle. “‘Course now, some folks are saying that he wasn’t robbed at all. They’re saying that he was in cahoots with whoever got that money now.”

She jumped to her feet, the better to look this scoundrel in the face. “That’s a lie!”

“Maybe it is,” he grinned, “and just maybe it ain’t. They’re gonna have t’find somebody to blame for stealing all that cash, and he’s the one most likely t’get picked.”

Her heart sank. Could this slimy little man be right? Was Carl really in danger of going to prison? “But he didn’t do it. He couldn’t.”

“So you say. Too bad there ain’t nobody around t’back him up.” He gave her a moment to think. “But there could be.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean that I could say that I saw what happened – at a distance, o’course, so I couldn’t do nothing t’stop them men. Yeah, I saw some men stop him, and knock him out, and ride off. I could say that at the – at his trial. And I would, for the right price.”

“But I… Carl and I, we don’t have money, not really.”

“It ain’t your money I want. You come have supper with me t’night over at that rest’rant – what’s it called – oh, yeah, ‘Maggie’s Place.’ You do that t’night, have dinner with me, and act like you like being with me, and t’morrow I’ll go and tell the sheriff, tell the judge, too, if you want, what I said about seeing what happened.”

“H-How do I know I can trust you? It’s against the law to lie under oath.”

“Who says I’ll be lying? You gonna shoot holes in the story that’ll save your brother’s neck? Besides, what’s a man get for lying, a few months, at most? Your brother’s facing five, maybe ten years in prison.”

Nancy closed her eyes. The man was pressing her, not giving her time to think. ‘Carl, why did you have to go back to the ranch, so I can’t ask you what I should do?’ She pictured him smiling, calling her “Nanny Goat,” in that silly, teasing voice of his. Then she pictured him being led away in chains.

“All right,” the words leapt out of her. “I-I’ll do it.” She gave a sad sigh. “I’ll… I’ll have dinner with you.”

He ran a finger down her cheek. “Say it again, Nancy. Say, ‘Why I’ll be very happy to have dinner with you tonight, Dell.’ And smile when you say it.”

Her smile was more of a grimace. “Why, I-I’ll be… happy to have dinner with you tonight… Dell.”

“See how easy that was. I’ll pick you up here at four. That way, we can talk some first, get t’know each other a little bit.”

“F-five would be… better.” A later start meant that she’d have to spend less time with him. “I have papers that I need to correct for tomorrow’s class.”

The man shrugged. “Okay, five.” He gave her a sly smile. “See you then, Nancy… honey.” He kissed a fingertip and touched it to her nose, ignoring her shudder from contact with him. He chuckled and headed for the door.

“‘Scuse me, little gals,” he said, as he walked outside. The “little gals”, Hermione and Lallie had been standing at the door, listening as best they could to what had gone on inside.

They waited until he had rode off before they began to talk. “Who do you think he is?” Lallie asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied. “I never saw him before.” She giggled. “But Miss Osbourne must know him if she’s gonna have supper with him. Wait till I tell my Ma.”

* * * * *

“Annie.” Hedley knocked on Clara’s bedroom door. “Lunch is ready.”

Annie opened the door. “And so am I.” She stepped out wearing the dark green dress she had worn to church the day before. It was still pinned to fit her and displayed her slender, blossoming feminine figure. Without quite knowing why, she’d pack one of her sister Ysabel’s green hair ribbons, and her hair was now tied in a ponytail that draped down onto her left shoulder.

“And well worth any wait.” Hedley gave her his best smile. “May I escort you to the table?” He offered her his arm.

Arnie took it and let his lead her to where his sister and mother were waiting. She couldn’t help from smiling as a pleasant tingle ran through her body. She glanced downward as she took her seat, so they wouldn’t notice the blush she could feel warming her face, especially Hedley – and Clara, of course. She was still smiling after he pushed her in to the table and sat in the chair directly opposite her.

* * * * *

“Mama, Mama,” Hermione yelled, rushing into her mother’s kitchen.

Cecelia Ritter turned away from the stove to face her. “Hermione, where the devil have you been? It’s well after 5 o’clock. You should have been home over an hour ago.”

“I-I’m sorry, but it was important.”

“Really, and what was so important that you couldn’t come home to help me with dinner?” She turned back to the stove just long enough to move the sauce she’d been stirring to a back burner. Away from the direct heat, the sauce would simmer, but it wouldn’t scorch.

“Miss Osbourne… she --”

“What did she do? You weren’t kept after school for misbehaving, were you? I will not be disgraced by you, not when I am doing such important work.”

“I didn’t do noth – didn’t do anything, Mama. Miss Osbourne did.”

That caught Mrs. Ritter’s attention. “Miss Osbourne, now whatever could she have done to make you come home so late?”

“I… Lallie and I, we stayed around the school to see if she was gonna go off with that man.”

“Man, what man are you talking about?” Cecelia Ritter was only too aware of the “good morals” clause in the schoolteacher’s contract.

“I don’t know who he is. But he’s been at the school a couple of times talking to her. He came by today at lunchtime and went straight in to see her -- Miss Osbourne usually eats lunch inside. Lallie and me got curious, so we snuck – we walked up to the door and listened.” The girl studied her mother’s expression. “Was it wrong that we did that?”

“Heavens no; what did they say to each other?”

“We couldn’t hear a lot; they didn’t talk too long, but it sounded like she said she’d love to have dinner with him, and… and that he should come for her at the school at 5. That’s why we stayed around there so long. We wanted to see if he was gonna show up, and if she was gonna go with him.”

“And did he come by for her?”

“He was there, Mama, big as life. He was grinning when he went in – we were in the woods, so they wouldn’t see us. When they came out, it looked like she was smiling, too. She was holding his arm, like you do with Papa when we walk to church.”

Cecelia dropped the spoon she was still holding. “Why that brazen hussy. It’s bad enough that is acting like a… a common who – a common woman, but to flaunt such vulgar behavior in front of two innocent young girls, such as you and Eulalie --”

“Flaunt, Mama? She didn’t even knew we were there.”

“She knew. She just didn’t care. Women like her never do.” The woman stared at her daughter for a moment. “They – she – has no concern for the example she’s setting. I wonder if we should allow such a woman to continue as the teacher of Eerie’s children.” She smiled maliciously. “Yes, perhaps, we should bring our concerns about the lascivious Miss Osbourne to the attention of the town council at tomorrow’s meeting.”

* * * * *

Molly brought an empty pitcher back to the bar. “Ain’t much of a crowd here t’night,” she said to Shamus, as she set it down for him to refill. “Thank heaven them that are here’re a thirsty crew.”

“No, not many at all,” he answered, a bit of sadness creeping into his voice. “And there ain’t likely t’be, not for a while, anyways.”

Molly shook her head. “True enough; thuir’s barely enough audience for Jessie t’be doing her show. And Bridget… I don’t think she’ll be running her game again for a while.” She shook her head, unhappy at the thought of what the lady gambler was going through.

“Not after what that…” He muttered something in Cheyenne. “…Stafford done t’her.”

Molly glanced over to the restaurant tables that Jane and Dolores were clearing. “At least the supper crowd ain’t dropped off.”

“It ain’t another restaurant Sam Duggan’s thrown against me, ‘tis them girls o’his.” He sighed. “And what man ever gets tired of looking at a beautiful woman?” He gently took her hand in his own. “I know that I never do.”

She raised her hand – and his – to her cheek. “Thank ye, Love. ‘Tis a shame he had t’be raising the ante on ye like he done.”

“What d’ye mean, Molly?”

“Ye was the one who was the first t’be filling his saloon with pretty gals. Ye done it when ye agreed t’be watching Wilma and them others after they drank yuir potion. He one-upped ye when he got them dancers in, but…” She paused for effect. “…thuir’s no reason ye can’t be one-upping him.”

He chuckled. “Bring in me own dancing girls, ye mean?” He leaned across the bar and kissed her. “That’s as fine an idea as ye’ve ever had, Molly, me love. I ain’t sure that I’ll do it, but ‘tis surely something worth thinking about.”

* * * * *

‘Finally,’ Nancy Osbourne thought as she walked up the steps to the Carson’s front porch. ‘Any inquisition I suffer through with Mrs. Carson, once I get inside, will be better than what I’ve had to put up with tonight.’

She glanced at Dell Cooper. The man had let go of her hand as they reached the steps. Now that they were on the porch, he took it again. “No, thank you, Mr. Cooper.” She wriggled her hand free from his.

“Dell; I told you t’call me ‘Dell’, Nancy, didn’t I?”

“You did, but now that I am home…” Her voice trailed off. ‘And this evening is thankfully over,’ she added to herself.

“Just ‘cause I brung you back home don’t mean we’re done with each other.” He reached for her hand. When she pulled it away again, he grabbed her by the wrist. “We still got time before you go in.”

“T-Time for what?”

“It’s a purty enough evening. We can sit out here and… talk for a while, hold hands, and just enjoy each other’s company. Same as any other couple.”

She tried to pull free, but he was too strong. “We most certainly are not a couple, and I do not enjoy your company.”

“Then why’d you let me take you out t’dinner.”

“You know why. You forced me.”

“Just tell me how I forced you.”

“You… you told me that, if I had dinner with you, you’d confirm my brother’s story about how he was robbed.”

“That’s right, I did, and I’ll keep my word and go to the sheriff first thing t’morrow morning. If….” He leered at her. “…if you keep your word.”

“I did. I-I dined with you tonight. What more do you --?” She stopped, realizing what she was asking and what he might answer.

“What more do I want? Nancy, there’s a whole lotta things a man wants from a gal like you.” He chuckled. “And some of ‘em need a whole lot more privacy that we got on this here porch.” He ran a finger down the side of her cheek. When she shuddered, he laughed. His finger moved on down her neck before it played with the top button of her dress.

She managed, finally, to pull free and took a quick step back, away from him. “How dare you?”

“I dare all sorts o’things, gal. What do you dare?”

“I’ll dare to get away from you as soon as I can,” she answered quickly.

“Maybe so, but do you dare my going to the sheriff and telling him another story? A story where I saw your precious brother meet up with two men and help them put that money into their saddlebags. After that, one of ‘em tapped him on the head, and they both rode off.”

“You… you wouldn’t?”

“Sure I would. You already know that I’m willing to tell one story. Why shouldn’t I be just as willing to tell another one?”

“But you-you can’t. He didn’t do it.”

“Never? Yep, that’s how often they let men in the territorial prison have visitors, or so I hear.” He stopped, enjoying her horrified reaction. “No, I’m sorry, they let then prisoners have visits every… two months or so.” He studied her for a moment, his glance lingering on her bosom. “You’ll look real purty on visitors’ day.”

Her body slumped in surrender. “All right, a kiss, but a quick one… please.”

“It ain’t really your place t’dicker over how long I take, not with the big favor you're asking.”

He pulled her to him and put his hand under her chin, tilting it upwards. She closed her eyes, not wanting to watch what she was being forced to do. Their lips met. She could smell the garlic from the fish he’d eaten on his breath. His tongue ran along her lip. She refused to part them.

Suddenly, his hands grabbed her buttocks. She gasped in surprise, and his tongue darted into her mouth, seeking her own. She tried to use her own tongue to push his out, but failed. She instinctively wanted to bite him, but was afraid that he'd get violent -- and then go lie about Carl.

He pressed his body against hers and began to roughly knead her derriere. She felt unsteady on her feet and wrapped her arms around him for support.

She suddenly realized what she was doing. “No!” She pushed against him with all her strength.

He laughed; it was a nasty laugh. “Aw, we’re just getting started.” He thought a moment. “I’ll be back for another kiss soon enough.”

“In your dreams,” she said angrily.

“In your own dreams. You can kiss me for telling my story – the right story – to the sheriff. And you can kiss me again when your brother gets off.” He leered at her again. “Matter of fact, after I get him off, you can get me off. Won’t that be fun?”

“I’d sooner die.” She ran for the door. Once she was inside, she slammed it behind her and hurried up to her room to change. She couldn’t throw out the dress she was wearing – she didn’t have the money to replace it. But she wanted it washed – no, fumigated -- before she wore it again.

Zenobia Carson had heard the sound of feet on her front steps. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she saw what looked like a good bit of flirting on Nancy’s part. She saw the apparently not so pure teacher kiss the stranger and let him touch her body in some sort of sexual play.

“I knew it,” she said smugly. “All your pretending to be little miss prim and proper was just so much nonsense. We’ll see to you soon enough, Nancy Osbourne.”

* * * * *
~
Tuesday, April 23, 1872

An editorial from the Eerie, Arizona edition of the Tucson Citizen:

` Consider What You Do, Town Council

` Tomorrow night, the town council of Eerie, Arizona will making
` a very important decision. They’ll be voting on whether or not
` to give Reverend Thaddeus Yingling total control of Mr. Shamus
` O’Toole’s transformative potion.

` I think that they should vote “No.”

` If they vote at all.

` Reverend Yingling is my spiritual advisor. I’ve gone to him for
` guidance on more than one occasion, and I’ve always benefited
` from what he’s told me.

` But there’s a very big difference between giving advice and having
` control. While Reverend Yingling is excellent at doing the first,
` I don’t think that it’s right for him to be doing the second.

` We trusted the men on the town council enough to elect them to their
` office. How can we ask them now to let the Reverend Yingling make
` moral decisions for them -- rather than expect them to rely on
` their own good judgment?

` This is an important question, and it should not be decided lightly. I
` am not saying what the town council should decide, but I am saying
` that their decision should be based on lengthy, deliberate consideration.

` There are those, supporters of the Reverend, who are demanding that
` the decision be made quickly, without consideration and without the
` opportunity for other voices to be heard, other opinions to be con-
` sidered. This is irresponsible.

` There is no pressing need for a final decision to be made. Let the town
` council’s decision this Wednesday night be that the council will take
` the extra time they need to properly consider all of the ramifications
` of what they are being asked to do and to consider the opinions of all
` of the citizens of Eerie before they cast their final vote.

* * * * *

Wilma strode into the Saloon. She stopped and looked around the room before she walked over to where her sister was sitting. “Hey, Jess, how’s it going?”

“Not too bad,” Jessie answered. “Just trying t’learn a new song.” She rested her guitar on her lap. “What brings you over here?”

“I come t’check up on Bridget. Where is she?”

The singer glanced upward. “In her room; seems like she spends most of her time up there these days. Molly practically has t’drag her down here to eat.”

“What about her poker game? She can’t run that from her room.”

“She ain’t running it. As far as I know, she ain’t touched a card since Sunday.”

“Shit!”Wilma spat out the word. “Thanks, Jess. I’ll see you in a bit.”She headed for the steps before her sister even had a chance to wish her luck.

* * * * *

“Go away, Molly,” Bridget yelled when she heard the knock on her door. “Please.”

The door opened. “I ain’t going away,” Wilma said, coming into the room. “And I ain’t Molly.”

“Damn it, Wilma, leave me alone.” Bridget was lying in bed, atop the blanket, and wearing a light green robe over her camisole and drawers. She sat up sullenly.

Wilma walked over to a chair and sat down. “I can’t.”

“What the hell do you mean, you can’t?”

“Long, long time ago, in a orphanage far, far away, I made me a pact with this kid, Brian Kelly – maybe you remember him. I promised I’d watch his back, and he promised t’watch mine.”

Bridget had to smile, if only for an instant. “I remember, but that – that was in another life.”

“Seems like the same life t’me. It just turned out a whole lot different’n we ever figured it would.”

“That’s the truth. We went from rangers to… outlaws to… to…” The word caught in her throat. “…whores.”

“You say ‘whores’ like it’s a bad thing. It ain’t bad, but it ain’t true neither. I may be a whore.” She stopped, stood, and defiantly put her hands on her hips. “Hells bells, let's face it. I am a whore, and I’m damned good at it.” She waited a moment, hoping to see Bridget smile. When her friend didn’t, she continued. “And I ain't ashamed to be one, neither. But you ain’t no whore, and you never was one.”

“Yes, y-yes, I-I am, and ev-everybody in town is thinking it.”

“They don’t think any such thing.”

“They do so. I can tell from the way that they – they all look at me.” Her eyes began to fill with tears. “Forget about whatever promises we made all those years ago; forget about me. Brian Kelly is dead. I'm just his -- I don't know what -- his no-good tramp of a sister.”

“Like hell! You’re as good a gal as I am, maybe even better.”

“No, I’m not. I’m -- like I said, I don't know what I am.”

Wilma came over and sat down next to Bridget on the bed. “Well, you’re a better poker player than I am. You can’t deny that.”

“Not any more, I’m not. I was losing just about every hand. How can I play poker when I can’t look the other players in the eye, imagining what they're thinking?”

“All that is, is your imagination. What you’re seeing in their eyes is worry about what you got in your hand and how much money you’re gonna take ‘em for.” Wilma thought for a moment. “You got any cards around here?”

Bridget pointed to a drawer in the night table next to her bed. “There’s a couple of decks in there.”

“Chips, too, I see,” Wilma said, opening the drawer. She took out a deck and a box of chips and tossed them onto the other woman’s lap. “Okay, deal.”

“What?”

“I wanna show you you’re wrong. You ain’t got no trouble looking in my eyes, so we’ll just play cards for a while today. And I’ll keep coming back every day till you’re feeling up t’running your game again.” She moved back to the chair. “One thing, though.”

“One thing?”

“Yeah, this here game is just for fun. I know better’n t’play a sharp like you for real money.”

* * * * *

“Will you stop glaring at me, Trisha,” Liam demanded during a break when the Feed and Grain was empty of customers.

Trisha blinked in surprise. “Was I?”

“You were, and I’m getting tired of it. What’s the matter with you?”

“You – you and Kaitlin, I’m getting tired of the way you’re acting around her, flirting and carrying on every time the two of you get together.”

“Sort of the way you ‘go to’ with some men around here, isn’t it?”

“No!” She stomped her foot, then crossed her arms for emphasis. “It’s nothing like – I do not flirt like that.”

“The hell you don’t. You’ve been chasing after men since before the dance. That’s why some people believe those lies Cecelia Ritter’s been spreading – or are they lies?”

“Of course they are!” She was hardly about to say how much worse the truth really was. That would come out soon enough. “That’s what you keep telling me.” He paused a half-beat. “I will admit that there are a few things different between the way that you and I are acting.”

“And what are those differences, exactly?”

“You say that you’re just flirting with all those men for fun. I’m serious, really serious, about Kaitlin, and, you know what, she likes the attention I’m paying her.”

“What’re you saying?”

“Just what you think. You keep saying how I’m acting like I’m courting her -- well, I am. She knows I am, and she doesn’t mind. In fact, she’s told me that she’s pleased with the idea of my courting her.”

Liam smiled at the shocked look on his sister’s face. “And now that you know, you’ve got a real reason for glaring at me, don’t you?”

* * * * *

“Zenobia,” Cecelia Ritter called out from the street in front of Ortega’s Market. “Wait a moment.”

Zenobia Carson stopped walking and waited for her friend to cross over from the other side of the street. “Hello, Cecelia. How are you this afternoon?”

“Very well, thanks. I was hoping I would run into you today.”

“Any special reason why?”

“Yes, I was wondering, did you notice anything… odd about Nancy Osbourne’s behavior yesterday?”

Mrs. Carson smiled, happy to be sharing gossip. “My dear, there was very little about her last night that wasn’t odd.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“As a rule, she comes home around five, though she tries to get up to her room instead of helping me with supper as she should, but yesterday...” She paused for dramatic effect. “Yesterday, she didn’t come home at all; at least, not before dinner – or for dinner, either. I was concerned, of course, any decent Christian would be, but I had to see that my Thomas and the children were fed.”

Cecelia nodded approvingly. “You’re a good soul, Zenobia.”

“One tries. I asked my Tommy if anything had happened at the school. He said, ‘no’, but he also told me that some man had come to see Miss Osbourne at lunchtime.”

“That’s what my Hermione told to me. I was concerned because she shouldn’t be seeing any men socially, especially not at the school.”

“She wasn’t just seeing men at the school,” Zenobia continued. “She finally did come home about 8:30, but not alone. There was a man with her.”

“No!” Cecelia tried to look concerned. “Really?”

“Yes, he walked her right up onto my front porch. They talked – holding hands, no less -- then he kissed her, kissed her right on the mouth. And, so far as I could tell, she kissed him back.”

“The brazen hussy,” Cecelia gasped. “And it’s probably not the first time, either. According to Hermione, he’s been to the school to see her more than once. The Lord only knows what sort of sinful goings-on they’ve been up to.”

“At the school, where all the children could see them? That cannot be allowed to continue.”

“I think it’s time we found a new teacher for our school.”

“With that – what do they call it – that morals clause in her contract, we should have a very easy time getting rid of her.”

“Indeed, I’ve no doubt that this Cooper fellow is not the first man she’s dallied with. I didn’t wish to spread any hurtful rumors around. I wanted to give that poor, foolish woman every possible chance to reform.”

“What are you talking about, Cecelia?”

“When she was lodging with Clyde and me last year, I had some very serious doubts about her character. It seems she's only gotten worse with time. Now her behavior has gone beyond toleration. Something has to be done.”

She gave Zenobia a self-satisfied smile. “I believe that the day has come for Miss Osbourne to pay the piper, and we shall see that she does as soon as we’ve settled with Mr. O’Toole and that ungodly potion of his.”

“To be sure, we’ll have this town running the way we want – the way it should be run, in no time.”

* * * * *

“I got something for you, Jess,” Paul stood over the woman, a sly grin curling his lips.

She returned his grin. “Oh, you do, do you?” She put down her guitar and stood up. “And what would that be, Mr. Grant?”

“This… for starters.” His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Her arms went up, circling his neck. Their lips met, and the room went away for a while.

Finally, they had to break the kiss to breathe. “Now that was real nice,” Jessie told him, her voice husky. She was still holding on to Paul. “You said, ‘for starters,’ just now,” she went on. “What else you got in mind?”

“I’ve got a lot of things in mind, and we can… discuss them all upstairs when I’m off duty.” He sighed. “Right now, I’ve got rounds I have to make, and all I can do is give you this.” He retrieved an envelope from his shirt pocket and handed it to her.

Jessie opened the envelope and skimmed the letter that was inside. “It’s from Hanna Tyler. Her Grampa, Nathaniel Mullens – that’s her ma’s father – got sick or something. They really want him t’be at the wedding, so they’re pushing it back two weeks from Sunday, May 19, to Sunday, June 2.”

“Damn,” she muttered. “Now I’ll have t’ask Shamus all over again if I can go.”

“And I’ll have to ask Dan, but I think they’ll let us.” He winked. “We’ll talk about it tonight.”

She giggled. “I suppose we’ll have t’talk about something… eventually.” The letter and the envelope fell to the floor, as she moved in to kiss him again.

* * * * *

“What’s he doing here?” Jane asked, her voice full of anger. She was sitting with Milt Quinlan, taking a short break.

Milt looked around. “Who – oh, Ethan. He, uh… mentioned Jessie when we… uh, when we talked yesterday. He probably came in to hear her sing.”

“Least people are still coming in for something. The place’s half empty these days, thanks t’them damn dancing girls over at the Lone Star.”

She suddenly brightened. “Still… that gives me a chance t’talk to him.” Before Milt could stop her, she stood up and yelled. “Ethan… hey, c’mon over ‘n’ join us.”

The man had turned at the sound of his name. He nodded and walked over to their table. “Jane, how… delightful to see you once again, and you, as well, Milt.”

“Sit yourself down right there, Ethan.” Jane pointed to an empty chair.

He sat. “My thanks to you both for the invitation, and how, may I ask, are you this evening?”

“Not too bad,” she answered, “still a little unhappy ‘bout not getting that painting you done.”

“I do regret that,” the artist said gently, taking a seat. “You were a delight to work with, and I am sorry to have disappointed you in the matter of ‘The Three Fates’ painting.”

“If you really feel that way, maybe I don’t have to be disappointed.”

Milt raised a curious eyebrow. “What do you mean, Jane? The painting is long gone.”

“It ain’t that ‘long gone.’ Sure, it’s on its way from here t’Philadelphia, but that stage has t’make a whole lotta stops. You could wire ahead – to Sante Fe, maybe – tell ‘em you changed your mind and t’send your picture back here.”

Ethan shook his head. “That would be… difficult – and expensive.”

“I can pay for it, same as I can pay for the portrait when it gets back here.”

Milt placed his hand on her arm. “Jane, it’s halfway to Utah by now, you --”

“Utah!” She cut him off. “Who says it’s going t’Utah?”

Milt looked nervous. “Ethan… he, ahh… yesterday, he said – didn’t you say, Ethan, that you were going to ship it east by train?”

“I did?” the artist looked surprised for a moment. “Oh, ah, yes, I did. We had spoken about the matter before you arrived on the scene at the depot, Jane.”

“What ain’t you two telling me?” Jane demanded.

The men glanced quickly at one another. “Nothing, nothing really,” the painter said. “There is just less danger to the portrait if I ship it by rail, that’s all.”

“But that just makes it easier t’get back. When the stage gets to Utah, they can just put it on one heading back here, instead of on the train.”

“Perhaps, but I decline your offer, no matter how generous and well-intentioned, Jane. I prefer to have my work displayed back East.”

“Since when is the money back East any better ‘n mine? Come t’think of it, how come you made up your mind so fast? Last week you was more ‘n ready t’sell it to me?”

“Jane, please. I’m sure he had a good reason.” Milt shot a quick look to the other man. “Besides, it sounds to me like you aren’t the only – what did you call it once – the only ‘mule-stubborn’ one at this table.”

“Indeed.” Ethan got to his feet. “And the most simple way to end this apparent stalemate would seem to be for one of us to no longer be at this table.” He gave a low bow. “Another time, perhaps. Good evening.”

Jane watched him walk to another table halfway across the bar. “How come you took his side so much?” she asked Milt.

“I-I wasn’t trying to take anyone’s side. I knew he wasn’t going to send for that painting, and I just wanted to end the discussion.”

“You knew, did you? And how was that?”

“I… I’m a lawyer, Jane. Knowing people’s part of my job.” He relaxed as he saw Jessie moving towards the small stage near the stairs. “Right now, it looks like the show’s about to start, so we need to be quiet.” He leaned back in his chair and hoped that the argument was over.

* * * * *

Wednesday, April 24, 1872

Nancy picked at the fried chicken leg she’d packed for her lunch. “Damn,” she said to no one in particular and pushed her wooden plate across her desk.

“First time I ever saw you pass up fried chicken,” a voice said.

She looked up to see… “Carl, what are you doing here in town? I thought Mr. Slocum was going to have you stay out at his ranch for a while.”

“He wanted to, but I said to him, ‘Mr. Slocum, sir, you gotta understand, I need to check up on my little sister.’ Turns out, he had a little sister, too, Cap Lewis’ mama, so he knew what I was talking about. He said I could ride in, but I had to promise to be quick and to stay outta trouble.”

He grinned and threw his arms out wide. “I promised… and here I am.”

“You did not tell Mr. Slocum that you had to check up on me?” She smiled shyly and hid her face with her hands. “I’ll never be able to look him in the face again.”

“And just how often do you look him in the face?”

“You know what I mean. I… “ Her embarrassed smile suddenly darkened. “Oh, Carl, I-I’m so glad you’re here.”

He hurried over to her. “Sounds to me like there’s something more than fried chicken bothering you. C’mon, fess up, what is it?”

“That… bastard...” She hissed the last word, but softly, so no children could hear. “…Dell Cooper, h-he – I don’t want to talk about it.” Her eyes began to well with tears.

“C’mon, Nanny Goat, don’t go all stubborn on me again.” He hugged her and gently patted her head, as he might a small child. “You’ll feel better for the telling. You just see if you don’t.”

“He-He said that he’d back up your story about the robbery if I had dinner with him.”

“You say that like you think I was lying about what happened.”

“I-I believe you. I know that you’d never rob Mr. Slocum. B-But when I told him that I wouldn’t have dinner with him, he… he said that, if I refused, he’d tell the sheriff that he s-saw you… helping those crooks, who-whomever they were. He’d tell that story if I didn’t… go out with -- “

He deliberately cut off her words. “So you agreed to… to protect me. Nancy, I’m sorry that you thought you had to do something like that.”

“That’s not the worst of it. We… He took me to that restaurant in Mr. O’Toole’s saloon. Everybody saw me, and, when we went back to the Carson’s house, he… he kissed me, and I-I let him. I know Mrs. Carson saw it. She was colder to me this morning than January back in Connecticut. She'll surely gossip to everybody. What am I going to do?”

Carl's expression was dark, angry. He struggled to control his tone. “First thing, you’re gonna dry those eyes of yours. Then you’re gonna finish that chicken leg. You know what Aunt Clementine used to say about wasting food.” He used a finger to carefully raise her chin, so she was looking right up at him. “And don’t you worry about Cooper; I’ll talk to him.”

“Just talk?”

“Well, I may have to use my fists to move the talking along the way I want it to go.”

“Please be careful, Carl.”

“Carefullest man in town.”

* * * * *

“How’s it going, Love?” Molly asked, as she stepped through the doorway into Shamus’ office.

He looked up from his ledger and tried to smile. “Just as ye might be expecting… terrible. We’re really taking a hurting, since Sam Duggan brought in them dancing girls o’his.”

“Aye, but ‘tis only a few days since they started doing thuir shows. Ye’ll see, the men’ll be getting tired of sitting over thuir, and they’ll be coming back.”

“Maybe… someday they will, but I’ll not be holding me breath waiting for men t’be getting tired o’watching pretty girls dancing for ‘em. And he'll be making so much money that he'll be able to fix up that place o'his and keep me regulars even after the novelty of them girls has worn off.”

“Ye could always get some dancing girls for over here, ye know.”

“I know, and I been thinking about doing it, too, just as I said I would. It’d be expensive, though -- and risky – t’be fixing up the place and bringing in dancers from San Francisco or Denver or wherever Duggan got his girls from. We might not be making up what money we spend t’do it.”

“It don’t have t’be.”

“Any why not?”

“Thuir’s a pretty girl or three right here in Eerie.”

“Aye, but are any of them dancing girls? I think not. Besides, too many o’them pretty ones have husbands or parents who ain’t about t’be letting them dance -- or they already have a job with somebody like Lady Cerise and ain’t interested working for us here.”

He sighed. “And them few that are interested ain’t likely t’be knowing much about the job.”

“Maybe not, but they don’t have t’be knowing anything at all, not with the experienced dancer ye got t’be training ‘em up.”

He gave her a wry smile. “And who would that be?”

“Who d’ye think?” Molly replied. “Just ‘cause I ain’t worked as a dancer since we got married, don’t mean I forgot what I knew then.”

“That was more’n a few years ago, Molly Love,” Shamus teased. When he saw her expression, he quickly added, “Even if ye don’t look a day older.” He considered the idea for moment. “I ain’t saying yes t’yuir offer, but I ain’t saying no, neither. I want t’be thinking about it for a while first.”

* * * * *

Carl strode purposefully into the Lone Star. He glanced around for a moment before walking over to the bar where Dell Cooper was standing alone, drinking. “I want to talk to you, Cooper.”

“Really?” Cooper set his beer on the bar and glared at Carl. “What about?”

Carl glared back. “My sister… I told you to leave her alone. She says you’re still bothering her.”

“Getting her hot and bothered, you mean.” The man laughed. “Damn hot, and ready for some fun with a real man.”

“Mister, you better apologize for saying that, if you know what’s good for you.”

“The hell, I will.” Dell glowered and stepped back, arms set and ready to fight.

Carl’s hands balled into fists, but before either man could throw a punch, Sam Duggan stopped them. “This is a peaceable bar, gents. If there’s gonna be a fight, I’ll ask you t’take it outside.”

“Fine, with me,” Carl replied. “I can beat the shit outta him outside as easy as I can do it in here.”

The other man sneered. “Lead the way, mister, and we’ll see who takes care of who.”

“Just be sure you ain’t too scared to follow me out.” Carl turned and started for the swinging doors that led to the street.

Cooper waited until they were about five feet apart. His face contorted into a nasty grin as he slowly drew his pistol from his holster so the angry man wouldn't hear the rasp.

“Carl, look out!” Duggan yelled.

Carl spun to the left and quickly drew his own weapon. He fired once, on the fly for cover behind a table.

Dell lurched back a step. “Son of a…” His voice trailed off as he looked down unhappily at his chest. A red stain was growing on his shirt. He barely had time to mutter, “Shit…” before he dropped towards the floor. He was dead before he hit it.

Carl hurried to his feet. “You ain’t even worth that bullet, Cooper,” he said with disgust. “Somebody get the Doc.” He shook his head. “and Stu Gallagher, the undertaker, too, just in case.” He heard somebody agree and run out the door. “Better get the Sheriff, too,” he told Duggan, weariness seeping into his voice. “This sure as hell ain’t gonna help me at my trial.”

* * * * *

“May I come in, Thad?” Martha Yingling knocked on the half-opened door to her husband’s study.

He looked up from his papers and smiled at her. “Certainly, my dear. What did you want?”

“I-I was just out doing some shopping, and I heard the most horrid gossip about Nancy Osbourne.”

“What sort of gossip?”

“They’re saying that she’s been out cavorting with all sorts of men, sitting on their laps, kissing them, and who knows what all else.”

He leaned back in his chair. “And who’s been saying these things?”

“I heard it from several women, Roberta Scudder, Lavinia Mackechnie… Zenobia Carson seems to be the main instigator, her and Cecelia Ritter.” She took a breath. “Cecelia’s even talking about getting Nancy fired. You’ve got to talk to her, make her stop saying such foul lies. And tell others not to believe what she’s saying.”

“How do you know that they’re lies?”

“Because I know Nancy Osbourne, and she’d never do such things. And I know – we both know – Cecelia Ritter, and we know how much she likes to stir up trouble, especially when it would hurt someone she doesn’t like. She’s had it in for Nancy for some time, ever since Nancy boarded with the Ritters last year.”

“Right now, Cecelia Ritter is one of my strongest supporters in getting that dangerous potion away from O’Toole. She has been doing the work of the Lord with that petition.”

“Right now, she’s maliciously spreading lies against a very good woman, one whose only crime is to be younger, prettier, and smarter than she is.”

“For everything there is a season, and I will not go against her at this time.”

“Could you just talk to her, in private if need be, and ask her stop her attacks on Nancy?”

“There are very great issues riding on keeping Mrs. Ritter's support. It would not be politic to go against an ally.”

“But she’s wrong – so very wrong – can’t you see that?”

“Aren't you taking sides too quickly? In the past few weeks, Miss Osbourne has shown me a willful streak that you may not have seen. Time and again she's argued with me about the meaning of the teachings of the Lord. She is not thinking clearly. She can make mistakes, it's clear. It is not so hard for me to believe that there may be some truth in the stories that Cecelia is telling.”

Martha considered his words. “I-I’m sorry, Thaddeus. I’ll leave you to your work.” She walked out of the room, trying to understand just whom she was sorry for.

* * * * *

The schoolhouse also served as the site for meetings of the town council. The three members of the council, Whit Whitney, Arsenio Caulder, and Aaron Silverman, took their places at the large table in the front of the room.

“As chairman of the Eerie Town Council,” Whit Whitney said firmly, “I declare the April 24, 1872 meeting called to order.” He banged his gavel on the tabletop. “We seem to have a larger crowd than --”

Cecelia Ritter quickly rose to her feet, interrupting him. “Mr. Chairman…”

“Yes, Cecelia,” Whit answered. “Do you have a question?”

She nodded. “Yes, I want to know why that wicked woman is up there with you?” She pointed at Nancy Osbourne, who was sitting at the corner of the desk.

“Miss Osbourne is taking the minutes of the meeting. It’s part of her duties as our schoolteacher.”

“Duties she is not fit to do,” Cecelia said, angrily. A number of voices from around the room agreed with her. “I… We demand that she be fired.”

A gasp came from Nancy, but before she could say another word, Lavinia Mackechnie jumped to her feet. “Second the motion.” Her words were met with a round of applause.

“Now, wait a minute,” Arsenio Caulder shouted from his place on Whit’s left. “Before we do anything like that, I, for one, want to know why. What is this all about?”

“She’s not fit… the morals rule.” Zenobia Carson answered. “I saw her.”

“She didn't see anything -- I mean, she didn't understand!” shouted Nancy.

“That may be, Miss Osbourne,” said Arsenio, “but let one person speak at a time. We have to know exactly what you are being accused of before you can give an appropriate answer.”

Aaron took that as his cue to speak up. “And what, exactly, was it you think you saw, Mrs. Carson? As they say, the mind can fool the eye if it wants to be fooled.”

Zenobia’s features set firmly in place. “I know what I saw. That… trollop kissed a man – in public – and allowed him to paw at her.”

“That’s not true!” Nancy rose indignantly to her feet.

Zenobia smiled, a cat playing with a mouse. “It is so. They were right there on my porch. I saw it all through the curtain from my parlor.” She paused for effect. “They were out somewhere, together, doing the good Lord only knows what. When they came back, they were walking hand in hand – more than just friends, I thought. He followed her up onto my porch and sat down beside her. He took her in his arms, and they… kissed. She seemed to enjoy it. Not her first time kissing a man, I should think.”

“And you was watching all this?” Aaron asked. “Without doing anything?”

“I-I was shocked at such scandalous behavior. I tapped at the glass, but they didn’t seem to hear. Not at first, anyway. All of a sudden she broke away and came inside. I suspect that she was ashamed of what she was doing – or angry that she’d been caught – because she went straight up to her room without saying a word.”

“I have something to add,” said Cecelia.

“You’ll get your chance. But it's Miss Osbourne's turn to defend her conduct now,” said Whit. He looked toward the teacher and asked gently, “Nancy would you like to give your version of what happened?” He paused a moment for effect. “If anything did.”

The young woman sank into her chair and thought for a moment. How could she explain? ‘Tell them the truth’, she told herself. ‘Tell them that Dell Cooper had threatened to lie about your brother.’ She paused. ‘But which would they think was the lie, that Carl committed the robbery or that he didn’t? The foul little man was dead, dead by Carl’s hand, and didn’t that just make things worse?’

“I… Mrs. Carson is mistaken. He tried to get familiar with me, but I-I wouldn’t allow it. When I got the chance, I ran inside to get away from him.”

“Why were you with him in the first place?” Cecelia accused. “Where were you, and what sort of sinful behavior were the two of you up to?”

“I-I can’t really explain. It's so complicated.” She looked down at the table, not able to face their accusations.

Cecelia’s voice rang out. “Can’t explain or don’t want to explain? It’s all true, you hussy, and you know it. Even before Zenobia saw what she saw, all the children were talking about how their teacher was carrying on with that Cooper fellow at the schoolhouse -- or maybe it was with a number of different men, who can be sure? Can we allow our children to be exposed to a… a woman like her? Fire her, I say.”

“Is that what you had to add, Mrs. Ritter?” Whit asked sourly.

“Yes… My own daughter told me what she'd seen. And people saw her dining with the man at that saloon. She should be fired just for going into a saloon, much less for cavorting lewdly on a porch.”

“Fire her… fire her.” The words echoed through the room.

Whit banged his gavel. “Folks… please, give the lady a chance to speak.”

“She ain’t no lady,” someone yelled, “she sure as hell ain’t no teacher – not for my kids. Fire her.”

“It’s not fair to act on these accusations before they can be fully investigated,” Phillipia Stone scolded. “Nancy Osbourne has been here for almost five years, and nothing remotely like this has ever been reported against her before. My children think she's a wonderful teacher, and she's a good churchgoer, too.”

Lavinia stood up. “Her brother just killed that man in a saloon fight today. He's a thief and a killer. No wonder she's comfortable with bad types. Mr. Osbourne will probably be sent away to prison in a few days.”

“Damned straight, he will,” someone yelled, and others in the crowd agreed.

Lavinia smiled smugly and continued. “Nancy deliberately got those two stirred up against one another and probably enjoyed doing it.”

The barber sighed. “Nancy, is there anything more you can add that will put to rest these accusations?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don't know. It involves matters I'd first like to talk over with the councilmen in private. Someone might be hurt if I say too much in an open forum.”

“Confess! Confess in public!” some woman shouted.

“Nancy?” Whit tried again.

“I --” she shook her head. “It has to be in private.”

Arsenio spoke softly. “If that's the case, people need a cooling off time. We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise, but we first have to think of protecting the reputation of the school until all questions are answered.”

The councilmen then talked in low voices for a moment. After a moment, Whit looked up. “All in favor of suspending Miss Osbourne until we can find out what’s really going on here, raise your --”

“The hell with suspending her,” Horace Styron insisted, taking up the chant. “Fire her… fire her right now.”

Whit seemed to ignore him. “All in favor, raise your hand.” Aaron and Arsenio slowly raised their right hands. Whit gave another, heavy sigh, and raised his as well. “Nancy, you’re --”

“Fired…” She slowly got to her feet.

Arsenio shook his head. “No, just suspended.”

Nancy didn't seem to hear the councilman's words. She shook his hand. “Thank you, gentlemen, up till tonight, it’s been a pleasure working for you.” She walked the length of the room, ignoring the insults people shouted as she went past.

* * * * *

Whit waited until Nancy had left the building. He poured himself a glass of water to try and get the sour taste of the ugly business out of his mouth. It didn’t help.

“Hopefully we can find out what really happened and why it happened. Nothing would be better than to bring back Miss Osbourne with her reputation justly restored. But if that's not possible, we're going to need a new teacher,” he said finally. “Anybody who wants the job should talk to me or one of the other council members right away. If Aaron and Arsenio don’t mind, we’ll meet here again Friday night at… 7 PM to pick the new teacher -- unless matters resolve themselves in Miss Osbourne's favor before then.” The two men agreed at once.

Fred Norman rose to his feet. “Who’ll teach them in the meantime?”

“You want the job, maybe?” Aaron asked.

Norman put up his hands, as if to shield himself from attack. “Not me, I’ve got a business to run.”

“I’ll do it,” Whit said.

“You?” Horace Styron asked. “What makes you think you can be a teacher?”

“I’m a graduate of Bowdoin College back in Maine, and I doubt that anybody’s going to be seriously troubled if they have to wait a couple days for a haircut or shave. I also think I can handle her class for short while.” He waited a moment for any complaints. When there were none, he added, “All in favor – of the Friday meeting and my taking over as teacher for a couple of days?”

The other two councilmen raised their hands. Whit raised his as well. “Unanimous, good.”

“Mr. Chairman,” Reverend Yingling stood up, “about my petition --”

“Just a minute, Reverend,” Whit interrupted. “I suspect that your petition may take a while. Do you mind if we see if there’s anything else we need to deal with?”

“How dare you?” Cecelia called out from her seat. “There’s nothing else as important as his petition, and you know it, Whitney, you scoundrel!”

Whit ignored her insult. “Perhaps, Mrs. Ritter, but I’d like to get anything that can be dealt with quickly out of the way first.”

“I have no objection.” Yingling spoke with the assuredness of a man who knows that he’s about to get his way.

The council waited, but nobody rose to speak. “Very well, then,” Whit said. “Does anyone on the board have anything to say before I open the issue for discussion?”

“I got something,” Aaron said reaching into his shirt pocket. “Or rather, Roscoe Unger had something to say.” He pulled out a sheet of paper. “I was reading from the paper yesterday, the editorial, it says – let me read some of it. Roscoe says, ‘this is an important question, and it should not be decided lightly. I am not saying what the town council should decide, but I am saying that their decision should be based on lengthy, deliberate consideration.’” He put the paper away. “As the Sages say, ‘Life is so short that we have to move very slowly.’ That sounds like good advice to me.”

The shopkeeper took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment before he put them back in place and continued. “Slow and deliberate ain’t the way we did things tonight with Miss Osbourne. That’s not good, and we shouldn’t keep doing it – especially for something so important. So-o-o…” He stretched out the word to something with at least three syllables. “I move to table the discussion until we can have time for everybody to cool down and, maybe, think clear about what Thad – Reverend Yingling – is asking us to do.”

“Second,” Arsenio chimed in at once. He almost had to bit his lip to keep from smiling at Aaron’s surprising motion.

“You… you cannot do this,” Yingling stormed, his face growing red with anger.

Whit shrugged. “It’s a legitimate motion. All in favor?” The other two councilmen raised their hands. “Unanimous.” Whit raised his own hand. “The motion to table passes.”

“This is patently unfair,” the minister argued.

Arsenio considered the matter for a moment. “You’re right about that, Reverend. It would be unfair for us to wait a whole month. Mr. Chairman, could we have a special meeting, say, two weeks from now to vote on that petition?” He did some quick arithmetic. “That would be May 8,”

“That’s the night for the next meeting of the church board,” Liam O’Hanlan objected, rising to be heard. “But I count more than half the board here in the room. Maybe they can move the date of their meeting to accommodate the Reverend.”

Styron stood up. “Members of the Methodist Church Board, if you’re in favor of meeting on May 15, raise your hand.” He raised his own hand and looked around the room. “Rupe… Judge Humphreys… Jubal… Trisha, everybody’s here but Dwight Albertson. Dwight never comes unless the town council’s talking money, and Willie Gotefreund, and Willie lives outside of town. That’s still a quorum with…” He counted, as the other church board members raised their hands. “With five in favor, we move the church board meeting to May 15.”

Whit nodded. “Good, we don’t want to butt into the church’s business; ‘render unto Caesar’ and all that. Is our meeting on May 8 all right with you gentlemen?” Both Aaron and Arsenio agreed cheerfully.

“In that case…” Whit pounded the gavel once again. “Meeting adjourned.”

* * * * *

The O’Hanlans walked home arm-in-arm, Trisha on Liam’s left and Kaitlin on his right.

“That was a very smart idea of yours, Liam, having the church board vote right then and there to move their meeting.” Kaitlin told him. She leaned in quickly and gave him a peck on the cheek.

He smiled and glanced at his sister. “Don’t look so surprised, Trisha. You aren’t the only one with good ideas.” He chuckled. “Kaitlin herself had a real good one just now.”

* * * * *

Zenobia Carson saw the light under Nancy Osbourne’s door, as she walked down the hall. “Miss Osbourne,” she called, knocking on the door. “Are you awake?”

“Just a moment.” Nancy’s voice could be heard through the door.

Zenobia heard the click of the latch, a latch her boarder had been impolite enough to install, come free. The door opened a crack. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Carson? It’s rather late.” Nancy wore a green and blue plaid robe over her nightgown. She was holding a book – Zenobia couldn’t read the title – in her left hand.

“Then you should be in bed, shouldn’t you?”

“I don’t see why. I have no reason to be getting up any time early tomorrow, as you well know.” She opened the door wide. “Still, I’m being inhospitable. Come in.”

Zenobia stepped into the room and looked around, as if assessing it for damage. “I came to speak to you about what happened tonight. As you know, you have this room by virtue of being the school teacher.”

“Y-yes,” Nancy replied, sensing trouble.

“I'm quite sure you'll never teach school in this town again. Since you no longer hold that position, you are no longer entitled to the room. I’ll allow you to stay here tonight as a matter of Christian charity --”

“Th-thank you, I’m sure.” It was trouble, all right.

“You are quite welcome. However, I shall expect you to be out of my house by… 3 PM tomorrow afternoon. I don’t wish you here when the children come home from school. I have to protect them from bad influences. And so, please do not leave your room tomorrow morning until they have gone from the house.”

“But that’s hardly enough time to find another place to stay.”

“You needn’t worry. Your Mr. Cooper may be dead, but I’m sure that you can find some other man’s bed to warm easily enough.” She gave Nancy a triumphant smile and bustled out the door before the startled young woman could respond.

* * * * *

Thursday, April 25, 1872

“Who’s that?” Constanza Diaz asked, pointing to a tall man who was standing on the schoolhouse steps ringing the bell to announce the start of classes.

Tomas Rivera looked where she was pointed. “That’s Mr. Whitney, the barber. What’s he doing here, and where is Miss Osbourne?”

“I don’t know,” Constanza answered, “but I think we’re about to find out.”

All the children hurried into the building and took their seats. A few tried to ask questions, but Whit just told them to wait. When they were all seated, he closed the door and walked up to the teacher’s desk. “I’m sure you’re wondering where Miss Osbourne is, and why I’m here in her place.”

“I know.” Hermione raised her hand.

The man scowled. “You may think you do, Miss Ritter…” He looked at the seating chart on his desk. “…Hermione, but I’ll talk for now.” He took a breath. “Some serious rumors were being spread about Miss Osbourne. They may not be true – rumors are often based on misunderstandings rather than on the truth. Nevertheless, because of the nature of those rumors, the town council has suspended Miss --”

“She was fired,” Hermione insisted, jumping to her feet. “My Mama told me so.”

Whit glowered at her. “Sit down, Hermione, and stay seated. We’ll discuss your punishment for interrupting like that during recess.” He glanced at the rest of the class. “And if anyone else interrupts -- or laughs at her punishment, they can join her.”

“As I was saying, Miss Osbourne is suspended for a time. I’ll be your teacher for the rest of the week, and we’ll have a real substitute in for her on Monday. Whoever that is will be here until the matter is resolved.”

He walked around the desk and sat down behind it. “I’ll take roll now. Please raise your hand when I call your names, since I don’t know all of you as well as I now know Hermione.”

* * * * *

“Excuse me,” Sheriff Talbot said, stepping up to a table at the Lone Star. Paul was right behind him. “Are you Dell Cooper’s friends, Stafford and Saunders?”

Forry looked up from his late breakfast. “I’m Forrest Stafford, Sheriff. Cooper worked for me, same as Saunders here does. What can we do for you?”

“I’m Dan Talbot. This is my deputy, Paul Grant.” Paul nodded at the mention of his name, as the Sheriff continued. “We’re trying to find out a little more about Cooper and what happened yesterday.”

Saunders snorted. “‘Bout his murder, you mean.”

“Witnesses – and I’ve got a bar full of them – say Cooper drew first. Carl Osbourne just happened to be faster.”

The other man shrugged. “So you say. I think Dell was set up.”

“What do you mean?” Paul blurted out.

Saunders looked thoughtful. “He told me somebody was after him ‘cause of some gal he was sparking. He said this other guy – must’ve been that Osbourne fellah – threatened t’kill him if he didn’t stay away from her.”

“And…” the Sheriff asked, his voice trailing off in expectation.

Saunders continued. “Dell took that gal t’dinner Tuesday night, and he told me, after, that she kissed him when he brought her home.”

“Sounds to me like my man had reason to be worried when Osbourne stormed in here yesterday,” Forry observed. “Maybe Dell figured that Osbourne was going to shoot him as soon as they got out onto the street. Maybe that’s why he was drawing his pistol.”

Talbot frowned. “That almost makes sense… almost. We won’t be trying Carl till next Monday. We’ll need you to testify, so I’m going to have to ask you gentlemen not to leave town.”

“No problem,” Stafford replied. “We weren’t planning to leave before then anyway.”

The Sheriff nodded. “Fine, we’ll see you later, then.” He and Paul turned and headed out the swinging doors of the Lone Star.

“That was pretty good, Mr. Stafford,” Leland said, after they two had left. “All that stuff ‘bout how it coulda been self-defense – hell, I almost believed it myself.”

Forry gave a wry laugh. “It was good, wasn’t it? I had no great love for Dell Cooper, but this Carl Osbourne caused me no little inconvenience by killing him. I see no reason why he shouldn’t suffer some inconvenience in return.”

“What then, boss?”

Forry sighed. “I’m getting damned tired of this town. I think we’ll ride out to Slocum’s one more time and try to get him to see things our way. After that, we’ll be on the first stage out of here.”

Leland looked perplexed. “Ain’t going that far out on the range the same as leaving town? Didn't you just tell the sheriff --”

Forry shook his head. “He had to tell me to stay put, just as I had to tell him I would. Don’t worry; these hick town lawmen can bark, but they know better than to bite.”

“If you say so, boss. But that hombre Slocum… he strikes me as a hard case. What if he don’t wanna see things our way?”

“Oh, he will. One way or the other, he will.”

* * * * *

“Can we join you?” Yully asked. He and Stephan had come over to the picnic table where Emma, Ysabel, and Penny Stone were sitting.

Penny gestured to the open space at the table. “How come there’s no game today? I always figured you boys’d play during an Indian attack – at least till the Apache went after the ball.”

“Not today,” Stephan said with disgust. “Too many of the guys are listening to Hermione and Lallie boasting.”

Emma snorted. “Like they had something to boast about, telling lies is more likely.”

“A lot more likely,” Yully replied. “They’re going on and on how Miss Osbourne was some sort of bad person, and what a good thing it was that their mothers got her fired at the council meeting last night.”

Ysabel was shocked. “That’s silly. Miss Osbourne is a good person and a good teacher. When I become a teacher, I hope that I will be half as good, as a woman and as a teacher as she is.”

“You will be.” Stephan put his hand on her arm. “What bothers me is how much my Pa had to do with it. He knows what sort of a person Miss Osbourne is. He could’ve stopped those women, coulda stopped them real easy, just by saying how wrong they were and telling ‘em to stop.”

He stopped for a moment before continuing. “He didn’t stop ‘em. My Ma asked him to – I heard her, even if I wasn’t supposed to be listening. He wants that… that danged potion too much. Miz Ritter and Miz Mackechnie are helping him, so whatever they want, they can have. It…” He sighed. “…it just ain’t right. It ain’t what a preacher’s supposed t’do.”

“No, it is not.” Ysabel put her other hand on his. The others muttered in agreement.

“Pa wants me to be a minister like him,” Stephan went on. “If I ever didn’t want to be like him, it’s today.”

* * * * *

“Well now, Your Honor,” Shamus greeted Judge Humphreys, “what can I be getting for ye this afternoon?”

The Judge smiled. “A beer, thank you, Shamus, and a bit of your time.”

“Here’s the first,” Shamus poured a beer and set it down in front of him. “And before we get t’the second, I think I’ll be joining ye.” He poured a beer for himself.

The Judge took a drink. “Thanks. I was wondering if we could use your place for Carl Osbourne’s trial on Monday?”

“‘Course ye can. Justice is always welcome here.” So were the customers who came for the trial and stayed to drink. “ T’be telling the truth, I’ve been wondering why that trial ain’t been held already.”

“Because there’re too many questions; if Carl was working with someone, who was it? If he really was ambushed, who did it? We wanted to wait until we had the answers to those questions. We’d still be waiting if he hadn’t shot that man yesterday. The Lone Star isn’t some dive in Abilene, and Eerie isn’t some wild Kansas cow town. We hold a trial or, at least, an inquest when someone is killed in a gunfight. We can get started on the business of the robbery at the same time.”
“Aye, we can. Well, like I said, ye’re welcome t’be using me saloon. I would like t’be asking ye a couple of questions, though, if ye don’t mind?”

“Go ahead.”

“First off, if Carl does have t’be punished – and, mind ye, I don’t think he done anything wrong – do ye want t’be giving him the choice of drinking me potion?”

“I don’t see why not. He certainly knows about it.” The Judge thought for a moment. “We’ve established a precedent of sorts. If a defendant knows about the potion, he gets a choice, potion or jail. If he doesn’t know, he doesn’t get to choose.”

Shamus nodded knowingly, “Aye, it’s off t’jail with him.”

“For the most part, but I suppose that I could just sentence someone to drink the potion. That’s what we did with the Hanks Gang, after all.”

“Aye, we did, and it surely worked out for the best – for the town and for the girls themselves.” He chuckled and added, “And they’d be the first ones t'be saying it.”

Humphreys nodded. “Usually, I choose prison for an out-of-towner, so the secret of the potion isn't passed on to people who might talk, or have friends who would. But if there were special circumstances, I maintain the option to choose differently.”

“Carl will get the choice, of course. He has kept the secret so far, and he'd probably keep it in the future. If he takes the potion, though, he’ll spend… 60 days as your prisoner, the same as the Hanks Gang. That should give you another chance to show that you can handle the potion in a responsible way.”

“Aye, it would. Maybe it’ll be helping me to get out of this mess yuir Reverend Yingling’s stirred up about me.”

“Shamus, I am sorry about that. For what it’s worth, I don’t agree with Thad Yingling about the potion. You’ve done a fine job with it, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Thank ye for that, Judge. It’s nice t’be hearing. I’ve got one more question for ye, though. If Carl does take the potion, he’s – she’s -- gonna be me prisoner, right?”

“Yes, where else would I put her?”

Shamus gave him a sly smile. “Ye could give her t’the good reverend t’be taking care of, since he thinks he can do a better job with me potion.” He laughed. “But that ain’t gonna happen. What I want t’know is – well, ye said I could use me prisoners t’wait tables and dance with the men on Saturday night. What I’m asking ye now is, could I tell Carl t’be a dancing girl for me?”

Humphrey understood at once. “Looking for a way to go up against Sam Duggan, eh?” He chuckled and thought to himself, ‘And on the cheap, too.’ Aloud, he continued, “I don’t see why not. But I do think that Carl should get some extra pay for it. Being a dancer in a show is far beyond the normal duties of a prisoner.”

“So it is, and I’ll be happy t’be giving her something extra in the way of money… if it works out that way.”

“You’ll need more than one dancer, though. Too bad we couldn’t get that bastard that raped poor Bridget. If you’re her father, I feel like I’m some sort of uncle to her, and I’d love to force-feed him a dose… or two.” He whispered the last. “How is Bridget, by the way?”

“Still in a daze. I think she hates herself more’n she hates him that done it.”

“That’s the problem. Much as I’d like to see Stafford up before me for what he did, I can’t do a damned thing unless she presses charges.”

“Aye, and she won’t.” The men looked at each other for a moment before they both took long sips of their beer.

* * * * *

Kaitlin opened her front door on the third knock. “Phillipia, what brings you over here?”

“Cecelia Ritter,” Phillipia answered, her dark eyes flashing.

Kaitlin looked over her friend’s shoulder. “She isn’t with you now, is she?”

“Not hardly. May I come in?” She lifted a small package she’d been holding. “I brought kourabiethes.”

“Those are the shortbread cookies with the powdered sugar and almonds, aren’t they?” When Phillipia nodded, Kaitlin opened the door wide. “Bribe accepted… cheerfully. Come on in, and I’ll brew us up some tea to go with them.”

A few minutes later, the two women were sitting at the kitchen table, dipping the buttery cookies into cups of black tea. “What did you mean about Cecelia?” Kaitlin asked.

“I mean that I’ve had it up to here…” The other woman lifted her arm up above her head. “…with that woman. It was bad enough when she was just the chairwoman of the Ladies' Social Committee. She did the job well enough, and there was no way that she could do anyone any harm.”

Phillipia took a bite of cookie. “She certainly can do harm now. The way she humiliated poor Nancy Osbourne at the town council meeting last night…” She shook her head in anger. “The council only suspended Nancy – no matter what Cecelia keeps insisting – but I wouldn’t be too surprised if she never takes the job back, even after they prove her innocent of that nonsense Cecelia and Zenobia are spreading. If only there hadn't been that killing at the saloon. That's a terrible scandal to overcome, since the two men seemed to be quarreling over Nancy. And with Carl already suspected of robbery, it casts a shadow over his sister.”

“From what Trisha told me about the meeting, I’m inclined to agree. I’m only glad that the council had the gumption to postpone the vote on Mr. O’Toole’s potion.”

Her friend gave a hearty laugh. “That… that was absolutely priceless. I don’t know who was madder about that, the reverend or Cecelia.”

“It’ll do the both of them good to not get what they want so fast – if at all. I don’t know what set Reverend Yingling off to go after the potion the way he has.”

“Neither do I. He can be a bit ‘stiff-minded’ about things, as my father used to say.”

“I know. He was so insistent that Trisha and Emma wear dresses right after they changed. Trisha told me that he threatened to back the efforts to remove her from the board if she didn’t.”

“And now Cecelia is ready to do just that at the next Board meeting. The way she’s got people stirred up about things, she may just get her way.”

Kaitlin hesitated for a moment. “I don’t think she will.” Kaitlin wanted to tell Phillipia that Trisha was going to quit – they were close friends, after all, but she could no more do that than she could reveal that Trisha was pregnant.

“You sound very sure of yourself. I do hope that you’re right.”

“So do I,” she said with a chuckle. “And won’t it be fun to see Cecelia turn red in the face again, if I am?”

“Maybe she’ll wear that violet dress of hers to the meeting,” Phillipia giggled. “The color would go so well with her apoplectic complexion.”

“You’re terrible, Phillipia.” Kaitlin joined in the giggling.

“If I’m so terrible, then why are you laughing?”

“Because it’s so true.” Kaitlin took another sip of tea. “I just wish we could do something to help poor Nancy.”

“So do I… in the meantime, can I ask you a question?” She leaned in, a conspirator hatching a plot.

Kaitlin matched her. “Is it something nasty?”

“Quite the opposite, what would you think of my taking over Nancy’s class?”

“You? Why?”

“Because someone has to do it. My Yully is due to graduate this year, and I will not have some incompetent teacher spoil that for him.”

“Yes, and I feel the same about my Emma, but – excuse me – can you be a teacher?”

“I believe so. My father, Jonathan Wilkes, was professor of Greek language and Greek literature at Dickenson University back in Pennsylvania.”

“Wilkes? With your coloring and features, I always assumed that your family was Greek.” She stopped a half beat, then quickly added. “Not that it matters, of course.”

“My mother was. She met my father in Corinth when he needed a guide. She taught English at a local school, so I’m actually the daughter of two teachers.”

“Then you should do wonderfully… provided your children don’t mind having their mother as their teacher.”

“They had better not. I really want to do this. I think I can do a good job. I plan to ask Nancy for help, too, though I certainly won’t tell many people that she’s helping. She knows how to work with these children, and, maybe if she’s helping, she won’t feel so bad about not doing the job herself.”

“I certainly hope you’re right. She’s been a good teacher, and I would hate to lose her permanently.”

“Let’s just pray that Cecelia hasn’t already made her want to leave the school, no matter what.”

* * * * *

Nancy Osbourne “tsk-tsked” as she walked up the schoolhouse steps. “The door shouldn’t be left open,” she thought aloud. “I’ll have to make sure that I lock it when I leave.”

“Is somebody out there?” asked a voice from inside.

She walked in and saw… “Mr. Whitney, what are you doing here?” He was sitting at her desk, leafing through the McGuffey's Fourth Eclectic Reader.

He put the book down on the desk. “Waiting for you, Miss Osbourne… Nancy. I was hoping that you’d stop by, so I waited around after I sent the children home.”

“Sent them home? No, they need to have their class work. There’s so very much that needs to be covered before the end of the year.”

“And today, some of it was covered. I’m filling in for you this week. The town council will be having a special meeting tomorrow night to see who we can hire for the rest of the year.” Then he added, “Of course, if you can make a good case to the council, you’ll be reinstated.”

He paused. Nancy looked perplexed and glanced away.

“The shooting has made everything seem worse,” Whit continued, “and it removed that Cooper character before he could be made to admit what really happened. Still, things probably won't look so bad once Carl is found innocent of both the killing and the robbery.”

Nancy signed. “I could accept any fate for myself, as long as my brother is exonerated.” She looked as though she was going to say more, but then suddenly changed the subject. “And if you don’t hire anyone to teach?”

He shrugged. “We have to hire somebody. I can’t keep my shop closed forever.” He paused a beat. “Maybe -- if nobody gets hired -- it will force us to end your suspension that much quicker.”

“I-I’m not sure that I want to come back. Don’t get me wrong; I love teaching, but af-after the… the way, I’ve b-been treated…” Her voice trailed off, as her eyes welled with tears and she settled down into one of the eighth graders’ seats.

Whit hurried over to her. “Are you all right?”

“No, I… Mrs. Carson, she… she threw me out, said I was a bad influence, and she didn’t want in her house. I packed – I’ve lived in this town almost five years, and it took me less than an hour to pack.” She half-choked, half-sobbed.

When she got her breath back, she said, “I've got no one in my life except my brother and… and the chil… the children. I pinched pennies my whole life and have saved almost nothing. If I keep going on like I have been, what will I have in another five years, or ten? Besides wrinkles and gray hair, I mean.”

Whit smiled. “Nancy, I don't think anyone will notice many gray hairs and wrinkles on you, even in ten years.” Then he realized that his comforting words might be misconstrued. He shifted the topic. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“No, I asked at a couple of boarding houses. The good ladies would barely talk to me. I got a few offers from men, but not the sort I care to even think about. And if… if I rent a room at one of the saloons, well, to a lot of people I’d just be confirming that those lies about me are true.”

“Come stay with me.”

“Mr. Whitney!” She stared up at him incredulously.

“I said that badly. My wife, Carmen, and I have a guesthouse. My brother-in-law, Ramon de Aguilar, lived there before he got married. It has all the room one person needs and there’s a lock on the door.” He looked at her changed expression. “Don’t worry; Carmen loves company. You can ask her yourself.”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Please, try it for just a night or two. Think of it as my way of apologizing to you for voting to suspend you – and as far as I’m concerned that’s all we did.” He gave her his best smile.

She hesitated for a moment, then returned the smile. “Well, I suppose, I could try it for a while.”

* * * * *

Milt walked over to where Jane was sitting by the bar. “Good evening, Jane, can I buy you a drink?”

“Only if you promise to answer a question,” she replied, looking at him oddly. “Answer it true, I mean, with no lawyer wiggling.”

He raised his hand, palm outward. “I promise.” He turned to R.J. “Two beers, please.” When the barman drew the beers, Milt took them both and let Jane lead him to a nearby table.

“Okay,” she said, taking a seat opposite him. “My question is, what’d you say t’Ethan so he wouldn’t sell me that painting? Remember, you promised t’tell the truth.”

He sighed. “Can I take a drink first?” When she nodded, he took a long sip. He’d been expecting – no, been dreading her question, and he hoped that she’d understand what he was about to say. “I asked Ethan for some samples of his work, he gave me the sketch he did of Jessie’s hands; one of Wilma – just her face, there’s some things you can’t send through the mail; and a couple sketches of ‘The Three Fates.’ He even threw in a quick sketch of me.”

“You said ‘mail.’ Who’d you send them sketches to?”

“Herbie… Herbert Johnston, he’s a fraternity brother of mine from Rutgers. His father, John Tyler Johnston, was one of the men who just founded a new art museum in New York. I thought Mr. Johnson might be interested in Ethan’s work.”

“You thought he’d wanna buy that painting, didn’t you?”

“Frankly, Jane, I-I did. I was hoping he’d make Ethan an offer that you couldn’t match. I figured that you’d be less upset if somebody outbid you for the picture than if Ethan just refused to sell it to you.”

“I guess this Johnson fella outbid me.”

“He did more than that; he offered to sponsor a show of Ethan’s work if he could buy that painting cheap. I don’t know what he paid, but Mr. Thomas told me that he expects to make more than enough on the other paintings he’ll be showing to make up for what he didn’t get for ‘The Three Fates.’ From what Herbie’s told me about the art market in New York, the painter’s probably right.”

“So you win, and Ethan wins. Everybody wins, thanks to you, except me.”

“Jane, please don’t think of it like that.”

“Don’t you go telling me what to think, Milt Quinlan. I know I ain’t near as smart as you, but gimme credit for having some brains.”

“I-I do, Jane. Honestly, I do.”

“No, you don’t, and you never will. I’m just poor, dumb Jane, and you gotta sneak b’hind my back t’protect me from myself.”

“It… it isn’t that way at all.”

“Yes, it is, and the hell with it, and the hell with you, too.” She stood up quickly and headed for the stairs before he could stop her.

Milt watched her go. “Well, that went well,” he said sarcastically.

* * * * *

Friday, April 26, 1872

Phillipia Stone used a borrowed key to let herself in to Whit Whitney’s house. “Hello,” she called, “is anybody home?”

“Hello?” Nancy Osbourne answered from the garden. “Who is that?”

Phillipia followed the sound of Nancy’s voice. “It’s me, Miss Osbourne, Mrs. Stone.”

“Oh, yes, I was hoping I would see you at some point. I wanted to thank you for standing up for me at the council meeting.”

“I was glad to do it. We've met a number of times to discuss my children’s school work, and you’ve always conducted yourself as a lady – as well as a dedicated and caring teacher.”

Nancy had to smile at that. It felt so very good to hear someone say something nice about her. “Yully, Penny, Nestor, and Aggie are attentive and well-behaved children. It’s a pleasure -- it was a pleasure being their teacher.” She sighed. “Having said all that, may I ask what are you doing here just now? Whit and Carmen --”

“Mr. Whitney told me that you were staying here. He gave me the key, as well.”

“You seem to have gone to a great deal of trouble to find me, Mrs. Stone. What can I do for you?”

“For a start, you can call me Phillipia. I’m hoping that we can be friends.”

Nancy gave her a sad smile. “I could use a friend or two right now.”

“And I hope that you will think of me as one, seeing as I came to see you about taking over your job – just until you get reinstated, of course.”

“Thank you for that last part. It doesn’t seem very likely that I will, though.”

“I’m sure that you’re wrong about that.”

“There are a lot of people who think otherwise.” She thought for a moment. “But why are you asking me? I certainly don’t have any say in who my…” She sighed. “…my replacement is.”

“No, but I didn’t want you to think that I went behind your back. Or that I believe that nonsense that Cecelia Ritter and the others are spouting.” She paused for a moment. “Besides, if I’m to do the job properly, I’ll need your help.”

“My help?”

“Of course. My father was a college professor, Greek language and literature, and I often helped him with his classes – that was how I met my husband. But I don’t know the students in your class, or how well they’re doing in each subject, or – or a hundred other details that you know. You can show me all those things, and you can help me prepare the lessons.”

“I-I don’t think I can. I’m not supposed to have anything to do with the children.”

“I can come here after school, and you can help me learn what I’ll need. Then, when you take the class back, you can step right in.”

“If I take the class back.”

“I’m sure that you will.” Phillipia looked Nancy straight in the eye. “In the meantime, will you help me and help your students?”

Nancy felt as if a weight had been lifted. She didn’t want her problems to harm the children. She could still be a teacher, of sorts. “Of course, I will.” She hugged Phillipia. “And thank you, thank you so very much for asking.”

* * * * *

Forry Stafford and Leland Saunders rode slowly up to the hitching post in front of Abner Slocum’s ranch house. Abner saw them coming and walked down from the porch. “What’re you doing here, Stafford?” he asked gruffly.

“I just wanted a chance to speak to you again, Mr. Stafford,” he answered smoothly. “I had hoped to see you in town, but, when that didn’t happen…” His voice trailed off.

“I heard that you found something to occupy your time.”

“What… oh, her. Let me tell you, sir, that little bit of fluff put up a fight, but…” he grinned. “I knew she wanted it; they all do.”

Slocum glared at the other man. “So you took it, and made it look like it was her fault.”

“That’s beside the point, sir.” Forry sensed that he needed to change the subject, even if he didn’t know exactly why. Maybe Slocum was sleeping with the little tart himself – or wanted to.

Yes, that would explain what this rancher had stuck in his craw. Brian Kelly, Bridget Kelly. ‘Maybe the two of them got married after the war,’ he thought, ‘And Tess came out to where Brian was buried and jumped into bed with the most powerful man she could find. She knew the truth, so she got his help to clear her dead husband's war record and settle the grudge she had with me, the man who had gotten him kicked out of the army.’

He chuckled to himself. ‘And I just got her madder, even if she was asking for it.’

Forry didn't want to open that powder keg with Slocum. “I wanted very much to talk to you, so I decided to come back out to your ranch.”

Slocum frowned at how easily Stafford dismissed Bridget and what he’d done to her. “Make it quick. I have work to do.”

“I’m sorry we got off on such a bad footing the other day.” Forry gave the rancher his best smile, as he dismounted. Leland stayed on his horse. “I wanted to ask you another question about those records.”

“We’ve talked about them more than enough, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t believe the records or you.”

“You made that very clear, sir, and I’m sorry that you think so ill of me. I just wanted to ask you what, if anything, you were going to do regarding them.”

“I wasn’t going to do much of anything. Br – Kelly’s done rather well out here – gotten a new start as it were.” He smiled, thinking of how much of a new life Brian – now Bridget – Kelly had gotten.

Stafford misunderstood and smiled back. “Really, sir? I had heard that he was dead. He and that other no-good, Will Hanks, rode into some sort of an ambush and got the deaths they so richly reserved.”

“Don’t be so smug, Mr. Stafford.” Slocum was looking daggers at the man. He couldn’t tell Stafford the truth about Bridget, but he also couldn’t let this slimy little bastard think that he’d won. He might not be able to do much about the rape, but he could do something about those records.

“Your persistence has got me wondering just how badly the truth got distorted at that court martial,” he continued. “When I get back from spring branding, I’ll be writing to Issachar Bailey at the Veterans Affairs Office to ask him to investigate the matter further. He may find that a grave injustice has been done.”

Forry’s smile faded. “Why trouble yourself, sir, with such a trivial matter? Brian Kelly’s been rotting in his grave for almost a year.”

“Whether he’s dead or not, I think that the truth needs to be told about what happened at Adobe Wells.” The rancher looked sharply at the two men. “And the proper men punished for it.” Slocum doubted that any real measures could be taken against an ex-soldier for misdeeds committed in an army of a country that no longer existed, but public shame for Forry Stafford would be some sort of comeuppance.

Forry's face didn't change, but his eyes went cold. Now the rancher's cards were on the table. Stafford knew that it was up to him to either raise or call. He sure as hell wasn't going to fold.

A man led a roan horse over to Slocum just then. “Here y’go, boss. He’s saddled and ready.” He tied the horse’s reins to the post.

“Thanks, Blackie,” Abner said. He turned back to face Forry again. “You’ll excuse me now, but I have to get up north to my herd.”

Leland tried to buy more time. “Maybe Mr. Stafford ‘n’ me could ride with you for a while, Mr. Slocum, so’s you two could talk some more.”

“No, I think that I’ve endured the pair of you for as long as I care to. I’ll ask you to leave my ranch now.”

Stafford remounted. “This isn’t the end of it, Slocum.”

“Yes… I think it is. Goodbye.” Abner watched the pair ride off before he walked back up onto the porch for his saddlebags.

* * * * *

Lavinia Mackechnie poured tea for her two guests. “Cecelia,” she began, “you must be livid after the way you were… we were all tricked Wednesday night.”

“It was a setback.” Cecelia Ritter put a third lump of sugar in her tea and stirred it carefully. “But not a serious one. We got rid of that horrid Osbourne woman sooner than expected, and the town council set an early meeting date for a vote on the Reverend’s petition. They know that they can’t try some trick on us the next time.”

Zenobia Carson scowled. “Postponing the vote the way they did, that Aaron Silverman should be ashamed of himself.”

“Those people have no sense of shame.” Lavinia said. “I don’t understand how this town could ever have elected a Jew to serve on the council.”

“That’s easily remedied,” Cecelia said confidently. “Once the Reverend has the potion, we’ll be the one’s running this town, and we can make sure that the council is made up of G-d-fearing souls who believe in our sort of Christian values.”

“You sound very sure of yourself,” Lavinia told her.

Cecelia laughed. “I have every reason to be. We’ll use the time till the council meeting to make very certain that they vote the way we want them to.”

* * * * *

“You sure he’ll come this way, boss?” Leland Saunders asked.

Forry Stafford pointed down at the trail below. “He said he was going north. This is the only trail north from his ranch house. And I’m pretty certain that we doubled around to here before he had a chance to get past us.”

Things had gone too wrong too fast, Forry thought. Slocum, in his temper, could do a lot of damage if he got that investigation started. Normally, Forry would have had Leland and Dell do the dirty work, while he arranged a nice, tight alibi for himself.

But that damned fool Cooper got himself shot. He’d been the marksman and the steady hand of the pair. Leland didn't have backbone enough to be trusted to do this alone. Forry cursed Dell Cooper one more time for forcing him into doing the job personally.

“I hope you’re right. I don’t wanna have t’track him.”

Forry scowled at the man. “Shut up; I said he’ll be here.” He settled back into the tall grass of the rise, where they were hiding.

“There… there he is.” Stafford pointed down to the figure on the roan horse, who’d just come out of the cover of a patch of trees. “Ready… ready… now, fire… fire!”

Two rifle shots rang out. Slocum’s horse turned, as he started for the cover of the trees. But the man slumped in the saddle for a moment before he abruptly fell to the ground.

“Got you, you smug bastard!” Forry yelled triumphantly. They watched for a moment, but their target lay motionless on the trail. Slocum’s mount halted, then slowly walked back to sniff at the fallen man.

Satisfied, Leland stood up. “Let’s get outta here, sir, before somebody – aww… shit!” He saw men riding quickly out of the woods towards Slocum and ducked back down.

“What?” Forry looked. “Dammit; I thought he’d be alone.”

Two men dismounted and ran over to where the man lay. Another rider – “That damned nigger,” Forry spat when he recognized Luke Freeman. The man must have heard where the shots came from. He was pointing to where they were hiding. Five men wheeled their horses and galloped towards the hidden pair, weapons flashing. They were firing high to keep whoever had shot their boss pinned down.

“Run!” Forry and Leland both leapt to their feet and headed for the tree where their horses were tied.

Forry heard a groan. He glanced back to see Leland stumble and grab his right leg. Forry could see blood. “Help me, boss,” Leland pleaded.

“Idiot!” He sprinted forward. When he reached the tree, he began to pull at the reins.

He heard the sound of horses – and men. “Hold it right there,” a voice ordered. He looked up. Three men were glaring at him from horseback a few feet away, all of them with pistols pointed straight at him. Two more were over by Saunders, who sat on the ground, still holding his leg.

“Certainly, gentlemen.” Forry tried to smile as he dropped his rifle and slowly raised his hands.

* * * * *

“What’s Red doing to the boss?” Joe Ortleib asked.

Red Tully kept working. He’d managed to stop the blood flow with a balled-up kerchief pressed tight to the wound. Now he was trying to tie that kerchief in place with a couple more tied together into a sort of rope. “I’m trying to stop the bleeding,” he answered. “That’s about all I can do.”

“Can he ride?” Luke Freeman, the black foreman, asked.

Red shook his head. “Maybe… but he shouldn’t. He needs to stay as still as he can till the doc gets a good look at him.”

“Since when’re you such an expert?” Finny Pike demanded sarcastically.

“Since 1862,” Red replied. “The Army made me a orderly at a field hospital when I joined up. Moving… moving people was a big part of my job. There’s only one wound. The bullet that got him’s still in there, probably in his spine. His best chance’s t’stay laid down.”

Luke nodded. “Finny,” he ordered, “you’s got a fast horse. Get your ass back to the ranch and get out here quick as you can with a wagon so’s we can get Mr. Slocum into town.”

“Have ‘em put a mattress in it for him to lay on,” Red added. “And a blanket and pillow so he’ll be more comfortable.”

Finny nodded and galloped off.

“You just stay there, Mr. Slocum,” Red told his half-conscious employer. “We’ll get you to Doc Upshaw in no time. With any luck at all, you’ll be up and about in time t’see them bastards off to prison for what they tried t’do to you.”

He smiled reassuringly when he said it. It was the same lie he’d told too many wounded men during the War.

* * * * *

Liam used his napkin to wipe the last crumbs of cherry pie from his face. “That was a delicious dinner, Kaitlin.”

“Thank you, Liam,” Kaitlin replied, smiling. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”

Emma took a sip of lemonade. “It was good pie, Mama.” Trisha nodded and mumbled something in agreement.

“Thank you all.” Kaitlin rose and began to gather up the dishes.

Liam stood and shook his head. “You’re doing it wrong, Kaitlin.”

“What am I doing wrong?” she asked. “This is how I always clear the table.”

He walked around to where she was standing. “Yes, and if I was here as just your brother-in-law – your former brother-in-law – I’d watch you for a bit before I went over and sat on the sofa, talking shop with Trisha, while you put away the leftovers and did the dishes.” He took her hand. “But that’s not why I’m here tonight.”

“Wh-why are you here?” She felt a warm blush race across her face.

He smiled. “I’m courting you, Kaitlin. You know that – or you should; I’ve certainly made no secret of my intentions. Tonight Emma and Trisha are the ones who clean the table and do the dishes. We'll go out on the front porch to sit and talk and look up at the moon and…” He took the plate from her. “…and hold hands.”

“Well…” Kaitlin felt a pleasant tingle, one she hadn’t felt in a very long time, run through her. “I suppose we can do that – tonight, anyway.” She took Liam’s arm and let him lead her towards the door.

They both ignored Emma’s gasp of surprise and Trish’s angry glare.

* * * * *

Doctor Hiram Upshaw stepped into his office’s waiting room. He looked tired, and there were bloodstains on his white, cotton surgical coat.

“How’s Mister Slocum?” Luke Freeman asked, quickly rising to his feet. Red Tully, who was sitting three chairs away, also stood.

The doctor sighed. “I stopped the bleeding – you did a good job, Red. He’s not conscious, but, thankfully, he doesn’t seem to be in much pain.”

“Thank the good Lord for that, at least,” Red answered. “Is he… is he gonna be okay?”

“Frankly, it’s too soon to know. He’s weak, and his pulse is far from steady.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t help that the bullet’s still in there.”

Luke looked puzzled. “Couldn’t you take it out, sir?”

“He’s rather weak just now,” Upshaw told him. “And the bullet appears to be lodged in his spine. That’s very risky surgery.”

Freeman frowned. “You can’t jus’ leave it in there.”

“I don’t want to. There’s a doctor in Philadelphia, Wolfgang Vogel. He’s an expert in this type of surgery. Since I’ll be up all night monitoring Abner, I’ll also be using that time to draft a telegram to Vogel describing the case and asking for his advice.”

“You write it up, doc,” Red told him, “and I’ll take it over for you in the morning. That way you can stay here and watch the boss.”

The physician chuckled. “Are you sure Luke here is going to let you hang around my office till morning?”

“You’s prob’ly gonna want some help with Mr. Slocum, doc,” the black man said in reply. “Red done worked at a hospital during the War. I got me a ranch t’run, ‘specially with Mr. Cap up in Prescott, but Red, he can stay here for as long as need be.”

* * * * *

“Are we in agreement, then?” Whit Whitney asked his fellow councilmen.

Aaron Silverman gestured at the almost empty schoolroom. “You see anybody else that wants the job?” He took a breath. “We’re just lucky that the one that does want it will do a good job. As the Sages say, when Luck enters, give him a seat! Let’s hire her already.”

“Arsenio, what do you say?” Whit asked.

The smith shrugged. “I agree with Aaron. She’ll do the job – and do it well enough, I suppose. Let’s hire her and go home.”

“Done.” Whit banged his chairman’s gavel. “You’re hired, Phillipia, and good luck to us all.”

* * * * *

Arsenio watched the room empty. Once the three councilmen were alone, he picked up his hat and stepped over to Whit, who was putting papers into a valise. “Whit, has Nancy said anything to you about what really happened between her and Dell Cooper?”

“Not yet; I’ve given her every chance now that she's staying in our guesthouse, but all she said was that she'd prefer to talk to the whole council together, not one at a time.”

“Is she stalling about something?”

Aaron came over to join them. “Why should she wish to wait? As they say, the truth is so heavy that few men can carry it alone.”

“I think she's waiting for her brother's problems to be decided,” Whit answered. “I can't help but think that her reluctance to defend herself has to do with the suspicions against him. Maybe something she knows might be used against Carl at the inquest.”

Arsenio nodded. “Maybe. And maybe it's her duty to speak up about what she knows about Carl, good or bad. I like Nancy, but she's doing herself no good letting people wonder about her.”

“The truth, as they say, can be the worst libel,” Aaron added, “but he is her brother, and blood don’t turn into water.”

“I get a sense that the feeling is hardening against her,” Whit said, “when she could have nipped it in the bud by talking at the meeting… maybe.”

The other two agreed. “And maybe,” Aaron suggested, “we should set a date to hear her out after we know if Carl's going to go free or not.”

“Probably so,” Arsenio said. “We have time before we need to start a search for a permanent replacement, if necessary.” He considered the situation. “How about Wednesday night at… 7, over at your place, Whit?”

The barber shrugged. “Sounds good to me. I just hope that that young lady uses the time she's got well.”

* * * * *

Saturday, April 27, 1872

Arnie pulled the laundry wagon up to the Spauldings’ back porch, her last delivery of the day. “Remember, Mama,” she told Teresa, who was walking beside her, “the Spauldings do not know that I am really a boy.”

“I will remember,” Teresa answered. “Is that why you are wearing a dress, so they will not find out?”

“I… they expect me to dress this way. Señora Spaulding said I should wear one if I’m going to be their teacher. I want to keep that job.”

“Your papa used to say that ‘gold is the best argument.’ I see that he was right.”

Arnie sighed. “They are very nice people. I like them, and I do not want to disappoint them.”

“Not disappoint them the way you disappoint me when you will not wear a dress except for church?”

Arnie could hear the hurt in her voice. “Mama, I… it is just easier to pull the wagon if I wear my old clothes. A dress… there is not the room to stretch my legs when I walk, and it is tight…” She gestured at her stomach and her bosom. “…up here when I move my arms.”

“I managed,” Teresa replied. “And I will have to manage again when I take the job back from you on Monday.”

“You are used to wearing a dress while you work. I was… I am not.”

Before Teresa could answer, a tall young man walked onto the porch. “I thought I heard voices out here.” He smiled and looked down at the two women. “Hello, Annie. Is this your mother? You said that she’d be coming with you today.” He walked down the steps to where they were standing. “I – we all – have looked forward to meeting her.”

“And you will.” The young woman smiled back at him and half-turned towards Teresa. “Mama, this is my friend, Hedley Spaulding.” She turned back. “Hedley, this is my mama, Teresa Diaz.”

Hedley offered Teresa his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Diaz.”

“And I…” Teresa shook his hand. “…am pleased to meet my daughter’s friend.”

Three packages of clean laundry, all labeled “Spaulding”, were on the top of the cart. “I’ll take these.” Hedley picked them up. “After you, ladies.” He bowed, gesturing at the steps with his free arm.

“Th-thank you, Hedley.” Arnie felt a rush of heat run across her face, as she walked up onto the porch. She stopped and looked back at the boy… and her mother.

Teresa studied the expression on her daughter’s face. ‘Perhaps,’ she told herself, ‘Arnolda is not as much of a boy as she thinks she is.’

* * * * *

Phillipia Stone knocked on the door of the Whitney guesthouse, a two-story structure at the far side of the fenced-in courtyard behind their house.

“Be right there,” a female voice came from inside. A moment later, Nancy Osbourne opened the door. “Phillipia, do come in.”

Phillipia walked in. “Thanks.” She looked around. “Oh, my goodness...” Her voice trailed off.

“It certainly is,” Nancy said with a chuckle.

They stood in a large, well-appointed main room. The walls were plastered a light blue shade that went well with the dark oak paneling. Several paintings, portraits of men in old-fashioned Spanish costume, hung from the walls. A fireplace, almost high enough for Nancy to step into, took up most of one wall. A set of three chairs and a long settee were grouped in front of it. A dining table, made of the same dark oak and surrounded by eight chairs, stood some feet beyond it. Phillipia could see that a stack of papers, most of them arranged in folders, sat on the table.

“I knew that Carmen’s family was old Spanish land grant,” Phillipia said, “but this…”

“Was designed to impress.” Nancy finished the thought. “It impressed me, too. There’s a full kitchen behind that door.” She pointed beyond the table. “And four lovely bedrooms upstairs. I’m using the smallest one, and it’s still twice as big as… my last room.”

Her smile faded. “I hate it, living here on charity like I am.”

“Maybe Carmen and Mr. Whitney will let you stay here after you get your job back.”

“If I get it back. If I want it back after what the good ladies of this town did to me. If I want to go back to living my life by rules that none of them would ever put up with.” She shook her head as if to banish the thought. “No, that’s not fair. I’ve loved my time here as a teacher.”

“And you will be one again… soon.” Phillipia put her hand on the other woman’s arm. “For now, you can help me keep the children’s studies going until you take your job back.”

“You were hired, then?”

“I was, but I don’t know if it was because of my sterling credentials or because nobody else asked for the job.”

Nancy had to smile at that. “Nobody else was crazy enough, eh? All right, come over to the table and let’s get started.”

“What are these?” Phillipia asked as she sat down next to Nancy.

“My files on each student; I kept them in my room because I worked on them at night. I just… brought them with me when I had to move out.”

“I’m glad you did. What are they, exactly?”

“Notes on each student’s habits, especially on how they learn; their test records and their grade levels for each subject; and, most important, my lesson plan, what I hope to teach each student by the end of this year.”

“All that?”

“Let me show you.” She picked up a file. “This is your son, Yully.” She opened it and began to read. “Ulysses – ‘Yully’ – Stone. Good natured and a natural leader; clumsy from a growth spurt early in the fall.” She put down the folder and continued. “He grew into his taller body over the winter, I’m glad to say.”

“Amen to that,” Phillipia agreed.

Nancy picked up the folder again. “Arithmetic… at grade level; reading… above grade level; history... well above grade level. Shall I go on?”

“No, that certainly sounds like him.” She reached for the folder. “Can you show me how to use this – and the ones for all the other children, of course?”

“That’s why I got them out. It may look like a lot of hard work, but I’m sure that you’ll manage.”

* * * * *

“So… Annie,” Teresa began. She and Arnie were walking home from the Spaulding house. Teresa was pulling the wagon now.

Arnie stopped. “Please, do not call me that name, Mama.”

“Why not?” her mother asked. “You did not mind when the Spauldings used it. In fact, you seemed to be very comfortable with the name.” She paused a beat. “Just as you seemed comfortable in that dress.”

“They… Señora Spaulding heard me wrong when I first came to their house. She thought that I said ‘Annie’, not ‘Arnie’ when she asked my name. I did not say anything because I wanted her business for the laundry. Now, it… it would hurt her feelings to tell her the truth.”

“And the dress?”

“I told you, Mama. She – they all expect me to wear a dress while I teach them Spanish. For the money they pay, I am willing to do it.”

Teresa chuckled. “Maybe I should pay you. Then you would wear a dress the rest of the time.”

“Please, Mama,” Arnie sighed, “do not tease me. I am a man. I know what I look like, but – inside -- I know that I am a man.”

“You look like a very beautiful young woman. Why do you not want to dress as one?”

“Because I am not one – I am not, I am not!” She pouted and stamped her foot. Then she sighed again. “And I am so tired of saying that I am not a woman. But if… if I start to dress like one, if I let you call me ‘Annie’, then I am telling people that I am a woman. Can you understand that?” She looked almost ready to cry.

Teresa gently put her arm on her daughter’s shoulder. “Si, Arnolda, I understand.”

* * * * *

Stephan slid his checker to an open square.

“You really ain’t got your mind on your game today, do you?” Penny Stone asked. She jumped the checker, then jumped a second one, which landed her man on the far row of the board. “King me,” she said in triumph, taking his two pieces off the board.

The boy studied the board. He had three checkers left to her seven, and this was her second king. “I give up, Penny. You win.”

The rest of the Fort Secret “garrison “ – as they called themselves – were gathered around the table, watching the game being played out in their underground club house. Ysabel sat down next to the defeated player. “You’re a better player than her, Stephan. What’s the matter?”

“I’m still mad at my Pa about Miss Osbourne, I guess,” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “He shoulda stopped ‘em from firing her. He’s so good at telling folks what to do – he tells me often enough – but he just stood there and let them ladies get their way.”

Yully sat down next to his sister. “Yeah, but what can you do about it?”

“I can make darn sure that I don’t wind up like him,” Stephan told him. “I’m gonna write a letter t’West Point. I wanna know exactly what it takes to get in and how old you have to be.”

Emma snorted. “Your pa’s gonna hit the roof when you get a letter back from West Point telling all that. You’ll never get to see it, and you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

“How ‘bout if I write that letter,” Yully suggested. “My folks won’t mind. At least, I don’t think they will.”

Stephan shook his head. “That’s no good. I want them t’have a record of my name. Just knowing that they have that letter from me’ll make me feel like I got a start at going there.”

“You both should write the letter,” Ysabel proposed. “Give them both your names, and you both sign it, but only write Yully’s address, so they send their answer t’his house.”

Stephan’s expression brightened. “You know, that just might work. Thanks, Ysabel.” He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Y-you’re welcome.” It wasn’t very bright in the underground room, and Ysabel hoped that no one saw her blushing in the dim light.

* * * * *

Herve knocked on the half-opened door to Lady Cerise’s office. “Yes, mon cher?” she asked, looking up from her desk. Wilma sat next to her, as they worked on the account books.

“Mam’selle Jessie is here to see her sister,” he replied. “She says that it is très important.”

Wilma stood up. “You don’t mind, do you, Cerise?”

“No,” Cerise shook her head, “but ask her to be brief, s'il vous plait. We have a bit more work to do before you can go and join the other ladies.”

“Hey there, Wilma… Cerise.” Jessie walked into the room. “Is it okay if we talk in here?”

“I feel the need for a cup of tea just now.” Cerise smiled and rose to her feet. “I shall return in… ten minutes?” She said the last as a question.

Jessie nodded. “That should be more ‘n enough time. Thanks.” She waited until the older woman had left the room before she continued. “You hear ‘bout Forry Stafford ‘n’ Slocum?”

“Clay Falk was in here last night. Clay told me – when we had time t’talk – how Forry and that little snake of his ambushed Slocum. He said they almost got him.”

Jessie nodded. “Slocum’s over at the doc’s. He’s hurt real bad, Paul says.” She sighed. “At least they got them two bastards.”

“Yeah, but what’re they gonna do with ‘em? That’s what I wanna know.”

“Try ‘em for murder -- attempted murder, I hope, find ‘em guilty, and put ‘em away some place for a good long time.” She smiled, thinking of Forry Stafford spending years in some prison.

Wilma shook her head. “Or find ‘em guilty and give ‘em each a dose of Shamus’ potion, just like they done t’us, and let ‘em work off their time in the Saloon.”

“Shit, you think that’ll happen? I'm not so sure I want to have those two in there, dirtying up the air. That's my home, you know.” She thought for a moment. “If it happens, what'll we do?”

“I know what I’d like t’do… I’d like t’give ‘em a double dose – turn ‘em out onto the street, a couple of man-crazy carpet girls fucking in an alley with any fellah that’s got two bits t’rub together.” She gave her sister a nasty grin.

Jessie frowned. “I like it, but it ain’t gonna happen. Shamus is way too careful with that potion, ‘specially now that he’s got that preacher man after it. Besides…” she teased, “if they did get a double dose, they’d probably wind up here, working for you and the Lady.”

“The only one that’d like that is Rosalyn. Her and Forry hit it off real good, them both being ‘Suthun’ aristocrats, and all.” Wilma spoke the last in her thickest Texas accent, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“That still might be better than having ‘em over at the Saloon, having Forry rubbing shoulders with Bridget all day long.” She chuckled. “O’course, that’s all Forry’d be able to rub.”

Wilma’s expression changed to one of concern. “How is Bridget? She any better?”

“A little. She still ain’t running her game, but I think Molly’s got her coming downstairs for the dance t’night. She’ll just sell tickets, and Molly’ll be the one dancing.”

“That ain’t much, but it’s a start, I guess. It’s sure better ‘n her sitting up in her room crying.” She thought for a moment. “And maybe – just maybe – all them men asking about her, asking how she’s doing, and why she ain’t running her game, or even ain’t just dancing with ‘em – maybe it’ll get her feeling better ‘bout herself.”

“I hope you’re right. It pains me the way she acts like what that bastard done was her fault.” Jessie took a breath. “Still ‘n’ all, what are we gonna do if them two sons-of-bitches take the potion?”

Wilma shrugged. “I ain’t sure, but I do know two things. I, for one, ain’t gonna tell ‘em who I – we – used to be. And I am gonna laugh at them so damned hard that I’ll like t’bust this here corset of mine.”

Jessie nodded, a nasty smile curling her lips now. “You know, big sister, that part about laughing at ‘em sounds like one of your better ideas.”

* * * * *

“Good evening, Jane,” Milt said in a cheery tone. “I have my ticket right here.” He held it out.

She took it without a word and put it in the pocket of her apron. “Okay, let’s dance.”

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?” He took her arm and led her out onto the dance floor.

She turned to face him, as the music began. “What if I am? I took your ticket, didn’t I?”

“You did, but I was hoping that we could talk while we danced, maybe –”

She cut him off. “Look, Mr. Quinlan, I took your ticket. That means I gotta dance with you.” She sighed. “Just like I’d dance with any other stranger who had a ticket. I don't have to talk to you if I don't want to, and I don't!”

He gave a small sigh. “We'll, then let's dance.”

* * * * *

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change – Spring, part 5 of 13
By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson © 2014

Sunday, April 28, 1872

Nancy walked slowly towards the schoolhouse. ‘Feels good to be back here,’ she thought to herself, as she joined the crowd of Sunday worshipers gathering outside the doors. ‘Even just for Sunday services.’

There was a rustle around her, as people turned to look her way. “What is she doing here?” someone said indignantly, speaking just loud enough for Nancy to hear.

Another voice – Nancy thought that she recognized the nasal tones of Zenobia Carson – added: “Look at her, coming here today as if she had nothing to be ashamed of.”

Nancy bristled and shifted to face her. “Why shouldn’t I be here? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Cecelia Ritter suddenly blocked her path. “Go home, you brazen hussy. You’ve no place here among decent folk.”

Nancy looked the matron in the eye. “I thought that the church would be exactly the place for a sinner as evil as you claim I am.”

Cecelia laughed smugly. “The place for a repentant sinner, perhaps, but I see no sign of repentance – or the hope of repentance -- in you.”

“And I see no sign of Christian humility – or Christian mercy – in you, Mrs. Ritter.” She tried to step around the other woman. “Perhaps, we’re both in need of some divine assistance.”

Lavina Mackechnie and Zenobia Carson moved in front of her. “How dare you speak to Cecelia like that?” Lavinia asked.

“Because she deserves it; now let me pass.” Nancy glowered at the trio, as they continued to obstruct her. A few others, male and female, joined them. Nancy was all but surrounded. She thought that she saw Phillipia Stone at the back of the crowd, giving her a smile of encouragement, but unable to get any closer.

Reverend Yingling pushed his way through the crowd. “What is going on here?”

“This… this hussy insulted us.” Cecelia replied.” She… she boasted about her scarlet ways.”

Nancy shook her head. “I did nothing of the sort, Reverend. All I wanted to do was to attend services, and these three tried to force me to leave.”

“Perhaps…” Yingling studied Nancy’s face. Then he glanced over at Cecelia. “Perhaps, Nancy, it might be better to let things quiet down before you --”

“Seek the guidance of our Lord?” Arsenio stepped up next to the minister. “That’s hardly what I would expect a man of G-d to say. A politician might say it, but a preacher like you – never.”

Yingling took a breath. “She, ahhh… she is, of course, welcome here today. I only meant that she – that all four ladies -- should take a moment to calm down before joining us.” He looked angrily at Cecelia. “Joy, not anger, however justified, is the way to worship our Savior.” He turned and hurried off, with most of the crowd following him.

“Thank you, Mr. Caulder,” Nancy said, trying to collect her thoughts. “And good morning to you, Mrs. Caulder,” she added when Laura joined her husband.

Arsenio smiled. “Glad to be of help.”

“Nancy!” Phillipa Stone and her husband, Lucian, joined the group. “I wanted to talk to you some more about the school.” She smiled at Nancy and gave a reassuring wink.

The teacher felt her body unclench. “Certainly, we can have a nice long talk about things after church.”

“Why don’t you join Phillipia and me, then?” Lucian offered Nancy his left arm, as his wife took his right.

“Delighted.” She took his arm and walked with them into the building.

* * * * *

Cap Lewis rode into town at full gallop. When he reached Doc Upshaw’s office, he pulled up and leapt from his horse, pausing just long enough to tie the reins to the hitching post.

“Damn!” he spat when he reached the door. “Locked.” He pounded on the glass in frustration.

The curtain at the window to the left of Cap opened deliberately. It was Edith Lonnigan, squinting into the darkness outside. She bustled over to the front door, and turned the latch. “Who?… oh, Mr. Lewis.”

“Thanks,” Cap said as the door opened. He hurried past her into the waiting room, a wild look in his eyes, his clothes coated with dust from a long, hard ride. “My uncle,” he demanded. “Luke Freeman wired me that he’d been shot. How is he?” He waited for a response. When she didn’t speak, he started for the back, where he knew Upshaw had some beds for his patients.

“Wait a minute, Mr. Lewis.” The curtain before him moved aside, and Red Tully stepped through, to block the way. “The doc’s checking on your uncle right now.”

Cap raised an eyebrow. “Red… what are you doing here?”

“Helping me.” The physician walked through the curtain from the back. His white coat was rumpled, and his hair was messed. He’d been busy. “Helping your uncle, too.”

“How is Uncle Abner? What happened? Can I talk to him?”

Upshaw raised a hand. “I just gave him something to make him sleep, so you won’t be able to talk right now. To tell the truth, I’ve got him sleeping a lot. It’s about all I can do for him at the moment.”

“Who hurt him?” Cap demanded.

“Two men, Stafford and Saunders, ambushed him,” Red added, “but don’t you worry none. We caught ‘em. They’re cooling their heels in jail till their trial tomorrow.”

“Who in hell are they?”

“A couple o’polecats from Texas,” Red answered.

“Stafford… from Texas? Is that the same Stafford Bridget told my uncle and me about?”

The other two men suddenly looked uneasily at one another, as if they knew something that they didn't want to say.

Cap took a breath. “In jail? That’s some good news, anyway.” He looked the doctor in the eye. “But you said that all you could do was help Uncle Abner sleep. What exactly is the matter with him?”

“The bullet lodged in his spine, as near as I can tell without surgery. He was mounted when he was hit, and he fell off the horse – hard. He doesn’t seem to have much feeling below the middle of his back.”

“Is he… paralyzed?”

“It’s too early to say. He seems to have some sensation in his right arm, but not much other than that. Look, Cap, there’s a Doctor Vogel in Philly. He was an Army surgeon during the War, and he’s an expert on such wounds. I’ve written – telegraphed – him to ask for advice. He’s helped more than one doctor that way, so I have every hope that he can help your uncle, too.”

“How… how soon will he write back?”

“I don’t know. I said that it was urgent. In the meantime, I’m monitoring your uncle. Luke Freeman told Red to stay here and help out. Did you know that he was an orderly at a Union Army Hospital?”

Cap shook his head. “I guess he did mention it once or twice.” He glanced to the cowhand. “Thanks, Red.”

“Glad t’help. Your uncle’s a good man.”

“Thank you for that, too.” Cap’s body relaxed, and he suddenly yawned.

Doc Upshaw studied the man for a moment. “You rode straight on through from Prescott, didn’t you?”

“I did. What… what of it?”

“There’re four beds in my ward. Why don’t you pick one that your uncle isn’t using and get some rest?”

“But my uncle… and… and Bridget.”

The physician frowned for some reason that Cap didn’t understand. “It’s only mid morning. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until later, after you’ve had some sleep, before you see her? You’ll be rested, and you and she can give each other your full attention.”

“Now, that…” Cap yawned again. And smiled. “… that sounds like a real good idea. Okay, Doc, show me to that bed.”

* * * * *

“Papa,” Ruth Yingling said hesitantly, “can I ask you a question?”

Yingling smiled. “May I ask you a question, and, yes, you may.”

“Why was everybody being so nasty to Miss Osbourne? What did she do wrong?”

The Reverend thought for a moment. “She, ah… some people feel that she has not been acting in a manner appropriate for a school teacher.”

“That’s not true,” the girl protested. “She’s a good teacher. She gave me all that extra help with my spelling, and look how well I did on my last test.”

Yingling patted her head. “It is not her spelling that is the problem, daughter. It was the example she set for her students.”

“She didn’t set a bad example today,” Stephan interrupted. “She was just trying to come to church when Miz Ritter and them – and those other women stopped her.”

The minister raised a surprised eyebrow at his son. “Cecelia – Mrs. Ritter – and the other women were concerned that she might cause trouble. I’m surprised that you didn’t see that.”

“I saw,” the boy continued. “It looked to me like they were bullying her, trying to force her to leave.”

Ruth smiled and clutched her father’s arm. “But they didn’t. Papa stopped them.”

“Yes,” the boy replied, “yes, he did… eventually.”

The man frowned. “I merely wanted to give them all time to calm down. One should not enter a church in anger.” His son just misunderstood. The boy couldn’t possibly be questioning him.

“Of course, father,” Stephan said innocently. “What other reason could you have?”

* * * * *

“Your lawyer’s here to see you, boys,” Paul announced.

Zach Levy walked over to the jail cell where Stafford and Saunders were locked up. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He waited while Paul unlocked the cell and opened the door. “May we have some privacy, Deputy?” he asked as he entered the cell.

“Don’t see why not.” He locked the door. “Give a yell when you’re ready to leave.” He turned and walked back to the desk. The deputy was far enough away that there was little chance that he could hear them talking.

The lawyer sat down on the bunk. He set his dark brown, leather briefcase on the cot next to Forry and took out a pad of paper and a pencil. “It doesn’t look very good. Forry, you were heard arguing with Abner Slocum about something. Then you’re found holding a rifle and looking out from hiding when he’s shot. They found you both, actually.”

“They done shot me, too,” Leland interrupted. “I’ll be limping for weeks from that bullet them bastards put in my leg.”

“The fact that you were two trying to run away doesn’t help your case very much. The only thing in your favor is that Slocum is still alive. Otherwise, you’d be on trial for murder instead of attempted murder.” Zach studied the faces of his two clients. “Can you tell me anything – anything at all – that would help?”

Forry grinned. “How about the fact that I know Ed Davis; know him real good. Does that help?”

“I’m not sure. Who is this Mr. Davis? Does he live around here?”

The other man chuckled. “Nope, he lives back in Austin – in the governor’s mansion.”

“So you claim to know the governor of Texas. I’m afraid that I don’t see how that might help your case.”

“Oh, I know him, all right, but it won’t help at my trial, though. They’ve got me dead to rights.”

Zach raised a curious eyebrow. “Do you want to plead guilty, then?”

“Might as well. It doesn’t really matter what happens at the trial.”

“What do you mean? Of course it matters. If you can give the jury a good reason as to why you ambushed Abner Slocum, you might even get lucky and draw a lesser sentence.”

“Well, I could say that Slocum had been making false accusations about me, and that he'd sworn to my face that he was going to smear my honorable reputation by spreading them around. But that defense would just drag things out. I've had enough of this territory, and I just want to get home as soon as I can.”

“Threatening to hurt your reputation, that seems like a pretty weak justifications for shooting a man from cover. Tell me, do you have any witness to these threats you say he made?”

“Leland here.”

Zach shook his head. “He's one of the accused. His testimony won't count for much, not with Slocum being such a respected man locally.”

“If I’d had my way, Slocum’d be dead right now. But, like you said, after the trial comes the sentencing, and that’s where knowing Ed’ll come in very handy. Whoever you got as the territorial governor of Arizona, he should fall all over himself when the governor of Texas tells him to let me go.”

Saunders looked nervous. “What about me, boss? You ain’t gonna leave me rot in some jail, are you?”

“I suppose I owe you something. I’ll see if Ed can’t get you out, too.” Forry smiled and put him arm on his hireling’s shoulder. ‘The hell I will,’ he thought, still smiling broadly. ‘If I get you out, you’ll have something you can hold over me for years, just like you and Cooper did with Adobe Wells. It’ll be a pure relief to let you rot.’

* * * * *

Cap walked through the swinging doors of the Eerie Saloon. He stopped almost at once and looked around inside. Bridget was alone, sitting at her usual table.

‘Probably playing that solitaire game of hers,’ he thought, ‘but why is she sitting with her back to the door, instead of watching to see who comes in?’ He shrugged and started towards her.

Shamus saw him and started to say something. Cap stopped and put a finger to his lips, asking the barman not to give away the surprise.

“Guess who,” he told her, reaching around as he did so to cover her eyes. He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck – just to give her a clue, of course.

She shuddered and pushed away from him. “N-no! Don’t… don’t touch me!” Then she turned and saw his face.

“Oh… oh, my G-d… Cap!” She looked at him, like he never saw her look at him before. She sprang up and bolted for the stairs before he recovered from his own surprise.

He stared, confused, for just a moment. “Bridget, what’s going on?” When she didn’t answer, when she kept running, he began the chase.

With his longer legs, he closed most of the distance between them while they were still on the stairway. But when she reached the second floor, she sprinted for her door. She managed to get inside, closing it behind her in time to shut him out.

“Bridget, please.” He tried the knob, only to hear the click of the latch, as it slid into place.

“G-go away. I… you don’t… don’t…” Her voice trailed off.

He shook the door, trying to force it open somehow. “I don’t what? Please, Bridget, please tell me what’s the matter.” He took a breath. “I… I love you.”

“No, you… you don’t.” There were no words after that, only the horrible sound of a woman – the woman he loved – sobbing.

Why was she acting like this? All at once, he remembered the odd glance that had passed between Red Tully and the doctor. Something had happened to Bridget, something so bad that they didn't want to him to know about it. He sank down to the floor, his fists clenched in frustration and anger. Anger at whoever had done this to her, and frustration that he couldn’t take her in his arms and comfort her.

* * * * *

Shamus caught Molly staring at the ceiling. “Why don’t ye go up there, Love?”

“What do ye mean?”

“That’s gotta be the ninth time ye was looking up towards Bridget’s room in the last five minutes.”

“I’m worried, Shamus. Ye saw the way she ran, like she was being chased by a demon from Hell, and not by the man she cares for – and who cares for her – more than any other.”

“I know. The best thing for the both of them would be if they was in her room… comforting each other. But if they ain’t – which is the more likely, I’m thinking, that maybe ye can help.”

“From yuir mouth t’the Good Lord’s Ear.” Molly gave him a quick peck on the cheek and headed for the staircase.

* * * * *

Cap sat on the floor outside Bridget’s door. Her crying had stopped, but there were no other sounds from within the room. He was trying to decide what to do next, when he heard a voice, a voice on this side of the door. “Cap, are ye all right?”

“Molly?” He managed to get to his feet. “What’s going on?”

She gave him a vague smile. “I’ll not be telling ye here. Come down and have a drink.”

“What about Bridget? I want to --”

“Ye’re not likely t’be hearing it from her. For that matter, it ain’t likely that she’ll be coming out anytime soon.” She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Ye might as well be waiting for her at the bar. Our stools are a lot more comfortable that that patch of floor ye’ve been sitting on.”

He thought for a moment. “I suppose. She’s got to come out sometime, and I can wait just as well downstairs.” His stomach growled. “Sorry, I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Even more reason t’be coming with me. Maggie’s serving up some nice chicken stew at that restaurant o’hers tonight.”

Cap followed Molly down, and they both took a seat at one of the restaurant tables. “Now,” he asked as soon as he sat down. “What’s the matter with Bridget? Why did she act the way she did? What does everybody know that I don't?”

“She…” Molly sighed. She looked down at the table and spoke in a low, troubled voice. “Cap, there ain’t no good way t’be saying it. Bridget…” Molly sighed and closed her eyes, hating what she had to tell him. “She… she was… raped.”

She saw the young rancher's expression change to astonishment, then horror, then rage. “Take it easy, Cap,” she cautioned.

“What! Who did it? Where is he?” Cap growled, his hands balled into fists. “I’ll… I’ll cut his balls off.”

“In jail, he is, and good riddance.” She spat. “His trial’s tomorrow, only it… it ain’t for that.” She laid her hand on his arm. “His name is Stafford, and he’s… he’s the man that shot yuir Uncle Abner.”

“Stafford again! I’ll… I’ll kill him right now!” Cap’s fists were clenched, and Molly kept a careful eye on the steak knife that was part of his place setting at the table.

“Don’t ye be going off and doing something stupid like that. Bridget needs ye. She’s been in a dreadful state of mind, since he… done it to her.”

“She behaved like she was afraid of her own shadow, but, Molly, why did she run away once she knew it was me?”

“That devil of a man done a lot more t’her than just… what he done t’her body. He come in here the next day, bold as brass, and pays her for what he done t’her. He paid her right thuir where everyone could see.”

“My Lord! He damned well called Bridget a whore when he did that.”

“Most of them that was about when he come in, they knew that it was a lie. So do most o’them that’ve heard of it by now. Ain’t nobody talked like they thought she was a whore, at least not while me or Shamus was around t’be hearing it.” She shook her head. “The problem ain’t what other people thinks of Bridget; it’s what she thinks o’herself.”

“She can’t possibly be thinking that she’s a whore.”

Molly nodded. “She does, and she’s convinced that everybody else thinks the same. Worst of all, she’s sure that ye’ll be feeling that way, too, as soon as ye hear the tale. That’s why she ran. She was afraid t’be facing the disgust she knew she’d be seeing in yuir eyes.”

“I won’t just cut off that bastard’s balls…” Cap’s face was purple with rage. “I’ll cut off his prick, too, and feed it to him. Then I’ll kill him.”

Judge Humphreys had been seated two tables away, eating dinner with Dwight Albertson.
He stood up and walked over, taking an empty seat between Molly and Cap. “That’s a good sentiment, Cap, though it’s hardly something a judge should approve of. Only you won’t be able to put those admirable intentions of yours into action,” he told them, “now or after the trial either, most likely.”

“What do ye mean, yuir Honor?” Molly asked.

“I heard about what Stafford did, and, no, I didn’t believe a word of what he implied about Bridget, not for a minute, either. Unfortunately, she was too ashamed to file charges, so there was nothing the Sheriff or I could do for her.”

“But they got caught dead to rights on your uncle’s land, and the jury’s most likely to find them guilty. If they do, I intend to throw the book at them.”

Cap studied the Judge’s face. “So if they get found guilty, they’ll get the choice of the potion or jail, like Jane did, or Ozzie Pratt?”

Humphreys gave them both a nasty sort of grin. “Maybe.”

* * * * *

Monday, April 29, 1872

“Oyez, oyez,” Dan Talbot called out, “the court of the Honorable Parnassus J. Humphreys for the Township of Eerie in the County of Maricopa and the Territory of Arizona is now in session.”

The Judge was sitting at one of the restaurant tables. He pounded his gavel one time. “Be seated,” he ordered and turned to Paul. “What’s the first case?”

“The Township of Eerie versus Forrest Stafford and Leland Saunders on the charges of attempted murder and
flight to avoid prosecution.”

Zach Levy was seated between the two defendants. He quickly rose to his feet. “Zachary Levy defending these men, Your Honor.”

“And how do they plead, Mr. Levy?” Humphreys asked.

“Guilty on both counts, sir.”

The Judge blinked. He clearly had not expected this. Then, composing himself, he motioned with his hand. “Stand up, you two.” He waited for the men to stand. “Is that right? The two of you are admitting to shooting Abner Slocum?”

“We are, Your Honor,” Forry replied.

“Just for the sake of curiosity, would you care to explain why you did it?”

Stafford shrugged. “Angry words were spoken. My friend and I over-reacted.”

“That would be an understatement,” the Judge said with a scowl.

Forry shook his head in distaste. “Let’s get on with it.” He started to sit until Levy warned him to keep standing.

Humphreys frowned. “Mr. Saunders, are you pleading guilty, as well?”

“He is,” Forry said.

The Judge studied Stafford with annoyance for a moment. “Let the man speak for himself, Mr. Stafford. Are you telling me that you’re also guilty, Mr. Saunders?”

“I-I am, s-sir,” Leland answered nervously. “I -- I'm deeply sorry, Your Honor.”

Milt Quinlan had been sitting alone at a table a few feet away from Levy and his clients. “It seems that we won’t need your services as prosecutor, after all, Counselor,” the Judge told him, “or those of the jury. However, I’ll ask the jurors not to leave, as their services will be required again shortly.”

The dozen men, picked by lot as people came into the saloon, were clustered around two nearby tables. “I think we can do that,” Fred Norton, one of the jurors, replied. The others agreed.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Humphreys took a breath. “Will the defendants please rise?” Stafford, Saunders, and their lawyer stood up, as the Judge continued. “Do either of you have anything to say before I pass sentence?”

Forry gave a low chuckle. “Yes, Mr. Stafford?” the Judge asked. “Speak up.”

“Do what you want to me, Judge,” Forry replied confidently. “I may have acted in rash high spirits, but I only did what any decent man from Texas would have done in the face of such provocation. I think my friend, Governor Davis, would agree with me. He's a Texan through and through, and a man of wide influence. He knows your own esteemed territorial governor, I believe.”

The Judge shook his head and then looked at Leland. “Do you have anything to say, Mr. Saunders?” When the other man nervously shrugged, Humphreys continued. “Very well, then. I sentence you each to a drink of, shall we say, O’Toole’s ‘Special Blend’ and a two month stay in the Eerie Special Offenders’ Penitentiary.”

“Two… two months?” Forry was almost incredulous. Then he smiled. The Judge was no fool. He didn't want to take the political heat. If the man was, in fact, such a coward, a little more pressure yet should get him released by the weekend. “Is that all?”

Zach Levy spoke up. “Your Honor, I’m afraid that I am unfamiliar with this type of sentencing. Where is this ‘penitentiary’ you just mentioned?”

“As a matter of fact, you’re standing in it. The Eerie Saloon has been an adjunct of the town jail for several months already,” the jurist answered. “And here comes the warden to start their sentences.”

“What exactly is the sentence? We may wish to launch an appeal.”

“Appeals? We do things quickly out here,” the jurist replied. “Justice delayed is justice denied. You may, of course, launch any appeals that you and your clients deem wise, but for now, the convicted felons have to be rendered into custody. If that doesn't suit the defense, take it up with your client’s friend, the governor.”

He then pointed to Shamus who was walking towards the table where Zach and the others stood. The barman was carrying a tray with two glasses of beer.

* * * * *

“Now comes the fun part,” Wilma said with a chuckle. She was sitting in the back of the crowd next to Rosalyn, who had wanted to see what happened to her “good friend,” Forry Stafford.

The other woman pouted. “I cannot believe this travesty of justice. Forrest was always a true gentleman. He could never have done what they accused him of.”

“Then why did he just plead guilty? You don’t know him as well as you think you do,” Wilma replied. “I guess you two never talked much when you was together.”

A blush ran across the blonde woman’s pale complexion. “No… we did not, I must admit. I will miss his… company.”

“You can still come over and visit, I suppose. She ain’t going nowhere for a while.” Wilma chuckled. “‘Course, her company’s gonna be a lot different from what either of you was used to.”

“That's horrible, and it isn't fair! This town is more evil in its ways than anything he's accused of doing!”

Wilma was genuinely surprised. Rosalyn had always stayed a bit aloof from the patrons of La Parisienne, but now it seemed that she and Stafford had become friends of a sort. ‘Birds of a feather,’ she told herself. ‘Speaking of which.’ She glanced up towards the stairs. Bridget was sitting on the top step, watching the trial. She was hugging herself. Wilma had hoped that she would be smiling by now, but her face was still an immobile mask of misery.

* * * * *

Shamus set down the tray. “You’re the warden?” Levy asked in amazement. “You're a barkeeper. I-I’ve never heard of such a thing. Why is this place of business called a penitentiary?”

“In just a wee minute, Mr. Levy, ye’ll be hearing – and seeing – a lot of things ye’ve never did before,” the barmen told him. He put the two drinks in front of the guilty men.

Forry looked at the beer stein. “It’s not poisoned, is it?”

“What sort of a man serves poison in his own bar?” Shamus said indignantly. “Consider it a courtesy of the house. It won’t be killing ye, so ye might as well drink up.”

“You have not been sentenced to death, gentlemen,” the Judge told them. “The refreshments are definitely not poisoned. If we thought that your aggravated assault on Abner Slocum merited a capital penalty, we are quite capable to ordering you to the gallows.”

Leland looked at the drinks again and shrugged. “Might as well.”

Forry looked, too. If the spineless judge were giving him only two months of jail for a guilty plea of attempted murder, he certainly wouldn't have the nerve to serve poison. “I never was one to pass up a free beer,” he said, trying to sound confident. Both men drank at the same time. “Not bad.” He put down his half-empty glass. “Do I get another when I finish this one?”

Shamus laughed. “Ye surely deserve another, but I’ll not be serving it up t’ye. If ye want a second drink, ye'll have to ask for it. But that will have to come after ye sentence is served. Too much in one day is no good.”

“What do you mean? After all, I’ll b-be stuck here f-for two mo-months – wh-what the-the h-h- hell?” He was shuddering and moaning, his voice rising in pitch. “Yaah!” Forry doubled over as sharp pains coursed through his body.

Leland, too, screamed as the pains shot through him also. “I-It w-was p-p-poison!”

Forry felt weak; his head was spinning. He leaned against the table for support, but his knees gave way, and he fell to the floor. His clothes didn’t feel right. They seemed to be moving along his body, and the material felt coarser than it had before. He couldn’t see; his eyes were closed from an ache that made him want to scream. He couldn’t stop the way his body was shaking, but he could hear moans – his own and those of that idiot Saunders.

“M-Make it st-stop, boss,” Leland yelled. The man fell to the floor, feeling too weak to stand. He watched his right hand growing smaller, as his sleeve crept down and all but covered it. But there was more to whatever was happening to him. ‘Why’s my skin getting darker?’ He thought feverishly. ‘This is worse than seeing snakes.’

Then both men felt a yearning, a need, which grew stronger with every breath. Forry had to open his eyes and to see and to hear something, something more important right now than life itself. Leland was staring as well. They were both compelled to listen for a voice that they absolutely must hear.

* * * * *

“Can ye hear me?” The pair nodded, their faces blank, eyes opened wide staring at him. Shamus looked down at two of them. Even after all this time, the effects of his potion amazed him, and in this instance, something new had occurred. ‘No time t’be thinking about such things,’ he considered, as he began to speak again.

“Ye’ll be obeying me and me darling, Molly, here…” He spoke in a clear voice, stopping for a moment to point to Molly, who was standing next to him. “…and the Sheriff. Ye won’t – ye can’t -- hurt nobody, and ye won’t be trying t’escape, or asking anyone t’be helping ye escape from this place. Do ye understand?”

The pair nodded. They suddenly blinked, as the need to listen to Shamus went away.

* * * * *

“What in the hell?” Forry shook his head, trying to clear it. He tried to stand, but his clothes were suddenly far too big for him. They kept getting in the way, tripping him as he tried to rise. What had that liquor been? If it wasn't poison, it had been the worst corn squeezings he'd ever tasted.

He pushed back the sleeve of his coat to find his hand. The hand he uncovered was much smaller and daintier than his should have been. His fingers were slender and supple with much longer nails, and his skin was a light peaches and cream.

He saw that the other hand was the same when he used it to pull himself up to his knees. As he looked down at his body, he saw that his oversized shirtfront was pushed out by something – two somethings. His exploring hands found a pair of rather large, firm breasts beneath the shirt. He shook his head to clear it. One cup of booze shouldn't bring on a dream like this one.

Something else didn't feel right. One hand shot down into his pants, groping at his crotch. Only it wasn’t his crotch any more. All his fingers found was a very sensitive opening where his male equipment had been. One finger slipped inside, and his eyes went wide in surprise – and disgust. “A cunt! A damned --”

“Stop yuir talking, especially like that,” Molly’s voice rang out. Forry tried to answer, but he couldn’t make a sound.

Wild-eyed, he looked for his lawyer, but the man had taken a few steps back and was staring in astonishment at him and… ‘A nigger, a nigger bitch,’ Forry thought. ‘That can’t be Saunders, can it?’ This was like a fever dream.

He looked more keenly. This was a particularly pretty piece of “dark meat.” She was short, with a damned nice pair of tits as far as he could tell with all those shapeless clothes of Saunders’ she was buried in. She had a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and full lips. Her hair was dark, almost black, a mass of tight curls, and it flowed in waves down around her shoulders. Her eyes were brown and opened wide, as she stared back at him. He felt like hell; he wondered how he looked to her, though, since she was a nigger now, he hardly cared.

“If I may have your attention,” the Judge ordered, interrupting. The pair turned to face him. “There is one more point to attend to before I hand you over to Molly… Mrs. O’Toole. As part of your sentence, I am legally changing your names. Forrest Stafford, you are now Flora Stafford, and you, Leland Saunders, you are now – damnation, I was going to change it to Leigh Anne, but that doesn’t seem to fit now in light of your new… appearance.”

Forry's head had cleared enough to realize that O'Toole was speaking to the nigger gal as if she were Leland. Forry -- Flora -- touched his -- her -- breasts again.

Aaron Silverman had come over to help his wife with the new women’s clothing. He raised a hand. “How about Lylah, Your Honor? It means ‘night’ in Hebrew.”

“Thanks, Aaron; that’ll work.” Humphreys pointed at Saunders. “Your name is Lylah Saunders, now. You are both legally women, and may you both do better with these new names -- and new lives -- than you did with your old ones.”

Flora understood that she had just been called a woman, along with the darkie that was being addressed as Saunders. She touched herself again between the legs.

“And them names is the only ones ye’ll be answering to or calling each other,” Shamus added.

Molly stepped up beside him. “Flora, Lylah…” She smiled to see the pair both turn their heads at the sounds of their new names. “Ye’ll be coming upstairs now, t’see yuir room and get the two of ye into the proper clothes for working here.”

“Working?” Lylah asked. She was still totally confused about what was happening. She was only beginning to realize that she had changed race as well as sex. Flora tried to protest, but she still couldn’t utter a word.

“Aye, working. For the next two months, the two of ye are the Eerie Saloon’s two newest waitresses.”

* * * * *

Zach Levy watched his clients slowly climb the stairs. They’d both stopped at the bottom to take off boots that were now far too big for them and were carrying them now. Leland – Lylah, now – had to bunch her pants up tightly in one hand. She was so much smaller that her belt was useless.

It was a disturbing sight, and Zach felt that he had to do something. He caught Judge Humphrey’s eye with a wave of his hand. “May I approach the bench, Your Honor?”

“You may, Mr. Levy. I expect that you have some questions.”

Zach nodded and walked over to the Judge’s table. “I do, sir. For a start, I have to wonder how this… transformation is even possible.”

“Magic,” the Judge replied. “Shamus’ potion is half old Irish magic he learned from his mother and half something he learned from the Cheyenne who raised him. He put it in their beer and, voila, magic.”

“But I never heard of such a thing, except in stories!”

“I hadn't either, until last summer. But, in Eerie, we deem it a humane punishment. And all who have undergone it thus far have become upstanding citizens and a credit to our community.” He glanced at Wilma. “Mostly.”

Wilma waved at him congenially.

Zach fought to stay calm. “But is it legal?”

“You show me a law -- any law – that forbids the use of magic to punish prisoners, and I’ll rule that giving Shamus’ potion to those two wasn’t legal.”

The lawyer frowned. “Point taken, Your Honor, but, still, doesn’t this sentence doesn’t qualify as cruel and unusual punishment?”

“I’ll grant that it is unusual, but two months of living and working in a saloon doesn’t strike me as very cruel, not when you compare it to ten years or more hard time in the territorial prison, which their crime certainly would have merited if this better recourse wasn't available to us.”

The lawyer persisted. “What about the very idea of turning the men into women? Isn't that cruel and unusual?”

The Judge shook his head. “I don't see that, Counselor. Nobody gets to choose their own sex, do they? You were born a man, and you grew up to like it. These two were also born men, but they aren’t men anymore. It’ll take time, but you – and they – will be surprised at how well they adjust to their new lives. After all, women are honored members of our community, as they are in your own home community, too, I presume. The counselor doesn't have any objections to his own mother being a woman, correct?”

Wilma was walking over to join Jessie, and she had been close enough to hear the lawyer’s question. “Hey, Zach, honey,” she said, draping an arm around his shoulder. “You didn’t think there was anything so terrible about women them times you come over t’La Parisienne. Leastways, you didn’t mind Mae being a woman.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and continued on, her hips swinging invitingly.

“Asked and answered, I’d say,” the Judge replied with a chuckle. “Oh, I grant you that a man who didn’t know better might think it’s demeaning to be transformed into a woman, but so is being known as a convicted felon of the conventional kind, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is.” He shrugged, thinking hard about what more to say. “How often is this done here?” he finally asked.

“Six felons were previously administered the potion. I am very sure that you may have met some of them.”

“Met some of them? Who? Where?”

“That’s not for me to say,” Humphrey's said with a grin. “They are no longer under sentence, and it isn't up to me to be pointing them out. In Eerie, we respect a person's privacy. When these ladies are certain that you are a man whom they would like to know, one or more might introduce themselves. Ah, you look like you have something more to say, Counselor.”

Levy took a deep breath. “I’ll withdraw my objections – for now, at least.”

The Judge thought it was high time to break the tension. “Counselor, we have spoken earlier about you and Milt trading off, with you becoming the prosecutor against Carl Osbourne. Are you still up for it?”

“Uh, yes Your Honor,” Zach answered quickly, still quite bedazzled.

“Good.” Humpheys now regarded Milt. “How soon do you want to get started on that, Mr. Quinlan?”

Milt took that moment to join the two men. “Actually, Your Honor, I wanted to ask for a very brief postponement of that case.”

“May I ask why?” the Judge inquired.

Milt pushed his glasses back against his nose. “Although my client, Carl Osbourne, is the most directly involved – as the victim, of course – in the theft, it was, in fact, an indirect attack against Abner Slocum; it was his money that was stolen, after all.”

“And…” Zach asked suspiciously.

Milt smiled. “And we have just finished a case involving a direct attack against the same Abner Slocum. Your Honor, I suspect that Mr. – Miss Stafford and Miss Saunders have some knowledge of that robbery. I ask for a postponement until the two ladies return to us once properly dressed and ready to testify regarding their knowledge of that robbery.”

* * * * *

Cap had watched Molly and Rachel lead the new women upstairs. Bridget had been watching the trial from the top step. He saw her expression alter to something that looked intense and thoughtful as the potion was administered, and the pair had changed. Cap hoped that she would at last feel avenged. ‘Maybe I can talk to her now,’ he thought.

He started to stand up, but, as the four women climbed the stairs, Bridget rose and hurried down the hall to her room and slammed the door shut. She didn’t come out after they had walked past. He watched for a while, but there was no sign of her. Cap took his chair. He couldn’t help wondering what two months of living with Flora Stafford would be like for her, and he promised himself that he’d be there to help her through it.

He realized that the trial had left him feeling unsatisfied, and he scowled. It just didn't seem like it was punishment enough, even though he suspected that the rape had actually influenced Humphreys' sentencing. Forry Stafford was a rat and should die like a rat. How he wished he had been able to call the man out into the street and settle things there, fast and hard, in a way that he thought would have satisfied him. Stafford's blood running into the dust would have truly avenged the wrong against Bridget.

Now how was he supposed to get back at Forry -- Flora? By being rude to her?

* * * * *

Molly led the two new women to a small room near the end of the hall. “Here ye go, ladies; ye’ll be living here for the next two months.” She opened a door and motioned for them to go in.

“Who the hell’re you?” Lylah asked when she saw an older woman in a dark green dress, with a matching scarf covering her hair, sitting on one of the two beds in the room, waiting for them.

The woman rose. “My name is Rachel Silverman – from Silverman’s Dry Goods, and you, my pretty, young schwartze, need some better manners.”

“What’d you call me?” Lylah asked indignantly.

Rachel chuckled. “Schwartze; it means ‘black’, what you are now.”

“The hell I am.” Lylah held her left hand up in front of her. She kept hold of her pants with the right hand. Her sleeve was far too roomy and slid down to her elbows. Her skin was the color of cocoa. “Sheeeit!” she screamed. “I can’t be like this.” She started for the door. “They gotta change me back to a white man.”

Molly blocked her way. “Thuir ain't no magic that can do that. Ye’ll be a woman – and a negro for the rest of yuir life. Ye might as well get used to it.”

“No, I-I can’t be no nigger. I just can’t.”

Rachel tilted her head, as if she were studying the new female. “No? It looks to me like you’re doing a pretty good job of being one.”

“You surely are,” Flora laughed.

The other new woman spun around and glared at her former employer. “I don’t see that you got that much t’laugh at, you damned bi--”

“Enough!” Molly ordered firmly. “Neither o’ye can say anything except t’be answering a question from me or Rachel.” She watched for a bit, as the pair tried to speak. They couldn’t, and they looked even madder as they tried and failed. “Good, now strip, the both of ye, down t’yuir undershirts and drawers.”

Flora tried to argue, but she couldn’t make a sound. At the same time, her hands slid her jacket off her shoulders. It fell to the ground, as she began to unbutton her shirt.

Lylah’s pants fell around her ankles as soon as she let go of them to work on her shirt. She watched her fingers, her small, slender, dark fingers working the buttons. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she thought. ‘I’m a damned crow; my skin’s as dark as I’ve ever seen.’ She rubbed her left arm roughly with her right hand, trying to wipe the color away. It didn’t work.

Both of the transformed men were wearing sleeveless, gray union suits, shirt and drawers combined into a single garment that stretched down to mid-calf, with buttons from the neck to the groin. The clothes had fitted the men they had been, so, now, they hung like tents on their new bodies.

“Lylah,” Molly said, “ye sit down quiet-like on one of them beds, while Rachel measures Flora.” She waited while the black woman walked over and sat on a mattress.

Rachel stood and walked over to Flora. “Now, we measure. Stand still.” She pulled a cloth tape and a small pad from a pocket in her long skirt.

“Do like she says,” Molly said firmly. “Like it was meself telling ye what t’do.”

Flora wanted to squirm, as Rachel wrapped the tape around her neck, but a voice in her head wouldn’t let her. “Such a pretty neck,” the older woman told her. “So long, like a swan, it is.” She released the tape and wrote the number on the pad.

“Now lift your arms.” Rachel held the tape in the small of Flora’s back and brought it around, holding it so that it went just above her breasts. “Thirty-four,” she announced and jotted that number down.

The shopkeeper picked up the tape again and warned, “Keep your arms up. This might tickle a little.” She brought the tape around from behind Flora’s back, only, this time, she placed it right on Flora’s breasts. It rubbed against her nipples, tickling her, and she had to try very hard not to move. “Thirty-seven,” Rachel told her. “That’s a nice healthy body you got, girly.”

‘You can have it,' Flora thought, even if she couldn’t speak the words.

Flora endured the rest of the measurements: neck to waist, waist, hips – which also tickled, waist to ground, and the rest, through clenched teeth. It was maddening, and there was nothing she seemed able to do about it.

It wasn’t any better when she sat on a bed, unable to move or speak, and watched Rachel repeat the process with Lylah. The tall, muscular cowhand had become a dainty, little – a foot shorter if she was an inch – negress.

What had the Irish woman said? That there was no magic to change Saunders back? Did that stand for her, too? She couldn't -- wouldn't -- believe it. She'd have to find out who else, if anyone, had been bewitched in this town and what had happened to them. She'd put Levy on the task.

“How old are you?” Rachel asked Lylah as she was finishing. “No, how old was you?”

Lylah gave her an odd look. “Thirty-one, ma’am; thirty-one last August.”

“Ye don’t look it,” Molly said, chuckling. “Maybe ye was that old, but now… now, ye don’t look a day over eighteen.”

* * * * *

“So, Yully,” Stephan asked, “how’s it feel to have your ma for a teacher?”

The Fort Secret garrison, as they called themselves, was sitting around the picnic table where they usually ate lunch. It was recess, but most of the boys had been more interested in talking about their new teacher than playing ball. Stephan and Hector Ybañez, this week’s captains, had agreed to start the game on Tuesday.

Yully thought about the question before he answered. “It ain’t too bad. Ma warned us all about it on Friday, so we weren’t surprised. She said she’d try to be fair, no ‘teacher’s pet’ stuff.”

“No picking on us either,” his brother, Nestor, added. “But now we can’t get out of doing chores by claiming we got homework that we don’t really have.”

Penny chuckled. “You never were too good at doing either of them, Nestor, chores or homework.” She gave him a wink to show that she was teasing. “I don’t mind Mama being here, either. Besides, she said she said it’d only be for a little while, just till Miss Osbourne comes back.”

“That’s not the way Hermione tells it. Just look at her.” Emma pointed over to another picnic table. Hermione and her brother, Clyde, were sitting, surrounded by at least a dozen of their classmates. “She was carrying on all morning about how her mother got Miss Osbourne fired. Hermione even tried to correct Mrs. Stone, when she was introducing herself.”

Ysabel shook her head. “Not fired, suspended, that is what Señora Stone told us. Miss Osbourne is a good teacher. She has to come back. She just has to.”

“Don’t you worry about it, Ysabel.” Stephan gently put his hand on the girl’s arm. “We’ve all heard Hermione’s boasting and bragging before, and we all know she’s been wrong a lot more often than she’s been right.”

* * * * *

Molly sat at the table, waiting for Rachel to bring back the new clothes for Flora and Lylah. The new women were sitting on the two beds, unable to talk because Molly hadn’t reversed her order that they could only talk to answer questions.

“While we’re waiting,” she asked them, “would ye like for me t’be telling ye just what ye’ll be doing here for the next two months?”

It was a question, so she could speak. “I would,” Lylah muttered. “What more crap you got in store for us?”

“Yeah, dammit,” Flora added. “What sort of shit are you going to make us do while we’re stuck here… like this?”

Molly frowned. “I’ll thank ye -- no I’ll be telling ye, there’ll be no more bad language from either of ye while I’m around t’hear it.”

“As t’what ye’ll be doing,” she continued, “ye’ll be working as bar maids and waitresses, mostly, helping t’keep the place clean and bringing drink and food to the customers. That means helping Maggie with her restaurant, too. Her and Jane do the cooking, but they need help sometimes. It’ll be the pair of ye that does the dishes, too, and washes out the glassware.”

“That’s right,” she told them, enjoying the shocked look on their faces, particularly the boastful Forrest Stafford, the man who’d raped poor Bridget and almost gotten away with it. “Ye ain’t Mr. High-and-Mighty Stafford, no more. Ye’re Flora the barmaid. And, ye ain’t just servants, bringing men beers and cleaning up after them. Not only that, ye’re --”

She was interrupted by a knock on the door. “It’s me, Molly,” Rachel yelled through the door. “Shamus and me got clothes for the new ladies.”

“Be right there.” Molly hurried over and unlocked the door. She let Rachel enter, but blocked her husband in the doorway. “The ladies ain’t exactly dressed for male eyes, Love.” She reached out her arms. “I’ll be taking them packages from ye.”

He smiled. “Ah, Molly, Love, ye know ye’re the only woman I ever want t’be looking at. But… if ye want…” His voice trailed off as he handed her four large paper-wrapped packages. When he was certain that she had them, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be seeing ye – and them -- downstairs, and it better be as soon as ye can.”

“Why’s that?”

Shamus whispered, not wanting Flora or Lylah to hear. “The Judge wants t’be starting the inquest for Carl Osbourne, for that robbery and for Carl shooting that man Cooper. Milt Quinlan – he’s Carl’s lawyer -- wants t’be asking our new ladies a few questions about them things.” He turned and started for the stairs.

“All right then.” Molly kicked the door shut behind her and set the packages down on the table next to the ones Rachel had brought. “Stand up the both of ye, and strip off them clothes.” She saw the hesitation in their eyes. “I mean right now,” she added in as firm a voice as she could muster.

The new women stood up. Their hands trembled. They wanted to disobey, but the voices in their heads wouldn’t let them. They reluctantly undid the buttons on their now much oversized union suits and let the garments slide off their bodies and onto the floor.

“Step out of them things and come over here,” Rachel said.

The pair obeyed and walked to the table. As they walked, they used their hands to cover their crotches.

“Ye might as well be putting them hands down,” Molly said with a chuckle. “Ye ain’t got anything that me and Rachel don’t have.”

Each package had Flora or Lylah’s name written on it, as well as a list of the contents. Molly cut the string and opened two of them. She took a pair of drawers from each one and held them out in her hands. The drawers were lacy, white cotton, with green ribbons dangling down from the top and from each leg. “Put ‘em on,” she ordered.

The two women grimaced, but each slowly reached out for a pair. They stepped into the garments and pulled them up around their hips and waist.

“Use them ribbons at yuir waists t’be getting them tight; then ye tie them ribbons in a pretty, little bow.”

Flora and Lylah obeyed. They noticed that these drawers felt cooler and softer than their old union suits. They didn’t scratch, either. It was a reminder that they hardly wanted of how they had been changed.

Flora got a worse reminder when she bent over to tie the ribbons at the bottom of one leg of the drawers. She felt her long hair brush against her neck as it fell down into her line of sight. ‘I’m a blonde now,’ she thought. Then she felt the weight of her breasts hanging down from her chest. ‘And a big-titted blonde, at that.’

“Don’t ye be tying them legs yet,” Molly said. “Ye’ve got other stuff ye need t’be getting on first.” She held out two camisoles. “These for starters.”

Lylah took one camisole in her hands. It was the same material as her drawers, and she turned it this way and that, staring at the lace trim on the front of it with a look of disgust.

“Now what’s the matter?” Molly asked.

Lylah was quick to answer. “I don’t like these girly clothes, and I don’t like not being able t’even talk about it.”

“Ye’re girls now,” the older woman replied. “And ye always will be, so ye might as well be getting used to dressing like girls.” She thought for a moment. “As for the other matter, ye’re right. It ain’t fair that ye can’t be talking. I’ll be letting the both of ye talk now, but polite like, and with none of that profanity.”

Lylah cleared her throat. “What the he… he… heck do you mean we’ll ‘always’ be girls? Ain’t you gonna turn us back when our sentence is up?”

“There ain’t no way t’be turning ye back. Me Shamus never made no antidote to his potion, and, from what he’s told me, it don’t never wear off. That's why the Judge uses the punishment for only the most serious crimes.”

Flora looked nervously at her new body. Her breasts, her narrow waist and broad hips, the… the bulge that was missing from her crotch. “You… must be joking? To be stuck like this, it-it isn’t fair.”

“No fairer than what ye done to Bridget Kelly – or Abner Slocum, I’m thinking. But right now, let’s be getting back t’be dressing ye up for yuir new jobs. Put them camisoles on.”

The pair grumbled, but they both slipped the garments over their heads and let them slide down onto their bodies. The cloth was soft, cool, almost, and it felt… funny, sort of ticklish, against their breasts. “Happy?” Flora asked sarcastically, as she adjusted the article of clothing on her body.

Molly ignored her comment and tossed each of them a pair of yellow and blue-stripped stockings. “Ye pull ‘em all the way up past yuir knees before ye tie ‘em off. Then ye pull the legs of yuir drawers down over them stockings, and tie them off, too. Make sure ye tie them ribbons tight, with the same sort o’pretty bows.”

When they had the stockings on, Rachel opened a second pair of packages. “These are next.”

“No fu… fu… fu…” Flora sighed and gave up trying to say the word. “It’s going to take magic to make me wear that.”

Rachel just smiled. “Nu, everything else we gave you, you’re wearing. Why not these? They’re ‘Thompson's Glove Fitting’, the best corset on the market for the price.”

“Ye’ll wear ‘em and – well, ye may not like it, but ye’ll do it,” Molly said firmly. “And for making such a fuss, Flora, ye get t’be the one who wears it first. Lylah, ye’ll get t’be sitting down and watching. Flora, ye’ll be the one standing still while Rachel fits ye into that thing.”

The women did as ordered. Rachel walked over to Flora and wrapped the corset around her. It was a milky white color, with ribbing inside to form it into a feminine shape.

“Take a deep breath,” Rachel said, as she started hooking the corset closed. She began at the bottom, working her way up hook by hook.

Flora felt the corset constricting her. She wanted to fidget, but the voice wouldn’t let her. As Rachel’s fingers moved upward, Flora felt the cups of the garment pressing against her breasts. It was like a pair of hands, holding them in place, lifting them up for display.

When Rachel had finished, Molly had Flora sit on the bed and watch, while Rachel did the same to Lylah. It was… arousing, Flora thought, watching the pretty little coon getting dressed up in female frippery. The problem was that Forry’s male mind was in Flora’s female body. She felt the arousal as a tingling in her breasts and an oddly pleasant warmth down in her privates. She shook her head, trying to banish the sensations.

Molly handed each of them a pair of shoes. Women’s shoes weren’t that different from men’s, and the former males were used to wearing shoes with a heel for when they were riding. After they’d gotten the shoes on and tied, Rachel handed them…

“Petticoats…” Flora protested. “Why do we have to wear these?”

Molly chuckled. “‘Cause that’s what ladies wear under their dresses, and ye will be wearing dresses. So hurry up and get ‘em on. Ye tie ‘em up tight with that blue ribbon at yuir waists.” The women frowned, but they donned the underskirts as directed.

“Now you put on these nice dresses,” Rachel told them, “and we’re done. You can go downstairs and show everybody how pretty you look.” She took the garb from the last packages.

Flora’s dress was navy blue. It contrasted with her creamy complexion and long, blonde hair. Lylah’s was canary yellow and worked well with her dark brown skin. “Oh, joy,” Flora said sarcastically. “ It’s just what I wanted.”

“Maybe it ain’t what ye wanted,” Molly answered, “but ‘tis what ye deserve. Now button them things so we can be getting downstairs.” She watched the new ladies working the buttons on their dresses. “Thuir hair’s still a mess, but we can be dealing with that later.” She laughed to herself. “Thuir’s a whole lot of things we’ll be dealing with.”

* * * * *

“Here they come,” Angel Montiero yelled. A lot of Abner Slocum’s men had come to see the trial – and the punishment – of the men who’d tried to kill their boss. For the most part, they were quite pleased with the sentence Forry and Leland, now Flora and Lylah, had received.

The two new women skulked down the stairs, glancing nervously at the crowd waiting below. When they were about halfway down, Flora stopped, turned, and started to climb back towards the upper floor. Lylah hurried to follow.

“Get down thuir.” Molly and Rachel had walked behind the pair, and they blocked their way. “The both of ye.”

They tried to continue upward, but couldn’t. “Da – darn it,” Lylah muttered as the voice in her head forced her to shift again and head towards the barroom again. Flora followed, muttering something under her breath.

“Smile, ladies,” Shamus told them, when he met them at the foot of the stairs. He sounded almost gracious, but it was still an order they had to obey. “And take yuirselves seats over thuir.” He pointed to a nearby table.

The place was still set up for a trial. The Judge was seated at a table in the front of the room. Their lawyer, Zach Levy, was talking to him. The man that had shot Dell Cooper was sitting at a table a few feet away, facing the Judge. That other lawyer – Quinlan – sat next to him.

“What’s going on?” Flora asked as she and Lylah sat down. “I thought our trial was over.” She didn’t want to think about what else this insane court could come up with.

Shamus pulled out a chair and turned it around. He sat down, facing backward on it. “We’re having us an inquest about some things that happened here in town lately. That man…” he pointed at Carl, “…robbed a payroll– or got robbed of it. A few days later, he went and shot a friend o’yuirs. We thought that ye two might know something about both of them things.”

“Ye’ll be called up t’testify in a wee bit,” he added, “and I’m telling ye – no, I’m ordering the both of ye t’be telling them the truth, no lies, no twisting things around. D’ye understand?”

“Yes,” they both nodded, not sounding at all happy about the implications of what he had said.

The Judge banged his gavel once to get everybody’s attention. “Bailiff, if you please.”

“The Court of the Honorable Parnassus J. Humphreys in the Township of Eerie in the County of Maricopa and the Territory of Arizona is back in session.” Dan’s voice was loud and firm, carrying to every part of the large room.

Humphreys nodded as the Sheriff took his seat. “Thank you, Dan. The next item before this court is an inquest into two events, the theft of Abner Slocum’s payroll and the death of one Dell Cooper. Carl Osbourne is, at present, only a participant in both those events, although this court may hold him for trial for charges related to either or both of those events.” He took a breath and looked at the men who were still gathered around a pair of tables with the sign “Jury” hanging down front of one of the tables. “Did you all understand that?”

“We do,” Joe Kramer, the jury foreman replied, and the others mumbled their agreement.

Carl stood up. “I do, too, Your Honor, and I got Milt Quinlan here to speak for me, if it’s okay with you.”

“It is,” the Judge answered. “Shall we get started?”

Milt nodded and rose to his feet as Carl sat down. “Thank you, Your Honor. For my first witness, I call my client, Carl Osbourne.”

“Carl Osbourne,” Dan called out. He was carrying a Bible that he used a moment later to swear Carl in.

The cowboy promised to tell the whole truth and took a seat in the witness chair that was set next to the Judge’s table facing the room.

“Carl,” Milt began, standing and walking over to the chair. “Can you tell the court what happened on Saturday, April 20th, regarding Abner Slocum’s payroll?”

Carl told the story. He was often the one Slocum sent into town to pick up the cash to pay the men. Things went as usual until he was some fifteen minutes away from the ranch. “I was coming ‘round a curve in the trail and something… hit me in the chest and shoved me clear off my horse.”

“I landed flat on my back,” he continued. “I was laying there, trying to catch my breath, and this voice from behind tells me to roll over onto my stomach. I heard the click of a pistol being cocked, so I did what he – whoever it was – said. The bastard hit me in the head with something, and the next thing I know, Luke Freeman is splashing water in my face.”

Milt glanced at the jury for their reaction. “And you don’t know who this ‘bastard’ was, do you?”

“No, sir, but I’d sure like to find out.”

“Why is that?”

“Why? So I can pay him back is why. First off, ‘cause he took Mr. Slocum’s money, and, second, ‘cause he tried to make it look like I helped him do it.”

“So you’re saying that you didn’t rob – or help rob – Abner Slocum?”

“No, sir, I did not. I’m an honest man. I wouldn’t do that t’Mr. Slocum – or to his men. They’re my friends and that money was for them.” He chuckled. “Some of it was even for me. No, sir, I wouldn’t steal it.”

“No,” Milt replied in a firm but friendly voice, “no, you wouldn’t.” He looked at Zach Levy. “Your witness.”

Zach shook his head. “No questions right now, but I reserve the right to recall the witness.”

“Okay,” Milt told Carl, “you can go sit down over at our table now.” As Carl walked back, his lawyer added: “For my next witness, I’d like to call… Leland – excuse me, Lylah Saunders.”

Dan repeated the name and waited for her to walk over. “Do you swear to tell the truth,” he asked, holding the Bible that she had placed her hand on, “the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you G-d?”

“I… I…” Lylah glanced nervously over at Flora, who frowned, then at Shamus who glared back at her and nodded sharply. “I d-do.” She hurriedly took the witness chair.

Milt walked over to stand next to her. “Lylah, do you know anything about the events that Mr. Osbourne just described for us?”

“I… y-yes. Dell – it was D-Dell Cooper. He took that money.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He told me, me and Mr…. and F-Flora b-both.”

“What did he tell you?”

She didn’t want to answer, but the voice gave her no choice. “He used… used a t-trick from the War, a rope… str-stretched up h-high… across the road. Some… sometimes, it’ll catch a rider in the throat ‘n’ ki… kill him. Sometimes, it’d j-just knock him off h-his horse.”

“So Mr. Cooper wanted to kill Carl Osbourne?”

“If he could.”

“If Mr. Cooper tried to kill my client, they must not have gotten on too well. Why is that, do you suppose?”

“Dell, he… wanted your man’s si-sister. Osbourne warned h-him off. Dell figured to get Osbourne outta the way, one w-way or another.”

“And he did that by taking the money. Is that correct?”

“It is.”

“Did you see him do it?”

“N-no, sir. He told me, me ‘n’ Flora the next day.”

“And how did you know that he wasn’t lying?”

“‘Cause he showed us the money.”

“Did he still have that money when he was shot?”

Lylah shook her head. “Flora, she… she got mad when D-Dell told us what he done.”

“Was she mad because he had stolen the money?”

“N-no, s-sir. She… we all come out here on-on account of… something else. She got mad ‘cause he mighta messed that up.”

“Where is the money now?”

Flora jumped to her feet. “Shut up, you stupid nigger.”

“Sit down, Flora, and be quiet,” Shamus ordered.

She sat down at once. When she tried to speak again, no words came.

“F-Flora,” Lylah answered, some anger in her voice. “She made Dell give h-her the money. It… it’s hid in her room somepl-place.”

Milt looked over to where Flora was sitting, a look of disgust on her face. “And I’ll ask her about that shortly.” He turned back to Lylah. “Was Dell Cooper afraid of my client?”

“Nope. Not after the robbery. Dell f-figured Osbourne was too worried about… about getting thrown in jail for taking that money to do anything to him. He went back to trying to f-f… to bed that snooty sister of Osbourne’s.” She laughed. “He almost done it, to hear him tell the tale.”

There was a lot of muttering from the men in the room. Many of them turned to look at Nancy, who’d been sitting alone in the back of the room. She looked horrified.

“That’s a lie!” Carl leapt to his feet. “You tell ‘em that’s a lie, Saunders.”

Milt frowned. He sympathized with Nancy, and he certainly didn’t need this distraction. “Do you think he may have been lying about his… success with Miss Osbourne?”

“He probably was,” Lylah shrugged. “Dell wasn’t no good with women – unless he paid ‘em, and she…” He studied Nancy’s face and figure. “…don’t look like that sort.” She leered at the woman. “More’s the pity.”

“What about pistols, Lylah? Was he any good with them.”

“He could hit what he aimed at, but he w-weren’t very fast.”

“How do you think he’d do in a gunfight?”

“Well, enough, if… if he got the first shot.”

“Would he draw on a man without warning?”

“If he could. I seen him do it once back in Texas ‘bout two years ago. That other man woulda yelled ‘foul’… if he’d lived.”

Milt tried hard not to smile. Juries didn’t like a smug attorney. “Thank you, Lylah. Do you have any questions, Mr. Levy?”

“Just one,” Zach replied. “Mr. -- ah… Miss Saunders, did you see what happened when Mr. Osbourne shot Mr. Cooper, or were you just guessing when you told us that Mr. Cooper may have been trying to ambush Mr. Osbourne.”

“Just guessing, but that’s the way Dell was.”

“If you say so,” Zach told her. “For now, you can stand down.” When she just looked puzzled, he explained. “You can go back to where you were sitting.”

Lylah stood up and walked back to the table. Flora was looking daggers at her, and Lylah circled around the table so that Shamus was between her and her former employer when she took her seat.

“I’d like to call Miss Flora Stafford now, Your Honor.”

Shamus put his hand on Flora’s arm. “Remember what I told ye, Flora. You go up thuir, and you be telling Milt the truth, no matter what he asks ye.”

“Flora Stafford,” Dan called.

Flora sighed and stood up. She walked up to him as if walking to her own hanging and let him swear her in.

“Now then, Flora,” Milt began, “did Dell Cooper steal that payroll money?”

She didn’t want to answer, but… “Th-that’s wha-what he… he told m-me.”

“And did he say anything about Carl Osbourne?”

“Yes, d-da… darn it.” Molly order about cursing was still binding, it seemed. “He s-said that ma-making it loo-look l-like Osbourne d… did it, was almost… almost as much f-fun as taking the m-m-money.”

“And where is the money he took?”

‘Don’t tell,’ Flora’s mind screamed. She trembled as she fought the voice in her head. Fought, and lost. “I-It’s in m-my r-room, h-h-hid… den in… in my tr-tr… my trunk.”

The Judge scribbled something on a sheet of paper. “Excuse me a moment, counselor,” he told Milt. “Paul, Paul Grant, come up here please.”

“Yes, Your Honor, what can I do for you?” Paul walked up to the table.

Humphreys handed him the paper. “That’s a search warrant for Miss Stafford’s room over at the Lone Star. Take somebody with you and go over and see if you can find any sign of that loot. Sam Duggan’s over here, so you be sure to show the warrant to Cuddy Smith first, then go see if you can find anything.” Duggan had witnessed the killing of Dell Cooper. Zach Levy, who was acting as prosecutor in this case, had asked him to testify.

“Right on it.” The deputy answered. “Angel,” he called to Angel Montiero, “You wanna give me a hand?” The cowhand nodded, and the pair hurried for the saloon’s swinging doors.

The Judge nodded to Milt. “You can continue, Mr. Quinlan.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Milt turned to Flora. “Just to make it absolutely clear, Flora, did Dell Cooper say anything, anything at all, to suggest that Carl Osbourne had anything to do with the theft of Abner Slocum’s money – beyond being the unwilling victim of Cooper’s ambush?”

“No,” Flora spat the word. “He s-said he fi-fixed things so i-it looked… like Osb-b-ourne was a… a part of it.”

“You told the Sheriff that Cooper was afraid of my client, that he was drawing his pistol because he thought that Carl Osbourne was going to shoot him. Was any of that true?”

Flora sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, unhappy at being caught in a lie. “N-Not a wo-word. Dell thought he co-could take Osbourne by f-fair means or f-f-foul. But he liked to hedge every bet.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“I w-wanted to… to mu-muddy the water a l-little.”

“You certainly managed that,” Milt replied. “But I think you’ve managed to clear things up today. Tell me, Miss Stafford, did you actually see the final encounter between Dell Cooper and Carl Osbourne?”

“N-No, I was s-someplace else.” She glanced over quickly to where Wilma and Rosalyn were sitting. Rosalyn gave her a demure smile, and Flora realized that it was the first smile directed at her since coming downstairs that wasn't full of mockery.

“Flora, what do you think happened when Cooper and Osbourne faced off?”

Zach jumped to his feet. “Objection, that’s speculation.”

“Your Honor,” Milt began, “Miss Stafford brought Dell Cooper with her to Eerie for an unknown, but very possibly criminal purpose. He…she… knew the man well and is an expert witness on how he would have handled himself in such situations.”

The Judge considered Milt’s argument. “Mmmm, I’ll allow it. Answer the question, Flora.”

“D-Dell wasn’t too f-fast, but he… he was a sn-sneaky bas… man. But he… he was also a d-dead sh-shot, and that's… that’s why I br-brought him. I th-th-think he’d’ve tried to get in a… a first sh-shot be… fore Os-Osbourne was… r-ready.”

“Thank you, Flora,” Milt said. “No more questions.” He walked over and sat down next to Carl.

Zach stood up, but stayed where he was. “But that’s just your… guess about what happened, isn’t it?” Levy said curtly.

“Y-Yes. I w-wasn’t th-there.”

“I think that’s enough,” the lawyer said. “You’re dismissed – for now.”

Flora rose to her feet. “Gee, thanks.” She started back to the table with Shamus and Lylah.

“Found it, Your Honor!” Paul rushed back into the room. He was holding up a cloth bag. “It was right where she said it was.”

Flora turned to face him. “You can’t prove that’s the stolen money.”

“Sure I can.” He pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his vest pocket. “I found this withdrawal slip in the bag. It’s got Abner Slocum’s name and the date of the robbery written on it.”

The Sheriff placed a hand on Flora’s shoulder. “Flora Stafford, you’re under arrest for the theft of Abner Slocum’s payroll. You're an accessory after the fact.” He paused a beat. “You, too, Lylah.”

“I concur,” the Judge added, “but the trial won’t be today. We’ll give these women a chance to talk with a lawyer first.”

Zach raised a hand. “Can we get back to this inquest, Your Honor?”

“Very well,” Humphreys answered. “Milt, do you have any other witnesses?”

“Yes, Your Honor. I call Sam Duggan to testify.”

Duggan walked briskly up to the witness chair and let Dan swear him in, after which, Milt asked him to identify himself.

“Sam Duggan,” he said proudly, “owner and operator of the Lone Star Saloon, the best damned watering hole in the Arizona Territory.”

Milt tried not to smile. “Please just state the facts, Mr. Duggan.”

“That is a fact.”

“Speaking of facts, can you tell this court what happened on April 24th when Carl Osbourne came into your establishment?”

Duggan told what he had seen. Carl had come into the saloon and headed straight for where Dell was standing at the bar. The two men had started arguing about Carl’s sister, who, Duggan quickly added, had never been on his premises.

“They looked ready to fight -- fist fight,” the barman continued. “So I told them to take it outside. I didn’t need them breaking up my place. Besides, a fight is like a bad cold. It spreads real easy to the folks nearby.”

Milt nodded in agreement. “And what happened then?”

“They both headed for the door. Only, Cooper shifted, so Carl couldn’t see his right arm. I came out from behind the bar to make sure that they left, and I saw him draw his pistol. He pulled it out real slow, so you couldn’t hear the metal slide against the leather. Well, I sure as hell didn’t want a murder in my place, so I yelled a warning to Carl.”

“Why do you say ‘murder’, Mr. Duggan?”

“Cause that’s what it would’ve been. He’d’ve had that pistol out and fired before Carl even knew he was being drawn on. And Cooper had a big mean grin on his face, like he was happy to get the chance to kill.”

“Are you sure that he didn’t look scared; look like he was drawing in self-defense?”

“Nope, he looked like a cat ready to jump on a mouse.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Milt turned to the Judge. “I have no more questions.”

Zach shook his head. “Nor do I, Your Honor.”

“Do either of you have any other witnesses?” Both men shook their heads, and Humphreys turned so that he was facing the jury. “Gentlemen, you’ve heard the evidence. You’re not here to say that anyone’s guilty. You’re here to say if you think we need to hold a trial because Carl Osbourne might be guilty of something. Go upstairs and decide.”

Joe Kramer, the foreman, looked at the other members of the jury. “Do we need t’think about it, fellas?” The men all bunched together around Joe. After a few minutes, they moved back to their places at the table. “Judge,” Joe made a start, “as far as that robbery went, all Carl’s guilty of is being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And shooting somebody in self-defense is no crime, either. Let him go.”

“Thank you for your help, gentlemen of the jury. You are dismissed. There being no other business,” he banged his gavel once, “this court is adjourned.”

“Do we gotta go t’jail again?” Lylah asked Shamus.

The barman chuckled. “Ye are in jail, lass, right here in me Saloon. Where ye got t’be going is into the kitchen t’be getting aprons on over them pretty dresses. Thuir’s thirsty men here, and ye’re the ones who’ll be bringing them thuir drinks.”

* * * * *

Carl’s fellow cowhands rushed over to congratulate him. “Looks like you’s gonna be working for Mr. Slocum for a long, long time,” the foreman, Luke Freeman, said, slapping Carl on the back.

“That he is,” Cap said, pushing his way through the crowd. Then he cupped his hands in front of his mouth and yelled, “Hey, Shamus, c’mere.”

The barman hurried over. “What can I be doing for ye, Cap?”

“I wanted to buy Carl here a beer to celebrate, but, seeing as he hates to drink alone…” He grinned and looked at the men gathered around him. “I guess I’ll have to buy one for all my uncle’s men.” Over the cheers that followed, he added, “But just my uncle’s men. Neither of us is rich enough to spring for beers for the whole town.”

* * * * *

Nancy waited for the crowd around her brother to thin, as his friends took seats to wait for their promised beers. “Oh, Carl,” she said happily, as she hugged him. “You’re free. It’s wonderful.”

“Thanks, Nancy.” He replied, “It does feel good not t’have to worry about going to jail anymore.” He paused a beat. “Now all I have to worry about is getting you out of trouble.”

“Jail? Then you wouldn't have taken the potion?” she teased.

“Not on your life!”

“I think you'd have looked pretty in a dress like Flora's.”

“Nanny Goat, you're crazy. Now, you'd better get out of here. This place is changing from a courtroom to a bar room and you've got a reputation to defend.”

Nancy sighed.

His eyes darted around the room. Many of the men present, even a few of his friends from the ranch, had heard the rumors about Nancy’s behavior. And, from the hungry look on some of their faces, there were men who believed them – or wanted to believe them. They must have been wondering about their own chances with his sister.

“You'll be all right, Nancy; none of those stories about you are any more true than what Dell Cooper said about me.” He'd said it in a firm voice, a bit louder than he usually spoke, intending for as many as possible to hear.

* * * * *

Shamus set a final two beer steins down on the tray. “Ye’ll be taking these over t’that table, Flora.” He pointed to a table filled with Slocum’s men, men who were staring back at him – and at his new barmaid. “And ye’ll not be dropping any of them beers on purpose, and ye will be smiling at them nice men. Understand?”

“I-I do.” Her expression was more of a grimace than a smile as she picked up the tray. It was heavier than she expected, but she managed to carry it to the cowboys. “Here you go,” she told them, setting the tray down.

As she did, she felt a hand stoking her bottom. She gave a surprised squeak and tried to back away.

“Don't you go running off, Sweet Thing,” one of the men said. An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her down onto someone’s lap. “You ain’t near as dangerous as you was when you took a shot at the boss.” He chuckled. “In fact, you look like you could be a whole lot of fun.”

The others laughed. “She surely does,” the man to her left said. “Let’s just see how much fun she can be.” He reached over to grope at her breasts.

“N-No!” Flora twisted free. She jumped to her feet and ran back to the relative safety of the bar, laughter ringing in her ears.

* * * * *

Despite Carl's warning, Nancy had lingered close to the bar. This was the first time she had done more than look into a saloon over its batwing doors. It didn't seem nearly as sinister as what her uncle back in Connecticut had always warned her against.

“Ye look like ye could use something t’drink.”

Nancy looked up. A short redheaded woman was standing before her holding a glass of something. It was she who had taken the felons upstairs earlier. “I… Don’t you think it’s a bit early in the day for a drink?”

“Not if it’s sarsaparilla, it ain’t.” She set the glass down. “Go ahead, ye can’t be toasting yuir brother without something t’toast with.”

“I suppose not.” Nancy lifted the glass tilted it in cautious salute – was it safe to trust this woman? -- toward Carl before she took a sip. 'It is sarsaparilla,' she admitted to herself, not a little surprised.

Molly sat down next to her. “Yuir the first schoolteacher I ever served in here.”

“Not a school teacher at the moment, I’m afraid.”

Molly gently put a hand on Nancy’s arm. “No, but ye will be.”

“And sooner than she thinks,” a male voice said. “May I join you, Nancy… Molly?”

Nancy hurriedly put the glass down and shifted into a more correct posture. “Of course, Mr. Silverman.”

“Thank you.” Aaron settled down into an empty chair. “I hear that you’re staying at Whit Whitney's these days.”

Nancy nodded. “Yes, he was kind enough to --” She blushed, embarrassed at what she was afraid he might be thinking. “But I assure you, it’s all very proper.”

“And who says it isn’t? As the Sages say, the reason the Lord gave us flexible fingers was so we could stick them in our ears when evil is spoken.” He chuckled. “Besides, it was his wife, Carmen, that told my Rachel you was in his guest house.”

“Yes… yes, I am, and there’s a lock on the door and --”

“Don’t drey your koph – don’t get upset, Nancy. Your being at Whit’s just makes it easier for us all to get together. That’s all I’m saying.”

“That’s all?”

“Of course, it is.” He gave her a fatherly smile. “Now that your brother is free, how about you, me, Whit, and Arsenio get together there Wednesday night about… seven?” When she nodded, he continued. “Seven it is. You can tell us whatever it was you didn’t want to tell us before. With any luck, we can get this whole mishagoss behind us, and get you back teaching the children.”

* * * * *

Trisha had just settled back with the latest issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book, when there was a knock on the front door. “I’ll get it,” she called out, setting the magazine down on the settee.

“Liam,” she said in surprise, when she opened the door. “Is there some problem at the store?” Her brother lived in a room above the feed and grain.

He stepped past her into the room. “Not yet; is Kaitlin here?”

“Right here,” Kaitlin answered, brushing her dress, as she walked over from the kitchen. “Hello, Liam. What did you want?”

He held out a small bouquet. “To give you this, Kaitlin.”

“What’s the occasion?” Trisha asked suspiciously.

Liam smiled. “Nothing much. I just thought that a man should give a lady flowers when he asks her to have dinner with him.”

“Thank you, brother,” Trisha answered quickly. “We’d love to.”

Liam’s smile got bigger. “I’m sure that you would, Trisha, but I was just asking Kaitlin.” He handed her the flowers. “Is Wednesday all right? We can go over to ‘Maggie’s Place.’ You liked it the last time we went.”

“It was nice, wasn’t it?” She smiled back at him. “Is six o’clock all right?”

“Six is fine.”

Trisha stepped between them. “Wait a minute. Who said she could go?”

“Who said I couldn’t?” Kaitlin insisted. “I’m an unmarried woman and of age. I can go where I please with whom I please.” She moved around Trisha and took Liam’s arm. “And I will be most pleased to go to dinner with you, Liam, and…” She looked pointedly at Trisha. “…anyone who doesn’t like it can sleep on the settee tonight.”

“But… but…” Trisha sputtered.

“The settee.” She paused a beat for effect. “And you know that I can make you do it.” Trisha looked daggers at the other woman, but she slowly nodded her head.

Liam was still smiling. “If that’s settled, I’ll be going. See you Wednesday, Kaitlin.”

“I look forward to it,” Kaitlin replied, smiling back at him. “And thank you for asking me.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He lightly touched the spot where she’d kissed him. “My pleasure.” His smile was now a full grin. “Good night, Kaitlin… Trisha.” He left quickly, closing the door behind him, eager to leave before the shouting started.

* * * * *

Wilma smiled and snuggled up against Ethan’s side. “So what happens now that you got them pictures done? You gonna go looking for some more folks t’paint?” She kissed his bared chest. “Or are you just gonna spend time in bed with me?”

“I am a painter, Wilma. It’s both my profession and my personal calling.” he took a breath. “I have something important to attend to in New York.”

She flipped over on her side, so she was looking him in the eye. “New York? You’re gonna leave?”

“I am. There's no point to stay; no new commissions have been coming in, and preparing for a major showing of my work will take a great deal of time and effort. I have already purchased my ticket. I shall be departing on the Thursday stage.”

“But you… you can’t. I-I don’t want you to leave, not now.” She fought against the burning in her eyes.

He raised himself up, so that their faces were only a few inches apart. “I am not leaving you, not now, certainly. I am here -- with you – and we are sharing a night of mutual pleasure.” Before she could reply, he kissed her, hard, his tongue darting into her mouth.

Wilma wanted to break away, to argue that he shouldn’t go, but her body betrayed her. Her arm reached up and around his neck as she moaned and sank down onto the bed. By the time she was done with him, she swore, he wouldn't want to leave her behind.

* * * * *

Molly led the two new women back up the stairs to their room. Both were yawning loudly. “Sleepy, are ye?”

“You know it.” Flora yawned again, stretching her arms as she did.

The older woman laughed. “Get used to it. Ye’ll be working just as hard every day for the next two months.”

“Every day?” Lylah whined.

Molly gave her a mischievous smile. “Aye, and on Saturday… well, I think I’ll be waiting a while t’be surprising ye on that.”

“Oh, goody!” Flora replied.

They reached the door. Molly opened it and used the candle in the candlestick she was carrying to light the oil lamp that was hanging on the wall just inside. She set the taper down on the table, as the pair walked in after her.

Lylah asked suspiciously, pointing to two packages sitting on the table near the candlestick. “What’re them?”

“Yuir nightgowns.” Molly used her penknife to cut the string around the packages. “Take off yuir clothes… all yuir clothes.”

The pair began to work the buttons on their dresses. “They’s on the wrong side,” Lylah complained, but she, she and Flora both, had their outfits off quick enough.

“Put ‘em on hangers,” Molly ordered, “and close the top two buttons when ye do, so they don’t fall off.”

The women did as they were told. Once the dresses were hung up, Molly had them take off their petticoats and hang them up next to the dresses.

“Yuir corsets next,” Molly ordered. The women almost looked relieved to obey.

“Oooh, yes,” Flora said, scratching her stomach through her camisole, once her corset was off.

In the space of a few minutes, the two new women stood naked next to their beds. They both looked straight ahead, not wanting to see – or even think about – their new bodies. ‘They’ll be knowing soon enough how pretty they are,’ Molly thought with a chuckle. ‘Thuir’s more than enough men t’be helping ‘em find it out.’ She wondered how long it would be before they each had a beau to brighten their glum faces with smiles.

“Now, ye’ll be putting these on.” The older woman held up one of the white, cotton nightgowns. “Use the ribbon at the top t’be setting the collar. Ye can tie the ribbon so ‘tis close to yuir neck, or ye can tie it loose t’be showing off them pretty… shoulders. Ye each get t’be deciding for yuirselves.” She tossed the nightdress to Lylah. “Ye, too, Flora.” She threw her the other.

The women put their arms into the long sleeves of the garment. They raised their arms upward and let the material slide down onto their bodies. Two sets of eyes opened wide at the sensation of soft, cool cloth moving against their newly sensitized skin. When they lowered their arms and adjusted the outfits, the cotton rubbed against their nipples, almost as a tickle.

“Fine,” Molly said, a wry smile on her lips at their befuddlement. “‘Tis after two in the morning, and we’ll be waking ye ‘round nine for another day o’chores. So it’s t’bed with ye, and no talking.” She lit her candle from the lamp, then lowered the lamp’s wick until there was only a small flicker of a flame. “G’night.” She went out, closing the door behind her.

Flora and Lylah climbed into their beds. Lylah tried to talk, but no words came out. It didn’t really matter, since both of them were asleep almost at once.

* * * * *

Tuesday, April 30, 1872

The sound of someone’s loud knocking woke Lylah and Flora. “Rise ‘n’ shine, ladies,” Molly called through the door. “I want ye dressed and downstairs for breakfast in fifteen minutes.”

“Hell,” Flora muttered, staring down at her new breasts. “It wasn’t a dream.” She shifted over and climbed out of bed.

Lylah threw back her covers and sat up. “No, it wasn’t, damn your eyes!”

“Don’t you go yelling at me, girl. I got changed, the same as you.”

“Like hell, the same; you’re still white. I’m a nigger bitch, black as a crow.”

Flora leered at her. “The way you’re pushing out the front of that nightgown, more like a robin black breast.”

“That ain’t funny.” She didn’t add that Flora was as well developed as she was.

“Sure, it is.” Flora raised her arms. “Now, help me get this thing off.”

Without thinking of what she was doing, Lylah walked over. She took hold of the material of Flora’s gown and slowly lifted it upwards, finally pulling it over her head and off her arms.

She tried not to look at the naked woman standing so close to her, but that was all but impossible. Flora’s breasts were right there, almost touching her, nipples erect and begging to be played with.

Lylah felt an odd… something in her own breasts. And down… there where there wasn’t anything anymore. ‘If there was,’ she told herself regretfully, 'it would’ve been rock hard by now.’

“Just fold my nightgown up and leave it on my bed,” Flora said, “after you make the bed, of course.”

Lylah started. “Wh-What’d you say?”

“I told you to fold my nightgown and to make the bed. Why aren’t you doing it?”

“Why should I? I ain’t your maid.”

“Look, you dumb nigger, I told you --”

“I may be nigger – thanks t’you – but I ain’t dumb. You’re stuck here, same as me. You can fold your own damned clothes and make your own damned bed.” She threw the garment at Flora, who dodged, letting it fall to the floor.

The door burst open. “What the… what’s going on in here?” Molly demanded.

“This uppity nigger won’t do what I say.”

Molly looked hard at them both. Flora realized that she was naked and grabbed for her drawers.

“Do what ye say,” Molly said. “And who’re ye t’be telling her what t’do?”

Flora stepped into the drawers and quickly pulled them up to her waist. “She… She worked for me… before. Why should that stop now?” She tied the bow that held the undergarment tight at the waist. “Besides, she’s a nigger. She’s supposed to do what a white man like me tells her.”

“Really?” Molly looked around the room. “I don’t see no white man here, do ye?”

“N-No,” Flora replied. No one that looked like a man, anyway. She was still uncomfortable, being so undressed in front of Molly, and slipped on her chemise, as well.

“Aye, there’s nobody here but us ladies, the warden – which is me – and her prisoners – which is the two o’ye.” Molly fixed the women with her eyes. “So, I’m telling ye, the both of ye, t’be getting dressed – by yuirselves – and get downstairs as quick as ye can.”

* * * * *

` “Innocent Till Proven Guilty”

` “Innocent till proven guilty, isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be here in the
` United States of America? A person isn’t considered guilty until a jury says
` that he – or she – is.”

` “That’s certainly not the way it was for Nancy Osbourne at last week’s
` meeting of the Town Council.”

` “Nancy’s been teaching here for almost five years. Through the years, this
` paper has covered many spelling bees and school pageants. Every spring,
` we’ve has published a feature story about the graduating class. And, every
` time we’ve asked, the students – and their parents – have been constant in
` their praise of Miss Osbourne’s skill as a teacher and of the affection,
` concern, and patience she’s always shown for her pupils.”

` “That all ended at last week’s meeting. A small group of hysterical women,
` acting on rumor and hearsay, rather than on the facts, forced the Town
` Council, which is also the School Board, to suspend Miss Osbourne pending
` further investigation.”

` “These women would have had her fired then and there, without any real
` chance to defend herself. We applaud the Council for not giving in to the
` mob mentality that seems to be spreading in our community these days. We
` have no doubt that, once the Council completes its investigation, they will
` find be no reason to dismiss Miss Osbourne, and she will be returning to her
` classroom and her students.”

` “We only hope that she will want to come back.”

* * * * *

“You ain’t never gonna finish lunch if you keep picking at it like that.”

Bridget looked up from her plate. “Wha – oh, hello, Wilma. I-I guess I’m not very hungry today.” She tried to change the subject. “What brings you over here?”

“I come over t’talk to you and Jessie.” She looked around and saw her sister sitting alone, strumming her guitar. “Hey, Jess,” she yelled, “c’mere.”

Jessie left her guitar on the table she’d been sitting at and walked over. “How’s it going, Wilma?”

“Better ‘n’ good.” Wilma answered, her face breaking into a broad grin.

Jessie pulled out a chair and sat down. “If you come over t’watch Forry – Flora – work, Molly’s got her and Lylah upstairs, cleaning rooms and making beds.”

“They must just love doing stuff like that, especially Flora. Makes me wish I had a chaw of tobacco.”

Bridget cocked a surprised eyebrow. “Why’s that? I never knew you to chew before, not even back when you were Will.”

“Never wanted to. My pa chewed, so did Mr. Edgeworth at the Home, remember?” She pretended to chew an enormous wad of tobacco, distorting her face as she did to imitate the director of the Texas Orphans’ Home, where she and Bridget had first met.

Bridget nodded. “He was a nasty little man, wasn’t he? He always had some tobacco in his mouth.” She gave a faint chuckle. “Remember that milk cow we had at the Home? We used to call it ‘Edgeworth’ because they both were chewing their cud all the time.” Then she looked puzzled. “But why would you want some now?”

“So I could mess up a spittoon or two for Flora t’clean.” She gave a hearty laugh, and Jessie quickly joined in.

So did Bridget… barely. “That would be something to see.”

“It surely would,” Wilma paused for effect. “Too bad I won’t get the chance.”

Jessie raised her chin. “What d’you mean?”

“Ethan’s leaving Eerie on the Thursday stage.” She smiled contentedly. “And I’m going with him.”

Bridget looked stunned. “What! When did he ask you?”

“Last night… in bed.” She gave a happy sigh.

“Are you sure you didn't just dream it?”

“I am, but it's a dream come true.” She giggled. “We’re gonna go to Philly first, then on t’New York for some sorta show he’s having for his paintings.” She giggled again. “Too bad he can’t take that one he did o’me, but it ain’t the sorta painting t’show in public.”

“Why do you want to go with him?” Jessie asked. “Is there something going on that I don't know about?”

“Plenty. But to answer your question, I'm going 'cause Ethan asked me, and 'cause I want to go with him.”

“I didn't know you were that kind of girl.” Jessie stood and stepped over to hug her sister. “I’m gonna miss you, Wilma.”

“And I’ll miss you – the both of you. Maybe you can come t’visit us sometime, Jess – with Paul, of course. You come see us, too, Bridget.”

“You sound like you're never coming back,” said the redhead.

“I hope I never want to.”

Bridget got practical. “What did Cerise say when you told her you were going?”

“She asked if I was sure, and I told her that I was never surer of anything in my life. She said that she was sorry I was going, but she understood why. She’s gonna throw a going-away party for us tomorrow night, and you both’re invited.”

Bridget studied the tabletop. “I-I’ll try to come.”

“I’ll be there,” Jessie said catching her sister’s excitement. She realized that her sister was either in love, or she had an angle going that would get her set up pretty well. And the former would be much more surprising than the latter.

Wilma reached down and cupped Bridget’s chin in her hand. Then she slowly lifted it until the two women were staring eye to eye. “You’re my oldest friend, Bridget, my sister, almost, and you surely look like you could use a little bit of fun these days. You better be there.”

“I-I’ll try,” Bridget answered softly. “I… I promise.”

Wilma smiled encouragingly. “And I’ll hold you to that promise, old friend.”

* * * * *

` “Justice Served, But to Who?”

` “Justice was swiftly served yesterday in the court of Judge Parnassus J.
` Humphreys.”

` “On Friday last, Mr. Forrest Stafford and Mr. Leland Saunders ambushed
` well-known local rancher, Abner Slocum, on a trail leading to the northern
` portion of his property. Mr. Slocum survived but with serious injuries. He is
` currently recuperating in the infirmary of Doctor Hiram Upshaw. Dr. Upshaw
` will say nothing about Mr. Slocum’s condition, except that Mr. Slocum ‘is
` too stubborn to let something like this stop him.’”

` “Stafford and Saunders were captured almost at once by a group of Mr.
` Slocum’s hands led by his foreman, Luke Freeman. At their trial, they
` admitted their guilt and were sentenced to drink the special brew prepared by
` barman Shamus O’Toole and to spend 60 days working at the Eerie
` Special Offenders Penitentiary.”

` “Their sentence was one that might have been expected, considering the
` nature of their crime. The control of Mr. O’Toole’s brew is currently a
` matter of not a little political contention. Yet, none of those who are advocating
` that some other group be given that control were present to witness Mr.
` O’Toole administer his brew and comment on its use.”

` “For that matter, none of these advocates have made any comment regarding
` Mr. O’Toole and his wife supervising those who partake of the brew. Do they
` intend to have the O’Tooles continue to supervise these people if they no
` longer control the brew, or will Stafford, Saunders, and any future persons be
` boarding with them?”

* * * * *

Clara watched from her wheelchair, as Arnie tied the ribbons of her petticoat into a bow at her waist. “Annie, can I ask you a question… friend to friend?”

“Sure, Clara,” Arnie answered, smiling. “Like you said, we are friends.”

“Thanks, I was wondering what you… what you think of Hedley?”

Arnie blinked, taken by surprise. What did she think? “He… he’s a friend, same as you.” She put her arms into the sleeves of her dress, and raised them up over her head. The frock slid down onto her. “Why do you ask?” She straightened the dress over her petticoat.

“Oh, ahh… curiosity. Are you sure it’s the same? I mean, we’re both girls. Hedley… he’s a boy.”

Arnie’s hands faltered, as she tried to button her dress. “So, he’s a boy; what of it?” To herself, she added. ‘I’m a boy, too… inside, aren’t I?’

“I-I’m not trying to be a matchmaker – honest, I’m not. I just thought… it seemed to me that you… you liked him, liked him the way a girl likes a boy. And I think – well, I think that he likes you – a little – too.”

“He does?” A pleasant warmth ran through Arnie’s body. She felt the heat of a blush. “But that… that’s silly.”

Silly or not, she caught herself rushing to finish changing her clothes. But why? It couldn’t be lunch – she wasn’t that hungry. The lessons – not considering how nervous she still was about being a teacher. She took a breath. The only other possible reason was that she was hurrying so the Spauldings – so Hedley -- no, so the Spauldings could see how she looked in her dress.

But that was silly.

* * * * *

“Nancy,” Carmen yelled from the kitchen. “Would you get the door, please?”

Nancy hurried over to the front door. “I’m coming; I’m coming,” she called to whomever was knocking.

“K-Kirby,” she said in surprise, when she opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

He beamed at the sight of her. “Nancy, are… are you all right? I-I was worried.”

“Worried?” She found herself smiling back. “Whatever for?”

“May I come inside to explain?” He glanced both ways down the street.

“Of course.” She stepped aside.

He hurried in, and she closed the door behind him. “The dictionary you ordered for the school,” he explained. “You never came to check on it. It arrived last week.” He held up a thick volume to show her. “I was waiting for you to come in for it, so I could talk to you without making any more trouble for you. But when I saw that editorial in today’s paper, I-I had to make certain that you were all right.” He set the book down on a bench near the door.

“Had to make sure?” she asked shyly. “Are you that concerned about all your customers?”

“No,” he said, sounding embarrassed, “but you’re more than just a customer.” He took her hand in his. “You’re… you’re a… a friend.”

A warm, happy feeling ran through her. “A friend?”

“A friend… and maybe more – if you’ll let me.”

“More? I'm not quite sure what you mean to say. I do like you, Kirby, but...” Her voice trailed off and she gently withdrew her hand.

He continued for her. “But you’re a teacher, and you can’t have a life of your own outside of the school. You’ve told me that before.”

She shrugged. “I’m not a teacher now.”

“But you will be again, I’m sure of it, and very soon. In fact…” He glanced over at the book. “I’ll just leave the dictionary here… with you, so you can take it in on your first day back.”

“Thank you, Kirby, for saying that.” She sighed. “It’s nice to know that somebody trusts me.”

“I do,” Nancy, “and I know that I’m the not only one who does.”

Before she could reply, Carmen came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a yellow apron tied about her waist. “Nancy, the supper will be ready soon. Will Señor Kirby be joining us?”

“I-I don’t know.” Nancy couldn’t help but think of Dell Cooper, and all the trouble from when he had taken her out to dinner. ‘What if Cecelia Ritter and the other biddies found out that I had dinner with yet another man?’ She considered the possibility for a moment and decided that she didn’t care. “Yes, Kirby,” she said in a soft voice, “would you like to stay for supper?”

He gave her another broad grin. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

* * * * *

“Damnation!” Reverend Yingling slammed the newspaper down on the table.

Martha Yingling looked over from where she was putting away dinner leftovers. “What’s the matter, dear?”

“These editorials Roscoe Unger published. ‘Hysterical women’, he called Cecelia Ritter and her ladies; ‘mob mentality’ – he is no doubt talking about those who are following my lead regarding O’Toole’s potion. The… impunity of the man is beyond measure.”

She quickly walked over to where he was sitting. “I’m sure that he wasn’t criticizing you, Thad.”

“He most certainly was. Here…” He pointed to a paragraph on the page. “…he mentions me by name, saying that I should have attended that mockery of a trial and insinuating that I am not prepared to take on the responsibilities of controlling the potion.”

“How can he say such things about you? Roscoe is a regular member of our congregation --”

“That can change easily enough.”

“You mean that he could quit?”

“I mean that he can be told to leave.”

“T-Tell a man he must abandon his hope of eternal salvation? Thad, you… you can’t mean that.”

He looked up at her and read the shock in her face. He felt a brief moment of shame, and his anger waned – a little. “I suppose I don’t, but I do think that the man needs a severe talking to.”

* * * * *

` “This Pike County couple got married, of course,
` But Ike became jealous, and obtained a divorce.
` Betsy, well-satisfied, said with a shout,
` Goodbye, you big lummox, I'm glad you backed out!”

Jessie finished the song with a flourish of her guitar and a round of applause. “That’s it for this show, fellahs. Thanks for your kind attention. I’ll be singing again in about two hours, and Shamus’ll be glad t’sell you a drink or three to help bide the time.”

She stooped down carefully to pick up the coins a few of the men had tossed. Sometimes – especially if Paul was in the audience – she’d lean forward to show more of her lush bosom. ‘Not tonight,’ she reminded herself, ‘he’s on duty all night, and,’ she added reluctantly, ‘there ain’t enough men here for me to do it for the extra tips.’

It was true. After she’d finished, most of her smaller than usual audience had headed for the bar or signaled for Flora or Lylah to come over and take their orders. Jessie smiled at the sight of the terror of her childhood scurrying between tables, a subservient waitress.

But more than a few of the men had already left, heading for the dancing girls at the Lone Star.

“Ain’t much of a crowd tonight.” Shamus came over to where she was sitting.

She nodded. “A few more ‘n last week, but them gals Duggan’s got are still stealing a lotta my audience – and your customers.”

“That they are,” he agreed sorrowfully. “How would ye like t’be doing something t’get ‘em back?”

“What have you got in mind, Shamus? I ain’t about to dress up in one of them skimpy outfits and flounce around showing my drawers.”

“I ain’t asking ye to. Ye’ll be the one playing the music, while Flora and Lylah are the one doing the dancing. How does that suit ye?”

Jessie had to laugh. “I love it. But ain’t it gonna take a lotta time – and money – t’build a stage and teach them two some fancy dance? They’ve only been girls for a day. Are they ready t’be dancing girls?”

“Thuir ready if I say thuir ready, which I do. Besides, we’ll be starting ‘em off on something simple. D’ye remember that ‘Captain Jinks’ song ye was singing a few days ago?”

“Of course, I do. Why?”

“I’ve seen them shows they do in them dance halls in ‘Frisco and Denver and the like. That song’s a good one for what I’ve got in mind. Them two’ll be dancing, acting out the song – sort of, while ye sing it.” He studied her expression. “Are ye game for that?”

She considered his idea. “Maybe… for an extra dollar a show.”

“Extra… why ye… forty cents.”

“Ninety cents.”

“Fifty cents.”

“Eighty.”

“Sixty.”

“Split the difference… seventy cents.” She stuck out her hand.

He spit in his palm and shook hands. “Done, and thank ye for the fun of that haggle.”

“So when do we start?”

“Tomorrow; me Molly’ll be training ‘em, and, with a wee bit o’luck, we’ll be trying out the show on Sunday.”

* * * * *

Wednesday, May 1, 1872

“Are you all right, Laura?” Jane asked. “You look kinda pale.”

Laura shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said in a tired voice, gently rubbing her swollen stomach. “Junior was restless last night.” She did feel tired, but what could she do about it anyway?

“In that case, Laura,” Maggie said by way of interruption, “could you please take that bowl of coleslaw out to the Free Lunch?”

“Sure thing, Maggie.” Laura put the bowl on a tray and, walking slowly, carried it through the door and into the saloon.

Maggie and Jane went back to working on the Free Lunch. Maggie was slicing leftover chicken, and Jane was piling bread onto a tray.

Suddenly there was a scream from the other room. Lupe came running into the kitchen. “Mama, mama,” she called out in a scared voice, “Tia Laura… she just fell down, and she is not moving.”

* * * * *

Tommy Carson stepped through the doors into the office of the Mackechnie Freight Company. He took a breath and yelled, “Telegram for Ogden Mackechnie.”

“That’s me,” a voice answered from the back of the office. A burly man with graying brown hair and a burnsides mustache walked out from behind a counter.

The boy handed him the telegram. He tore it opened and quickly read the message. “Yee-ah-woo!” he yelled, waving the paper over his head. He fished some change out of a pocket and handed Tommy a nickel. “Would you do me a favor, son?”

“If I can, sir. I gotta get back to my Dad’s office.”

Mackechnie smiled. “Not even for a…” He looked at the change in his hand. “…a dime?”

“A dime, yes, sir!”

“Good boy. Run over to my house, 16 Second Street, and tell my wife that the territory chose my bid for the contract to haul equipment and supplies from Prescott to Yuma, and I’m taking her and the children out to dinner to celebrate.”

* * * * *

“I’m fine,” Laura insisted to Arsenio, staring up at him from their bed.

Edith Lonnigan shook her head. “Women in ‘fine’ condition do not faint. What do you say, Doctor?”

“There’s no sign of bleeding, and the baby appears to be viable.” The relief in Hiram Upshaw’s voice was obvious. “You’re still pregnant, Laura.”

Arsenio breathed for the first time in what seemed like hours. “Thank G-d. What do we do now, Doc?”

“Nothing. We won’t know if anything did happen to the baby for a while, maybe not until it’s born. The best course, though, is bed rest for at least a week -- maybe for the rest of the pregnancy.”

Laura strained to sit up. “But I’ve got a job to do at the saloon.”

“Laura,” Molly said firmly – they hadn’t been able to keep her out of the room. “If ye step through the door into me saloon before the doctor here says ye can, I’ll… I’ll be carrying ye back here meself.” She took a breath. “And, if the doctor says I can, I’ll wallop yuir bottom for trying something so foolish.”

Arsenio chuckled. “Not if I get to her first.”

“With dire threats like that,” Laura said, sinking back into the bed, “I guess I’m stuck here.” Despite her earlier words, she felt relieved at being ordered to stay home.

* * * * *

Nancy was sitting in the Whitney’s garden reading Sonnets From the Portuguese and enjoying the mid-afternoon sun, when she heard Carmen calling, “Nancy… Nancy, where are you?”

“Out here,” she answered and put down the book. Carmen wasn’t due home from her bathhouse for a couple hours. “What’s wrong?”

The other woman walked into the garden. “I am afraid that your meeting with the town council will have to be put back a few days?”

“Why?” Nancy asked nervously. It couldn’t be about her having dinner with Kirby, could it? “Was it something I --?”

Carmen put her hand on Nancy’s shoulder. “This has nothing… nothing to do with you, anyway. Laura, Arsenio Caulder’s wife --”

“I know her from church. I hope nothing serious happened to her?”

“She fainted at work today, and Doctor Upshaw says that she must stay in bed for a while to recover. Nothing will get Arsenio to leave her side, so the meeting --”

“Is postponed, as it should be.” She tried not to look disappointed. “Poor Mrs. Caulder.” It was hard for Nancy to think of Laura as one of those “potion girls,” a former outlaw. She wondered what the new girls, Flora and Lylah, would be like a year down the road.

“Sì, I am going to pack a basket to take over to them. They will both need to eat.”

“May I help? I like Mrs. Caulder. In fact, if you think it would be all right, I’d like to go over there with you, to wish her well and to see if there’s any way I might help.”

“Of course, you can come along. I think that Laura and Arsenio would like some company.”

* * * * *

“Hey Ethan,” Wilma shouted from the doorway to the painter’s rented house. “Where are you?”

His voice came back quickly from the second floor studio. “Up here, Wilma. What did you want?”

“You,” she answered happily, hurrying up the stairs.

The painter was folding up a hinged wooden easel. “What can I do for you this afternoon?”

“Same thing you done to me last night.” She giggled. “And this morning.” She walked over and kissed him deeply on the mouth. “Mmm.” She moaned and rubbed her body against his. Their hands roamed each other’s bodies, exciting her – exciting them both.

Eventually, they had to break the kiss. Wilma glanced about the room. Most of his equipment and supplies were already in shipping crates. So were the paintings he had brought with him to Eerie. The chairs that so many of his subjects had posed on belonged with the house and were stacked against a wall. The bed that he had used for her portrait was in a corner, the mattress rolled up and tied with a thick rope.

“Shame that bed ain’t set up,” she said in a sultry voice. “It’d be nice to use it, just once, the way a bed’s supposed t’be used.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he replied. “Tonight – in your own bed – I have something special --”

“Special, that’s what I come over for. Daisy wanted me t’ask you if there was anything special you wanted for our going-away party tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Our going-away party, are you also going to be doing some traveling?”

“I sure am, to New York… with you.”

“Whatever gave you the idea that you were accompanying me to New York?”

“Y-You did – in bed, last night.”

“Wilma, I said many things to you in your boudoir, but, I am quite certain that I never said anything even remotely along those lines. You must have misunderstood.”

Her jaw dropped in disbelief. “No, you… didn’t you… you promised.” He had to be teasing her for some reason. He just had to.

“Wilma, you are a delightful bedmate, one of the most skillful, most willing women I have ever had coitus with, but I doubt that my fiancé --”

“Fiancé! What finacé?”

“A lovely lady to whom I've been engaged for two years. I didn't mention it because I didn't think it would be an issue with you. Also, I felt that it would be highly improper to mention her name in a place such as Lady Cerise's.”

“But… but what about us and… and this evening? You said it’d b-be special.”

“And it shall be, very special. I have invited your colleague, Beatriz, to join us for the night. It is my experience that the things that can be experienced in such an erotic trio are exceedingly special.”

The woman gasped. This was beyond all belief. She felt her eyes filling with tears, but she was damned if she was going to give him the chance to see her cry. “G-Goodbye, Ethan,” she yelled as she darted down the stairs.

* * * * *

The front door opened almost as soon as Carmen knocked.

“Carmen… and Miss Osbourne, thank goodness.” Arsenio greeted them. “Please, please come in.”

The two women entered the house. Carmen heard loud voices from the bedroom. “Why is Laura yelling like that? It cannot be good for her.”

“It probably isn’t,” he conceded. “Maybe they’ll stop if you go in.” He didn’t look like he believed it. He pushed open the half-closed door. “Laura, you have more company.”

“Who…” Laura looked up from her bed. “Oh, Carmen and… Nancy Osbourne, how nice.”

Nancy nodded. “It is. I was sorry to hear about what happened, Mrs. Caulder --”

“Laura… please.”

“Thank you… Laura, and I’m Nancy. Carmen and I brought some food for you and Mr. Caulder.”

Another voice rang out. “Food? That’s the last thing they’ll need while I’m here.”

Nancy looked around and almost dropped the basket she was carrying. The speaker was Laura’s twin. “W-who…”

“I’m Jane Steinmetz,” the woman answered, stepping forward. “Laura’s my sister – sort of. I was saying how I was gonna come over and t’cook all of her and Arsenio’s meals while she’s laid up.”

Nancy nodded. She had heard about the strange events of last summer’s kidnappings, but this was the first time she had met Laura’s now transformed abductor.

Laura leaned forward. “And I was trying to tell her that she’s needed more over at the restaurant… ‘Maggie’s Place’. She’s the assistant cook over there.”

“Okay,” Jane admitted, “so Maggie wasn’t too happy when I told her what I wanted t’do, but she said that she didn’t mind – not too much, anyway. Molly can help Maggie out instead of me.”

The bedridden woman sighed. “And who’ll help Shamus with those new prisoners, if Molly’s stuck in the kitchen? Or wait on customers, either? Your being over here so much would leave her and Shamus very shorthanded.”

“I know, but you’re my sister, and you – and Arsenio – come first.”

Nancy considered the situation for a bit before she spoke. “Perhaps I can help.”

“Go ahead,” Laura said, “tell Jane how stubborn she’s acting.”

“I don’t think she’d listen to me, but what I meant was that I might be able to help out at the restaurant, for a while, anyway. When I was enrolled at the Hartford Female Seminary, we ate our meals eight to a table, seven students and a teacher. The students took turns acting as server for their table. I could be the waitress you need.”

Jane seemed to brighten. “That’d work; wouldn’t it, Laura?”

“Are you sure, Nancy?” Arsenio asked from over her shoulder. “Those people who are against you won't make any distinction whether you're working at the restaurant or working for the saloon.”

Nancy shook her head. “I think I'm coming to the end of my patience with such bullying. Why should the people who like me the least be the ones who decide what I should do with my life?”

“At least you could give it a try,” Arsenio said with an uneasy shrug. “Then we can both stop worrying.” He gently took his wife’s hand in his.

Jane nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a good idea.”

“Well,” Laura glanced first at Jane, then at Arsenio, then, with a look of relief, at Nancy. “If you're aware of the risks, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try.”

* * * * *

“How’s your chicken?” Liam asked. “I’ve never seen it served with a chocolate sauce before.”

Kaitlin used her napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth. “Neither had I, but Phillipia Stone told me that it was a specialty of ‘Maggie’s Place’, so I thought that I'd try it.” She paused a half-beat. “And it is delicious, by the way. How’s your fish?”

“Pretty good, and it’s even better with you as my dinner partner.”

She smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, Liam. I must admit that I was surprised – just a little – when you asked me out for supper.”

“Why? I’ve told you that I was courting you. When a man courts a beautiful woman, he takes her out to share her fine company and to show everybody how lucky he is to be with her.”

“Well…” She sounded impressed. “Thank you for that, but I was still taken aback – just a little – by the invitation. You never seemed to be interested in women. I don’t recall you ever seeing anyone the entire time we’ve been here in Eerie.”

“Kaitlin, I’ve been interested in women since I was eleven, and my Papa told me all about the differences between boys and girls.”

“Really, you never --”

“There was a problem, a big problem. The woman I was interested in – the woman I loved – was married.” He took a quick sip of water. “To my brother.”

“Liam.” The shock was obvious in her face. “I never thought, never suspected…” Her voice trailed off.

He looked down at his meal. “You weren’t supposed to. I'd eventually have settled for second best, I guess, but I wasn't ready for that, yet.” He sighed. “I’m not sure that I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, please, don’t be sorry.” She smiled shyly and reached over to take his hand in her own. “Besides,” she told him in a soft voice, “I’m not married anymore.”

* * * * *

Lavinia Mackechnie watched Nancy walking towards the kitchen with the orders for her family’s dinner. “Dis… gusting,” she spat under her breath.

“What’s that you say?” her husband, Ogden, asked.

The woman made a gesture towards Nancy, just as she disappeared through the door. “That… disgrace of a school teacher, Nancy Osbourne. The jury frees her brother after he killed her… paramour…” She said the last word in a whisper that she hoped her children wouldn’t hear. “And she’s back here, among drunkards and gamblers, looking for a replacement.”

“Don’t be so hasty, my dear.”

“Hasty, I’m being nothing of the sort. This only confirms what Cecelia Ritter has been saying all along. I heard that she ordered a beer from Molly O'Toole right after the hearing. Mrs. O'Toole said right out loud that she was the first schoolteacher who'd ever come into this place to drink.”

“But we come here, now and then.”

“To dine, not to guzzle beer like a common trollop! Nancy Osbourne is a wicked, low woman, and she has no business teaching our children. I’ll speak to Cecelia, Zenobia, and the others tomorrow, and, when I tell them what I’ve seen here tonight, the woman flouting her sinful nature for all to see, we’ll make very, very sure that the town council fires her this time.”

* * * * *

“Try ‘n’ relax, Bridget,” Jane said, as she took hold of the hinged bronze cupid on the front door of La Parisienne. “You been here t’visit Wilma lotsa times.”

Bridget glanced nervously up and down the street. “I-I know, but now, I… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.” What would people think – did they expect to see her at a place like this?

“Aw, you don’t wanna let Wilma go off with Ethan without you having a chance t’say goodbye, do you?”

Before the redheaded gambler could answer, the door opened. “’Allo, ladies,” Herve greeted them. “I am so glad you are here.”

“Thanks, Herve,” Jessie replied cheerfully. “Has the party started yet? I brought Bridget… and my guitar.” She held up the instrument for him to see as she walked past the tall Frenchman. Bridget scurried in after her.

He closed the door behind them. “Party… no. There is no party… not now. Mademoiselle Wilma, she stormed in some time ago. She shrieked at my Lady Cerise and… attacked Mademoiselle Beatriz. I had to pull her off before Beatriz was injured. When my Lady asked what was going on, Beatriz said that Wilma had just learned whom Messier Thomas really loved.”

He took a breath and continued. “I thought that such words would make Wilma even madder, expect her to snarl and spit like a wildcat, but she did not. All the life seemed to go out of her. She broke free and ran for the steps, crying like the baby, and with Beatriz’ laughing at her out loud.”

“Where is Beatriz?” Jessie snarled. “I got a few things I wanna say to her.”

The man’s eyes drifted upwards. “She is with Messier Thomas just now, and I do not think that either of them would care to hear whatever you might wish to say to them.”

“No… well, ain’t that too bad.” Jessie started for the flight of stairs.

Bridget chased after her. “Jessie… wait. Before you do whatever it is you want to do to them, don’t you think that you… that we should see how Wilma is?”

“You’re right.” Jessie stopped and drew a breath. “Wilma first, then them two.” She turned back to face Herve. “And don’t you – none of you --- go warn them.”

The big Frenchman flashed a nasty grin. “Now why would I want to do that?” He paused a beat. “We will say nothing… so long as you agree not to hurt our Mademoiselle Beatriz. It is a business thing.”

“You got it.” Jessie agreed, and the pair hurried up to Wilma’s bedroom.

Jessie tried the door. “Locked.” She cupped her hands and called out. “Wilma… Wilma.”

“Ethan?” The door suddenly opened, but Wilma’s eager smile faded, when she saw her sister and her best friend. “You two got no business being here – go away.”

“You invited us,” Bridget answered.

Wilma laughed bitterly. “Yeah… I did, didn’t I? Th-That party, big laugh… big j-joke… on… on me.” She started to cry. Her dress was badly wrinkled, her hair was awry, and her eyes were red.

“Let’s take this inside,” Jessie said, motioning for them all to go into the room. When they did, she quickly shut, and latched, the door.

Wilma sat down on her bed, still crying softly. Jessie put her guitar down next to the door and sat down on her sister’s left; Bridget on Wilma’s right. Bridget fished a white cloth handkerchief from her reticule and handed it to her friend. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Ethan!” Wilma spat the name. “He told me I was special and what a fine old time we was gonna have. I thought he meant that he was gonna take me t’New York with him.” She laughed hoarsely. “‘Cept he couldn’t do that, now could he? Not with that fiancé of his back in Philadelphia. She’s a proper gal, she is, not a wh-whore like me. Hell, I can work in a place like this, but she's too fine a lady even to have her name mentioned here!”

Jessie took her sister’s hand in her own. “That bastard – lying t’you like that.”

“H-He didn’t l-lie,” Wilma answered. “He-He did have s-something sp-special in mind, something h-him and m-me and… and Beatriz could do in b-bed tonight.”

Jessie gasped. “A three-way?”

“Yeah,” Wilma said in a soft voice, tears running down her face. “It… It’s some-something a wh-whore like me… does.” It was the first time that Jessie had ever heard Wilma say anything bad about being a whore.

Jessie frowned and suddenly sprang to her feet. “Why that dirty…” She took her sister’s hand again. “C’mon, Wilma… you, too, Bridget. We got us a score to settle.”

Wilma blinked in surprise and let herself be pulled to her feet. “What – what are you gonna do, Jess?”

Jessie smiled mischievously. “You’ll see.” She waited a beat, while Bridget stood. “Which is Beatriz’ room?”

“A-across the hall,” Wilma answered, uncertain of what her sister was planning. “About five feet further from the steps.”

“Perfect.” She opened the door part way. “You two stay here. Keep the door open just wide enough t’peek.”

Jessie strode out into the hall. She smoothed the front of her dress and patted at her hair. When she was ready, she glanced back. Wilma’s door was opened just a crack, and she could see the other two looking back at her. She winked and walked over to Beatriz’ door.

“Oh, Ethan,” she called out in a seductive voice. She knocked on the door and spoke his name again.

She was about to knock again, when the door opened. “Yes?” Ethan wore only a white towel wrapped around his waist. Angry as she was, Jessie had to admire the man’s muscular body -- and the bulge that tented the towel in front.

She pictured Paul Grant in just a towel. ‘I’ll have t’do something about that later,’ she told herself.

“Why, Jessie,” he said with a wide grin. “What happy chance brings you here tonight?”

She smiled back. “I heard you like some things in threes,” she answered softly.

Ethan's brows went up. “I do indeed. Are you inquiring for yourself, or for another lady?”

“For myself!”

“Delightful.” He moved forward, putting his arms around her and pulling her to him. She could smell the whiskey on his breath, and, more disconcerting to her, she could feel his manhood pushing against her. “This is a most welcome, most pleasing surprise.”

“Surprise, yes,” Jessie’s arms reached up and circled around his neck. “Pleasant… no. Here’s three to remember Wilma by.” Her knee jerked up, hitting him sharply in the groin. His eyes opened wide in surprise – and pain. But, when he tried to move away, he found himself trapped by Jessie’s arms. Before he could break free, she kneed him twice more.

“Ah… erk!” he said in a high-pitched voice, as he collapsed to the floor, stunned and writhing in pain.

Jessie nodded at Beatriz who sat watching, naked, from her bed. “You two have a good night.” She chortled as she closed the door and returned to Wilma and Bridget. Both were laughing, and the tears running down Wilma’s cheeks were tears of joy.

Their merriment was infectious. “I just hope my kicking Ethan like that does Wilma some permanent good,” Jessie said.

* * * * *

Thursday, May 2, 1872

“You didn’t need to come with me, Jess,” Wilma said breathlessly, as they hurried towards the stage depot.

Jessie shook her head. “Yeah… I did, but I think this is a dumb idea.”

“I know, but I… I couldn’t let Ethan leave, not without saying… goodbye.”

“You’re still hoping he’ll take you with him, ain’t you?”

“Yes… but he won’t, not a whore like me.” She sighed, but she kept walking until… “There he is!” she shouted.

Ethan walked slowly out of the stage depot building. From his odd gait, Jessie could tell that he was still sore from being kicked by her the night before. ‘Hope I broke something,’ Jessie thought as they reached the depot.

“Ethan!” Wilma shouted.

He turned to face her. “Wilma…” His expression changed when he saw whom she was with. “And Jessie, what an utterly disagreeable surprise.” He smiled, but he also took a step back from her. “Or have you come to apologize for ruining my last night in this hovel of a town?”

“Seems t’me,” Jessie replied, “that you’re the one who should be apologizing… to Wilma.”

“Apologize? For what? I never promised her more than a few nights of shared carnal delight, and she is surely too honest a woman to have told you that I didn't deliver. There were a few misunderstandings, I fear, but they were unintentional.” He smiled with smug satisfaction. “There is nothing more to be said; I only wish our parting could have come on a more amiable note.” He started for the stagecoach.

Jessie looked past him into the stage. Two men were already inside. They weren’t close enough to have heard the exchange between her and Ethan, but from the leers on their faces and the way they kept looking from her to Wilma to Ethan and back to her again, they were clearly impressed by the beauty of the two women who had come to see him off.

She hurried to catch up with him. “Well, maybe there is one thing,” she said softly. She walked along with him, although he managed to keep a few feet between them. When they were only a short distance from the stage, she spoke up, using the same strong, resonate voice that she used to be heard when she performed.

“Now don’t you worry, brother,” she began, “that mercury treatment’ll have you cured of the clap in no time at all. Why the doc says it’ll even clean up them sores you got all over your pecker.”

A tall, heavyset man that Jessie recognized as the guard was standing by the door to help people in and out of the coach. He frowned at the artist. “Get in… mister,” he told Ethan, stepping back from the door as the painter reached it. “We sure ain’t holding the stage for the likes of you.”

Ethan scowled, but didn’t reply. When he climbed in, the two men inside moved as far away as they could within the limited space.

“And don’t touch nothing,” the guard said. He kicked the door shut and climbed up to the seat next to the driver.

“Gee-up,” the other man yelled, flicking the reins. The stage lurched forward and headed down the street.

Jessie made a deep theatrical bow towards the departing stage. Then she turned and repeated the gesture for her sister. “Ta-da!”

Wilma was standing on the wooden sidewalk in front of the depot. “Thanks for that, Jess.” She started to giggle, even as tears ran down her face.

* * * * *

“There’s the schoolhouse, Kirby,” Nancy said, pointing to the building. “I’ll take the book now.”

He smiled and hefted the large dictionary. “Are you sure? It hasn’t gotten any lighter in the last half mile.”

“I’m sure. After all, I was the one who ordered it.”

“Yes, but you ordered it for the school, not for yourself. I’m delivering it. You just happened to come by at the same time to talk to Mrs. Stone.”

It was lunchtime, and the students were outside, eating or playing games. Someone recognized Nancy, and a few of them started running towards her.

“Miss Osbourne, Miss Osbourne!” Zenobia McLeod called out. “Are you coming back to be our teacher?”

Some of the other children shouted the same question. Others just chanted, “Come back, come back.”

“Don’t you like having Mrs. Stone for your teacher?” Nancy asked, a smile on her face. They had missed her.

“She’s okay,” Tomas Rivera answered, “but we like you, too.”

“Thank you,” the teacher said. “I liked being your teacher, but it’s… it’s not settled yet if I can come back.”

They were in the schoolyard now. Nancy could see that some of her former students weren’t happy to see her. ‘Hermione Ritter looks positively livid,’ she thought. ‘I wonder how she’ll behave if... when I come back.’

“Nancy, I am so glad to see you.” Phillipia Stone came out of the building and hurried over to her. “And Mr. Pinter, how are you today?”

Kirby nodded by way of a greeting. “I came to deliver this dictionary that Nan – that Miss Osbourne ordered a while back for the school. It just came in.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Stone replied. “Please bring it inside. You come, too, Nancy, so we can chat.” They all started for the school. When some of the children followed them, she added, “You students should all stay out here and finish your lunch.”

Nancy could see the disappointment on their faces. “I’ll be out in a bit, and we can have a short visit, I promise. Right now, Mrs. Stone and I need to talk. Okay?”

The children fell back. They weren’t following the adults anymore, but Nancy suspected that they would listen at the door – and the open window near the teacher’s desk.

“How are things going, Phillipia?” she asked once they were all inside.

“Well enough, but I still have questions – a lot of questions.”

Nancy studied her face. “More than we have time for now, I expect. Why don’t you come over to Mr. Whitney’s house on Saturday, and we can go over things in detail?”

“That would be perfect. Is two o’clock all right?”

“Two is fine. I’ll see you then.”

Kirby held up the dictionary. “Now that that’s taken care of, where shall I put this book?”

“On the bookstand there – in the corner.” She pointed to an oak stand with a raised, open platform for holding the book, then added. “If that’s all right with you, Phillipia? This is your classroom.”

“Only for the moment. The bookstand is fine.”

He walked over and set the book down where the women had said. “If that’s all, we’ll -- I’ll be taking my leave of you ladies.”

“We both will,” Nancy said. “We’ve disrupted things enough around here, I should think.”

They all walked to the open doorway. Several students were standing on the steps with more gathered around them. “Can we come over on Saturday, too, Miss Osbourne?” Emma O’Hanlan asked.

“We can make it a party – a ‘Welcome Back’ party, maybe,” Yully Stone said, looking hopefully at both Nancy and his mother. The other students voiced their agreement with the idea.

Nancy was genuinely surprised – and more than a little pleased at the show of affection, but… “I don’t know. I-I’ll have to ask the Whitneys if I can have a party for you all at their house.”

“Why not have it at my store?” Kirby suggested. “You and Mrs. Stone can meet in my office to discuss whatever you need to, and the party can be held afterwards, in the yard behind the shop.”

The students all cheered at the idea. “Can we, mother; can we?” Penny Stone asked.

“Well…” Phillipia glanced over at the other woman, who nodded back. “I suppose that it would be all right.”

Hermione Ritter was standing a few feet away with her brother, Eulalie Mackechnie, Bert McLeod, and a few others. “No,” she suddenly shouted. “It’s not okay. She isn’t our teacher anymore, and she never will be again. My Mama says --”

“What your mother says is not always true,” Nancy interrupted, her patience with the Ritters near its end. “And, yes, I would be very pleased to see any of you who wish to come, but I do need some time to talk with Mrs. Stone. Let’s say three o’clock for the party. How’s that?”

Kirby smiled, amused at her reaction to the girl’s insolence. “Three will be fine.”

Nancy felt her eyes moisten as most of the children cheered in agreement.

* * * * *

Cecelia Ritter answered the frantic knocking at her kitchen door. “Lavina, whatever is the matter?”

“News – have I got news,” Lavinia Mackechnie replied, as she walked into the kitchen. “What I saw last night, I just had to come and tell you.”

“What… what did you see?”

“Last night, my Ogden took us all out for supper – he got some sort of contract with the territory and –”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Anyway, he got the contract, so he took the whole family out to celebrate. We went to that ‘Maggie’s Place’ restaurant in O’Toole’s saloon.”

“I hear that it’s very good. It’s such a shame that the only restaurant in town has to be in a place like that.”

“I quite agree, but, you know what they say, any night that a wife doesn’t have to cook dinner is a good one.” She took a breath. “The thing is… who do you suppose was our waitress?”

“Who? Not one of those miserable, outlaw potion women?”

“Worse! Nancy Osbourne.”

Celica smacked her palms together. “I knew it! I’ve heard that she goes there quite often -- looking for men, no doubt.”

“I heard that she was in there drinking beer with a bunch of cowboys just a few days ago.”

“It’s not hard to imagine what else a woman like her was doing with those cowboys.” Cecelia’s face reddened. “We cannot allow such a vile, common woman to be anywhere near our poor, innocent children.” She thought for a moment. “I don’t recall when the town council meets again, but whenever it is, we have to insist that she be fired.”

“I agree, but will they do it?”

“We will make sure that they do. We’ll get as many people as we can there to support us. I’ll ask the reverend to help. He can say something about it in church on Sunday. That Osbourne woman must be stopped.”

“Maybe we can get someone to keep an eye on her comings and goings. Maybe it should be more than one person, so she won't suspect anything. The more evidence we get, the better.”

“If anyone can do it, Cecelia, you can.”

“We can, my dear, and we will.”

* * * * *

“All right, Jessie,” Molly ordered. “Sing the next verse.”

Jessie nodded. They were in the back hall on the second floor of the Saloon along with Lylah and Flora. “Here goes,” she said.

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

Molly frowned. “I ain’t sure I like them words, ‘his mamma cried.’ Ye got any ideas about what they could be changed to, something that’d be fit for our ladies t’be dancing to?”

“Lemme see.” Jessie thought for a minute. “How about ‘the girls all cried’? Is that what you’re looking for?”

The older woman sang the lines, “When he left home, the girls all cried, the girls all cried, the girls all cried. Aye, that’s a lot better.”

“Flora,” she continued, “when Jessie sings, ‘When he left home’, I want ye to take Lylah in yuir arms --”

The new woman folded her arms. “The hell I will. This whole thing is ridiculous.” She looked down, frowned, and moved them down below her breasts.

“The hell you won’t,” Molly answered, glaring back. “I’m ordering ye, ordering ye t’be doing this, so ye ain’t got a whole lotta choice in the matter, do ye.”

Flora sighed and slowly shook her head. “No… no, I don’t.”

“Fine; like I was saying, Flora, when Jessie sings, ‘When he left home…,’ ye’ll be taking Lylah in yuir arms and dancing a… a mazurka -- and I know ye can do it ‘cause I seen ye doing it downstairs a couple of Saturdays ago. Ye’ll dance towards the left o’the stage and back to center, while she sings, ‘the girls all cried’ three times.”

Molly took a breath. “And when Jessie sings, ‘When he left home’ a second time, ye’ll be switching off. Lylah, ye’ll be taking the lead. Ye dance Flora all the way to stage right and back to the center again, so ye get there when Jessie finishes ‘He’s not cut out for the army.’ Do ye both understand?”

“I reckon so,” Lylah said, and Flora nodded in forlorn agreement.

“Let’s be trying it, then,” Molly said, as she signaled Jessie to start.

* * * * *

Kirby Pinter walked into the saloon and over to R.J. behind the bar. “Is Jessie Hanks around?”

“She’s working on something upstairs, right now,” he answered.

Kirby reddened slightly. He knew that Miss Hanks and that deputy were a couple. “Would… would it be all right if I went up to see her?”

“Why don’t I get her down here?” He cupped his hands and shouted. “Hey, Dolores, would you tell Jessie that there’s somebody looking for her?”

Dolores had been eating an early supper at a table near the stairs. She hurried up to the second floor, returning a moment later with Jessie. Both women walked over to where Kirby was standing. “I was enjoying my meal, just now,” Dolores told R.J. “Running that errand will cost you.”

“Oh, will it now?” He grinned and reached across the bar for her. She stood on tiptoe. “And how’s this for a payment?” Their lips met in a brief but enthusiastic kiss.

When they broke the kiss, she smiled. “It will have to do.” Then she pecked him on the cheek. “For now.” She turned and went back to her food.

“What’d you want to see me about?” Jessie asked with a wry smile.

He held up a large manila envelope. “The… ah, the music you wanted came in today’s mail.”

“‘The Wedding March’? It came already?” She looked at the envelope. It was addressed to him and was already opened. “What do I owe you?”

“A dollar for the copy of the words and music and…” He glanced down at the envelope. “…and twelve cents for postage.”

“My reticule’s upstairs. Can you wait a minute?”

R.J. tossed some money onto the bar. “I’ve got it, Jessie. You can pay me back later.”

“You don’t have to do that, R.J.,” she protested.

“Sure I do,” he answered with a wink. “Call it payment for giving me an excuse to kiss Dolores.”

* * * * *

“Hello, Mama.” Hermione Ritter walked into the kitchen and set her schoolbooks down on a chair. Clyde, Junior was right behind her.

Cecelia looked up from the vegetables she was chopping for a stew. “Hello, my dears, how was school?”

“Not good… Miss Osbourne…” The girl spoke the name as if she had just drunk vinegar. “...She come by – she came by at lunch time.”

Cecelia set her knife down on the chopping block. “She did? Why?”

“She came by with that Mr. Pinter – you know, from the bookstore,” Junior answered. “He brought a big book, a dictionary that she had ordered for the school a while back.”

“And then what happened?”

Hermione answered this time. “Her and Mr. Pinter and Mrs. Stone went inside – it was lunchtime, and everybody was on the schoolyard – and they talked for a while.”

“About what, do you know?”

“Yes, ma’am. Clyde and me listened at the opened window by her desk. Mrs. Stone is gonna – is going to meet with Miss Osbourne to talk about stuff, about school I think.”

Cecelia made a clicking sound with her tongue. “What is the matter with Phillipia? I thought that she had more sense than to even want to talk with that woman, let alone talk about the school and you children.”

“I don’t know what they’re gonna talk about,” the boy said, “but they’re gonna meet at Mr. Pinter’s store. And… and after that, there’s gonna be a party.”

“Uh huhn,” Hermione continued. “Some of the other kids wanted to see Miss Osbourne, so her and Mrs. Stone and Mr. Pinter are going to have a party for them at his store.”

Their mother shook her head. “Those poor, misguided children, to want to expose themselves to more of that wicked woman and her evil ways.” She studied the faces of her two children. “You… you weren’t planning on going to that party, were you?”

“Oh, oh, no, Mama,” Hermione answered quickly, and Clyde agreed. “I didn’t want to go,” she continued, “and I told those other kids that they shouldn’t go, neither. So did Clyde.” She sighed. “Mama, they laughed at us.”

“A couple of ‘em called us names,” he added.

“Those impertinent little – they deserve Nancy Osbourne. Don’t be upset, you two. It just shows how much better than the rest of them you are.” She gently stroked her daughter’s cheek. Junior had always said that he was too old to be “petted” like a girl.

Hermione knew her mother’s mind. “You’re going to do something about that party, aren’t you, Mama?”

“I am, indeed, and about that Mr. Pinter if he persists in siding with that vile woman.” And, apparently, she would have to keep on eye on Phillipia Stone, too.

* * * * *

Horace Styron strode confidently into Ritter’s Livery and walked over to the counter. “’Evening, Clyde, you ready to go over to the Lady’s place?”

“Not quite,” Ritter answered. “I need to check what’s ordered for tomorrow, especially in the morning?”

“Can’t that wait?”

“A man orders a team for 9 AM, he expects it to be ready for him at 9 AM. He doesn’t want to show up at 9 and have to wait a half hour, while my people put the team together.”

“What’s it matter? You’re the only livery in town.”

“And I want to keep it that way. Besides, I don’t like doing shoddy work.”

Styron considered the notion. “Mmm, I suppose you’re right.”

“I am.” He started looking through the order sheet in front of him.

“So… what’d you think of what the paper said about Reverend Yingling?”

“I didn’t like it,” the liveryman replied. “I thought we’d already taught Unger who was in charge.”

“So did I. Maybe we need to have another talk with him.”

Ritter looked dubious. “I think that the Reverend should put the fear of G-d in some of these townspeople. We need to pick somebody for an object lesson. We show everybody we mean business, and then we won’t have no more trouble with anybody else.”

“You mean warn Unger that someone will beat the tar out of him if he doesn't stop using his printing press to make trouble?”

“Maybe…” Ritter chuckled. “And maybe we need to warn him about what might happen after we get our hands on O’Toole’s potion. Let’s just see how the ideas of running that newspaper of his as a woman sits with him.”

“That’s not a bad idea, and I’ll bet he’d make a pretty one. Not that he’s the only one I’d like to give a dose of that stuff, too.”

“You think the good Reverend’d go along with giving Unger the potion?”

“I don’t see why not? It’s Yingling he’s been insulting. If he wants to control the town --”

“And he does.”

“Then you’ve gotta control what the paper says. Like, if Unger was a potion woman, and she got told that she couldn't print anything that didn't support the consensus of the people…”

“You’re right about that, but it won't be just the Reverend that'll have control. It’s gonna be that board he wants t’set up to be in charge of the potion. Who all you think’ll be on it?”

“The Reverend’ll be the chair, of course, but he’s going to need somebody to do the day-to-day stuff. That’ll be me, with you right there helping. Maybe Jubal Cates or Willie Gotefreund from the church board, too. T’tell the truth, I thought about your wife – to thank her for all her help with the petition, but a woman’s got no place telling men what to do. And I wouldn't trust your Cecelia having a say about anything as powerful as the potion.”

“Amen to that. You figure on having any Mex on that board?”

“Don’t see why we should. It’s the Reverend’s idea. It should be his people that’re on it, not any of them damned greasers. Besides, it’ll make it easier to keep ‘em in their places if they first see what happens to the first person who crosses us. They're so superstitious, magic’d scare the living hell out of them. If not, maybe more examples will be needed.” He looked impatiently at his watch. “You ready to go yet?”

“I am now. There’s no team or wagon reserved before 10 o’clock. I’ll be in way before that to make sure they’re ready.” He put the papers he’d been looking at in a drawer. “Let’s go. The ladies are waiting.”

The two men left hurriedly. They stopped only long enough for Ritter to lock the front door to his business. Neither of them noticed that the door to the stables was open halfway, more than enough for Pablo Escobar, who was working late, to have heard every word that the two had said.

* * * * *

“Hey, Milt,” Jessie said as the lawyer walked past the table where she was resting after her first show.

He stopped at the sound of his name. “Oh… hi, Jessie.” His eyes darted around the room. “Is Jane about anywhere?”

“She’s out in the kitchen. The restaurant just closed, and her and Maggie are putting away the leftovers.” She chuckled. “And Flora and Lylah are doing the dishes.”

“Thanks.” He started for the door to the kitchen.

Jessie stood quickly and put her hand on his arm. “I don’t think she wants t’see you, Milt.”

“She’s still mad, isn’t she?”

“Mad and hurt. You shouldn’t’ve meddled like you did.”

He sighed. “I know. I was just trying to… help. I knew how excited she was about that painting just then, but in six months, she’d have hated it -- and hated herself for wasting her money buying it.”

“You’re probably right, but it is her money. Don’t she have the right t’decide what t’do with it?” She looked pointedly at the man. “Or do you think she ain’t smart enough t’be trusted not to ‘waste’ it?”

“Please, not you, too.” He put his hand up to his forehead. “No, I don’t think Jane is dumb – and I never did. But I do think that she’s naïve. She’s an innocent, too, likely to give in to an impulse, rather than think things through.” He gave her a stern look. “And you think the same thing about her, don’t you?”

“I do, I admit it. Just don’t tell her I said so. It took me long enough t’get her to stop hating me for accidentally killing Toby Hess.”

“That’s right. She told me once that she slapped your face the first time she saw you after that. How did you get past that with her?”

“It wasn’t easy – and it wasn’t quick, I’ll tell you that much.”

He thought for a moment. “Maybe you can help me.”

“What d’you mean?”

“You know Jane fairly well. Is there anything I can do – and I do mean anything -- to get me back into her good graces again?”

She seemed intrigued by the challenge. “Lemme think about it. You’re gonna be here for the dance on Saturday, ain’t you?”

“Of course, I will. Mad or not, she has to dance with me if I give her my ticket.”

“Okay then, you give me one of those tickets, too, on Saturday, and while we’re dancing, I’ll tell you whatever I come up with t’help you.”

* * * * *

Friday, May 3, 1872

Molly led Flora and Lylah up to the second floor of the Saloon.

“We gonna do more dance practice?” Lylah asked. “Jessie ain’t up here.”

Molly shook her head. “Dancing’s in the afternoon. For now, ye’ll be doing some house cleaning. First, ye go in and make the beds in yuir own room. Then ye’ll be doing some o’the other rooms. Lylah, ye’ll do Jessie’s room, and Flora, ye’ll do Jane’s. Then ye can both come and clean up me own rooms.”

“How come we each have to do a room by ourselves,” Flora wondered. “Wouldn’t it be quicker if we worked together?”

The older woman cocked an eyebrow. “Have ye got someplace t’be going that ye’re in such a hurry? Ye’ll do what I tell ye. In fact, I’m telling ye plain, not to be going in t’help each other, even if ye’ve got yuir own room done. There'll be other chores to do. Do ye understand what I’m telling ye?”

The pair nodded, even as they wondered why it was such a problem.

* * * * *

Reverend Yingling heard a knock on the door to his study. “Come in, Martha,” he called.

“It’s us,” Cecelia Ritter said, “Lavinia Mackechnie and I.” The pair walked in, and Lavinia closed the door behind them.

He rose to his feet. “Hello, ladies. What brings you here to see me this day?” He motioned for them to sit, and when they had, he took his own seat behind his desk.

“Nancy Osbourne,” Cecelia answered at once. “It’s… she’s even worse that I had thought.”

“How do you mean, worse?” the reverend asked.

“Her behavior,” Cecelia replied, “she was seen at O’Toole’s on Monday… drinking – whiskey, so people say, and who knows what else she was doing.”

Lavina spoke next. “And on Wednesday – my husband took us all out for dinner, you see, and that restaurant in O’Toole’s is the only restaurant hereabouts. Anyway, she was there, Nancy Osbourne, working as a bar maid, no less, and, I’m sure, carrying on with her customers.”

“You saw this yourself?” Yingling asked in amazement.

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. She… she was waiting tables, taking orders for food and drink like she’d been doing it for years. And the people she's associating with! O'Toole and his wife are bad enough, but the women there are almost all former criminals. There are even a couple of serving convicts working side by side with her right now.”

He scowled. “Hardly the proper behavior for a school teacher.” He paused a moment. “What do you ladies suggest we do about our Miss Osbourne?”

“She isn’t my Miss Osbourne,” Cecelia replied, “and I want to make very sure that she is never again our children’s Miss Osbourne. The idea of her spreading her corrupt morals to those dear innocents, it’s… it’s beyond comprehension.”

Lavinia nodded. “I quite agree. You must help us, Reverend. We have to make the town council fire her once and for all.”

“And we shall,” he said confidently. “The town council will be considering my proposal regarding Shamus O’Toole’s potion at its meeting next Wednesday. I had planned to use my sermon on Sunday to urge that as many members of the congregation as possible attend that meeting. It can also afford us the opportunity to acquaint parents with the increasingly worse behavior of Nancy Osbourne.”

Cecelia gave him a satisfied smile. “And they will no doubt be scandalized. Who could possibly refuse a chance to help with such important matters?”

“Indeed, and in the face of such overwhelming support, I am most certain that the council will comply with my proposal.” He smiled broadly. “After which, the same crowd will force – excuse me, will convince the council that Nancy Osbourne should no long be allowed to teach the children of Eerie. The opinion of so many members of the congregation should place great pressure on the town council to formally end Miss Nancy Osbourne's tenure as a teacher in this community.”

* * * * *

Shamus walked over to the table where Bridget was playing Maverick solitaire. Without saying a word, he spun a chair around and sat down, leaning forward over the back of it. “Bridget, d’ye mind talking t’me for a wee bit?”

“Uhh, sure, Shamus,” she said, putting down the two cards she’d been holding. “What do you want to talk about?”

He could hear the uncertainty in her voice. “Yuir rent,” he replied, trying to be as gentle as possible. “Ye ain’t paid me yet t’be running yuir poker game here this month.”

“I-I’m not running my game. Could I just p-pay you for my… room and board?”

“Ye could, but I’d like t’be offering ye a better deal than that.”

“Better?”

“Aye, ye may not feel up t’actually play poker right now –”

Her eyes grew moist. “No, I-I don’t. I... I don’t know if I ever will – ever… ever again.”

“Don’t ye be talking like that, Bridget.” Molly had come over to join them.

She tenderly put her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “Ye’re having a bad time of it just now, but I – me and Shamus both – we know how much ye love t’play cards.”

“Aye,” Shamus continued, “and if ye ain’t ready t’be a free agent, running yuir own game, then I’ll be more than happy t’hire ye as a dealer again.”

Bridget looked surprised. “A… a dealer. I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off as she considered the idea.

“Please do it.” Molly sat down next to her. “Ye’ll have the fun of being in the game with none of the things that’ve been bothering ye. And,” she added, “the job comes with room and board. Ye won’t have t’be paying us anything.”

“That's pretty fair wages for just dealing,” Bridget said with a thoughtful frown. “I don't want to a charity case.”

“T’tell the truth, ye’d be doing me a favor,” Shamus told her. “Thuir’s them men that only came in here t’be playing poker with ye.” He didn’t want to “guilt her” by pointing out that some of those same men hadn’t been in the Saloon since she gave up her game.

She looked down at the cards spread out on the table, not really able to face either of them. “I-I’m not sure that I can even be... a dealer.”

“Ye’ll never know if ye don’t try,” Molly replied.

Shamus turned the knife – just a little. “I know ye’re hurting, Bridget, and I know why ye’re hurting. But ain’t ye enough of a gambler t’be giving it a try?”

“I-I don’t know, Shamus… Molly,” she answered with a deep sigh. It was a challenge, and some part of her refused to let it pass unanswered. “But I-I think I want to find out.”

* * * * *

R.J. watched a very attractive blonde walk into the Saloon. Barely five foot tall, her blonde hair and ivory skin set off her tight sapphire blue dress. She stopped and glanced around as if searching for someone. “Hello,” he said cheerfully, walking over to where she was standing. “Can I help you?”

“Mmm, I’m sure that you could” she answered in a husky voice. “But right now, I’m looking for Mr. Forrest Stafford.”

He nodded, recognizing her now. “You were here for the trial, weren’t you? You’re that friend of Wilma. The two of you sat together.”

“Friend…” She looked like she’d just swallowed something very sour. “Colleagues – co-workers, might be a better word. I am Rosalyn Owens – of the Staunton, Virginia Owenses.” She smiled and offered him her hand.

“R.J. Rossì – of the Philadelphia Rossis,” he answered in a bemused tone. “And speaking of names, she's Flora Stafford now.”

“Yes, I saw… that happen.” She shivered. “It was truly amazing – and more than a little frightening.”

“I guess it would be if you weren’t used to it.” He waited a beat. “Flora’s upstairs with Lylah – the other one that got changed on Monday – and Molly O’Toole. They’re cleaning the bedrooms we rent out.”

“Housecleaning, as if she were some sort of servant?”

“More like a prisoner, which is what they are for the next two months.” He tried not to smirk at her discomfort.

“Does that mean that I can’t see her?”

R.J. shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” He turned and called out. “Hey, Dolores.”

“Sì, R.J.?” Rosalyn saw a tall, willowy Mexican woman walk over – and put an arm around the handsome barman’s waist. “What can I do for you?”

R.J. knew enough to get out of the line of fire. “This, ah… lady wants to see Flora. Would you mind going upstairs and asking Molly to send her down?”

“For you… anything.” She kissed his cheek and headed for the stairs with a sensual glide.

“You welcome to sit over there while you wait.” He pointed to a nearby table. “Can I get you anything from the bar?”

When he looked away, Rosalyn coyly regarded him. That R.J. wasn't a customer of Cerise's interested her. “The only thing that I want from the bar is already here,” she purred, wrapping her fingers around his muscular upper arm. He glanced her way again, his expression uneasy.

“Sorry.” He gave her a noncommittal smile and backed out of her grip. “Private stock.” He made a strategic retreat back behind the bar.

Rosalyn walked to the table and wriggled down into the chair. A man who was loyal to his woman; this R.J. was intriguing her more and more. As time passed, her eyes drifted back and forth between the top of the stairs and the man behind the bar. Dolores had come down almost at once and spent the time talking to R.J. They leaned close over the counter, holding hands.

‘Can’t win them all,’ she thought. 'But one doesn't win a war with one battle.' She glanced towards the steps and saw Flora walking hesitantly down the stairs. “Forrest,” she said loudly, standing and waving her arm.

The woman didn’t seem to respond. Rosalyn rose to her feet and walked over to meet her. “Hello, Forrest.”

“Call me Flora,” the new woman said, looking in her direction. “We… I don’t answer to that other name any more.” She glanced at the floor. “It's…it's that damned witchcraft,” she explained.

Rosalyn frowned. “All right, then, Flora, are you all right – otherwise, I mean?”

“I am, considering what’s happened to me.” She looked at the other woman. “Why are you here?”

“Truth to tell, I’m not sure.” Rosalyn moved over to a table. “Can we sit down?”

Flora nodded, and they both took seats. “Better?”

“Yes, it is. As I was saying, Flora, I-I came over because I… I was concerned about you.”

“Concerned – as in sorry to lose a paying customer, isn’t that more like it?”

“There’s no need to be rude. I’m hardly hurting for ‘customers’, as you put it. There are a good many men who are eager for my… company.”

“Then why come over to talk to me?”

“Because you were a true gentleman when we were… together. We’re alike, I suspect, persons of quality who find themselves in their less than proper place. I found myself thinking of you as a… friend. That was why I attended your trial.”

Flora was still suspicious, but she managed to reply with courtesy. “And I do thank you for that. I have to admit that it was good to have at least one friendly face in the room.”

Flora closed her eyes, remembering Rosalyn’s smile. Then the image shifted to one of a naked, smiling – gasping -- Rosalyn, writhing in sexual fire with her former, very male self. Flora felt herself grow aroused, but the male arousal of her mind had to deal with her newly female body. She shook her head to drive away the sensation of her nipples stiffening and the pleasing warmth that began to build in them and flow down between her legs.

If Rosalyn knew what was happening to Flora, she didn’t react. Instead, she smiled and said. “I do hope that we can be friends. This town has so few people of quality. There are merchants with money, but they're just so vulgar.”

“We can't be the sort we were,” the transformed woman answered, “Never the sort we were.”

Rosalyn nodded, a sad look in her eyes. “Probably not.” She gently placed her hand on Flora’s arm. “But there are other types of friends, you know, and I do believe that you could use that other kind of friend just now.”

It occurred to the Texan that someone like Rosalyn might know a lot of what was going on in town, enough to get some control over things, maybe even enough to find out how to get changed back. But this wasn't the time to ask. “I-I could, indeed,” she finally said. Flora covered Rosalyn’s hand with her own. “And thank you for offering.”

* * * * *

“That’s one… and another one…” Clay Falk chanted in a singsong voice as he unhooked Wilma’s favorite garment, her sea green corset. “Hello, ladies,” he added as her pillowy breasts were almost fully exposed. Her crinkled nipples were pointing straight at him, begging to be played with.

He took a moment to glance up at her face. And, seeing her expression, stopped. “What’s the matter, Wilma?”

She forced a smile. “N-Nothing’s the matter, Clay… honey. You go right ahead with what you was doing. It, umm, it feels so, umm, so… good.” From the flat tone of her voice, she might just as well have been describing the wallpaper as her own sexual delight

“You can’t kid a kidder. There’s something bothering you, ain’t it?”

“No, I’m… I’m fine, really I am.” Her hand snaked down to cradle his erection through his pants. “Now, come on. You wanted me. You paid for me. Let’s get it over, umm… get to it.”

Clay smiled, but without much feeling. It was like she was holding the handle of a machine, not a lover. “You know what I think?”

She sighed and her entire body seemed to droop. “That you wanna take me back downstairs and get somebody else?” She sighed again. “We’re all the same price, after all.”

“Wrong guess.” He put his hands firmly on her shoulders, as if he had to keep her from sagging into a heap. “I’m thinking it’d be nice to just… cuddle, t’lay down next to a pretty girl, to put my arm around her, and to feel her warm, soft, sweet-smelling body up close next to mine. It'll take me back to the days when I was a young buck. You up for something like that?”

She gave him a wane smile. “You sure that’s all you want? The others down in the parlor, they’d be more ‘n happy t’take my place. That’s – that’s how… whores are.”

“I ain’t talking ‘bout whores, Wilma. I’m talking ‘bout me ‘n’ you. You're different from most of those girls. I think a little cuddling is something that we both could use.”

“I'm different from all of those girls,” she said with an ironic lilt.

“You are that, but you're different in a good way,” Clay said.

Her smile warmed as, with eyes glistening, she gave him her hand and let him lead her to the bed.

* * * * *

“Señor Styron, he really said that?” Fernando Hidalgo asked in amazement. “That he would not give any Mexicans a place on the board, not even grandees like Don Luis and Don Sebastian?” He was sitting on a mound of hay in the Ritter stables with Pablo Escobar and Juan Ybañez, while they took their short lunch break.

Pedro nodded. “He did, not even the Padre. Him and Señor Ritter said that they would even use the potion to make sure that they ran the town.”

“But how did they think they would get away with something like that?” ‘Nando rubbed his light beard as if in deep thought.

Juan shrugged and took a bite of an apple. “How do the gringos get away with anything? They just do.”

“I thought that their priest… Yingling – I thought he said that he wanted the potion because he was a better man that Señor O’Toole.” ‘Nando took a breath. “That is what the paper said.”

“They own the paper, too,” Juan shot back. “It says what they want.”

Pedro shook his head. “Maybe they don’t. Ritter said he would give the potion to the man who runs it.”

“This is silly,” Juan said. “They claim that they want it for the whole town.”

“Maybe not the whole town, did they ask any of us to sign that petition of theirs?”

‘Nando shook his head. “No, but I thought that was just for the adults, the ones who can vote.”

“Hammy Lincoln can vote, and they did not ask him,” Pedro said. “When a gringo came into the livery, Señor Ritter asked him to sign. Did either of you see what happened when a Mexican came in?”

Juan frowned. “I saw. He moved it under the counter. They don’t want to let us to have anything to do with that potion – if they get it.”

“Not even the Padre,” Pedro told them. “I heard them say so. “ He suddenly looked determined. “If they do not want to give Father de Castro the chance to speak then, maybe he should speak now. I think that I’ll talk to him about it in church on Sunday.”

* * * * *

“I think the ‘girls’ is coming along pretty good,” Jessie said, taking a sip of lemonade. She was sitting with Molly and Bridget relaxing after a long rehearsal.

Molly nodded. “Thuir coming along in a lot of ways.” She looked over to where Flora and Lylah, now in aprons, were setting the tables that served as Maggie’s restaurant. “But they’ve still a long way t’be going. I’m thinking that I’ll be taking ‘em over to Carmen’s for a bath before the show on Sunday.”

“That’ll be a surprise,” Jessie replied. “In a lotta ways.”

Bridget remembered her own first time, which reminded her of other things. And made her want to change the subject. “Speaking of their first show, what’re they going to wear?”

“Ye know,” Molly admitted, “I ain’t given that a lot o’thought.” She paused a moment. “It can’t be regular clothes like thuir wearing now.”She took a sip of her own lemonade.

“Or even the starched blouses and skirts that we wear for the dance.” Jessie added. “Maybe… for Lylah, a big yellow petticoat she can swing around – flirty like.”

“Aye, and for on top, a corset the same color.” Molly laughed. “Oh, she’ll be loving that. But what about ‘the captain’? Seems t’me she should be wearing something like a uniform.”

Bridget chuckled. Forry had worn an officer’s uniform. “It’s a song about a British officer, so dress her in a bright red corset and a pair of matching drawers. She won't need a petticoat or skirt.”

“That still ain’t very military,” Molly replied, “but, ye know, it seems t’me that I’ve got an old red coat somebody left in thuir room a year or so ago. It’d look like an officer’s coat if I was t’be sewing on some braid. Aye, that and a red cap’d do it.” She let out a hearty laugh. “That’d do her up right ‘n’ proper. Thank ye, ladies.”

Bridget gave her a nasty smile, enjoying the mental image of a very feminine Flora Stafford traipsing around half-naked for a musical show. “Our pleasure, Molly, our pleasure.”

* * * * *

“Finished,” Flora announced, walking over to where Molly stood watching the two new women setting the tables for Maggie’s restaurant.

Molly glanced over at the four tables. “So they are. Lylah, go take them extra plates and such back into the kitchen.” She watched the black woman carry the tray with the plates, glasses, and silverware away. “Ye done a good job,” she said glancing around.

“While nobody else’s around, can I ask you a couple questions?”

“Ask away.”

“Okay, this potion Shamus gave us, who else’s he given it to, and what happened to ‘em after they took it?”

Molly thought for a moment. She remembered with horror what Forry Stafford had done to Bridget and what he’d done all those years ago to Brian Kelly. ‘Better t’be asking Bridget,’ she thought, ‘before I’m telling this one.’ She shook her head. “I’ll be thinking on that for a while, if ye don’t mind,” she told her charge, “before I decide if I want t’be telling ye anything.”

“I do mind,” Flora muttered, “but I don’t seem to have much choice in the matter, do I?”

“No, ye don’t.” She’d have to warn Shamus as well about what Flora had asked.

* * * * *

Nancy Osbourne walked hurriedly into the parlor of the Whitneys’ house. The town councilmen were all sitting together. Carmen was pouring coffee for Arsenio Caulder.

“I’m sorry if I kept you gentlemen waiting,” Nancy told them.

Arsenio shook his head. “You didn’t. I just got here myself.”

“How is Mrs. Caulder?” she asked him.

“Very well, thank you,” he answered, “and she said that you could call her ‘Laura’, remember. She’s resting easier now that she doesn’t have to worry about that restaurant – and thank you for that. Doc Upshaw wants her to stay in bed for a few more days, and then he’ll see if she can go back to work.”

“I was glad to help Laura out. It took my mind off… other things.”

Aaron Silverman dunked a shortbread cookie in his coffee and took a bite. “Speaking of those ‘other things’, we should get started.”

“Not till she has had some coffee,” Carmen told him. She put a cup down in front of the other woman. “Here you are, Nancy. With cream and one sugar, just the way you like it.”

Nancy tasted the dark brew. “Perfect, thank you, Carmen.”

“There are a couple cookies, too,” Carmen added.

Whit chuckled. “Thank you, Carmen, but we do have to get started. If you don’t mind…” His words trailed off, as he glanced towards the kitchen.

“I am going; I am going.” Carmen squeezed Nancy’s hand. “Good luck, Nancy, and don’t let them scare you.”

Now Aaron smiled. “As the Sages say, ‘Honesty saves a man from death.’ Besides…” he leaned back in his chair and patted his large stomach. “…how scary can an old galitizianah shopkeeper clerk like me be?”

“Not very… I hope. Thank you, Mr. Silverman – and Carmen.” Her friend gave her a quick wink and scurried off to the kitchen.

Nancy sipped her coffee. She set down her cup and sat up, her hands demurely folded on her lap. “I-I’m ready, gentlemen. Ask your questions.”

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Whit replied. “Where and when did you first meet Dell Cooper?”

“At Ortega’s grocery, the Monday -- at least, I think it was the Monday -- before Carl was robbed; I don't remember the exact date. Mrs. Carson sent me over for some potatoes. He accosted me, making crude remarks and demanding a kiss. I… I slapped his face and ran from the store.”

Arsenio chuckled. “That should have discouraged him.”

“It didn’t,” she answered. “He showed up at the schoolhouse the next day – someone at Ortega’s must have told him who I was. He made a number of suggestive remarks, and… and when I tried to strike him again, he-he threatened me – sort of.”

Whit raised an eyebrow. “Sort of threatened you, how?”

Nancy explained that he had threatened both her and the children. “I didn’t know what to do. I told Carl, and he went to talk to Mr. Cooper.” She sighed. “Then there was that robbery. People were saying that Carl was involved. I knew that he wasn’t, but what could I do?”

“I wonder if that’s why Cooper staged that robbery,” Whit said, “to get back at your brother for telling him to stop bothering you.”

Aaron shrugged. “Who knows why a man does something like that? As the Sages say, the evil urge begins as a guest and goes on as the host. What I want to know, Nancy, is why you all of a sudden changed your mind and went out with this momzer -- this man you say you didn’t like?”

“I… He threatened me again.” It was the question she’d dreaded. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It was just a few days after the robbery. People were saying that Carl was involved. I-I didn’t know what to do. And then Cooper came back to the school. He told me he’d seen the robbery happen?”

Aaron stroked his chin. “I suppose that was true, since he was the robber. But what excuse did he give you for not stopping it?”

“He told me that he was too far away,” she answered quickly. “But he was close enough to see that Carl wasn’t a part of it. He said that, if I went out with him, he’d tell the sheriff what he saw.”

Whit studied her expression. “Why didn’t you just tell the sheriff that he was a witness?”

“Be-Because he said that if I didn’t have dinner with him, he’d tell the sheriff that he’d seen Carl helping the robbers.” Nancy’s eyes glistened. “I-I couldn’t let him do that. Carl might’ve… might’ve gone t-to pr-prison.”

Arsenio handed her his handkerchief. “Here, do you want a break for a minute?”

“No… I…” She dabbed at her tears. “I-I’m better. Thank you.”

“Did he ever go to the sheriff,” Whit asked, “with either story?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. It never got mentioned at the trial.” She made a sour face. “And I even let him – eww – kiss me, when he insisted that was part of the deal.” She shuddered at the memory.

“Why didn’t you say any of this at the council meeting?” Arsenio inquired.

She sighed again. “I-I couldn’t. Carl was still waiting to stand trial. People would think that he was guilty and that I… did what I did to give him an alibi. And if Mr. Cooper was asked, he might have lied about Carl and made things worse.”

“So you kept things quiet – went along with Cooper -- for your brother’s sake.” Whit studied her face closely, as he spoke.

“C-Carl is my brother, my o-only family. What else could I do?”

Aaron gave her a smile. “For our families, as they say, we risk the world. I think we’ve heard enough. You stay here, have one of those shortbread cookies.” He pointed to a small dish next to where Carmen had set the coffee pot. “My friends and I, we’re gonna go in the other room and talk for a bit.”

The three men rose and walked out of the room without another word. Nancy leaned back in her chair and tried to relax while she waited.

* * * *

“Nancy.” Whit led the men back into his parlor. “We’ve decided.”

She put down her coffee and stood up. “Yes, Mr. Whitney.” 'Don’t let them see how scared you are, Nancy.'

“We talked over what you said, and we can’t find a single reason why you can’t get back to teaching the children.”

“Do-Do you mean that, sir?”

Aaron smiled at her. “We do. We’ll tell Roscoe Unger, so the story can be in the paper on Tuesday.”

“And we’ll formally lift your suspension at the town council meeting on Wednesday,” Whit added. “Congratulations.”

Her body sagged with relief. “Th-Thank you, gentlemen. Thank you so very much.”

The men didn't notice a shadow of a doubt cross her face. Would the next family she lived with be better people than the Carsons, or the Ritters? She knew she had friends, but she had also seen the vehemence of her enemies, and she couldn't understand it. Also, Kirby's face suddenly flashed before her mind's eye, and she wasn't sure what that was about either.

* * * *

Saturday, May 4, 1872

Zach Levy strode into the Saloon and over to where Shamus was working behind the bar. “Good morning, Mr. O’Toole --”

“It’ll be a better one if ye call me ‘Shamus’, lad,” the barman replied. “What can I be getting for ye?”

“My clients, if you don’t mind. I felt that I should ask you, rather than just go over and talk to them.”

“I thank ye for that.” Shamus cupped his hands and yelled, “Lylah… Flora, would ye come over here?”

Lylah was setting up the table for the Free Lunch. Flora was sweeping the floor. Both stopped what they were working on and walked over to the two men. Flora carried her broom with her. “What do you want now, Shamus?” she asked.

“Some respect’d be a nice start, Flora. In the meantime yuir lawyer wants t’be talking to ye.” He turned to Zach. “Why don’t the three of ye sit down over there?” He pointed to a table against the wall. “‘Tis far enough away t’be giving ye some privacy.” He glanced at the clock over the bar. “Just don’t be taking too much o’that privacy. We’ll be needing to put out the Free Lunch in a wee bit.”

Zach nodded. “Thank you, Shamus. I’ll try not to keep them for too long.” He led the women over to the table and waited until they sat down before taking his own seat across from them. He opened his brown leather case and took out a pencil and tablet.

“I spoke to Judge Humphreys,” he began, looking at some notes on the pad. “Your trial will be held right here on Monday at 10 AM. You’ll be charged with being accessories after the fact in the matter of the robbery of the Slocum payroll. Do you know what that means?”

Lylah nodded, looking glum. “It means we’re in trouble, don’t it?”

“Exactly; it means that you didn’t know that Cooper was going to rob the payroll. You didn’t help him do it, either, but you knew that he had done it, and you knew where the money was.”

Flora shuddered. “Could… could we get jail time for that?”

“Normally, yes,” he answered, “though not as much as you’d get if you had actually helped commit the robbery. But that’s normally. This is Eerie. They have another way of doing things, as you well know.”

“Too well,” Flora replied. “Did the judge say what he might do – if we were found guilty, I mean?”

“No… and I did ask. As a general rule, the accessory to a crime gets less than the actual criminal. Since Cooper is dead, he can’t get any sentence.”

Lylah looked hopeful. “Does that mean they could let us off scot free?”

“I doubt it,” Zach admitted, “but it may mitigate against a harsh sentence.” He took a breath. “It would have helped more if you had turned the money -- and Cooper -- over to the sheriff. Why didn’t you?”

Lylah started to respond, but Flora stopped her. “Would it help if I say that I was planning to do just that,” the blonde said, smiling wryly, “but I never had the chance with all that was happening?”

“You could say it, but I very much doubt that a jury would believe you.”

“How about if I say that I was going to, but, after Dell was shot, I was afraid of being implicated. I… I was going to leave the money behind – with a note, of course – when I left town.”

“Miss Stafford… Flora, I’m not going to help you lie to the jury. You tell me the truth, and I’ll help you put the best face that we can on it.”

Flora frowned. “That is what happened… more or less. Look, I’m a wealthy man. You check with Albertson at the bank. I brought a sizeable letter of credit with me; one worth more than what I hear was in that payroll. Why would I need to steal it?”

“Greed’s a good reason. So is anger. You admitted to shooting Abner Slocum because he insulted you in some way. Why wouldn’t you want to steal his money, too?”

“Because I didn’t… dammit. Cooper did.”

“But you kept quiet about it. Your story almost made it sound like you were stealing the money from Dell, and that’s what the jury will want to know about.”

Flora sighed. “I told you why. Cooper was dead, and I didn’t --”

“We didn’t,” Lylah interrupted, not wanting to be left out of Stafford’s story. “We didn’t want people thinking we done it.” Flora quickly agreed

Zach thought about what they had said. “It’s not much, but I may be able to argue that point.” He made some notes. “We’ll see what it gets us.”

“Free -- I hope,” Lylah said.

“You won’t be free until you finish the sentence you’re already serving,” he told them both. “I’ll just try to keep things from getting any worse. Maybe, since you've already gotten a severe sentence, we can argue for a suspended sentence pending good behavior over the rest of your term.”

“You do that.” Flora considered her situation. “In the meantime, can I ask you to do something else for me?”

“You’re welcome to ask. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to do it, and I’ll bill you for my time if I do. That money you have in Albertson’s bank should cover it.” He added the last in a sarcastic tone.

“I’m sure that it can,” Flora continued. “What I want is to know who else took this damned potion of O’Toole’s, why they took it, and what happened to them afterward.”

Zach looked at her nonplussed. “I’ll do what I can, but it may take a while.”

“I’m stuck here for the next two months, Mr. Levy. That should be more than enough time. I asked Molly O’Toole, but I don’t think that she or Shamus will spill the beans. But somebody in this damned town should be willing to talk, especially if you wave a gold double eagle under their nose. I need to know if anybody ever had the potion and got changed back, who they were and how they did it, so I can aim for the same thing -- whatever it takes.”

Zach wondered about the hard look in her eyes as she said that last thing…

* * * * *

“May I ask you a question, Annie?” Mrs. Spaulding said, looking over at the young woman seated next to her daughter.

Arnie had been cutting herself another bite of the baked chicken they were having for lunch. “Of course not,” she answered, putting down her knife and fork. “Ask away.”

“Thank you,” the older woman replied. “What is this ‘special brew’ I read about in the paper? There’s been talk about some sort of brew or potion or whatever almost every week. To be frank, I’ve become rather curious about it.”

It was not a question Arnie wanted to hear, let alone answer, and she stalled for time. “Have you asked anybody else about it?”

“No, I – we really haven’t met many people since we came to town. That Reverend Yingling, the one the paper talks about, has come to call once or twice.”

“H-He has?” What had Yingling said? Did he know that Arnie had befriended the Spauldings?

Mrs. Spaulding nodded. “Yes, him and his wife both. They seem very nice, especially her, but we’re not really churchgoing people.”

“Mother doesn’t like the reverend,” Clara said in a half-whisper.

“Don’t gossip, Clara,” her mother scolded. “It isn’t ladylike.”

“It’s true, though,” Hedley added. “And I agree. He seemed quite full of himself, one of those preachers – what did Father used to say – oh, yes, the sort of preacher who thought that the first three words of the Good Book were, ‘Dear Reverend Yingling.’ Isn’t that right?”

Arnie and Clara both chuckled at the joke, and even Mrs. Spaulding smiled. “I really do not know the man,” Arnie told them. “I am a Catholic, so I have never been in his church.”

“But why does he want to control this brew of Mr. O’Toole’s?” the mother asked again. “Most ministers are against hard drink. They don’t want to be the one giving it out.”

The Mexican girl took a breath to steel herself for what she was about to say. “It is not just a drink. It is… “ She hesitated. There was no way that this secret could be kept from residents of the town, and if she denied knowing anything, she would soon be seen by the Spauldings as a liar. But if she “let the cat out of the bag,” who knew what more they would soon learn? Still, she felt cornered with no real choice. “It is magic.”

“Magic?” Hedley said. “Are you joking?”

“No, it is magic. Out -- Out here, there are secrets, very strange knowledge that comes from the Indians. Magic from the world of the spirits --”

“Like in the stories of the old Greeks?” Hedley asked. “What sort of magic?”

“It is used to punish bad men. Banditos.”

Hedley smiled. “Let me guess. It turns them into pigs.”

“Si… no, it changes them into… into other people. They look different. They live with Señor O’Toole for a time, like they were in a prison, to get used to what – who they have become. When they leave, they have always become better… people.”

Mrs. Spaulding was quiet for a moment. “What an amazing story – though I find it hard to believe that it is anything more than a story.” The hostess took a sip of the lemonade she had served with lunch. “But I’ll accept it at face value – for now anyway. Thank you, Annie.”

Arnie sighed, relieved. She was sure that Mrs. Spaulding didn't believe a word she had said, but didn't want to declare what she did think -- that her guest was talking very foolishly or carrying a joke too far. But the look on Clara's face told Arnie that she wanted to ask the questions that her mother wouldn't. She immediately started thinking about how to leave the house without first having to talk to Clara alone.

* * * * *

Nancy studied the test paper spread out in front of her on Kirby Pinter’s desk. “These papers look very good, Phillipia.”

“I thought so,” Phillipia Stone replied. “Having them write the words for homework the night before the test was a very useful idea.”

“I’ve always thought so. When you do the next spelling test on Thursday, you might want to put in a few of the words that they did misspell this week.”

“Do you expect to be out that long?”

“Well, I told the town council my version of what happened, and they’ve decided to reinstate me. It’ll be in the paper on Tuesday, and they’ll make it formal at the meeting Wednesday night. I thought that I’d let you finish out the week.”

“Sounds like you’re enjoying the time off.”

“I am, to tell the truth, but that’s not it. I just think it would be better not to switch off in midweek. It also gives us a chance to meet next weekend so you can go over what you’ve been doing.”

Phillipia considered the idea for a bit. “That makes sense, I suppose,” she finally said. She gathered up the papers and put them in a folder. “Think that takes care of everything for now. Let’s go see what Kirby and the children are up to, shall we?”

Nancy agreed, and the two women walked out the back door of the office and onto the porch behind Kirby Pinter’s bookshop. Kirby and Penny Stone, Phillipia’s daughter, were setting things out on a cloth-covered table at a corner of the porch. “Hello, Mother… Miss Osbourne,” Penny greeted them.

“Are you two finished inside?” Kirby asked.

Nancy looked at the table. She saw plates, forks, stacks of glasses, three pitchers of lemonade, and… “Wherever did you get that cake?”

“The restaurant over at O’Toole’s; I went over a couple of days ago and asked Jane if they could bake one for me. They did.”

Nancy raised a surprised eyebrow. “I’m sure it’s delicious. Maggie and Jane are both fine cooks.”

“I was the odd one out for a game of Cross Questions,” Penny told them, “so I’m helping Mr. Pinter.”

Kirby nodded. “And she’s been a big help, but now that your mother and Miss Osbourne are here, Penny, why don’t you go tell the others that we’re ready?”

“Sure.” She ambled over to the other children who were seated in a circle on the grass. Mostly, the children who had come were from the older grades, although Aggie Stone, Enrique Diaz, and Abe Scudder -- all three were third graders -- had come with their older siblings.

Cross Questions was a popular parlor game. The group sat in a circle. Each person, in turn, asked a question of the person on their right. When they’d all done this, they went around the circle again. Each person said the question they’d been asked, and then answered that question with the answer they’d gotten from the person on their right.

It was Jorge Ybañez’ turn. “Okay,” he told the group. “Emma O’Hanlon…” He glanced to his left, where she was sitting. “…asked me, ‘What do I want to be when I grow up’, and the answer I got from Miriam Scudder was…” He unfolded a sheet of paper and read, “A big, gray rat in my daddy’s henhouse.” His expression soured, as the children burst into laughter. “That ain’t funny.” His question to Miriam had been, “What are you the most scared of?”

“Yes, it is,” Penny told him. “Now I’ve got a question. Do you all want to keep playing or do you want to break for cake and lemonade?”

Jorge jumped to his feet. “I vote for cake.” Most of the others agreed, and they all headed for the table where the adults were standing. Kirby had cut the cake into pieces. Nancy put the pieces on plates and handed one to each child, while Phillipia poured glass after glass of lemonade.

Nancy had just taken a seat next to the table, when she heard a shrill voice shout, “How dare you?”

“What?” She looked up to see Cecelia Ritter, Zenobia Carson, Levinia Mackechnie, and several other women standing a few feet beyond the fence that marked the end of Kirby’s yard. She frowned. “What’s bothering you now, ladies?” she asked sourly.

Cecelia started for the gate into the yard. “You are no longer the teacher of these children, Miss Osbourne, and you have no business being anywhere near them.” The other women murmured in agreement.

“I don’t see that it’s any of your concern, ladies,” Nancy replied. “None of you are the mother of any of these children. Their parents are free to allow them to associate with anyone they wish.”

She decided not to tell them that she would be their children’s teacher again in a few days. That was something for the men on the town council to announce.

“I -- We are acting in behalf of those other parents who, I am sure, have no idea that you are here, corrupting these poor innocent lambs.”

The children were all looking at Nancy and the other women. It was fun to watch grown-ups argue. “I ain’t sure what ‘corrupting’ means,” Nestor Stone called out, “but if it has anything t’do with lemonade and cake, you can corrupt me anytime.”

“Nestor,” Phillipia said sternly. “Don’t be rude. Even if Mrs. Ritter deserves it, she is an adult.”

Cecelia stormed through the gate, a few of the other women following her. “You have no right to talk to me like that, Phillipia Stone!”

“And you have no right to act so high-and-mighty, Cecelia Ritter?” Phillipia quickly replied.

Kirby chimed in. “Excuse me… Mrs. Ritter, is it, would you please leave?”

“Leave? I have no intention of leaving.” Cecelia glared at the impudent man.

Kirby smiled. “Whether you have any intent or not, you and your friends are trespassing on my property. You can all leave now, or you can wait, and I’ll send one of these children to get Sheriff Talbot. There are… three… four… five of you. It’ll be a bit tight, but I think there’s enough room in the jail for you all.”

“Why you… you… you wouldn’t dare,” Zenobia Carson said indignantly.

He smiled. “Oh, but I would. We were sitting here peacefully, and you all forced your way in and disrupted our party. Hmm, that would add disturbing the peace to the charges, wouldn’t it?”

“I believe it would,” Phillipia Stone said, trying hard not to smile.

The women hurried out of the yard. “Satisfied?” Cecelia asked smugly. “We’ve left your precious yard. Are you satisfied?”

“Not really. I’ve no doubt that you can be just as disturbing out there in the alley.” He looked at the children. “Which of you wants to go get the Sheriff?” When almost all of them raised a hand, he looked over at Cecelia. “Well, Mrs. Ritter?”

She glared at him for a moment. “This isn’t the end of it.” She turned and hurried down the alleyway, the rest of the women scurrying after her.

“I think it is,” he said with a laugh.

Nancy leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Kirby. Thank you so very much.”

“Any time,” he told her, adding to himself, ‘especially if I get a reward like that kiss.’

* * * * *

Nancy walked over to where Molly was setting up her table to sell dance tickets. “I’d better be going now, Molly.”

“Are ye sure ye can’t be staying for the dancing?” the older woman asked. “Thuir’s a lot o’men that’d like dancing with a pretty thing like ye.”

“Thank you, but I’ll never get my teaching job back if anyone finds out that I did something as ‘wicked’ as dance with a man. School marms like me aren’t supposed to have a life outside of the classroom,” she sighed.

Molly studied her face. “And that ain’t much of a life, I'm thinking. I won’t be asking if ye agree, but I’ll tell ye that if ye ever do decide ye want more of a life for yuirself, ye come talk to me.”

“Thanks, again. I’ll keep that in mind.” Nancy headed for the door. The “Happy Days” Town Band was tuning up, playing bits of some of the melodies they would be doing that night. She stopped for a moment to listen, waving one hand to their beat. But then she sighed again, shook her head, and walked, reluctantly, out the door.

* * * * *

Flora brought a tray of dirty dishes and silverware into the kitchen and carried it over to the sink. She was about to unload the tray when Shamus walked over to her. “Jane’ll be taking care of that, Flora. Ye and Lylah need t’be getting upstairs t’be changing yuir clothes.”

“Changing clothes, why?” she asked.

He smiled. “Do ye remember what happens here at me Saloon on Saturdays? What the two of ye came over for when ye was men?”

“Yeah, the… dance.” Her eyes grew wide. “You don’t mean…”

“I most certainly do. Me Molly has nice outfits, starched white blouse, black skirt, and white apron, waiting for ye upstairs. I knew the pair of ye can dance; I saw ye doing it. Only now, ‘tis the men ye’ll be dancing with. And ye’ll be smiling and talking nice to ‘em when ye do, just like the other lasses did with the two of ye.”

He looked her squarely in the eye as he spoke. This was an order, one the potion compelled her to obey. “Do ye understand what I’m telling ye?”

She sighed and nodded her head. “Yes, Shamus.”

* * * * *

Bridget heard a knock on her bedroom door. “Who’s there?”

“‘Tis me, Bridget,” Molly answered. “Can I talk to ye for just a minute?”

“Sure, c’mon in.”

Molly walked in and took a quick look at the younger woman. “I see ye’re getting dressed for the dance.”

“I am. It’s part of the job, isn’t it?”

“It is if ye want it t’be. Do ye think ye’re up to it?”

“Yes… no… I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “That's something that I-I need to find out, don’t I?”

“Aye, ye do, but ye shouldn’t be rushing in when ye ain’t ready.”

“Yes, but this is the only way to find out if I am ready. If I keep waiting until I’m sure, I-I’ll never get up the nerve to do it.”

“All right, then, but there’s two things that ye need t’be knowing before ye go downstairs.”

“And those are?”

“First, thuir ain’t a man down thuir – at least none that’re worth more than a bucket of spit – that don’t think ye’re the lady they always thought ye were. And the other is that none of ‘em’ll think any the less of ye, if ye decide that ye ain’t ready and come back up here.”

* * * * *

Cap walked over to where Lylah and Flora were sitting, nervously waiting for Shamus to start the dance. “Good evening, ladies.”

“What…. oh, who’re you?” Lylah said. She’d seen him at her trial but didn’t know his name.

Flora added. “The dancing hasn’t started yet, so you can put your ticket away, mister.”

“Lewis,” he replied, making a slight bow, “Cap Lewis, I’m Abner Slocum’s nephew. I won’t be dancing with either of you, though.”

Flora felt somehow insulted. “You won’t?”

“No, I won’t. My uncle only let about half of his men come in to the dance on any given Saturday. I just wanted to let you know that tonight I’ve just left a skeleton crew at the ranch. The rest are all here, ready and waiting to dance with you.”

Lylah raised a cynical eyebrow. “And… drop the other shoe, Mr. Lewis.”

“And my uncle was very well liked by his men. I’ve told them that, as long as they don’t hurt you permanently, they’re welcome to express their displeasure with what you did to him while they’re dancing with you.” He gave them a wicked grin. “Have a good evening.” He bowed again and walked away.

* * * * *

Milt led Jessie out onto the dance floor. “Have you come up with any ideas?” he asked as they began to dance.

“Lemme ask you a question,” she replied. “Can you sing?”

“Sing? Yes, a little, I suppose. Why?”

“‘Cause that’s how you’re gonna apologize, by singing t’her… here in the Saloon, with me, in front of everybody.”

“Why, for Heaven’s sakes?”

“You got a better way o’showing her that you love her, and that you don’t care who knows it?”

He suddenly broke into a smile. “Jessie, that’s… that’s brilliant. What am I going to sing?”

“I don’t know yet.” She chuckled. “Don’t you go looking at me like that. It ain’t easy t’write a song special just for you and Jane. I wanted t’know you’d do it before I did all that work.”

“Fair enough; when will you have the song ready for me?”

“You come by Tuesday night, and I’ll give it to you. You take a couple o’days t’learn it, and we’ll sing it for her Thursday or Friday. Okay?”

“Better than okay.” He laughed back at her. “I’d kiss you, except that Jane is watching us while she’s over there dancing with Fred Noonan.”

* * * * *

Red Tully handed Flora his ticket. “Here ya is, Flora.”

“You work for Slocum, don’t you?” she asked as she put the ticket into the pocket of her apron.

He took her right hand and led her out onto the dance floor. “I do. More ‘n’ that, I spent the week over at the doc’s helping t’take care of him.” Once they were in position, he faced her and put his right arm around her waist and hugged her hard against him. “Only now, I’m taking a break.”

She pushed his hand away and stood back, but, when she tried to slap his face, too, the voice in her head wouldn’t let her.

* * * * *

“Here’s m’ticket.”

Lylah looked up to see a hand holding a ticket. A very dark hand. “No,” she said, standing up. “I ain’t gonna dance with no nigger.”

“Why not?” Luke Freeman replied, with a chuckle. “You is as dark as I am.”

“The hell I am!” It was as much a wish as a denial.

Before Luke could answer, Shamus hurried over to the two of them. “What’s all this carrying on?”

“He… this nigger wants t’dance with me,” Lylah said frantically.

Shamus smiled. “He does? Why Luke, I’m surprised at ye. I ain’t never seen ye here on a Saturday night.”

“You never had nobody like this pretty gal here for me t’dance with,” Luke told him.

The barkeeper nodded, understanding. It would have caused problems for Luke if he had come on earlier Saturdays to dance with any of the Saloon's other girls. Shamus thought that it was too bad that the color of a man’s skin should be a problem. Unlike some of his customers, he didn’t care about a man’s color, just about the color of his money. Besides, he liked Luke.

Shamus turned to face Lylah. “In that case, Lylah, ye will be dancing with Luke here, and with any other man that gives ye a ticket. And ye’ll be smiling and acting as sweet as ye can while ye’re out thuir dancing with him. Ain’t that right?”

“Yes, Shamus.” Despite her best efforts, she found herself smiling at the two men. She took Luke’s ticket and put it in her apron pocket.

The tall black man winked at Shamus. “Thank you, Shamus.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we… Lylah? The band’s already started to play.”

* * * * *

Cap had waited until the music started. As he expected, Bridget was still sitting. He’d seen her timidly refuse a couple of tickets. He stepped over to where she was sitting. “Dance with me, Bridget?”

“C-Cap?” She looked up to see him smiling, a ticket in his hand. “I… Y-You want to dance with me?”

“There’s no one else here that I would ever want to dance with. You’re going to start dancing with men some time. Why not start with a friend?” He waited while she thought it over and then added, “Please. I-I miss… dancing with you.”

She smiled -- barely -- and stood up. “So… so do I.”

“Then let’s go.” He took her hand and walked with her out onto the dance floor. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, feel her body tremble, but she still let him hold her in his arms as they danced.

It was a start.

* * * * *

Carl leaned against the wall, watching Flora dancing with Finney Pike, another of Slocum’s men. Finny was holding her very close, close enough, Carl could see, so that the man could fondle her while they danced.

‘I’ll have to dance with her later,’ he told himself. ‘Lord knows she’s pretty enough to be worth the trouble for its own sake. The thing is, though…’

This was the first time he’d been in the Saloon since his trial. ‘If that jury’d found me guilty,’ he thought wryly, ‘that’d be me out there, another damn potion girl dancing with the men.’ He shook his head. If the Judge had given him a choice, like he usually gave convicts, Carl was pretty sure that he would have chosen prison, maybe even hanging, over becoming a woman.

He shivered at the thought and decided that he needed a beer just now more than he needed to dance with anyone.

* * * * *

Molly walked over to the bar and sat on a stool near where Shamus was standing. “The new gals ain’t having a very good time of it,” she told her husband.

“They’ll be having a worse time tomorrow, when they get up on this here bar…” He gestured at the wide surface between them. “…and do that fancy dance ye taught ‘em.”

“I’m thinking that they need something before that.”

“Not more practice time, I’m hoping. I already got signs put up all around town.” He grinned. “Especially over by the Lone Star.”

She shook her head. “They know the dancing well enough. But thuir hairs are rat nests, and they been working hard all week -- and doing all this dancing tonight. They need a bath and t’be putting a brush through thuir hair, I’m thinking.”

“I don’t see why not. Carmen opens her place sometimes on Sunday afternoon. Maggie’s over with Ramon.” He pointed to the couple, happily doing a polka. “I’ll be talking with them once this dance is over, and they can pass the word onto Carmen first thing in the morning.”

* * * * *

“My turn now, little lady,” a deep voice said.

Lylah looked up. Another damned nigger. Except for a couple of Mex – which were almost as bad – she’d been dancing with darkies all night. And Shamus’ orders didn’t give her any say in the matter. “I suppose it is.” She rose slowly, reluctantly to her feet and pocketed the ticket.

“I’se Hammy Lincoln,” the tall man told her. “I works for Ritter Livery.”

She all but sighed with relief. “Lylah Saunders.” He wasn’t one of the ranch hands, even if he did smell of horses. That meant that she probably wasn’t going have to put up with the overly familiar hands the cowboys all seemed to have.

* * * * *

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change – Spring, part 6 of 13
By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson (c) 2014

Sunday, May 5, 1872

Reverend Yingling looked out at his congregation.

“My friends,” he began, “as we prepare to end this morning's service and go out to enjoy this glorious day that our Lord has given us, I remind you that there is work yet to be done. The town council will be meeting Wednesday in this very room to consider our petition regarding Shamus O'Toole's foul brew. I ask you to join with me Wednesday night to show your support for this measure. And I invite you to join with me now in singing a most appropriate closing hymn, 'Song of Exodus.' Yes, sing it out loud and clear, that your righteous words will still be echoing within these walls when the town council begins its deliberation on Wednesday, here in this very room.”

The hymn was a favorite of the congregation, and it had often ended their Sunday prayers. Even those who didn't agree with Yingling's intentions were singing.

` “G-d led the Children on Israel
` By Moses' might hand.
` He parted the sea before them,
` And then they crossed on dry land.”

Which was exactly what the Reverend had planned. He was smiling broadly as he joined in at the chorus.

` “Oh, how marvelous is the power of G-d
` As He leads us in our way.
` Pillar of fire we see in the night,
` And an enormous cloud by day.”

* * * * *

Shamus paid to have the flyers posted all over town by early Sunday morning.

` TONIGHT ONLY
` (And the Rest of the Week, At Least)

` < ----------=====++000++=====---------- >

` The Eerie Saloon Is Proud to Present:

` O’TOOLE’S CACTUS BLOSSOMS

` @>---->-->---- ----<--<----<@

` In: “Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines”

` <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

` Music and Vocal Accompaniment by:

` “The Eerie Nightingale”
` Miss Jessie Hanks

` @>---->-->---- ----<--<----<@

` Shows at 8 PM & 10 PM

A double load of flyers was posted on the block around the Lone Star, just to make absolutely sure that Sam Duggan saw one.

* * * * *

“How are you feeling this morning, my friend?” Cerise leaned forward across her desk to study Wilma’s face.

Wilma looked oddly at her employer. “What d’you mean, my Lady?”

“Let me tell you a story,” the other woman replied. “When I was in Savanna, I had a… friend, Georges. One day, he took me for a carriage ride out to his home at the edge of town. He had a large pen behind the house. He took in stray dogs, you see, and tried to find them good homes. Most of the dogs were friendly; they came over to the walls of the pen, barking and jumping up and wagging their tails.”

“Nice story, but what’s it got t’do with me?”

“I have not finished. One dog, a pretty brown and white beagle puppy hung back. Georges had a shelter built in the back of the pen for when it rained, three walls and a roof. The little beagle, she cowered in there, trembling, her tail between her legs. I asked Georges about her. He told me that he had found her half-dead beside the road. Someone, some cochon, had beaten her and… worse. He said that there were burn marks – from a cigar, he thought – on her.”

“That poor dog was terrified of everyone. Georges told me that he had had to drug her, so she would hold still long enough for him to treat her injuries. She was still afraid, and she would not come anywhere near him or anyone else. He was not certain if she would ever recover from what had been done to her, and he despaired of ever finding her a home.”

Wilma frowned in sympathy for the animal. “Are you saying that you gave the dog a home? That would be right nice of you.”

“No, I did not.” Cerise took a breath. “You, mon petit, are like that little dog. When we had guests last night, the others, Mae, Beatriz, and Rosalyn, they smile, they pose, they want the men to pick them. You… you slump your shoulders and do not smile. You give no sign that you are interested in the men who have come to call upon my House and my ladies. And if some man does pick you, you walk with him as if you were headed to the gallows, rather than to your bed.”

“I… I go with them,” Wilma said indignantly. “What’s it matter if I smile? I’m a whore. It ain’t my smile that they’re paying for.”

“Yes, Wilma, in a very real way, it is your smile that the men pay for. As my second, you should know that.” Cerise broke into a sly smile. “And as my second, I give you a problem to solve for me – if you can.”

Wilma smiled, relieved that the subject had changed. “I’ll do my best. You know that.”

“I do, indeed. The problem you must solve is that one of my ladies is disheartened. She has had her heart broken, and it has shaken her confidence in herself greatly. She feels that she is worthless – when she most surely is not – and her attitude is making this House less than the happy place it should be.

Cerise looked across her desk, directly into Wilma’s eyes. “You are my second. Solve that problem for me.”

“Y’know, Cerise,” Wilma replied, a bit of forced humor in her voice, “you’ve got a sneaky streak in you that I’m only now beginning t’see.”

* * * * *

Pablo leaned against a tree in the courtyard outside the church. The early Mass had ended, and most of the villagers were gone. Father de Castro was waving goodbye to the last few as they left.

It was now or never. Pablo took breath to steady himself and walked over to the priest. “Perdóneme, Padre, por favor, may I talk with you... in private?”

“Have you come to take Confession?” de Castro joked. “My sermon must have been especially good this morning.”

“No, I-I have news about Señor Styron, my... my boss.” He glanced around nervously to see if anyone was watching him.

The man put his arm around Pablo shoulder and guided him into the church. As soon as they were inside, he shut the door. “Is this private enough, or should we go to my office?”

“This is fine... I guess.”

De Castro sat down in one of the pews. “Very well, then, Pablo, what is your news about Señor Styron?”

“The... the other night, I heard him and Señor Ritter talking. The livery was closed, and they didn't know I was there – cleaning up in the back. I-I did not mean to listen.”

“But you did, and you heard something that, I am guessing, you shouldn't have.”

“Yes – No, I am glad that I heard it. They... What they are planning is not good, not for us, at least.”

“For you and I?”

“For the whole congregation.”

The priest nodded. “What is it?”

“You have heard of Señor O'Toole's potion and how the gringo priest – Yingling – does not think that Señor O'Toole should be the one who has it.”

“I know. Reverend Yingling – and you should not call him 'gringo'; it is not polite. Reverend Yingling thinks it would be better if the town council appointed a committee to control it. But what does that have to do with Señor Styron and Señor Ritter?”

“They think that they will be the ones who control it, them and some other... Yanquis. None of us, no Mejicanos.”

De Castro frowned. “Surely that cannot be right. Reverend Yingling would not allow it.”

“They think that he will. They think that it will give them power over us, that they will use it on some of us – to make us afraid of them.”

“You actually heard them say this?”

“Sì, they did not say who they would use it on – except for the man who runs the newspaper. They want to use it on him if he keeps writing those things in the paper against them.” Pablo shuddered. “Padre, if they would use it on one of themselves, nothing can stop them from using it on us.”

The priest studied the boy's face. He had probably heard something. Neither Ritter or Styron were known for their great love of Mexicans. “I will think about what you told me,” he said. “For now, we will put our trust in Him Who has always protected us.” He made the sign of the cross and smiled when Pablo did the same. “And you should go home. Your parents will be wondering where you are.”

'Just the same,' he thought to himself, as he watched the boy leave the building, 'it might be a good idea to talk to Don Luis Ortega and some of his other influential parishioners.'

* * * * *

Molly led her two charges around the corner to the back entrance to a large wooden building.

“Wait a minute,” Flora protested as she recognized their destination. “This is the bathhouse.”

Molly nodded. “Aye, with all the work the two of ye've been doing, me Shamus and I thought ye should have a bath before yuir show tonight.” At that moment, a short Mexican woman walked out of the building. “And here's herself, the mistress of the place. Is everything ready, Carmen?”

Carmen Whitney smiled. “It is. Will you be joining the other ladies in a tub, Molly?”

“Not this time.”

“Very well.” Carmen held the door open for the three women. She followed them in and started a flow of water from the large metal water heater in the corner of the room into two of the wooden tubs. “They will be filled in a few minutes. You can put your clothes in there.” She pointed to a curtained doorway.

The women walked through it into a small room. A dozen lockers stood against the walls, with benches in front of them. Molly looked at Flora and Lylah. “All right, now. Pick a locker t'be hanging yuir clothes in, and start taking 'em off. I wants ye t'be getting into them tubs as soon as ye can.”

“D-Don't wanna,” Lylah said stubbornly, but even as she protested, her fingers were undoing the buttons on her dress. Once they were open, she let the garment slide down and stepped out of it. She put it on a hook in the locker and started on her petticoat, muttering under her breath the whole time.

Flora did the same. In no time at all, the pair stood, barefoot, clad only in camisoles and drawers. They stood far apart and moved slowly, not wanting to look at each other, to be reminded of what they had become. “Get that stuff off ye,” Molly ordered, “and get into the water.”

“All right, dang it,” Flora grumbled as her trembling fingers undid the ribbon holding her drawers tight at her waist. They fell to the wood floor, and she stepped out of them. A few seconds later, drawers and camisole were on a shelf in the locker, and she was walking past the curtain into the main room of the bathhouse, carrying her towel in her right hand. Lylah followed close behind.

The pair went over to the now water-filled tubs. Each hung her towel on one of the handles on the side of her own tub, and cautiously climbed in. “Mmm,” Flora said without thinking as she settled down into the water. It was warm and soothing and it.... “Smells like... is that lilac?”

“Aye, lilac bath salts,” Molly told her. “T'make yuir soak nicer.”

She let the new women just sit there for a few minutes. After all that work, they did deserve some time to relax and soak the ache out of their muscles. Still, that wasn't the real reason she'd brought them over here. “Now...” She handed each women a washcloth and bar of soap. “...I want the both of ye t'be using these things t'wash every inch o'yuir body – every inch.”

Flora put the soap in the water and began to work up a lather on the cloth. Once she had, she ran the cloth up and down the length of her right arm. That done, she worked it across her chest. She looked down and sighed. 'Every inch,' the voice in her head repeated. She sighed again and began to soap her breasts.

It felt good, surprisingly good, especially when the rough texture of the cloth rubbed against her nipples. She felt them stiffen, as an ever so pleasurable fire built in her breasts. 'None of that,' she told herself. She switched the soap over to the other hand and began to move it along her left arm. She did her stomach next, and then lifted first her right leg and then her left leg out of the water to wash them.

“Finished.” She leaned back, determined to enjoy the water's warmth until Molly chased her out.

Molly shook her head. “No, ye ain't. I told ye t'be wash every place, and I meant every place.” The woman smiled a wicked smile. “And thuir's one place ye haven't done yet, ain't thuir?”

“There is,” Flora answered sourly. She took the cloth and wrapped the bar of soap in it. She started at the base of her stomach and slid her hand slowly downward, rubbing gently. The rough cloth rubbed against her groin, and she trembled at the yearnings it roused. She tried to yank her hand away, but the voice in her head wouldn't let her.

The cloth moved back and forth against her nether cleft, and she felt it – oh, Lord, she felt it! It wasn't the growing hardness of a man, but a yielding, a dazzling, delicious heat that built and Built and BUILT in her loins, even as it rose up to her breasts, and out to every other part of her.

Her breathing grew uneven. Her arousal – yes, she recognized for what it was, a female arousal – scared her, it was so... pervasive. She tried to stop things, but she... she couldn't, not because of the commanding voice in her head, but because her body wanted – needed – what was happening to her, needed it so very much.

“Oh... oh, yes,” she gasped in surrender. It was the most – cold!

Flora jerked upright from the shock of the frigid water poured down on her. Molly stood next to the tub, an overturned bucket in her hand. “Enjoy yourself when we're not so busy. For now, ye can be washing yuir hair, too.” The older woman handed her a bottle labeled “Overmeyer's Sweet Lilac Shampoo.”

“Thank heavens,” she sighed in relief. She looked over to the other tub. Lylah was lying back against the side. Her hands were beneath the water. Flora couldn't see what the coon was doing, but she had a good guess. Lylah's head leaned back, resting against the back of the tub. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth was open, and she looked to be gasping for breath. How dark she looked against the pale, oaken tub.

Molly came up behind Lylah, toting another large wooden bucket. In one smooth motion, she upended it over the woman's head. Lylah let out a shriek and sat up quickly. “Ye can do yuir hair, lass, now that I got it all wet for ye.” She gave her another bottle of the shampoo and walked away, a sly smile on her lips.

The women shivered from the cold water even as they obediently worked the shampoo into their hair. Molly brought over another bucket, hot water this time, to rinse. Carmen handed each one a towel and helped wrap it around their heads. She held another towel as each woman stepped carefully out of the tub. “Pat,” she told them. “Do not rub. Yuir skin is more tender now.”

“Tell me 'bout it,” Lylah said sourly, as she gently moved the towel up and down her arm. Her skin still tingled from what she had been doing.

Flora did the same, being careful how she dried her own body. 'Don't want to start that again,' she cautioned herself. In a short time, they both were back by the lockers, dry enough for a dash of an unscented talcum powder before they slipped into their camisoles and drawers.

“Before ye finish getting dressed,” Molly told them, “I want t'be talking to ye. Flora, stand up and walk over t'me.”

Flora stood and strode toward Molly. “That's fine,” the older woman told her. “Now turn around and walk over t'thuir.” She pointed to the far corner of the room. “But I want ye t'be taking shorter steps, and when ye walk, put yuir foot so 'tis in a straight line with the one behind.” She watched Flora take a few steps, then added. “and while ye're walking hold yuir hands down low – no, don't slump yuir shoulders – and hold 'em away from yuir body, too.”

“Why?” Lylah asked. “What's so important about how she walks?”

Molly shook her head. “How the both of ye walk, Lylah. Get and walk over thuir, through the doorway and all the way t'yuir tub. And ye'll be walking just the same as I told Flora t'walk.” She watched the black woman step across the floor. “Keep going,” she told her.

“How long do we have to do this for?” Flora asked after a while.

Molly studied the pair as they strolled back and forth. “Much better; ye're walking like ladies ought t'be walking. I mean, with your hips swinging, the way men like to see a gal's bottom moving.” Both women suddenly stopped, aghast.

Reluctantly, the girls started strolling again. A couple minutes later, Molly nodded, satisfied. “Ye can go sit down now on the benches by yuir lockers.”

The pair sat down. “Not like that,” Molly scolded. “Ye sit up straight and tall now, with yuir knees together and yuir hands folded pretty on yuir laps.” They shifted into the positions she described. Molly left them that way for a minute or two to get used to it.

“That's one way ladies sit,” she told them, taking a seat on a bench. “Or ye sit just like this.” She put one knee over the other and held her ankles near each other. “'Tis the best way t'be sitting when ye're in yur dance rig, too. Now ye try it.”

Both women changed to the new position, again, Molly had them hold the position for a short time.

Carmen came into the room just then, carrying a pair of brushes.

“What're those?” Flora asked suspiciously. She took the brush Carmen handed her and stared at it, her legs still crossed.

“Uncross and relax,” Molly said as Carmen unwrapped the towel around Flora's head, while Molly rose and did the same for Lylah. “These’re hair brushes; thuir's more tangles than hair on yuir heads right now,” Molly answered. “After we work out all them snarls, I want ye t'be brushing yuir hair. Ye'll do it each night from now on, fifty strokes a night. And while ye're doing it, I want ye t'be repeating, with each stroke, the words, 'I'm a girl.' Do ye understand that?”

“The hell we – ow!” Flora flinched as Carmen worked on a tangle in her long, blonde hair. There wasn't much curl, so the Mexican woman was able to hand her the brush to use on herself after just a short time. Lylah's hair was a mass off dark curls, and it felt like Molly was pulling them out at the roots as she fought through knot after knot.

Once Flora had taken the brush in her own hand, Carmen opened the locker she was facing. A long, narrow mirror was mounted on the inside of the door. “Just stand there and admire how pretty ye are,” Molly told her. It was the same for Lylah after Molly had finished unsnarling her dark curls.

Each of them stared at the comely young woman that the mirror reflected back at her. Those reflections were dressed only in their unmentionables, their bodies smelling of lilacs and still tingling from the sensations aroused in the bath. As the two new beauties brushed their hair, each kept repeating, “I'm a girl. I'm a girl.” The both of them tried to resist, but they had no choice but to keep saying it.

It was a wholly unsettling experience.

* * * * *

“Well, now, Joe,” Sam Braddock said cheerfully, “look who's back.”

Bridget looked up from her game of Maverick solitaire. “Hi, Sam... Joe. I'm not quite back; not yet, anyway.”

“What d'you mean, Bridget?” Joe Kramer asked. “You're sitting there waiting for a poker game, ain't you?”

She gave him a faint smile. “Right now, all I'm doing is waiting to deal poker, not to play a hand.” She took a breath. “If anybody'll trust me to deal, that is.”

“I don't see why they wouldn't.” Sam pulled out a chair and sat down. “I never had a reason not to trust you, and you're a damned sight better to watch dealing the cards that Joe is, what with that ugly mug of his.”

Joe took a seat. “You're no prize neither, Sam. Welcome back, Bridget, even if you're just a dealer for now. We missed losing all our money to you.”

“I don't know about that 'losing' part,” Sam told her, “but it is good to have you back.”

Bridget's smile brightened. “Th-Thank you both, gentlemen... friends. It's good to be back.” She gathered in the cards on the table to form a deck. She shuffled three times and gave it to Sam to cut. After he just tapped it with his finger, she began to deal. “Now, let's play some poker... five card draw, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Sam said. Joe nodded in agreement.

She knew that she still wasn't ready to play, but the cards felt right in her hands. She was actually looking at the two men as she dealt the cards. She didn't feel nervous. Or ashamed.

And she felt the same way when Fred Norton, Stu Gallagher, and Matt Royce joined the game over the next few hands. It felt like...well, it felt like she was taking the first step on the way back home.

* * * * *

“We want the show! We want the show!”

Shamus walked over from behind the bar to a chair set near the foot of the steps up to the second floor. He raised his arms and waited for the crowd to quiet.

“You'll have to go a ways to better the girls over at the Lone Star!” someone shouted.

Shamus smiled. “Just ye watch and see if our Cactus Blossom girls don't give them Lone Star gals a run for their money.”

There was a wave of lewd chuckling. “That's a powerful promise to live up to!” a man guffawed.

“Well, just see if they don't live up to it,” Shamus replied with a grin.

The excitement of the crowd quieted to a low mutter.

“All right, then,” he said cheerfully, when they finally stopped chanting. “If it's a show ye want, then 'tis a show ye'll be getting.” He looked around the room. The crowd wasn't as big as it might have been, but it had been far too long since this many men were in his saloon.

Shamus put two fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle. “And here's Eerie's own nightingale, Jessie Hanks, t'be getting things started.”

“Bring on the dancing girls,” someone yelled.

During the day, Shamus had changed his mind about using the bar as a stage. He and R.J. had hung sheets in the stairwell to the second floor. They reached down from the steps to the floor below, creating a small private area under the stairs. Jessie walked out from it and took her usual place a few feet away. “They'll be out in a minute, gents, but you're gonna have to put up with me singing a little first.”

“Sing away, Jess,” another voice yelled.

Jessie nodded in the direction of the yell. “Thanks, Mort,” she told the man. “Here's a song I think you'll all like. And in a minute or three...” She winked. “...you'll like it even more.”

` “He's Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines.
` He feeds his horse on corn and beans...”

“All right, Jessie's started singing,” Molly said softly within the area under the stairs. “Are ye ready?”

Flora and Lylah were with her. Their dresses hung from hooks R.J. had set in the back of one of the steps. They stood nervously in the unmentionables that were their dancing costumes. “Do we have to do this?” Flora asked one last time.

“Ye do,” Molly answered in a firm tone. “Ye just remember t'be doing everything the way we taught ye.”

Flora snorted. “And if we don't want to remember?”

“Oh, ye'll remember all right.” Molly suddenly had an idea. “Ye'll remember the dancing and... more.” She flashed a wicked smile. “Right now, I want ye t'be remembering them baths ye had this afternoon, what ye done t'yuir bodies and how good ye felt while ye were doing it.”

Lylah gave a soft moan as she remembered. A warm flush ran through her body. Her breasts tingled and her nipples tight. The tingle flowed down to her crotch, and she shifted her stance as she luxuriated in the feeling.

It was the same for Flora. That pervasive excitement and yearning were back in full force. She closed her eyes, savoring in the arousal her memories stirred in her body.

“See how nice remembering can be?” Molly asked. Both of the new women nodded. “And remember that when yuir dressed up to dance, like ye are now, ye should do that special walk I showed ye.” Molly turned and listened to Jessie for a moment.

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

“That's it then, Lylah. C'mon”

The black woman followed Molly out of the enclosure. Jessie finished the last chorus, but instead of ending, she just stopped singing, while she played the melody of the chorus one more time. “Pick up yuir petticoat in yuir hands, girl,” Molly ordered.

Jessie began to sing the opening verse again. As she did, Molly pushed Lylah's shoulders and said, “Go.”

` “He's Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines...”

Lylah skipped out in front of Jessie, waving her bright yellow petticoat back and forth, flashing a good bit of leg, as she did. She still felt that delicious sparkling throughout her body, and she couldn't help but smile, as nervous as she was.

The crowd broke out in a round of applause and whistles. Lylah stopped a few feet forward of where Jessie was sitting. She faced the crowd, trying to shut them out and concentrate on the feeling that made her smile, still swaying to the music and swishing her petticoats. The bright yellow of her petticoats and of her corset, all that she wore above the waist, contrasted perfectly with her creamy, dark brown flesh.

` “He'll teach the ladies how to dance,
` How to dance, how to dance...”

Flora danced out, doing a high kicking strut as she came into view. She strutted a few feet past Lylah, turned and danced back past her, almost back to the stairwell. She wore a pair of ruby red drawers – Molly had dyed them herself. She also wore a bright red uniform jacket, with gold epaulets on the shoulders. The jacket was specially tailored to show off her figure, narrow waist and pillowy breasts at their best. She held a military cap, also red, on her right hand, as she danced.

She, too, was smiling inwardly at the pleasurable memories of the bath, but all she wore under the jacket was her camisole, and her movements made the fabric of the jacket and camisole rub against her breasts, exciting her even more.

The women went through the routine Molly had taught them. They pretended to flirt. Flora kissed Lylah's hand and danced her around the stage. In turn, Lylah took Flora in her arms and led her through a series of dance moves. In the end, they joined arms and strutted off towards the enclosure. Except, just before they went behind the stairs, they stopped, turned, and blew kisses at the crowd.

Jessie finished the song, “...Tho' a Captain in the Army,” just as they disappeared back under the steps.

And the crowd went wild, shouting, shooting into the air, and throwing coins.

“I'd like to pluck either one of them blossoms!” a wag howled and the whole crowd laughed.

Molly had the pair go back out to the dance floor. She made certain to unbutton Flora's jacket before they did, so that the men could see her scarlet-dyed camisole – and a good bit of her breasts besides – when she bowed low to acknowledge their applause.

That move made the applause even louder.

* * * * *

Monday, May 6, 1872

Zach Levy faced towards the tables where the 12 jurymen sat. “Tell me, Flora, how did you find out that Dell Cooper had robbed Mr. Slocum's payroll?” Flora was seated behind the lawyer in the witness chair, which was positioned next to the Judge's table.

“He-He boasted about it to... Ly... lah and me the next day.”

“And how did you react?”

“I-I got mad, and I t-told him to give me-me the money.”

“Why did you get mad?”

“It was-wasn't wh-why we came t-to Eerie. He m-might've r-r-ruined my plans.”

Zach raised a curious eyebrow. “Plans, what were those plans?”

“Slocum sent f-for... somebody's War records. I... I was involved, and I wanted to... know what he was looking for – and why.”

“Did he tell you any of that?”

“No,” Flora shook her head. “He wouldn't tell me a damned thing.”

“So you robbed him?” It was a question, not a statement.

“No... No! Dell robbed him, and I chewed Dell out for doing it.”

“Why'd he do it, then?”

“He hated Carl Osbourne. When he stole that money, he made it look like Osbourne helped him. That's why Dell stole it, to get Osbourne in trouble.”

“And you had nothing to do with it?”

“I didn't even know he did it, till he told me.”

“Thank you, Flora,” Zach said. “I have no more questions.” He walked over to the table where Lylah was sitting and took his own seat.

Milt Quinlan was at the next table. He rose and walked towards Flora. “I do have some questions.” He paused a beat. “Flora, if you thought that Dell Cooper was wrong to rob Abner Slocum, then why didn't you turn him – and the money – over to the sheriff?”

“I-I meant t-to, but… but…” Flora strained, fighting so hard not to answer. ‘You can do this,’ she told herself. ‘You can lie.’

Milt stepped in front of Flora and leaned down, so he was looking her directly in the eye. “Is that the truth, what you’re trying so hard to tell us – or to not tell us, Flora? You swore to tell the truth here today, and I heard Shamus order you to answer the questions truthfully. So, I'll ask you again. What are you trying to tell these men...” He gestured towards the jury. “...is it 'the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth', as you are now under oath to tell?”

Zach jumped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. My client is being forced to incriminate herself under the compulsion of that potion of O'Toole's.”

“Overruled. She's already admitted that she had the money. Milt's question wasn't if she kept it, but why she kept it. Answer the question, Flora. Were you telling the truth?”

“Y-Y-Yes.” Flora trembled as she fought the voice in her head. “N-No.” She sank back in her chair. “I... kept the m-money be-because I wanted to keep it.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“I... I hated Slocum for not t-telling me what he wanted with those... records. He cr-crossed me, so why... why shouldn't he pay?”

Milt smiled. “Perhaps because it was wrong to take his money – whomever committed the original robbery. No further questions, Your Honor.” He sat back down.

Zach called Lylah to testify. “I was there when Dell told Mr. – told Flora, but I never seen it,” she replied to his question. “Dell brought out the bag he had that money in and give it t'Flora. Sh-She told us t'go down for breakfast and took the bag back into her room.”

“Why didn't you go to the sheriff?” Milt asked.

“'Cause Flora told me not to. I worked for her, didn't I?” When Milt pressed her, she admitted that, “Flora told me that the only way I'd get any of that money was if I kept my mouth shut.” She shrugged. “So I did.”

She was the last witness. All that was left was each attorney's final summation to the jury.

Zach argued that Flora had been right to be concerned about being implicated in the robbery. Dell Cooper had been the thief. Since he was dead, Flora and Lylah were only accomplices after the fact and didn't merit any serious punishment.

Milt said that keeping the money, especially after Cooper was dead, was a crime by itself.

The jury went upstairs to deliberate.

“You find out anything about who else took that potion?” Flora asked Zach, while they sat, waiting for the verdict.

He shook his head. “I'm afraid not. I was too busy working on your case to worry about anything else. I'll see what I can find out when I go back over to the Lone Star.”

Flora frowned. “Humph! That thin case you just made for us shouldn't have taken that much preparation time. I just hope we're still here when you've got something to tell us,” Flora retorted. “Lord only knows what they'll do to us this time.”

Zach shook his head. “It seemed like a risk. I wanted to keep a low profile until this trial was behind us. There are a lot of secrets in this town, and asking questions – questions that someone might not want asked – could stir somebody up. And that 'somebody' might be in this courtroom.”

A voice called out, “They's coming down.” Everyone looked up to see the jury descending the steps.

“They're guilty, Judge,” Joel Keenan, the foreman, announced, once the members of the jury had taken their seats. “They should've turned the money in.”

Flora cast a sour glance at Zach; Lylah just sank dejectedly into her chair.

The Judge nodded at the head juror, as if agreeing. “Is the whole jury in accord with the verdict?” he asked the other eleven men. They all muttered agreement or nodded. “Very well, will the defendants please stand?” Both women – and Zach – stood up. “You have both been found guilty of being accessories after the fact to armed robbery. Lylah Saunders, I sentence you to serve an additional two weeks here at the Eerie Special Offenders Penitentiary – that's this saloon.”

“That ain't too bad – I guess,” she whispered under her breath. She started to sit, but Zach told her not to.

Humphreys turned his attention to Flora. “Flora Stafford, your crime was worse than Miss Saunders. You were the one who decided to keep the money after you found out that Cooper stole it. I sentence you to an extra thirty days as Shamus and Molly's prisoner.” He pounded his gavel on the tabletop.

“Wait a minute,” Flora yelled. “That's two weeks longer than Lylah got.”

The Judge smiled. “Two weeks and two days longer; you really should have given the money back, Flora.” He used his gavel again. “Court adjourned.”

* * * * *

Tom Carson walked purposefully into Doc Upshaw's office. “Is the doctor around, Mrs. Lonnigan?”

“He's with a patient just now, Mr. Carson,” she told him. “Is something wrong?”

Carson shook his head. “No, this telegram just came for him from a Doctor Vogel in Philadelphia.” He held up an envelope. “The doc asked us to watch for it, so I brought it over as soon as I got it.” He handed her the envelope.

“Thank you very much,” she told him. “The doctor's been waiting anxiously for this. I'll give it to him as soon as he's free.”

The man bowed his head for a moment. “Glad to have been of help.” He turned and headed back to the telegraph office.

* * * * *

Sam Duggan watched Zach Levy walk back into his saloon. “How'd your trial go?” he said by way of a greeting.

“Not as well as I hoped, not as bad as I feared, as my papa used to say.” Zach took a seat at the bar. “Can I have a beer, please?”

“Of course, you can. That's what it's there for.” The barman poured one for the young lawyer.

Zach drank some. “Ahh,” he said with a sigh of relief. “I needed that.” He studied the other man's face. “Can I ask you a question, Sam?”

“If it ain't too personal, you can.”

“I don't think this is. That potion Mr. O'Toole gave to my clients, has he ever given it to anybody else?”

“Sure he has, a lotta people.”

“Who... How many, and what happened to them?”

Sam thought for a moment. “First time he ever used it was last summer when the Hanks Gang came into town t'kill the sheriff. They all got a dose.”

“What happened to them after that?”

“They all got changed into women and had to work for O'Toole for a couple months. Some of them still do. Jessie Hanks, she sings for him, and that Mex, Maggie... de Aguilar, runs his restaurant. And Bridget Kelly – the gal that runs... that ran the poker game – she was part of the gang, too.”

Zach blinked with surprise. “They were all men? That's amazing. What happened to the other two?”

“One of 'em, Laura Caulder, she works part time for Shamus, too. She got married and, from what I hear, she's in a family way. Will Hanks, the leader, she's Wilma Hanks, now. He – she – got two doses, and that second dose done something to her head. It done something to her pussy, too.” He smiled at the thought. “She works over at La Parisienne.”

“The... brothel.” Zach's eyes widened in surprise. “But you said 'the first time.' How many times has he used it since then?”

“Three times. Some prospectors ran off with Laura and Jessie, the two from the Hanks Gang, last summer, while they was still working for O'Toole. Jessie killed hers and rode off. The deputy had t'track her down and bring her back.” Duggan chuckled. “Not that she minded. They've been real close since she come back. “

“They caught the other prospector and brought him back for trial. He was offered either time in prison or the potion. He took some of that brew and changed into Laura's double, Jane Steinmetz. She works for Shamus, too, mostly as a cook in his restaurant.”

The attorney grimaced. He had seen this Jane, too.

“The next time was late fall. Some kids was playing over by the freight depot, and one of 'em got hurt real bad. Shamus thought the potion could fix the boy's broken parts, but the kid refused to drink the potion and become a girl. His pa pretended that they would both drink, but he messed up on the pretend part somehow. The boy and his papa both wound up drinking the potion. It saved the kid's life, but they both got changed. It broke up the marriage between the papa and his wife. Ain't nobody knows what's gonna happen to them.”

“Last time was a Mex kid. He drank some by accident a couple months back. His – Her mama runs a laundry, and she's been helping out with that.”

“Unbelievable.” Zach finished his beer and pushed the glass towards the barman for a refill.

Sam filled the glass and handed it back. “It's true, every word. Ask anybody you want.”

“Maybe I will. Tell me, has anybody who's ever taken it changed back?”

Sam shook his head. “I only wish they had. As they are, they're some powerful competition. I had to bring in these dancers to get my customers back. But now he's got your clients dancing over at his place, and the tug of war goes on. Anyway, the talk is that there's no way to change back from that dose.”

Zach decided to confirm his information by asking to ask a couple of the others at the bar, men who hadn't heard his conversation with Sam, and, maybe later, he’d talk to Milt Quinlan. If it were true, he'd tell Flora what he'd found out in the morning. He wondered what the information that there was no way back to her old life would affect her. Right now, though, he wanted to think about the enormity of what he'd just heard.

What sort of town had he chosen to practice Law in?

* * * * *

Cap walked over to the table where Bridget was eating lunch. He set down a bowl of Maggie's spicy chili, a slice or corn bread, and a beer. “I see your class is back in session.” He pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Class?” She looked puzzled.

He smiled. “Yep, where you teach the other players how the laws of chance really work.”

“I-I'm just the dealer; I don't feel... ready to actually play poker.” She sighed and looked down at her food.

He gently put his hand on hers. “You'll be ready to go back in... in no time. I'm certain of it.”

She looked up again. “Thank you. Speaking of certainty, how's your uncle doing?”

“A little better; he can't even feel his left arm, let alone move it, but he's got full use of his right arm, his right hand, too. He just needs to exercise it more.”

She had an idea. “Give him a deck of cards. He can play solitaire. Better yet, teach him that Maverick solitaire that I taught you. It's a lot more of a challenge than regular solitaire.”

“I may just do that. He loves poker. Thanks.” He thought for a moment. “Speaking of challenges, if you don't mind my asking, how are you and... Flora getting on?”

“Mostly, we haven't been together that much. She's still mad – and embarrassed – about being a woman.” She gave him a nasty smile. “Not that she doesn't deserve it, or worse. I'd love to figure out some way to slip her a second dose of potion.”

“Bridget!”

“Why not, after what she did to me? Wouldn't it be justice for her to become a man-crazy bitch, spreading her legs for – “

“I... I don't think I ever heard you talk like that.” He was amazed at her vehemence.

“Cap, you heard what I told your uncle about Adobe Wells. Forry Stafford almost got me, Will, and a bunch of good men killed by his drunken cowardice. Then he got Will and me labeled cowards and thieves. The Army could've hung us, and he wouldn't have cared. Now... Now, he shows up here, probably to find out about me. He almost killed your uncle, and he-he... he raped me, Cap. He raped me, and he... laughed about it.” Tears glistened in her eyes, even as her face contorted with hate. “I want her to hurt! I want her to hurt a lot more than she's hurting now!”

He slipped into the empty chair next to her. He tried to pull her up and into his arms, but she trembled and moved away. He settled for holding her hand and using a napkin to wipe her eyes. “I understand what you're saying, but when you say it that way, it doesn't sound like the Bridget I know talking.”

“I mean what I say, but Shamus would never stand for it. Besides, he's got the potion under lock and key.” Bridget sensed uneasiness in Cap and suddenly realized that she had to reassure him. She rested her head on his shoulder. It felt so good to be near him, even if this was as far as she was able to go, just now. Someday... She smiled in anticipation.

“So what are you going to do about her?” Cap finally asked. “The two of you will be at close quarters for another two... three months.”

“If I can't turn her into a slut,” she answered, feeling better for his concern, “I'll just have to do my best to find other ways to make her life here a living hell.”

Cap had to laugh at that. “And you're just the one to do it.” She laughed, too, and for just a minute it seemed that the old Bridget was back. But, somehow, he knew that the sweetest part of her laughter was her imagining Flora as an abused whore.

* * * * *

Jessie was practicing a new tune on her guitar, when she looked up to see... “Hey, Milt. You come t'see the new show?”

“Good evening, Jessie,” he replied. “I may stay for the show, but the reason I came was to get that music from you. You said that it'd be ready tonight.”

She reached into her guitar case and pulled out a sheet of paper. “And it is.” She handed it to him. “Can you read my writing?”

“I think so.” He studied the sheet for a moment. “Jane, Jane, ya da-da-da,” he sang a bit more in a strong baritone, a better voice than Jessie had expected. “Yes, I can read it.” He folded the paper and put it in his jacket pocket.

“Good. You just make sure you learn it by Friday, okay.”

“Very okay, and thank you, thank you very much.”

“If them words work and you 'n' Jane get back together – then you can thank me.”

* * * * *

Clyde Ritter walked slowly down the main street of Eerie. He stopped and pulled out his pocket watch. Since it was dark, he moved in closer to the nearest storefront window, using the light from inside. “Almost 8,” he said, looking around to see if anyone was watching.

“I think I'll just stop in for a quick beer,” he announced in a clear voice. “Seeing as I'm right here.”

Satisfied that he'd explained his presence, he strode through the swinging doors and into the Eerie Saloon. The room was full, and he carefully inched his way along the back of the crowd.

“Howdy, folks,” a cheery female voice called out from the other side of the room. “I'm Jessie Hanks – as most of you know – and with me, here by very popular demand...” She stopped as the crowd erupted in laughter. “...are O'Toole's Cactus Blossoms.”

Jessie began to sing. The crowd went silent. Ritter leaned back against a chair and listened. Jessie was sitting, so he really couldn't see her over the crowd. He could see Lylah, short as she was, when she danced out, but he'd never been interested in darkies, no matter how pretty they were.

“Whoa, darling!” He broke into a hearty smile when Flora strutted across the stage. “Veerry nice!” He moved in closer, and his hungry eyes tracked her as she danced. He almost drooled when she bowed low at the end.

He tried to talk to her afterwards, but too many other men had the same idea and he didn't feel like fighting through the crowd like a hungry dog. “I'll be back,” he promised himself, as he finally left, hurrying to get home before Cecelia came back from that damned all-hen card party she went to every Monday night.

* * * * *

Tuesday, May 7, 1872

` Virtue Triumphs

` This paper has learned that the Eerie Town Council,
` which doubles as our local school board, intends to
` restore Nancy Osbourne to her role as teacher at its
` meeting tomorrow evening.

` The members of the town council questioned Miss
` Osbourne at length last Friday night. “She answered
` everything we asked about, completely and truthfully,”
` one council member told this paper. After listening to
` her answers, the council apparently holds her to be
` blameless in the matters of her behavior, which had
` previously been in dispute. When asked what her
` explanation of these issues had been, the council
` member told your reporter that it was a private matter,
` and he did not wish to embarrass Miss Osbourne by
` making those facts public.

` The council intends to formally remove Miss Osbourne
` from suspension at the meeting. To ease her transition
` back into the role of teacher, she will allow Mrs.
` Phillipia Stone, who has been serving in her stead,
` to finish the week.

` Speaking for the citizens of Eerie, this paper thanks Mrs.
` Stone for her exemplary, if temporary, service, and it
` welcomes Miss Osbourne back to the position she has
` filled so well for almost six years. We also congratulate
` the members of the Eerie City Council for their sound
` judgment and for not yielding further to the mob
` mentality that forced them to needlessly suspend
` Miss Osbourne in the first place.

* * * * *

Shamus led Flora out of the kitchen and over to the table where Zach Levy was waiting for her. “Here she is,” he told the lawyer. “I'll be leaving so ye can have the privacy ye wanted; just don't be taking too long.”

“We won't,” Zach answered, “and thank you.”

The barman nodded, “Ye're welcome.” He turned to Flora who was standing by the table, wiping her damp hands on her apron. “As for ye, Miss Stafford, ye're t'be heading back to finish the dishes as soon as the two of ye are done here. Understand?”

“I-I do.” She sat down and waited for him to leave before she spoke. “What are you doing here, Levy?”

He frowned. “Mr. Levy, thank you, and, please, sit down.”

“Very well, Mr. Levy.” She took a chair across from him. “You still haven't answered my question.”

“Actually, I came here today to answer your questions. I know who else took O'Toole's potion.”

“Who... How many?”

“Nine in all, most of them were members of the Hanks Gang that supposedly were killed in ambush here in Eerie last summer.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Will Hanks, his gang?” She spoke the words as a question.

“The same; he rode in with four other men: his brother, Jesse; his old friend, Brian Kelly; and two new men. Sheriff Talbot tricked them all into drinking some of the potion, and they spent two months right here as Shamus' prisoners, just the same as you and Lylah.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I am. I've spoken to four different people, and they all told me the exact same thing. Most of the gang still works here in one way or another. Jessie Hanks sings. That's Kelly over there...” He pointed at Bridget, who was dealing cards to three men at her usual table.

Flora frowned. “Bridget Kelly… Brian Kelly?”

“That's right. She goes by Bridget now. Jesse Hanks goes by Jessie, with an 'i-e' now. One of the other men was a Mexican. She's now Maggie de Aguilar, the woman who runs the restaurant. It'll be her dishes you're cleaning when we finish. The last one is now known as Laura Caulder.”

“Laura? But she's... she's the waitress who’s pregnant. How the hell did that happen?”

“In the usual way; she got married last fall, not too long after her sentence was up.”

“Unbelievable. What happened to Will Hanks?”

“That's maybe the strangest part of the whole story. She – she goes by the name Wilma, these days – she got hold of a second dose of that potion. She thought it'd change her back. Instead, it made her... man-crazy. She works over at La Parisienne, that whorehouse I know you went to... before.”

Flora let out a raucous laugh. “Will... Will Hanks is a... a whore.” She shook her head. “If that isn't – “

“Do you want to hear about the others?”

She wiped a tear of laughter from her eyes. “I... I suppose.”

“Jane... Maggie de Aguilar's helper, she was a prospector who kidnapped Laura Caulder. When they gave him the potion, he turned into Laura's twin.”

“Why?”

“That's what the potion does; it turns a man into the double of the prettiest woman he'd ever seen. For the man Jane was, that woman was Laura.”

An odd expression came to the blonde's face. “That explains something I've been wondering about.” Flora decided to consider that particular piece of information later. “What else do you have?”

“There are two other cases. A boy got hurt. He was dying, and they gave him the potion. It healed him, but it changed him, as well. Her father took the potion at the same time – unintentionally, I’d guess – and was changed, as well. The last case was a Mexican boy who drank the potion by accident. Nobody's quite sure what he thought he was doing.”

He took a breath. “Is there anything else you need me for?”

“What do you suggest?” she asked suspiciously.

Zach shrugged. “I don't know. I'm not completely certain why you needed to know who else had been dosed with Shamus' brew. I can do better work for a client if I know why I'm doing it.”

Flora looked exasperated. “Because if I knew that there was somebody who got changed back,” she explained very carefully, “I'd want to change back the same way, no matter who I had to pay off. Is there anybody who actually turned back?”

Zach shook his head. “Everybody says that the change is forever. I've been hoping that the news won't upset you...too much.”

The determined look that came to her face surprised him. “What you're saying then, is that Forry Stafford is dead. Well, rest in peace, Forry,” she said scornfully and then looked away, lost in thought. Zach was about ready to excuse himself, when she said, “Back in the old days, they killed a few of the king's enemies to pile on his grave, so even in death he'd be a conqueror. I reckon that there are a few people right around here that I ought to take down with me.”

The lawyer grimaced. “That is not a subject which I can ethically discuss with you.”

Flora tossed her head. “Just my luck to have an ethical lawyer!”

Zach shrugged. “Is here anything else you want me to find out for you?”

“I'll think about that. I'm going to have to do a lot of thinking. At least, I have nothing to lose now. You're staying on as my lawyer, right? Even if you are too ethical for your own good?”

“Call on me anytime,” he replied evenly.

“I will. In my own good time.”

As soon as she said the words, the voice in her head started urging her back to the kitchen. She stood up. “Thanks, but I have to be going.”

Without another word, she started walking back towards the kitchen. Doing dishes was mindless work. It'd give her plenty of time to plan what she was going to do with the information she had just gotten.

* * * * *

Wilma was reading The Sporting Times, when Beatriz came into the parlor. “Can I talk to you, Wilma?”

“Seems t’me, we ain’t got anything t’talk about.” Wilma glared at Beatriz for a moment, but then went back to her paper.

Beatriz sat down beside her rival. “Sì, we do… Ethan.”

“Go away!”

“No, I will not. Wilma… to me, Ethan, he was just someone who was muy good in bed.

Wilma sighed. “He surely was that.” In spite of herself, her body warmed at the memory.

“But he was more – much more -- than that to you. I can see that in the way you have acted since he left.” She gently put her hand on Wilma’s arm. “And I am sorry.”

“What d’you got t’be sorry about?” Wilma snapped. “You… He was with you that last night.”

“Sì, but he wanted to be with us, the two of us. He thought no more of you than he did of me. We were just two putas here to pleasure him.”

“What’re you saying?”

“I am saying that, whatever deep feelings you had for him, he had none for you. You were just another woman to fuck, as far as he cared. That last night, after your sister – well, you know what she did – he told me that he worked so hard to seduce you for the ‘sport of it’; his words, exactly.”

“The sport of it?”

“That is what he said.” She paused. “Sport, not love; you were a challenge to him, a trophy to be won.”

“No…” She felt the burning of tears forming in her eyes.. “He… He said –”

“Wilma, Ethan could paint with words almost as good as he could with a brush.”

“He couldn’t have been like that… could he?”

“He was. You should remember his skill, how he made your body feel. The rest of it – to him, at least – it was just… foreplay, nothing more.”

“He was good at that,” she said wryly and looked suspiciously at Beatriz. “Why’re you being so kind ‘n’ telling me all this? You don’t like me any more’n I like you.”

“That is true. I see you as my rival; I admit that. But, as much as I dislike you, I dislike what he did to you even more.”

“I didn't care for it much, myself.”

Beatriz smiled, but then became serious. “You have always tried to be so hard, Wilma, harder than anyone else in this house. I did not know, before this, but you are not hard everywhere, not where a woman most needs to be hard. Make yourself hard in that special place, and no man can ever hurt you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have a tender heart. It can be broken. You will not be happy doing the.… work that we do until you fix it.”

* * * * *

Cecelia Ritter looked at the crowd of women gathered in her parlor. “Well, ladies, I assume you've all seen today's newspaper, especially that item about Nancy Osbourne.”

“Disgraceful,” Zenobia Carson replied, as if on cue.

Hilda Scudder looked up from her knitting – she was pregnant again. “But what can we do? The paper said that the school board had already decided to reinstate her.”

“Then we get them to un-decide,” Lavinia Mackechnie told her.

Grace MacLeod raised her hand. “Maybe we should hear Miss Osbourne out? There may be – “

“Lies,” Zenobia interrupted, “that's all you'll hear from the high-and-mighty Miss Nancy Osbourne. Besides, I know what I saw on my front porch.”

“Just as I know what I saw in O'Toole's place,” Lavinia added. “And we all know the sort of woman who works in a saloon, don't we?”

Cecelia made a sort of snorting noise. “Not the sort of woman I want teaching my children.” The other women nodded and murmured in agreement.

“And we can't let the town council put her back in place as teacher,” Cecelia continued. “Make sure that you all come to the meeting tomorrow, and bring as many others as you can. Be prepared to shout the council down, if need be, to make them see things our way.”

Lavinia nodded. “Yes, after all, we elected them. They have to do what we tell them.”

“But is it proper for us women to make such a fuss?” Grace asked. “After all – “

“After all what?” Cecelia cut in. “Reverend Yingling says that he supports us regarding Nancy Osbourne, and, surely, a man of G-d such as he can't be wrong.” She stared angrily at the other woman. “Can he?”

Grace looked down at the rug, unable to meet Cecelia's eyes. “N-No, of course not.”

* * * * *

Bridget was dealing cards for a two-man game between Stu Gallagher and Hans Euler. They'd just finished a hand and had stopped to order drinks from Flora, buying one for Bridget as well.

Flora came back a few minutes later, setting down a tray with the three beers on the table. She handed one to Gallagher and the second to Euler. She seemed to hesitate before she handed the last to Bridget. “I wasn't sure if you really wanted this beer, Bridget.”

The pretty redhead looked up at her warily. “Why wouldn't I want it?”

“I know firsthand about some of the drinks you've had in here, especially that one you and your four friends had last summer.”

Bridget sprang to her feet. “What!”

“Hell, Brian. If I'd known it was you, I would have enjoyed what we did together last month twice as much.” Flora grinned nastily at the redhead.

Bridget's face glowed a bright red. She looked daggers at the other woman. “Like hell!” she yelled and slapped Flora's face so hard that the woman staggered back from the force of the blow.

“How dare you? I-I'll... I'll...” Flora started forward. Her hands balled into fists. She was ready to fight, but that voice – the damned voice – in her head wouldn't let her. She trembled trying to gain control, but it was no good. The voice was just too strong.

Bridget watched the blonde struggling with herself. “When you're ready, waitress, you can take that tray back to the bar.” She took her seat, a satisfied grin on her face. She heard Flora's sigh of defeat, watched her pick up the tray and slowly walk away, her body seething with anger.

“Shall we resume the game?” Bridget asked innocently.

“What was all that about?” Stu Gallagher asked, picking up his cards.

She was still smiling over her victory. “Just putting that bit of baggage in her proper place.”

* * * * *

“So what do I do now?” Abner Slocum asked, looking down at the cards spread out on a tray in front of him. He was in his bed in Doctor Upshaw's ward. The top end of the bed was raised, allowing him to almost sit up without too much strain on his back.

Cap pointed at the cards. “You try to arrange them into five of what Bridget calls 'fighting hands', that's two pair or better in each hand.”

“All right.” Slocum slowly reached for the ten of clubs with his right hand. “Let's try – “

Doc Upshaw walked into the room. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but this arrived yesterday.” He pulled a telegram from a folder with Abner’s name on it. “It's from Walther Vogel, that doctor in Philadelphia that I told you about.” He paused a half a beat. “I wanted to look it over – to be sure of what he was saying – before I talked to you about it.”

“What does he say?” Abner demanded.

The physician opened the folder and read. “That he’s sending me a long letter with full details – and instructions on palliative care. Palliative means treatment that won’t cure but will help relieve some of your discomfort.”

Slocum frowned. “In the meantime, what does he say in that telegram?”

“He agrees with my diagnosis. That is, paraplegia – paralysis – on the left side of your body and incomplete paraplegia on the right, since you have some use of your right arm and right hand. The reason is that the bullet or the fall from your horse – maybe both – did serious damage to the nerves in your spinal cord. They may be permanently damaged, or the damage may just be due to the swelling that's occurred from the initial injury. But he also says, he can't be sure from the information I sent him.”

“What does he need to be sure?” Slocum asked quickly.

Cap added, “And can he do anything about it?”

“He wants you to come to Philly. He won't promise a cure, which is good – “

Cap frowned. “Why is it good?”

“It means that he knows his stuff,” the doctor answered. “A quack would promise, maybe even guarantee a cure.” He looked at his patient. “Abner, he's asking you to make a long and, quite likely, a very painful trip with only the possibility that you'll be the better for it. I know how much you want to be your old self, but I want you to give the matter careful consideration.”

“And if I don't go? I'll stay as I am, right?”

“I believe so. And there is even the possibility that your condition will deteriorate. I’ll know more when his letter comes. It should also say something about how to get you to Philadelphia – if you decide to go.”

Slocum sighed. “I'll give that matter some very serious thought, Hiram, and thank you.”

“We'll talk later.” He went to the door, and then paused. “I didn't mean to sound too pessimistic. Even if we can't cure you, things might not be as bad as they seem now. I might even be able to do you some good with Vogel consulting at long distance.”

“I have no doubt that you will do all you can, and I do want to consider what you've said. Right now...” the rancher winked at his nephew. “...I'm trying to learn this new version of solitaire poker that Cap's been talking about. It'll give me something to do while I'm thinking about Vogel and the trip he wants me to take.”

* * * * *

Jessie was leafing through a songbook when Jane came over to her.

“Jessie,” Jane asked impatiently, “what're you and Milt up to?”

The singer looked up. “What're you going on about, Jane? We ain't up to nothing.”

“The hell you ain't. I seen the two of you talking about something yesterday. You gave him some kinda paper t'look at. He read it, and then stuck it in his pocket. You talked a while longer and then he headed off.”

“Oh... aahh, that. It wasn't nothing important.”

“Maybe it ain't... or maybe it is. I just wanna know what it is you was talking about.”

“A song – yeah, that's it, a song I wrote.”

“You writing songs again, Jessie Hanks? And if you are, what does that have t'do with Milt this time?”

“Folks get tired o'hearing the same songs all the time, so I decided to write me a new one. I got an idea, but when I wrote it out...” She gave her friend a pretty pout. “... it was more something a man'd sing.”

“A man like Milt, you mean?” She shook her head. “You ain't never gonna get him t'stand up in front of a crowd o'people 'n' sing. There's just no way.”

“Turns out there is a way. He owes me a favor... sorta, for something I done for him a... a while back. I told him that singing my song – just this one time – would make us even.”

“Milt Quinlan standing up in front of a room fulla people and singing; now that's something I wanna see.”

“Then you come t'my 9 o'clock show Friday night, and you'll see it – and hear it. Hell's bells, you might even like what you see 'n' hear.”

Jane thought about what Jessie said. “I'll be there. It'll be fun t'see him embarrassing himself.”

* * * * *

Wednesday, May 8, 1872

“Well, Doc,” Laura asked, as she buttoned up her nightgown. “What's the verdict? Is the baby okay, and how soon can I get back to work?”

“The baby seems to be doing well,” Doc Upshaw replied. “It's still moving, and its heartbeat is strong and regular.” He took a breath. “But you still seem to be a bit weak.”

Laura gave him a wan smile and gently put her hand on her belly. “Junior's moving is keeping me awake nights; that's all. I'm fine.”

“No, I... I think there's more to it than an overactive fetus. Sleepy isn't the same as dizzy, and you told me that you've had several bad dizzy spells this past week, times when you were too lightheaded or wobbly to get out of bed or walk around without Arsenio's help.”

Arsenio was standing near Laura. He stepped closer and took her hand. “Is it... serious?”

“I can't be sure,” the physician answered. “For now, I think it'd just be better for her to stay in bed a while longer.”

Laura looked almost angry. “For how long?”

“I can't say.” Upshaw answered. “I'll be back to check you again in a week.”

Molly was also in the room. “And me 'n' Jane'll be over here every day t'keep ye company.”

“Thanks, but, Doc, even if I don't go back to work, can I go over to visit everybody at the Saloon?” Laura asked in a sad voice. “I'm getting so tired of looking at these same four walls.”

Molly folded her arms in front of here. “Laura, if ye so much as set one foot in me saloon before the Doc here tells me ye can, I'll throw ye over me shoulder and carry ye back here meself.”

“No, you won't,” Arsenio said in a firm tone. “I'll carry her back here for you. And I'll tie her to the bed when we get here.”

* * * * *

Flora knocked lightly on the door to Jessie's room. “Anybody in there?” When there was no answer, she opened the door and stepped quickly inside. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, while she glanced around the room.

“Nice,” she decided after a few moments. “Damned nicer than mine.” She blamed herself for having assumed that the singer's name was nothing but a coincidence, and had nothing to do with Jesse Hanks, the lawless brat who had run off at the age of 16. Now she understood why the singer had seemed to have it in for her from the first moment they'd met.

A window on the far wall brightly lighted the room. A closed book, Songs of the Ozark Hills , sat on a writing desk near the window with two or three scraps of paper sticking out to mark pages. The bed, a four-poster with a green cloth canopy, filled much of the right side of the room. The blanket was thrown back and the sheets mussed. “Goody,” Flora said with disgust, “I get to make that bed; probably need to change the sheets, too.”

A long, metal clothes rack was set against the right wall of the room, filled mostly with hangers holding dresses, blouses, and skirts; except for one with a man's shirt thrown over it and with a pair of men's pants draped down. 'That deputy of hers, no doubt,' she thought.

There hadn't been much that she would have put past the young Jesse Hanks, whom she had known back in Texas, but to find out that he was a she now and was crazy for a man came as a real surprise. Jesse had gotten in all kinds of trouble: fights, stealing, and mouthing off to his betters – the Staffords – but no one ever said that he was a nancy boy. She sneered. It could be that folks had been giving the Hanks kid too much credit. “Maybe she'll get pregnant,” Flora muttered. “I'd love to give her the horselaugh about that.”

She continued to prowl the room. “Well, I'll be a...” Her voice faded off as she stared at a small shelf set in the wall near the rack. A tiny, carved wooden figure, a toy soldier, stood alone on it. “I thought I burned all of these up years ago.” She walked around the room and picked up the figure, turning it slowly between her fingers. Then, with a hearty laugh, she hid it in her apron pocket. “If it means enough for her to keep it, she deserves to lose it. It's mine anyway.”

Buoyed up by a sense of accomplishment, she began sweeping the floor with the straw broom she'd brought with her.

* * * * *

Edith Lonnigan peeked into Doctor Upshaw's ward. Her patient's bed was raised so that he was sitting up, reading yesterday's newspaper. “Are you up to some visitors, Mr. Slocum?”

“I surely am.” Abner pushed back the metal stand that the paper was set on. “Who is it?”

Cap walked in. “Just us, Uncle.”

“How you doing, Mr. Slocum?” Red Tully asked, following Cap into the room. “Mr. Lewis lemme ride into town with him.”

The older man smiled. “Well, I'm glad to see you both. Can you stay long?”

“Not too long, I'm afraid,” Cap replied. “We came in for some supplies from Styron's. We have to get back to the ranch before dark, so we need to leave fairly soon if we're going to get everything done.”

“I'm glad you're here for however long you can stay,” the older man told them. “And, to answer your question, there's no change – at least, none that I've noticed, except that I don't hurt quite as bad.”

Cap studied his uncle's face. “I'm glad that the pain's getting weaker.”

“Yeah,” Red added. “Maybe that's a sign that you are getting better.”

Slocum sighed. “If I am, I haven't noticed it yet.” He paused a half-beat. “Anything happening out at the Triple A, I should know about?”

“Same old same old,” Cap replied. “We're getting ready for that cattle drive up to Fort Grant next week. I'm going to head up the drive, and let Luke stay at the ranch.”

“That's probably for the best,” Abner said, considering the idea. “There's a lot of people who wouldn't want to deal with a negro. I don't like it, but that's the way of the world.”

Cap nodded. “Luke's a good man and a good foreman.” He studied his uncle's face. “Uncle Abner, did you give any more thought to... what the Doc talked about yesterday?”

“I did, and I've decided. I'm going head out to see that specialist in Philadelphia as soon as Hiram says I can travel – which won't be for a while, one or two weeks, from what I understand, maybe more. But we're going to have to find a nurse – or someone – to travel with me. I'm hardly capable of managing matters for myself.” He said the last with no little degree of discomfort.

His nephew nodded. “That's true. The trip'll take, what, two or three weeks, counting the time to get up to Utah to catch a train? You'll need somebody to take care of...” He stopped for a moment, not wishing to embarrass his uncle.

“Tickets, and getting you something t'eat, and all them other things that need taking care of on a trip that long.” Red surprised both of the other men by speaking.

Abner gave his man a wry smile. “You sound like you're volunteering for the job, Red.”

“Why not?” he said with a grin. “If you can't get nobody better. I got my army training, and, truth be known, Mr. Slocum, keeping you company on a trip to back East sounds a hell of a lot easier than my chores at the ranch.”

* * * * *

Shamus glanced over at Molly. She was humming and moving her fingers in intricate patterns along the top of the bar. “And what is it ye're up to, Love?”

“I'm working out a new dance for Flora and Lylah t'be learning?”

“What's the matter with the old one? I surely ain't heard nobody complaining about it, and the crowd last night was even bigger than the night before.”

Molly raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Do ye want t'be waiting 'till that crowd does complain before I start working on something new for the ladies t'be doing?”

“No, no, Love, I don't.” He chuckled. “Ye're right, the same as always. Ye figure out that new dance, and we'll have them two doing it soon as ye can teach it to 'em.”

She smiled. “I think this has turned out to be a good idea. It would be smart t'be investing in some real dancehall clothes for the girls. And remember how we talked about expanding the line? Sam has four girls; if we had four, having Jessie to help the show, the Lone Star won't be able to compete.”

“Until he finds a singer of his own.” Shamus smiled. “It'll cost him more than Jessie costs us, to uproot a lassie worth her salt and get her to come out here. Love, where does a person buy dancehall outfits? San Francisco? Or find more girls for that matter? It might be a long time before any more prisoners are sentenced.”

“I'll be asking Rachel Silverman about getting costumes. And I'll be putting out a posting for a girl or two. I don't have too much hope that any of our local women would be interested, but who knows?”

“Yuir just the person to do the job, me Darling,” he said and kissed her.

She kissed him back. “Thank ye, Love. I'll see if we can't have something ready t'be showing ye by next week.”

* * * * *

“We have two items of Old Business on the agenda tonight,” Whit Whitney said, looking down at his notes. “Since it'll probably take a lot less time, why don't we settle the matter of Nancy Osbourne first?”

Cecelia Ritter jumped to her feet. “It should take no time at all,” she shouted. “Fire her!”

“First of all, Mrs. Ritter, we haven't asked for comments, yet, and, even if we had, you weren't recognized.”

The woman scowled. “What's the matter, are you afraid to hear what I – what we – have to say?”

“Let her speak,” Lavinia Mackechnie called out, and several other women took up the chant.

Whit raised his hands. “Ladies, please, a little decorum; you'll have your chance to speak”

“When?” Cecelia asked in a loud voice. “After you reinstate that wanton woman? After you turn her loose to corrupt our poor innocent – “

Now Aaron Silverman interrupted. “And just what makes her a... what you say she is, Mrs. Ritter? Did you talk to her? Did you, maybe, ask for her side of things?”

“Why should I listened to, let alone believe, anything that... woman has to say?” Cecelia answered firmly.

Aaron smiled. “You're afraid, maybe, you'll hear something you don't want to hear? We, the town council, we listened, ah-and...” He pronounced the word as if it had two syllables. “...we heard the truth in what she said. Are you afraid that you'll hear some truth, too, maybe?”

“What you heard – ha!” the woman replied sarcastically. “I'm too much of a lady to say what you three old goats heard, brazen overtures, no doubt, with a gilt-edged guarantee.”

Nancy had been sitting near the back with Lucian and Phillipia Stone. Now she jumped to her feet. “How dare you make such accusations?”

“I make them because they are true, Miss Osbourne. How dare a person like you presume to teach our children? I... we will not – we can not – allow such a travesty.”

Nancy put her hands on her hips and glared at Cecelia. “You will not allow. It seems to me that the decision of whom to hire is for the town council to make, not some pompous, self-aggrandizing fool of a woman who doesn't care to hear anything even close to the truth.”

“People like me elected the town council, and the council should only hire the sort of people that we want, that we know are of a proper moral fiber to be hired.”

Nancy walked up to the front of the room. “Is that what you people – all you people – believe? That I shouldn't be the teacher because I don't fit Cecelia Ritter's image of what a teacher should be?”

“It is,” Cecelia answered with a satisfied nod. Only a small portion of the crowd yelled in agreement, but they were loud, and no one seemed willing to shout them down.

The young woman squared her shoulder. “Gentlemen of the town council, it appears that we have all wasted our time. I refuse to put myself in a position where I am in any way answerable to Mrs. Ritter and those of her ilk. I appreciate that you had the good hearts to listen to me. You were willing to accept the reasons I gave you for my actions and to give me another chance to do what I love, to be a teacher. I consider that my vindication.”

“But I will not be judged by petty, sanctimonious people who feel – and for no good reason – that they have the right to determine how I live my life. I could easily endure the poisonous barbs for the present, as long as they ended when I am reinstated. But I know full well that the backbiting and harassment will continue, and it will continue as long as I hold my position!”

“Are you saying that you don't want your job back, Nancy?” Arsenio asked, rising to his feet. “You've done so well here for the children for such a long time. We of the council are not about to withdraw our support for you just because there are a few... malcontents in the assembly. We expected that there would be.”

She shook her head. “I'm very sorry, Arsenio... Mr. Caulder, but having people like that... woman, those people, watching me, judging me, not on how I acted, but on how they wanted to believe I acted. I will not do that. And I have been a teacher more than long enough to know that that is exactly how teachers are treated in most towns. I had thought, and thought for a long time, that my years of service and my good conduct over the span of those years would count for something, but I have seen enough now to know that they don't.”

She turned to look at her friends. “I am sorry, Phillipia, but I know that I'm leaving my students in good hands. And I wish you better luck against the forces of intolerance and ignorance than I had.” Having spoken those words, she looked daggers at Cecelia. Then, without another word, she started walking for the door.

“Good riddance,” Cecelia trumpeted her victory as Nancy started to leave.

Lucian stood up. “Gentlemen and ladies of Eerie, I give you Nancy Osbourne.” He began to clap his hands, as did Phillipia. A number of others joined in. Nancy stopped at the schoolhouse door and looked back. Her eyes glistened as she tried to count the number applauding her. It looked to be at least as many as had agreed with Mrs. Ritter.

And it did include all three members of the town council.

* * * * *

“Before we take up the next item of Old Business,” Whit began, after the room had settled down, “I'd like to remind everyone that this is a public meeting, not a shouting match. All speakers – including Aaron, Arsenio, and myself – are to be treated with respect.” He looked directly at Cecelia Ritter as he spoke, but she just glared back at him.

He glanced down at the agenda for a moment, and took a breath to brace himself. “The next item is Reverend Yingling's petition. I'd sure that many – most – of you know the details of it, but I'd like to ask the Reverend if he wouldn't mind giving us all a quick summary of what he's asking us to do?”

“I'd be happy to, Mr. Chairman.” Yingling rose slowly, a beatific smile on his face. “My petition – I should say our petition, since it has over sixty signatures – asks the town council to order Shamus O'Toole to give control over the creation and administration of his amazing potion to an advisory committee that the council would create for the aforesaid purpose.”

“Thank you, Reverend Yingling. Does anyone on the council have a question before we ask for questions from the floor?”

Aaron Silverman's hand shot up. “I got one – maybe a couple more than one.” He waited a moment before he began again. “This committee you want us to set up, is it also going to be in charge of folks after they take the potion?”

“Ah... no,” the minister replied. “No, I don't believe that it would.”

“So, nu, who does? Are you saying that Shamus O'Toole can't be trusted to give people the potion, but it's all right for him to be in charge of those same people for, what, two, maybe three months after they take it?”

“Perhaps not, but, there... there is no other place for those people to be incarcerated for so long. The town jail certainly isn't fit – “

“But O'Toole's saloon is fit, is that what you're saying?”

“Frankly... no, but it can serve until something better can be found.”

“The town ain't got the money to build 'something better.' We could rent out rooms, maybe, or... you got a spare room at your house you want we should put them in?”

“My house?” Yinging went white for a moment before he regained his composure.

Aaron just smiled. “Probably not your house, but you should think a bissle – a little -- about where we could put them if we stopped using Shamus' place, before you tell us we should stop using it.” He turned to Whit. “I think I'm done... for now. As the Sages say, asking questions is easy. The hard part is coming up with good answers.”

Whit looked at Arsenio. “Do you have anything you want to ask?” When the smith shook his head, Whit looked out at the crowd. “Anybody else have a question?”

“Lots of people,” Whit added, seeing the sea of raised hands. He pointed at one. “Father de Castro, we don't see you at these meetings very often. Why don't you go next?”

The priest stood up and faced Yingling. “Thaddeus, my friend, I've seen your petition and read – and, just now, heard – the details of it. You say that Shamus O'Toole is not moral enough to be trusted with anything as powerful as his potion.” He shrugged. “That may be, but this committee that you want created, you say that it will be moral enough. I'd like to know who will be on it to set this high level of morality – besides you, of course? I'm the only other clergyman in town, and I don't recall being asked.” The man's tone had been conversational, even friendly. Now it grew harder. “Or are you setting yourself up as the sole arbiter of morality for this community?”

“Diago!” The minister's head jerked as if he had been struck. “I didn't think you'd – “

De Castro gave him a wan smile. “No, Thaddeus, you didn't think. And you should have.” He sat back down.

“I'd like to ask the next question,” Horace Styron called out, leaping to his feet. “Reverend Yingling, you said that one of your reasons for taking – for having someone else take charge of the potion was because of all the unfortunate accidents that have happened while O'Toole was in charge. Can you tell us about some of the things that worry you?”

The Reverend smiled, grateful for the reprieve. “Yes, Horace, I can. The first instance was when Wilma Hanks took that second dose. Before that, as I understand things, she was starting to accept the second chance for a decent life that her transformation offered. That ended with the second dose. She became a wanton harlot, embarking on a life of debauchery that will most surely lead to her eternal damnation.” He said the last two words in the stern voice he saved for his sermons.

“The second case...” He spoke in his normal tones again. “...is the O'Hanlans. As a father, I was overjoyed to hear that a dose of the potion had saved the life of young Elmer – now Emma – O'Hanlan. But tragically... tragically, Elmer's father, Patrick, was given a dose as well. He is Trisha, now, and her transformation ripped apart the O'Hanlan family and ended a happy marriage of some twelve years.”

“The third case is a poor Mexican boy – Arnoldo Diaz. Isn't that right, Father de Castro?” Yingling looked over at the priest, who grimly nodded. “Yes.”
Yingling continued, “the poor boy was distraught over his mother's near fatal accident, and, somehow, he, too, drank the potion. Even now, the transformed youth is trying to adjust to his – to her – new life.”

The Reverend looked down. “There is another case, a woman, a visitor in our community, who drank – or was given – a dose of O'Toole's brew. She appeared to be a modest, Christian woman when we first met, but later, when I encountered her again after she had apparently taken the potion, her behavior and attitudes were far from modest. I can only surmise about the effect of that change on her marriage. Such accidents should not be allowed to continue. That was my concern.”

“A very pretty speech,” a deep voice spoke out. A tall, elegantly dressed man in his mid thirties rose to his feet. “Many of you know me. I am Don Luis... Luis Ortega, and I would ask you a question of the Reverend Señor Yingling, or, rather, I would expand upon the Father de Castro's question. The Padre asked if he would be on it. I do not care if I am on it, but I do wish to know who will be and how many of them will be of my people, Mejicanos? For, surely, you Yanquis, you cannot claim to be the only moral ones in this town.”

Luis gave the crowd the same sort of genial smile that his younger brother, Sebastian, was known for. “I have met more than enough immoral Yanquis and more than enough moral Mejicanos to know that there cannot be such a claim.”

“It seems to me,” Whit said, seeing the discomfort on the minister's face, “that a lot of good questions have been asked here tonight. It seems only fair that we give Reverend Yingling time to come up with fully thought out answers, so that the strength of his arguments may be acknowledged by all. I don't think that we want to wait a whole month, so I move that we postpone the reverend's response till next – no, the church board meets next week – until a special council meeting two weeks from tonight.” He glanced at his fellow councilmen, who both nodded. “Would this be acceptable to you, Reverend Yingling?”

“Perhaps...” the clergyman began and trailed off.

Arsenio tried hard not to smile. “Second.”

The Reverend, the council noticed, did not react.

“All in favor?” Whit saw the other two councilmen raise their hands. “Passed... unanimously.” He pounded his gavel on the table. “There being no other business...” He waited a moment to see if anyone contradicted him. When no one did, he continued, “I'll take a motion for adjournment.”

Arsenio raised his hand. “So moved.”

“Second,” Aaron quickly added.

Whit used the gavel again. “Passed; meeting adjourned. And we'll see you all back here on May 22nd. Thank you all and good evening.”

The three of them ignored the shouts of protest, as they packed up their paperwork to head for home. Arsenio's mind had been on Laura all evening, and he bolted for the door, not stopping to talk to anyone.

* * * * *

Thursday, May 9, 1872

The light streaming through her window finally woke Jessie up. She glanced over at the ticking clock on her night table. “Just after 10,” she murmured. She stretched her arms up over her head before reaching over with her left for... “Paul?” Then she remembered. “Dang, he had to work late shift last night.” She sighed, but then smiled at the possibilities for that evening, when he would be finished with work about 8 PM.

“Yeah,” she said, feeling the anticipatory warmth run through her body.

Followed by a hunger pang.

'Best get dressed', she thought, 'and see about some breakfast.' She turned and nodded at the shelf near her clothes rack, where she'd placed the tiny wooden figure her father had carved for her so many years before. “Good morning to you, Pa.” It was a small daily ritual with her, one she'd followed since miraculously recovering the figure last Christmas.

The shelf was bare.

“What the hell?” She looked again; nothing. She dropped to her hands and knees, searching for where it might have fallen. There was no sign of it anywhere, even under the bed. Nor was it on the bed table or on her desk, where it could have been placed, if it had fallen and been found by someone else.

Someone? She thought for a moment about what might have happened to this last remnant of her past. An answer, a very bad answer, came to her. “Flora!” Jessie cursed as she grabbed her robe. She hurried to wrap it around herself, as she rushed out the door.

* * * * *

“Here now, Jessie” Shamus said, as the singer ran down the steps. “What's all this shouting about?”

Jessie stopped and glanced around the room. “Where is she, Shamus? Where is that little – “

“I'm right here, Hanks.” Flora stood by the door to the kitchen, a smug look on her face. “What are you yelling about?”

“I know you took it. Give it back to me; right now?” Jessie strode purposefully towards Flora, ready to fight.

Shamus stepped between the two women. “What's all this about? What got took, Jess, and why are ye thinking that Flora is the one that took it?”

“That wooden soldier I... got last Christmas.” She could hardly say how it had come to her. “And I don't think she took it. I know she did. She cleans the rooms, and she's got it in for me!”

Flora chuckled. “Why shouldn't I take it, Hanks? Your pa gave it to me all those years ago, didn't he?”

The words sank in; Jessie squared her shoulders. “All right, so you know who I am. I knew you'd find out sooner or later. It just gives me a double reason to want to get back at you. You made Pa give my soldiers to you; you threatened t'get Will sent t'jail if he didn't.”

“Why he did it doesn't matter. The fact is that he did.” She chuckled again. “He was just too afraid of my Pa. You dumb 'croppers were all afraid of him.”

Jessie growled low in her throat and made a grab for her tormentor.

“Stop it, Jess,” Shamus said firmly, seizing her by the waist and pulling her back. “I'll handle this.” He glared at Flora. “Did ye take that wood soldier? I'm ordering ye t'answer and answer truthful.”

Flora trembled, trying not to answer, but she couldn't stop herself. “I-I did.”

“And where is it now?”

“H-Hidden in m-my... room, in the... the dres.. ser.”

“Then I'm ordering ye to go get it; get it right now and bring it down here t'me.” A thought occurred to him. “And don't ye be doing nothing to it in the meantime.”

Flora closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, fighting the new order. Her body shook as she slowly turned and began a shambling walk towards the stairs. She paused for a moment, grasping the railing at the bottom, only to sigh in surrender and climb the stairs.

“I think she's going to be worse than even Wilma was.” Bridget had joined Shamus and Jessie as they watched Flora walk towards her room.

Shamus nodded. “She just may. Or... she may turn out as well as the pair o'ye did. We'll have t'be waiting t'see what happens.”

“In the meantime, you better do something to keep her out of Jessie's stuff,” Bridget told him. “And mine, come to think of it. She confronted me about our past a couple nights ago.”

As if on cue, Flora came back around the corner from her room. She had a look of disgust on her face as she descended the stairwell.

“Here,” she said, dropping the figure into Shamus' hand.

Shamus turned and gave it to Jessie. “There ye are, lass, back in yuir hands and good as new.”

“It better be.” Jessie's fingers curled around the toy soldier. “And she'd better not take it again.”

Flora glowered. “Why not, it's mine?”

“No, it ain't,” Shamus told her. “Ye gave it t'me just now, and I'm giving it t'Jessie here.” He looked her in the eye. “And I'm giving ye another order. Ye're not t'be going after that wee soldier ever again. And ye'll be treating Jessie and Bridget and all that belongs t'them with all the respect that ye'd be wanting for yuirself.”

“Even if you don't deserve it,” Jessie added triumphantly. Bridget smiled in agreement.

* * * * *

“Good morning, Reverend,” Horace Styron greeted the minister upon seeing him walk into Horace's hardware store. “What brings you in here today?”

Yingling pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket. “I just came in for some odds and ends.” He opened the paper and read, “A box of 3-penny nails... four candles... ten feet of chicken wire... and a can of green paint. More importantly, I came in to thank you for your help at the meeting last night.”

“You're more'n welcome. I saw the way things were getting out of hand, and I figured if you reminded folks about all the mistakes O'Toole's racked up, it'd get 'em back on track to take that potion away from him.” The storekeeper made a quick, clicking sound with his tongue. “It woulda worked except for them da – them darned Mex talking.”

“Yes, it was a surprise to see those two there. They seldom attend functions like meetings of the town council, let alone participating as actively as they did yesterday.”

“You're right about that. I wonder what the... heck put the bee in their bonnet about your petition.”

“I don't know for certain, but I strongly suspect that Roscoe Unger, over at the newspaper, had a hand in it. Their questions all reflected those pernicious editorials he's been running.”

“That's what I thought, too. That boy is a lot more trouble than Ozzie Pratt ever was.”

“Pratt had other concerns to distract him, if you'll recall. Still, Unger is young, still learning the way of the world. In time, I have no doubt that he will discover the folly of going against moral authority such as ours.”

“I ain't sure we have that much time, do you?”

“No, and it is frustrating...” He practically growled the word. “...to have the council decision postponed yet again because of him.”

“We'll get it next time, Reverend.” Horace let a bit of menace creep into his voice. “Or we'll know the reason why, and know how to fix it.”

Yingling smiled at the thought of victory. “Indeed.”

* * * * *

Mrs. Spaulding looked down at the row of whole chickens, sitting on a bed of ice in Ortega's market. “That one, I think, Señor Ruiz.”

“A good choice,” Ruiz replied, smiling behind his mustache. He took the chicken and used a balance scale to weight it. He quickly wrapped it in white paper, tying the paper with a length of white twine, and wrote a price on the paper with a red wax marker. “Do you want anything else?”

Before she could answer, she heard a voice behind her. “Mrs. Spaulding, is that you?”

“Yes.” She turned to see two women standing behind her. One was a short, plumpish woman that she recognized as the minister's wife, Mrs. – What was her name? “Oh... ah, yes, Mrs..... Yingling, isn't it?”

The woman smiled, pleased to have her name remembered. “It is, but please call me Martha.”

“I shall... Martha, and you must call me Vida.”

The other woman was somewhat taller and thin, her graying hair pulled into a tight bun. “And I am Cecelia Ritter... Mrs. Cecelia Ritter.”

“Cecelia is the chairman of the Women's Social Committee at our church.”

Cecelia studied her closely. “You're new to Eerie, aren't you?”

“I am. My family and I moved here just after Easter.” Then Vida recognized the name. “You're the Mrs. Ritter that I've read about in the paper, aren't you?”

Cecelia smiled broadly. “Yes, that is me; working hard in my own humble way to make this town a more wholesome place for respectable people to live. I trust that I can count on the support of you and your husband.”

“My husband, Captain Jeffery Spaulding, has been... dead some fifteen months.” Vida spoke the words slowly, still reluctant to say them.

Cecelia plowed on. “Just you then.”

“Cecelia, please.” Martha could hardly believe the woman's lack of tact, and she decided to change the subject, if she could. “Have you had a chance to get out and meet many people?”

“Not many, I'm afraid. You and Annie are probably the two locals I know best.”

Martha thought for a moment. “Annie... Annie who?”

“Oh, I'm sorry; Annie Diaz. Her mother runs a laundry. She started out just picking up our dirty clothes and taking them to be cleaned, but she's gotten to be friends with both of my children – she and my Clara are about the same age. I've hired her recently to teach us all Spanish.”

Cecelia cut in. “Well, that explains things doesn't it?”

“Explain what?” Vida asked.

“Explains why you don't want to help us. You're friendly with one of them, one of the 'potion girls', aren't you?”

“What is a 'potion girl'? I'm afraid that I don't understand you,” Vida replied. 'Or like you very much,' she added to herself.

Cecelia gave a nasty chuckle. “Your 'Annie' Diaz used to be Arnie Diaz, a most impertinent young man. The very night that his mother was almost killed by a rearing horse, he got hold of a dose of Shamus O'Toole's foul brew and became a girl. There're some that say that he took it out of guilt about his mother, but I think O'Toole forced it on him for some reason.”

Amazement transformed Vida's face. “She mentioned some sort of magic potion, but I didn't believe her. Th-That story can't be true.”

“Ask the little Mex, herself, and see if she doesn't admit the truth. I dare you. Once you know the way of things, you can come see me about helping us take control of the potion away from that ungodly man.” She then walked away, before Vida or Martha could speak.

Mrs. Spaulding seemed at a loss for words. “And, please,” Martha cautioned, “take care to not tell people from outside from the town about the potion, Mrs. Spaulding. You know how vicious and judgmental some outsiders can be, especially about things that do not really concern them. The best way to deal with this terrible potion is to get responsible people, such as my husband's committee, to take it in hand.”

Mrs. Spaulding turned toward the woman still beside her. “Martha, should my family and I be in anyway concerned about these – potion girls?”

The Reverend's wife shook her head. “Of course not. Some of them have already become a credit to our community. The Lord works in mysterious ways. And I especially think that it is a good thing for Arnie – or Annie, as she seems to be calling herself – to have made friends with your boy and girl. I can't say that I really know Arnie Diaz. His mother does our laundry, and he -- she -- delivered it for a while, after she became a girl. But she was always very quiet and didn't talk about her problems. I'm sure the change must be hard for someone her age.”

“It certainly must be,” Vida replied thoughtfully.

* * * * *

Milt Quinlan peeked into Doc Upshaw's ward. Abner Slocum was playing some kind of solitaire. Slocum noticed him and called out, “I'm awake, Milt. C'mon in.”

“Thank you, Abner,” Milt replied, walking into the room. “How are you feeling today?”

Slocum used his right arm to push away the table with the cards. “Grateful to be alive, I suppose. Beyond that...” His voice trailed off.

The lawyer shrugged. “Being alive is something, anyway. And I'm sure that you'll improve with time.”

“I wish I were so sure. That's why I sent word for you to drop by. I want you to draw up a partnership agreement for Matthew and me. There is a good chance that I won't ever be better off than I am now, and I seem to be facing a very dangerous operation.” He sighed. “Funny how things turn out. If I had become a professional gambler, like I almost did back in my twenties, I might have been better off for it now.”

“Gamblers get shot, too,” Milt reminded him.

“They do, but angry gamblers tend to take better aim than that idiot Stafford did.”

Milt nodded courteously, and then took a pencil and small notepad out of his coat pocket. “Very well, how do you want it to read?”

“Make sure you list all my assets, land, buildings, woodland, and livestock; you have the list from when we updated my will last year. I'd like to have an even split between the two of us, but I... I still can't help thinking of the Triple A as my baby. Make it... 60-40, with me getting the 60.”

“I can do that. How soon do you need the papers? I may also need to change a paragraph or two in your will.”

“Take your time. I'm going to see an expert back East about my back and why my left arm and my legs don't work, but Hiram Upshaw says I won't be up to the trip for a couple weeks yet.”

“How about if I bring in the drafts next week for you to look at? If you don't have any problems with the documents, you can sign the new will, and you and Cap... Matthew can sign the partnership agreement any time after that.”

“That'll be fine.”

“Is there anything else you want to discuss?” asked Milt.

“Nothing legal, but you're welcome to just stay and chew the fat for a while. I don't get a whole lot of visitors.”

Milt put the pad and pencil away. “I believe I can do that.” He pulled a chair over and sat down. “And I won't even charge you for my time.”

* * * * *

“Nancy Osbourne,” Molly said by way of a greeting. “Whatever are ye doing in here so early? 'Tis barely three o'clock.”

Nancy gave the older woman a sad smile. “I've been out looking for work, Mrs. O'Toole – Molly. I resigned my teaching job last night at the town council meeting.”

“So I heard. Ye was goaded into it, t'my way o'thinking. I'd be surprised if the council wouldn't give yuir job back to ye if ye told 'em ye wanted it.”

“I know, but I meant what I said. I'm tired of people forcing me to act the way they think I should act, and I'm even more tired of being condemned for things I've never done by people who won't even give me a chance to defend myself.”

“Aye, I know how that can be. It ain't fair, ain't fair at all, for them t'be acting that way, especially to a sweet, young girl like ye.”

“Thank you for that, at least.” She shook her head. “It's like I was trying so hard to be the sort of person that I never really was, just to please people who would never let themselves be pleased.”

“I've been in that spot meself,” Molly commiserated. “So, did ye get any job offers?”

“I got several offers.” Her expression soured. “...But none that I care to repeat. There are a number of merchants in this town who believe the rumors about me. They expected me to... repay the offer of a job in a way consistent with...my bad reputation.” She sank down onto a barstool.

Molly puttered behind the bar for a moment before she handed Nancy a filled glass. “Here, this'll help.”

“Th-Thanks, but I-I don't drink.”

“Not even seltzer water? That's all that I gave ye.” Molly waited while the other woman took a long drink. “Surely, not all the men made that sorta offer to ye.”

“No, a few just said that they'd never hire a... person like me.”

“Them lousy – “

Nancy took another drink. “I... I can't – I won't give in to people who think like that, but I can't live on charity, either. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'm not leaving Eerie. I won't give Cecelia Ritter the satisfaction of saying that she drove me out of town. Besides, the only real family I have is Carl, and I don't want to move away from him. I-I just seem to be out of options.”

“Then I'll be given ye one,” Molly replied. “Ye've done good filling in for Laura. Why don't ye come work for Shamus 'n' me full time?”

“Work... here. I-I don't know.”

“Sure ye do. Ye know we ain't the 'den of iniquity' some folks say we are. We pay good money, and I'll throw in room 'n' board, if ye want.”

“It's... can I think about a little?”

“Ye can. Take what time ye need.” Molly glanced up at the clock. “In the meantime, finish yuir drink, and ye can help me set up the tables for the restaurant.”

* * * * *

Wilma sat, alone in her room. staring into her dressing table mirror. She picked up her brush and began to work on her hair. As she did, she caught herself repeating the phrase that Shamus and Molly had drilled into her. “I’m a girl. I’m a girl.”

She stopped for a moment, frowning, but then she shrugged, “What the Hell.” She went back to her hair, again saying “I’m a girl” with each stroke.

“I’m a girl.”

“No, you aren’t,” she answered herself. “You’re a useless, worthless slut, just waiting to be used. That’s all Ethan ever thought of you.”

She recalled the old joke that said, “It’s okay to talk to yourself. You can even argue with yourself, and there’s nothing wrong with you. But if you start losing those arguments, then you’re in trouble. She wasn’t going to lose this argument.

“That ain’t so, even if he… didn’t love me. He said I was one of the best… whores he ever slept with.”

“See, you admit that he just thought of you as just another whore.”

“I ain’t ‘just another whore.’ I’m a damned good one.”

“That’s not what Ethan thought, and he’s a cultured gentleman.”

“He’s a dirty, rotten son of a bitch. Now Gregario de Aguilar, he’s a gentleman, a land-grant aristocrat, too, and he thinks I’m special. He calls me his ‘lively one’, don’t he?”

“So…”

“And… and Jimmy Kellogg, he’s a gentleman, too, he’s traveled all over the country – been t’Europe, too, and he said…” She smiled remembering what the man had said the last time they had been together.

“You make a man feel special, Wilma,” Kellogg had told her, as they walked downstairs in the morning. “And I don’t just mean the way a man feels when he gets his rocks off. You’re good -- very good -- at that, but, best of all, you make a man feel good about himself, that there’s something special about him that made a woman as wonderful as you are want to spend time with him, to take him to bed, and to share that fine body of yours with him.”

Wilma studied her reflection. “Yeah, maybe I am a whore, but I’m damned good at it.” She grinned, repeating Shamus’ “I’m a girl”, as she brushed her hair once more. “And if Ethan didn’t realize what he had with me…t’hell with him. The stupid bastard didn’t deserve me.”

He didn't deserve her, true, but he had been able to hurt her. How? Maybe it was because he had made her feel like more than just a whore. That had appealed to her deep inside. At Cerise's, she had thought for a while that she had everything that she wanted, but did she, really? Didn't she want to be better than she was? What did being “better” mean? Didn't it mean being special to a person that she would think was special, too? By pretending that he thought she was special, Ethan had baited the trap and she had only too eagerly stepped in.

The bastard! He had been finding excuses not to sleep with her for weeks. As a woman, Wilma hadn't encountered a man like that before. It had made her think that the talented man wouldn't be satisfied with a woman unless she couldn't offer more than just sex. He had given her hope that he had seen that sort of woman inside her, and then had taken the hope away. Why? What had she done to the man to make him want to bring her down so cruelly?

Something drew her glance to the mirror again. Before Ethan, Wilma had liked her life at Cerise's, but there was just one thing she didn't care for – that she wasn't special to anyone – not as Wilma Hanks. Wilma was a complete person who didn't just exist in bed, but outside of it, too. The pretty brunette whom she saw reflected looked about twenty, but in twenty years, how many men would pick her over much younger women in the same room? How many fewer would find her at all desirable in thirty years?

Wilma had realized that the future could be a terrible place. It could be so terrible, in fact, that she yearned to stop thinking about it and live for the moment. She remembered what Beatriz had said, that to go on the way she was going, she had to be smarter about men, she had to harden her heart. That advice might make good sense now, while times were still good, but what about later on? She'd end her days dirt poor, with no family, no special person in her life, and probably not even a home to call her own. All that she could have taken out of the carrousel ride would be a heart as hard as stone.

It didn't sound worth the trip. Carrousels were fun, but stay on them for too long and they made you sick. Maybe she had understood that from the start. Hadn't instinct told her that Ethan was a new force in her life, once that could change her course? But Ethan had been a false pick. So, where were the right picks? And how many right picks could women like herself expect to get?

Trying to understand the present, Wilma found herself thinking back about where she had started. Will Hanks had, perhaps, lived the wild way he had because he didn't care about living and didn't expect to be doing a great deal of it. But Wilma didn't think that she was exactly like Will –- not in every way.

She wasn't sure exactly when it had started, but somewhere along the way, she had started caring.

* * * * *

Kaitlin looked closely at her transformed husband, as the new woman slipped her camisole off over her head to get ready for as bed. “Your waist's getting a bit thicker, Trisha,” she observed.

“I-I've noticed.” Trisha replied. “I guess I-I'm starting to... show.”

“Not yet you're not, but you will soon enough.”

“Maybe I can wear my corset tighter to hide it a bit longer.”

“Don't do that. It's bad for the baby.” She said the word neither of them wanted to mention.

Trisha shivered, and then looked down and gently touched her stomach. “Do you th-think I'll be a-able to... to hide it until after next week's board meeting?”

“Probably, but not for too much longer after that.”

“Oh, oh, my Lord, what am I going to do?” She felt the tears forming in her eyes. “Damn it, I... I hate this.”

Kaitlin walked over and took the sobbing woman in her arms, hugging her close. “I know; I know.” This was hardly the time for saying, “I warned you to be careful.”

“And I hate acting like this!” She rested her head on the taller woman's shoulder, giving in to her wild emotions, tears running down her cheeks.

“It's part of being pregnant, just like morning sickness.”

“I don't like that, either. Emma must think that I have stomach flu, the way I get sick almost every morning.”

“Yes, she has asked about it. She's afraid that it's some women's thing that she's going to come down with any day now.” Kaitlin braced herself for what she was going to say next. “We're going to have to tell her the truth... and very soon.”

“I know,” Trisha straightened up and took a step back. “Liam, too, it isn't fair for them not to know.” She was still holding her camisole, and now she used it to wipe her eyes. “Only not... not till after the church board meets next week.”

“Why not? Liam and Emma won't tell anyone.”

“I-I'm not so sure. It's like leaving the board is the end of an era. In some strange way it feels like I'm stepping out of one life and into another. Once I do, that will be the time for making new beginnings, for telling the hard truths. Anyway, Liam doesn't have the best poker face in the world, and Emma, she's still a child. I'd be too afraid that the word would get out, if we told them ahead of time. If it does, I'm off the board, no bones about it, and with no way to put Liam in as my replacement. Clyde Ritter'd be on the board instead, and him and Styron will undo everything I've worked for.”

Kaitlin grimaced. “That's probably true.” She made a pointing gesture, as if lecturing a child. “But I want you to promise that Liam and Emma get told... and right after the meeting.”

“The very next night,” Trisha said, very reluctantly admitting the rightness of it. She just wondered how her brother and her daughter would take the news. How they reacted would have a lot to do with what she would do afterwards. Leaving town was an option she might have to consider.

“The very next night,” she repeated.

* * * * *

Friday, May 10, 1872

Nancy walked up the gravel path to the bathhouse. Carmen was sitting in the shade on the back porch sewing something – reattaching a shirt button, Nancy saw when she was close enough. Felipe, her toddler son, was taking a mid-morning nap in his wooden playpen.

Carmen heard Nancy's footsteps and looked up. “I'm afraid that there are some men using the baths just now. I can't let you in, no matter how much you may want me to.” She winked to show that she was teasing.

“That's all right, Carmen.” Nancy felt her cheeks warm, embarrassed at the thought. “I didn't come for a bath. I wanted to talk to you.” She pointed at an overstuffed chair set not too far from Carmen. “May I?”

Carmen nodded and put her sewing down into a large straw basket by her feet. “Of course.” She rose for a moment to turn the chair so she was facing Nancy. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I've been... looking for work, and not with much success.” Carmen was about to speak, but Nancy shook her head. “I know you – or Whit – don't need any help in your businesses, so please don't make any offer out of pity.”

Carmen gave her a wry smile. “You may too proud for your own good, Nancy. You could have your teaching job back for the asking, you know. Whit and the others would be happy – and lucky, if I may say – to have you.”

“I know, and thank you. I... A part of me wants to be a teacher again. I loved working with the children.” Her expression soured. “But that Ritter woman and her friends have spoiled it for me. I can't – I won't live my life knowing that they're watching me like a hawk, and hoping that I fail to live up to their expectations. Or cheering when I live down to them.”

“But if you are not the teacher, then they have won, haven't they?”

“Maybe not. I'll be through with them, and I think that they'll find Phillipia Stone a harder nut to crack, if she'll take the job long-term.”

“From what I know of her, she is a muy stubborn woman,” Carmen agreed.

Nancy's expression took on an introspective cast. “Maybe the Lord is testing me, and I turned out to be too weak for my own good. I wasn't a fraidy cat when I was a schoolgirl. I think that came about when my uncle and aunt insisted that I stop being such a tomboy. And the teachers' training school was just as determined that I be a lady. But I think that their idea of being a lady is to let others control one's life. Maybe that's why I let the town biddies get their way for so long. I was living out the wrong idea of how to be a lady.”

Carmen shrugged commiseratively.

“Maybe this problem has happened for a reason,” Nancy went on. “Maybe Providence is telling me that this is the chance I've been hoping for, possibly my last chance, to take my life in a new direction.”

“What will you do then? What are your hopes for finding another job?”

“At most of the places I went looking, the men believed Cecelia Ritter's lies about me. Some of them wouldn't hire the sort of wicked, wicked woman she says I am. The others, well, let's just say that it wasn't a clerk or assistant that they wanted to hire.”

“Men!” Carmen almost spat the word. “Still, not all the men are not like that. I know that my Whit is not.”

“No, he isn't, and I'm very grateful to him – to the both of you. I just feel that I'm imposing on you, now that I'm... not the town schoolteacher anymore.”

“That is nonsense. You are welcome to stay with us while you are looking for something else. Still, you should think more about being a teacher again. Especially if you cannot find anything else.”

“I will, but I'll also think about the one real job offer I did get... working for Shamus O'Toole.”

“Shamus offered you a job?”

“Actually, it was Molly – Mrs. O'Toole – who offered. I've been helping out, taking Laura Caulder's place, while she wasn't feeling well. Molly said that I could be a regular waitress if I liked. I don't know; maybe she was just offering charity. I won't take a job offered in pity.” She felt her eyes begin to fill with tears.

Carmen saw her expression and took her hand. “Molly has a good heart. She wants to be everyone's mother, if she could, but she is also muy serious about her husband's business. If she offered you a job, she meant it.” She studied the other woman's expression. “Do you want the job?”

“I-I don't know. I've enjoyed helping out at the restaurant. It's a nice change, working with other people, other adults, instead of being surrounded by just children all day. And no one there was as rude to me as some of the town ladies.”

“You do know that, to Cecelia Ritter and her friends, you working in such a place would prove that they were right about you? If you take such a job, you may tie the council's hands about ever rehiring you.”

“I know, and a part of me hates that possibility, but – to tell the truth – another part of me likes it. Working there...” She chuckled. “...it would be like spitting in Mrs. Ritter's eye. Besides…” She playfully put her hands on her hips. “…I bet some of those women's husbands would like what they see!”

Carmen joined her in laughter.

* * * * *

Cecelia Ritter gathered in the cards from the last hand, shuffled them twice and held them for a moment in her hand. “Would you like to cut, Zenobia?”

“No, thank you,” Zenobia Carson replied.

Cecelia nodded and began to deal. “Two... three... two, and three to me, and three to Zenobia... two... three... and two.” She set down the kitty, the four remaining cards in the euchre deck, turning the top one over. “Jack of clubs.”

“So what were you saying about Reverend Yingling, Cecelia?” Grace McLeod asked, looking up from the cards she was holding.

“That I still can't believe how poorly he was treated at the town council meeting on Wednesday,” Cecelia responded. “Did you see the look on his face when they put off the decision on his petition for another two weeks?”

Lavinia Meckechnie nodded. “I did, and the councilmen should be ashamed of themselves.”

“Oh, they'll be ashamed,” Cecelia said. “They'll be out of office, too, come the next election. People will remember, I'll – we'll make sure of that.”

Zenobia looked over her own cards at Cecelia. “For the moment, what are we doing with this hand?”

“Pick it up,” Zenobia was sitting to Cecelia's left. Lavinia Mackechnie, Cecelia's partner in the game of euchre, sat opposite her. She nodded in agreement, as did Grace McLeod, Zenobia's partner. Clubs were trump for this round.

Cecelia picked up the card and put it in her hand. She put another card from her hand down into the kitty.

“I'll begin,” Zenobia said, “King of clubs.” She laid down the card. Lavinia set down the 9 of spades, followed by the others playing the 9 and then the ace of clubs.

Cecelia's ace took the hand. She eagerly picked up the four cards. “That's one trick for us.”

“At least we got rid of that horrid Osbourne woman,” Lavinia said, trying to restart the conversation.

Zenobia nodded. “It looked like the council was going to hire her back until Cecelia told them not to.”

“The woman lost her temper and turned it down,” Grace cautioned, “but she may change her mind in the light of day.”

Cecelia shook her head. “She might. That's why we have to keep the pressure on her, show her in no uncertain terms that she's not wanted in this town any longer. She'll just slink off someplace and disappear, that sort always do.”

“I can't help feeling a little sorry for her,” Grace admitted.

Lavinia raised an eyebrow. “Whatever for?”

“She's been turned out of her home – “ Grace began.

Zenobia cut her off. “Out of my home, you mean, and all the time she lived with us, she barely did any work for me to help keep it in order. She was as lazy as Ludham’s dog, ‘that leaned against a wall to bark’ as the saying goes. Only Nancy Osbourne wasn’t a lazy dog, after all; she was a… dog in heat. And one I had every right to turn out.”

Cecelia put down a jack of hearts. “And ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’, as I always say. What's importance now is the town council and making them vote – finally – the way we want on the reverend's petition.”

“I agree.” Zenobia played the 10 of diamonds. “Do you have any ideas on that, Cecelia?”

Cecelia smiled. “I most certainly do. For a start, we need to get the church board – and the membership – to vote to confirm our support for the Reverend at next Wednesday's board meeting.”

“That may not be as easy as you think.” Lavinia played the queen of diamonds. “With Trisha O'Hanlan and some of the others on the board.”

Cecelia's smile grew broader. “Don't you remember, this is the meeting where we vote that... woman off the board. Once she's gone, and my Clyde is there in her place... a vote in support of the reverend should be child's play.”

“I do hope you're right. In the meantime...” Grace put a queen of hearts on the table. Her card took the trick.

* * * * *

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Jessie?”

Jessie looked up from the sheet music she'd been working on. “Sure, Milt. You ready for tonight?”

“That's what I came to talk to you about.”

“You ain't gonna chicken out on me, are you?”

“Actually, I just wanted to talk to you about changing the words in one verse.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Something the matter with what I wrote?”

“No, I just... oh, the hell with it. Here.” He handed her a folded sheet of paper.

Jessie unfolded it, and studied the words. After a moment, she started humming the music as she read. When she'd finished, she looked closely at him. “You sure 'bout them words?”

“I am. Do you mind?”

She shook her head. “Nope, if that's what you wanna sing, then let's do it.”

* * * * *

“May I join you?”

Flora looked up from her lunch, a fried chicken leg and a biscuit left over from last night's restaurant menu. “Rosalyn... please... be seated.” She gestured at a chair nearby.

“Thank you.” She put her own plate from Shamus' Free Lunch down on the table and sat.

“How are you doing these days?”

Flora frowned. “I'm still here, still a woman.”

“I noticed that fact, and, from what I hear, so have a lot of other people – now that Mr. O'Toole's got you dancing for his customers.”

“Yes, I just love being one of his Cactus Blossoms. If that damned potion would let me, I'd cheerfully skin him alive.”

“Why don't you, figuratively, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“I think that he's making you dance in that skimpy outfit I've heard about to embarrass you; to punish you for what you did to that... Bridget, yes, to Wilma's friend, Bridget.”

“So you know about that, do you?”

“I know, but I don't know her well enough to be concerned.”

Flora raised a curious eyebrow. “You aren't?”

“No, it... such things can happen to a woman, especially one who's not wise to the ways of the world. A woman has to know how to take care of herself.”

“And you do?”

“I was like that once, foolish, easily taken advantage of. But I learned better. Now Bridget knows better, too.” Rosalyn's expression darkened. “But I'd very much prefer to talk about something else, thank you. For instance, about how you can get back at Mr. O'Toole.”

“Now, that is something I'd like to talk about.”

“I thought that you might. As I said, I think he's making you a dancer to mortify you about becoming a woman.”

“So?”

“So, if you acted as if you enjoyed being a woman, enjoyed flaunting yourself in front of all those men you dance for, it would spoil things for him.”

Flora considered the idea. “It just might. But what would I have to do?”

“Flirt with the men while you're dancing. Pick out one – one in nice clothes; that means that he has some money. Pick him out, look him straight in the eye and smile; maybe even wink at him. It'll take courage at first, but you told me you were a soldier. Once you finish dancing, go over and ask him if he liked your dancing. When he says that he did – and he will – smile again. You might even kiss him – on the cheek, of course. He'll probably buy you a drink.”

“You're not saying I should... go with him, are you?”

“No... unless you want to, of course. I'm hardly one to deny that a woman can find pleasure with a man, but don't have to go that far to have fun. Tease the man, flash your lures at him, the way a fly fisherman does with a large trout, until he's hooked, and then make him work for it while you reel him in. If she plays her cards right, a smart woman can get a lot out of a man and hardly has to give him anything in return.”

“I-I don't know. It sounds risky.” It also sounded wrong. Acting like she liked men would start the saloon staff laughing at her, wouldn't it?

“It isn't. You sit on his lap and snuggle up to him, and just... just kiss his cheek.” Rosalyn smiled mischievously. “Get him rock hard, and he'll love you – and thank you – for it; tips, little presents, all sorts of nice things. And you won't have to do anything more than I've already said. Get a man excited, and you get control of him. He might do things for you, things he'd never do otherwise.”

“And you're sure I won't have to... you know.” She felt her cheeks warm. Damn it, was she blushing?

“No… but you may... eventually. I do recommend it. Most of the potion girls have gentlemen friends. But until – if ever – you are ready for such things, you can still have a lot of fun, fun teasing the man – or the men you pick, and teasing Mr. O'Toole, as well.”

“I-I don't know.” Flora gave her friend an uncertain smile. “I'll have to give it some – give it a lot of thought, but you just may be right.” She remembered some of the fool things pretty women had gotten her to do when she was Forry.

One woman in particular.

“I'm sure that I am, and, if you want, I'll even teach you a few things that will make a man putty in your hands.” She giggled. “If you want the man in your hands to be as soft as putty.”

“Oh, you're a wicked one,” Flora said, her cheeks slightly flushed with shame.

* * * * *

“So tell me, Arnoldo,” Dolores asked across the dinner table, “what are you doing all day, now that Teresa is back doing the laundry deliveries again?”

Teresa smiled. “She still helps out... a little.”

“I have thought about getting another job,” Arnie replied, “now that Momma is better.” She took a bite of her tamale before she continued. “I am still teaching the Spauldings Spanish. Maybe I will go looking for something more next week.”

Teresa raised an eyebrow. 'Dell dicho al hecho, hay mucho trecho [From the saying to the act, there is much distance],' she thought. Aloud, she asked, “Would you like to work at the Saloon again?”

“The Saloon, I do not – wait... Dolores, did Señor Shamus tell you to ask me?”

“No... Heavens, no,” his cousin said, “It was my idea. They tell me that Laura Caulder will be out for some time, so I think that he could use the help.”

“Laura, she is sick?”

“She has been having a hard time with the baby growing inside her. The doctor is making her stay home and in bed, so she is not there, and Molly and Jane spend so much time with her, that, sometimes, it is like they are not there, either. Nancy Osbourne has been standing in for Laura, but now that she has quit the school, some say she will leave town.”

Teresa frowned. “I must go over to visit Laura. She is a good woman, and I know how hard a first pregnancy...” She glanced over at Arnie for a moment. “... or any pregnancy – can be.”

“It may be that Shamus does need my help again,” Arnie said carefully. “Perhaps... perhaps, I will talk to him. I will think about it.” She excused herself. All this talk about pregnancy made Arnie uneasy.

* * * * *

Wilma let Clay Falk lead her up to her room. ‘She’s as skittish and down on herself as the last time,’ he thought ruefully. ‘I’ll have t’be real gentle with her.’

“Yes, sir,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “Ain’t nothing like just cuddling up to a pretty gal to take a man back to when he was a kid and just learning about the wonders of life.”

She turned to face him. Her shy, nervous smile became a leer. A leer? “That’s true for a gal, too, Clay, but I was thinking we might do something a little more grown up.” To illustrate her point, her right hand snaked down into his pants and began to stroke his manhood through the fabric of his drawers. At the same time, her left arm encircled his neck, pulling his head down so that their lips met.

When they broke the kiss some time later, he was grinning back at her. “Well,” he stammered. “I-I suppose we could do that instead.”

* * * * *

` “I'll bet all my money, the man ain't alive
` That'll stay with Old Strawberry
` When he makes his high dive.”

The crowd in the Saloon burst into a round of applause as Jessie finished singing “Strawberry Roan.” One man fired a couple shots into the air, while several others tossed coins at Jessie.

“Thank you, gents,” she said, smiling. She did a low bow, giving the closest rows a much better look at the tops of her creamy breasts.

A couple more coins hit the floor near her feet. “Sing 'Collee's Ride', Jessie,” someone shouted.

“Later... maybe“ she answered, glancing quickly over towards Shamus, who gave a negative shake of his head. “Right now, I got a new song for you. Only...”

That was R.J.'s cue. “Only what, Jessie?” he yelled from behind the bar.

“Only this here song's meant for a man t'sing. So...” She paused again for dramatic effect. “...I got a man t'sing it.” She smiled as the crowd looked around trying to see whom she meant.

Paul was sitting with Milt at a table near the bar, and he saw many of the men turning to stare at him. Jessie had warned him. “Not me, boys,” he said grimly, and he held up his hands, as if fending them off.

“It ain't the Deputy,” Jessie told them with a chuckle, “but you're close. Milt Quinlan, you get over here.”

Surprised, some of the crowd began to laugh. “Go on, Milt,” Joe Kramer yelled. “Get up there and make a fool of yourself.” There were more catcalls in the same vein as he stood up and strode towards the stage.

'Oh, Lord, I hope not,' Milt thought. He glanced over towards the door to the kitchen. Jane was standing there with Maggie. He gave her a quick, nervous wave and was glad to see her smile encouragingly and wave back at him.

“You ready, Milt?” Jessie greeted him when he reached her. She stood and shifted her chair to make room for him on the small stage where she usually sat, doing her show.

He stepped up next to her. “No, but let's go anyway.”

“All right, then,” she replied. “Folks, this song's called – well, you'll all know in a minute.” She strummed a line of melody on her guitar and signaled him to begin.

He took a deep breath, looked at Jane again, and started singing.

` “Jane, Jane, who can explain
` This longing, this yearning I feel?
` Is it love I now know?
` My mind declares 'no',
` But my spirit insists that it's real.”

He waited for her reaction. She looked surprised at first, but she was soon smiling broadly at him, nodding for him to continue.

` “Jane, Jane, have I caused you pain
` Pretending that I didn't care?
` It's been but a ruse,
` A mask that I use.
` To embrace you, I just didn't dare.”

` “Till the gold in the mountains is stolen away
` And a stone in the graveyard shall my name display
` I'll be repenting and I'll be remembering...”

` “Jane, Jane, a name, a refrain,
` It flows like the prairie bird's trill.
` It drifts like a song
` Sometimes soft, sometimes strong,
` That I hear when the night sounds fall still.”

` “Jane, Jane, I've earned your disdain
` And deserve to be shown to the door.
` Till the day that I die
` I'll ask myself why
` To win you I did not do more.”

` “Till the gold in the mountains is stolen away
` And a stone in the graveyard shall my name display
` I'll be repenting and I'll be remembering...”

Milt stepped off the stage, as he began the third verse. Jessie stayed where she was, still accompanying him on her guitar.

` “Jane, Jane, does hope still remain?
` Can a heart that's been wounded forgive?
` I came to the West
` To meet a man's test,
` But without you I scarce care to live.”

As he sang, Milt walked slowly through the crowd towards where Jane stood, uncertain what she should do. Now, he reached her and took her hand in his, still singing.

` “Jane, Jane, the weeks and months wane.
` Time surges past those who trail slow.”

Suddenly, he dropped to one knee, still holding her hand, and looked up at her, as he continued,

` “Let me place a band
` On thy precious hand
` That forward as one we may go.”

` “Till the gold in the moun -- “

“Yes!” Jane interrupted loudly, tears running down her face. “Oh, yes.” Milt rose to his feet and pulled her into his arms. They kissed, not even noticing the applause that filled the room or Jessie's happy voice finishing the song for him, with some new words of her own.

` “Till the gold in the mountains is stolen away
` And a stone in the graveyard shall his name display
` He'll be repeating how much he'll keep loving his...”
` “Jane, Jane... Jane”

The applause went on even after Jessie ended the song. No one threw money, though, but she hadn't expected them to. She set her guitar on her chair and hurried over to Milt and Jane. They had finally stopped kissing and were accepting congratulations from the circle of people surrounding them.

“You was right, Jessie,” Jane said, as the singer pushed her way to the pair through the crowd. “I surely did like what you got Milt t'sing tonight.”

Milt stood next to her, his arm around her waist. “Jessie just gave me some of the words. The idea of proposing was entirely mine.” He kissed her cheek. “My best idea ever, I think.”

“I think so, too.” Jane snuggled in closer to him.

Shamus picked that moment to join them. “So when's the happy day?” He asked. “I won't be asking where ye'll be married, 'cause ye'll be having it here, o'course.”

“I can't think of any better place,” Milt answered. “The when's as soon as possible. I-I'd just like to ask Reverend Yingling to officiate. Seeing as I'm church parliamentarian, I think it would be expected of me. I hope you don't mind, Jane, or you either, Shamus.”

Jane grinned and shook her head. “I don't care who does it, Milt; as long as it's you 'n' me saying the 'I do' part.” She took his hand in hers.

“It will be.” He pulled her to him and kissed her again.

Shamus shrugged. “I don't care, neither. Maybe it'll change his mind about me to be a part of a wedding held in me Saloon.”

* * * * *

“Why, Mr. Ritter,” a cheery, female voice asked, “whatever are you doing in here?”

Clyde Ritter pushed his hat back – he was recognized, so why try to hide – and looked up. “Nancy – Miss Osbourne,” he said in surprise. “I might well ask the same of you.”

“Thanks to your wife and her friends, I no longer have my teacher's job. Mr. O'Toole was kind enough to hire me as a waitress. Now, what would you like to drink?”

“A beer, and bring one for yourself, if you'd like to join me.” He pulled a five-dollar half eagle coin from his pocket and placed it in her open hand. “We'll have a drink or two first, and see what happens after that.”

“No, thank you. I'll just bring the one drink for you.”

“You don't have to work here, you know. I'm sure I can find a better... position for you.”

“No, Mr. Ritter; I've lost track of how many times I've told you: it wouldn't be right.”

“That was before. You're not the town schoolmarm anymore. You don't have to be so prim and proper any longer.”

“Perhaps not, but you're still a married man.”

“So? What Cecelia doesn't know what hurt her – or me.”

Nancy glanced up at the clock. “Mr. Ritter, the second show will be starting in a few minutes. If you want that beer, I'll have to go for it now. Shamus won't let us serve drinks while the ladies are dancing.”

“Oh, all right... go.” He watched her leave, enjoying the sway of her hips as she walked towards the bar. It seemed much more pronounced than it had when she was living in his home. Nancy was a fine-looking woman, but it was the > “
Cactus Blossoms that he'd come to see.

Nancy brought him the beer – and his change – just as Jessie Hanks sat down on the small stage. He took a long swig and settled back in his chair, as she began to sing that “Captain Jinks” song.

He sat upright when Lylah pranced into view, flashing her petticoat. “Well, now,” he said in an appreciative whisper, “she is still just about the prettiest darkie I've seen in a dog's age.” He was even more appreciative when Flora came out, doing her high-kicking strut. He leaned forward now, watching her body – especially her uncorseted breasts – move as she danced. “And that Flora, she is definitely someone I want to see more of.”

* * * * *

Saturday, May 11, 1872

Sophie Kalish knocked on the half-opened door to the office. “Can I come in, Sam?”

“Sure thing, Sophie,” Sam Duggan replied. “How're you and your ladies doing this morning?”

She came into the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. “Pretty good, thanks. The ladies are downstairs finishing their breakfasts. I thought I'd come up and talk to you for a bit.” She took a seat in one of the two high-back chairs facing his desk.

Sam watched her settling down, smoothing her skirts coquettishly. Sophie was a tall woman, her hair a mass of black curls that hung down almost to her waist. She admitted to being thirty, but, whatever her age, she was damned handsome, and he felt a pang of regret that their relationship was solely a commercial one.

Then he realized that she wasn't looking at him, so much as she was glancing at the open ledger on his desk. “Business hasn't been so good this week,” he told her. “I hit Shamus hard when you and your ladies started dancing, but he got some of it back with those Cactus Blossoms he's got.” He banged a fist on the desk. “Damn that potion of his. How can I compete with that?”

Sophie's expression became serious. “How does anyone compete with magic? I saw it with my own eyes, and I still have trouble believing what happened.”

Sam raised a curious eyebrow. “Oh, and what, exactly, did you see?”

The dancer nodded. “We've figured out it's a town secret. But Ruthie and I were broadsiding – that means we were standing outside, leaning against the building, just watching the world go by. We saw a crowd going into O’Toole’s, so we tagged along to see what was what. It looked like some kind of trial inside, and we decided to stay. We actually saw those two men drink that stuff and turn into the damned Cactus Blossoms.”

“How did Shamus like having you two beauties in his place, reminding people of what they're missing over here?”

She shook her head. “We stayed in the back of the room, didn’t talk to anyone. We were trying hard not to be noticed.”

“The other girls were scared when we told them what we saw. Especially Opal; she’s religious. We talked about getting out of such a crazy town, but then we decided that it's no more terrible to turn an outlaw into a woman than to string him up on the gallows in plain view. We've found out since then that the girls aren’t treated too badly around here. Two months for attempted murder isn't harsh, at all. Some of these potion girls seem to be doing pretty well. Like, we saw that Jessie Hanks’ picture over the bar.”

Sam nodded. “I tried my best to hire Jessie out of Shamus' clutches, but, damn it, she seems to think of that man as if he were her father.” He shrugged. “But right now, I've got to figure out what to do about the competition -- from both her and the Cactus Blossoms.”

Sophie smiled. “Seems to me, that's my problem more than it is yours. We already beat Jessie's competition. Now he's got two girls to my – to our four. We'll just have to out-dance them. I'll start working on some new routines this very day. And I was thinking that we could do a little more hostessing than we've been doing – for a fair share of the extra tips, of course.”

“Of course, thanks, Sophie.” He reached over and put his hand on hers. “I knew I could count on you.”

* * * * *

Jessie hurried over to Wilma, as soon as she walked into the Saloon. “Wilma,” she hissed, “we need t'talk.”

“Ain't that what I usually come over here for, Jess, t'talk to you 'n' Bridget?” Wilma studied her sister's expression. “But I can see you're riled up 'bout something. Take a seat and tell me what it is.” She pulled out a chair from a nearby table and sat down.

Jessie quickly took the seat opposite her. “Flora Stafford, she knows who we are... who we was.”

“Shit! Now how the hell'd she find out?” Wilma glanced around the room. “Who told her?”

“Damned if I know. Maybe that lawyer o’hers told her, or maybe, when she went in t'clean my room, she recognized that wooden soldier I got from Pa.”

“You ain’t gonna try ‘n’ tell me that fairy story again, are you, the one about Pa’s ghost showing up here on Christmas Eve?”

“Look, Wilma, believe me or not, I know what happened that night. And whoever carved that soldier; it looks enough like Pa's handiwork that Flora recognized it. She snuck it out of my room, and wouldn't give it back till Shamus ordered her to.” Jessie made a very sorry face. “In the meantime, she figured out who I am – from my name, probably and who Bridget 'n' you are, too.”

“We have to watch out. She's not as dumb as I remembered. Bridget must've loved Flora knowing that she used to be Brian.”

“None too well.” The two women looked up to see that Flora had come over unnoticed, while they were talking. She said, her chin raised, “The little bitch slapped me.”

Wilma rose to her feet and turned to confront her childhood nemesis. “Ain't nothing you didn't deserve, that 'n' a whole lot more.”

“Speaking of just desserts, Sergeant,” Flora replied. “I'd say that you certainly got yours. From what people say, you're nothing but a common whore.”

The demimonde laughed in her old enemy's face. “Common? I'm a very special whore, thank you very much, and half the men in this town can tell you just how special. I'd warn you t'keep your own petticoat clean, 'cept I hear you don't wear one. You just prance around showing off your pretty red drawers, don't you, Captain?”

“That'll be enough of that, Wilma,” Molly warned, as she joined the others. “Jessie 'n' ye can sit around and chew the fat, if ye want, but this one...” She pointed at Flora. “...she's got work t'be doing. And, remember, I didn't let people pick on ye two when ye were new here, and I'm not going to let ye pick on Lylah and Flora now.”

Wilma looked contrite. “Sorry, Molly.” Her right hand curled into a fist. Without warning, she threw a right cross that caught Flora on the chin. Flora's head jerked to the left, and she fell to the ground unconscious. “Now, it's enough.” She chuckled. “Forry Stafford never could take a punch like that; looks like Flora still can’t.”

Wilma headed for the door, before Molly could throw her out, her lips curled in a most satisfied smile. “See you later, Little Sister; so long t'you, too, Molly.”

* * * * *

Arnie knocked on the Spauldings' back door. It swung open a moment later. “Annie,” Hedley greeted her with a broad smile. “Do come in.” He bowed low and held the door open, while she walked through. Mrs. Spaulding stood by the table. Clara, in her wheel chair as always, was a few feet away. Arnie sensed some tension in Mrs. Spaulding's smile.

“Good afternoon, Annie. Here's the laundry to be cleaned.” Mrs. Spaulding pointed to a large burlap sack on a chair set by the door. The bag was stuffed almost to bursting a seam.

Arnie had been carrying two wrapped packages. She had made deliveries to the Spauldings some of the part-time work that she was still doing for the laundry. “And good afternoon to you, all of you. Here is what we did clean.” She set them down on the table. “It comes to $4.82 cents.”

Mrs. Spaulding looked around. “I... ahh, I seem to have left my purse in my room. Would you please come with me to get it?”

“I can get it for you, Mother,” Hedley offered.

She shook her head. “No, that's all right, dear. I'd like to talk to Annie privately for a moment, if she doesn't mind.”

Arnie frowned, wondering if she was in some sort of trouble. “I don't mind.” She followed Mrs. Spaulding out of the kitchen and through the parlor to the woman's own bedroom.

Once they were inside the room, Mrs. Spaulding carefully closed the door behind them. “I don't want the children to hear us,” she explained. More and more, Arnie suspected that something was not well. Vida studied the girl's face for a moment before speaking. “Annie, please, are you... I mean, I heard a strange rumor. That you yourself are one of those...potion girls... you told us about. Are you?”

“I...” Arnie looked down, not wanting to face her questioner. “I...I am. Who told you?”

“I'd prefer not to say for now. From what I've heard, that potion is only given to convicted criminals.”

The pretty brunette glanced up. “I'm not a criminal!”

“I know. But why did you take it?”

“I... I took it by accident. My mother was hurt – hurt very bad – because of me. I felt guilt and ran away. Señora O'Toole let me stay in the Saloon overnight. I could not sleep, and I drank what I thought was something to help me do so. I found the wrong bottle.” She made a gesture at her body. “It turned me into... this.”

Mrs. Spaulding stood with folded arms, a stern expression on her face. “A very pretty story – if it's true.”

“It is, I swear it is.” She closed her eyes, not wanting to ask her next question. “Does Hedley – and Clara – do they know? Are you going to tell them?”

“I've not decided. You've always seemed to be a good girl, and my children like you.” Her expression changed, as she thought of something. “Like you, perhaps, a little too much. In any event, I don't think that I want you here until I decide what I do feel about what you've told me. It's not so much what you are; perhaps it was an accident. But it hurts that you have been deceiving us for weeks.”

“Please, Señora. I only wanted to be accepted as an ordinary person, not a freak. Everyone else in the pueblo knew about me, and most of them were laughing at me.”

Not replying, Mrs. Spaulding picked up her purse from her night table. She opened it and took out a half eagle. “Here is what I owe you. You may keep the change. Now, please, leave.”

“But...” Arnie felt the sting of tears forming in her eyes.

The older woman shook her head. “No, buts. I will make some excuse to my children. Go now, and I'll try to have an answer to how you should be regarded when you bring the laundry back on Tuesday. That is the best I can offer now.”

“Sì, Tuesday.” Head bowed in regret, Arnie started back for the kitchen.

* * * * *

“Nancy,” Carl demanded. “What’s this I hear ‘bout you quitting your teaching job?”

“You heard right,” Nancy answered, looking up at her brother from her stool at the bar. “They offered me my job back, and I didn’t take it.”

“Why the hell – Why did you do that? I thought you loved being a teacher.”

“I do – but I don’t love what goes with it, having to live my life the way a bunch of meddlesome biddies say I should.”

He studied her expression. “Was it really that bad?’

“It was worse. I got labeled a fallen woman for nothing more than going out to dinner with a man.”

“I sure wish you hadn’t done that.”

“I had to. To protect you – you know that. Dell Cooper threatened to testify that it was you who robbed Mr. Slocum if I didn’t.”

“I know, and I thought everybody heard the truth at the trial. And you told folks what happened, too, didn’t you?”

“I told the town council, and they believed me to a man.”

“Good for them. So why didn't things work out?”

“They were ready to reinstate me at last week’s meeting, only…” Her voice trailed off.

“Only what?”

“Only some people, Mrs. Ritter and her friends, wouldn’t stand for it. They disrupted the meeting, yelling that I was un-unfit.” She blinked, fighting the tears gathering in her eyes.

Carl grew angry at what his sister had had to bear. “What happened?”

“Whit – Mr. Whitney and the other councilmen tried to argue, saying that people didn’t know my side of it.” She sighed. “The women didn’t care for the truth. They just yelled louder.”

“That’s when I knew that I couldn’t go back,” she continued. “They’d be watching me every moment, just waiting -- hoping -- for me to fail. I-I can’t live that way.”

“But they got what they wanted, didn't they? You let them take the trick!”

“I'm not out of the game yet. I'm just not going to be treated that way anymore.”

“But… what’re you gonna do now? You ain’t planning t’leave town, are you?”

“I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me go away; you’re stuck with me, I guess.”

Carl had to smile at her determination. “That’s my nanny goat of a little sister. You’ll find another job in no time. Just you see.”

“I-I think I have.” Nancy took a breath, bracing for his reaction. “Here, at the Eerie Saloon.”

“You’re gonna work here?”

She shrugged. “Nothing is permanent. I've found that out. 'The best laid plans…’ you know.”

“Why settle for this? Couldn't you find a job in a store?”

“You make it sound so easy! I tried, I truly did. Too many men believe Cecelia’s version of things. Some of them wouldn’t hire a ‘fallen woman’; the others, well, they wanted to hire me because they believed the talk.” Her expression left Carl in no doubt about what she meant.

“Bastards!” He looked like he’d just drunken something very sour. “Up to now, it always seemed like they thought of you as a lady. Maybe I don't amount to much, but I wanted better for you. If you don't clear out of here right now, no one will ever think of you as well as they did before.”

“Do you look down on saloon women, Carl? You certainly spend enough time here.”

“Most people don't harshly judge a man who goes into a saloon for some society. But they come down hard on women who work in such places. If you don't leave, people will start thinking of you as a saloon gal, and that's how you will be remembered.”

“Better that than to be remembered as a spinster with no backbone.”

“If you quit, I'll do my best to help you out until something better comes along.”

“Thank you, but you live from hand to mouth as it is.”

“I can save a little money if I stop drinking and gambling. I just don't want my sister working in a saloon.”

“No, but you don’t mind other people’s sisters working in one, do you?” She waited for an answer. “I said, do you?”

“Oh, hell, Nancy. Saloon work is fine for some women. They have the right nature for it.”

“And my nature? What is it? To be an outcast, supported by a brother who doesn't need the burden? Or should I crawl back to my old job and enjoy the wonderful life of being the only unmarried woman at the one or two tea socials a year that Mrs. Ritter lets me be invited to, barely tolerated by the local gentry as long as I keep my mouth shut?”

“I never got any respect when I was a teacher, Carl,” she continued. “Even the minister told me I had to keep my opinions to myself, because school teachers don't really know much more than the children they teach.”

“That’sYingling, all right.”

She shook her head. “I've tried for long enough to live in the world of people like Reverend Yingling and the Ritters. Just see what it's gotten me!”

“I can't get anywhere with you when you're like this. We'll have to talk this over more when you don't have your back up,” said Carl. “But at least make me one promise.”

“What kind of promise?” she asked sourly.

“That you'll keep looking for other work, and you won't settle for any long spell of waitressing in a saloon. The sooner you take a step up, the better for you.”

She considered that. “You don't have to worry. I don't intend to keep at what I'm doing for very long. A little waitressing is all right for a married woman, to help the family at home, but a single girl on her own needs to do something of more substance. I'm surely going to be keeping my options open.”

He looked into her resolute eyes and decided not to push things any further at the moment. “Thank you, nanny goat, for showing at least that much sense.”

* * * * *

Trisha and Kaitlin sat quietly in the waiting room of Doctor Upshaw's office. There were other patients: a man with his arm in a sling and a woman who sat cradling a small, sniffling boy in her arms. Everyone suffered on their own, not talking to – or even looking at – the others.

“He'll see you now, Kaitlin,” Edith Lonnigan told them. Kaitlin stood up.

As did Trisha. “Can I go in with her?” She asked. When the nurse agreed, they followed her behind the curtain and into the examination room.

Upshaw was waiting for them. “What seems to be the problem, Kaitlin?”

“My... husband is pregnant,” Kaitlin replied sourly. “Her condition needs to be checked, but we didn't want anyone to know, so I pretended to be the one who was sick.”

Trisha stepped forward. “I made her do it, Doc. I-I'm sorry.”

He regarded her. “You're hardly the first woman who didn't want people to know that she was pregnant. Your reason is a bit more complicated than most of theirs, I'll admit, but the important thing is getting you through that pregnancy.”

Kaitlin and Trisha had both been worried about his reaction to their pretense. “Thanks, Doc,” Trisha said.

“You're welcome, Trisha. Now, I need to examine you, so please strip down to your camisole and drawers.”

Trisha was standing next to an alcove with several hooks on the wall, a coat rack and a narrow bench. “Okay, doc.” She began to unbutton her blouse.

“And while you do that, let me ask you a few questions. For a start, are you still suffering from morning sickness?”

“I am,” she answered, “and afternoon sickness, too, some days – the cramping, too, but I don't throw up. Those crackers Kaitlin suggested seem to help with the throwing up, anyway.” She took off her blouse and hung it on one of the hooks.

“Good. Any other symptoms?”

She was undoing her skirt now. “I... my... my breasts feel kind of tender, kind of the way they do just before I get my monthlies.”

Kaitlin made a slight coughing noise, then spoke, “She's gotten moody, too, like before her monthlies.”

“I... I have not,” Trisha said, surprised and a bit angry. She stepped out of her skirt and hung it up next to her blouse.

Edith shook her head. “I think you just proved that you have,” she said softly. “It's nothing to be worried about, though. Your body is still making all the changes it needs to make for you to carry that new life inside you. That can be a strain on any... one.”

“That's not very comforting.” Trisha untied the ribbon holding her petticoat in place. She let them go, and the garment slid to the floor.

Kaitlin picked up the petticoat, as Trisha stepped out of it. “I think her waist's gotten a little thicker, too.”

“It has,” the physician confirmed the fact by gently touching Trisha belly with his fingertips. “And that's to be expected, as well.”

Trisha looked at all their faces. “So where do we go from here?”

“Based on that examination I gave you two weeks back, you seem to be having a normal pregnancy,” Upshaw replied. “Have you had any problems since then?” When she shook her head, he continued. “You should get a monthly check-up for the next few months, then weekly up until you deliver. Do you want to do that?”

“Monthly?” Trisha's eyes went wide. “And weekly, later on?”

Kaitlin gently put her hand on Trisha's arm. “You should. It's better for the baby – for the both of you – to get checked up on regularly, while you're pregnant.”

“I... I suppose. It's just so... so much to take in.”

Doc gave her a reassuring smile. “I suppose it is. You can come back here to see me, if you'd like, but Edith is a very capable midwife. She can take care of you, see you at home, answer your questions, and the like. I'll be here if there are any complications, and either of us can handle an uncomplicated delivery.”

“De... Delivery.” Trisha's legs felt wobbly. She was struggling to understand what she was in for.

Edith slipped a stool up behind Tricia, and she and Kaitlin helped her settle down onto it. “Don't you worry, Trisha, dear,” the midwife told her. “It's always scary, but we'll all be here to help you.”

* * * * *

Nancy Osbourne sat and listened to the band warming up. 'What am I doing?' she asked herself. She had managed to sound cocksure while arguing with Carl, but left alone with her thoughts she felt differently. 'I can't do this.' She glanced around the room that was quickly filling with men. Some of them were staring at her, staring at her and... and smiling.

Were they laughing at the fallen schoolteacher, or did they think she was pretty? Neither idea set easy with Nancy.

She couldn't keep herself from glancing away from those interested eyes. Ever since becoming a teacher she knew she didn't dare dance with a man in public, not even at a church social. Nancy tried to tell herself that the old rules didn't matter anymore. She was free.

But old habits die hard.

“Carl,” she said to herself, when she saw her brother come in along with a few of his friends. “Maybe he...”

‘He's still angry. He isn't about to dance with me tonight,’ she told herself. ‘Not the first dance, nor any that follow. I have to do this on my own.’

No, he was standing with some of the men talking, pointing at the other women, picking out which one to ask. When he saw her looking at him, he frowned and looked away.

She then heard Shamus make the announcement. “All right, men, time t'be picking yuir partners.” There was suddenly a shuffled of boots behind her.

“Hola, Señorita,” a voice said. “I am Angel Montero. Would you care to dance with me?”

Nancy looked up. A tall, round-faced Mexican in a work shirt and jeans was standing in front of her, his hand extended towards her, holding a ticket.

She inhaled deeply, to combat her shakiness. “And I am Nancy Osbourne, and, yes, I would.” She took his ticket in a slightly trembling hand and, as Shamus had told her, placed it in her apron pocket. Then she offered her own hand and rose to her feet. Memories of dances long past came to her mind, as he grasped her hand in his and led her out onto the floor. Memories came, too, of her lost love, of Bill Meisner, who never returned from the Civil War. 'Gone,' she thought sadly, 'but never forgotten.'

She stepped into Angel's arms as the music began. It was a Strauss waltz. She couldn't remember the name, but it was one she had always liked. To get her mind off her nervousness, she closed her eyes and let her body move to the music. “I can dance,” she whispered, delighting in a skill she'd been afraid had gone rusty over long years of non-use.

“You certainly can,” Angel answered, “and you can dance with me any time you wish. It is a pleasure to have you as a partner.”

She had to smile at the compliment. “Likewise, Señor... Angel, and thank you so very much.”

* * * * *

Enough of the men at the dance knew about Milt's proposal that no one else had tried to have the first dance with Jane. He took her into his arms as the band began a sprightly version of “The Blue Danube.”

“You talk to the Reverend like you was gonna?” Jane asked.

Milt shook his head. “I tried. He's been so busy playing politics this week that he didn't get his sermon for tomorrow finished. Martha – that's his wife – told me that he locked himself in his office and ordered her not to let anyone in unless it was a life and death emergency.”

“And he ain't gonna want to see anybody tomorrow neither, I'll bet.”

“Probably not; he likes to relax with his family on Sundays after the service. We'll both go over and see him on Monday, okay?”

“I suppose we can do that – if you want me t'come along with you, that is?”

“Why wouldn't I want you to come along? I want the whole world to know that you're going to be my wife. Besides...” He pulled her closer to him. “...it gives me a chance to spend some time walking around town holding hands with you.”

She rested her head on his chest, so that she could almost hear his heart beating. “I like that answer.”

“So do I.” He kissed her forehead.

* * * * *
~
“Looks like it's finally my turn.”

Flora had been staring down at the floor, enjoying her waiter girl role less and less as the hours passed. She gazed up to see... “Who... Oh, hello, Osbourne.”

“You can call me Carl,” he said with a grin. “After all we've been through, Flora, it seems only fair.”

“Don't remind me.” Her expression was less than happy.

He was still grinning. “Ah, but I want to remind you. If you hadn't gotten so greedy and been so sure of yourself, why... you might even still be wearing pants. You'd be one of the men with a ticket, instead of one of the girls collecting them.==> “

He didn’t add that he might have been one of those girls, himself. That was something he worked very hard at not thinking about. ‘The Judge didn’t give them a choice,’ he thought. ‘Who’s to say that he’d have given me one?’

He enjoyed being male, and the prospect of becoming a woman – especially as punishment for something he hadn’t done – bothered the hell out of him. It was almost enough to make him feel sympathetic – just a little – towards Flora.

“Probably,” she admitted, regret showing in her voice as she stood up.
~
He offered his hand, ticket between his fingers.

“You're one of Slocum's men.” It wasn't a question. She knew the answer. “Are you all here again to give me a hard time?”

“You be nice to me, I'll be nice to you.”

For a moment Flora wondered if she shouldn't try to start taking Rosalyn's advice, but she couldn't. Her face felt frozen; she couldn't even smile. Maybe she should get together with her friend again and hear some of that advice she had been promised. The cowboy was still offering his hand and she took it warily.

The cowboy walked her out into the crowd of people waiting for the music to start. Besides the waiter girls, there were a number of men wearing a kerchief tied to their arm, signaling their willingness to dance the woman's part for a beer afterwards. Seeing them on the floor made Flora feel a little less mortified about what she had to do.

Carl glanced at the girl beside him as they walked. He had planned to tease her as they danced, to get back at her for what she had done to Mr. Slocum, but as he stared at her pillowy breasts and narrow waist, her long, blonde hair that reached down past her shoulders. He decided that just holding her close and feeling her body move against his own didn't seem like too bad an idea in itself.

What good would it do him if he made one of the prettiest women in town dislike dancing with him?

* * * * *

“I come in t'see you dancing during the week, Lylah,” Hammy Lincoln told her while they moved to a jaunty polka. “You was even better'n I thought you'd be.”

The woman smiled, surprising herself. “Thanks, Hammy. It's nice t'hear you say that. I thought I looked like a damned fool.”

“I'se only telling what's true.” He chuckled. “I gotta admit, though, I likes what you was wearing... or not wearing that night... more'n I like what all you got on now.”

Her smile turned to a frown. “I been hearing that all night,” she said sourly, “and I don't like it one bit. Though I surely do know what a man is thinking about when he sees a saloon... lady.”

“I only meant it as a compliment, gal. Them there pretty yellow under things looked mighty nice 'gainst that smooth skin o' yours, a whole lot better than that white blouse and black skirt you gots on now – nice as they is.”

Her eyes shifted to view her right arm and her dark as chocolate flesh. That depressed her more than the dancing. 'Dang,' she thought, 'it's harder t'get used t'being a nigger than it is t'being a gal.’

* * * * *

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change – Spring, part 7 of 13
By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson © 2014

Sunday, May 12, 1872

“Before we sing a final hymn to our Savior,” Reverend Yingling began, a benevolent smile on his face, “the president of the church board, Mr. Horace Styron, has asked to say a few words.” He turned to glance at Horace, who was sitting behind him along with the other board members. “Horace, if you would…”

Styron rose and stepped up to the altar as Yingling walked over to his own seat. “Thank you, Reverend, for that introduction and for the fine service you‘ve led us in this morning. I’ll try to be brief, so we can all finish that service and go out to enjoy this holy day of our Lord.”

“Folks,” he continued, “the month’s come around, and the next meeting of the church board of elders is this Wednesday. You all heard me thank the Reverend for what he’s given us in this service today. You’re all invited to come to the meeting on Wednesday and thank him yourselves by supporting my motion of continued support for his petition to wrest control of that magical potion from Shamus O’Toole.”

He paused for the round of applause that followed. “And you can also make your voice heard in the matter of an errant member of this congregations whose actions show that she no longer deserves a seat on the board –”

“What!” Trisha leapt to her feet. “Horace, you’ve got no right to say things like that.”

He turned to face her. “Please, Trisha, I promised to be brief. You don’t want to waste a lot of these good people’s time with your ranting.”

“Ranting? Why, you… you --”

Yingling hurried back to the altar. “Thank you, Horace… and you, too, Trisha. I’m sure that the meeting will be a most interesting one. And now,” he said, barely cracking a smile, “please turn to page 109 and join with me in Psalm 3, ‘Peace in the Midst of the Storm.’”

* * * * *

On pleasant days like this one, the congregation of Eerie’s Catholic Church generally milled around in the churchyard for a while after services. Friends caught up on what had happened to each other in the previous week; men, as well as women, shared the latest gossip; and young people engaged in the sort of casual flirting that young people always did when they were together, even if their parents were watching.

Father de Castro walked over to a group of teens who were happily so engaged and tapped one on the shoulder. “Pablo, may I speak with you for a moment?”

“Is something wrong, Padre?” the young man asked.

The priest shook his head. “No, I just wanted to talk to you about that… odd job you did for me a while back.”

“You see how important I am, Raquel,” he boasted to a pretty girl standing next to him. “Even the Padre comes to me for help.”

She smiled. “I will remember that the next time I need some odd job done around my house.” She giggled then added. “Will you be very long?”

“Only a few minutes, Raquel,” de Castro answered, “and he will be yours once more.”

She gave a quick nod. “Then I will wait.”

Pablo grinned as he followed the priest back into the church. They went through a doorway near the front of the room and into Father de Castro’s office.

“Don Luis,” Pablo said in surprise when he saw a man rise from a corner chair. He turned to the priest. “Padre, I will wait outside while you and Don Luis talk.”

Luis Ortega shook his head. “No, Pablo, you’re the one I wanted to talk to. I just asked the Padre to bring you in here, so we could speak in secret.”

“Secret? I-I don’t understand.”

“You were a great help in warning us about that conversation Horace Styron had with Clyde Ritter. I wanted to thank you for that.”

Pablo gave him a slight bow. “You are most welcome, Señor. I was glad to do it. I did not like the way that they were talking about us.”

“I don’t like it either, and from the way Styron and Reverend Yingling – and others – acted at the town council meeting last Wednesday, you were very right to tell us what you heard.”

De Castro interrupted. “How did Mr. Ritter act on Thursday, after the meeting?”

“He was not happy,” Pablo replied. “He snapped at everyone, especially Nando -- Fernando Hidalgo – and me, and I heard him muttering about ‘those damn sneaky Mex’ all day.” The boy shook his head. “He didn’t get much better the next few days, either. He is still mad.”

Don Luis nodded gravely to the priest. “Just what we thought.” He turned to face the boy. “Pablo, I don’t want you to risk your job, but could you… keep listening to your boss, especially if he’s talking to Reverend Yingling or Señor Styron? If you hear them say anything about the Padre or me, or talk about the potion and what they want to do with it, get word to us as soon as you can.”

“Be careful, though, my son. I do not want Señor Styron to get mad and fire you over this.”

Pablo smiled. “Do not worry, Padre; I will be careful.”

“See that you are,” Ortega warned. “But if anything does happen, know that you will have a job – just as good a job – with me. I promise you that.”

The boy’s smile grew into a grin. Something about the vaquero life appealed to him. Such men had dignity that stable boys lacked. “Thank you, Señor. Are we done now? I do not mean any disrespect, but Raquel Gonzales is waiting, and I do not want her to get mad at me either.”

* * * * *

“Hey, Mr. Slocum,” Red Tully said, walking into Doc Upshaw’s small ward. “How’re you doing t’day?”

Abner carefully put down his spoon next to the bowl of porridge on his tray. “Not too bad… considering, but I am glad you came in.”

“Why’s that, sir?”

“I wanted to ask if that offer of yours, that you’d go east to Philadelphia with me, was still good?”

“It is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because taking care of a… a cripple like me for the two weeks or so that it’ll take to get me there is a lot of work.” He chuckled. “I was afraid that you might’ve come to your senses and decided you didn’t want to be stuck with me for so long.”

“Like I said, I’m still willing. When d’you wanna get started?”

“As soon as we can. Do me a favor and get the Doc. I think he needs to be a part of this conversation.”

Red nodded. “Be right back.” He left, returning in a short time with Dr. Upshaw.

“Are you all right, Abner?” the physician asked. “Red said that you needed to see me about something.”

Slocum shook his head. “I’m fine – fine enough, anyway. Red’s agreed to go to Philly with me. I wanted to know how soon we can start, and what you think we’ll need on the trip.”

“The first part of that’s the easiest; you’ll probably be able to travel by the end of the week. I should have Vogel’s letter by then, and I expect that it will be very useful in letting us know how to treat and how to transport you. I can teach Red how to best care for you on route in the meantime. He probably knows most of it already from his Army days.”

Red mumbled a word of agreement.

“The tricky part,” Upshaw continued, “is how to get you from here to Ogden, north of Salt Lake City, to catch the train east. It’s a long, bumpy road, and that can’t be good for your spine.”

Red glanced over at his employer. Abner was in a hospital bed, his upper body raised by the top half of the bed and supported by a number of pillows. “I’ve been thinking about that, Doc. You ever hear of a Rucker ambulance?”

“I have,” the physician replied. “We didn’t have them on our side during the War, though. I hear they were very good at keeping Union Army patients comfortable during transport, as good as our own Chisolm ambulances.”

“That they were. The first ambulance my unit had back in ’62 was so bad that men fought not t’be stuck in ‘em. An officer even tried t’pull his pistol once and make us take him out of it, the damn thing bounced him around so much.”

Abner raised a curious eyebrow. “And this Rucker ambulance is better?”

“A lot better. The wagon has a real good suspension, and the patient’s on a platform supported by more springs.”

Abner studied the younger man. “You sound like you know a lot about these things.”

“I do. Us orderlies had t’keep the thing working ‘cause there wasn’t always a mechanic or a blacksmith around t’do it. I was thinking – if you want – I could talk to Mr. Caulder and Sam Braddock, the carpenter. I’ll bet you they could rig us up something that’d work near as good outta one of the wagons we got at the ranch.”

“How long do you think it’d take?”

The cowman shrugged. “A few days; maybe a little more.” He grinned. “We probably could have the thing ready right about the time the doc here says you can go.”

Abner frowned. “Not if we stand here jawing about it. Get started, Red. Bring Arsenio and Sam in to see me if they have any questions. I'll make it worth their while to give the job priority.”

“They should talk to me, as well,” Upshaw added. “I’m going to want to make sure that thing is as comfortable as Abner needs it to be before I let him ride through a few hundred miles of countryside in it.”

* * * * *

“I have been watching you these last few days, Wilma.” Cerise took a sip of coffee and leaned back in her office chair.

Wilma was sitting across from Cerise. She looked up from her own coffee and gave the other woman a mischievous smile. “Oh, have you now?”

“Mais oui, and I have been most pleased to see the return of the Wilma of old, the cheerful, wanton demimonde that you were… before Ethan. I am pleased that you have gotten him out of your head.”

“He ain’t outta my head. He’s sorta locked away in a closet in here…” She tapped the side of her head with a finger. “…where he can’t do no harm.”

“Why have him in there at all?”

“I know what I am, Cerise. I’m a whore, but I like being a whore. I’m damned good at it, and I ain’t gonna let that skunk ruin it for me.” She hesitated a moment. “But there’s some things I gotta figure out yet, and having him around might just help.”

“What are these ‘things’? Perhaps I may also help.”

“I-I liked being in love, the way it made me feel inside. It felt so good that I never noticed that Ethan didn’t feel the same way about me.”

“It is easy for the heart to fool the head in such matters.”

“It surely fooled me – and I don’t like being made a fool of, even by m’self.”

“That is the risk one takes for love.”

“Maybe it’s a risk I don’t wanna take. Maybe I should do like Beatriz says, ‘n’ make my heart hard – stay away from love from now on, maybe forever.”

“Forever?” Cerise waited for Wilma’s grim nod before continuing. “Forever is a long, long time. That advice may be right for Beatriz, but I it right for you?”

“You are young right now, Wilma; beautiful. Love is there, eager for you to find it. But in twenty… thirty years what will you be? Time, they say, is a woman’s greatest enemy. It steals away her proud breasts, her round derrières, and leaves her a hag, with no man seeking her favors. Where will you be then, Wilma Hanks, a poor old woman with no one to care for – or who will care for you?”

“Is that what you say I’m chasing, if I take that road?”

“I am. Do not lock the door of your heart to love; that would be a plus tragique a most tragic waste.”

“What do I do then?

“Examine closely each man who knocks on that door. Is he worthy of you? Does he want more of you than a quick romp? Do you want more of him than a quick romp? When you are sure – and only when you are sure – then you let him in. You still tread carefully, then love, the love you want may blossom between the two of you.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is, but the results – mmm – they are worth it. That is how I found my Herve and – I think – how your sister found her Paul Grant.”

Wilma considered what her friend had told her. “I’ll have to think about that for a while.”

“While you think about it, think also what would have happened had you applied this advice to Monsieur Thomas.”

“That’s real good advice,” Wilma grinned. “I do believe that I will.”

“Bon, and now that we have solved the problem of your love life, let us get back to the running of my House.”

* * * * *

Nancy Osbourne walked into the Saloon, carrying a brown valise tied with a darker brown leather strap. Ramon and Maggie followed behind her. He was toting a second valise, while Maggie had a bushel basket tucked under her arm.

“Is Mr. O’Toole about?” Nancy asked R.J.

The barman glanced upward. “He and Molly are up in their room having a bit of lunch. They eat up there sometimes on Sunday, while she changes out of her going-to-church dress.”

“Would it be all right to interrupt? He said to bring my things over today. I-I’m taking a room here, part of my pay for working as his waitress.”

R.J. nodded. “I know. They knew you were coming and – hey, Dolores, did Molly give you that key?”

“She did,” Dolores said, hurrying over to the bar, “and you do not have to shout.” She turned to Nancy and smiled. Since Nancy had been working at the Saloon, the two women were becoming close friends. “Molly asked me to take you up to the room and help you get settled in.”

Nancy looked behind her. Ramon and Maggie were sitting at a nearby table. The valise was at Ramon’s feet, and Maggie had set the basket down on the table. “Dolores has the room key; if you two don’t mind…”

“Lead the way,” Ramon said as he and Maggie came to their feet.

They all followed Dolores up to the second floor. There was a set of four small rooms at the top of the stairs. She led them to the third of the four. “That’s Bridget’s room right across the hall there,” she told Nancy, pointing to a door on the opposite side where the hallway turned left and led to a second set of rooms. She unlocked the door, “and Shamus and Molly’s apartment is just beyond it.”

“It’s… nice,” Nancy said, as she walked it. ‘A bit larger than the one I had at the Carsons’,’ she thought, ‘but no window.’ She set her valise down on the bed and looked around.

There was a two-drawer dresser set against one wall, with a white porcelain pitcher and bowl resting on a matching linen cloth. A narrow closet was built into the wall next to it; a bar hung within it held four wooden hangers. An overstuffed, green chair was angled into the corner, with a small table set on one side. An oil lamp was positioned on the table.

“Where should I put this?” Maggie asked, shifting the basket on her hip.

Dolores took the basket from Maggie. “How about on the dresser?” When Nancy agreed, Dolores walked over and put it down where she had said. “Sonnets from the Portuguese ,” she remarked cheerily, picking the book up and out of the basket.

“Do you know the work?” Nancy sounded more than a little surprised.

Dolores nodded. “I do, but my copy is back in Mexico City.”

“You can borrow mine sometime if you’d like,” Nancy said, smiling.

“Thank you; and, maybe, we can talk about the poems sometime when Shamus is not working us so hard.”

Nancy felt herself relax. She hadn’t been certain that moving out of the Whitney’s guesthouse was a good idea, but she didn’t want to impose any longer than she had to. Already, though, she felt a sense of satisfaction, occupying a place where she would earn her own keep. So, it seemed, the move had been worthwhile. It not only forced her to face up to starting a new life, but it also had brought her a new friend.

* * * * *

Teresa came into the house with a basket of newly dried linens. “Can you give me a hand, Arnolda?”

“Si, Mama.” Arnie had ceased to flinch when her mother used that name. She walked over and took the basket, setting it on the worktable.

Her mother took out the top item, a large bed sheet. “Hold the other end and help me fold this, please.” She waited till Arnie had grasped the other end of the sheet. “And while you are helping, you can tell me what happened yesterday.”

“What do you mean?”

“You came home much earlier than you usually do from the Spauldings’, and you had the same unhappy look on your face that you have even now. Do you not remember what your Papa used to say, ‘Al mal tiempo, buena cara’ [To bad times, good face].”

Arnie gave her a sad sort of smile. “Is this any better?”

“A little; now, tell me what happened.”

“Señora Spaulding, she… she knows about potion girls, and she knows that I-I am one.”

“Who told her? What did she say to you?”

Arnie looked down in embarrassment. “I-I told her about the potion earlier – but I did not say that I…” She sighed. “…am one who took it. Someone else – I do not know who – told her that.” She frowned suddenly, wondering it had been Pablo. He was such a serpiente.

“What did she do? What did her children do?”

“She said that she wanted to think about things. I do not think that Hedley – or Clara – know, but she will tell them sooner or later.”

“Que cría cuervos [You bred crows], Arnolda, and now, as your Papa always said, nos han robado los ojos [they have stolen your eyes]. Did she say anything about how she felt or what she was going to do?”

“No; mostly, she was mad that I lied to her about who I was.”

“That may be to the good. They may like you enough to want to get over being mad.” She smiled, just a little, to encourage her. “At least, they still gave you laundry to be washed. When is it due back?”

“Tuesday; she said that she would talk to me, then.”

“Bueno, I do not want you to lose your friends any more than I want to lose their business.”

* * * * *

Rachel Silverman looked up as soon as she heard the bell over the front door jingle. “Molly,” she greeted her friend, as she hurried over from behind the counter where she’d been sitting. “What can I do for you today?”

“T’be telling the truth, Rachel, I ain’t sure.” She glanced over at a long rack of women’s clothes. “I need some… dresses, special dresses for me two new ladies.”

“Special? What sort of thing exactly are you talking about? Ain’t what you got them in now fancy enough for you?”

“The dresses they’ve got now are just fine – fine for everyday, anyway. But – ye know that we made ‘em into dancing girls, don’t ye?”

“Do I know?” She pointed to the store window. “Ain’t that one of your flyers right over there?”

“Aye, it is. If ye know that they’re dancing girls, then ye should be able t’guess that they needs t’be wearing something fancy when they do thuir dancing.”

“And what sort of shmatas – excuse me, outfits are they in now?”

“Lylah’s wearing a yellow corset and petticoat and Flora’s in bright red drawers and a matching jacket and cap. We didn’t want t’be buying no fancy costumes for ‘em till we was knowing that they was a success.”

“And now you know?”

“Aye, we do. We got back a lot o’the business we lost to Sam Duggan and his Dancing Darlings. So now Shamus ‘n’ me want t’be getting some regular dancehall girl outfits for ‘em. You got anything like that?”

“In a little town like Eerie, we should stock such things? No, we don’t, but you come in the back with me. Catalogs, we do got, and it seems to me that we got a couple from some big dress company out in San Francisco that’ll have just the sort of fancy-shmancy dresses you want.”

“Sounds good. I’d like t’be ordering a couple of extra sets. We're hoping to hire a girl or two more, but who knows what sizes they’ll be?”

Rachel nodded amiably. “You order what you need now, and you can change your order later, when you hire them new girls. In the meantime, I’ll put on the teapot and get out some of them rugalah you like.”

“Rugalah, that’s them little roll-up buns with the honey and nuts, ain’t it?”

“I thought you’d remember them. We can have some tea… talk… eat some rugalah; you can even look through the catalogs, maybe even order something. You will have to give me some idea how respectable you will want those outfits to be.”

“Well…” Molly said, letting herself be coaxed. “No less respectable than the costumes I wore on the Barbary Coast meself. Have you seen any of those posters advertising the dancers over at the Lone Star?”

“Oy, those are wicked! And you being a church-going woman,” said Rachel, but with a smile and a playful shake of her head.

* * * * *

Monday, May 13, 1872

On Monday mornings, Thaddeus Yingling liked to catch up on his leisure reading. He looked up from his copy of Scribner’s Magazine when someone knocked on the half-opened door to his study. “Milton,” he cheerfully greeted his visitor, “what brings you in here today?”

“I… We came to ask a favor, Reverend.” He walked into the room, leading a nervous-looking Jane by the hand.

Yingling studied the woman for a moment. The face was Laura Caulder’s but this woman was decidedly not pregnant. “You’re… Jane, aren’t you, Mrs. Caulder’s twin?”

“That’s me, Jane Steinmetz.” She gave him a quick smile. “How d’you do, sir?”

The reverend rose and leaned across his desk to offer her his hand. “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Steinmetz. I am the Reverend Thaddeus Yingling.”

“And I’m right pleased t’meet you, Reverend.” She took his hand and pumped it eagerly. “Especially ‘cause of why we met.”

Milt chuckled. “What she means is that we want to get married, and we’d like you to perform the ceremony.”

“As soon as possible,” Jane quickly added, blushing as she spoke.

The minister frowned. “Am I correct that you are one of those so-called ‘potion girls’, Miss Steinmetz?”

“Yeah, I am,” Jane replied. “Why’re you asking?”

“And where do you propose that I marry the two of you?”

Milt raised a suspicious eyebrow. “I had originally thought we could do it in the church, perhaps, next Sunday after the service, but we sort of promised Shamus O’Toole that we’d get married in his Saloon. Is there a problem with that?”

“I got a problem,” Jane protested. “I don’t wanna wait till Sunday t’marry you.”

Yingling shook his head. “You two have a bigger problem. I do not intend to sanction your marriage in any way, either by performing the ceremony or by permitting it to take place in my church, had you asked.”

“What!” Milt looked shocked. “How can you say something like that?”

The reverend scowled. “Because I do not approve of Mr. O’Toole, his potion, or anything associated with it – or with him. I feel that my participation in any way in your wedding would be seen as my accepting Mr. O’Toole’s previous actions while he was in control of the potion. You’ve done a great deal of good work for the church, Milton, but you seem too personally involved to view the matter of Mr. O’Toole’s potion clearly.”

“You don’t seem to have any trouble accepting Laura Caulder’s marrying Arsenio,” Milt chided.

“I do have concerns, and I would not have performed the ceremony for her and Arsenio, had I been asked. However, she seems to have risen above her past. The two of them have attended my service almost every Sunday since they wed. She has become a dutiful daughter of the church, and I believe that such actions have redeemed her in our Lord’s sight.”

He shook his head and continued. “I can hardly say the same of you…” He looked directly at Jane. “…young woman. You have not attended my church, have not shown me any remorse for the crimes that led to your… transformation. For all I know, you’re behavior – and morals – have worsened since that time.”

“No they ain't!” protested Jane. “And how much remorse d'ya want? I said I was sorry to Jessie and Laura. If they don't hold it agin me, how can a man of the cloth?” She was shocked, indignant, and her tears had begun to flow.

“Reverend Yingling!” Milt took hold of her shoulders, a sign to let him do the talking. “You have no right to say such things, no right at all.” He shifted and put his arm around Jane. “This woman is worth ten, worth a hundred of you. And, after what you’ve just said, we wouldn’t let you marry us if you got down on your knees and begged us.”

Jane seemed to want to have another say of her own, but Milt pulled his kerchief from his pocket and wiped at her eyes as he gently steered her from the room.

* * * * *

“G’morning, Mr. Quinlan,” Obie Wynn greeted Milt as he and Jane walked into Judge Humphreys’ outer office. The clerk was searching in the top drawer of a file cabinet. “The Judge is busy just now,” he told them in his thick Kentucky drawl. “You ‘n’ your lady friend’ll have t’wait a bit.”

“This is Jane Steinmetz,” Milt said, “my…” He grinned and gave her hand a squeeze. “…fiancé. Are you sure I can’t talk to him? It’s very important.”

“Fiancé? Well now, congratulations. Lemme go see if he can squeeze you in.” Obie took two manila folders from the top of the file cabinet, closed the drawer, and walked to an inner door. “Your Honor,” he said, knocking on the door, “can I bother ya fer a minute?”

The Judge’s deep baritone could be heard through the door. “It better just be a minute, Obie.” The clerk, a short man, smoothed back a mass of unruly brown hair before he scurried in, closing the door behind him.

He was back out a moment later. “He’ll see ya.” He opened the door wide for the couple to come in.

“Milt Quinlan and fiancé, is it?” Humphreys walked out from behind his desk. “Congratulations to you both. And what can I do for you?”

“Can you marry us,” Jane said quickly, “just like you done for Laura and Arsenio?”

“Of course, I can, and I shall be most happy to do so. When and where do you want the ceremony to be held?”

“Today, if you can, and it’ll have t’be the Saloon, seeing as we can’t use the church.”

The Judge raised an eyebrow. “Why can’t you use the church?”

“That ba – ‘scuse me, Reverend Yingling, he said we couldn’t ‘cause…” Jane blinked, trying not to cry. “…’cause I’m a-a… sinful potion gal.”

Milt put a comforting arm around her. “We just spoke to him, and that’s the gist of what he said.”

“Absurd.” The Judge shook his head. “I think the good reverend is acting very foolishly, with all this nonsense about Shamus’ potion, but that’s neither here nor there.” He looked at his pocket watch. “It’s still fairly early. I see no reason why I couldn’t perform the ceremony today.”

Jane gave him her best smile. “That’d be great. We could do it – oh, shit; we can’t.” Her smile faded.

“What’s the matter, Jane?” Milt asked.

She looked down, not ready to face him. “I can’t get hitched t’you today – much as I want to. It wouldn’t be fair t’Maggie.”

“What does Maggie have to do with it?” Milt inquired. “She seemed more than pleased when we told her the good news about our getting married.”

Jane shook her head. “I know, but we didn’t say when we’d be doing it. She needs time t’find somebody t’take my place while I’m…” She blushed prettily. “…while we’re on our honeymoon. You are gonna take me on a honeymoon, ain’t you?”

“I have every intention of taking you… on a honeymoon.” Milt leered for a moment before his expression changed to a loving smile. “But Maggie may already have made some arrangements. Let’s check with her.” He turned to the Judge. “Your Honor, I’ll get back to you with the specifics, but it will be tonight, tomorrow evening at the latest.”

The Judge nodded. “I shall be happily available to you either night.”

“Today,” Jane said, blushing at her eagerness. “I wanna do it today.”

Milt shrugged and put his arm around her waist. “So do I, but we’d better be married first.”

“Milt!” She giggled and felt a blush come to her cheeks. Her body tingled as he pulled her close, and she knew just how much she did like the idea of what was going to happen to her – to them both, possibly that very night.

* * * * *

Clara used the edge of her knife to push the carrots she’d just finished slicing onto a plate. “Mama,” she asked, “will Annie be coming by tomorrow?”

“I expect that she will,” Mrs. Spaulding replied. “She’s always been punctual, bringing back the laundry she picked up on Saturday the following Tuesday.” The woman studied her daughter’s expression. “Why do you ask, dear?”

The girl took a breath, not at all sure how her mother would react. “I-I’m not really asking if she’s going to come. I’m wondering if she’s going to… stay, like she usually does, for lunch and to give us a Spanish lesson.”

“That I… I don’t know.”

“What happened on Saturday, Mama? Everything seemed fine until the two of you went into your bedroom. Then she came rushing out. She grabbed the bag of dirty clothes and ran for the door. I saw her face. She looked so sad, too, like she was ready to cry.”

“Did she?” The woman felt a pang of guilt. But it was a brief pang. ‘I don’t like being lied to,’ she thought, ‘especially for so long a time.’

“Mother, what do you know? Why was she so upset all of a sudden?”

Mrs. Spaulding drew in a deep breath. “Did it ever occur to you that I might be the one who was upset, that Annie did something that I didn’t like, and that was why she left?”

“I – no, I-I didn’t think… what did happen?”

“I don’t believe that I wish to explain to you – or Hedley – what happened. Perhaps tomorrow, if I decide that she deserves the chance, I’ll let Annie explain herself to you both; to all three of us.” She looked sternly at Clara. “Now toss those carrots into the pot, so they can be ready for our lunch.”

Clara cast her mother a glum look, but she obeyed.

* * * * *

“Good morning, Milt,” Abner greeted his lawyer. “What brings you in today?”

Milt set his briefcase down on the empty bed next to Abner’s. “Paperwork, I have your will and the partnership agreement here for you to look at.”

“I thought you were going to be bringing them in tomorrow. What’s the rush?”

The younger man grinned. “I’m getting married at two this afternoon, and, frankly…” His smile grew even more broad. “…I’ll have better things to do the next few days than your legal work.”

“Well, now, congratulations, and I don’t blame you one little bit. Put the paperwork down and get out of here.”

“Do you have any questions before I go?” He placed the papers on the wheeled tray to the right of Abner’s bed.

“Just one, when will you be back?”

“Thursday… I’ll come in Thursday morning to talk to you. I promise.”

“And I’ll be waiting. Cap should be back on Wednesday, so he’ll be here, too. In the meantime, go – and give Jane a kiss for me.”

Milt laughed. “I may… eventually. I plan to be busy for a while, kissing her for myself.” He winked at his client as he headed for the door.

* * * * *

“I got it,” Molly shouted in triumph, bursting into Jane’s bedroom. “Laura loaned ye her blue petticoat.” She held up the garment that she’d carried, folded, under her arm.

Jane was sitting on her bed, wearing only her best white drawers, a matching camisole, and a pale blue corset. She looked up and gave Molly a wan smile. “Thanks, Molly. Is she gonna be able t’get over here for my wedding?”

“Aye, she told me the only way she wouldn’t make it was if that baby o’hers decided t’be born t’day.” She waited a moment. “Arsenio went over to Doc Upshaw’s t’get one o’them wheeled chairs, so she wouldn’t have t’walk.”

“Good; I was worrying about that. Much as I want her t’be at my wedding, I don’t want her to hurt herself. She’s gonna be the – what you call it – the matron of honor.”

Jessie was sitting on the chair near Jane’s bed. “And I’m a bridesmaid, me and Maggie. Now that we know who we are, let’s get to it. A bride don’t need t’worry about nothing on her wedding day.”

“Except maybe the wedding night?” Molly said, a chuckle in her voice.

Jane blushed and looked down at the floor. “I ain’t worried about that – not too much anyways.” She smiled enthusiastically. “I remember being up in Colorado, under Pike's Peak. I was looking for some place to warm up…” She caught herself. It wasn't a story that fit the occasion.

“From the way you ‘n’ Milt keep looking at each other, I don’t think you got a thing to worry about.” Jessie glanced over at the small clock, ticking away on the wall. “Now, you better get that petticoat on, ‘cause it’s time for you t’get down there and get hitched.”

* * * * *

“So you’ll be my best man?” Milt asked.

Arsenio shrugged. “Might as well, I’ll be standing up front with Laura, anyway.” He waited a beat. “Besides, we’re going to be brothers-in-law in a few minutes.”

“That we are, de facto brothers-in-law, if not de jure.” He saw the confused look on Arsenio’s face and quickly added, “Never mind, it’s a lawyer’s observation.” He offered his hand. “Welcome to the family.”

They shook hands. “The same to you. Say, does this mean that I have to make a toast to you and Jane at the dinner after the ceremony?”

“It does. Do you want me to write something for you to say?”

“No, it has to be nice things about you, and I can lie well enough on my own, thanks.” He winked.

Just then, Judge Humphreys sat down at their table. “If I can interrupt you two liars for a moment, I need to talk to Milt about something… something official, sort of.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Arsenio asked.

The Judge shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I just wanted to remind Milt that the church board of elders is meeting this Wednesday night.”

“That’s right,” Milt said unhappily. “I-I’m sorry, Your Honor, I forgot.”

“Milt, if I had my choice of whether to think of the church board or a girl like Jane, I don’t think I’d be able to remember the meeting, either. I just wanted to see if you were going to be there as our parliamentarian.”

“Probably not; I’ll still be on my honeymoon and –”

“And it won’t be board motions that you’ll be concerned about. I understand. I’m just sorry that you can’t be there. Between reconsidering the Reverend’s petition again and the motion about Trisha –”

“That’s right; they’ll be trying to throw her off the board, won’t they?”

“I’m afraid that they will. It’s not going to be an easy meeting. I can act as parliamentarian, but some people – Cecelia Ritter, for sure – are going to complain of bias.”

Arsenio chuckled. “You’re trying to make him feel guilty, aren’t you, Judge?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I am, and I’m sorry for that.” The Judge gave a hearty sigh. “Look, Milt, if you want to show up Wednesday night, show up. If you decide that you’d rather spend the evening with your new bride, then no one – least of all, me – will blame you.”

Milt studied the older man’s face for a moment. Humphrey seemed sincere in what he’d just said. “Thanks, Judge. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Now that we’ve settled that point, we’d best get started.” Arsenio pointed at Shamus’ clock. “We’ve got us a wedding to do.”

* * * * *

“What are you doing, coming in here?” Maggie asked, sounding angry.

Jane startled. “I just come in t’see how you’re –”

“You chased me out of the kitchen on my wedding day, so I get to do the same to you today. Get out of here.”

“Only if you come out like you promised when it’s time for things t’get going, okay?”

“I will be there.” Maggie’s eyebrows narrowed in mock anger. “Now, go!”

Jane nodded and left.

“That was not nice, mi corazón,” Ramon said. He was sitting at the worktable, waiting for Maggie, once the wedding meal was prepared. He thought for a moment. “By the way, has Jane told you where they will be going on their honeymoon? I know that Milt doesn’t have a house. He lives in the back room of his office.”

Maggie nodded. “That is where they will be. It was either that, or stay in Jane’s room upstairs.” She sighed. “I do not think that his room has much more than a bed, but how much more than that do they need?”

“It was enough for me. Any place would be enough, so long as you were there with me.” He walked over and kissed her on the cheek. Then he shifted and kissed her on the side of the neck.

Maggie shivered. “Ramon, if you kiss me like that I will… oohh!” She stopped as he kissed her again. “Please, I-I… much as I love what you are doing, I must finish with the cooking.”

“I will stop – for now, but after the ceremony and the meal, we can start again.”

“Mmm, I hope so.”

“So do I, but just now, I need to take care of something. I will be back as soon as I can.”

“Where… oh, never mind, just be back for the ceremony.”

“I will try. Adios.” He gave her another kiss, this one much more chaste, and hurried out the back door.

* * * * *

“Here they come!” R.J. yelled, pointing towards the second floor.

All eyes turned to see Jane walking along the landing towards the steps. Shamus walked with her, very much the father of the bride, holding her arm in his. The Judge stood in front of the bar. Milt and Arsenio were in front of him on the left, Molly Maggie, and Jessie stood on his right. Laura was with them, sitting in her wheelchair.

As they started down the steps, Jessie grabbed for her guitar and began singing.

` “Here comes the bride dressed all in white,
` Radiant and lovely she shines in his sight.
` Gently she glides, sweet as a dove,
` Meeting her bridegroom, her eyes full of love.”

` “Long have they waited; long have they planned.
` Life goes before them opening her hand.
` Asking G-d's blessing, as they begin
` A life with new meaning, a life shared as one.
` Entering God's union, bowed before His throne,
` Promising each other to have and to hold.”

` “Gently she glides, sweet as a dove,
` Meeting her bridegroom, her eyes full of love.
` Here comes the bride dressed all in white,
` Radiant and lovely in her true love’s sight.”

Jessie timed her singing, so that she sang the last line just as Jane and Shamus reached her. Shamus smiled and stepped back, as Jane stepped up, to stand next to Milt. “That’s my present t’you ‘n’ Milt,” Jessie whispered to Jane, moving back.

“Thanks, Jessie.” Milt reach over and gently lifted Jane’s veil, borrowed from Maggie. “Hello… wife,” he greeted her.

“Not quite yet,” the Judge said softly. Then, speaking in a loud, clear voice, he began, “Dearly beloved…”

* * * * *

Arsenio slowly rose to his feet, tapping his glass with his knife as he did. “Folks, when Milt asked me to be his best man, he said I had to make a speech. Of course, he asked me all of forty minutes before the ceremony, so I hope he isn’t expecting much of a speech.”

“Milt, congratulations, you just got married to the second prettiest woman in town – maybe in the whole country. I know Jane is my Laura’s twin, but Laura’s been Laura longer than Jane’s been Jane, so Laura has more practice at being so beautiful. And she’s -- we’re -- gonna have a baby, so that makes her even prettier, at least to me. Of course, you and Jane can do something along that same line, and I expect you’ll be trying to as soon as we all get finished here. I guess that means I better not make this speech too long, so you two can get started.”

“Like I said, Jane’s a very beautiful woman, and, best of all, that beauty isn’t skin deep, it goes down into her soul. She’s a sweet, caring, woman, and she’s one of the best cooks in town – hello, there, Maggie; great meal, as always.”

“Milt’s a good man, too, even if he is a lawyer. He’s smart, a real hard worker, and, as we all found out a few days ago, he’s got a real nice singing voice.”

“And, speaking of his singing in public, Jane, my Laura’s told me how you used to fret that he was ashamed of you because he wouldn’t kiss you in public. I think – just to show her how wrong she was – he should get up and kiss Jane right now, in front of all of us. What do you say, folks?” He started clapping. “C’mon, everybody… Kiss her… Kiss her… Kiss her!”

As he chanted, he motioned with his hands for the crowd to join in. They did. “Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!”

“Well, I suppose… if we have to.” Milt stood and offered his hand to Jane. “Mrs. Quinlan, if you would, please stand up.”

Jane blushed. “Here, in fronta everybody?”

“Now who’s embarrassed?” Milt said with a chuckle. He took her hand in his and gently pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “Great speech, Arsenio.”

The couple embraced. Jane’s arms snaked up around his neck as their mouths met in a kiss.

“To the happy couple,” Arsenio said, raising his glass. “And may you always be as happy and as in love, and as loved as you are right now.”

Everyone else clinked glasses, and more than a few applauded, but Jane and Milt were far too busy to notice.

* * * * *

Bridget sat, alone, at one of the tables, finishing a piece of the wedding cake.

“How’re you doing?” Laura asked. Arsenio pushed her wheelchair in close, so that the two women could talk.

Bridget frowned. “Not too bad. It was a nice wedding. I was glad to see you show up. How’re you feeling? Do you expect to be back here any time soon?”

“I don’t know. It’s more up to Doc Upshaw – and the baby – than it is to me. In the meantime, I’m stuck in bed at home.”

Arsenio took Laura’s hand in his. “And I’m stuck having to take care of her. That’s the only good part.”

“It is nice, having him hovering over me all day long.” She smiled up at him. “I’ll miss it when I come back.”

“Then I’ll just have to be more attentive.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

Before Laura could say anything, Flora came over to the table. She was wearing an apron and carrying a large tray filled with dirty dishes. “Are you done with that, Miss Bridget?” She pointed to the remains of the cake, still on the plate.

“No, Flora,” Bridget answered. “You can come back for it later.”

The waitress curtsied. “V-very good, ma’am.” She grimaced as she said it and hurried off.

“What was that about?” Laura asked.

Bridget smiled. “Flora was ragging at Jessie and me about how pretty we looked and asking when our weddings were going to be. She… she got to me, I guess. I got all upset and started to cry. Molly said she had to be extra polite to me – to us both -- for the rest of the day. She has to call us ‘Miss Bridget’ and ‘Miss Jessie’ and curtsy and act like she’s our lady’s maid.” She giggled. “I wish I could think of a way to make it permanent.”

Laura smiled, but only politely. “I'm just glad nobody had me curtsying and gushing when I was a convict,” she said.

* * * * *

“Congratulations, Milt,” Davy Kitchner said. “I guess you’re Jane’s partner now. You're gonna love putting aside those lawyer books and laying to with that ol' pickaxe.”

Jane interrupted before Milt could answer. “Davy, you ‘n’ me’ll always be partners in that mine. Milt…” She clenched her new husband’s arm. “Milt ‘n’ me’s a whole different kind of partners.”

“I know that, gal. I’m just having a little fun with you.” He shook her hand, then Milt’s. “I heard you was getting hitched, and I had t’come down and say congratulations.”

“I’m glad you could come, Davy,” Milt said. “When are you heading back up to our claim?”

“I ain’t gonna try t’find my way back up in the dark. I gonna spend the night… down here with… with a friend.” He didn’t want to mention that he’d be spending it – happily – with Edith Lonnigan. Not that many people knew of their relationship.

Jane did know, and she looked around. “Where is Edith, by the way?”

“Over there.” He pointed. “Talking to Laura. I better get back over to her. Congratulations, again, to you both.”

Milt smiled. “Thanks, Davy. I know how far you and Jane go back and what the two of you have been through, so I’m very happy to hear that you approve of our getting married.”

“Yeah, like you wouldn’t have married her if I’d said no.”

Jane laughed. “There ain’t a snowball’s chance in Hell of that, partner.”

* * * * *

“Where’d you find that song, Jessie?” Laura asked.

“It’s from some fancy opera called Lohengrin,” Jessie replied. “Hanna Tyler, that little gal I rescued down near the border, she’s getting married in June, and she asked me t’come and sing it at her wedding. I figured I’d get in some practice singing it for Jane.” She paused a half beat. “What’d you think of it?”

“It’s… beautiful. I wish you’d been around to sing it at my wedding.”

“If I’d been here t’sing it at your wedding, I wouldn’t have been there t’stop them commancheros from taking Hanna to Mexico.”

“In that case, I’m glad you weren’t here.”

“My not being here surely didn’t slow you and Arsenio down from getting married.” She gently touched Laura’s belly. “Or from anything else.”

* * * * *

Ramon and Maggie came over to where Milt and Jane standing. “I hope that you will be as happy as Ramon and I have been,” Maggie said, hugging her friend.

“We’re gonna be.” Jane hugged her back.

Ramon shook his head. “Perhaps, but you are not getting off to the best of starts.”

“What do you mean, Ramon?” Milt asked cautiously.

Ramon continued. “Where are you going when you leave here tonight?”

“I live in the back room of my office,” the lawyer replied. “We’ll be buying a house soon, but until then…”

Maggie shook her head. “That is no place for a honeymoon.”

“Why not,” Jane said quickly. “It’s got a bed and – “ She stopped, blushing at what she had said.

Ramon tried very hard not to laugh. “If your marriage is going to be as happy as ours, then it should start out as ours did.” He took a large and rather ornate brass key from his jacket pocket. “This is the key to my former quarters, the guesthouse at Whit and Carmen’s home. I spoke to them a little while ago, and they agreed. It is yours for the next three days. Call it our wedding present.”

“Ramon!” Jane all but threw herself at him, giving the man a generous hug.

“We’d better pull them apart, Maggie,” Milt teased her. “Your husband and my wife are enjoying that hug far too much.”

Ramon and Jane separated, each turning to their own spouse. “You have nothing to worry about, my friend,” Ramon replied. “Jane was just practicing on me what the two of you will be doing tonight,”Jane nodded, blushing in happy agreement.

* * * * *

Tuesday, May 14, 1872

Molly opened the bedroom door a crack. “How’re the two of ye doing this morning?” she asked Flora and Lylah.

“We’re getting there,” Lylah answered.

Molly opened the door and walked in, closing it behind her. “So I see. I want the both of ye t’be hurrying up getting dressed.”

“Why,” Flora remarked, sarcastically. “Breakfast won’t be done any quicker.”

The older woman frowned. “As a matter of fact, it will, ‘cause it’ll be the both of ye down there helping Maggie t’make it.”

“How come?” Lylah asked. “All we ever had t’do before was t’set the table.”

“That’s because ‘before’ Jane was down there t’be helping Maggie with the cooking, and today she ain’t.” Molly looked at the pair. “Lylah, ye’re the furthest along, so as soon as ye get that dress on ye, I want ye t’go down and see what Maggie needs ye t’be doing.”

Flora laughed. “Yes, Lylah, you go down now, and I’ll be down directly.”

“Aye, ye will, Flora, and after breakfast, it’ll be ye that clears the table and does all the morning dishes.” She chuckled at the sudden shock on Flora’s face. “Now get moving, the both of ye.”

She started for the door. “Ye can switch off tomorrow if ye want, but it’ll be ye two that do the extra kitchen chores till Jane comes back here on Thursday.”

* * * * *

“Having fun?” Rosalyn asked.

Flora looked up from her place on the back steps of the Saloon. She wore a large muslin apron to protect her dress, as she worked to scrape out the dry chaw from inside the spittoon on her lap. “Not in the least. Care to join me?”

“I should say not. Chores like that are far below a woman of my station.” She grimaced. “I don’t know how you can stand them.”

“A man can stand a lot of things when he doesn’t have any choice in the matter.” Flora sighed. “And I don’t.”

Rosalyn noticed, but said nothing about Flora calling herself a male. “Ah, but you do have a choice… if you want to take me up on my offer.”

Flora paused in her labor. “I've been thinking about that. I’m very tired of the shit O’Toole throws at me. The dancing, prancing around in next to nothing in front of all those…” She shivered. “…men, is horrible, and doing things like this…” She held up the spittoon. “…is even worse. They –They enjoy humiliating me, and all because they love that Irish card cheat so much. Yesterday at that stupid wedding, they had me behaving like a damned maid. I had to call that bitch Kelly, ‘Miss Bridget’ and curtsy while she ordered me about.”

“How terrible. They’re trying to break you like some kind of animal.”

“Only I don’t plan to let them, and I think that your idea is about the best option I have. I remember how mad it made me when I couldn't make Wilma Hanks' face turn red. Two can play at that game, if both of them are mean enough. They'll find out what Staffords are made of. No matter how much you train a lion, sooner or later it's going to rip your arm off.”

“Good, can we start now?”

“I’ve got to get these finished before they start the Free Lunch. I’ve no time for lessons.”

“I wish you could visit me at the Parisian.”

“Fat chance of that. O’Toole won’t let me out of the building unless he or his wife tags along.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow, then.” Rosalyn thought for a moment. “How’s one o’clock? I’ll join you for some of that Free Lunch, and we can talk while we dine.”

Flora frowned. “We don't want anyone to hear us talking about such things. It would spoil everything.”

Rosalyn reassured her with squeeze of her hand. “In my business, a woman learns how to be discreet.”

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” To herself, she added, ‘though it’ll be your pleasure soon enough, I suspect.’

* * * * *

Arnie parked the laundry cart next to the Spauldings’ back steps. She was wearing the prettiest of the dresses that her mother had pinned up to fit her, rather than wearing her old, male clothes for doing laundry deliveries and bringing a dress to change into at the Spauldings’ home. She picked up the three packages of laundry and the Spanish textbook and started up the steps. ‘Be calm, Arnolda,’ she told herself. ‘Be calm.’

“Annie,” Hedley opened the back door just as she reached the porch. “I’m glad you decided to come back.”

Arnie held up the packages. “I-I had to. I have your clean laundry here.”

“Yes, but I hope that’s not the only reason that you came back.” He smiled and reached out to take the packages from her.

“No…” She felt a pleasant tingle run through her, as she handed him the laundry. “I came for your momma’s lunch. And to see Clara, too,” she quickly added.

He seemed to consider her words. “I suppose those will do.” He winked and gave the door a quick kick. “If you don’t have any others, I mean.” The door popped open a bit. Hedley caught it with his right foot and pulled it fully opened. He stepped quickly in to hold it open and gestured with a tilt of his head. “After you.”

“Good afternoon… Annie,” Mrs. Spaulding greeted the pair from her place at the stove. “Hedley, Clara’s in her room. Would you please go and tell her that Annie’s here?”

“Certainly, Mother, I’ll be right back.” He put the parcels on the kitchen table and headed for the door into the front room.

Mrs. Spaulding waited until the door shut behind him. “I’ve given the matter some thought, Annie – or do you prefer Arnie?”

“A-Annie is fine, Señora Spaulding.” She looked carefully at the woman’s face for a clue of what she was about to say.

“Annie, it is then. I’m still somewhat hurt at being lied to, but I believe that I can understand why you did it.”

“Thank you. I am sorry that I lied to you, to all of you.” She took a breath. “What did Hedley and Clara say, when you told them about me?”

“Nothing, because I haven’t told them. I leave that to you.”

“T-To me? I… I do not know how to tell them.” Her voice caught. “C-Can you help me… please. I-I do not want to hurt them.”

“Well… you will have to tell them, but I don’t want to hurt my children either, so I’ll give you some time to think of a way to do it. We’ll say nothing more of this today, but I will expect you to tell them who you really are when you come back on Saturday with those clothes over there.” She pointed to a pair of Annie’s laundry bags, both stuffed full, sitting on a chair over in the corner.

Arnie felt as if a massive weight had fallen from her shoulders. “I-I will. I swear that I will, and thank you for the extra time; thank you very much.” She let out a sigh. “And you owe my Mama $3.75 for the laundry I brought back today.”

“Very well.” She fished in her purse for the money, pulling out a silver half-eagle. “You’re not entirely off the hook though,” she said, handing Arnie the money. “I still expect you to join us for lunch today, with a Spanish lesson afterwards.”

Arnie gave her the change. “Of course, Señora Spaulding.”

* * * * *

“Cecelia,” Grace MacLeod said, “this pound cake is lovely.”

Cecelia took a quick sip of tea before she answered. “Thank you, Grace. Does everyone have a slice?”

“We do,” Lavinia Mackechnie answered for the others. “But you didn’t invite us over here for an afternoon tea. What did you want to talk to us about?”

“Couldn’t I have just wanted to throw a little party for my friends?”

Hilda Scudder shook her head. “Frankly, no; what’s going on, Cecelia?”

“Well… tomorrow night is the May meeting of the church board, and we have to be ready. Not only is there going to be another vote to support the Reverend Yingling’s petition --”

“I wish we could be finished with that,” Zenobia Carson interrupted. “I’m getting tired of all these games.”

Cecelia frowned. “They are most decidedly not games, Zenobia. We are supporting our spiritual leader in his battle to rescue the town from the un-Christian influences that have held sway here for so very long.”

“You make it sound like some sort of heavenly crusade,” Grace said.

“As far as I am concerned, it is, and I had thought that you – all of you – agreed with me.” She glared at Grace.

The other woman took a long drink of her tea. The cup clattered just a bit when she set it down on her plate. “I-I do. I just… oh, never mind. Of course, I support the man.”

Lavinia tried to smile. “We all do, and we’ll all be there to show it.”

“Be prepared to do more than just fill a seat, ladies” Cecelia told them. “Some of the members of the board are foolish enough to oppose the petition, Judge Humphries and Dwight Albertson, to name two.”~

“And Trisha O’Hanlan,” Lavinia added. “One would think that she’d be the most eager to take that potion away from the man whose carelessness changed her into a woman.”

“I can hardly forget Miss O’Hanlan, but I don’t expect her to be voting on the motion. It’ll be my Clyde casting that vote.”

Hilda looked puzzled. “Clyde? I’m afraid that I don’t understand.”

Cecelia gave what she hoped sounded like a sympathetic sigh. ‘Stupid cow,’ she thought to herself. ‘All the blood is going to her belly and none to her brain.’ Aloud she said. “It’s understandable, my dear, what with the baby and all. Tomorrow night, we finally vote to throw Trisha off the board for her scandalous behavior at the dance.”

“We need to get that done, first,” she continued. “It’ll put those others in their place, and it’s one more sure vote for the Reverend.”

“It won’t be easy,” Zenobia observed. “A lot of people enjoyed that dance – I know that I certainly did. Everyone knows that it was Trisha’s idea, and they’ll be thankful to her for it.”

Cecelia thought for a moment. “I’ll readily admit that I enjoyed myself as well. But the success of the dance was due to many, many people besides her, and, maybe we can get them thinking that she’s hogging too much of the credit.”

“Besides…” She gave them a malicious smile. “We all enjoyed the dance with our husbands, dancing with them and talking to each other. But who did she dance with? Any number of unmarried and less than honorable men, if I may say. And… what else besides dancing did she do with them by way of enjoying herself?”

Grace blushed. “Cecelia, you don’t mean…” Her voice trailed off. Hilda looked equally shocked.

“I most certainly do. Trisha O’Hanlan is a woman of very low morals, and the sooner she’s of the board, the better we’ll all be for it.”

Lavinia took up the thread of thought. “And that’s the message we have to deliver -- and deliver in force -- at tomorrow’s meeting.”

* * * * *

“A nickel for your thoughts, Jane,” Milt said, smiling at his new wife and stepping up behind her.

Jane smiled back at his reflection. She was sitting at a dressing table in a bedroom in the Whitney’s guesthouse. She had been gazing into the mirror on the wall behind it, as she brushed her long, light brown hair. “Ain’t it supposed t’be a penny for my thoughts?”

“Usually, but your thoughts are worth more – at least to me.”

“Well, now, thank you for that. If you gotta know, I was thinking ‘bout Laura. I hope it wasn’t too much for her, coming to our wedding getting all dressed up like she done, being a part of the ceremony, and staying there for so long after.”

“I’m sure that she’s all right. Between Arsenio and Molly – and you, for that matter – watching her the way that you all did.”

“You’re right, I guess, but that don’t stop me from worrying about her.”

“I’ll tell you what; later on today, you and I go over to her house for a quick visit?”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not really, not when I see how concerned you are. In fact, I’ll trade you a visit for a visit.”

“What d’you mean, ‘trade’ visits?”

“Tomorrow night is the church board of elders’ meeting. It’s got a lot to deal with. I’m… I’m parliamentarian, and I should be there – if you don’t mind, of course.”

“Can I come with you? I wanna show that… show the good reverend how happy I am t’be your wife.”

“You can. But right now, I’d like to show you how happy I am to be your husband.” He leaned over and kissed the side of her neck.

Jane rose and turned to face him. Her hand moved down to cup the large bulge in his drawers, the only garment he wore. “I can see how happy you are.”

“Likewise.” He tugged at the bow that held the collar of her camisole up tight, just below her neck. The ribbon came undone. He gently pulled the cloth down, until it dipped low, freeing her breasts. Her nipples were erect, tight, and long as his little finger above the top knuckle. They were ready, eager, to be touched.

He leaned in and ran his tongue across the left one, relishing her scent and her soft moan of delight. His lips closed around it, and he began to suckle. At the same time, his left hand spider walked across her right breast, and his right hand reached down to her crotch. His index finger traced the outline of her nether lips through the thin material of her muslin drawers.

“Mmm, v-very happy,” her voice was almost a purr. She trembled, dazed by the heat building within her, consuming her. She pressed her loins against his hand, while her own hands cradled his head to hold it in place at her breast. The arousal grew and grew in her. She was weak, overcome by it. Then suddenly, the feelings burst forth, like a river swollen with spring rains breaking through the wall of an earthen dam. “Ohh, yess,” she whimpered, “yes… Yes!”

Milt straightened up and put his arm around her waist. “We’ll go over to Arsenio and Laura’s place later, okay?”

“Much later,” she replied in a soft voice, barely more than a whisper, as she took his hand in hers and they hurried to the bed.

* * * * *

“Okay,” Judge Humphreys said, “how are we going to go about tomorrow night’s meeting?”

The group gathered at the O’Hanlan kitchen table: Humphreys, Dwight Albertson, Rupe Warrick, and Liam O’Hanlan, all turned to look at Trisha. “Umm… ahh,” she stammered. “You know more about running meetings than I do, Judge. What do you think?”

“Well,” he started, “the motion to… to expel you should be the first order of business – if, for no other reason, than to keep you from voting on the motion about Shamus’ potion.”

Rupe raised his hand. “You think Horace’ll do that, put the motion about Trisha first?”

“He should,” the Judge replied, “and if he doesn’t, I’ll make a motion to that effect. It’s what we did back in December when we had to vote about keeping Trisha on the board. So it should pass without any problem.”

Rupe nodded. “Okay, then what happens?”

“Then the fun starts,” Humphreys continued. “Since Horace was one of the people to sign the petition against Trisha, he shouldn’t preside over the discussion. Rupe, as vice president of the board, you get to preside.”

Albertson frowned. “Horace won’t like that.”

“If he fights,” Trisha said, “I’ll make a motion for him to let Rupe run things.”

“I’ll second it,” the banker replied, “but we’ll still need four votes.”

Trisha shrugged. “We won’t get Horace’s, but Willie’s a possible, and Jubal – you all know that he hired my Emma as a helper, don’t you? After she graduates in June, he’s going to train her to be a surveyor.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Albertson asked.

“He talked to me about hiring Emma before he did it, and we’ve talked a few times since. I may not agree with him on a lot of things, but I’d judge him to be a fair man. If we put the question in terms of fairness, I think he’ll vote with us.”

Humphreys thought for a moment. “I believe you’re right. And once Rupe’s got the gavel, we can start on our real plan. “

* * * * *

Kirby Pinter walked into the Saloon. He glanced around before he headed over to intercept Nancy on her way back to the bar. “Good evening, Miss Osbourne.”

“Mr. Pinter,” she said, not a little surprised, “what brings you in here tonight?”

“I wanted to talk to you, if I may.”

“Pick out a chair, and I’ll bring you a drink momentarily.”

“Beer, please, and bring one for yourself, as well. As I… uh, understand things, you’re allowed to sit with me for a while if I’m buying you a drink.”

“Very well, I’ll be right back.” She headed off to the bar, while he took a seat at a nearby table.

She was back almost at once, carrying two beers on a tray. Pinter rose to his feet. “The way it works, Mr. Pinter,” she told him, “is that you sit down, and I serve you.”

“Force of habit, I suppose.” He sat down. She set the tray on the table. She moved one glass in front of him, and then seated herself opposite him. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I-I’m afraid that I don’t get out very much. I only just heard that you refused the chance to regain your teaching job, and I wanted to ask about it -- if you don’t mind, that is.”

“I suppose I don’t. I was exonerated on the charges against me, but too many people didn’t care. I was guilty in their eyes, and they would have just kept looking for more of what they considered improper behavior on my part. I just couldn’t stand the idea of having their eyes on me every minute. As long as I was teaching, they’d be twisting everything I said and did into something vile and ugly.”

“I don’t necessarily agree, but I will concede the possibility. Mrs. Ritter and her… cronies – if you will excuse the pun – gave ample evidence of how they operate when they disrupted the party at my store.”

“Yes,” she smiled. “I remember that. I’m grateful for your support in that matter.”

“You will always have my support – if you wish it, Miss… Nancy… and a place in my store as a clerk, should you wish that, too. This saloon is hardly the sort of place for a woman like yourself.”

“Thank you… Kirby. I am grateful for the offer, but I suspect that you're making it out of charity, rather than true need. I feel that I am actually needed here. Besides, the O’Tooles and their employees are good, kind people, and I have no qualms about working for them.” She shook her head. “The way some people talk, all saloonkeepers are criminals. I used to be nervous just walking past the door.”

“Very well, but consider the offer open, anytime you choose to accept it. I’ll have to defer to your judgment on Mr. O’Toole's character. I’m hardly a regular patron.” He gave her a wan smile.

And she returned it. “Not in the past, perhaps.” She gently placed her hand on his arm. “But am I correct in assuming that you’ll be in here more often in the future?”

He nodded and covered her hand with his own. “You may, indeed. At least I won't have to worry about all those strange looks I would have gotten if I'd dropped in to visit over at the schoolhouse.”

* * * * *

Wednesday, May 15, 1872

Cap knocked on the door of Doc Upshaw’s ward room. “Uncle Abner, are you awake?”

“Sure I am, Cap,” Abner answered. “It’s well after 9 AM; too late for a man to be sleeping.”

“I have to say, you sound a lot more chipper than you did last week.”

“I could say the same about you. I gather that things went well at Camp Grant.”

“Pretty good, the Army took a hundred head at $8.50 a head. The Indian Bureau took the rest, another 87 head at the same price. You made out pretty good.”

“That is pretty good, Matthew, only you should have said that we made out pretty well.”

“We, Uncle?”

“I can’t run the Triple A very well, while I’m stuck on my back in here, and I certainly can’t run it all the way from Philadelphia. Someone has to be in charge on the spot. Someone I can trust, and who I know can do the job, and that’s you, Cap.”

“Me? What about Luke? Here’s already the foreman.”

“And he’s a damned good one, but he’s… a Negro. The men listen to him, but he couldn’t very well deal with outsiders; they’d never accept him as the one in charge. Since everyone knows you're my heir, they’ll accept you. I could just make you my manager, but it’d be easier – and fairer – to make you my partner.”
He chuckled. “Besides, I was planning to do it soon, anyway.”

“Even when you were feeling fit?”

“Even then. I was planning to talk to Milt about drawing up the papers as soon as we were done with the branding.”

“I’m very flattered, but are you sure I’m ready to be your partner?”

“I am. Like I said, I was going to do it anyway. This just moves things up a little.” Abner studied his nephew’s expression. “Of course, if you don’t think that you’re ready...”

“I… to tell the truth, I’m not sure. Can I think about it for a little bit?”

“You can, but not too long. I’m planning to leave for Philly in a few days. They’re making a special wagon for me to travel to Salt Lake City in. Then it’s a train all the way to Philly. I figure to leave as soon as it’s ready, and the Doc says I’m fit enough to travel in it.”

“Sounds good – that you’ll be able to travel so soon, I mean.” Cap considered the situation. “Can I ask you what sort of a partnership deal, exactly, you’re offering me?”

“You can read it for yourself. I asked Milt to draft up an agreement. It’s in the top drawer of the table next to my bed. Take it home and go through it paragraph by paragraph. Milt’ll be back from his honeymoon –”

“Honeymoon; when did he get married – and to who, as if I didn’t know?”

Abner laughed. “Jane, of course. Who else would he marry? The Judge married them at Shamus’ place on Monday, and they’re off honeymooning somewhere around here. He’s supposed to be back Thursday afternoon.”

Cap shook his head. “Last time I left town, Bridget… well, you know what happened then. This time, I leave and Milt and Jane get hitched. I think I’d better stay around for a while.”

“I don’t blame you, boy, especially when you’ve got Bridget to keep you company.”

* * * * *

“G’day t’ye, Miss Owens,” Shamus greeted Rosalyn near the swinging doors of his Saloon. “Ye’re getting t’be something of a regular over here.”

Rosalyn gave him a genteel smile. “Is that getting to be problem, Mr. O’Toole? You don’t object to my visiting Flora, do you?”

“If I did, I’d be telling ye. It don’t seem t’be doing her no harm, and I never stopped any of me… prisoners from talking to people.”

“Thank you for that, sir. I see that she’s having lunch just now. I believe that I’ll join her. Would you be so kind as to bring over a couple of beers for us?” When he nodded, she walked past him and over to the Free Lunch table.

Rosalyn filled a plate with a few slices of leftover chicken and some coleslaw. She picked up a fork and napkin and headed for the table where Flora was sitting. “May I join you?”

“Sure,” the other woman said. “Don’t you want something to drink?”

Rosalyn took a seat. “Mr. O’Toole is bringing over a beer. I took the liberty of ordering one for you, also.”

“It’ll be beer for you, but some sort of near beer for me. He doesn’t let us drink the real stuff.”

“How sad. You keep watch, and I’ll switch them.”

“That’d be great. I’ve missed the taste of a real drink. He keeps me on a really short leash.”

“Well, then, let’s see what we can do to lengthen that leash. That is, if you still want that help we talked about.”

“I do. You just give me the chance to spit in his eye, and see how fast I take it.”

“Speaking of fast, here he comes.”

Shamus came over to the table. He set down the tray he was carrying and handed Rosalyn the beer on the left of the tray and Flora the tray on the right. “Here’s the beer for each of ye t’be drinking.”

“Thank you, Mr. O’Toole.” Rosalyn took a silver dollar from her reticule and tossed it onto the tray.

Shamus gave a quick nod. “And thanks t’ ye, Miss Owens. I know ye’ll each enjoy the beer I gave ye.” He winked and started back to the bar.

“Now,” Rosalyn whispered, “while his back is turned.” She quickly switched her glass for Flora’s.

Flora smiled. “Amen to that.” She reached for the beer in front of her. She was about to pick it up, when the voice in her head began, forcing her to reach across the table for the beer in front of Rosalyn. “That dirty…”

“Whatever is the matter?” the other woman asked.

“He… ordered me to enjoy the beer he gave me. That means that I have to drink that one, even if you switched them so I could have the other.” She growled under her breath. “If I had any second thoughts about your offer, that killed them.”

“I should say so. Let’s begin then.” The demimonde took a breath. “You first have to learn how to flirt. Flirting is a way of showing a man that you’re… interested in him and would like him to be interested in you in the same way.”

“How do I pick the man to flirt with?”

“You don’t – not at first, anyway. You flirt with every man you can. Later on, when you’re ready, you pick a man -- or two or three – to really go to work on. You decide that on the basis of who can do you the most good.”

“But how do I flirt with so many men?”

“There’s lots of ways. For instance – umm, does O’Toole have you dancing with the men on Saturday nights?”

“He does, damn his eyes.”

“At some point between the dances, try sitting like this.” She turned sideways on her chair, crossed her legs, and arched her back sensuously. “And when you do, run your fingers through that pretty hair of yours.”

Flora chuckled. “That’ll get their attention. It would have gotten mine.”

“Gets their peckers at attention, too -- but I guess you know all about that. There are other things you can do to, ah, work a whole crowd. You look a man in the eye – just pick one at random -- while you’re dancing as a Cactus Blosom, and wink at him, smile and run your tongue along your upper lip. That man – and every man near him – will think he’s the one you’re flirting with.”

“Anything more?”

“Lots; you can actually be looking square away from him, but still be flirting. But I’ll save most of the moves for my next ‘class’, if you don’t mind.”

“Most of them; that means you’ll tell me a few more today?”

Rosalyn nodded. “You ought to have a few principles ready to go for those Saturday dances. When a man comes up to hand you his ticket, smile and look at his face for a few seconds, then turn away, but glance back at him with your eyelids lowered a little.”

She gave Flora a quick demonstration of what she’d just described, watching the new woman’s reaction.

“I've seen that done to me a million times,” the latter said.

Rosalyn nodded. “Your own memories will be your best teacher. While you’re dancing a slow dance, lay your head on his chest and hum along. Run your hand slowly along his arm or on his chest. And when the dance is over, you smile at him.”

“And thank him for the dance, sure, I know that.”

“I expect that you do, but you’ll get better results if you say something like…” Rosalyn lowered her voice, “I had so much fun dancing with you, Joe.” She brought her hand up to her bosom. “I do hope that you’ll ask me again.” She looked away, over to the left, and when she looked back, her eyelids were half-closed. “See what I mean?” she asked.

Flora laughed. “I do. I most surely do, and I can’t wait to try it, just to see that old bastard’s reaction when he thinks I'm having a good time, in spite of everything he can do.”

* * * * *

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Cap said, gently tapping Bridget on the shoulder.

She turned at the sound of his voice. “Hello, Cap, what’s the matter?”

“I was wondering if you knew where I might find the prettiest girl in town, but I seem to have found her.”

“My, you’re certainly in a good mood today.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? It’s a bright, sunny day; I’m talking to a beautiful girl; Uncle Abner’s making me his partner…” He let his voice trail off, while he watched her face.

“He’s what?!” She jumped to her feet. “Oh, Cap, that’s… that’s wonderful.” She raised her arms to hug him, but stopped, her expression changing from joy to worry. Would he want someone like her to hug him? “Con… Congratulations.” She reached out and shook his hand. “I guess that means he doesn’t think of you as his ‘idiot nephew’ anymore.”

“Well, now, fancy you remembering me saying that.” Cap had to grin. “He may still think that way, for all I know, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. He needs somebody to run his ranch, while he’s in Philadelphia getting his back fixed.”

“Yes, but it didn’t have to be you. He could have left his foreman in charge. And even if he wanted you to be running the place, he still didn’t have to make you his partner. He did it because he trusts you, Cap.”

She sighed and bowed her head. “I-I wish I could trust somebody – anybody -- that much.”

“Bridget...” Cap gently, slowly put a finger under her chin and lifted, so that her face was raised, and she was looking into his eyes. “You can trust me, Bridget.” He took a breath. “Please, please try.”

He could read the sadness in her glance as she answered him, “I-I don’t know if I can – yet, Cap, but thank you, thank you so very much for offering.”

* * * * *

` DANCERS WANTED!

` The Eerie Saloon is Looking for Young Ladies

` To Join the Eerie “Cactus Blossoms”

` Must be of Good Character and

` At Least 18 Years Old

` If Interested: Contact Molly O’Toole

` At the Eerie Saloon

Shamus put the sheet back on the top of the stack. “These’re just what we wanted, Love. I’ll be sure t’be getting them posted all around the town.”

“Ye might want t’be posting one in here, Shamus. Ye never know who’d be seeing it.”

He nodded. “Might as well. A quite a few women come in to eat at Maggie’s table, like that Rosalyn.”

“She'd be a handful,” Molly replied.

The bartender shrugged. “I just hope we get a lass or two t’be applying for the job. The ones most likely to be interested are already making more money than we can pay working in cathouses like Wilma.”

“Shamus O'Toole! Who says that only bad girls want to dance? Was I such a bad girl when you first met me?”

Her husband tried to mollify her with a smile. “Molly, me love, ye set me right on that score the instant ye dumped that beer over me head for asking, and I’ve loved ye for the angel ye was ever since.” When his wife's look remained dubious, he decided to stop talking. Peeling two of the flyers out of the stack, he left the bar to tack them up.

One was posted outside near the door; the other on the wall by the bar.

* * * * *

“Is there any Old Business?” Horace Styron asked the other members of the church board of elders.

Willie Gotefreund raised his hand. “Ja, der petition about Trisha ist come due. We vote on if she stays on der boardt or not.”

“He’s right, Horace,” the Judge added. “The thing is… you signed the petition for her removal, as I recall”

Horace glared at Humphreys. “I did. What about it?”

“You can’t run the meeting while we’re talking ‘bout your motion,” Rupe Warrick replied.

The Judge nodded. “Rupe’s right, Horace. Give him the gavel.”

“Is this some trick of yours, Humphreys?” Styron glanced around the room. “Where’s that damned Quinlan to make a ruling?” Then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, he’s off with that potion tramp of his.”

Milt and Jane had been sitting quietly in the back of the hall. He rose and walked quickly forward. “Mr. Styron, if you say one more untoward word about my wife, I will beat the living shit out of you and sue what little is left for every penny you have.”

“There… there’s no need to make threats, Milt.” Styron took a step back, keeping the table between himself and Quinlan. “I-I apologize.”

Milt stopped. “I’ll accept it… if Jane will.” He looked back at her and smiled. She blushed and gave a quick nod. “She does,” Milt continued, “but my threat stands. As far as parliamentary rules go, Mr. Warrick is correct. The Chair can’t preside if he’s one of the makers of the question under debate.”

“Thanks, Milt,” Rupe said, reaching for the gavel. “And best wishes to you and Jane.”

“Glad to be of help.” Milt walked back to Jane and sat down beside her.

She took his hand in hers. “Thanks for that ‘beat the living shit’ part, Milt.” She giggled and kissed his cheek. “I liked it a lot.”

“You’re my wife, Jane, and I won’t let anybody say a word against you.” He squeezed her hand. “And when this damned meeting is over…”

She blushed. “We surely will.”

* * * * *

Rupe pounded the gavel once. “All right, there’s a petition on the floor that Trisha O’Hanlan be removed from the board because of…” He took a quick look at the copy of the petition. “…unseemly behavior. It doesn’t say what she did, exactly, but whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad if five of you think we have to kick her off the board for it.”

“Can I say something?” Trisha raised her hand.

Horace smirked. “What lie have you got cooked up for us, now, Trisha?”

“Nothing as bad as the lies you and the others have cooked up about me.” Trisha rose to her feet. She took a deep breath and began. “I ran for the board because I wanted to make things better. I wanted to help the congregation help itself to grow into a caring family that served itself and the rest of our community. We’ve made a start at that with the creation of the building fund and with the dance that so many of you helped with and even more of you enjoyed.”

“When I was elected, I looked forward to serving a long time, to years of bringing our congregation together to do good works. That’s not possible now. The Bylaws say a woman can’t be elected to the Board, so I’m out as soon as my term is up in September.”

“If not sooner,” Cecelia Ritter yelled, and several of the women cheered.

Trisha gave her a wry smile. “Thank you, Cecelia, for making my point. I’ve tried very hard to work for the congregation, the entire congregation, but some people haven’t been interested in that. All they’ve wanted was to get me off the Board. I don’t like it, but I’ve come to see that my being on the Board has become a divisive issue. I don’t want that to continue.”

“Are you resigning?” Horace asked hopefully.

Trisha shook her head. “No, Horace, I’m not. A couple years ago, Tom Rhodes was one of the Board Members-at-Large, the same as I am now. He had to go back to Ohio on some family business, and he got stuck there for almost six months. As soon as he knew he wasn’t coming back anytime soon, he took a leave of absence. He was still on the Board, but somebody else went to the meetings in his place. That’s what I’m asking for now, a leave of absence.”

“Second,” Dwight Albertson yelled.

Styron stared at her in surprise. “A leave of absence, somebody else’d take your place, have your vote?”

“Yes,” Trisha said, looking down at the table.

The man smiled. “Then I second it, too.”

“All in favor?” Rupe asked. When the other six Board members all raised their hands, he did the same. “Passed unanimously; I guess the gavel is yours again, Horace. There’s no sense voting on the petition, seeing as Trisha isn’t really on the Board anymore.”

Styron rose, a toothy smile of triumph on his face. “No, there isn’t. And I nominate Clyde Ritter to take --”

“Sorry, Horace,” Trisha interrupted. “As the person taking the leave of absence, I get to pick who fills in for me.”

“What!” Styron practically howled.

The Judge nodded. “That’s the way the Bylaw reads – doesn’t it, Milt.”

“It does.” Milt held up a small, leather bound notebook. “Article 8, Section 10. I can show it to you in my copy of the Bylaws if you’d like, Mr. Styron.”

The man grimaced. “No, that… that won’t be necessary.”

“Glad to see you agree,” Trisha remarked, sounding almost casual. “My nomination is my brother, Liam O’Hanlan.” She made a sweeping gesture. “Liam, get up here and take over for me.”

Liam was sitting about halfway back, next to Kaitlin. He clambered to his feet and started for the stage. “Not that we really need to,” Judge Humphreys said, “but I move that we formally accept Trisha’s nomination of Liam as her substitute for the remainder of her term.”

“Can I second that?” Trisha asked.

The Judge shook his head in agreement. “You can. You’re still on the Board until your replacement takes over.” He leaned over. “Now, you ask, ‘all in favor’, Horace.”

“All in favor?” The man watched as Trisha, Humphreys, Dwight Albertson, and Rupe Warrick all raised their hands.

A moment later, Jubal Cates also raised a hand. “Seems only fair to honor the lady’s last wish.” Styron and Willie Gotefreund raised their hands slowly, as if in surrender.

“Passed unanimously,” Horace said, not really trying to hide his disgust. “We’ll take a five minute recess while everybody catches their breath and tries to figure out what just happened.”

* * * * *

Styron watched the stragglers come back into the schoolhouse, as the meeting resumed.

The O’Hanlans were all standing together near the window, talking. “I better get up there,” Liam said. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Liam,” Trisha told him, shaking his hand. “And thanks for your help.”

Kaitlin leaned in and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Something extra for luck.”

“I feel lucky already.” He smiled and walked over to take the seat Trisha had used. He turned to the board president. “Do I need to get sworn in or anything, Horace?”

Styron gave him a sour look. “No, you’re only a ‘substitute’, so you don’t count for that much.”

“Thanks, I’ll try to live down to your expectations.”

Styron pounded the gavel a couple of times to get everyone’s attention. “We’re starting again, folks. Does anyone else on the Board have any Old Business?” He waited a moment, but there was no response. “Okay, then, is there any new business?” He looked at the other board members, but, again, no one spoke.

“In that case,” he continued, “I understand that Reverend Yingling has something to say. Reverend…”

Yingling stood slowly, his hands at his lapels, as if preparing for some great oration. “Thank you, Horace and you other Board members, for giving me the opportunity to speak. As many of you know, I have been concerned about Shamus O’Toole and that amazing concoction of his. I have asked the Town Council to create a committee which would take control of whatever amount of potion now exists and any more that he might produce in the future. A petition has circulated in support of my request, and this board has also voted its support toward that end.”

“In spite of this overwhelming support – for which I am truly grateful – the Town Council has repeatedly postponed its final vote on this matter, often relying on the most trivial of excuses for doing so. The Council will meet again a week from tonight, and I have come to ask that our church board of elders reaffirm their support of these efforts by a second vote of confidence in the rightness of these efforts. Thank you.” He nodded to the Board and resumed his seat.

“So moved,” Jubal Cates said quickly.

Styron seconded. “All in favor…”

“Hold it, Horace,” the Judge quickly cut him short. “I think that we need to talk about this a little before the vote takes place. Right, Milt?”

Milt nodded. “He’s right, Horace.”

“All right,” Horace said. “Who wants to start off?”

Humphreys raised a hand. “I will.” He flipped his lapel to revel a pale blue ribbon that was pinned to it. “For those of you who can’t read this ribbon, it says, ‘Trust Shamus.’ I trust Reverend Yingling implicitly in matters of Faith. He’s a good man and a good minister, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise. But in matters of the potion, which isn’t a moral issue as far as I can see, I trust Shamus O’Toole. He’s done a pretty good job so far. He dealt with the Hanks Gang, saved a boy’s life, and, right now, he’s got two more former men that he’s looking after. Making the potion, giving it to people, and taking care of them after they drink it is all part of the same job. Unless somebody else wants to take over all of that job, then let’s let the people who are doing it so well now just keep on doing it.”

“Panderer,” Cecelia Ritter yelled, jumping to her feet. “I think Mr. O’Toole isn’t the only one who should be losing a job. We’ll be voting on Board members in September and on your judgeship in November, and after that you may not have either job.” A few members of the crowd cheered loudly.

A few others were pinning on their own “Trust Shamus” ribbons. Styron frowned. “Thank you, Cecelia, but it’s the members of the Board who are supposed to be speaking now. Still…” He paused for effect. “…this Board was elected to do the will of the Congregation. So, if no one minds…” He glanced at the others at the table. “I’ll ask those in favor of giving continued support to the efforts of our spiritual leader, to rise for a serpentine vote.”

“A what?” someone yelled.

Milt stood up, still holding Jane’s hand. “I’ll explain, Horace. Everybody in favor stands up. Horace points to someone to start. They say, ‘one’ and sit down. The next one standing says, ‘two’ and so on, until everyone’s sitting, and we have the count. Then, those opposed do the same thing.” He quickly took his seat, placing his arm around his new wife.

“Do like Milt said,” Horace told the crowd. “If you support the Reverend, stand up.” When everyone who did, was standing, he pointed to Clyde Ritter, sitting next to Cecelia in the front row on the left.

Clyde shouted out, “One” and sat down. Cecelia said, “Two” just as loudly. The vote swept from row to row, finally going up to the members of the Board. Willie Gotefreund took his seat last after calling out, “Forty-five.”

“All right,” Styron said, hiding his disgust at the low count. “Those opposed, you stand up now.” He waited for them to get to their feet. “Trisha,” he told the former board member, “you start this count.”

Liam was the last, this time. He sat after saying “Forty-one.”

“According to the poll we just took, the Congregation supports the Reverend,” Horace said.

“Not by much,” Jubal Cates added, nervously. “Maybe we should hold off on this?”

Styron shook his head. “No, I’m calling the vote now. Board members in favor raise your hands.” He looked around. “Willy… Jubal… anyone else… Dwight, thank you, Dwight, and myself. Those opposed. Judge… Rupe… and Liam, no surprise there.” He smiled. “The vote is to 4 to 3 in support of Reverend Yingling. I’ll draft a letter for you in the name of the Board, Reverend.”

“Thank you, Horace,” Yingling said, appearing to smile. “And my thanks to you loyal members of the Board.”

The gavel sounded once more. “Any other New Business?” Horace asked. “No, in that case, I declare this meeting adjourned.”

* * * * *

Thursday, May 16, 1872

“’Morning, everybody,” Jane said, as she walked through the back door and into Maggie’s kitchen.

Maggie slid the frying pan of scrambled eggs over to a cooler back burner. That done, she hurried over to hug her friend. “Jane, welcome back. I did not expect you so early.”

“Why not? You come back from your honeymoon ‘round breakfast time.”

“Yes, but it was my restaurant I was coming back to. I was worried about it the whole time, no matter how good I knew you were or how much Ramon tried to distract me.”

Jane giggled. “I bet he was real good at… distracting you.”

“Mmm, he was. He still is, I am happy to say.” Maggie looked at the newlywed. “And I think it is the same with Milt and you.”

“It is,” Jane giggled. “It truly is, and the only reason I come back this early is ‘cause he needed t’get back to work on something for Mr. Slocum.”

Maggie shrugged. “That is the problem in being married. Sometimes, the men have to leave before we want them to leave.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Flora picked that moment to come in from the Saloon. “Well, now, look’s who’s finally come back.”

“G’morning, Flora,” Jane replied.

Flora set the empty tray she was carrying down on the worktable. “Lylah’s set the table, and I just took out the coffee and the bread. I guess we’re done, now that she’s…” Flora pointed at Jane. “…back.”

“You and Lylah are done, when I say that you are done.” Maggie answered firmly. “Jane, will you finish with the eggs while I find something else for Flora to do.”

Jane just managed not to laugh. “Sure, Maggie.” She reached for an apron. ‘That one’s still putting her foot in it,’ she thought, as she went over to tend the eggs.

* * * * *

“Roscoe,” Trisha said cheerily, “what brings you in here today?”

Roscoe Unger walked over to the counter. “Good morning, Trisha. I came over to interview you – you and Liam, both, actually, about what happened at the church board meeting last night.” He studied their faces. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

“Why not?” Liam answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “Things are quiet right now, so it should be all right.” He glanced over at a tall Mexican who was stacking 50-pound sacks of dried corn meal. “Mateo,” he called out. “Trisha and I are going into the office for a while. Take care of anybody that comes in, okay?”

The man nodded without looking up from his work. “Si, Señor Liam.”

“Thanks,” Liam replied. “Okay, Roscoe… Trisha, let’s go.” He led them over to the office and opened the door. “Ladies first,” he told her, making a broad gesture with his other arm.

As Trisha walked into the office, it occurred to her that she’d never really agreed to being interviewed. ‘Well,’ she thought, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound. And I’ll do most of the talking once we get started anyway.’

Two desks, hers and Liam’s, were pushed together to form a common workspace. She took her own seat and pointed to a nearby wooden chair for Roscoe. Liam shut the door and sat down at his desk, turning the chair to face Unger.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” the newsman said, taking a small pad and a yellow pencil from his inside jacket pocket. “Trisha, why, exactly, did you quit the board last night?”

She smiled. “I didn’t actually quit. I took a leave of absence. Strictly speaking, I’m still on the Board. Only it’ll be Liam sitting there at the table during the meetings, speaking and voting instead of me.” She couldn’t help sounding sad as she spoke.

“Okay, then, why did you take a leave of absence?”

“Because I was too much of a distraction; the Board and the congregation were stuck in a rut, spending way too much time talking about me, instead of the important work they should have been doing. And it wasn’t just talking, they were arguing about me. That’s not right. A congregation’s supposed to be a family, with the board at its head. People can’t be spending all that time yelling at each other, arguing with each other like Cecelia Ritter – no, don’t mention any names, please. Please. Just say like so many of the people were doing, arguing about me, and then arguing about the people who were disagreeing with them about me.”

Roscoe waggled his head in agreement. “Okay, no names.” To himself, he added, ‘besides Cecelia Ritter’s head has already gotten too big from seeing her name in the paper.’

“Why didn’t you take this leave of absence back in December, when Horace Styron and the others tried to get you off the board?”

“Because I thought that it would blow over, that it was more a case of folks not being sure how much the potion changed me. Heck, I wasn’t sure of that myself, but I thought that I could do the job, and I wanted a chance to try, to prove it to myself and to everybody else.” She chuckled. “And I did. The dance was a great success.”

“It was, and you deserve a lot of the credit for that.”

“I’ll take a share of it, but it took a lot of work by a lot of people, and they all deserve a share of the credit.”

“The petition that Horace Styron and the others wrote up claimed that you behaved improperly at the dance. That was why they wanted you off the board. Would you care to comment on those charges?”

“No.” She stared down at her desk for a moment before she raised her head again. “But I guess that I have to. I don’t think I did anything that was so very wrong. I danced with a few men and ate and drank and generally enjoyed myself, just the same as everybody else.”

“The petition claims that you walked off into the woods with someone, a Rhys Goodwyn. What do you say to that charge?”

“I danced with Mr. Goodwyn. Then he was kind enough to accompany me, while I walked around looking at the decorations and such. I don’t know why people made such a fuss out of it. I saw a number of couples strolling around during the evening. I wasn't a wallflower when I was a man, and I'm not one now.”

“Are you and Goodwyn a couple?”

“There were two of us. That’s a couple, and that’s all there is to it.” Damn, she was getting tired of lying, but she could hardly admit that he’d gotten her drunk and seduced her. Or how much she’d wanted him to seduce her. No, she couldn’t say that any more than she could say that she’d been with two other men besides Rhys and that she was pregnant by one of them. ‘Especially,’ she suddenly thought, ‘not to Roscoe – and why am I so concerned about telling him? It’s telling Liam that I should worry about.’

He seemed to see the pain in her face. “I guess that is all.” He shifted in his chair. “Liam, now that you’ll be sitting in for Trisha on the meetings, do you have any plans on what you’ll be doing?”

“I’ll be supporting the Building Fund she started. She and I agree on most matters, and I agreed to take her place to protect her ideas. Neither of us wants to see them dismantled by whoever else might have taken her seat.”

“Is that all you’ll be doing, protecting your sister’s ideas?”

“No, I’ve a few ideas of my own that I’d like to see done.”

Trisha raised a curious eyebrow. “Oh, do you, now, Liam. And what sort of ideas are they?”

“For one thing, I’d like to see the church run some events jointly with the Mexican church. Some of the things that were said at the last town council meeting tells me that there’s still a lot of distrust between us and them. We’re all neighbors here. We don’t have to love everybody, but we have to learn to treat each other with respect.”

Roscoe quickly wrote that down. He glanced back up and asked, “What sort of thing are you talking about?”

“There isn’t much time, but I thought the board and the church could co-sponsor a Fourth of July town picnic.” He took quick look at the calendar on the wall. “The Fourth is a Thursday, a workday, but we could have it on Saturday. Maybe we could even have a two-day party, one day at the church and the other at the field by the schoolhouse. We could have Mexican food and things like those pinyatas they celebrate with and fireworks the first day. Then have fried chicken and sports – baseball maybe – and more fireworks the second.”

Trisha frowned. “That’d be kind of expensive, wouldn’t it?”

“Not too expensive,” her brother replied. “We could sell tickets, maybe have a raffle with prizes that merchants could donate. The ladies from both churches could pack picnic baskets, fix them up real nice, and we could auction them off. Folks do that all the time. Some of the money’d help pay for the picnic, and their church and our own building fund could split whatever’s left fifty-fifty.”

Roscoe considered what Liam had just said. “Those’re pretty good ideas, Liam. Do you have any more?”

“I sure do, and not just about the picnic. I’ve a notion or two about other ways to raise money for our building fund, ideas about how to get people to support the whole idea of what the building fund’s there for. They might not help make us any money, but they’d make it harder for anyone to kill the idea.”

The newsman leaned back in his chair. “Tell me more.”

“Sure.” Liam began talking. He and Roscoe went on for more than an hour. They got so involved that they barely noticed Trisha leave, or noticed the frustrated look on her face as she did.

* * * * *

“Damnation!” Thaddeus Yingling thundered, slamming his pencil down onto his desk.

Martha was dusting in the parlor, close enough to hear him. “Are you all right, dear?” she asked, hurrying into his study.

“Yes – no, blast it! No, I’m not. I’m so mad about what happened at the board meeting last night that I can’t get any work done on my sermon.”

“But you told me that the board voted to support you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“It was, but the vote was 4 to 3, the narrowest of victories. And the congregation, they were even worse.”

“What do you mean, the congregation was worse?”

“Horace Styron called for a straw poll. I believe that he wanted to show those disloyal members of the board how strongly the congregation supported me.” He snorted. “That certainly went wrong. The poll went 45 for me and… 41 – for-ty-one…” He pronounced each syllable separately. “…against. Those ungrateful souls voted against me, their minister, and against the holy work I am trying to do.”

“Perhaps,” she said softly, gently placing her hand on his shoulder, “perhaps you’re trying too hard. All this business with the potion, I think it’s… confusing people, making them forget all the wonderful things you’ve done for them.”

“No!” He pulled away from her. “I-I have to do this. I can’t allow any chance that… that some innocent might be harmed by that foul brew. It's happened before.” He took a breath, as if steeling himself for a fight. “I have to try even harder. I have to succeed. I am the shepherd to these folk, and I shall return my sheep to the fold.”

“The potion will be mine,” he went on, “and when it is he – they, they will all see the error of their ways, and there will be no more rebellion against G-d’s Will.”

* * * * *

Abner Slocum finished reading the last page and shifted it to the back of the set of papers he was holding. “This looks fine, Milt. How soon will you have the copies ready for Matthew and I to sign?”

“I have to make those changes we’ve discussed; there aren’t many of them. I should have them done by late Friday afternoon.”

“That should do it. He’ll be coming into town Saturday morning, and we can sign them then.”

“I’ll have those changes to your will done, too. You can sign it at the same time.”

“That will be even better. Red tells me that the wagon they’re fixing up for me will be done by tomorrow. The Doc wants to try it out. If it works, I can leave right after everything’s signed.”

“Are you sure about this trip?”

“No, but I’m sure that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life lying on my back with only one working arm and no working legs.”

“I can see your point, and I wish you all the luck in the world.” He put the papers back into his briefcase. “I’d better go, if I’m going to get these documents back when I promised.”

“Goodbye, then, and give all my love to your new wife.”

Milt chuckled. “Thanks, Abner, but I’d rather give her all my love. I like to think that she prefers it.”

“I’m sure she does; now, get going on my legal work.”

* * * * *

` “Informed by Eerie School Board of your firing for unseemly behavior.
` Your name removed from our accredited teachers list. Do not use
` Hartford Female Seminary as reference in future.”

` H. Louis Dewey,
` Director of Teacher Placement

Nancy stared at the telegram again. “Of all the deceitful…” She crumbled it up and shoved it into her apron pocket. If one of the town council members had actually told this lie to the Seminary, she was never going to get her job back. If someone else in town had sent it, ‘The more likely case,’ she told herself, then she was still going to have a very hard time getting her job back. “And an even harder time holding onto it,” she muttered under her breath. “And I don’t have the credentials anymore to get a teaching job anywhere else.”

Now, just to get a new teaching job -- anywhere -- she'd have to first get involved in an ugly haggle all the way across the country.

‘I’ve known those people for years,’ she thought, ‘and they’ve known me just as long. How could they believe a lie like that so easily? Was everything they told me, every kindness they ever showed me – was everything I ever believed in been just another lie?’

It made her angry and made her feel alone. Nancy had been thinking of giving up teaching anyway, but she wanted it to be her choice, not someone else's. She didn't want to leave both it and her good name behind.

‘Maybe I should ask Mr. Whitney and the others to write Mr. Dewey. Let him, let everyone know the sort of despicable people who would do such a thing. No,’ she realized, 'that… that would just drag things out. I-I might not win and it would hurt so much worse if I lost.’

“All right,” she growled. “If they want to keep calling me a tramp, that’s what they'll get. They've done their best work on me; let's see how much they like the results!” She all but stomped over to the bar. “Molly, may I talk to you for a minute… upstairs?”

The older woman noted Nancy's angry flush and nodded. “Sure ye can.” She came out from behind the bar, where she’d been stacking glasses, and followed the waitress to the second floor.

* * * * *

“Now what is it that ye had t’be getting me up here t’talk about?”

Nancy pulled the telegram from her pocket. “This!” She thrust it into Molly’s hand.

“Oh, my,” Molly said, after a quick look. “Ye don’t really think any of them on the council wrote ‘em, do ye?”

“No… no, I don’t. Whit wouldn’t have let me stay in his home if he felt that way, and Arsenio’s not the sort of man who’d do something like writing to the Seminary after all the help I’ve been giving to Laura.”

“That still leaves Aaron Sil –”

“That darling, old man – never, not the way he’s been such a gentleman to me. I know I haven't been too good at seeing hypocrites for what they are, but I don't think anyone on the board is that kind.”

“Then who d’ye think done it?”

“If I had to make a guess, Cecelia Ritter. Or Zenobia Carson; her husband runs the telegraph. But, to tell the truth, Molly, I don’t care. Whoever it was, he – or she – settled something for me. I'm giving up teaching. I was thinking about it before, but now, much as I loved the main part of it, I won’t go back to being the timid little schoolmarm under the scrutiny of such narrow minds.”

“What’re ye gonna do then?”

“Well…” She clenched her fists and set her jaw. “I saw that flyer you put up yesterday. I don't know why, but I started thinking of myself up on stage and I couldn't get that thought off my mind all day. Flora and Lylah don't seem to like what they've been doing, but to me it looks like a lot of fun. Now I suddenly realize that I have nothing left to lose. It should be frightening, but it makes me feel free. I can actually try being a dancer.”

Molly looked truly surprised. “Why a dancer?”

Nancy shrugged. “They make a lot more money than a waitress, don't they?”

“Aye…they do,” Molly answered slowly. She studied the woman for a moment. “Ye’re surely pretty enough, but I don't think it's the money yer thinking about right now. If this is only about getting revenge on people for name-calling ye, think again. As much as we love ye, Nancy, the saloon business is serious, and we need a serious-minded girl to help us stay in business. I'm just afraid that you'll quit the first time yer actually asked to go out on stage and show off your knees.”

“I am serious. You can trust me, Molly. I've never been a quitter. If I'll say I'll do something, I'll do it. I'm going to become the best darned --” She took a determined breath. “Best damned dancer this town has ever seen! And it will be good for business. Think of all the customers who'll come in just to see the school teacher they know doing the cancan.”

“Ay, that would be a novelty attraction for a little while. But do ye really want to be looked at the way men are going t'be looking at you? Do ye want to advertise that yer some sort of a fallen woman?”

Nancy's eyes flashed and that expression Carl sometimes used rushed to her lips. “Damned straight!”

Molly regarded her skeptically. This hardly seemed to be the same young lady who had offered to fill in for Laura Caulder only weeks before. “Even if ye really want the job, Nancy, it won't be any stroll down the lane. It takes hard work and a lot o'practice. How well do ye move? Can ye do the dancing?”

“I'm as good at dancing as the Cactus Blossoms are.”

“Let’s see.”

“See what?”

“Let's see how much ye know how to do already.”

They were standing in the back hallway where Molly rehearsed with Flora and Lylah. Nancy didn't seem quite sure about what Molly was asking. To lift her skirts to the knees and start kicking? Then her face brightened. She turned, faced the open floor, and took a few steps. Then, stretching her arms out over her head, she suddenly lunged forward. Her hands touched down on the floor solidly and her body formed a “T” with her legs. The momentum of the roll carried her sideways. First one foot, then the other, touched down. It took her only a couple seconds to collect herself. “Ta da!” she said cheerily, her arms raised over her head like a circus performer.

“Bravo,” Molly said walking over. “Yer just full o'surprises today. And where did ye learn t’be doing a cartwheel like that?”

Still a little breathless, Nancy replied, “I was quite the tomboy, when I was younger. Carl and I grew up on a farm back in Pennsylvania, with only each other to play with. I learned to do cartwheels and climb trees just to keep up with him.”

Molly put her hands on her hips and took a good second look at Nancy. “I’d never o’guessed it. Ye’ve always been the perfect lady.”

“You can thank my aunt and uncle for that. We went to live with them in Hartford after my parents died. Aunt Clementine still refers to my first years with her and Uncle Nathaniel as her ‘Time of Great Trial’, but eventually, her lessons took hold.”

“They surely did. Can ye do other stunts like that?”

“I used to be able to do a double cartwheel, but I’d want to practice before I tried that one in public. I can do somersaults… tucks and rolls, too.” She took a breath. “At least, I used to be able to do them.”

“And ye will again, I’m thinking.” Molly spat in her hand and held it out for Nancy to shake. “If ye won't mind wearing a dancehall costume and kicking yer heart out, welcome to the Cactus Blossoms.”

Nancy laughed. She spat in her own hand and shook hands with Molly. “Thank you… boss.”

* * * * *

Kaitlin poured fresh hot water into her teacup. “Would you like some more tea, Trisha?”

“Yes, please.” Trisha replied, holding up her own, almost empty cup.

Kaitlin filled Trisha’s cup and set the pot down, covering it with a tea cozy. Then she walked over and sat down across from her transformed ex-husband. “Have you decided when you’re going to tell Liam… and Emma? You did promise, you know?”

“I know.” She sipped at her chamomile tea. “I-I was thinking… how about tomorrow night? Liam will be by for his usual Friday night supper.”

“Tomorrow? That’s a rather nasty birthday present for Emma, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but you’re the one pushing me to tell. It’s just bad luck that tomorrow is her birthday.” She looked hopefully at Kaitlin. “We could put off telling them for a while.”

“No, and I don’t think we should tell Liam, without telling her as well.” She gave a wistful sigh. “Maybe she’ll like the idea of finally having a little brother or sister enough not to mind that it’s you who’ll be the mother.”

“Oh, sure, and may we can go outside after supper and watch the pigs flying by.”

* * * * *

Nancy was standing at the bar, waiting for a drink order, when Clyde Ritter walked over. “Good evening, Miss Osbourne.”

“Mr. Ritter,” she said with a sigh. “The last thing I need is more trouble from you. Please go away.”

“I was just being sociable… Nancy. You were a boarder in my house last school year.”

“I remember. I also remember why I left. You’re a married man, and I’ll respect that even if you won’t.”

He smirked. “Your loss, and, for the record, you weren’t the reason I came over here tonight.” He pointed to Flora, who had just come out of the curtained off “dressing room” under the stairs, where she’d put on her blouse and skirt after her early evening show. “She is.”

“That’s her misfortune, then.” Before he could reply, R.J. put the pitcher and five glasses down on her tray. She lifted it quickly and headed over to Bridget’s poker table, as fast as she could walk through the crowd.

Ritter shrugged and hurried over to the mass of men forming around Flora. “You were enchanting as always, Flora,” he told her, once he was close enough.

Flora glanced at the mustachioed speaker. ‘Let’s just see if Rosalyn knew what she was talking about,’ Flora thought. “Why thank you, thank all of you boys.” She smiled broadly and looked down, her eyes half-closed. When she looked up a moment later, she flashed her lashes at them. “I just love dancing for all you handsome, handsome men.”

From the way the crowd ate up the slop she’d just fed them, Flora decided that Rosalyn certainly did know how to handle men. Suddenly a thought crossed her mind. Rosalyn knew how to mint the coin of the realm, but did she know what could be bought with it?

* * * * *

Friday, May 17, 1872

Carl strode a few feet into the Saloon and walked over to where his sister was sitting. “G’morning, Nancy. You on break or something?”

“Carl,” she returned his greeting. “What brings you to town today?”

“Arsenio and Sam got that ambulance done this morning, the one they was rigging up for Mr. Slocum – at least, they think it’s done. Before the Doc’ll let the boss go off in it, he wants t’test it out. So he’s laying down in the back, where Mr. Slocum will be, while Red Tully drives the thing all ‘round, especially over that bumpy trail up to Chiricahua Mesa outside o’town.”

She considered this information. “What happens if he says it’s safe for Mr. Slocum to ride in it?”

“Then Red’ll use it to take him up to Utah t’catch a train east. Angel Montero’s gonna go along, to t’drive the thing back here t’Eerie. Mr. Slocum says he wants the Doc t’have it.”

“That’s very good of him.”

“He’s a good man. What’s new with you, Sister?”

“Nothing good.” She fetched the telegram out of her apron pocket. “I got this yesterday.” She tossed the envelope across the table to him.

Carl took out the sheet of paper and read it slowly. “Tarnation! Now who the hell wrote and told ‘em a lie like that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think that it was any of the actual members of the town council, not after they’ve all told me that they wanted me to come back and be a teacher again.”

“You gonna do it? You gonna take up the job again?”

“Not after this! Somebody in this town hated me enough to send a fake letter to the Seminary. If I take that job, she’ll be waiting to do even worse.”

“She? You know who done it, don’t you?”

“I’ve a good idea who did it, and her initials are Cecelia Ritter -- that, or Cecelia and Zenobia Carson. Tom Carson is the town telegrapher, after all. He’d know that the telegram to the Seminary was a lie, but he’d probably send it anyway, if his wife asked him to.”

“So, what’re you gonna do about it?”

“I’m not going to go scraping and bowing to the sort of people who’d send such a lying letter, to beg them to let me be a school teacher again, that’s for sure.” She paused for a moment, bracing for the argument she knew she was about to start. “I’ve talked to Molly O’Toole.”

“About the telegram?”

“Yes, but I mean I asked for a different job.”

“You want to cook or clean instead?” Carl asked bemusedly.

She was looking to one side, at the light coming in over the batwing doors. “I’m the newest member of the Cactus Blossoms.”

Her brother staggered half a step back. “The Cactus Blossoms! You mean to tell me that you’re gonna be up there with Flora and… and Lylah, strutting around in your underthings?”

“Actually, I expect to be doing some specialty dancing. I auditioned for the job with a cartwheel.”

Carl grimaced and scratched his head. “The schoolmarm’s gone, then, and the tomboy’s back.”

“She is.” Nancy rose to her feet and folded her arms in front of her. “You got a problem with that, Big Brother?”

“A problem? You're damned right I do!”

“I was just taking your advice,” Nancy averred with a smile, almost a laugh, and a sparkle in her eye.

“What are you talking about?”

“You said I shouldn't think about making a long career of waitressing, but that I should be on the lookout out for better opportunities. I'll be making a lot more money dancing.”

Carl felt so exasperated he could barely find words to speak. “You know I never meant for you to do anything so...so...”

“So what?” Nancy had asked that while driving a hard stare right into his eyes.

He knew that look, her “taking a stand” look. She had had the nerve to take it even before Reverend Yingling, and he had seen how much trouble it had gotten her into. “Since you asked, here's what I think.” He raised a hand and began to count off on his fingers. “First off, you ain’t never gonna be able to be a teacher again, if you do something like this, but I guess whoever sent word back to Hartford fixed that, pretty much, anyway.”

“I'm glad you realize that. Anything else?”

“We both know,” he continued, “that I’m gonna get a lot o’grief from my buddies at the ranch about you dancing. Hell, you actually taught a couple of the younger ones!”

She chuckled. “Tell them to drop by and see the show. If they come in on Saturday, I can teach them something new, how to dance with a woman.”

Carl scowled. “And we sure as all get-out won’t be telling Aunt Clemmie and Uncle Nat what you’re doing. They'd probably come all the way out here just to nail your hide to the wall, and then string me up for letting you do what you're doing.”

“Brother, it's not up to you to let me do things. I know that ladies aren’t supposed to take jobs like that, but my lady days are over!”

Carl looked like he'd argue more, but instead he stood there like a cocked hammer, towering above her. He studied her expression for a moment, then gave a sigh of resignation. “…I suppose if you’re gonna be stubborn as a goat – and that ain’t nothing new for you – you might as well be prancing around like one. But before you do, I hope you realize what a mistake you're making.”

“Don't be so sure, Carl. Maybe my real mistake was trying to be something I wasn't. Maybe I'm just catching up with the life I was meant to live. Who knows that some angel didn't write, 'Nancy Osbourne: Cancan girl' in the Book of Life, when I was born?”

Her brother gave a throaty noise and touched his Colt. “If he did, I'm going to shoot down that scrawny old angel like he was a turkey buzzard.”

* * * * *

Phillipia Stone looked down at the small clock ticking softly on the corner of her desk. “Children,” she said, clapping her hands to get their attention, “Please put your arithmetic books away. We’re going to end classes early today, so you may have a little treat.”

“Emma O’Hanlan’s birthday is tomorrow, and she brought cupcakes and lemonade to share with you all by way of celebration.”

Hermione’s hand shot up. “Mrs. Stone, did Emma’s mama make that food and bring it over, or was it her sister, Trisha?”

“What’s it to you, Hermione?” Emma stood at her desk and glared at the other girl.

Mrs. Stone tried to step in. “Yes, Hermione, why are you asking? I’m sure that the cupcakes and lemonade are delicious regardless of who made them.”

“I was just curious,” the girl replied. “I thought that Trisha O’Hanlan’d have the time to bake cupcakes, seeing as she got throwed off the church board Wednesday night.”

Phillipia shook her head. “I’m afraid that you have been misinformed Hermione. She’s still on the board. She just took a leave of absence –”

“But my Mama said,” Hermione interrupted.

“I have no idea what your mother told you, but if she said that Trisha O’Hanlan is no longer on the church board, it was… untrue.”

“Is so true; Mama wouldn’t lie!”

“I was at the meeting, Hermione, and I saw and heard what happened. However, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss church politics.” She took a breath. “The food is on the table in the back of the room. Please help yourselves when I call your group… first grade children, you may go ahead.”

* * * * *

“What was all that stuff about Emma’s… umm, sister?” Yully asked Hermione as the eighth graders walked towards the table. “Who cares what happened at the church meeting? It don’t mean anything.”

Hermione smiled, pleased to start up again. “It means that she realizes that there are some things a female – even a fake female like her and her ‘sister’ -- shouldn’t do. Women shouldn’t be on the church board, and Emma shouldn’t be playing that ball game with you boys.”

“Seems t’me that ain’t up to you, Hermione.” The girl looked up to see Bert McLeod ahead of them with the other seventh graders. “I wasn’t so sure that Emma should play, when she first showed up, but she’s done pretty good since then. Heck, she helped my team win a couple o’weeks ago.”

Emma beamed. “Thanks, Bert.”

“Why are you defending this freak, Bert McLeod?” Hermione looked daggers at the younger boy.

By this point, they reached the table. “He’s just being honest, Hermione,” Emma said. “You should try it yourself sometime.”

“I beg your pardon,” she said haughtily.

Emma chuckled. “You should. And you should tell the truth about things, too. For instances, tell me true if you liked these cupcakes my Ma made.”

“I will not! If I was to say anything true, it’s that you and Trisha are horrid potion freaks and have no business being around regular people.”

Emma clenched her jaw. That was it! She picked up a cupcake from the small tray they were in. It was a white cake frosted with light blue icing. “In the meantime, try one of these.” Smiling, now, she mashed the pastry in Hermione’s face.

“Mrs. Stone,” Hermione screamed, “did you see what Emma just did to me?”

“I’m afraid that I didn’t Hermione,” the teacher replied, covering her mouth with her hand, “and you really must learn not to make such a mess when you eat. Try to be a lady – like Emma.”

* * * * *

“Honey or lemon?” Lavinia Mackechnie asked.

Cecelia Ritter considered the choices for a moment before replying, “Honey, if you please.”

“Honey, it is.” Lavinia used a honey dipper, a small, wooden rod, with an egg-shaped piece of wood at the end. She dipped the egg in a jar of clover honey, then held it over Cecelia’s cup. The honey dripped out of concentric grooves in the “egg” and into the hot liquid. “It’s such a pity the church board meeting didn’t go better last Wednesday,” she said, as she finally handed her friend the tea.

Cecelia took an experimental sip. “Ahh… lovely,” she said by way of approval. She took a longer sip and added, “Actually, I thought that things went pretty well for us Wednesday night.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Hilda Scudder asked.

Cecelia smiled, confidently. “For a start, we finally got rid of that horrid Trisha O’Hanlan. Oh, I know… her brother will be filling her seat for the rest of her term. But that’s only till September. He can’t cause us much trouble in that short a time.”

“What if he decides to run for the spot in the fall election?” Zenobia Carson asked.

Their leader shook her head. “He’s never shown any interest in the board before this. Why should he start now? He only took the seat – I expect – to help Trisha out. Besides, if he does run, I’m more than sure that my Clyde can beat him.”

“You should ask Reverend Yingling to come out for Clyde in the election. The Reverend owes you a lot for all the work you’ve done supporting his petition.”

Grace MacLeod spoke softly. “I’m not sure that he would. I’ve heard him say that he never takes sides in church elections because he has to work with whomever wins.”

“A wise notion, I’m sure,” Cecelia responded, “but after all my -- our -- work on his petition, I just know that he’d consider my husband as a special case.” She picked up one of the treacle tarts from the plate in the center of the table.

She took a bite, wiping her mouth with a napkin before continuing. “That’s another thing. The board may have voted a second time, last Wednesday, to support that petition, but the vote was much too close for my taste.”

“It was that foolish serpentine poll they took,” Zenobia said. “That and those dreadful ‘Trust Shamus’ ribbons some people were wearing.”

Cecelia nodded. “Indeed, and we cannot let that sort of thing happen at the town council meeting.” She hoisted her massive reticule onto her lap and opened the latch. “Before I gave the signed petitions to Reverend Yingling, I made a list of all the names. Now where…?” She rooted through her purse for a few moments before she pulled out a few sheets of paper. “Here they are. I split the list into five parts, one for each of us. We want to get as many of those people as possible to next week’s town council meeting.” She chuckled. “Then we’ll see how little harm to the Reverend those ribbons of Mr. O’Toole’s can do. Or those dumb, yammering Mex.”

* * * * *

“Move it, waitress, move it,” Bridget called out. Flora was walking slowly towards the poker table holding a tray filled with glasses and the second pitcher of beer of the evening. “There’re some thirsty players here.”

Flora reached the table and positioned the tray near Stu Gallagher, who sat across from Bridget. “I guess you aren’t having one, then, Miss Bridget, seeing as you’re just the dealer and not one of those players.” She chuckled. “How many weeks has it been since I… had you, and you aren’t over it yet?”

She smiled and headed back towards the bar before Bridget could react.

* * * * *

“More cake, anyone?” Kaitlin asked. When no one responded, she picked up the plate with the remains of Emma’s birthday cake and carried it over to the work counter by the sink. She placed a glass cover over the plate and walked back to the table and sat down.

Speaking in a firm voice, she said, “It’s time, Trisha.”

“I suppose that it is,” Trisha said. She took a long drink of lemonade, wishing that it were much stronger.

Emma looked over at her mother. “Is this an adult discussion, or do I get to stay?”

“It’s adult, all right,” Kaitlin answered, glancing over at Trisha. “But it concerns you, too, so you should stay.” She sighed. “You, too, Liam.”

He studied the faces of the two women. “This sounds serious.”

“It is,” Kaitlin said. “And before we go any further, I want you both to promise that you won’t tell anyone about what we say here tonight.”

Liam raised his right hand, as if he were in court. “I promise… so help me G-d.”

“Cross my heart and hope t’die,” Emma said, making the gesture over her heart.

Kaitlin nodded gravely. “Very good; tell them, Trisha.”

Trisha stared down at the table, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes. “The reason – the real reason – that I had to quit the Board is that I-I’m…” She took a deep breath, bracing herself. “…pregnant.”

There was about three seconds of absolute silence.

“You’re what!” exclaimed Liam, rising to his feet.

Trisha’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Pregnant.”

“Who did it?” he shouted. “I’ll… I’ll kill the son of a bitch.” He glared at his sister. “Or is there more to this than what meets the eye? Are you involved with him? Do you want to marry him, and have him make an honest woman out of you?”

Trisha shook her head. “No, I don’t want to marry anyone.”

“So he gets off scot-free, whoever he is,” Liam said with disgust.

His sister closed her eyes. “Yes. I-I just want to get on with my life.”

“There’s not much chance of that,” Kaitlin said. “You can’t hide a pregnancy.”

Liam frowned. “That’s why you gave up on any chance of keeping your seat, isn’t it; because you’d have been thrown off the board as soon as you started showing.”

“It is,” Trisha admitted. “I won’t let Horace Styron kill off what I’ve already gotten through.” She took a breath. “And regardless of what happens to me, you’ll still have a good chance of keeping the seat after the election. All you have to do is be the good board member I know you can be.”

Liam stalked to the middle of the parlor. “If I want to keep it.” He took a moment to consider things. “Good night, Kaitlin… Emma.” He walked briskly to the door and left, slamming it behind him.

“That went well,” Kaitlin said.

Trisha sighed. “I’ll talk to him about it at the store tomorrow.” She looked over at Emma. “You’ve been very quiet through all this, Emma. Do you have any questions?”

“This is ‘cause of the potion we drank, ain’t it?” She spoke in a soft, not quite steady voice.

Trisha shrugged. “That’s the only way I could have gotten pregnant.”

“Is that gonna happen to me, too?” Emma’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Am I gonna have a baby?”

Kaitlin shook her head, trying to look serious. “No, dear, just drinking that potion won’t do it. You have to… be with a boy. I explained all that to you back in January.”

Emma frowned. “If you just kiss a boy, does that make you pregnant?” she asked, feeling guilty – and scared – about what she and Yully had done.

Trisha looked across at her ex-wife. “That couldn’t have been much of a talk you gave the girl before.” She gave her daughter a wistful smile. “Kissing’s a good start, but you have to do a whole lot more.”

“Trisha!” Kaitlin shouted. “That’s enough from you.” She turned to face her daughter. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get changed for bed? You can bunk with me tonight, and I promise that we’ll stay up as late as you want, so I can answer all your questions.”

That pleased the girl, but she had one concern. “Trisha, too?”

“No.” Kaitlin glowered at her former husband. “Trisha just volunteered to sleep down here on the settee tonight.”

“Are you sure that would be good for the baby?” Trisha asked with an arched eyebrow.

* * * * *

Saturday, May 18, 1872

Milt Quinlan sat in one of the visitors’ chairs in Dr. Upshaw’s ward, his briefcase positioned on his lap. “Do you have any questions, Cap?”

“Not really,” Cap replied. “This is very generous of you, Uncle Abner.”

Abner Slocum nodded in agreement. “Yes, but it’s nothing that you didn’t earn. You’ve come a long way from that haggard, debt-ridden young man who showed up at my door three years ago.”

“If I have, it’s because of your help, sir. Thank you.”

Milt gave a small snort. “This is all very nice, gentlemen, but I do have other things to attend to. Are you ready to sign?”

“I am.” Cap picked up a pen from the table and quickly signed the three copies.

Once finished, he carried the papers over to Slocum. “Do you need any help, Uncle?”

“Yes, dammit,” Abner spat the words, “but not with this.” He picked up his own pen and signed the first copy.

As soon as Abner signed, Milt removed the copy and put another in its place. “Thanks, Abner. It’s easier for me to just give each one to Red as soon as you sign it,” he explained diplomatically.

“Bull,” Slocum said, finishing the third copy, “but thanks, anyway.” He looked up at his nephew, while Red Tully signed all three copies as witness.

Red signed the last and handed them all back to Milt. “Here ya, go, Mr. Quinlan.” Milt nodded and put the copies into his briefcase.

“Well, Mathew,” Slocum said, “The Triple-A is now – forty percent of it is, anyway. Just make sure that it’s still there when I get back from Philly.”

Cap smiled. “I’ll do my best, Uncle Abner, but it won’t be as good as you’d have done.”

“No, but it’ll be damned close.”

* * * * *

“That will be $4.57,” Arnie told Mrs. Spaulding, putting the three packages of clean laundry down on the bench.

She turned to her son. “Hedley, would you please place these in the house – oh, and bring out my change purse, too, if you would.”

They were all on the Spauldings back porch. Clara sat in her wheelchair at a nearby table that was set for lunch. “Annie,” she said, patting a chair beside her. “Annie, you come sit here by me. We can start lunch as soon as Hedley comes back, so Mama can pay you.”

“No,” her mother said. “There is something that Annie must do first. Isn’t that so, Annie?” She spoke firmly, as if giving an order. It was a tone that any military wife learned very quickly.

Hedley picked that moment to return. “Here you are, Mother.” He handed her the purse and waited while she counted out the money owed. The Spauldings’ dirty laundry was already packed away in Arnie’s wagon.

“You may as well sit down, Hedley,” Clara told him. “Mother says that Annie has to do something before we can eat.”

He shrugged. “I’ll stand, thank you.” He leaned back against the wall of the house. “I can see her better this way. Go ahead, Annie.”

It was a full five seconds before Arnie was able to open her mouth, but then the words just spilled out of her. “I-I've been keeping a secret that I shouldn't have. But… but I didn't do it to trick you. It's just that it's something so…peculiar… that I didn't want to mention it to strangers.”

“I didn't know that we'd become friends,” she continued. “When we did, I didn't think I could tell you. It would let you know that I wasn't telling you the truth up to then. And also, it would make you think of me in a whole new way.”

“I was afraid that you two might want to stop being friends. I knew the day would come when you found out about it, but I'd hoped that we'd be such good friends by that time that you could forgive me.” Her voice trailed off.
~
“Annie, what are you trying to say?” asked Clara.

Arnie took a deep breath. “D-Do you… remember what I told you… a couple weeks ago, what I said about the potion Mr. O’Toole makes?”

Clara thought for a moment. “Yes, you said that it was magic, that it could change people.”

“That is what you told us,” Hedley added, “though I’ve never been much for that sort of fairy story.”

Arnie sighed. “It is not a story. It… it is true. I-I am… proof of that.”

“Proof?” Clara looked frightened. “What do you mean proof?” Her eyes grew wide. “You… you didn’t drink it, did you?”

Hedley smiled. “So it’s some sort of beauty potion, then?”

“In a way.” In spite of herself, Arnie warmed at his compliment. “Before I drank it – and I drank it by accident, I must tell you that – I… I was a… boy. My name is really Arnie Diaz.”

Clara shook her head. “No, I-I saw you… when you…” she suddenly coughed. It was deep, wracking her body. “…wh-when you changed clothes. You’re a girl.”

“I am now.” Arnie answered, not willing to face her, to face any of them. “But I was a boy.”

Mrs. Spaulding cut in. “It’s true, I’m afraid. She was a boy.”

Clara raised her head indignantly. “I finally get a – cough! cough! – a friend, and it’s a lie. It’s all a lie! And I almost let you see me in… in….” She spluttered and pushed herself away from the table. “H-Hedley… Mama, please help me into the house.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped at her mouth.

Hedley walked over and guided her towards the door. When they were close, he turned around and kicked the bottom panel of the door. It popped open and he caught it with his leg. “Please wait for me to come back… Annie.” He said to her in a soft voice, as he walked backward through the door, pulling his sister’s chair after him. She was still coughing.

“Is she all right?” Arnie asked, as the door slammed behind Clara. “I-I did not want to hurt her. You… she must know that.”

Mrs. Spaulding put an arm on her shoulder. “I don’t believe that you wanted to hurt her – to hurt any of us, but I’m afraid that you did. Her consumption is at its worse when she’s upset like this. I had best go to her.”

“Should I leave?” Arnie started for the steps without waiting for an answer.

She gave Arnie a sad smile. “Lunch is certainly spoiled, and I doubt that we’ll be having a Spanish lesson today, either. I’d suggest that you to leave right now, but Hedley did ask you to wait. Just don’t take too long. I may need him to go for the doctor.” She patted Arnie’s hand and hurried into the house.

Arnie sank down into the chair next to where Clara’s wheelchair had been. “What have I done?” She could feel the tears filling her eyes.

“Annie?” Hedley had come back onto the porch. “Or should I call you Arnie, now?”

She slowly rose to her feet. “C-Call me whichever you want.”

“Annie, it is. It’s a pretty name, and I think that it fits you so much better.”

“Is Clara all right?”

“Her consumption gets rough at times, and this was, unfortunately, one of those times. Mother is with her, and I’m sure that she’ll be up and about in no time.”

“You must all hate me.”

“No, I think Mother is a bit upset with you, and Clara feels, well, you reminded her of how some… people weren't honest with her when she first got sick. I think she’ll – I think that they both -- will get over it eventually.”

She tried to gauge how he felt and decided that he had a very good poker face. “And you,” she finally asked. “How do you feel about me?”

“I’m not sure.” He took her hand. “Of late, I’ve had very mixed feelings.” He took a step closer.

Her body felt odd, warm. “You have?” She felt a blush run across her face. “Are any of the feelings bad ones?”

“I always thought that there was something magical about you. Maybe I can see things better than the womenfolk can, but it seems to me that if this happened to a boy, he wouldn't want to talk about it with people he didn't know. I’m a little hurt that you felt you had to keep hiding the truth, but I can understand why you did. Mostly, I…” He stopped speaking, as if there was something important he had to do first. He leaned in close: his hands reached up to hold her head steady. And he kissed her. Arnie gasped and looked up with big eyes wide open.

“I'm not so worried that I'll start thinking differently about you,” Hedley continued, “but I would like to know what you've been thinking about me all this time. Do you..?” He seemed at a loss to find the right word.

Arnie gave an uncertain sigh. She wanted to say yes to whatever he was asking, to say that…

But these unspoken thoughts shocked her. “No!” She pushed him away, startled – no, terrified! -- at what she had allowed him to do.

He looked as surprised as she was. “Annie, what… what’s the matter?”

“We were…” She shook her head. “But we can’t.” She stumbled out the door, down the back steps, and grabbed for the handle of her wagon. “I... I will bring your laundry back Tuesday. I hope that Clara is better by then.”

Hedley stood, watching her swiftly push her gear out of the yard and down the street, trying to understand his own thoughts, his thoughts on Annie, on his mother and sister, and on many other things.

* * * * *

Dwight Albertson came out of his office to greet Jane and Milt. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Quinlan. What can I do for you on this fine Saturday?”

“You don’t have to be so formal, Dwight,” Milt replied, “though we did come in here on business. We want to buy a house.”

Jane nodded. “Yeah, that back room of Milt’s office just don’t work for the both of us.”

“I can understand that,” the banker said. “Come into my office. I’ve got a list of what we have available.”

He led them back through the tellers’ cages to his office. While they took seats by his desk, he retrieved a thick folder from the top drawer of a nearby file cabinet. “Let me start with a couple questions,” he told them as he sat down at the desk. “How big a place do you want, and do you want to rent or buy?”

“It doesn’t have to be that big,” Milt answered. “I’m keeping my office here on the second floor of the bank building, though I wouldn’t mind a small room to use for when I have to bring work home with me.”

“I’d like a good sized kitchen,” Jane added. “A parlor for sitting and a… a bedroom, of course. There’s gotta be a nice bedroom.” She blushed at the last, as she realized what she’d implied.

Milt chuckled and took her hand. “A very nice bedroom, if you please, Dwight. And I think that I’d rather buy than rent.”

“We’d rather buy,” Jane said. “It’s gonna be my house, too, and I was figuring t’kick in some of the money I got here in the bank.”

Milt nodded. “I don’t want you to spend your investment money on the house, Jane.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “After all, it’s a man’s place to provide for his wife.”

“And for the wife t’provide for her husband, too.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Besides, I ain’t got no investment in this world that’s more important than you ‘n’ me.”

Milt kissed her back. “I can’t argue with that. I feel the same way. Okay, Dwight, what’s on the market that we can buy?”

“Let’s see. The Carlton house – where that picture of Jane and Laura was painted – is available, now that the artist has left town, but the Carltons expect to come back to Eerie in the fall, so they only want to rent.” His eyes scanned the list. “There are three – no, four – other places that might suit you. I’ll make up a list, and you can go check them out.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “You gonna come with us?”

“Normally, I would, or I’d send one of my tellers along, but you’re my lawyer, Milt, and I think I can trust you with the keys.” He pulled a large flat box from a desk drawer. When he opened it, Milt and Jane could see a large set of separate keys, each with a code number attached by a string.

Dwight glanced at the property list again and took four keys from the box. “Here you go. Take your time, but please remember that the bank closes at 5 PM, and I’ll need the keys back by then. So don’t take too long, if you know what I mean.”

“Spoilsport,” Jane said, with a giggle.

* * * * *

Teresa and her younger children were sorting laundry when Arnie burst into the house. Teresa looked up with at start at the slam of the back door. “Arnolda, what are you doing back from the Spauldings so early?”

“They… I… I brought their laundry.” She dropped the sack she was carrying and rushed into the bedroom she shared with her mother. The door slammed shut behind her.

Teresa stood quickly. “Ysabel,” she said to her second daughter. “Take charge. I will be back as soon as I can.” She hurried over to the door Arnie had just gone through. She walked into the bedroom, closing the door afterwards for privacy. She leaned back against the door, silently watching her daughter.

Arnie was slipping her dress off over her head. Arnie tossed it to the floor and began fumbling with the ribbon that held her petticoat tight at her waist. She finally pulled it loose, and the garment fell to her feet. She stepped out of it and kicked it away, growling as she did, as if angry with the female garments.

At that moment, Arnie caught sight of herself in her mother’s mirror, standing in its frame a few feet away. She froze, staring at a beautiful young woman, a week or so shy of her 17th birthday, her long, straight hair falling down around her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face with wide, gazing eyes. Her body was slender, dressed in a white camisole beneath a pale blue corset that emphasized her narrow waist and pert breasts. The drawers were soft, white muslin, stretched over her wide hips and running down her shapely legs almost to her knees.

“They hate me!” she exclaimed.

“Did they ask you to leave?”

“No… No!” Arnie said softly in a voice filled with pain. “But… but I started feeling… things… I-I wanted Hedley to think of me as a girl.” She paused. “Is that because I am a girl?” Tears flowed down her cheeks.

Teresa came over quickly and took her daughter in her arms. “You are what you are, Arnolda. Think about it, accept it as your fate, and go forward with your head held high.” She patted the girl on the head and shifted, so that they both sank down onto the bed. Still hugging Arnie, she began to croon softly into her ear.

“I… do not w-want to… to be…a girl.” Arnie answered. Her voice was almost a whisper. “Please…” Teresa realized that the young woman was not speaking to her.

Teresa kept her arms around Arnolda. She began to sway, to rock her like a small child. After a time, Arnie’s crying grew softer. She nestled her head on her mother’s shoulder. The sobs were replaced by a soft snoring.

'The poor thing,’ Teresa thought. ‘She must have lain awake all last night, worrying about what she was going to say to the Spauldings.’ Teresa held her daughter for a while longer, before she lowered the girl gently to the bed. She lifted Arnie’s feet and carefully removed her shoes. It was a warm day, so she let her sleep uncovered.

Arnie was still asleep when Teresa tiptoed out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

* * * * *

“Yully,” Ysabel said, “please get the lamp.”i

The boy rose and turned down the wick in the oil lamp hanging above the table. The room grew dark. Ysabel turned and walked to the table. She carried a square cake, blue frosting, with “Happy Birthday” written on it in yellow icing, Emma’s favorite colors. The cake was covered with fourteen flickering candles, burning brightly in the dim light. Emma and her family had decided that she was fourteen, and who were her friends to argue?

As she walked, Ysabel began to sing, with the others quickly joining in.

` “For she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow,
` For she’s a jolly good fe-ehlow… and so say all of us,
` And so say all of us, and so say all of us.
` For she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow,
` For she’s a jolly good fe-ehlow…, which nobody can deny!”

“Congratulations, Emma,” Yully told her, as Ysabel set the cake down in front of her. “Let’s see if you can blow ‘em out.”

Emma stood in place and leaned over the cake. She drew in a breath and shifted back and forth, blowing out all the candles. “Got’em,” she said.

“So you did,” Yully said. He reached up and turned the small wheel that controlled the lamp wick. The room filled with light as everyone sat down. “Now that we can see the cake, how ‘bout cutting us all a piece?”

Emma pulled out the mumbly peg knife she still carried, hidden in her shoe. She flipped it open and began cutting as soon as Ysabel had removed the candles. “First piece for me.” She took a corner piece – she loved the extra icing – and put it aside for herself. “And one for you, Yully.” It was the piece next to hers.

“Thanks.” As he reached in for the piece, he tilted his head and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

The memory of Trisha popped into her head. She jerked her head back. “N-No!”

“What’s the matter?” he asked, confused at her reaction. “Was I too forward? I-I didn’t mean to be.”

“No, it’s… I can’t explain. I-I don’t want a boy – any boy -- to kiss me.”

Penny giggled. “I hope you don’t mean that you want girls to kiss you.”

“No… nobody. I – ohh, let’s get on with this party.”

Tomas slipped over next to her. “Si, there are more important things to do. Like… like I didn’t get my piece of cake yet.”

“Here you go, Tomas.” Emma cut him an extra big slice. She was grateful for the change of subject. “And I didn’t get my presents.”

Everyone laughed. The party went well after that, but the ghost of Yully’s kiss – and her reaction to it -- still lingered in the back of everyone’s mind.

* * * * *

“Now that was a long day,” Trisha said, locking the front door to the Feed and Grain. She turned the sign hanging down in the window from “Open” to “Closed” and walked back towards the counter.

Liam closed and locked the cash register. He pocketed the key and put the order book on the shelf underneath the countertop. “It’s going to get longer, Trisha. I want to talk to you.”

“What about?” she sighed. “As if I didn’t know.”

“You said last night that you weren’t going to marry Rhys Godwyn. If that’s the case, can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill the son of a bitch for what he did to you?”

“I never said that it was Rhys.”

“No, you haven’t, even if half the town thinks that the two of you were off doing -- whatever you did -- in the woods during the dance. Was he worth it?”

“I… I don’t want to talk about it. Why all the sudden interest now? You left quick enough last night.”

“I didn’t want to say what I was thinking, not in front of Kaitlin and – certainly – not in front of Emma.” He waited a beat, looking around. “But we’re alone now, and we can both say what needs to be said. I’ll start. Who did this to you, and why shouldn’t I beat the living hell out of him for doing it?”

“I-I can’t tell you. Honest, I can’t.”

“Why not? Do you love him? Do you really want to marry him? Or… or is he already married?”

“I… I can’t…” Her voice wavered. She looked down at the floor, not wanting to see his face.

“You can, Trisha. And – so help me G-d – you will. Or you can forget about my working for you on the board – or on anything else.”

“Please, Liam, please, don’t ask me.”

“I have to ask, Trisha, and you have to answer. You are going to tell me who got you pregnant.”

“I can’t tell you...” She closed her eyes. Her whole body seemed to clench, to try to stop her from what she was about to say. “…Because I… I don’t know… I don’t know who it was.”

“What? Did somebody rape you in a dark alley or something?”

She rapidly shook her head back and forth. “No. I knew who I was with… each time.”

“Each time? My Lord, Trisha, how many men have you slept with?”

She was still looking away from him, and her voice was low, but he still heard her answer, “Three… three men.”

“Three?” he spluttered. “Who are they – no, on second thought, don’t tell me. If I know, I may still want to take on all three of them.” He cupped her head in his hand and slowly lifted until she was looking him in the eye. “I should tell somebody what I do know. Reverend Yingling, maybe, or Horace Styron –”

She panicked and spun about. “No, Liam… dear G-d, please don’t. You gave your word!”

“I said that I should tell somebody, but I won’t. I’ll just do what any older brother would do. I’ll try to protect my foolish little sister -- from herself as much as from anyone else.”

“Th-Thank you, Liam.” She felt as though a fifty-pound sack of feed had just been lifted off her back.

“You’re welcome, but you don’t get off that easy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you expect my cooperation, I’ll expect you to mind your older brother from now on. You seem to be too foolish to run your own life these days. And I’ll expect you to stop butting in between Kaitlin and me.”

Her head jerked back as if he had actually hit her. She was about to argue when she saw the look on his face, eyes squinted, jaw firmly set. His hands were balled into fists and rested on his hips. It was exactly the way Patrick O’Hanlan had stood, when he refused to give way to anyone else.

Almost before she realized, the words were out. She replied, “Y-Yes, Liam.”

* * * * *

Jane burst into the kitchen through the back door. “Hey, Maggie… Molly, we found it. We found our house.”

“Ye did, and where is it at?” Molly asked.

Milt stepped into the room. “Second Street, number 19, about a half block from the Carlton house and a five minute walk from here.”

“We wanted t’be close enough so’s I could get t’work easy.”

Maggie smiled, knowingly. “That way, you can get home in a hurry when you need to, also.”

“How soon are ye gonna be able t’move in?” Molly asked.

Milt shrugged. “Monday, probably. I don’t think we can get much done on the Sabbath.”

“It’s ‘bout half furnished, though” Jane added. “There’s a nice big stove and worktable in the kitchen – there’s plenty o’ storage room, too -- and there’s a couple chairs in the parlor. It’s got two bedrooms, and one of ‘em, one of ‘em’s already got a bed with a mattress rolled up on it.”

Molly chuckled. “All ready ‘n’ waiting for ye.”

“It surely was – is.” Jane said, lifting her hands to her face to cover her sudden blush.

Shamus had just come in to join them. “Aye, but that’s for later. Right now, it’s time that Maggie and ye was getting changed and ready for the dance.”

* * * * *

“My turn,” someone said.

Flora looked up to see that tall man with slicked-down black hair standing before her again. He wore a dark blue, expensive-looking suit. She gave him a modest smile. “How do you do, Mister…”

“Clyde… Clyde Ritter.” He smiled back. “Please call me Clyde, Miss Stafford. I’ve admired your artistry for some time, and I wanted to dance with you very much.” He held a ticket in his hand.

She rose and took the ticket, sticking it with the others in her apron pocket. “Yes, I’ve seen you watching me.” She thought again of Rosalyn’s advice. “You’re one of the most handsome men in the house. I’m so glad that you like me.” She said the words softly, trying to add a hint of coyness. “But you have to call me… Flora.” Ritter seemed to beam at her flattery, his eyes brightening.

‘Rosalyn was right. This is easy,’ she told herself, as she let him lead her out onto the floor.

“With pleasure...” Still smiling, he put his hand on her waist. “…Flora.”

Her own smile broadened. “It will be, I’m sure,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

* * * * *

“So I was correct,” Nancy said smugly.

Kirby gave her an odd look. “What do mean, Nancy?”

“You said that you seldom came in here, and I told you that you’d be back.” She chuckled. “And here you are, about to ask me to dance.”

He handed her his ticket. “So I am.” He shrugged. “I never was much of a drinking man, but now I have a reason to come in.”

“And what would that reason be?” she teased, offering him her hand.

He took it and helped her to her feet. “You work here now. We can… talk, get to be friends in ways that we couldn’t when you were a teacher.”

“I think I like that,” she admitted, both to him and to herself.

But there was one thing that she couldn't admit. It would spoil the moment. Kirby would find out about it all too soon.

And would his reaction be as bad as Carl's?

* * * * *