Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Winter
By Ellie Dauber and Christopher Leeson (c) 2010

Part 1 -- January

Monday, January 1, 1872

"Happy New Year, Mama," Ernesto and Lupe yelled, running into the room.

Maggie sat up with a start. "Not-not so loud, Ernesto." She tried to
shake her head, but stopped. The way her head hurt, she was afraid that
she'd shake something loose inside -- or maybe she already had.
"Please." She closed her eyes tightly against the brightness of the
morning.

"We are sorry, Mama," Lupe said in a whisper. "Are you sick like Uncle
Whit?"

Maggie opened one eye and looked around, remembering. She was in the
guest bedroom at Carmen and Whit's house. She was in her camisole, and
drawers; she could see her dress, petticoat, and corset draped over a
chair. A lightweight blanket had been thrown over her. "Sick? I am --
just a little -- but I am sure that it will pass."

"I have some medicine here that will help," a woman's voice said softly.
Maggie looked up to see Carmen standing a few feet away, a cup of coffee
in her hand. "Why don't you children go play out in the garden with
Jose?"

Ernesto nodded. "See you later, mama," he said, running from the room.

"Happy New Year, again, Mama," Lupe called as she ran after her brother.

Maggie stood up, grabbed for the coffee, and took a long drink. "Ahhh."
It was hot and black and _very_ strong. "Bless you, Carmen."

"If you want it, there is still some breakfast in the dining room,
Margarita."

"Still? How late is it?"

Carmen smiled. "About eleven. The children have been up for hours.
Whit is just eating."

"And Ramon?" She took another long drink of coffee.

"He is not down yet." She winked. "You could always go and wake him."

"Carmen! What are you saying?"

"That you need to try harder. Be... approachable."

Maggie looked down at herself. "How 'approachable', Carmen? Should I
go to him like this?" She made a broad sweep with her hand as if to
point out what little she was wearing.

"If you wish," Carmen smiled, "and Ramon would be happy to see you that
way, a little surprised, I think, but very happy."

"But it would not be right. We are not..."

"No, but you want to be; don't you?"

"I do." Maggie felt a vague warmth run through her body at the thought
of being with Ramon.

"So does Dolores. It comes down to which of you want him more."

"No, it comes down to which one _he_ wants."

"Then you have to show him that you are the one he wants." She smiled.
"You, better than anyone, should know that is how a man thinks."

* * * * *

"Good afternoon, Seá±or Shamus," Arnie said. "And to you, too, Seá±ora
Molly."

Shamus looked up from behind the bar. "And a good afternoon to ye,
Arnie, but just what are ye doing here?"

"I work here... don't I?" He looked nervously at the clock. "It is
12:30, so I'm not late. That is when you have me come in, so I can bus
the plates from the free lunch."

Molly smiled at the boy. "Ye're not in trouble, Arnie. Me Shamus meant
that it's so quiet today that ye didn't need t'be coming in."

"The seá±or didn't say not to come in. I have a job here, so I have to
come in to work unless he says not to. Isn't that what a man does?"

"It is, lad," Shamus replied, "and ye're a good boy t'be thinking that
way." He looked around. "There's not much need of yuir services just
now, but tis glad I am that ye're on the job."

"Why don't ye go make some work for yuirself," Molly added. "Go over
and dirty up a plate with some of the lunch that's out there. Then
we'll see what else there is for ye t'be doing."

"I'll do that, Seá±ora Molly. It smells very good."

"It is, Arnie," Shamus said, "even if it's just reheated leftovers from
last night. I remembered t'be telling Maggie that she could come in
late today, even if I forgot to tell ye the same." He made a motion
with his hands. "Go on over, then; have something t'eat and see if I'm
not right."

* * * * *

"What do you think, Mother?"

Cecelia Ritter studied her daughter's appearance. They were in
Hermione's room, laying out her clothes for the next day. "It's
certainly a lovely dress, Hermione, and you look lovely in it. I do
think that it's a bit fancy to wear to school, though."

"Perhaps, but I... I wanted to make a good impression."

"On whom?" her mother teased. "Miss Osbourne already knows what a fine
young lady you are."

"On... oh, Mother, on Yully Stone. You know that."

"I do, indeed, Hermione. I just wanted to hear you say it."

"I... I am saying it, mother. I will not let that _freak_, Emma, get
away with kissing him the way she did."

"I should hope not. The nerve of her, trying to steal the boy's
affections like that, and her not even a real girl."

"I know, mama, but I'll show her."

"The one you have to show is that Stone boy; you let him see what a
prize you are, and that Emma won't stand a chance."

"I will, mama. I will."

* * * * *

Beatriz walked down to the first floor of _La Parisienne_ arm in arm
with Sebastian Ortega, a tall, muscular young man with slicked-back
hair. "Thank you for a wonderful time," she told him in Spanish.

"It is I who should be thanking you, Beatriz." He took her in his arms
and gave her a long kiss.

She sighed as they finally broke the kiss. "Perhaps we should go back
upstairs."

"If only we could," he told her. "Still... here is something to
remember me by." He pulled a gold eagle from his pocket and tenderly
tucked it into her corset between her breasts.

Beatriz smiled and gently ran one finger down the length of the bulge in
his pants. "Mmm, and I have so _very much_ to remember."

"Until next time." He bowed low and walked towards the door, a broad
smile on his face.

Beatriz moved the coin slightly. It would be safe, there in her corset,
until she could give it to Lady Cerise. It was payment -- and a
generous tip -- for her services. She looked around, then walked into
the parlor.

Rosalyn was alone, sitting on one of the couches reading an issue of
_Godey's_ _Lady's_ _Book_. 'Looking at the new fashions, no doubt,'
Beatriz thought. Aloud, she asked, "Where is everybody?"

"The Lady and Herve are in her rooms doing... something," Rosalyn
answered, putting down the magazine. "Daisy's downstairs fixing supper;
Jonas is helping her. Wilma and Mae are upstairs with gentlemen." She
looked straight at Beatriz. "Do you wish to talk about... things?"

Beatriz nodded. "It did not work out so well, did it, your idea about
the party last night?"

"Not hardly. I heard Cerise telling Wilma how clever she was about that
punch she made and what a good job she did putting things together on
such short notice."

Beatriz shrugged. "It _was_ a good party."

Rosalyn glared back at her. "Don't you go soft on me now, Beatriz. You
yourself said that you didn't think that Hanks bitch deserves to be the
Lady's second any more than I do."

"I do not care about her job. I just hate that she is being rewarded
for stealing the men who would come to see me." She hesitated, then
added, "or you or Mae."

"Whatever. We are agreed that she has to be put in her place. Our
first plan may not have worked out the way we wanted it to, but I've got
a few other ideas. One of them should do the trick."

* * * * *

Tuesday, January 2, 1872

"Okay," Yully Stone said. "Let's get started." He pulled out his
pocketknife and, in one move, opened it and threw it into the ground
next to the schoolhouse. "There's your mark." He pulled out the knife
and smoothed the hole it had left down to a small point.

Bert McLeod, the Ybaá±ez twins, and Stephan Yingling lined up and, in
turn, each pitched a penny towards the wall just above Yully's mark.
The coins bounced off the wall and landed around the hole. The boys
repeated this three more times.

Yully studied the coins. "You're farthest, Stephan. You're out." Bert
and both the twins had coins closer to the hole.

"Guess, so." Stephan picked up his coins.

This was how the captains of the two ball teams were determined each
week. Only the boys in the top two grades were eligible. Yully had
been the winning captain the week before Christmas break, so he didn't
play. "Fair's fair, after all," Yully would have said, "and this way
everybody gets a chance."

The remaining three boys repeated the contest. Hector Ybaá±ez was
eliminated this round. "You 'n'me, Jorge," Bert called out, his voice
breaking just a little on the other boy's name. "This week, it's you
'n'me."

"Me 'n' you," Jorge answered. "Winner and loser."

Bert chuckled. "We'll just see who's who on Friday... loser."

Emma had been standing with the boys watching to see who won. 'Jorge's
not too happy about my playing,' she thought, with a shrug, 'but Bert
was on Yully's team with me last game. He should be okay.'

The two new captains ran off in different directions, plotting strategy
with a few friends before Miss Osbourne called them inside. The other
boys scattered to get in some play.

"Can I... umm, talk to you a minute, Emma." Yully had walked over to
where Emma was standing.

"I... ah... I guess so," Emma replied, not certain what to say. She'd
been dreading this, the first time she and Yully talked after they...
kissed.

"I-I wanted to apologize for what I... for what happened at the
Christmas party when I... when... when 'you know what' happened."

"Apologize?" Emma looked at Yully trying to understand what he was
saying.

"Yeah. A couple of the others -- and I ain't saying who -- had started
in to tease me about letting you play on my team. They said I didn't
know if you was a boy or a girl."

"I said that you looked like a girl, but you played good as a boy. Long
as you played that good, I didn't care what you was."

Emma looked at him. She wasn't sure whether she was relieved or
disappointed. "You... you didn't care."

"I let you play, didn't I?" he continued. "So... one of 'em said that
if I didn't care you was a girl, I should treat you like one, instead of
like a boy. Then another one said I should treat you like you was my...
girlfriend and give you a kiss. They all laughed and dared me to do it;
said I was a chicken if I wouldn't." He took a breath. "Well, I
couldn't let them say that, could I?"

Emma shook her head. "No, I-I guess you couldn't." Why wasn't she
happier? It was just a dare, a prank, no worse than what she and Tomas
had done with that snake that they'd put in Hermione's desk.

"That's why I done it." He tried a smile. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed
you or anything, and I sure didn't mean for Hermione to get mad at you
like she done."

"But she did, and she's probably gonna still be mad about it."

He sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry. I don't know what t'do about that."

"Maybe you should kiss her -- just to make it even." She chuckled at
the sour expression on his face. "No, I didn't mean that. We'll have
to see what happens." She shrugged. "In the meantime, Tomas Rivera and
I wanted to talk to you and Stephan Yingling about something."

Before either of them could say another word, they heard Miss Osbourne
ringing the bell. "Inside, children, no dawdling, just because it's
your first day back from vacation."

"We'll talk about it later, okay?" Yully said as they both ran for the
door.

* * * * *

Jessie walked over to a table where Arnie was gathering up glasses to
take into the kitchen. "You still wanna learn how t'shoot?"

"Si," he answered quickly. "If you will teach me."

"I decided I better, or you'll go off 'n' try t'learn by yourself, and
_that_ never works." She grinned. "Many a boy your age ends up with a
hole in his foot."

"When can we start?"

"You don't come in here till after noon. How 'bout at 11, but we're
gonna have t'do it outside of town. You know a good spot?"

"There is a place, a field, just past the town line on the way to the
hill you Anglos call Chiracauah Mesa. Can we start tomorrow?"

"Nope, tomorrow, you're gonna bring whatever pistol you're gonna use in
for me t'look at. I ain't gonna teach you nothing unless I first check
out the weapon you wanna use."

* * * * *

"Fives and sixes, do you have your lunches?" Nancy Osbourne asked. She
excused the children at midday by grade, youngest first, to avoid a
bunching up when they stopped to get their meals.

"Yes'm," Tommy Carson answered.

"Yes, Miss Osbourne," Miriam Scudder corrected him.

Nancy continued. "Fine, then sevens and eights may go." She reached in
a drawer for her own food, while the oldest of her students ran for the
shelves by the door, where their dinner pails were.

Hermione Ritter waited for Yully by the door, stepping in the way as he
approached. "Hello, Yully," she said warmly. "A belated happy new
year."

"Umm, thanks, Hermione." Yully frowned as Hector walked behind her,
paused, and pretended to be kissing someone. Hector grinned at Yully
and headed out the door.

She didn't notice. "Did you have a nice Christmas?"

"I suppose," he shrugged, then, just to be polite, asked, "Did you?"

"Oh, my, yes. My parents gave me this dress." She turned slowly to
show the pale yellow dress to him. "Do you like it?"

"It's nice enough, I guess." He looked around. They were the only
students still in the room. Their teacher was eating at her desk.
"Look, Hermione, I gotta go. I'm -- the fellows and I -- we're working
on some stuff."

He hurried around her and all but ran out the door. "See you later," he
called back to her over her shoulder. "And that _is_ a nice dress."

"He liked my dress," Hermione sighed happily. She picked up her own
lunch pail and walked out onto the schoolhouse porch.

Eulalie McKecknie, Penny Stone, and Ysabel Diaz were sitting together at
one of the picnic benches. Hermione joined them, then looked around as
she sat down.

"Looking for my brother?" Penny asked her. "He's over there with most
of the older boys." She pointed to a nearby bench.

Hermione looked over. The boys were laughing and talking. Judging from
their gestures, they were talking about that silly game they all played
at recess. She smiled, laughing to herself about how foolish it was to
get so concerned about what was just a schoolyard game.

Just then Bert McLeod shifted on the bench as he talked about something
with the others. Hermione's jaw dropped as she now saw Emma sitting
there, laughing along with her teammates.

Just like one of the boys.

* * * * *

Molly saw Mrs. Lonnigan walk into the saloon and hurried over. "Edith,
now what're ye doing in here this fine day?"

"And a good afternoon to you, Molly," Edith replied, "and how are you?"

"Fit as a fiddle, as they say, but ye still didn't answer me question."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I came by to see Laura Caulder. She asked me to be her
midwife, you know, and I thought that I might check up on her today."

"She's upstairs doing a bit of cleaning. Why don't I take ye to her?"

"Yes, that would be fine." Edith looked at Molly's anxious face. "It's
just a simple check-up. I'll be giving her one a month for the next few
months. You're welcome to stay, if Laura doesn't mind."

"If ye're sure..." The two women headed for the stairs, walking past a
table Arnie Diaz was clearing. "When ye get a chance, Arnie," Molly
told him, "please tell me Shamus that I'll be upstairs with Mrs.
Lonnigan here t'be talking with Laura. We'll be down directly." Arnie
nodded, and Molly hurried over to the stairs where Edith was waiting.

Arnie watched the pair of them head up the stairs. He got back to work,
putting a pair of empty beer steins in a large tray. Someone had left a
dime under one of the glasses. He put it in a pocket until he could give
it to Shamus.

* * * * *

Ramon was arranging a display of men's shirts on a counter when he heard
the bell over the store door jingle. "May I help -- Dolores, what
brings you in here today?"

"To see you, of course." She gave him her best smile. "You should wear
that blue shirt when you come over on Saturday." She pointed to one of
the display shirts.

"Saturday? I am afraid I don't understand."

"Oh, come, now. The Ramon de Aguilar that I remember counted the hours
until Dia de los Reyes Magos, the Day of the Magical Kings."

Ramon laughed, remembering. "He was a greedy little boy, that Ramon.
He could hardy wait for the Christmas presents he was going to get that
day."

"He was not greedy. He was a sweet boy, and he always shared his
presents with his friends."

"Not always, and my friends did not always share their presents with me.
I remember when I was nine, and a certain girl would not even show me
her presents."

"I did not think that he... you would want to play with my new doll.
You never liked to play games with me and my dolls." She paused a
moment. "In fact, I came to see if this has changed."

"I fear that I am still not very good at pretend parties with dolls."

"How are you at real parties, ones with real people and real food?" She
smiled as if thinking of a joke.

"Much better." He smiled back at her. "You should try me some time."

"I will... on Saturday. I came to invite you to the Dia de los Reyes
Magos party that my cousin, Teresa, is having Saturday afternoon."

Ramon thought quickly. Had Maggie mentioned any party to him? Had
Ernesto or Lupe? No, not that he recalled, but if Dolores was just
asking, they might have as well. "Can I think about it? Saturday...
Saturday is our busiest day, and --"

"And the party is at five. The sign on the door says that this store is
only open to six. You can come over when it closes." She decided to
bait the hook further. "Do not worry about presents, either. You are
my guest; they will not be expected... except, perhaps, one from that
greedy little boy to his childhood friend, the one with the doll."

Ramon felt trapped, but he had to laugh. "I will _try_ to be there.
Sometimes, Seá±or Silverman has work for me after the store closes."

"But that greedy little boy will not want to stay at his work." She
kissed a finger and touched it to his lips. "I will tell Teresa to
expect you. If you do not come, she... she will put too much starch in
those shirts she washes for you." She winked and left the store,
stopping only to look back once and say, "Goodbye, Ramon," in a low,
husky voice.

* * * * *

Laura tried not to move while Mrs. Lonnigan ran her hand along the small
bulge at her waist. The two women were in her old room. Laura was in
her drawers; her blouse, skirt, corset, and camisole were on one of the
beds. Molly was sitting on the chair watching the examination.

"Everything seems fine, Laura," Edith Lonnigan said calmly, trying to
reassure her nervous patient. "You don't seem to be putting on too much
weight. Are you having any problems, especially anything new?"

Laura looked a bit embarrassed. "Just that it seems to take forever
when I... uhh, sit on the necessary."

"A little constipation's to be expected. Try drinking more liquids --
water, not beer or anything else with alcohol."

"All right, not that I drank that much beer anyway." Laura sighed.
"First Shamus won't serve me anything 'cause I'm working for him. Now
you tell it isn't good for my baby. I think that this whole thing is
just a plot to keep me sober."

"There's nothing wrong with an occasional glass of wine, dear," Edith
told her, "but I've never thought that there was anything served by
heavy drink."

Molly laughed. "'Cept that serving heavy drink is how Laura's earning
the money t'be paying ye."

"I didn't mean to insult you, Molly," the midwife said quickly. "And
I'm hardly one of those Daughters of Temperance ladies from back East.
I know that a lot of the men around here live very hard lives. They
need -- some of them do -- something to help them get through the day.
With a woman, particularly a _pregnant_ woman, it's an entirely
different matter."

"And if the... pregnant woman used to be a man shouldn't she be entitled
to a little something?" Laura asked.

"Just that occasional glass, dear," Edith said. "Just that."

Molly nodded in agreement. "Aye, the 'little something' ye should be
thinking of is the one that's growing inside ye."

"I can see that I won't be getting much of anything had to drink then,"
Laura told them. "Not if it'd be bad for..." she gently patted her
stomach. "Is there anything else I should be doing?"

Edith walked over and picked up Laura's corset. "I was glad to see that
you're not closing the bottom two buttons on this. Has it gotten that
tight?"

"Not yet, but Rachel Silverman told me not to do the buttons. She made
me buy a couple of bigger sized corsets for later, too."

"I know the sort she sold you. You will need the support for your
breasts, so keep wearing a corset, but be sure to give the baby the
space inside you that it needs." She paused a moment. "Speaking of
which, you should start sleeping on your left side. We really aren't
certain why, but it seems to be better for both you and the baby."

"How do I stay on my left side when I'm asleep?"

"Tuck some pillows behind you. Put one between your legs as well."

"That doesn't sound very comfortable."

Molly chuckled. "'Tis only fitting, Laura. 'Twas something hard
between yuir legs that got ye this way. Now, something soft down thuir
will help that wee one that's coming."

"Molly!" Laura said. Then she chuckled, too. So did Mrs. Lonnigan.

"This examination is _clearly_ over," the midwife said wryly, regaining
her composure. "You can get dressed now."

Molly handed Laura her camisole. "Anything else we... she should be
doing?"

"Try some raw fruit and vegetables for that constipation. I'll be back
for your next check-up in about a month, but _please_ if anything seems
wrong, please come see me at _once_."

"She will," Molly promised quite firmly before Laura could answer.

"Can she... Can _I_ ask you one last question?" Laura asked softly.
"While you're both here?"

"Of course," the midwife told her. Molly nodded as well. "Is something
else bothering you?"

Laura fidgeted as she spoke. "Uh... yeah, sort of. The... uhh, other
day, Arsenio touched me... my breast, and I got so... so hot, it was
like I--I was Wilma that day she took that second drink of potion. I
wasn't myself till... till after we..."

"Till after ye made love with yuir husband," Molly finished the thought.
"I ain't sure that's what I'd be calling a problem."

"Molly." Laura replied, "I almost _raped_ Arsenio. I never... _never_
acted like that before, not even on my honeymoon." She looked over at
Edith. "Is something wrong with me? Is the potion doing something?"

Edith patted her hand reassuringly. "I'm not an expert on Shamus'
potion, of course, but I have heard of such a thing happening to other
mothers-to be. You see, you're expecting --"

"I hadn't noticed!" Laura interrupted.

Mrs. Lonnigan ignored her retort. "You are, and because of it, your
body is working very hard to get you ready for that baby. Sometimes,
that can make it overly sensitive, easily... aroused. There's nothing
to be concerned about. It won't happen every time, and it will lessen
as the baby comes closer, I should think."

"But what do I do in the meantime?"

"Enjoy it," Edith and Molly said almost in unison. All three women
laughed.

Edith continued. "To be serious for a moment, it is normal, and, as
much as you and Arsenio love each other, there's certainly nothing wrong
with what you're doing."

"Thanks, Edith. I'll be sure to tell Arsenio what you said." She
smiled, both in relief and at the thought of how she was going to tell
him.

Edith seemed to understand. "I'm sure you will." She paused a beat.
"I'll be going now. Oh... and let me know when the baby quickens...
begins to move, that is."

Laura froze, her eyes wide and her smile gone. "Move? It-it's gonna...
inside... inside me?"

"Yes, dear, in the next three weeks or so. Don't be alarmed. You can
even let your husband put his hand on your stomach, so he can feel it.
The father should be able to share in a pregnancy, I think."

Laura looked down at herself, almost expecting the baby to move that
very moment. When nothing happened, she slowly slid her palm along the
small bulge. "Oh, Lord," she said, and it sounded very much like a
prayer for help.

* * * * *

Wednesday, January 3, 1872

"You be sure to hold that arm steady, Tomas," Doc Upshaw said, reaching
for his saw. "Seá±or Rivera, you help him."

Tomas Rivera, Senior, put his hands on both sides of his son's cast to
brace it. "You can look away if you want, Tomasito."

The boy shook his head. "No, Papa, I want to watch. I saw the cast get
put it on, and I want to see it taken off." His arm was stretched out
on the examination table, his fingers grasping the edge of the table.

"Can I, Dr. Upshaw?" He looked at the doc, his eyes wide.

"If you want to," Doc replied. "Just be careful not to flinch." He put
the saw blade against the edge of the cast and began to carefully draw
it back and forth. He moved slowly, watching as it bit into the
plaster.

Tomas and his father kept still as the doctor worked. He cut about two-
thirds of the way through the cast, moving down its length. He stopped
every so often to check his progress.

"You shouldn't tax that arm much for a day or so," Doc warned them at
one point. "It -- and you -- need to get used to it being free of this
cast."

"Can I play ball?" Tomasito asked. "At school, we -- the boys -- play a
game every day during recess. Can I get into the game tomorrow?"

Doc Upshaw thought for a moment. "I'd say that you had best wait until
Friday, or, better yet, next week. Besides, you probably couldn't get
into the game before then."

"Probably not." The boy frowned. "Whoever's side I got on this week,
the other side would yell about it."

"It will not hurt you to wait," his father told him. "And your mama
will be happy to see you come home from school with clean clothes for a
few more days."

Tomas laughed at his father's joke. His mother did scold him sometimes
when he came home after playing too hard and getting his clothes dirty.
"She may be happy, but I won't be."

"All boy and a yard wide." Upshaw patted the boy's head. He put down
his saw and used a scissors to cut away the remaining plaster. Grasping
the edges of the cast with both hands, he pulled it apart. "You can
take your arm out now."

Tomas pulled out his arm and held it up, wiggling his fingers. "It
looks so pale, so thin." He moved it around. "Is it going to be like
that from now on?"

"It's thin from lack of exercise, Tomas," Doc answered. "And it's pale
because it's been out of the light for six weeks. It'll be back to
normal in no time; you wait and see if it isn't."

"It'll also be a tad sensitive for a short time," Doc added, putting a
small dish of soapy water on the table. "Hold it over this dish."

The boy did as he was told. Doc took a washcloth, dipped it in the
water, and used it on his arm. Tomas yelped in surprise at the sudden
pain.

"It doesn't hurt that much, does it?" Doc Upshaw asked.

Tomasito shook his head. "Not really. I just didn't expect it to hurt
at all."

"Sometimes, a little pain can be a good thing; it reminds you not to
overdo." He gently dried the arm. "You can take your son home now,
Seá±or Rivera. He seems fine, but you be sure to bring him in if he
still has any pain tomorrow."

"Thank you, Doctor." Tomas Rivera happily shook the man's hand. His son
did the same thing a moment later, smiling at both the doctor and his
father.

* * * * *

"Here is my father's pistol," Arnie said proudly, showing Jessie the
weapon, still wrapped in a thick, white cloth.

Jessie unwrapped the firearm and examined it closely. "This Colt must
be ten year's old. You got ammo for it?"

"I do." He pulled a small wooden box from his pocket.

She slid the box into her apron. "I'll look at it later. Right now, I
can tell you that this thing ain't ready for lessons. It needs a good
cleaning. There's a lotta rust on it, too, but nothing that a good soak
in some mineral oil can't handle."

"How long will all that take?"

Jessie had to smile at his eagerness. "It'll be ready t'use come Friday
morning. I'll meet you then, and we'll get started."

* * * * *

"Anyone home?" Ramon asked as he came through the door and into the
kitchen of the Saloon.

"Uncle Ramon," Ernesto and Lupe called out, almost in unison. They both
started to get up from the table where they were having their supper.

Maggie was on them at once. "Sit back down, the two of you, and finish
eating." She turned and smiled warmly at Ramon. "You are welcome to
join them... us, if you wish, Ramon." She nervously pushed back an
errant curl from her forehead. "If you want to, I mean."

"Thank you, I will." He took the narrow space between the children, who
shifted their plates to make room. "The food smells wonderful -- as
always."

Jane looked up from the vegetables she was chopping. "Why don't you
take your dinner break now, Maggie? Then y'all can eat together."

"But the stew," Maggie protested. "It needs watching."

Jane looked at her and shook her head. "It's just that meat stew with
them hot peppers and spices. You taught me how t'make that weeks ago.
I can watch it just fine." Under her breath she added, "you go over
there and sit down with the man."

"Matchmaker," Maggie whispered, trying not to smile.

"Damn right," Jane whispered back. "I'm tired of seeing you moping
around."

Maggie filled two bowls with stew and brought them and two large chunks
of bread to the table. She set one of each down in front of Ramon and
the other opposite him. She fetched them both glasses of lemonade and
silverware.

"What brings you here, Ramon?" she asked, sitting down. Then she
quickly added, "not that I am not glad to see you."

Ramon raised an eyebrow. "Rachel was over here this afternoon to talk
to Molly, and she told me that you wanted to see me." Was his
employer's wife mistaken, or was she also playing matchmaker?

"Oh, sá­," Maggie replied, as if remembering. "I was so busy that I
could not come over myself to ask you."

"Ask me? Ask me what?"

"To come to the Dia de los Reyes Magos party," Ernesto blurted out.

Maggie glared at her son. "Ernesto! Finish your supper and do not
interrupt again." She took a breath, and her scowl became a smile. "As
Ernesto said, I am having a small party at 2 PM on Saturday in honor of
the Three Kings on their holy day. It will just be Carmen and Whit and
their two, this noisy one..." She ruffled Ernesto's hair. "... and his
sister, Laura and Arsenio -- Carmen told him about the party, and they
asked if they could come -- and me. And you, of course, if... if you
can come."

Ramon sometimes sat in at Bridget's poker games. He hoped his best
poker face was good enough. 'All that planning,' he thought, 'and she
asks me the day after I have accepted the invitation from Dolores.
Should I have waited?' He paused a moment, not liking the idea of
having to choose between Maggie and Dolores.

Aloud he answered, "I wish I could, but Saturday afternoons are the
busiest times at the store."

"You could at least ask Aaron. He has let you take time off before.
You would not have to be away long, not if you did not wish to be." She
tried to keep the regret out of her voice.

Lupe put a hand on Ramon's arm. "Please come, Uncle Ramon. Please."

"Yes, do come," Ernest said, trying to sound grown-up. "I am sure that
Zayde will let you if you ask him." Ernesto had spent enough time
visiting Ramon at the store that Aaron Silverman had told the boy to
refer to him by the Yiddish word for grandfather.

Ramon sighed. Aaron had reluctantly agreed to let Ramon leave early to
go to Dolores' party. 'It would not be fair to ask for more time,'
Ramon thought, 'and I have already promised Dolores that I would be at
her party.' He shook his head. "I-I cannot. We are just too busy."

"You will not even ask?" Maggie gave it one last try.

"No." He said the word softly and with regret.

* * * * *

"You mind if I sit down here for a minute?" Laura asked Bridget. The
gambler was sitting alone, playing "Maverick solitaire" and waiting for
a game.

Bridget pointed to an empty chair. "Take a load off. Say, you want me
to teach you how to play this?"

"No thanks." She carefully lowered herself into the chair. "I never
was much for poker." Laura smiled as she leaned back and lifted her
feet up onto the seat of an adjacent chair. "Damn, that feels good."

"I can imagine."

Before either of them could say another word, Jessie walked over. She
spun a chair around and sat down. "Can I talk t'you two?"

"Can we stop you?" Laura asked, her lips curling in amusement.

Jessie shook her head. "No, you can't." She chuckled. "Besides, this
is kind of important." She leaned in close and continued in a low
voice. "Do either of you know what happened to our guns, the ones we
had when we rode into town?"

"You know," Bridget answered, "I never thought about them, not after
we... changed. I wonder why that is."

Laura shrugged. "Me neither. If I ever stopped to think about them,
I'd have guessed that the sheriff was keeping them until after our
sentence was up. But by the time it was up, I had so much else on my
mind that it never occurred to me to ask."

The redhead's voice dripped with sarcasm. "It was about the same with
me. It wasn't as if I was planning to go back on the dodge in a shape
like this. Why do you want to know about them now?"

"'Cause Arnie asked me t'teach him how t'shoot," Jessie replied. "And I
promised I would. I'll need a pistol of m'own for that."

Bridget's expression soured. "Damn, when I asked him to take a job
here, I told him it was because I wanted him to protect me. I never
thought he'd take me so literally."

"It ain't you," Jessie countered. "Least ways, that ain't what he told
me. He said he wanted it so people'd respect him - that and t'protect
his family."

"Whatever he gave as a reason, be careful with him," Bridget cautioned.
"He's got a lot of pride. Boys his age usually do, but he's a lot more
sensitive about things than I remember being." She sighed. "I just
hope he's not planning anything crazy to earn that respect."

Laura looked thoughtful for a moment. "When are you giving him his
first lesson?"

"Friday morning," Jessie answered. "I gotta clean the pistol he wants
t'use."

"You mind if I come along? He's the oldest of a bunch of kids, with no
father. I went through that after my pa went off to the war. Maybe I
can talk to him some about what that means."

The singer shrugged. "Don't see why not. Besides, seems t'me you
wasn't too shabby a shot youself, _Leroy_."

* * * * *

"Is there any other business?" Horace Styron looked at the other
members of the church board sitting around the teacher's desk in the
schoolhouse. When no one answered, he looked out at the small crowd of
church members sitting around the room. A few were wedged into the
children's desks. The rest were on benches that were set up for the
meeting.

He looked at Rev. Yingling, sitting at his own chair at the desk. "Did
you have anything to add, Reverend?" The minister shook his head.

"Anyone else have anything that they want to bring up?" he asked the
members.

"Let's just go home," a voice called.

Clyde Ritter rose to his feet. "I've got something." Someone groaned,
but Clyde continued. "I just wanted to ask the clean-up crew to do a
better job after the meeting. Last month, my Clyde Junior brought home
a couple of cigar stubs that he'd found, and I had to throw them out."

"Why don't you stay and help, Clyde," another voice called out. "Maybe
you'll find one or two you can keep." The room exploded with laughter.
Ritter spun around trying to figure out who had insulted him.

Styron hammered his chairman's gavel and called for order. "I think
that's enough of that." He banged the gavel one last time. "Meeting
adjourned." Then he stood up and walked over to where Ritter was still
standing, a sour look on the man's face.

Jubal Cates, the board secretary, gathered up his notes from the meeting
and walked over to join them. "Calm down, Clyde. Harry was just joking
around. You know how he is."

"Yeah, he's a damned fool," Ritter answered. "But we need his vote now
and then, so I'll just ignore his so-called wit."

Rupe Warrick was sitting between Trisha and Judge Humphreys. Dwight
Albertson sat on the other side of the Judge. "Good meeting," Rupe
said, shaking their hands. "Glad we got all that nonsense 'bout you
settled, Trisha."

Albertson, the board treasurer, mumbled something in agreement with Rupe
and put the church ledgers back into the case he'd brought them in. His
monthly report went in as well.

"So am I," Trisha said, gathering up her notes from the meeting.
"Tonight's meeting went pretty well. Even Horace didn't give me a hard
time -- well, no more than usual, but I think that the February meeting
can be a better one."

The Judge raised an eyebrow. "Just what did you have in mind, Trisha?"

"Why don't you all come over to my house, say, about 7 o'clock a week
from today, and we can talk about it."

"Sounds sneaky," Warrick said with a soft chuckle.

She nodded, smiling slightly. "Who, me? I just wanted to discuss some
matters without Horace or Jubal or Willie interrupting." Willie
Gotefreund, the last member of the board, had missed the meeting.

"Making trouble, same as always," Rupe said with a chuckle. "I knew
there was a reason I voted to keep you on the board."

* * * * *

Thursday, January 4, 1872

Tomas and Emma were eating their lunches alone at one of the farther
picnic tables. Yully Stone and Stephan Yingling looked around for a
moment, then walked over to join them.

"The other day, you said you got something to show me and Stephan,"
Yully said, throwing a leg over a bench on one side of the table. "What
is it?"

Stephan Yingling sat down next to him, and both boys opened their lunch
pails. "It better be good." Stephan took out a ham sandwich and began
eating.

"It is." Emma took a rolled-up magazine out of her own pail. She pulled
at the green lace ribbon tying it until the knot gave and handed it to
Yully. "Take a look; page 34."

Yully unrolled the magazine. It was printed on cheap pulp stock with a
garishly colored cover. "_Boys_ _of_ _America_, I didn't know you got
it." The magazine was aimed at boys aged 8-15 or so, with stories and
project ideas.

"My Uncle Liam got me a subscription for my birthday," Emma told him.
"Go on, look at page 34."

Yully and Stephan turned to that page and began reading, while Tomas and
Emma finished their lunch. The two older boys were getting more and
more excited.

The article was about an underground fort built in a space dug out of
the side of a hill and then reburied. Properly done, the article
promised, someone could walk within a few feet and never know it was
there.

"You think you can do it?" Stephan asked.

"I don't see why not," Yully said. "I just want to know why you two are
showing this to us."

Emma shrugged. "We weren't going to show it to anybody, not at first,
but Tomas and me decided that we couldn't do it, not by ourselves
anyway. it'd take too long and everybody'd find out about it."

"We already have a place picked out," Tomas added, "on the side of a
hill about ten minutes from here."

"I figure that the four of us could do most of the work in a weekend,"
Emma said.

"Maybe..." Yully looked interested. "What do you say, Stephan?"

"I say, where're we gonna get the lumber?"

"We got it already," Emma said. "Me and Tomas was taking it from empty
shacks here'n there before... before the... accident. It's all stored
in a corner of my folks' barn just waiting for us. We got us a bucket
of nails, too."

"Then I say, I'm in," Stephan told them.

"Okay, then," Yully said. "We'll take a look at this spot you and Tomas
picked out after school today. Unless we decide -- we _all_ decide to
find someplace else, we'll meet at Emma's 'bout 9 Saturday morning and
get started."

"We will have to start much later on Sunday," Tomas said. "My papa will
make me go to church, and your papa..." He looked at Stephan. "I am
sure that you _have_ to go."

Emma thought for a moment. "Is 1 PM good for everybody? That'll give
us all time t'eat lunch and change."

Yully and Tomas nodded. Stephan just shrugged. "My pa don't like me
doing any work on the Lord's Day." He took a breath. "So I don't think
I'll tell him."

The four spit in their palms and shook hands. They spent the rest of
the lunch break making plans.

* * * * *

"Hey, Shamus," Jessie said, "can I talk t'you for a minute?" When he
nodded and started to walk over to where she was standing, she added,
"in private."

Shamus cocked an eyebrow. "In private, is it now? Well, me office is
right over there. Lead the way." He came out from behind the bar and
followed her to his office, closing the door once they were both inside,
and sitting down behind his makeshift desk. "Now then, what is it ye
need t'be talking to me about in private?"

"My pistol, the one I had when we all rode into eerie, where is it?
Come to think of it, where's my horse and the clothes I was wearing?"

Shamus chuckled. "I wondered if ye - any of ye - would ever be asking
me that question." He looked at her for a moment. "T'be telling the
truth, Jessie, ye're wearing yuir pistol right now."

"Wearing it?" She looked down at her hips out of old habit. "I ain't
wearing no gunbelt."

"I never said ye was." He chuckled again. "But ye are wearing a dress
me Molly bought ye while ye was a... a guest o'the town, ye might say.
Are ye thinking that the town o'Eerie bought ye and the others yuir
clothes with its own money? No, we sold yuir pistol, sold yuir horse
and yuir clothes, too, and we used the money t'be buying the clothes all
of ye wore."

"I paid good money for that horse -- for the saddle and bridle, too,
_and_ for the gun. What right've you got t'sell 'em?"

"What right did ye have t'be riding in t'town t'kill the sheriff? Ye
all needed clothes t'be wearing and food for yuir bellies. That stuff
paid for it. Besides, we didn't spend all of it."

"What did you do with what was left, throw a party?"

"No, Jessie, we gave it back t'ye. It was part of the money I gave each
of ye when yuir sentences was done."

"I don't like it, but I... I suppose that was fair enough."

"Well, thank ye for that. Now, would ye mind yelling me why ye was
asking about that weapon of yuirs in the first place?"

"Arnie. He--he wants me to teach him how to shoot. I need a firearm to
do that right."

"Why does he want to learn something like that, and what makes ye think
ye should be teaching him?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I don't suppose me saying that I don't like it'd be enough of a reason
tt'be stoppiung ye, would it?"

"Not by half. Look, Shamus, the kid's in a hurry to grow up. He's
gonna try to do it on his own, if I don't help him. But if I do, I can
try to make him know what he's letting himself in for if he ever picks
up a firearm t'use on somebody. Ain't that better than hoping he
figures it out for himslef?"

Shamus thought for a moment. "Maybe... but not by much. Ye just be
careful what ye're doing t'that boy."

* * * * *

Kaitlin was sitting on the couch, darning one of Emma's stockings, when
Trisha came up behind her. "It's Thursday," she said. Trisha leaned
over and softly kissed Kaitlin's neck. "You did promise, you know."

"Yes, I know." Kaitlin squirmed at the kiss. "But all I promised was to
_talk_ about it. _You_ promised to think about whether you still...
_thought_ like a man."

Trisha nodded. "I have thought about it, Kaitlin. I may look like a
woman, but I'm still -- "

"Look like? My Lord, Trisha, you _are_ a woman. You've even had
monthlies. "

"I'm still only a woman on the outside." She tapped her head with a
finger. "In here -- where it counts -- I'm still a man."

"Are... are you so sure? You're so very much a woman on the outside?"

"Try me." Trisha kissed her neck again. "I want you as much as I ever
did."

"But... I-I'm not sure that I want you. I-I never even thought about...
about _being_ with a woman before last week."

"You have thought about it, though, didn't you? You promised that you
would."

Kaitlin looked embarrassed. "I-I have. You were my husband --"

"I _am_ your husband. That hasn't changed."

"Hasn't it? To tell the truth, I don't really don't know if it has."
Kaitlin paused a moment. "But I do know that I still love you just as I
ever did. If you really... really want me to do... what you _say_ you
want me to do, then I-I'm willing to try it -- this one time, at least."

Trisha smiled. "Then, let's get to it."

"No, it's... it's early. Emma --" Trisha tried to kiss her a third
time, but Kaitlin shifted away. "Please don't kiss me again. Emma will
hear if we... do anything right now."

Trisha put her hand on her wife's shoulder. "It's well after 8 o'clock.
We'll tell her to go -- to shut her door and read or just go to bed. If
we shut ours, too, she shouldn't hear anything." Trisha began to gently
massage Kaitlin's shoulders. "We've done it that way before, you know."

"Yes, but... but I always worried that Elmer might be listening. Now,
she's Emma, and she's still learning to be a woman herself."

Trisha continued the massage. She was kneading Kaitlin's shoulders,
working out the tired feeling. "You did say just now that you would,
Kaitlin. There'll be solid wall and two locked doors. She can't
possibly hear anything."

"Mmmm." Kaitlin sighed, enjoying the relaxing feeling of Trisha's
fingers on her muscles. "I... I suppose we could." She sighed again.
"If we were quiet." She stood up slowly.

Trisha stopped the massage and took Kaitlin's hand. "We will be."

* * * * *

"See that quarter," Calvin Snyder said, looking very serious, "and raise
you another."

Bridget pretended to be studying her cards, while she studied the man.
Snyder claimed to be a drummer, in town to sell hardware to some
storekeepers and tradesman, but he handled his cards like a man who did
it for a living.

Still... "Right back at you." She pushed another two quarters into the
pot.

Arnie was watching from the back of the crowd that had gathered around
the poker table. Bridget and Snyder had been dueling for each hand.
She was the winner so far, but not by very much. 'This is getting
good,' he thought.

"Arnie," Shamus gently put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm not
paying ye t'be watching Bridget play poker, am I?"

Arnie looked over his shoulder at the barman. "Just a little bit
longer, Seá±or Shamus, till the end of this hand."

"And then one more... and one more. I'm sorry, lad, but ye can't be
standing around that table all night."

Before Arnie could answer, Bridget called. They were using the newer
"eastern" rules. Snyder had a flush, the ten, seven, six, four, and two
of clubs, but Bridget had full house, nines and threes. She raked in
her winnings to the applause of the crowd, including Arnie.

"Fine, then," Shamus said sternly. "That hand is over, so I'll tell ye
again t'be getting back t'work. There's glasses all around the room
that need t'be cleared."

"All right, all right, I'm going." Arnie walked slowly over to the
table where he'd left a tray partly full of used glassware. There was a
pair of almost empty beer steins on the table with it. He put them into
the tray and went on to the next table.

Arnie worked his way slowly around the room, straining his ears as he
did, to try to listen to the poker game. Judging from the groans he
heard, Bridget lost the next hand. He started to move back towards her
table; there _were_ some empty glasses on the nearby tables.

When he did, though, he saw Shamus looking at him. The barman shook his
head and pointed back in the opposite direction. Arnie gave him a sour
look, but he did turn around and walk the other way.

"Finally," he said, looking down at the tray two tables later. It was
about as full as he could get it without serious risk of something
falling out. With a sigh, he headed through the door and into the
kitchen.

He set the tray down next to the sink and looked around. No one else
was in the room. "Good," he said with an angry nod of his head. There
were three steins in the tray that still had some beer in them. On an
impulse, he poured it all into one on them, and looked around again.
Satisfied that he was alone, he quickly downed the beer.

It was only later that he thought of the smell on his breath.
Fortunately, no one seemed to notice, but he knew that he'd have to be
careful if... when he tried the trick of drinking from the "empties"
again.

* * * * *

Trisha locked the bedroom door. "If Emma does come to see what we're
doing, she'll have to knock."

"Now what... what do we do?" Kaitlin was standing by the bed, trying
not to look at it.

Trisha stood on a stool to reach up above the armoire. She managed to
pull down one of the bottles and the glasses from their place atop it.
"Maybe this will give us some ideas."

"The Madeira." Kaitlin sounded a bit surprised. It was their best
wine, a gift from Liam on their tenth anniversary and still unopened
years later. "It should, indeed." She giggled, sounding more than a
bit nervous.

Trisha opened the bottle and poured them each a glass. "I wanted things
to go well." She raised her glass. "To new beginnings."

"New, indeed." Kaitlin raised her own glass and lightly touched it to
Trisha's. She took a sip. The wine was delicious, full-bodied and
fruity. She felt its warmth as it settled in her stomach and closed her
eyes to better enjoy the sensation.

Kaitlin opened them again at the sound of a rustle of cloth. Trisha had
stepped in close to her. Trisha wore shoes with a two-inch heel, while
Kaitlin was in comfortable slippers. That made them about the same
height. Trisha put her hands on either side of Kaitlin's head to steady
it. "Maybe this will be a better start." She leaned forward and kissed
her wife full on the mouth.

Kaitlin opened her mouth in surprise. She could taste the wine on
Trisha's breath. She felt Trisha's tongue slip between her lips,
searching for her own. 'Pretend she's still Patrick,' she thought.
Kaitlin closed her eyes. Trisha kissed her deeply, just as Patrick had.
She remembered her husband and all the times they'd made love in this
very room. She pictured his strong, male body in her mind, and she felt
her nipples tighten. There was an emptiness down between her legs now,
and an eagerness for him to fill it.

Kaitlin reached down and touched the soft cotton of Trisha's dress,
feeling the stiff petticoat under it. She felt something else, too,
Trisha's lush breasts brushing up against her own. Kaitlin opened her
eyes and pushed the other woman away. "This isn't going to work."

"It will if you let it," Trisha replied. Without waiting for an answer,
she reached over and began to work the buttons on Kaitlin's dress.
"Let's get... more comfortable."

It seemed reasonable. 'I'll have to take this thing off sometime,'
Kaitlin thought. She started unbuttoning Trisha's blouse. They both
finished at about the same time. Trisha slid her arms out and tossed
the blouse onto the chair.

"I'll have to take off my petticoat before I get out of this dress,"
Kaitlin said. She reached down under her dress and yanked at the bow
that held the petticoat in place around her hips. It slid to the floor
with a soft rustling sound. Kaitlin stepped out of it. She picked it
up and placed it over her dressing table.

Trisha copied Kaitlin's actions, except that she just tossed the garment
on the floor over her blouse. She still had Patrick's smirk, and she
showed it as she unbuttoned her skirt, which joined her other clothes a
moment later. Kaitlin took off her dress and put it with her petticoat.
The two women faced each other in only camisole, corset, and drawers.

"Pretty as the day I married you," Trisha said, "or maybe that night."
There was a leer in Trisha's voice now as she eyed Kaitlin. "Let's try
that kiss again."

Before Kaitlin could protest, Trisha stepped over and gave her another
kiss. She squirmed, and Trisha shifted position. Her mouth left a trail
of kisses and small bites, as it moved across Kaitlin's face, first on
the lips, then the cheek and jaw line before moving on to her neck. She
finished at the base of Kaitlin's throat, at that spot where each kiss
sent a small wave of pleasure through the other woman's body.

At the same time, Trisha's arm reached around her wife. She grasped
Kaitlin's firm, rounded buttocks and began to gently knead them. The
result was another wave of pleasure. Kaitlin moaned and her head lolled
backwards, her eyes half closed.

Then the old phrase, "sauce for the goose" suddenly came into Kaitlin's
mind. Or was it "do unto others"? She leaned her head forward and
began to kiss Trisha on the neck. She felt the other woman tremble at
the new sensation. Kaitlin continued the onslaught. Her hands reached
up to caress Trisha's breasts through the fabric of her corset.

"Oh, Lord." Trisha gasped in surprise at the intensity of what she was
now feeling. She was distracted now and stopped her massage of
Kaitlin's body.

Finding herself in charge, Kaitlin pressed on. One hand continued to
caress Trisha's breast. The other moved away to be replaced a moment
later by Kaitlin's lips. The taller woman left a trail of kisses across
the other's breast, with an occasional love bite.

Trisha trembled as Kaitlin did to her what Patrick had so often done to
Kaitlin.

At the same time, the finger of Kaitlin's other hand moved slowly down
the front of Trisha's corset. With the skill born of years of practice,
she opened hook after hook.

The corset fell open. Trisha felt it slide free from her body. Before
she could think about where it went, she felt Kaitlin's hands cupping
her breasts, felt the roughness of Kaitlin's palms against her erect
nipples.

"Let me show you what it's like for a woman." Kaitlin's voice was husky
with arousal.

Trisha shook her head. "No... no... I'm not... I-I want to make love to
you like... like Pa-Patrick did." She began to undo the hooks on
Kaitlin's corset. Her hands were shaky, but she managed.

The corset dropped to the ground. Trisha's fingers pulled at the bow at
the neckline of Kaitlin's camisole. The ribbons came apart, and Trisha
slid the camisole down, exposing one -- no, both -- of Kaitlin's firm,
rounded breasts. Without warning, Trisha lowered her head and began to
suck on a nipple. She rolled her tongue around Kaitlin's sensitive
flesh, sucked again, then gave a gentle love bite.

"Ooooh!" Now, Kaitlin trembled, as little jolts of pleasure ran through
her body. 'I could get used to this,' she thought. Then, she realized,
'No! I-I mustn't get used to it. A... a woman shouldn't do this to
another woman. Not... not even if they used to be man and wife;
_especially_ if they used to be man and wife.'

That was what she'd finally decided on during a week of heavy thought,
and she tried hard to concentrate on her decision, not on what Trisha
was doing to her. It was not easy.

'She... she still thinks she's a man, still my... husband,' Kaitlin told
herself. 'I have to show her that she's _not_ a man.' An odd look of
determination mixed with the lustful expression on Kaitlin's face. She
began to pluck at Trisha's nipples like a banjo player.

Trisha stopped her sucking. She was distracted by what Kaitlin was
doing, by the warm ripples of pleasure that ran through her and most
_certainly_ went directly to her groin. 'It-It's so... oh! d-different
from wh-when I was a man,' she told herself.

Kaitlin took Trisha's head in her hands and raised it upwards.
"What..." Trisha said just as Kaitlin kissed her. Kaitlin's tongue
invaded her mouth, teasing her tongue. Trisha moaned and wrapped her
arms around her wife, pulling their bodies close together. She felt
Kaitlin's fingers exploring her body, and she seemed to tingle with
delight wherever they touched.

Suddenly, Trisha let her arms fall away. She took a step back. "I-I
think we're ready to go on." Trisha felt oddly uncertain now, and she
looked down. Almost of their own will, her fingers were undoing the
buttons of her camisole. When she had finished, she looked up. Kaitlin
had undone her own camisole and was just now sliding it off her
shoulders.

"Yes," Kaitlin said, trying to sound confident. "So we are." She
looked closely at Trisha, whose own camisole was open, revealing the
curves of her breasts and the soft, inviting slope of her stomach. Her
face was flush from Kaitlin's stare as much as from her own arousal.

'So much for my manly, oh, so experienced Patrick,' Kaitlin told
herself. 'Trisha's acting like... like a virgin, like she's making love
for the very first time.' Feeling even more in charge, Kaitlin took her
former husband's hand, and led her to their bed.

* * * * *

Jessie sat on a barstool looking at Shamus' big clock. 'Just a little
longer,' she told herself.

"You may've got off to a bum start, Jessie," Blackie Easton said, taking
the stool next to her, "but you turned out t'be one helluva good
singer."

She smiled at the compliment. "Thanks, Blackie, I'm glad you enjoyed
the show."

"I did; I surely did." He took a breath. "Say, can I buy you a beer or
something? You must be thirsty after all that singing you done."

Before Jessie could answer, Angel Montiero sat down on her other side.
"I would be proud to buy you a beer also, Jessie. You are like the a
sweet, trilling songbird."

"Thanks, boys." She nodded at R.J., who poured her some of Shamus' fake
beer. She didn't like the stuff any more than she ever had, but she
wanted her head clear for later.

'Whenever later comes,' she thought taking a drink. She glanced up at
the clock again, hoping neither man noticed.

They didn't. They were busy telling Jessie how much they'd enjoyed her
singing and talking about songs that they liked.

"You do not know 'La Paloma de la Montaá±a', Jessie? 'The Mountain Dove'
you call it in English." Angel asked, mentioning an old Mexican tune.
She shook her head. "Then I teach it to you." He started to sing in a
rather good tenor voice.

Jessie sighed and let her eyes trail up to the clock. 'Dang,' she
thought, trying to keep her disappointment from showing. 'I can't head
over t'be with Paul right after I sing; people'd notice. But when I
wait around for a while something like this most always happens. Be
nice if I could just sneak him in upstairs, but then where'd Jane
sleep?'

* * * * *

Friday, January 5, 1872

"Good morning."

Kaitlin slowly opened her eyes at the sound of Trisha's voice. She was
in bed, her head resting, almost from force of habit, on Trisha's
shoulder. They were both nude beneath the blanket.

'It's silly that I still sleep like this,' Kaitlin said to herself,
'seeing as I'm bigger than Trisha now.' She glanced down at Trisha's
breasts for a moment. 'Well, I'm _taller_, anyway' she corrected
herself and smiled. Aloud she just answered, "Good morning."

Kaitlin looked to the opened window and back at the alarm clock ticking
on the nightstand. "It's barely 6:30, still almost dark. Why'd you
wake me up so early?"

Trisha's arm snaked around Kaitlin's waist. "I thought we might have us
a little more of what we had last night." She turned her head slightly
and kissed Kaitlin on the cheek.

To Kaitlin, Trisha sounded too much the way Patrick had.

"You mean some of this?" Kaitlin' hand snaked down past Trisha's belly
to the patch of blonde below. She ran a nail along the lips of Trisha's
feminine slit.

"Oh... oh... yes." Trisha's voice was high and breathy. Kaitlin could
feel the other woman shiver.

"Or maybe this?" Kaitlin suddenly plunged a finger into the moistened
slit. At the same time, another finger found the small nub at the top
of the opening and began to rub.

Trisha moaned and her legs spread wide apart. Kaitlin used two fingers
now, moving them in and out. After a moment or two, Trisha's hips began
to move in a rhythm that matched her partner's hand.

Trisha tried to reach up, to touch Kaitlin and pleasure her as she
herself was being pleasured. But the sensations that her wife was
arousing were overwhelming. Then Kaitlin shifted her body, trapping the
new woman's left arm beneath it.

Kaitlin began to suck on Trisha's nipple again. Something like a train-
yard switch closed in Trisha's body. Jolts of sexual energy sped back
and forth between Trisha's breasts and her groin. She moaned, and her
hips began to buck. Her body shivered and shook.

"Yes, yes," Trisha cried as the energy exploded like a blast of dynamite
through her body. "Yeesss!" she screamed and collapsed on the bed,
gasping for breath, a sublime warmth filling her.

Kaitlin leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. "I thought
you'd like that." She began to caress Trisha's body.

"You... you were right," Trisha replied, catching her breath.

"Yes," Kaitlin said dryly, "most women do. I know that I always did."
She stopped her caresses and climbed quickly out of bed. "Now hurry. We
have to get cleaned up. I've got breakfast to make, and you've got to
get Emma ready for school and get yourself ready for work."

* * * * *

"Let's sit here," Hermione said, taking a seat at one of the picnic
tables outside the school. "It has a lovely view of the meadow." She
was sitting backwards, so she could lean back against the table.

"The meadow?" Eulalie Mckecknie giggled and sat down beside her. "Yes,
I suppose the meadow is nice... too." It was, but the view also
included the open area where the boys were playing ball.

One of the Ybaá±ez twins -- nobody could ever tell them apart -- had the
ball. He suddenly kicked it up into the air, towards his brother. The
other twin was running towards the elm tree that the boys used as a
goal-line marker. Bert McLeod came out of nowhere, jumped up, and
caught it. He pivoted as he landed and ran flat out towards the other
end of the playing field.

Eulalie squealed in delight and clapped her hands. "Wonderful catch,
Bert."

"I didn't know you were sweet on Bert, Lallie," Hermione said, using the
other girl's nickname.

Lallie nodded once. "I am... sort of. My daddy says Bert's going
places. His daddy already talked to mine about getting him a job as
page in the legislature after we finish school next year." Her father
operated a freight service and had a contract with the territorial
government that sometimes brought him to Prescott, where he had
befriended several legislators.

"So he'll be a page. What's so wonderful about that?"

"It means he's gonna be somebody important someday, a judge, or a
legislator himself, maybe even the governor. I don't want to be the
wife of some farmer or storekeeper." She said the words like they were
hanging offences. "I want to be important. Your mama is always going
on about how she's 'first among the women of the community', and that's
what _I_ want to be when I grow up." She held her head up trying to
look important.

"And maybe you will be," Hermione told her. "But I'm sure that Yully
will be important, too... in his own way. I just want a husband who's
strong, and handsome, and..." She giggled. "...who'll do what I tell him
to."

"The first thing you have to tell him is to stop kissing Emma."

"Oh, I'm not worried about her any more."

"You're not? Why? After all, he did kiss her."

"Maybe so, but that was some kind of fluke, I think. Clyde told me that
Yully just did it on a dare. I didn't believe him at first, but I've
been watching them all week."

"And? What did you see, what... what?"

"I've seen them play ball together at recess and sit together with the
other boys and talk about it at lunch. That's all. For all the
attention Yully Stone pays to Emma O'Hanlan, she might as well still be
Elmer." Hermione smiled. "Besides Yully told _me_ on Tuesday that he
liked my dress."

"So you don't think there's anything going on between them?"

"Just that stupid ball they pass back and forth." She shook her head.
"No, I'm not going to waste time worrying about her. I'll spend it
getting Yully to notice me."

"I hope you're right." Lallie sounded unsure. At that moment, Bert
passed the ball to Yully. The taller boy caught it and ran for the
stump that marked the other goal line. He crossed it just as the bell
sounded that recess was over.

Bert and his teammates jumped up and down, cheering and waving their
arms. From the way they -- and the other team -- were acting, there was
only one conclusion.

"Bert won!" Lallie cheered. "Bert -- his team won!"

Several of the other girls ran out to congratulate the winners. Eulalie
joined them, heading towards Bert.

Ysabel and Tomas ran out towards Emma, who was talking to Yully and
Stephan about something. Tomas joined the conversation, while Ysabel
fell in quietly next to Stephan.

* * * * *

Arnie was whistling as he walked down the dirt path that led from Eerie
to Chiracauah Mesa. The path curved around a low hill and opened out
into a meadow. Ahead of him, sitting on a fallen tree, were Jessie
Hanks and...

"Seá±ora Laura, what... what are you doing here?"

Laura rose, brushing her dress as she did. "I heard Jessie was giving
you lessons, and I asked if I could come along." She cocked an eyebrow.
"You don't mind, do you?"

"I suppose," he answered cautiously. "Do you want to learn how to fire
a pistola, too?"

Laura smiled. Arnie saw that she was holding his father's weapon in her
right hand. "I... I think I already know how." She turned to Jessie,
who was still sitting. "ready... go!"

Jessie tossed something, three bottles, far into the air. Laura raised
the Colt and fired in one smooth motion. A bottle shattered. She fired
twice more, and the other two bottles were blown apart.

"You were slow on that last one," Jessie scolded, rising to her feet.

Laura nodded. "I haven't fired a gun in almost six months. I guess I'm
a little out of practice."

"Just as well; seems t'me, Arsenio was the last one you took a shot at."
Jessie smiled. "Well, Arnie, can she shoot?"

The boy laughed, then bowed to Laura. "I only hope that I can shoot as
well someday."

"You will." Laura flipped the pistol around, so that she was holding it
by the barrel. "Here." She handed it to him.

He took the gun and looked at it closely. "There are no shells."

"I just put in the three I fired," Laura told him. "Today, we want to
teach you how to clean and load it."

"I just want to learn how to shoot the thing."

"Why?" Jessie asked.

"I told you, to be respected as a man."

"Guns don't get you respect," Laura answered, "not real respect."

"To protect my family, then; I am the man of the house. I have to
protect them."

"That's not what a 'man of the house' does - not all of it, anyway,"
Laura said. "Trust me, I know."

"What do you know?" He was getting irritated with the delay and the
unimportant details of gun care.

"Arnie," Laura began as she sat down on the fallen tree. "I was just
like you. My pa rode off to war in 1861. All of a sudden, I was the
man of the house with an ailing ma and five little sisters t'take care
of." She took a breath. "That's what the man of the house does. It
takes a lot more than a firearm to protect 'em. You gotta watch out for
the mistakes they make as much as for anybody out to hurt them. A man
of the house - a big brother, he helps his family with whatever problems
they got, takes care of 'em, helps them get what they want and what they
need to be better than they would be without his help. You understand
that?"

"I think so." He hadn't bargained for a lecture, just shooting lessons,
but she did seem to be making sense.

Jessie smiled. "Seems t'me that doing stuff like that takes a lot of
patience and care, just like you gotta give that Colt of yours. You
ready t'learn how t'do that?"

Arnie nodded. "I am - if you are ready to teach me."

"I am." Jessie took the box of bullets out of the pocket of her apron.
'"That's a Colt repeating pistol you've got. It fires six shots before
you need to reload. First, you pull the hammer half back." She did so
with her left hand. "that makes the cylinder move... you see it?"

Arnie nodded. "Then what, the bullet goes in?"

"This old piece don't use bullets. You put the powder and ball in
separate." Arnie watched as Jessie continued her lesson.

Laura watched, too, wondering if the boy had taken her words to heart.
'Learning how to be a man is at least as important to him,' she thought
to herself, 'as learning how to fire that Colt.'

* * * * *

"Children," Teresa Diaz scolded. "Do not eat so fast. You will not
enjoy your supper."

"Arnoldo is hurrying," her younger son, Enrique, protested. Since there
were no "Anglos" around, the family was speaking their native Spanish.

Arnoldo, Arnie Diaz, looked up from his meal. "Arnoldo has to get back
to work; do you, small one?" His eight-year old brother shook his head.

"Sá­," Teresa continued. "Seá±or O'Toole is a good man to let you come
home every night for dinner."

Arnie's face soured. "He says that it is cheaper than feeding me
himself. He also watches the clock and yells if I am five minutes late
coming back. And he watches me and yells if I do anything he does not
like."

"He is not that bad," Dolores answered.

Arnie shook his head. "Cousin, you only work for him one night a week
for the dance. Try working for him every day, cleaning tables, carrying
dirty glasses into the kitchen, and washing them. All while he watches,
ready to pounce like a cat on a mouse."

"I never thought of you as a mouse, Arnoldo," Constanza, the younger of
his sisters, teased him. "As a rat maybe --"

"Constanza Diaz," Teresa said sternly, "apologize to your brother."

"But Mama."

"Apologize, and right now, or it may be that the Three Kings will not
leave any presents for you tomorrow." Mexican tradition held that the
Three Wise Men of the Nativity story brought presents to children on
Epiphany, January 6. Presents were often left in the children's shoes.

"That is why _they_ are hurrying with dinner," Ysabel told her mother.
"Enrique and Constanza want to put out their shoes for the Three Kings."

"And you don't?" Constanza asked her. "I saw the letter you wrote to
King Melchior asking him for a new blouse and some hair ribbons."

"Clothes?" Enrique was scandalized. "You asked him for clothes. I
asked him for a good present, a pocket knife like the big boys have."

Teresa frowned. "I am not sure that you are ready for a knife."

"I am," Enrique answered her confidently. "I'll put out some extra
water and hay for their horses, and they will surely give me such a
knife."

Arnie laughed. "Even if you put cookies out for them, they may still
agree with Mama." He took a quick drink of lemonade. "I have to go.
Like I said, Shamus gets mad if I am late."

"Do you have time for a present?" Dolores asked him.

"Presents on Dia de los Reyes are for children, Dolores, and --
regardless of how Shamus treats me sometimes -- I am not a child."

"And I am not a wise man," she replied, "even after all the leagues I
traveled to be here." She took a small package from a pocket of the
apron she was wearing.

Arnie took the package and began to tear off the paper. "What is it?"

"A medallion blessed by the Brothers at the Church of Our Lady of
Guadalupe in Mexico City. It has her picture on it."

The package was unwrapped now. Arnie looked at the small metallic
object. "It is very pretty, but why?"

"It is said that such medallions bring luck. They give a man patience
and lead him to his destiny. You were so angry just now, I thought that
I would not wait until tomorrow to leave it in _your_ shoe."

* * * * *

Trisha gave one final wipe to the dish she was washing and set in the
drying rack. Before she started on another, she glanced over at the
couch. 'Damn,' she thought, 'Emma's still there.'

Emma looked up from the issue of _Boys_ _of_ _America_ she was reading.
"Did you want something, Trisha?"

"No, Emma," Trisha answered. "I just happened to look your way." She
picked up a dish and began to wipe off the grease from dinner. "I wish
Liam had never bought her that magazine," she whispered.

Kaitlin heard her. "It may not be as appropriate as it was, but we can
hardly take the magazine away from her."

"Maybe not," Trisha replied, "but couldn't we tell her to take it up to
her room. Then we could go up to our room and --"

"We could not," Kaitlin said firmly. "I wouldn't do something like that
with Elmer and Patrick, and I'm not about to do it with Emma and Trisha.
It... It would be like... _flaunting_ our behavior before the child."

Trisha sighed. "No, I guess we can't."

* * * * *

Saturday, January 6, 1872

Wrapping her robe around herself, Dolores walked out of the bedroom she
was sharing with her cousins, Ysabel and Constanza Diaz, and into the
main room of the house. The girl's mother, Teresa, was already making
her rounds, dropping off clean clothes and picking up dirty things to be
laundered.

"Look what I got," Constanza said. She held up a cloth doll in a bright
blue dress with yellow and green trim.

Dolores looked at the doll. "Muy pretty. And what is her name?"

"Juanita." Constanza smiled and gave the doll a hug.

Enrique came over to Dolores. He was holding a small leather
container. "Dolores, Dolores, look what the Kings brought me."

"Not so loud," Dolores whispered. "You will wake up your brother. He
was working late last night."

A second door opened. "Too late for that." Arnie walked out of the
room he shared with Enrique, scratching his head. "All right,
pipsqueak, what did you get?"

"This." The boy opened the case and a small pocketknife slid out and
onto the palm of his hand.

Arnie grabbed the knife away. He opened the blade and tossed the knife
into the air. "Good balance," he said approvingly as he caught it.

"Give it back." Enrique grabbed for the knife. Arnie dodged out of his
way.

Dolores shook her head. "Do not be so upset, Enrique. Arnoldo is just
being a good brother and testing the knife. Aren't you, Arnoldo?"

"Maybe." Arnie didn't want to say either way.

"Testing?" Enrique asked.

"Sá­," Dolores said. "A good brother, when his little brother gets a
knife, wants to test it out, to make sure that it is safe... safe for
when he... teaches his little brother how to use it."

Enrique's eyes grew wide. "Is that what he is going to do, Dolores?"

"Of course," she answered confidently. "A father or a big brother,
whoever is the man of the house, takes care of the little brother and
teaches him what he should know."

Arnie thought for a moment, remembering Laura's words and matching them
to what Dolores was saying. Then, with a proud smile, he folded the
blade back into the knife and carefully handed it back. "She is right,
Enrique. I am the man of the house, and it is my job to teach you such
things."

He looked over at Dolores and gave her a quick wink. She smiled and
winked back at him. "Indeed, the man of the house."

The pair turned to Ysabel, who had been sitting quietly at the table.
"And you, sister," Arnie asked, "what treasure did the Kings leave for
you?"

"Hair ribbons, just like I asked for." Ysabel turned her head. Her
hair was tied into a long ponytail by a bronze-colored ribbon that
Dolores had never seen before. She held up another, this one turquoise,
in her hand. "And this beautiful blouse." She put down the ribbon and
showed them a pale blue blouse with a darker blue ruffled collar.

Dolores studied the items -- and the look on Ysabel's face. "They are
very, very pretty. I am certain that he will be impressed."

"He?"

Ysabel tried to sound innocent. "I do not know what you mean."

Constanza giggled. "She means Stephan Yingling. You _know_ you got a
crush on him." The two boys chuckled along with Constanza.

"I do not!" Ysabel said quickly.

Dolores stood up and put a hand on her cousin's shoulder. "Let us get
dressed, so we can make breakfast for everyone."

"Very well." Ysabel glared at her younger sister and brother. "I
suppose that _children_ do have to eat." She started towards her
bedroom door.

Dolores was right behind her. As she closed the door after herself, she
added, "And while we get dressed -- in private -- you can tell me more
about this boy that you do not have a crush on."

* * * *

"Wish we didn't have to be so careful with this brush," Stephan Yingling
complained. "It'd be a lot easier if we could just take an axe to it."
He was slowly digging down to expose the roots of some burro brush at
the side of the hill.

"We're gonna use that one to hide the door," Emma told him. "It's thick
enough that nobody'll ever see that there's anything behind it."

"That's why we gotta be careful with the sod, too," Yully Stone chimed
in. "Once we got the fort built and buried, we'll put the sod back and
nobody'll ever know there's an underground fortress beneath it."

Yully went back to cutting the sod into squares about a yard on each
side. When he was done with a section, Tomas and Emma loosened the last
of the dirt, pulled each piece out and stacked them nearby.

* * * * *

"Daisy," Rosalyn asked, walking into the kitchen, "do we have any
liniment?" She kneaded her left shoulder as she spoke.

The black woman thought for a moment. "Yes'm, I keeps it in the
pantry."

"Would you get it for me please? I fear that Clyde Ritter and I...
overdid things somewhat." She put her hand in the small of her back and
stretched, moaning slightly as she did.

Daisy laughed. "You always was an eager one, Miss Rosalyn. I'll go
fetch it." She hurried into the walk-in pantry, returning almost at
once with a large green bottle. "You wants I should rub it on you?"

"No, but thank you," Rosalyn told her. "I, ah... ache in several
places. I intend to go upstairs, apply the liniment where it's needed,
and lie down for a bit. There doesn't seem to be anything happening at
the moment; is there?"

Daisy shook her head in agreement. "No, ma'am, there ain't. The Lady
is in her office listening to that fancy music box of hers. My Jonas is
down in the basement with Herve putting away some liquor that one of Mr.
Mackecknie's mule skinners brung over, and the other ladies is all
upstairs."

"All of them? I didn't think we were that busy this early in the day."

"Miss Mae's the only one still got a gentleman. Miss Beatriz is
sleeping in, I thinks." She remembered something. "Oh, and Miss
Wilma's over visiting her sister." She paused a moment. "You sure you
don't need me t'help with that liniment?"

Rosalyn smiled sweetly. "No, Daisy. I'm quite sure that I can get it
exactly where it needs to go."

* * * * *

"Another tamale, anyone?" Carmen held up the plate. There were only
three left of the pile she had brought to the table.

Laura shook her head. "Not me. Mrs. Lonnigan says it's too easy for me
to overeat... especially when the food is this good." Everyone else
seemed to agree.

"Can I have some more of the chocolate?" Carmen's older son, Jose,
asked. She poured him another glass, then refilled the glasses for
Ernesto and Lupe.

"Do you need help?" Maggie asked.

Carmen shook her head. "No, I'll just get the rosca." She stood up and
started for the kitchen.

"My favorite part of the feast," Whit said. "It's a lovely custom --
and a good excuse for a very fine dessert."

Carmen turned. "As if you need an excuse." She hurried to the kitchen
and returned moments later with a large plate covered with a cloth.
"Before we cut the rosca, does anyone remember the 'Song of the Three
Kings'?"

"I do," Whit said. "You and Ramon... ummm, you worked long and hard
teaching it to me." He stood and began to sing in a gravelly tenor
voice.

"The Wise Men are coming.
The Wise Men are coming,
On their way to Bethlehem.
Ole, ole, Holy Land and ole.
The Holy Land can be seen..."

Carmen, Maggie, and the children joined in. As she sang, Maggie
couldn't help glancing over at the empty chair where Ramon _should_ have
been sitting. 'A man must work,' she thought. 'At least I will see him
at the dance tonight.'

"Carrying lots of toys
Carrying lots of toys
For the children in Bethlehem
Ole, ole, Holy Land and ole.
The Holy Land can be seen..."

As soon as the song ended, Carmen pulled the cloth away. The rosca was
a cake in the shape of a ring, covered with strips of candied fruit and
dusted with powdered sugar.

"Very nice," Arsenio said. "Just like you described it, Whit."

Whit nodded. "I thought that you and Laura would enjoy the party;
that's why Carmen and I invited you."

"Besides," Carmen added, "you and Maggie are... sisters of a sort, and
it is good to be with family on a day like this."

Maggie looked at Laura's expanded waist. "You can have such a party
yourself, when your little one is old enough."

"I-I suppose," Laura answered. "So how do we do this?"

Carmen picked up a silver cake knife. "Each of us cuts a piece of the
rosca, the ring. A small clay model of the baby Jesus is baked inside
it. Whoever cuts that piece wins -- sort of."

"Sort of is right," Whit said with a laugh. "Whoever finds the baby has
to throw a party on February 2nd, Candlemas, for everyone who's at this
party." He took the knife from Carmen. "Well, here goes nothing." He
cut a slice and transferred it to his own plate.

"Do you have it?" Laura asked.

Whit shrugged. "Sometimes you can't tell till you start eating. We'll
hold off till everybody cuts themselves a slice."

"I am next." Carmen took the knife from her husband and cut a wedge from
it. Then she and Jose both held the knife while he cut his piece. Jose
was four, the same age as Lupe. Maggie did the same for Ernesto and
Lupe before she cut her own piece of cake. Finally, Laura and Arsenio
each cut themselves a slice. Felipe, Carmen and Whit's infant son, got
some of his mother's cake.

"Can we cut a slice for Uncle Ramon?" Lupe asked.

"We will save him one," Carmen told her.

"If he is not here," Maggie added, trying to keep the disappointment out
of her voice, "he cannot be looking for the baby."

"There's still a lot of that... rosca left." Laura tried to change the
subject. "What if that baby is still in where we didn't cut?"

"Then we try again," Carmen said. "Delivering a baby can take time."
She chuckled. "You may find that out for yourself in a few months."

Laura laughed nervously. "Just so the Doc doesn't have to use a knife
t'get it out. Can we start eating now?"

"Si," Carmen said, taking a forkful of her own cake.

Everyone was quiet until Ernesto suddenly jumped up. "I found it; I
found it." Everyone looked. An enamel figure of an infant was half
exposed in the cake on the boy's plate.

* * * * *

"Hey there, Herve," Wilma said as she walked through the door and into
_La_ _Parisienne_. "How they hanging?"

Herve chuckled, used to the sexual banter between himself and Cerise's
ladies. "Large and proud, as always. Did you have a good visit with
your sister?"

"I did. Anything going on over here?"

"Oui. I believe that there is a gentleman in the parlor who has been
eagerly awaiting your return."

"I do love it when they're eager. You tell him that I'm here, and I'll
be down t'see him in half a tick. I want to get myself ready for him."
She hurried past Herve towards the steps.

* * * *

Emma put another board atop the stack on her old wagon. "I think we're
going to have to make another couple trips." She and Yully had gone
back to her family's barn for another load of lumber. The hill was dug
away, and the two of them, plus Stephan Yingling and Tomas Rivera, were
building the frame of what would be their underground fort.

"Maybe this'll help." Yully held a long coil of rope he'd spotted in a
corner of the barn. "We can use it to tie on more lumber."

"Maybe even a piece of the furniture or two." Emma said. "We need to
have the pieces inside the fort before we finish the walls. We'd never
get them through the tunnel."

"I know. That thing's coming along pretty good. We dug out the side of
the hill quicker'n I thought we would." He stood and flexed his arms a
bit. "Hard work, too." He and Stephan Yingling had done most of the
digging.

Emma stopped and looked at him, at the way his shirt stretched tight
over the muscles of his arms and chest. She felt an odd, but somehow
pleasant tingle run through her. 'Must be getting tired,' she thought.
She went back to work, loading lumber onto the wagon, but she couldn't
resist glancing at Yully every now and then.

* * * * *

Wilma had worn a scarf against the slight chill. She tossed it onto her
dresser. Her reticule went in the bottom drawer. She did a quick
inspection in the full-length mirror near her bed. 'Perfect,' she
thought, turning this way and that. No stains or dirt on her dress and
the "warpaint" on her face wasn't smudged.

She sat on the bed and opened the top drawer of her night table. She
took out a small box and set it down next to her. The box held six
brown, doughy-looking spheres, each about the size of a walnut. These
were pessaries, vaginal suppositories that Wilma and the other ladies
used along with condoms to keep from getting pregnant.

"What the?" She crinkled her nose at the odd smell when she opened the
box. Some of the spheres looked... off. She picked one up using two
fingers like tongs and brought it to her nose. "Liniment?" she said,
raising an eyebrow.

She held the sphere in her palm for a moment. Her skin warmed in
reaction to the chemical on the pessary. "If I'd put this in..." she
shivered at the thought of what the liniment would have done to her
"working parts."

The sphere went back in the box. 'Thank Heavens I don't keep all my
eggs in one basket,' Wilma thought, as she put the box back in the bed
table.

Daisy usually made a dozen pessaries at a time for each lady. Wilma
kept half in the box by her bed. The others were in a second box in the
same dresser drawer that she'd put her reticule in. She quickly checked
these. Yes, whoever it was -- hell, it had to be Rosalyn -- that had
ruined the first six hadn't gotten to these others.

"Wouldn't do t'mess with Rosalyn right now when there's so many folks
about," Wilma said to herself. "Besides I'm as 'eager' for some fun as
that gent waiting for me downstairs." She laughed. "Be a lot quieter
on Sunday. I'll see to Rosalyn then." She clenched her fists. "Maybe
I'll even let her try out one them pessaries she made for me -- if she's
still conscious."

* * * * *

Ramon turned nervously to Dolores. "Do they have to stare at me... at
us like that?" They were on the sofa at her cousin's house. Teresa
Diaz and Ysabel were putting the finishing touches on the dinner table,
while her two youngest children sat watching Ramon and Dolores.

"Courage," Dolores whispered. "It won't be much longer." In a louder
voice, she added, "So, Constanza, Enrique, why don't you show Seá±or de
Aguilar what the Kings brought you?"

Constanza slid off her chair. She had been playing with a doll and she
cradled it in her arms as she walked towards the sofa. "Her name is
Juanita. She's just a baby."

"And a very pretty baby she is, too," Dolores told her. "Do you take
care of her like your mama takes... took care of you when you were
little?"

The girl smiled. "Oh, yes. I dress her and I tell her stories and I am
even going to let her sleep in my bed with me -- if she behaves."

"I am sure that she will," Ramon said. "She seems like a very well
behaved little one." He glanced over at Enrique for a moment before
asking Constanza. "And what did your brothers and your sister get?"

Enrique made a face. "Ysabel got clothes. She _asked_ for them."

"Girl's do that sometimes." Ramon had to smile at the boy's
mortification over his sister's presents. "They want to look pretty
like your cousin, Dolores..." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
"...or your mama."

"Thank you, Ramon," Teresa called over from across the room. "Enrique,
tell him what you got?"

Enrique grinned and reached into a pocket. "I got this knife." He
pulled it out. "Isn't she a beauty?"

"Just remember, Enrique, you are not to play with that thing in the
house."

The boy shook his head. "I won't, mama. I promised Arnoldo that I
wouldn't even open it again until he is there to teach me how to use
it."

"Oh really?" Teresa asked, sounding a little dubious.

Arnie came in from the back room with an extra chair. "He promised me,
and I will be sure that he keeps his word." He grinned at Dolores.
"That is what big brothers do, or so I am told."

"It is, indeed," Ramon answered. "My own brother taught me how to use a
knife when I was about Enrique's age."

Teresa turned towards Ramon. "How is Gregorio? I have not seen him in
ages."

"He keeps very busy at the old ranchero over on the other side of the
Hassayampa River. I have not seen him since early last summer. He does
write me, though, so I know that he is well."

"The next time you write him, please tell him that I said, 'hello,'
would you?"

Ramon nodded. "I will be glad to."

"Thank you." Teresa went over to check the oven. "In the meantime, the
tamales are ready, so everyone come to the table."

* * * * *

"Great Heavens, Emma, what have you been up to?" Kaitlin stared at her
daughter. "You're.... You're filthy."

Emma looked down at herself and smiled. That was the sort of question
Elmer had often gotten. It was nice to hear it again. "Me and Tomas
was just playing."

"The two of you play all the time. You haven't gotten this dirty
since... since I don't remember when." Kaitlin made it a point not to
talk about the accident when she didn't have to.

Emma gave her a self-satisfied nod. "Yeah, but this is the first
weekend that we could really have us some real fun. Doc Upshaw took his
cast off on Wednesday."

"So you two decided to celebrate by digging to China. Well, get
upstairs and take those clothes off. Put a robe on, too. You can take
a long bath after dinner tonight. You'll need one to scrub away the top
layers of soil on you."

Emma headed for the stairs. "Yes'm."

"At least she wore pants and an old shirt of Elmer's instead of one of
her new dresses," Trisha noted.

Kaitlin's face soured. "Small blessing that. I was hoping that she was
finished with such things."

"We seem to have a tomboy on our hands," Trisha said with a proud smile.

"Don't be getting so happy, Trisha. This ends any ideas _you_ might
have had for this evening. It'll take a long bath to get that child's
body clean and a longer one, I expect, to get the last of the dirt out
of her hair. I'll have to be helping her, especially with the hair.
After that, and my own bath, it will be too late for anything but
sleep."

* * * * *

Enrique looked down at the slice of the rosca he'd just cut. "No sign
of the infant," he said, happily.

Teresa disagreed. "Do not be so sure. Sometimes the infant is not
found until you start to eat your slice."

"It's not in my slice," Enrique said confidently. "Here, Stanzi, it's
your turn." He handed the knife to his sister.

Constanza took the knife and began to cut a piece. 'I hope I don't find
it,' she thought, but even as she did, she felt something resisting the
knife.

"I found it," she shouted. "Oh, but how can I throw a party?" She
looked at the others at the table.

Arnie looked at her. "Hurry up, Constanza."

"What?" She looked at her older brother wondering why he was teasing
her now.

Arnie frowned. "I said, hurry up." When she didn't move, he carefully
took the cake knife from her hands. "If you won't finish cutting our
piece of cake, then I will."

"Our piece?" She looked at him and blinked.

Arnie smiled back at her. "Sure, we're going to share this piece.
'Course that means you'll have to let me help with the Candlemas party."
He shrugged. "I guess that's just something that a big brother has to
do."

* * * * *

"We are here," Dolores said, as she walked into the Saloon with Ramon.
"And right on time for the dance, too. Thank you for walking me over."

"After the fine time I had at your cousin's house, I should be thanking
you," Ramon told her.

Dolores put her hand on his cheek. "Why don't we thank each other?"
She put a hand on each side of his face and pulled him towards her. The
kiss was deep and full of passion.

And it lasted just long enough for Maggie, who was looking out from the
kitchen, watching for Ramon to arrive, to see them kiss.

* * * * *

Sunday, January 7, 1872

"More, anyone?" Carmen asked.

Ramon reached for the serving plate. "I will have more of the eggs and
sausage. They are delicious, Margarita."

"I am so glad that you like them," Maggie said coldly.

Ramon gave her an odd look. "What do you mean?"

"I had thought that you preferred _Dolores'_ cooking to mine," Maggie
told him. "That certainly was true yesterday."

"Is that it?" Ramon said with a sigh. "Is that why you would not talk
to me, even when we danced together last night, because I did not come
to your party for the Dia de los Reyes Magos?"

"I am not mad that you did not come to _my_ party," Maggie answered.
"I-I am mad that you... you lied and went to _hers_."

"And now he is at _ours_," Carmen interrupted. "This is supposed to be
a nice family desayuno, a meal we can all enjoy together after church.
I will not have such fighting in front of my children, and, Margarita,
you should not behave this way in front of yours."

Maggie glanced over at Ernesto. He quickly looked down at his plate
and took another forkful of eggs. Lupe stared back at her mother, eyes
wide and worried. Maggie blinked, and her cheeks flushed pink.
"Excuse me." She rose without explanation and walked stiffly into
Carmen's kitchen.

"Margarita." Ramon stood up and started after her.

Carmen took him by the wrist. "Ramon, stop."

"Carmen!" He tried to step around her, but she dug in her heels and
held him fast.

She shook her head. "No, brother. Right now, you are the last one
that Margarita needs to talk to." She pointed back at the table. "Go
back and have those eggs that you liked -- that _she_ cooked for you.
I will talk to her."

Ramon was about to answer when he felt a hand, Whit's hand, on his
shoulder. "I think she just may be right, Ramon. Let be for now."

"I... very well," Ramon sighed. "Eating those eggs and sausage seems
to be the only thing that I can do right this morning."

* * * * *

Yully reached into the pouch tied to his belt. Empty. "I need some
more nails, somebody," he yelled to the others working with him on the
fort.

"You'll have to get them yourself," Emma answered. "We're all busy,
too." She and Tomas were carrying a chest of drawers into the wooden
framework of the fort. The drawers themselves were still in the wagon.
They would go in next.

"I can't help either," Stephan Yingling chimed in. He pulled a nail
from his own pouch and began to hammer it in, attaching a long
horizontal board to the framework.

"Where are the nails?" a new voice asked. Everyone turned to see...

"Ysabel," Tomas said in surprise. "What're you doing here?"

Emma stared at her friend. "Yeah, how'd... how'd you know about what
we was doing?"

"I was there when you told those two..." Ysabel pointed at Stephen and
Yully. "...about it, and showed them the pictures, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, you were, weren't you," Yully said. "We just didn't think
you was interested. Besides, if you were, where was you yesterday
instead of helping us?"

"I got stuck at home," she answered quickly. "We were having a party
for the Dia de los Reyes Magos -- a holiday for us. I had to stay
there and help with the cooking and the cleaning."

"But I'm here now," she added, "and I want to help. Where are those
nails Yully wanted?"

Emma pointed as she and Tomas set the chest down inside the framework.
"Over there by my wagon."

"Say," Stephan asked, "do you know how to use a hammer'n nails?"

Ysabel hesitated a moment. "Some. I haven't done it in a while,
though."

"Let's just see how well you remember." Stephan walked over towards
the wagon. "Toss me your pouch, Yully." The other boy untied his
pouch and threw it straight to him.

When Stephan reached the wagon, he refilled Yully's pouch and his own
from a large bag of nails resting against one wheel. "C'mon, Ysabel."
He turned and walked back to where he'd been working. Ysabel hurried
behind him.

"Here." He handed her a nail and his hammer. Then he pointed to the
board he'd been working on. Yully, Emma, and Tomas came over to watch.

The board hung down, attached to the framework at one end by a single
nail. Ysabel walked the length of the board, lifting it as she did.
When she reached the other end, the board was horizontal, with its end
flush against the framework.

She propped the board with one arm and held the nail between her
fingers. She tapped it a half dozen times before she took her hand
away. The nail stayed in the board. It stuck straight out. She
braced the board with one hand and swung the hammer. It took more
strokes than it would have taken Yully or Stephan, but the head of the
nail was soon flush with the surface of the board. And the board was
firmly attached to the framework.

Stephan inspected her work closely. "Looks like we got us another
carpenter." He patted Ysabel on the back. She blushed and managed not
to giggle. The others also took a moment to congratulate her. Then
they all got back to work.

* * * * *

Carmen walked into the kitchen carrying a tray full of dirty dishes,
cups, and silverware. "Are you feeling any better, Margarita?"

"Not really," Maggie answered. She was standing at the sink, scraping
a small bit of burnt sausage out of a frying pan. "Are the children --
"

"Your children are playing outside with my Jose," Carmen told her.
"Felipe is in his playpen, and Whit is... upstairs."

"And Ramon?" Maggie asked, hesitation in her voice.

"Also upstairs. He and Whit are playing chess in Ramon's rooms."
Ramon lived in what had been the guesthouse when the property had
belonged to his and Carmen's parents.

Maggie looked towards the ceiling for a moment. "Why don't they play
down here as they usually do? Was Ramon in that much of a hurry to get
away from me?"

"It was Whit's idea. He thought that you needed time to let your anger
cool."

"Do you think my anger is not justified? I asked him to come to a
party, and he... he..." Her voice broke.

Carmen finished the thought. "He goes to Dolores' party instead. Your
anger is not unjustified, but it _is_ misplaced. Dolores did ask him
first, and he could only take the time from work to go to one party."

"Why are you defending him?"

"Because, no matter how foolishly he may be acting, he is still my
brother. And besides," Carmen took a breath, "the fault is partly
yours."

"Mine! How is it my fault?"

"It is your fault that the poor man is so confused. Look what you said
to him. I like you, Ramon. Help me with my problems, Ramon. Court
me, Ramon." She raised a finger as if ticking off each item. "And
then you say, do not court me, Ramon. I must put my children first,
Ramon. Just be my friend, Ramon. No wonder he is confused."

"But... Dolores."

"'But Dolores', indeed. _She_ does not confuse him. They were children
together. She went away, but now she is back. She is pretty. She
flatters him and tells him that she wants to be with him. She does not
push him away or say that others come first. Why should he not be
attracted to her?"

"Then you think she has won?"

"If I did, Margarita, I would not be in here talking to you like this.
You lost the 'Battle of the Three Kings' -- maybe, but, as my Whit
says, you have not lost the war."

"What do you mean?"

"How do you think Ramon feels right now?"

"Guilty -- I hope -- for what he did."

"Si, and do you think Dolores wants him to feel guilty?" Maggie shook
her head, and Carmen continued. "That is right; she wants him to feel
happy. When you were a man, who was better, a woman who wanted you to
feel guilty or one who wanted you to feel happy?"

"The one that wanted me to be happy, of course."

"Then be that woman. Apologize to --"

Maggie stiffened. "I will _not_ apologize. Is it my fault that he
went to Dolores' party?"

"No, but it is your fault that you got mad at him."

"I had every right to be mad."

"Perhaps, but where did it get you? Try saying this, 'Oh, Ramon, I am
so sorry. I did not mean to get mad at you, but I was _so_
disappointed." Carmen pouted and put on an exaggeratedly sad
expression.

Maggie rolled her eyes and laughed. "You think that something as silly
as that will work on him?"

"Margarita, when you were Miguel and your Lupe pouted like that while
you were arguing, what happened?"

Maggie smiled, remembering, then laughed again. "I forgave her, of
course. Sometimes a man has no choice."

"Si, and Ramon will have no more choice than Miguel ever did."

* * * * *

"You interested, Mae?" Joe Ortlieb asked, standing up.

Mae stood quickly and took Joe's arm. "With you, Joe? Always." She
gave him a peck on the cheek and giggled softly.

"Then let's get to it." Joe grinned and led her towards the steps.

Rosalyn and Wilma watched them go. Now the two women were alone in the
parlor at _La_ _Parisienne_. Wilma leaned back and stretched like a
cat, giving a silent yawn. Rosalyn reached under a chair and pulled
out a copy of the latest issue of _Goodey's_ _Ladies_ _Book_. Lady
Cerise encouraged her ladies to keep up on the affairs of the world, so
long as they didn't read when men were about.

Rosalyn turned pages until she found the article she'd been looking at.
She settled back in her chair and began where she'd left off.

"You mind putting that down for a minute, Rosalyn," Wilma asked. "I
been wanting to talk with you."

Rosalyn didn't look up. "You're welcome to talk, but I have no
intention of listening to anything you might have to say."

"You'll listen to this." A note of anger crept into Wilma's voice. "I
want to talk to you about that liniment you --"

"I'm sure that you had a real _hot_ time with it," Rosalyn interrupted,
a nasty smile on her face. "You and whatever man was unfortunate
enough to be with you." She went back to her reading.

Wilma grabbed the magazine from her hands. As she did, the cover tore,
so that Rosalyn was still holding it. "My journal," Rosalyn yelled,
almost jumping to her feet. "How dare you?"

"How dare _I_?" Wilma answered. She grabbed the torn cover from
Rosalyn's hand and crumpled it into a small ball. "You try anything
else with me, bitch, and this..." She shoved the wad of paper in
Rosalyn's face. "And this'll be you."

Rosalyn sneered. "You wouldn't dare, you peasant slut."

The two women glared at each other. Their fingers arched like claws,
as if each were ready to attack.

"Hey, we gonna see us a cat fight?" a voice from the doorway asked.

The two women turned quickly. "Why if it isn't Mr. Phineas Pike and
Mr. Clay Falk." Rosalyn's voice turned low and seductive. "Is that
what you two boys want?"

"If I'm gonna wrestle with anybody..." Wilma's voice was just as
sexually inviting, "...I'd rather it was with one of you two handsome
fellahs."

Clay walked over and put an arm around Wilma's waist. "Well, now,
that's just what I had in mind when I came in."

"Same here." Finny walked over and took Rosalyn in his arms. She
moved in close and kissed him.

As the two couples walked towards the stairs, Wilma shifted arms, so
she was next to Rosalyn. She leaned in close and whispered, just loud
enough for the other woman to hear. "You just remember what I said,
bitch."

* * * * *

Martha Yingling heard someone at her kitchen door. "Who is -- good
heavens, Stephan, you're filthy."

All five, Emma, Yully, Stephan, Ysabel, and Tomas, had finished the
fort late in the afternoon. In their haste to bury it, they had been
sloppy, and all five had gone home _very_ dirty.

Stephan grinned in satisfaction at his mother. "Yes'm, I guess I am."

"Well, you're not coming into my clean kitchen like that." Martha
blocked the doorway. She was a rather plump woman, although only an
inch or two taller than her son. "Ruth," she called to her oldest
daughter.

Ruth Yingling was getting a serving bowl for the peas cooking on the
stove. "Yes, Mama?"

"Go get a spare blanket and a towel from the closet and hurry."

"Yes, Mama," Ruth said, running off.

Martha gave Stephen a closer look and clucked her tongue. "Just look
at you. You're wearing a pound of topsoil at least. Get undressed."

"Ma, out here on the porch?" The boy looked around. The porch was
closed in on three sides, and it was after dark. Still, someone
_might_ see him.

"Start with you shirt and your shoes," his mother told him. "You can
take off the pants when Ruth comes back with a blanket. In the
meantime, you fill that wash basin from the pump." She pointed to a
large metal basin hanging from a hook on one wall. "I'll bring some
soap for you. Be sure to wash your hands and face and neck. Oh, yes,
and do your hair, too. Stay out here till you're clean."

"What about supper?"

"What about it? You'll not be eating covered with all that dirt. Now
get started."

"Yes'm," Stephan said. He sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt.

A few minutes later, he was sitting at the edge of the porch untying
his left shoe. His shirt and undershirt were in a pile nearby. He
stopped when he heard the kitchen door slam behind him.

"Put the blanket and towel down anywhere, Ruth." He pulled off his
shoe and sock.

"Stand up, boy," a firm male voice ordered. "Now."

Stephan sprang to his feet. "Pa, yes, sir."

Reverend Thaddeus Yingling stared at his son. The boy's face and neck
looked like a blackamoor's. His hands and arms were black opera gloves
that stretched halfway to his elbows.

"My boy," the Reverend finally said, "if cleanliness is next to
godliness, then you are a world away from our Lord." He handed Stephan
a bar of yellow lye soap then continued. "How did you manage to get so
dirty?"

"I-I was playing with some of my friends."

"Playing what, dig to China?" He draped the blanket over Stephan's
shoulders, covering him down to his ankles. "Get out of those pants
while you're talking."

Stephan unbuttoned his pants. They fell to the floor and he quickly
stepped out of them. "We was just... playing. You know... playing
around like guys'll do."

"Judging from your clothes, I'm fairly certain that you and your
friends were digging." He began to work the pump handle. A stream of
water filled the basin. "I trust that you were not looking for gold,
not on the Sabbath."

The boy put his arms under the pump to wet them. He wet the soap in
the basin and began to work up a lather on his hands and arms. He
recognized his father's tone. It would be best for him to tell the
truth, but, somehow, he knew that he shouldn't. "No, sir. We... Uhh,
we cleared some land in the woods and, uhh, built us a fort. Today...
Today, we played at attacking and defending it. That... that's how I
got so dirty."

"A fort." Yingling stroked his beard in thought. "And whose idea was
it to build such a thing?"

"Do I have to say, Pa?" He rinsed his arms in the basin, whose water
was now quite black.

"No, but if you don't want to have to stand while you eat supper, you
will _tell_ me, and you will do so _immediately_."

"Emma, Pa, Emma O'Hanlan. She's the one that used to be a boy, and she
--"

"I know who she is."

By now, Stephan's limbs were clean. He dunked his head under the pump,
then started rubbing the soap into his wet hair. "She gets that
magazine, _Boys_ _of_ _America_, and it told how to do it."

"And she talked you into helping her with this foolish notion."

"It ain't foolish, Pa. It really ain't."

"Isn't, Stephan. Saying 'ain't' paints a man as unworthy of Grace."

"It _isn't_ foolish. Yully and me... and _I_ --"

"So, the Stone boy was involved as well. Who else?"

"Ah... umm, Tomas Rivera and... and Ysabel Diaz."

"I see. Well, I'm sure that none of them will escape some punishment
from their parents if they come home as filthy as you did." He stopped
and looked at Stephan. "You're lathered enough, I think. Come here
under the pump and let me rinse you off."

When Stephan put his head under the pump, his father worked the handle
again. The boy shivered as the cold water ran down from his hair.
"Clean enough," Yingling told the boy. "Dry off and get in the house.
You may leave those soiled clothes out here for now."

"You may eat supper in the blanket," Yingling continued. "It would be
cold by the time you got dressed."

"Thank you, Pa," Stephan said.

"Don't be so quick to thank me. You worked, you did hard manual labor
on the Sabbath, our Lord's day of rest. You shall balance that out
with some hard _mental_ labor. I'll expect a translation of another
ten arguments from Cicero's 'Treatise on Friendship' by Wednesday
evening." He pronounced the name as the Romans had, "Kick-ero."

Stephan wrapped the blanket around himself and sighed. "Yes, Pa." He
walked into the house, shoulders slumped. His younger brothers didn't
say anything, but his mother had to stop his sisters from giggling at
the way he looked.

Yingling tossed the water from the washbasin out into his yard, rinsed
it under the pump, and hung it back on its hook. "A fort," he muttered
softly, so no one inside could hear. "More military nonsense. That
boy is going to be a minister like his father, and no boy-turned-girl
is going to stop that from happening even if her... even if Trisha
O'Hanlan _is_ a member of the church board."

* * * * *

Monday, January 8, 1872

The early morning light filled the bedroom.

Laura was half sleep. 'Damned pillow,' she thought as she shifted
position. After a week, she still wasn't used to sleeping on her side
with a pillow between her legs.

"Mmmmf." Arsenio mumbled in his sleep. He was behind her, spooning
her. His left arm was draped over her, just below her breasts. She
could feel his breath on her shoulder.

She shifted again, and it woke him. "You all right, Laura?"

"Just trying to get comfortable," she answered.

He moved closer. "You just lean back against me." He lifted his head
to glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand. "It's early yet; you
can go back to sleep for a bit."

"If _I_ can." She sighed softly.

"What's the matter?"

"I... I'm scared. That -- what'd Molly call it? -- morning sickness
was bad enough. Now it feels like there's a ball inside my belly, and
it's getting bigger."

Arsenio's hand slid down to her stomach and along the small bulge.
"Feels nice."

"St-stop that." Laura shivered, fearing the extreme arousal his touch
sometimes caused in her. There was none of _that_, but she did feel
her nipples grow tight.

"Well, it does feel nice to me. There's nothing to worry about. It's
natural for a woman to show that she's pregnant."

"I know, but being pregnant is so... different from _anything_ I ever
expected to be. Mrs. Lonnigan's been a lot of help -- so has Molly --
telling me what's happening and what's... what's going to happen, but
last week, she -- Mrs. Lonnigan -- she... she said..." Her voice
trailed off.
Arsenio took her hand in his. "That the baby was going to start moving
inside you. That's what you're still scared about, isn't it?"

"She... Mrs. Lonnigan said I'd-I'd feel it."

"Did she say that it would be a bad thing if you did?"

"N-No, she acted like it was... normal."

"Then it is. It must just be a sign that the baby's growing the way
it's supposed to."

"Yeah, but... moving, and inside me. What am I going to do? Does
it... hurt?" Her body tensed, as if she were about to run.

"Don't think about what _you're_ going to do." He gently kissed her
shoulder. "Think about what _we're_ going to do."

"What _we're_ going to do?"

"Yep. 'Cause whatever happens when the baby starts moving, I'll be
there with you. You remember what Molly said when we asked her about
it?"

Laura nodded nervously. "Uh huhn. She said it was natural; the baby's
way of introducing itself to its mother."

"To its _parents_ is what she said. I'll be able to feel it almost as
soon as you will, especially if I'm holding you close." He kissed her
again. "As if I needed another reason to hold you close."

Laura put her hand over his. "You're a sweet man, Arsenio Caulder."

"Yes, I am," he joked. Then he moved even closer. "In the meantime,
if you'd like to feel something else moving inside you..." Laura felt
something hard press against her buttocks.

"Mmmm, I suppose that might be good practice."

* * * * *

The five of them met at lunch.

"Now that the fort's finished," Yully asked, "what're we gonna do with
it?"

Emma shook her head. "It ain't finished, not quite. We gotta make
sure that all that sod got put back right. It was dark by the time we
had it all laid down, and we couldn't tell if we done it right."

"We can check it out after school today," Tomas said.

Stephan shook his head. "Not me, sorry."

"What's the matter?" Yully asked.

"My folks hit the roof when I came home yesterday," Stephan complained.
"I had to all but take a bath before they'd let me in the house."

"A bath," Ysabel giggled, "right out there on your porch for everyone
to see."

Stephan shook his head. "Not a bath, but I did have to strip down to
my... uhh, union suit and wash off at the pump; even had to wash my
hair."

"You was the one that wanted us to put all that sod back in the dark,"
Yully reminded him.

Emma completed the thought. "And tripped over a piece and rolled down
the hill."

"I know," Stephan sighed, "and I'm surely paying for it. My pa says I
got to do three pages of Cicero for him by tomorrow night."

"Who or what the dickens is Cicero?" Yully asked.

"Some old Roman fellah," Stephan answered. "Pa's been teaching me
Latin, so I can go away to some finishing school like Junior did."
Thaddeus Yingling, Jr., Stephan's older brother, had been away at a
Methodist school in Ohio since early September.

"He wants to send you away," Ysabel gasped. "Oh, how dreadful." The
others nodded in agreement.

"He wants Junior and me to be preachers like him and Uncle Obediah and
grampa. Probably wants the same for Matt and Sam. Junior may want to,
but I ain't sure I do."

"I hope you don't go anywhere," Ysabel said. "Unless you want to, of
course," she added quickly.

Stephan shrugged and kept talking. "Like I said, I ain't sure what I
want to do, but there's other things that some extra learning can help
with. Anyways, I'm far enough along that Pa gives me translations to
do for practice. I started on this Cicero piece, 'On Friendship' just
after New Year's. Usually, Pa lets me set my own pace, do two or three
pages a week. For punishment, he said I gotta do the next three pages
by tomorrow night. That's why I can't go with you; I gotta go home and
work on that translation."

"That sounds like a good reason to me." Yully put an arm around his
friend's shoulder. "You can help out when you get that Cicero fellah
done."

"You just have to keep from getting so dirty that your papa gives you
more to do," Tomas added.

"One thing," Emma said, sounding very serious. "You gotta -- we _all_
gotta promise to keep the fort a secret."

Tomas looked puzzled. "Why? Why can't we tell anybody or even show it
off if we want to?"

"We can... in time," Emma said, "but we gotta be careful for now.
There's them that would want to wreck it or to take it away from us."

"Who would do that?" Tomas asked.

Yully made a face. "The Ritters, for one. Clyde'd love to have a
place like that for himself."

"Si," Ysabel said, looking over at to the table some distance away
where Clyde and a few of his cronies were having lunch. "Clyde is very
much the sort of thing that comes slinking out from a hole in the
ground."

Yully continued. "And 'Whiney Hermione' couldn't wait to tell Miss
Osbourne or our folks if she knew about it. She'd probably make it
sound like it was dangerous, too."

"It ain't dangerous," Emma protested. "We built extra supports into
the framework of the room and the tunnel, just like the magazine said
to."

"She wouldn't care," Stephan said. "It ain't -- isn't -- the sort of
thing that she would do, so, to her, it _has_ to be bad. She'd try to
make the all the adults think so, too. If she did, they'd close it up
-- maybe even punish us all for building it."

Emma looked at the others. "You know, I've been thinking that we need
a name for the fort."

"So?" Yully asked.

"So," Emma answered. "How about we call it 'Fort Secret'? Secret by
name and secret by nature." She put out her arm, palm down, a few
inches above the table.

One by one, the others, Yully, Stephen, Ysabel, and Tomas, put their
hands on hers. When all five hands were stacked together, they all
softly repeated, "Fort Secret, secret by name and secret by nature."

* * * * *

The jangle of the bell over the door brought Kirby Pinter back from the
Jules Verne novel he was reading. "Looks like the Baltimore Gun Club
will have to wait," he said, closing the book. "Can I help you ma'am?"

"Yeah, I'm Jessie Hanks, and I --"

"Oh, yes, Miss Hanks. I've heard you sing over at Mr. O'Toole's
saloon. You're quite good." He stuck out a hand. "I'm Kirby Pinter,
by the way, and I'm very pleased to meet you."

Jessie shook his hand. "Thanks. You got any songbooks in here?"

Pinter smiled, happy to show off his wares. "You've come to the right
place. I've all manner of books, new and used, and I'm sure that I
have a few songbooks."

He stood up from the stool he'd been sitting on. He was a short man,
only a few inches taller than Jessie, in his 30s with thinning brown
hair. He had a round face partially hidden by a burnsides, a mustache
that arched across his cheeks and merged into his sideburns. "Please
follow me."

"I need one with the words _and_ the music."

"New material for your act, I expect. I believe that I've got a couple
of books that might be what you're looking for."

Pinter's store was small, with tall bookcases along all the walls.
Papers tacked to each shelve told the sort of books it held. Four long
tables, also piled high with books, took up most of the floor space.
He led Jessie past the tables to a bookcase with one section labeled
"Arts and Music."

"Here we are," he said. He moved things around on a shelf, so that
three books were standing upright at one end. "Any of these should do.
I'll just leave you to them. Please let me know if you need any more
help." He nodded and walked back to the counter.

Jessie looked at the books. The first, _Anglican_ _Hymns_, was of
little use. The second, a book of children's songs and games, did have
a couple of songs she might use. The third one looked promising.
"_Songs_ _of_ _the_ _Ozark_ _Hills_ _and_ _Other_ _Popular_ _American_
_Music_," she read aloud. She took the book from the shelf and opened
it. "There's a whole section of Stephan Foster songs in here, and
'Yankee Doodle', and a bunch of other tunes I already know, but
here's... I don't know that one or that one either." She read down the
table of contents. "Hell, there's more'n enough in here."

She turned to the first unknown song. "Nice," she said, considering
the words. "Music sounds good." She hummed the first few notes.
Reading music was a skill she'd picked up over the years.

Jessie closed the book and walked over to Pinter with it under her arm.
"How much?"

"The price is written inside." He took the book and showed her where
he'd penciled in the price. "This is two dollars." When he saw her
frown, he corrected himself. "But, since I look forward to hearing you
singing some of these tunes, is a dollar all right?"

Jessie smiled, and opened her reticule for the money. "More'n all
right, and the first one I sing'll be for you."

* * * * *

Tuesday, January 9, 1872

Ernesto looked up from his Reader. He'd been reviewing the spelling
words from one of the stories, sitting behind the counter at
Silverman's. "Zayde," he asked Aaron Silverman, who was standing at
the nearby cash register, "is it quiet enough in the shop so I can ask
Uncle Ramon a question?"

"Look around," the shopkeeper told him, "does it seem busy to you?"

Ernesto shook his head. "No, the only customer in the store is a lady,
and Bubbie Rachel is helping her."

"So, is that quiet enough for you?" Aaron asked. The boy shrugged, and
Aaron added, "Go. Ask."

"Thank you, Zayde." Ernesto jumped down from his stool. "I will be
right back."

Aaron chuckled, as he watched the boy walk over to Ramon, his back
stiff as a soldier's. "Like an almond that boy is, so much in a hurry
to blossom, as the sages say."

"Uncle Ramon," Ernesto asked, "can I talk to you?"

Ramon turned and smiled at the boy. "Certainly, Ernesto, what do you
want to talk about?"

"The Dia de los Reyes."

"Oh, si. What did the three kings give you?"

"A pair of fighting tops; you set them going and see which one knocks
the other over."

"I had a set like that years ago. Maybe, I will come over and try them
out with you."

Ernesto brightened. "Do you mean it? You do not come over as much as
you used to."

"I know... and I am sorry. Is that what you wanted to talk to me
about, that I did not come to your mama's party?"

"Sort of. On Dia de la Reyes... when we cut the rosca... _I_ was the
one who found the Baby Jesus."

"You did? Well, good for you."

"Thank you, but maybe it is not so good. I found the rosca, so I have
to give the party for everyone on Candlemas Day."

Ramon smiled at the boy's seriousness and tousled his hair. "Is that
really a problem? I am certain that your mama does not expect you to
do that."

"But I _want_ to do it. I am the man of the house, and she _should_
expect me to do it."

"I see." Ramon nodded, beginning to see the boy's problem.

"And I _can_ do it." Ernesto took a deep breath. "If you will help
me."

"Me? Why do you not just ask your mama for help?"

"Because that would be the same as saying that I cannot do it.
Besides," he continued. "If I am the man, shouldn't I ask another man
for help?" He looked up at Ramon, eyes wide with hope. "Please, Uncle
Ramon. Please."

Ramon smiled gently and tousled the boy's hair again. "All right,
seá±or. I will be honored to help you."

* * * * *

Abner Slocum settled back in his chair and took a long sup of after-
dinner brandy. "Matthew, didn't you say something about going into
town tomorrow?"

"Yes, Uncle Abner," Cap answered. "I'm riding in about mid day.
There's some supplies Tuck asked me to pick up. I'll have dinner with
Bridget and ride back up afterwards with Arsenio Caulder."

"Is it that time already? Seems like only a couple of weeks ago that
he was up here shoeing horses."

"No, sir, three months, just like you and he agreed. Besides the
horses that need shoeing, there're some tools that need fixing: an ax
that needs a new edge, a broken branding iron, and such."

"I'm surprised he's willing to come up the night before, what with his
wife expecting."

"True, but with these short January days and what all we have for him
to do, he'd probably wind up staying the night if he rode up first
thing in the morning."

"You're probably right." Slocum paused a moment. "Still, that's not
the reason I asked in the first place." He paused again. "I'd be
happier if you would cancel your dinner with Miss Kelly and head
straight out here with Arsenio."

"Uncle Abner, you've been saying things like that for days now. What
turned you against Bridget? I've asked and asked, and you keep putting
me off."

"Until today, all I had were my suspicions."

"What changed today?"

"I got this." He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. He
looked at it, then handed it to Cap.

Cap read the address. "Texas Board of Military Affairs, Official
Document -- you asked your friend, Issachar Bailey, for Bridget's war
record, didn't you?"

"I did."

"What gave you the right to do that?"

"The fact that I invested a goodly sum of money in her, as well as
giving her the weight of my own good name by doing so."

"You knew who she was when you grubstaked her. Why do this now?"

"I knew that she'd been an outlaw, yes, but I had thought that her
actions since she came to Eerie had redeemed her."

"They have." He held up the letter. "Whatever's in here is ancient
history."

"The War Between the States is still very much with us, thank you. Ask
Tuck about his lost leg if you think that it isn't. And cowardice
under fire, fomenting mutiny, and the theft of military supplies during
wartime are not so easily redeemable."

"If any of those charges are true."

"Those papers in your hand say that they are. Look at them."

"Uncle Abner, I was in the navy for almost five years, and I know that
the truth and what gets written up as the truth in military records can
be poles apart."

"Not in something like this." He shook his head. "You're thinking
with your Johnson, Matthew."

"_Especially_ in something like this. And even if I am, I won't believe
any of it until I hear Bridget's side of things."

* * * * *

'Now or never,' Trisha thought. She moved over a few inches in the bed
and ran a finger along Kaitlin's hip. "You awake?"

Kaitlin shifted. "I am now, Trisha. What do you want?"

"I was just, uhh... wondering; it's the middle of the night, and Emma's
a sound sleeper. I thought maybe we could, ummm, do... like we did the
other night." Trisha's hand moved, and she began to gently rub
Kaitlin's hip.

The rubbing felt good, very good. It was a trick that Patrick had used
more than once to initiate a session of lovemaking. She sighed softly,
remembering some of those nights. "So, you woke me up because you want
to do... it."

"I did, and I do." Trisha leaned over and kissed the back of Kaitlin's
neck.

Kaitlin shivered from the kiss. "Mmm, you do seem to need it just now,
don't you?"

"I said I do." She kissed Kaitlin's neck again.

"Didn't you say -- and more than once, I might add -- that women didn't
need _it_ the way men do?"

"Are you starting that again? I'm still a man, Kaitlin, even if I do
have this damned woman's body."

Kaitlin stiffened for just a moment. 'Damned? We'll just see about
that.' She twisted around in the bed so that she was facing Trisha.
"Shall we get to it, then?" Without another word, she took Trisha's
head in her hands and pulled it to her own. Their lips met in a
passionate kiss. Trisha's arms rose of their own accord and wrapped
themselves around Kaitlin's neck.

When they finally, reluctantly, broke the kiss, Trisha was smiling.
"That was nice."

"It was, indeed, and it'll get nicer, but first..." Kaitlin sat up and
began to unbutton Trisha's nightgown. Trisha watched for a moment,
then she sat up and did the same to Kaitlin.

The nightgowns were identical, white cotton trimmed with lace, with
buttons down the front. When Kaitlin had unbuttoned Trisha's down to
her waist, she stopped and pushed Trisha's hands away from her own
nightgown.

"What?" Trisha asked, uncertain of what Kaitlin was doing. "Why do you
want me to stop?"

"So I can do this." Kaitlin slid the nightgown off Trisha's shoulders
and down to her elbows. Kaitlin leaned forward and began to suckle at
Trisha's right breast, lapping at it like a kitten. At the same time,
she began to massage Trisha's left breast, rubbing her finger against
the nipple.

Trisha tried to reach for Kaitlin, but her nightgown effectively pinned
her arms. "Let me get this... ohhh!" Trisha trembled as Kaitlin
playfully nipped her breast.

Kaitlin pushed with her right arm, and Trisha fell back onto the bed.
Kaitlin smiled; she was using all of the tricks that Patrick had used
on her, and she found that she enjoyed being in charge. Best of all,
she was getting Trisha to behave like the woman that she felt Trisha
had to become if she was ever going to have a normal life.

And to Kaitlin, a normal life was the best foundation for Trisha to
build a happy life on.

She moved slowly downward, kissing and biting Trisha's breasts and on
down to her belly. Her left hand never left Trisha's breast. When she
reached the new woman's navel, her tongue swirled in. Kaitlin felt
Trisha's trembling and heard her moan.

Trisha felt the warmth spreading through her body, the need growing in
her. She tried to move, but Kaitlin's weight pushed her down. Her
arms were still tangled in the nightgown. 'Can't get out of... oooh!
...this d-damned n-night -- oohh! -- gown,' she thought. The
delicious hunger Kaitlin was creating in her was a terrible -- a
wonderful! -- distraction.

Kaitlin's hand moved down. She ran a finger through the blonde curls
at the entrance to Trisha's slit. She heard a moan and smelled the
familiar scent of female arousal. "Want me to keep going?"

"Y-yes," Trisha gasped, her breath shallow.

"Then ask me for it -- ask nice." She moved her finger along the slit,
this time using her nail to add to the sensation.

"P-Please..."

"Say... 'Pretty Please', Trisha."

Trisha moved her hips, trying to keep the contact with Kaitlin's
finger. "Pl... please, Kaitlin, pr-pretty please, g-give me s-s...
give me s-sex."

"That's my girl," Kaitlin said. She quickly stuck two fingers into
Trisha, who moaned in delight. Kaitlin began an in-and-out motion that
Trisha soon matched with her hips.

Trisha moaned, her head back and her eyes half-closed. "Y-yes!" she
gasped and arched her back.

Kaitlin felt her own nipples grow taut. She felt the need in her own
groin. Her free hand rose to fondle her breast, and she let out a
small gasp. She wanted to satisfy her own needs, but she kept her
fingers inside Trisha.

Kaitlin's hand moved downward from her breast to her own nether
opening. She slid a finger in; she was wet herself and more than
ready. In a moment, both her hands were moving in tandem, each
exciting a different woman's innermost self.

Trisha's hands trembled, and she clawed at the sheet beneath her. A
moment later, her eyes opened wide, and she cried out in delight as
pleasure raced like a locomotive throughout her body.

Kaitlin's own orgasm hit her at almost the same time. She screamed and
collapsed on top of Trisha.

"Ohh, my," Kaitlin said when she could speak again. "I certainly
enjoyed that. Did you?"

"Y-yes," Trisha answered, still a little breathless.

Kaitlin helped Trisha free herself from the nightgown. The two lay
back down on the bed. This time, Kaitlin maneuvered it so that
Trisha's head was resting on _her_ shoulder. She reached down and
caressed Trisha's breasts. "A woman needs a bit of attention...
after," she explained.

"Should I do it to you, too?" Trisha asked, feeling a sort of happy
warmth spreading through her.

"No, Trisha, just let me do you."

After a while, the caresses stopped as Kaitlin drifted back off to
sleep, a satisfied smile on her face.

'Damn, she got me again.' Trisha thought back on what had just
happened. 'Got me acting just like some horny woman. Next time, I
won't ask. I'll just start in on her, and by the time she knows what's
going on, she'll be the one squealing and squirming.'

That seemed like the perfect answer. Trisha giggled in satisfaction
and let sleep take her.

* * * * *

Wednesday, January 10, 1872

Daisy knocked lightly on the doorframe of Lady Cerise's office.
"They's a man here f'you, Miss Wilma."

"There's a lot of men for me, Daisy," Wilma answered, looking up. She
was sitting at Cerise's desk, studying the account books. "Who is it?"

"Mr. H. James Kellogg, he says. He asked 'special' for you."

Wilma smiled slyly. "He did, did he?" She stood up. "Well, pleasure
before business I always say." She was already in her "work clothes",
off-white silk camisole and drawers and a blue-violet corset.

"Ain't he the one that broke your bed the last time he was hereabouts?"
Daisy asked.

Wilma nodded. "He just got a little... enthusiastic. You know how men
can be."

"I surely does." Daisy laughed. "'Course, you gots a lot more
experience than I does in that quarter."

"And I surely enjoyed getting all that experience," Wilma told her, as
they reached the door.

As they walked out of the room, Wilma almost bumped into Rosalyn.
"Watch where you're walking, peasant," Rosalyn shouted. "You almost
made me spill my tea."

"You just enjoy that there tea," Wilma told the blonde. "Me, I got a
gentleman caller to enjoy." She hurried past, a smug smile on her
face.

"I'm sure I will." Rosalyn stood in the hall watching Wilma and Daisy
going into the parlor.

Beatriz came out of the kitchen and joined Rosalyn. "You got something
in mind, chica?"

"I do, indeed." Rosalyn stepped into the office, closing the door
behind her. "You stay there and keep lookout."

Wilma had left the account books open on Cerise's desk. Rosalyn took a
sip of tea and walked over. The most recent book was in the center.

Rosalyn put the saucer for her tea down next to the book and carefully
poured a little of the tea into it. She put the cup onto the saucer
for a moment, then moved it onto the page. When she lifted the cup to
put it back in the saucer, she saw that it left a wet circle on the
page.

She repeated this three more times, leaving the cup balanced on the
page. "Perfect," she whispered. The tea was staining the paper and
making the ink blur and run.
"Poor Wilma," she said, clicking her tongue. "To be so careless with
the Lady's financial records."

She walked to the door. "Is the coast clear?" she whispered.

"Clear as it is ever going to be," Beatriz answered opening the door.
"You done in there?"

Beatriz chuckled. "Yes, and so is Wilma."

* * * * *

Arnie walked over to the now-empty table and carefully set down the
half-full tray. It was early in the afternoon, and the men at that
table had lingered over the food they took from Shamus' Free Lunch.
"They left some," he whispered as he carefully set three the three
steins into the tray. "Left some money, too, seems like."

He pocketed the two nickels and moved on to the next table. As he made
his rounds, collecting glasses, plates, and silverware, he was careful
not to put anything in or on the steins from the first table.
Customers had left money at a couple of other tables, mainly to pay for
their drinks. Arnie pocketed all of it.

He stopped at the bar on his way to the kitchen. "Drink money," he
told R.J. and reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of coins.

R.J. tallied the money. "Yeah, that's pretty much what they owed." He
rang the money up and put it into the cash register.

"I think Maggie and Jane are having their lunch right now. Have you
had anything yet?"

"Some... a sandwich."

"Well, have something else if you want it. Then best get started on
those glasses."

Arnie picked up the tray. "I will."

Maggie and Jane were eating down at the far end of the kitchen
worktable when Arnie came in. They nodded hello and went back to their
meal. He put the tray down on the counter, standing so his back was to
them.

Most of the glasses went directly into the sink. He left the steins
for last, pouring the beer from two of them into the third. When he'd
finished, it was well over half full. He'd found a fourth one with
some beer left in it at another table, and he added that as well.

Arnie glanced quickly over at the two women, who didn't seem to notice.
He turned back and quickly drank the beer. The now empty steins went
into the sink. 'Well,' he thought to himself, 'R.J. did say I should
have something else.'

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small pack of sen-sen. He
opened it, and popped one into his mouth. He'd always liked the
licorice-flavored candy, but never more than now. It was a fine breath
freshener, easily covering the scent of alcohol.

The pack went back into his pocket. He used a pot to transfer hot
water from the reservoir built in the stove into the sink and used the
pump to fill the second sink with rinse water. Rolling up his sleeves,
he began to wash the glassware.

* * * * *

Wilma came down the stairs arm in arm with a tall, muscular looking man
in a brown frock coat. "You sure you gotta go, Jimmy?" She ran her
fingers across his chest.

Jimmy, H. James Kellogg, took her hand in his and raised it to his
lips. "I'm afraid so, Wilma. I have to catch the stage to El Paso, if
I'm going to close that land deal. Don't you worry that pretty little
head of yours, though. I'll be back this way in a few weeks, and we'll
have more than enough time." He took a gold eagle from his pocket and
handed it to her. "Consider this payment for today and a down payment
for the next time."

Wilma put her hands on either side of his face. She pulled him close
and kissed him deeply and passionately. When they finally broke apart,
she gave him a satisfied smile and said, "And you can consider _that_ a
return on your investment."

"And an incentive to return." Kellogg kissed her again. He bowed to
Wilma and then to Lady Cerise, who was standing nearby. "Ladies," he
said and headed out the door, a smile on his face.

Lady Cerise waited until Kellogg had gone before she turned to Wilma.
"Now zat you have had your fun, I wish to talk to you, Wilma."

"Sure thing, Cerise." She handed Kellogg's gold eagle to Cerise.
"What can I do for you?"

"It is what you have already done. Come with me." She grabbed Wilma
by the arm and began walking towards the office. "Now!"

"Hey, what put the bee in your bonnet?" Wilma asked as she was dragged
along.

By now they were in the office. "'What put zhe bee?' -- look. See
what you have done to my accounts." Cerise pointed at the pile of
books that were still opened on the desk.

"I don't see what the problem is?" Wilma asked, looking at the books.

Cerise grabbed the teacup from the book it was on. "You don't? You do
not see what your tea has done to zhis book? _Incroyable_. Read where
it has ruined the page."

"_My_ tea?" Wilma said. "But I... I wasn't drinking no tea, and I sure
as hell know better than to leave something like hot tea there on your
books."

"I thought that you knew better. Now... now, I am not so sure." She
sighed. "Perhaps, I was... presumptuous. It may be zhat you are not
ready for to be my assistant."

"Wait a minute here, Cerise. You say that's tea in there?"

"Mai ouis." She raised the cup and took a whiff "Zhe chamomile tea."

"When'd you ever see me drink that stuff, Cerise? I always been a
coffee man -- coffee gal; just ask anybody."

"Zhen who did zhis. And why?"

Wilma knew the answer at once. "Rosalyn. When me'n Daisy was heading
to see Jimmy Kellogg, she was coming outta the kitchen holding a cup of
something -- of tea, she said it was tea."

Cerise nodded. "Perhaps. She _is_ fond of chamomile tea."

Wilma glared at Cerise. "Good thing, too. When I get finished with
her, she ain't gonna be in no condition t'eat solid food for a while."

"You will do nothing of the sort," Cerise said firmly. "Rosalyn can
hardly be of use to this house if you break her jaw or destroy her
smile that so many men pay so much for."

"But she..."

"You will do nothing to harm her -- or Beatriz who was no doubt her
accomplice."

"Then you know --"

"I know zhat they have always been jealous of you. Making you my
assistant has surely not improved their opinions."

"Then why can't I just lay into them? When I was running a gang, they
knew that the surest way of getting their asses beat was to cross me."

"I am sure of zhat, but you are not 'running' zhis House, I am, and I
do not want any of my ladies to look like they got -- as you say,
'their asses beat.' I make my money by selling those asses. And the
rest of them -- and of you."

"Then what can I do to make them stop, if I can't beat on 'em?"

"Wilma, I made you my second because I thought zhat you knew zhe answer
to such questions." She put a hand under Wilma's chin. "Please do not
prove me wrong."

* * * * *

Bridget took a sip of wine to chase down the last piece of grilled Gila
trout. 'No time like now', she thought and took a deep breath. Aloud,
she asked, "Have you found out why your uncle's been so dead set
against me lately?"

"Ummnn." Cap hurriedly swallowed a mouthful of Maggie's beef stew with
chili peppers. "Just... just a second." He took a quick swig of his
own wine. "I-I'm afraid that I have. Uncle Abner has an old friend
who works for the Texas Bureau of Military Affairs back in Austin."

Bridget's expression grew dark. "Military... you got hold of my
record, didn't you?"

"No -- that is, _I_ didn't. Uncle Abner, he did it."

"You had no right. Those are supposed to be private."

"Not to somebody like Issachar -- Issachar Bailey, that's Uncle Abner's
friend. He works there. Besides..." he gave a sheepish smile. "There
isn't any Confederate government anymore. I don't think it's against
the law or anything."

Bridget ignored his attempt at humor. "If it isn't, then it should be.
You and your uncle have no right to go sneaking around in my past."

Cap held up his hand, palm out. "Hold on there. I didn't go 'sneaking
around' anywhere. Uncle Abner did. And if he'd mentioned it to me
beforehand, I'd have told him not to do it."

"You'd have told him." She spat the words. "If you hadn't 'told him'
about my being in the Army, dammit, he wouldn't have gone looking in
the first place."

Cap's face reddened. "Yeah," he said with a sigh. "I-I guess that was
my fault. I'm sorry. I thought it would improve his opinion of you."
He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

"Now what happens?" she asked, sounding scared as well as mad. "You
gonna blab it to the paper?"

He shook his head. "Bridget, I'm not going to 'blab it' to anyone.
And I don't think that Uncle Abner will either."

"Yeah, sure." She looked straight at him. "Why?"

"Uncle Abner won't because he doesn't want to queer your game -- at
least not until you've paid back what you owe him."

"So, bad as he thinks I am, it's not the principle of the thing, it's
the money."

"A little of both, I think. Uncle Abner prides himself on getting the
most return he can from any investment. After that, well, he knows
that you make your living on that game. Ruining it would be a nasty
thing to do to a lady, even one he personally disp... disliked. Uncle
Abner considers of himself as a gentleman, so he --"

"A gentleman!" Bridget snorted. "I don't think that he even knows the
meaning of the word." She glared at him. "And I'm not sure that you
do either."

"Wait a minute, Bridget. I... I didn't have anything to do with what
Uncle Abner did. I don't like it any more than you do."

"Then why are you defending him?"

"I'm not. I said I would have stopped him. What more could I have
done?"

Bridget closed her eyes for a moment then stood up. As she turned to
walk away from the table, she spoke in a small, quiet voice. "You
could have said that you don't believe it."

* * * * *

"Looks like I'm late," Rupert Warrick said, stepping into the O'Hanlan
house. "Sorry."

Trisha shook her head. "You're not late, Rupe. Dwight and the Judge
got here early."

"We had dinner together at 'Maggie's Place'," the Judge said by way of
explanation, "and walked over here afterwards." He and Dwight
Albertson were sitting at the kitchen table. Kaitlin and Emma were
standing at the sink, doing the dishes.

Trisha walked over to the table with Rupe. "Have a seat. There's
coffee if you'd like some." She pointed to a large, blue enameled
coffeepot sitting on a trivet and surrounded by cups.

"Maybe later," Rupe answered, as he sat down. "What's this all about,
Trisha?"

She sat down herself and looked at the three men. "A new church. I
wanted to work up to it slowly, but after that vote I got last month, I
figgered it was time to strike while the iron was hot."

"While you can bask in that vote of confidence, eh," the Judge said
with a sarcastic snort. "Sounds like a good idea."

"Maybe," Rupe said, "but it's an awful big pig in a poke. Folks are
gonna have a lotta question they'll want answered before they vote
t'build a whole new church."

Dwight frowned. "We'd have to draw up plans; that takes time. It
costs money, too."

"I thought you'd all be in favor," Trisha said, sounding a little hurt.
"Especially you, Dwight. It'd be your bank the money was in while we
built the church. You'd get to handle the mortgage we'd probably have
to take out, too."

"I'm not saying no," Dwight replied. "None of us are. It's -- well, a
chicken and egg kind of thing; plans first or vote first."

"There has to be some way to crack that egg," Trisha said. "Do we have
_any_ money now we could use to hire somebody to draw up some sort of
plans?"

"A little," Dwight said with a shrug. "There's the 'Building and
Maintenance' account. We use that to help pay the upkeep on the
school." He paused a beat. "But I think it would take a vote to use
it on something like plans for a new building."

Trisha pouted. "So we're back where we started."

"I don't think the Town Council would be very happy to think that we
wanted out of our agreement to share the school," the Judge told the
others. "Don't forget, Arsenio Caulder's on the council, and he's
become a fairly active member of the church lately."

Dwight thought a moment. "Maybe we could just make improvements in the
school building. We could get what we want with less money, and the
school would benefit, too."

"Just what _do_ we want?" Rupe asked.

Trisha ticked off the items. "An office for Rev. Yingling; a real
altar, so we don't have to use the teacher's desk --"

"Some more comfortable benches," Rupe interrupted. "Those school
benches are small. Kinda hard, too."

"They are that," the Judge replied, "even if we don't have to sit on
them. At least, not while we're elders."

Dwight nodded. "Get some real chairs for the board -- and the
Reverend, too, then."

"And a room we could use for a Sunday school," Trisha added.

Kaitlin had been listening as the men talked. "A real kitchen would be
nice, too. We had to set up fire pits for that fried chicken lunch we
had."

"Add that to the wish list, then," the Judge said.

"Wish list?" Trisha asked. "You talk like it won't happen, Judge."

The Judge shrugged. "Perhaps it will, but it'll take time. We can't
really go off half-cocked on something like this."

"We could make some kind of a start," Trisha asked, "couldn't we? We
gotta, before that -- what'd you call it, Judge, that 'vote of
confidence' is gone."

Dwight scratched his chin. "We could start by setting up a more formal
building fund, money set aside to pay for something after we decide
what that something is." He looked at the others. "We could vote to do
_that_ at next month's meeting."

"It'd be a start," Rupe added. "Saying we was going to have the money
would make people be more willing to do something with it."

"It would help more if there _was_ some money in that fund," Dwight
said. "There's not a lot in the 'building and maintenance' account,
and it's pretty much all spoken for."

"Why not vote to hold some sort of fund raiser t'get things off to a
flying start?" Rupe asked.

Everyone agreed. "That'd make people feel more committed to the idea,"
the Judge said, "but what sort of a fund raiser?"

"A dance," Kaitlin suggested. "I think that's something most of the
women in the church would enjoy. Clyde Ritter, for instance; he might
not like the idea of the building fund, but I know for a fact that
Cecelia Ritter loves to dance."

Trisha smiled proudly at Kailtlin. "That would certainly blunt the
opposition. All right, gents, at the February meeting we vote to
establish the Building Fund and to start it off with a dance at the end
of the month. That should give us time to plan the thing out and sell
the tickets."

"Especially with the ever-efficient Kaitlin O'Hanlan as chairwoman of
the dance committee," the Judge added. "She can start planning it
right now."

Kaitlin looked surprised. "I wasn't saying that I'd volunteer for
something like that."

"If you don't -- if we don't have a candidate," the Judge continued,
"Cecelia will wind up with the job. We surely don't want that."

* * * * *

Thursday, January 11, 1872

Milt Quinlan knocked on the half-opened back door to the Eerie Saloon's
kitchen. "May I come in?"

"Milt?" Jane called from inside. "Sure, c'mon in."

He pulled the door wide and walked into the kitchen. "Thank you.
Hello, Jane... Maggie."

"Hola, Milt," Maggie greeted him. "What brings you here?"

"I... ah, came to see Jane," he told her. "On business, of course.
Dwight Albertson, asked me to have her sign some papers." He took a
fat envelope out of his jacket.

Jane had been dredging pieces of chicken in herbed flour. She put down
the piece she was holding and wiped her hands on her apron. "What're
they for?"

"You're buying more stock, I think -- or maybe selling some. I'm not
sure. All Dwight said was that it was a good deal and would make you a
lot more money." He handed her the envelope.

"Fine with me." Jane took the papers from the envelope and laid them on
the worktable. She opened a drawer and pulled out a pen and a bottle
of ink. She uncorked the ink and stuck in the pen. Then she carefully
signed the papers.

She put the pen and ink away and handed the papers back to Milt. "Here
ya go, Milt."

"Thank you, Jane." Milt took hold of the hand that she was holding the
papers in. "I... ah... umm." He stared at her, trying to speak.

Jane looked up at his face and smiled. Her hand, the one he was
holding, felt warm. She felt her nipples tightening, and there was a
warm, pleasant tingling down at her crotch. "Y-yes, Milt," she managed
somehow to say.

"I... ah... I'd... ummm... better get these papers back to Dwight." He
felt relieved to have found words, no matter what they were. "Once be-
begun, ha-half done, they say."

He let go of Jane's hand and put the papers back in his jacket pocket.
"See you later, Jane... you... ah, you, too, Maggie." With that, he
turned and walked briskly out the door.

Jane watched him go, and, as the door closed behind him, she finally
spoke. "Damn!"

* * * * *

"Bye, Sam." Wilma waved as her latest "gentleman" left _La_
_Parisienne_. With a satisfied smile on her face, she walked into the
parlor.

No men were around, so Rosalyn and Beatriz were sitting on one of the
couches in the room having a late afternoon snack.

"Wilma," Rosalyn greeted her with feigned politeness, "Do have some of
this lovely chamomile tea." She lifted her own cup. "It's so very
good, and there's nothing in here you can ruin."

Wilma's hands balled into fists. "_I_ can ruin? Listen, you little
bitch, the Lady's on to you and your little tricks, same as me. And if
you try anything, I'm gonna beat the living --"

"No," Beatriz interrupted. "You are not going to beat anything out of
anyone, Wilma, and you know it."

Wilma turned her glare on the Mexican woman. "I don't know anything of
the sort."

"Si, you do," Beatriz answered smugly. "You know that the Lady won't
let you hurt either of us."

She tried to bluff. "Says who?" .

"Says me," Beatriz told her.

"Says the both of us," Rosalyn chimed in. "As far as the Lady is
concerned, the only reason for Beatriz or myself to be in bed during
the day is because we're with some handsome gentleman; not because you
put us there."

Wilma gritted her teeth. They knew. Frustrated, she turned to leave.

As she walked out of the parlor and down the hall towards the kitchen,
she heard Rosalyn's voice calling after her, "Are you sure you don't
want any tea, Wilma?"

* * * * *

Bridget stared at her cards. "See your dime and raise another." She
tossed two coins into the pot.

"I _called_, Bridget," Carl Osbourne said softly.

She shook her head as if trying to clear it. "Sorry." She put down her
hand. "Umm... three eights."

"Dang," Carl Osbourne said. "I thought I had you." He showed his own
cards, two pair, jacks and threes.

Joe Kramer laughed. "She don't even know what's going on and she still
wins the hand."

"Yeah, Bridget, are you okay?" Carl Osbourne asked. "You been playing
like you was half asleep."

She blinked, as if to hold back tears. "I-I'm sorry. It's just been
one of those days." She sighed and regained some control. "One of
those _lousy_ days..."

R.J. was suddenly standing at the table next to her. "I think the lady
needs a break, if you boys don't mind." He put a hand on her shoulder.

"What?" She looked up. "R. J.?"

He smiled down at her. "You're taking your dinner break. Come on."

Bridget shook her head. "But the game..."

"You go have supper," Joe Kramer told her. "We'll be here when you get
back." The others at the table agreed.

"There, you see? It's all right if you take a break." R.J. gently
helped her to her feet and led her over to one of the tables that
served as Maggie's restaurant. It was the far table, a bit removed
from the others to give them some privacy.

R.J. pulled out a chair. "Sit. Please." When she did, he pushed the
chair in closer to the table and took his own place opposite her.

Jane came over and handed them both menus. R.J. waited until she left
before he spoke again. "Now, what is it that's got you so upset?"

"Can... can we order first?" she asked.

R.J. nodded, and they looked at their menus in silence until Jane came
back for their orders. "Now don't go saying you want to wait until the
food comes," R.J. told her. "I'll only keep asking you." He reached
across and took her hand in his. "Please...tell me what's bothering
you."

"Nothing. Nothing's bothering me. I-I just got a little distracted
during that last hand."

"More than a little distracted, if you can't see the difference between
a call and a raise. I heard what Carl Osbourne said. You've been
going around all day like your head was a hundred miles away."

"I-I'm sorry. I can't... it's not important; really it isn't."

"I think it is, or you wouldn't be so upset."

Before he could say more, he saw Jane coming from the kitchen. "But
here comes our meal. You eat a little, and we'll talk some more."

Jane set down the food and left. R.J. ate some of his baked chicken,
while he watched Bridget do no more than pick at hers.

"You're really not doing Maggie's cooking justice," he finally said.
Then he decided to take a chance. "You did much better when you were
having supper with Cap last night."

She dropped her fork. "Cap! What did he tell you about last night?"

"Not a thing. I haven't seen him since your dinner ended so abruptly.
I understand that he and Arsenio Caulder rode back to his uncle's place
right after that." R.J. took Bridget's hand again. "What is it that
you don't want him to have told me?"

"Nothing. Please... please don't ask any more questions, R.J."

"Bridget, I'd be lying if I didn't say that I don't mind you and Cap
having problems. But not if it's going to get you this upset. Please,
is there anything, anything at all, I can do to help?"

Bridget smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You already did."

"I did? What did I do?"

"You didn't ask what I did wrong. You just offered to help."

* * * * *

"Unger, ye lying paltroon, what're ye doing in me saloon?"

Roscoe sighed and looked at Shamus. "We've gone over this before, Mr.
O'Toole. The _Citizen_ sends me the paper on a copper sheet. I can't
make changes."

"Then ye don't have t'be printing it, printing them damned lies."

Molly put her hand over her husband's. "He does, Love. 'Tis his job
t'be telling folks what's going on in the world." She sighed. "No
matter how ugly it is."

"To tell you the truth, sir, I agree with you," Roscoe told him. "The
_Citizen_ is using the story to whip up the crowd against the Apache,
but I couldn't edit the story even if it wasn't on a boilerplate. The
contract I have with them says no changes."

"But it says them bastards killed a band of bloodthirsty savages."
Shamus' face was almost purple. "They... they was women mostly... and
little children that got killed at Camp Grant."

"Aye, Love," Molly answered, trying to calm him. "But the men that did
it ain't running free; they're on trial for what they done. Justice
will be done, you wait and see if it ain't."

The barman looked grim. "It will be -- one way or the other." He
glanced down under the counter. "I've got more'n enough potion t'be
making sure of it."

* * * * *

Friday, January 12, 1872

Something wonderful was happening to Kaitlin. She lay there half-
asleep enjoying the sensations of a hand on her breasts, of kisses and
gentle love bites on her neck.

She moved her head, angling it slightly to encourage whomever was
kissing her. Her actions wakened her. "Mmmm, Patrick." Her voice was
a gentle purr.

Not Patrick, she suddenly realized. "Trisha!" She opened her eyes.

Trisha smiled -- no, leered -- down at her. "You just lay there and
enjoy, Sugar Dumpling." It was one of Patrick's pet names for Kaitlin.

Kaitlin's first impulse was to do just that. Trisha was making her
body feel _very_ good. But could she let Trisha act this way, act like
the man she no long was?

No.

In the end, it wouldn't be good for Trisha.

"T-Trisha," Kaitlin said, her breath coming in short gasps. "Pl-
please, stop."

"Aren't you enjoying it?" Trisha asked, sarcastically. She leaned
down and kissed her mate's neck again. Then she began to move slowly,
leaving a trail of kisses and bites as she moved towards Kaitlin's
breast. "Maybe this will be better."

Kaitlin suddenly realized that her nightgown was unbuttoned down past
her breasts. This wasn't a spur of the moment thing on Trisha's part.
"I said, 'Stop', Trisha."

"You sure about that?" Trisha leaned down and ran her tongue over
Kaitlin's nipple. "Now I know how much you always must have liked
this."

Kaitlin shivered in spite of herself. "You asked for this," she said
firmly. "I, Kaitlin McNeil O'Hanlan, do hereby command you to obey,
and I order you to stop touching me --"

"No!" Trisha screamed. She pulled herself away from Kaitlin, unable to
continue. "Please."

"Stop touching me and go to sleep," Kaitlin completed the command.
"Right now!"

"Kaitlin... please." Trisha yawned once and collapsed back onto the
bed. In a moment, she was snoring.

Kaitlin buttoned her nightgown back up. "Oh, Trisha. What _am_ I
going to do with you?" She shook her head and lay back down.

* * * * *

Teresa Diaz was making the last of her Friday rounds, delivering clean
laundry to her customers and picking up their dirty clothes and linens
to be washed and mended. She never expected to see --

"Arnoldo, what are you doing out this way?"

The boy stopped walking and turned to face his mother. "H-Hola," he
greeted her nervously. As he spoke, he shifted the boxes he was
carrying, from his left arm, the one nearest her, to the right. "I...I
am just...just taking a walk."

"A walk? A walk while you have boxes to take somewhere?" Teresa
studied her son, giving him that look that made him feel like he was
still three years old. "Then what are you -- Madre de Dios..." She
crossed herself as she realized what he was trying to hide. "That is
your father's pistol. What are you doing with it?"

"I am learning how to use it," he replied proudly, bracing himself for
her reaction.

"But why? You are yet just a boy. You do --"

"I am a _man_, Mama...Mother. It is my right to learn to shoot. And
my duty."

"Your duty? What are you saying?"

"Papa promised me that he would show me how to use his pistol when I
was old enough. I am 16 now; that is old enough, even if..." His
voice softened for a moment. "...Even is he is not here to teach me."

"No," she sighed. "He is not. There are many things he is not here to
do."

"Then I will do them for him -- in his name. When he left that day --
to join the others against the Apache -- he told me that I was the man
of the house, and that it was my job to take care of you and Isabel and
Constanza and Enrique until he came back."

He looked straight at her as he spoke, and Teresa was struck by how
much his expression was the mirror of her Luis' face when he was at his
most stubborn.

"Who is going to teach you?" Her question conveyed surrender, but only
for the time being.

He tried not to smile in his victory. "Jessie Hanks, from the saloon,
said that she will teach me. Laura -- Seá±ora Caulder -- is helping.
They were both men, and they are still good shots."

She frowned. What did she know about these women, except that they had
both come to Eerie as banditos? True enough, she did the laundry for
Laura Caulder, who seemed to be a gracious lady. And she knew of
Jessie -- a little -- through Molly O'Toole. Molly had always spoken
very fondly of the singing girl. 'I will trust them, for the time
being,' she decided. 'But I will watch Arnoldo and pray that he does
not get into trouble.'

* * * * *

"Can I see Wilma?" Bridget asked Herve as she walked through the door
at _La_ _Parisienne_.

She'd no sooner asked than Wilma came out of the parlor. "'Course you
can, Bridget. C'mon in."

"In private?" Bridget glanced into the room. Rosalyn was sitting in a
chair. When she saw Bridget, she looked up from her magazine, smiled
smugly, and went back to her reading.

Herve gestured towards the stairs. "Oui. Why do you not take her up
to your room, Wilma?"

"All right." She chuckled and added, "Congratulations, Bridget."

The redheaded gambler looked confused. "Congratulations?"

"Yep," Wilma explained. "You're the first one ever got t'be alone with
me in my room without paying for the privilege." She paused a moment.
"That is what you're doing, isn't it... _Brian_?"

Bridget blushed as she followed her friend up the stairs.

She blushed again when they walked past a closed door. A muffled pair
of voices, male and female, could be heard from the other side.

Once they were in her room, Wilma shut the door firmly behind them.
"Have a seat," she said pointing to a straight-back black maple chair
in the corner. "I'll take the bed." She laughed again. "But then I
always do."

"The chair is fine." Bridget sat, fidgeting with her hands.

Wilma flopped down on the edge of the bed. "Now what's so blamed
important that you had t'drag me up here to tell me in private?" She
raised an eyebrow and studied Bridget closely. "You ain't pregnant,
are you?"

"Wilma!" Bridget's face was scarlet. "How could you think...? I've-
I've never even... _ever_."

"Relax, relax. I was just teasing. Though I gotta say that, if you
haven't, it's a damned waste of two good-looking men." She sighed.
"What is your problem, then?"

"Sometimes, I'm sorry I didn't just shoot that bastard, Forry Stafford,
when I had the chance. They wouldn't have done much worse t'me --
t'the both of us -- than what _did_ happen."

"Are you crazy? They'd've hung the two of us from the nearest tree!"

"Probably, but I'd've still had the pleasure of giving him what he
deserved."

"Well, you didn't, and I didn't either, and we both _know_ what
happened. That record Slocum got is probably from the court martial."

"Which is all Forry's side of things." Wilma frowned. "What I wanna
know is what're you gonna do about it?"

"Me?"

"You. Them ain't my records Slocum's sent for. And if he wanted to
look down on me, well, he's got plenty of reasons to do that without
needing my army records. The way I see it, you got two choices."
Wilma raised two fingers. "First off, you make a deal with Slocum;
you'll stop keeping company with Cap or pay him double what you owe --
or whatever else he wants, if he don't tell nobody about that record."
She lowered one finger and left her middle finger up.

Bridget frowned. "What's my other choice?"

"You tell Slocum t'go to hell. Cap, too, if he stands by his uncle.
Then get yourself ready to be treated like a mangy coyote by all the
fine people of this town, while your business goes to hell. Shamus
probably couldn't even keep you on as a waitress after that." Now she
folded the second finger, her point being made.

Bridget sighed. "Some choice."

* * * * *

'Arm straight...line up the sights...' Arnie went through the steps
Jessie had shown him. '...And..._squeeze_.' He slowly tightened his
finger around the trigger until --

"Bam!" His arm jerked back from the recoil. He quickly used his thumb
to pull back the hammer and fired again. He kept going until all six
chambers of his Colt were empty.

He stared down at the crude target nailed to a tree about twenty yards
away. "How did I do this time?"

"Not too bad." Jessie walked down to the target. "You hit the target
three times, and one shot even got in scoring range."

Laura was sitting on a nearby stump. "You need to remember to hold
your breath while you aim and shoot. When you breath, your arm moves."

"Holding the gun handle too tight'll make your hand shake, too," Jessie
observed.

"And relax," Laura added, "don't tense up, expecting the kick. If you
do, you'll be wincing at the same time that you pull the trigger, and
that will spoil your aim."

Arnie shook his head. "So much to remember."

"Ain't as easy as you thought, is it?" Jessie asked.

"A gun is a tool, Arnie," Laura advised. "Shooting is an art. You
have to practice to be able to use the tools, just like any other
craftsman."

Jessie was looking at her pocket watch. "We still got some time. You
wanna reload and try again?"

He nodded and sat down next to the box he kept his pistol in. 'I am
using up the shot too quick,' he thought. 'I will need more very
soon.' He shrugged and began to pour powder into one of the pistol
chambers.

After all the chambers had powder, he put a soft lead pellet into one.
The ramrod forced it in, creating an airtight seal on the powder. The
charges went in the back, against the firing nipples.

"You're getting faster at reloading," Jessie told him as he stood up.
"Let's see how much you remember about firing without being told."

* * * * *

Shamus knocked at the bedroom door. "Jessie, what are ye doing in
there?"

"Just a minute, Shamus!" Jessie called.

He knocked again. "Can I be coming in to talk t'ye?"

"Sure, c'mon in." She laid her guitar down on the table next to her
new songbook.

He did. "What the devil are ye doing up here playing that gee-tar,
when I've work for ye t'be doing downstairs?"

"Practicing a new song."

"What's the matter with the ones ye been singing?"

"Everybody's heard them."

"Aye, and they like 'em, judging by the money they been throwing at
ye."

"They won't, not if I keep singing them over and over. I bought this
book..." she pointed at the book, which was propped up on the table, so
she could read it. "...with a bunch'a new songs. Thing is, it takes
time t'learn 'em."

"I expect it does. Are ye asking me t'be giving ye that time?"

"If I ask, will you lemme have the time?"

"That'd depend on how much time ye ask for. Ye already work a lot less
than Jane does, and ye already took off an hour this morning -- and
right before it was time t'be putting out the free lunch, I might add -
- t'be teaching Arnie how t'shoot."

Jessie thought for a moment. "Ummm... a half hour a day... that sound
like too much to you?"

"It does, but I'll be giving to ye. Only ye'll be taking it when I
tell ye, in the middle of the afternoon when things're slow."

She shrugged. "It ain't the best deal, but I'll take it." She offered
her hand to him.

He shook it firmly. "Fine, but ye won't be taking it till tomorrow.
Right now ain't the middle of the afternoon; it's after five. I need
ye downstairs to be waiting the tables, so get a move on."

* * * * *

Saturday, January 13, 1872

"Is there a Mr. O'Hanlan here?" A tall, barrel-chested man called from
the doorway of the Feed & Grain. "I got a delivery for him."

Tricia looked up at the sound of her name. "Right here," she said,
raising her hand. "What've you got?"

"I'm from Mckechnie Freight." The man walked over. "I got me a wagon
fulla timothy fresh in from California by boat by way of Arizona City.
Where's Mr. O'Hanlan?"

"Right here." She stood up. "That is... umm, I can sign for it."

The man looked at her closely, his eyes lingering at her breasts. "You
may be able to sign for it, pretty lady, but you's the furthest thing
from a _mister_ I ever seen." He set the freight voucher down on the
counter. "I'm Rhys Godwyn, and I'd be proud t'take ye out for a drink
after we's finished here."

"I... uhh." Trisha looked down, unable to meet the man's eyes. Her
body felt warm, and she found Godwyn's attention somehow _interesting_.
"I... I'm Trisha, and I-I _really_ couldn't... not _now_. I've got
work to do."

Her brother was suddenly standing next to her. "I'm Liam O'Hanlan.
I'll take that voucher, Mr. Godwyn, and I'll thank you to go around
back and get one of my men to help you unload your wagon."

"Just a minute, Mr. O'Hanlan," Godwyn replied. "I ain't done talking
t'Miss Trisha here."

Liam picked up a pen from the inkwell on the counter and signed the
voucher. "Yes, you are, sir. And the lady's spoken for... married in
fact."

"Well, now why didn't she say something?" The drover took the voucher
back from Liam. "I ain't one t'poach somebody else's woman." He
turned and walked out.

Liam looked at Trisha. "Yes, Trisha, why didn't you say anything?"

Why hadn't she? "I-I don't know. I-I was going to. He-he just took
me by surprise." She wasn't sure she believed what she was saying.
Why hadn't she done something, said something, to fend off Godwyn's
interest in keeping company with her?

Liam started walking towards the door. "I think I'll go out and make
sure we got all the timothy we ordered, and that it didn't start to rot
on the way here."

"O-Okay, Liam," she called after him. "And... and thanks."

* * * * *

"I'll get the lock," Tomas said. He knelt down next to a bush that was
growing near the side of a hill. The bush hid a 3-foot square wooden
frame that seemed built into the slope. The frame held a padlocked
door. Door and frame were painted a dull gray-brown color to match the
earth around it. The lock hung low, almost hidden by the grass.

Emma handed Tomas a small brass key. He unlocked the door and pulled
it open. "Here's the key, Emma." He handed it back to her and started
to put the lock back on the ring.

"Best take the lock in with us," Yully told him. "Somebody finds it,
they could lock us all inside."

Emma put the lock in her apron pocket along with the key. "We can put
a latch on the inside. Then we can lock ourselves in."

"Good idea," Yully said. "Let me get that light, and we can go in."
As the largest of the group, he was going in first to try out the
tunnel, carrying an old miner's lantern. He lit the candle inside and
put it down on the floor of the tunnel behind the door. He knelt and
moved into the passageway pushing the lantern ahead of him.

"Who's next?" Emma asked.

Stephan looked around. "Seems t'me, this whole thing was your idea,
Emma. You go next." The others quickly agreed.

"Okay, then." She shrugged and climbed in. Yully was in the fort, but
he'd left the lantern at the far end of the tunnel. It was enough
light to see by, but not much more than that. She waited a moment for
her eyes to adjust and started forward.

Or tried to.

"Dang!" She muttered in an angry voice. "How d'you crawl in one of
these dresses?" Her long dress was pinned by her own knees, held
tightly enough that she couldn't move forward.

"You should've worn pants," Stephan called from outside. "Like you did
last week."

She shook her head. "I didn't think I'd need 'em anymore." She lifted
her left leg and pulled the dress free from under her knee. "I just
thought I'd wear something different the first time we met inside,
that's all."

"You stop it, Stephan," Ysabel ordered. "Emma's proud of the job we
all did. She's entitled to celebrate it a little." She leaned down by
the doorframe. "Pull your dress way up in front," she told Emma,
"almost to your waist; then crawl through as quick as you can."

Emma did as Ysabel told her. She moved as fast as she could. The
flooring felt hard against her knees, especially with just her drawers
for protection. "Thanks, Ysabel," she called behind her.

"Let me give you a hand." Yully was standing by the far end of the
tunnel, waiting for her. She let the dress fall, so that she was
properly covered, and took his hand.

"Thanks, Yully," she said and let him help her to her feet.

"You're welcome, Emma." He looked at her closely. "Best remember in
the future to wear pants." He suddenly looked embarrassed and let go
of her hand. "That is a nice dress, though."

She smiled at the unexpected compliment. "Glad you like it."

"I'm just glad that you got through the tunnel all right," Ysabel said
as she came out of the passage.

Emma brushed the front of her dress. "You got in here a lot faster'n I
did."

Ysabel smiled. "I've been wearing a dress a lot longer than you have.
You'll get the hang of it."

"Never fails," Stephan said as he climbed out of the tunnel. "Get two
girls together, and they start talking about their clothes." He gave
them a wink and stepped out of the way.

Tomas was right behind him.

"If we're all here, let's get started." Yully hung the lantern from a
hook in the ceiling.

Fort Secret, as they'd decided to call the underground structure, was a
6 by 8 wooden box, a bit over 6 feet high. The only furnishings were
an unpainted trestle table surrounded by five mismatched chairs and a
chest of three drawers against the far wall. The lantern hung directly
over the table. A metal grate about a foot away was at the bottom of
the chimney that brought in fresh air through a narrow copper pipe.
The top of the pipe had a screened shield to keep both rain and small
animals out. It was hidden in a patch of brush on the side of the
hill.

The five took seats around the table. "This place needs more light,"
Tomas said squinting.

"Yeah," Emma answered, "but candles cost money."

Stephan shrugged. "What doesn't? But you got the money for all the
wood and nails we used t'build this place. Can't you get a little more
for candles?"

"Tomas and I got the wood and nails and all this furniture from a
couple of empty shacks," Emma told him. "One got wrecked when a tree
branch fell on it in that storm last summer. The other, I don't know
what happened, but nobody lived there. It took days for Tomas'n me to
pry the wood apart and get it to my folks' barn."

"It wouldn't be fair to ask Emma to pay for everything, anyways," Yully
said. "If each of us kicks in... umm, a nickel a week, we'd have more
than enough."

Ysabel shook her head. "That is a lot of money."

"How about ten cents a month?" Stephan asked her. "Can you manage
that?"

Ysabel thought for a moment. "Si, I can."

Emma looked at her friends. "Me, too. How 'bout the rest of you?
Yully? Stephan? Tomas?" Each one nodded when she called his name.
"Then it's settled."

"Who keeps the money till we need it?" Yully asked. "For that matter,
who keeps the key to this place?"

"The head of the club keeps the key." Stephan said. "The treasurer
keeps the money."

Emma looked surprised. "Are we a club?"

"Sounds like it t'me," Yully said. He looked around. "So who's gonna
be umm, president?"

Tomas shook his head. "This is a fort. The head of it is the
commander."

"Commander, then," Yully said. "Who's it gonna be?"

"Seems t'me there's only one choice... _Commander_ Stone," Stephan
answered quickly. "All in favor say 'Aye'."

Ysabel looked at Emma for a moment and said, "Aye."

"Aye... I guess." Yully shrugged.

"That ain't fair," Tomas said. "This was all Emma's idea. She should
be commander."

"Maybe... maybe she should." Yully wanted to be commander, but he
wanted to be fair, too, especially to Emma.

Emma shook her head. "That's okay. Yully's been captain of the ball
team a lotta times; he'll do a better job than me."

"Yeah, but you'll make a great treasurer and _assistant_ commander."
Yully replied. "All in favor."

Three other voices all shouted, "Aye."

* * * * *

"Hola, Laura," Teresa greeted her, as she walked into the kitchen.
"Your laundry is over there with Margarita's." She pointed to a pair
of packages wrapped in brown paper and set off in a corner of the
table.

Laura nodded. "What do I owe you?"

"It is $2.95; that includes the mending and sewing you asked for."

Before Laura could get her coin purse out of her apron, Jessie walked
into the kitchen. "Jane said somebody wanted to see me."

"I do," Teresa answered her. "I wanted to talk to you and to Laura."

Jessie raised an eyebrow. "What about?"

"My Arnoldo," the laundrywoman answered. "He tells me that you are
teaching him how to shoot."

"We are," Laura answered. "Well, Jessie is; I'm sort of helping."

Teresa frowned. "Why...Why do you teach him such a thing?"

"'Cause he asked me to," Jessie said. "He asked me to back around
Christmas. I didn't see no harm in it...No real harm anyway."

"No harm; to teach a _boy_ to use a pistola?"

"He ain't a boy, Teresa," Jessie told her gently. "He's 16; I was a
man off on my own when I was his age."

Laura put her hand on the older woman's shoulder. "He _is_ old enough,
Teresa, _and_ he already had that gun. Isn't it better he learn from
somebody -- somebody who can tell him how to handle it _and_ how to
handle himself -- instead of going off on his own to figure it out?
You can't watch him all the time, and when a lad wants something so
powerfully, he's going to go and get it."

"It would be better if he never learned." Teresa fought back her
tears.

Jessie shook her head. "Out here, a man needs t'know how to use a
weapon. But he has to know that having one and knowing how to use it
don't make him a man. Being a man is a big part of what me and Laura
is trying t'teach him."

"A big part," Laura added.

"I-I am just afraid that he will do something foolish, that he will go
after the apache that killed Luis, this father."

Jessie gave a low chuckle. "A man who goes after Apaches, by himself
and with just a pistol, is the worst kinda fool. I don't teach gunplay
to no fools. If he starts acting like one -- and you tell me if he
does when I ain't around -- the lessons stop. That's a promise,
Teresa."

"I only pray that you will not have to keep it," Teresa answered,
trying hard to smile back.

* * * * *

"You have learned this mazurka dance very well, Dolores," Ramon told
his partner.

She smiled back at him. "I've danced it a few times back it in Mexico
City, Ramon. I would love to show you the city sometime."

"Perhaps someday Aaron will send me to there on business, and you will
have the chance."

"I hope so. You are a good dancer."

He grinned at the compliment. "I am a man of many, many talents."

"No doubt." She looked up at him, smiling like a cat in a creamery.
"And you must show me all of them."

"Perhaps I will."

"Would you care to show me something on Tuesday night?"

"That would depend. Why Tuesday?"

"That one." Dolores pointed at Jessie, who was dancing nearby with Milo
Nash. "I hear that she sings, here in the Saloon, on Tuesday and
Thursday nights."

"She does. Jessie has a very good voice."

"Then I would like to hear it. Will you take me?"

The request took Ramon by surprise, and he almost stopped dancing. 'I
do not see Maggie until Wednesday for the bookkeeping lessons.' Ramon
thought to himself. 'Most nights, she takes Ernesto and Lupe home
about 7:30.' The odds seemed good.

"I would be honored to do so," he told Dolores. "Jessie's first show
is at 8 o'clock. I will pick you up at Teresa's at 7:30."

* * * * *

Sunday, January 14, 1872

"Amy... Amy."

Amy Talbot turned in the aisle of the church at the sound of her name.
Laura was hurrying towards her amidst the crowd of people leaving at
the end of the service. "Good morning, Laura, and how are you this
fine Sunday?"

"Pretty good," Laura answered, "considering. Can we talk a moment?"
She slipped back into a pew.

Amy nodded and stepped into the pew and out of the line of people. Her
twenty-month old son, Jimmy, was holding her hand. He followed his
mother in and climbed up onto a seat. "What did you want to talk
about?" Amy asked.

"What else, the baby." She gently touched her stomach. "It's starting
to get big." She frowned slightly. "Uncomfortable, too."

Amy smiled and looked down at her own body. "I remember." Just over two
months pregnant, she hadn't begun to show yet. She glanced down
quickly at Jimmy, who was playing happily with a stuffed horse that his
mother had brought with them to church.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You've been through this
before. You know what's going to happen to you. I... I don't."

"Scary, isn't it?"

"You got that right. I talk to Arsenio about it, but..." She trailed
off, not sure how to continue. "It... he... he tries to help, and he
does have a way of making me feel better for a while."

Amy smiled knowingly. "Mmm, I'm sure he does."

"Amy!" Laura blushed, then giggled. "Well, I admit _that_ does help,
but I still feel like I need to talk to somebody who knows what I'm
going through and how scary it is for me."

Amy thought about how she'd felt when she'd been carrying Jimmy. "To
tell the truth, it's still a little scary for me, too. Every pregnancy
is different. You should ask Carmen about that. She's had _three_
children, you know."

"I do. She told me about that... the one that... that died." Laura
shivered, as if trying to shake the possibility out of her mind. "You
and her are both my friends -- I hope."

"We are. I know I am, and I'm sure that she is, as well." Amy held
Laura's hand in her own. She had come to respect Laura for her courage
in the face of what must seem very strange to her.

"She is, and I do talk to her sometimes, but you, you're going through
it right now, the same as me. That's -- I don't know -- it makes you
seem closer."

"Like two ships caught in the same storm at sea."

"Sort of." Laura bit nervously at her lower lip. "I was wondering...
are you using Mrs. Lonnigan as your midwife?"

"I am. Doctor Upshaw is a most competent man, but I prefer a midwife,
unless there's a problem -- Heaven's forbid. Edith works with the
Doctor; he'll jump in if need be, but as they say, a man has no more
business delivering babies than a woman has to be a sea captain."

"I'm using her, too. I was wondering, can I... can I sit in on your
next exam with her... or have you sit in on mine? Then the three of us
could..." she paused, still unsure of herself. "...share. We could
talk about what was going on and like that. If you don't mind, of
course."

"Actually, the two of us sharing an appointment sounds like a good
idea. It would be nice to have another woman to talk to about all
this." She thought for a moment and looked around. "If Edith doesn't
mind; I didn't see her here in church today."

"She sometimes sleeps in on Sunday," Laura told her, not adding that
Davy Kitchner was likely sleeping in with her. 'Her business, not
mine,' she thought.

Amy shrugged. "Well, I'll ask her about it later."

* * * * *

"Daisy," Beatriz asked, walking into the kitchen, "have you seen my
bracelet, the turquoise one?"

Daisy looked up from the sink full of lunch dishes. "Ain't it in your
jewel box like always?"

"No; I looked there for it, and it was gone." She sighed. "Sebastian
Ortega gave it to me. He is coming here today, and I wanted to wear it
for him."

"I'll help you look for it soon's I'se finished with these dishes."
She looked at Beatriz. "Don't suppose you wants t'help me with 'em,
does you?"

"Like this?" Beatriz gestured at her body. She was dressed for
callers, wearing white satin drawers, a dark blue corset, and matching
blue stockings. Her hair was combed until it shined, and it flowed
down about her shoulders.

Daisy shrugged. "I guess not. You gots any idea where that bracelet
might'a got to?"

"I have looked every place it might be," she answered stubbornly. "You
do not think someone took it, do you?"

"Well, you sure got 'nuff men going in 'n' outta your room."

"Si, but when the men come to my room, they are after other things
besides bracelets." She posed, her hands on her hips. "And those
things, I am happy to give them."

"More'n happy, I'd say." Daisy said with a laugh. "I gots me a basket
of clean clothes t'take upstairs once I'se done with these here dishes.
I'll look round your room in case you missed something."

Beatriz bit her lip. "Could... could you look in the other rooms, as
well?"

"You thinks you lost it in one of the other ladies' bedrooms?"

"Let us just say, that I think it may be in someone else's room. How
it got there -- _that_ is another story."

* * * * *

Tomas got ambitious. One of the two miniature wheelbarrows was sitting
near the top of the pile of jackstraw pieces, seemingly in the clear.
He guided his wire hook under the crossbar and began lifting the small
wooden item.

It looked good, an easy 20 points. But at the last moment, the wheel
touched a second piece, one with a shape like a banner at the end. The
banner piece slid a fraction of an inch. "Dang!" Tomas spat.

"Your turn, Emma," Ysabel said. The other girl didn't seem to hear.
"Emma, Emma," Ysabel repeated. "It is your turn now."

Yully put his hand on her shoulder. "You all right, Emma?"

"What?" Emma blinked and looked at him. "What did you say?"

"Just that it's your turn."

She shook her head. "No, it isn't. It's Tomas' turn."

"I just went," Tomas told her. "Didn't get anything." He handed her
the small dowel with the wire hook at the end. "You go now."

Emma gathered all the pieces in her hand and tapped them against the
table until the ends were even. She raised her hand about three inches
above the table and opened her fingers. The wooden pieces fell,
landing in a jumbled pile.

She managed to free three pieces, a hoe, a maul, and a battleaxe, one
at a time and without disturbing any other piece. On her fourth try --
a banner, ironically -- a square jackstraw also moved.

"My turn now." Stephan began to gather up the remaining pieces.

Ysabel tapped Emma on the shoulder. "Can we talk now that your turn's
over?"

"I... I guess," Emma replied. "What about?"

"You. What's bothering you? You mind is like you're off in the clouds
someplace."

Emma made a sour face. "Nothing. I'm... I'm fine."

"And I'm the Governor," Ysabel answered. "Please, Emma, I want to
help. What's the matter?"

"You're gonna keep pestering me till I tell, ain't you?"

"Of course, what else are friends for?"

Emma sighed. "Okay, it's my... it's Ma and... Trisha, they're fighting
again."

"Do you know what about?"

"Not a clue. They was acting kind of weird the last couple weeks,
whispering around me and locking their bedroom door like they was
hiding something."

Yully had come over to listen. "My folks do that sometimes. Pop says
they're doing what he calls 'grown-up stuff.' He says I'll learn about
it soon enough, and I shouldn't to worry when they act that way."

"That's what Pa used to say, but they stopped acting like that after
he... uhh... after Trisha came. They started up again about a week
ago, and I didn't think nothing of it." Emma sighed. "But they had
some kind of a fight a couple days ago. Trisha called Ma all kinds of
names, and Ma said she'd do worse than what she done -- whatever it was
-- if Trisha tried whatever she done."

Stephan pulled a ladder-shaped piece free and looked up. "My folks
fight all the time. Pa even throws Scripture, quotes words from the
Book, at her sometimes."

"What's your mama do?" Ysabel asked.

Stephan grinned. "Ma teaches the lady's Bible study. She throws 'em
right back. But they don't yell for long... not too long, anyway, and
they get all mushy when they make up."

"My mama and papa are like that, too," Tomas added. "All parents are.
There is nothing to worry about, Emma."

"Ain't nobody's parents like my ma and Trisha," Emma told them. "Not
the way Trisha got changed and all."

"They are still grown-ups," Ysabel said. "Grown-ups are all the same.
You will see; everything will be fine. Just wait."

Emma shrugged. "I'll wait. There's not much else I can do." She
managed a little smile. "In the mean time, whose turn is it?"

* * * * *

Wilma knocked on the door to Lady Cerise's office. "Entrez," came her
voice from inside.

"You wanted t'see me 'bout something, Cerise," Wilma said as she walked
in. It was more of a question than a statement.

Cerise motioned for her to close the door. "Oui, Wilma. Sit please."

"This sounds serious." Lady Cerise was at her desk. Wilma took a
chair opposite her.

The Lady nodded. "It is. Beatriz lost her turquoise bracelet, the one
Sebastian Ortega gave her for Noel... Christmas." She took a breath.
"Daisy found it. In your bedroom, it was hidden in your lingerie
drawer."

"My room? You... you don't think I took it, do you?"

"No." She frowned. "I am certain that Beatriz hid it there herself.
It seems that she also does not like the idea that I want to make you
my second."

"Want to, Cerise? I thought I already was? You sound like you're
changing your mind about it."

"I have not changed my mind -- but I may." She sighed. "Wilma, this
is hardly the first time that Beatriz or Rosalyn have tried to throw
the shoe... have tried to sabotage you."

Now Wilma sighed. "Tell me 'bout it." A thought occurred to her.
"Say... did Daisy give Beatriz her bracelet back?"

"No." The Lady opened a drawer and took out the bracelet, putting it
on her desk. "I thought that _you_ should return it."

"Return it? I'd like to shove it right up her --"

"No." The other woman's voice was firm. "I have told you that I will
not allow violence against either of them. If you do not understand
that..." Her voice trailed off.

"I understand. I said that 'I'd like to', not that I was going to."

"What are you going to do, _mon_ _petit_?"

"I'm gonna give it back t'her, o'course, but I'm gonna make her sweat a
little when I do -- it is okay if I make her sweat, ain't it?"

"It is." Cerise smiled. "Perhaps it will even make her learn, and you
as well."

"What d'you mean, Cerise?"

"I mean that this business between you, Rosalyn, and Beatriz is
becoming tiresome -- and disruptive as well. I cannot allow that in my
House."

"Then tell 'em t'stop."

Cerise shook her head and looked sternly at Wilma. "That is _your_ job
as my second. I need to see that you can exercise authority in a way
that brings results without resorting to violence. You need to act
soon, to make it so. Otherwise -- I am sorry -- but it will no longer
_be_ your job."

* * * * *

Bridget studied the cards on the table in front of her, five hands of
five cards each. "Do I put those four 7s together," she asked herself,
"or should I save them for something else?"

"What are you doing, Bridget?" Arnie had come up behind her.

She looked up from the table. "Just a little solitaire to kill some
time; there don't seem to be many players about just now."

"Will you teach it to me?" He pulled out a chair, spun it around, and
sat down, leaning his elbows over the back.

"I don't know." She looked around. "Shamus doesn't pay you to play
cards. I don't want to get you in trouble." There was no sign of the
barman about, but he might come back any time.

"He's in his office," Arnie said." He pointed to the door near the
bar. "There don't seem to be many customers round here just now, so
he's doing inventory."

"Sunday afternoons are always quiet," Bridget told him. "Okay, then,
I'll teach you." She gathered up the cards along with the rest of the
deck and gave them a quick shuffle. "I call this game 'Maverick
Solitaire' after the man I learned it from. She gave an ironic smile,
remembering what a flamboyant ladies' man he had been. How would he
regard her now, especially if he didn't know that she was Brian Kelly?
"You deal out five poker hands, face up." As she spoke, she dealt the
cards. "Then, you try to re-arrange the cards into five _fighting_
hands."

"Fighting hands?"

"Five hands good enough that a skilled player would have a strong
chance to win with, two pair or better."

"I see... I think."

"Okay." She shifted over one chair. "There're your five hands. Show
me what you can make out of them."

Arnie moved around to her old seat. "Can I use straights and flushes?"

"Go ahead. Just don't start thinking that it'll make the game any
easier."

Now Arnie studied the cards. "Hey, here's one." He moved five of the
cards together, a queen-high straight. "And another." He combined
four 7s and a jack. "And another, yet; full house, 4s and aces."

"You still need two more."

He stared at the cards. "There's hardly nothing left, two pairs -- one
more hand -- and a bunch of single cards."

"You sure?" She waited while he kept looking at the cards.

Finally he shrugged in defeat. "I give up. It can't be done with
these cards."

"May I try?" When he nodded and mumbled a "yes", she began moving
cards. The straight and the hand with four 7s disappeared, but when
she was finished, there were five "fighting hands", the lowest held a
pair of jacks and a pair of 6s.

Arnie shook his head. "Well, I'll be danged. There was five good
hands there."

"This game's a lot like life." Bridget smiled, as she gathered the
cards back into a deck.

"How d'you mean, Bridget?"

"If you first think a little about what you're doing, you can do pretty
well with whatever cards you're dealt. If you just know how to look at
things the right way, you can see opportunities that other people will
miss."

Arnie made a sour face. "Now you sound like my ma."

"Sorry," she said, pretending to show some regret. "I won't do it
again." She gave the cards a quick, professional shuffle and put them
down on the table in front of Arnie. "Here, you want to try again?"

"Can I? I didn't do too good last time."

"Sure you can. After all, you're just learning." She watched as he
picked up the cards and began to deal the five hands. 'And about more
than just a card game, I hope,' she added to herself.

* * * * *

Wilma waited in the hall until she saw Beatriz and Sebastian Ortega
coming out of the parlor. They were walking hand-in-hand towards the
stairs.

She smiled and walked towards them. "'Scuze me, Beatriz, but you left
this..." she held up the bracelet. "...in my room. You gotta be more
careful; it could get lost."

"May I see that?" Sebastian took the bracelet from Wilma and looked at
it closely. "This is the bracelet I gave you, Beatriz. Does it mean
so little to you that you can just leave it lying about?" He let go of
her hand.

Beatriz shook her head. "No, I... I didn't just leave there. I...
I..."

"Now don't you be getting mad at her, Sebastian," Wilma said. "It
ain't really her fault."

The man raised an eyebrow. "It isn't? This is an expensive bracelet,
Wilma, turquoise set in burnished copper. I wonder now if it is maybe
_too_ expensive for her."

"What!" Beatriz glared at Wilma. She turned to Sebastian. "No...
please."

Wilma interrupted. "See, it's like this, Sebastian. Beatriz, she just
loves that there bracelet. She brung it in t'show me, and we got to
talking. She couldn't stop saying how much she liked you and what a
good man you are. When a gal starts talking about a man like that, she
gets..." Wilma giggled and fanned herself with her hand. "...
lightheaded." She said the word in a seductive purr.

"Is that what happened?" Sebastian looked sternly at Beatriz.

She nodded quickly. "Si, si; just as Wilma said."

"Then here is your bracelet." He put it gently back on her wrist. "Do
not lose it again."

Wilma took a half step towards him. "There you go, Sebastian. I knew
you was too big a man to get mad over something silly like that." Her
hand suddenly moved down to brush against his erection. "Oh, my, you
surely _are_ a big man, ain't you." She giggled, but she didn't take
her hand way.

Sebastian smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

"If you will excuse us." Beatriz glared at Wilma and pushed her hand
away. "We were on our way upstairs when you so _rudely_ interrupted."
Her voice turned seductive. "Weren't we, Sebastian?"

"Oh, ahh... yes." He nodded once towards Wilma and put an arm around
Beatriz' waist. "Yes, yes, we were."

* * * * *

Monday, January 15, 1872

Someone was touching Kaitlin's breast; the sensation of it woke her
almost at once.

It was dark. She could hardly see the time on the clock by her side of
the bed, but she could _feel_ Tricia's body spooned up against her own,
feel Trisha's fingers on her breast.

"Trisha, stop that!" she hissed. When there was no answer, she jabbed
her elbow backwards into Trisha's ribs.

That worked. "Wh-what's the matter?" Trisha asked in a sleepy voice.

"Your hand," Kaitlin told her. "It's on my breast, and I don't like it
there."

The hand moved down to around Kaitlin's waist. "Is that better?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You're welcome." Trisha waited a moment. She shifted slightly and
kissed Kaitlin's shoulder.

"Now what are you doing, Trisha?"

"Well, I thought maybe... I mean, we... uhh... we are awake. I
thought, maybe we could..." Her voice trailed off as she kissed
Kaitlin's shoulder again.

"No! And please don't ask me again, not tonight, anyway."

"But, Kait--"

The other woman cut her off. "Trisha, it's the middle of the night.
I'm tired, and I am most definitely _not_ in the mood." She thought of
something and added, "And don't go trying anything while I'm asleep --
remember, I can make you stop. _And_ I can make you go sleep in
another bed if you keep trying."

"Can I keep my arm around you, at least?"

Kaitlin sighed. It was nice, a reminder of earlier, much happier
times, but... "That depends on _where_ you keep it when it's around
me."

* * * * *

Wilma was sitting back in her chair in the kitchen, enjoying a late
breakfast when Beatriz stormed in. "What did you think you was doing
last night?" the Mexican demanded.

Wilma just smiled like a cat at the cream pitcher and dabbed at a bit
of sausage gravy with a slice of toast. "Didn't you like it, Beatriz?
Sebastian certainly seemed to be enjoying our little conversation."

"You stay away from him."

"Oh, I will... probably. I don't see what you're so upset about. All
I did was return your bracelet. You know the one you _accidentally_
left in my room."

"In a pig's eye. You were all over Sebastian."

"I was just playing with him a little." She chuckled then turned
serious. "I was just playing with you a little, too."

"With... with me?"

"Yep, just like you and Roselyn been playing with me lately. I thought
I'd give you back a little o' your own." She glared at Beatriz. "I
can play them games, too. You keep it up, and you'll both be getting
it back." She stood up and started to walk out of the kitchen. At the
doorway, she turned back and added, "In spades."

* * * * *

"Sheriff Talbot?" The speaker was Tor Johansson, a tall, muscular man
with mass of dark blonde hair pulled back and tied in a ponytail that
reached down past his shoulders.

Dan looked up from the latest issue of _Police_ _Gazette_. "Tor, come
on in. How are you doing?"

"Not too bad. Sam Braddock, he say you vant to see me. Dhere is
problem?"

Dan stood up and pointed to a chair. "No, no, sit down. I just wanted
to talk to you for a bit." He paused a beat. "You still do want that
job as a deputy, don't you?"

"Yah, sure I do."

"Good, the town council meets in a couple days, and I'll be asking them
for permission to hire you."

"Permission? I thought you vas da sheriff. A sheriff vorks for da
county; he don't need some town's permission to be hiring deputies."

Dan leaned back in his chair. "Normally, he... I wouldn't; not if I
was _just_ the sheriff. I'm also the town marshal, and, as marshal, I
do have to ask the town council before I take on another deputy."

"Sheriff unt marshal, how dis can be?"

"When they split Maricopa County -- where we are -- off from Yavapi
County about a year and a half ago, I was just the marshal. Ben
Farrell, the county sheriff over in Phoenix, needed an under-sheriff
for this part of the county. Nobody really wanted the job -- nobody
that Farrell trusted, that is. Judge Humphreys fixed it so I could be
under-sheriff _and_ marshal for a while till they could find somebody
else."

"A year unt a half is more dan 'a vhile'. I t'ink."

"Tell me about it. The problem is, Ben likes the way I do the job, so
he's in no hurry to find anybody else. You take the job; you'll be my
deputy for both jobs. You still interested?"

The big man shrugged. "Don't see vhy not. Is still a goot job."

"Glad to hear it. You got anything else you want to ask?"

Tor shook his head.

"Good, because I've got a couple of questions, the sort the council is
likely to ask on Wednesday. I figure I'll ask now and see what sort of
answers you got. That okay with you?"

"Be practice for Vednesday, ask avay."

"Okay, first question is, where'd you learn to shoot so good?"

"In da army. I vas a soldier in da Second Minnesota regulars in da
Var. Dey taught us t'shoot mit pistol unt rifle."

"You have any trouble in the Army, they bring you up on charges or
anything?"

"No, sir. Dey giff me a medal for the goot conduct and another for
fighting so hard at some place called South Mountain. I got dem in a
box in my shack if you vant t'see dem."

"No, but you might bring them with to the council meeting. You have
any trouble with the law since the War? I'm sorry to be asking, but
they will, so I will."

"Ja, I know, for da job, you gotta ask. No, sir, I been in no trouble.
I just been minding mine own business unt trying t'get rich from
digging in the ground mit mine brudder."

"Why'd you quit mining?"

"Same reason ve qvit farming back in da old country. Ve do all dat
vork, unt nothing come up from the ground. My brudder still got hope.
Me, I vanted to try something else."

"There's a lot of other jobs to be had, safer ones than the law."

"Ja, maybe, but after digging in da ground for t'ree years, I vant
something vhere I be with people, maybe do dem some goot, instead of
just vorking for myself like I vas doing." He stopped and smiled. "I
answer goot, no?" He stuck out an oversized hand.

"Good enough for me." Dan shook the hand. It was half again as big as
his own, hard and callused from years of mining. "We'll see what the
town council says on Wednesday."

* * * * *

Bridget was taking her dinner break when Cap walked over to the table.
"What do you want?" she asked angrily.

"To talk." He gave her his best smile. "May I join you?"

She frowned. "If I say no, you'll probably sit down anyway."

"Probably." He pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her. "Just
shows how much I want to talk to you."

"You're sitting, you may as well talk."

"Thank you. First off, I've read the records Uncle Abner got from
Texas."

"So now you know the awful truth about me, don't you?"

"No, I know what the records say. The story sounds like something Will
Hanks... Wilma might've done, but it... it doesn't sound like you." He
reached for her hand.

"It isn't me." She pulled it back, out of his reach. "For that
matter, it isn't Wilma, either."

"What is, Bridget? What's your version of what happened back there at
the Battle of Adobe Wells?"

"My version? Do you think this is some kind of tall tale, where
everybody has a different way of telling some made-up story?"

As they spoke, Cap tried to read her body language. He couldn't. She
was too good at hiding her reactions, just as she was when she played
poker.

"Now you're putting words in my mouth, Bridget. I never said you made
up a story."

"Yes, you said it just now."

"Bridget, that report says that you and Will... Wilma did some terrible
things back then. Obviously, _something_ happened or there wouldn't
_be_ a report, would there?"

"No... something did happened, but the truth barely got discussed at
that court martial they gave us. And it never got into the official
report."

"What was it -- and is there any way that you can prove what you say?"

"How about I just give you my word that I'm telling you the truth? Or
isn't that good enough for you, Mr. Lewis?"

"It is, but I'm not the one that you have to convince. Uncle Abner --"

"Can go to hell. And so can you, if you need his permission to believe
what I tell you."

Cap shook his head. "Bridget, this has gone wrong six ways to Sunday.
I want to... I _do_ believe you."

"You do? What do you believe, if I haven't told you anything?"

"I believe what you _have_ told me, that the record Uncle Abner has
isn't the whole... the _real_ story."

"That's a start. Come back when you're ready -- no, when you and your
uncle are ready to listen to the real story."

"I'm ready to listen right now."

"Maybe you are, but I'm not ready to tell it, not without your uncle
here listening along with you." She picked up her fork and began
eating again, as if Cap wasn't even there.

A moment later, he wasn't.

* * * * *

Tuesday, January 16, 1872

"Wilma, a word with you if I may."

Wilma looked up from Lady Cerise's ledger book. Rosalyn was standing
in the doorway, her arms crossed beneath her breasts.

"Sure, Roslyn." She paused a beat. "Long as you ain't bringing me no
cup of tea."

"No," Rosalyn said, ignoring the comment. "I just wanted to talk to
you about Beatriz. She told me how you tried to take Sebastian Ortega
away from her with that lie about her bracelet."

"I did nothing of the sort, and she knows it. The only lie I told was
to cover for _her_ about how that bracelet got in my room. I was just
trying t'teach her a lesson for what she tried t'do t'me."

Rosalyn raised an eyebrow. "Just teach her a lesson?"

"Yep, and it's one you might want t'learn, too."

"I have no intentions of learning anything from you, and neither does
Beatriz. Besides, who are you to presume to teach _me_ anything?"

Wilma raised a fist. "I'll be glad t'show you just who I am."

"Ah, but you won't. I know Cerise. Touch me, and you'll be doing
exactly what I want."

"Which is?"

"Getting rid of you. You don't deserve to be Lady Cerise's second."

"Says you, Rosalyn."

"Yes, says me... and Beatriz. I'll be honest, our intention is to
continue harassing you until you give up and resign. However, if you
strike me... well, you know how the Lady feels. Her women have to be
perfect. If you hurt me -- or Beatriz -- bruise either of us, even
just a little bit, you can forget about being her second. Why she
might..." Rosalyn chuckled, "...she might even come to her senses and
throw you out of here."

* * * * *

"Someone to see you, dear," Martha Yingling told her husband.

Rev. Yingling put down the concordance he was reading. "Give me a
minute, then send them in." He stood up and walked around his desk.
There was not much space in the small room he used as an office. He
moved a stack of books from the only other chair to the top of the
bookcase. He gave the chair a quick swipe with his kerchief and sat
back down behind the desk.

"Reverend?" Trisha said. She stood in the doorway, clutching her
reticule, not sure if she could enter.

Yingling stood up and motioned to the chair. "Trisha... please come
in, sit down. What can I do for you?"

"It's... it's what I... what some of us on the Board want to do for
you... for the church." She adjusted her skirt and sat down. "I... I
wanted to talk to you about something we're planning for the... for the
next meting."

The man leaned back in his chair. "You were only just reconfirmed as a
member of the Board, and already you're starting new projects. Isn't
that a bit... presumptuous?"

"Like you said, Reverend, I just got reconfirmed. The congregation
decided that they wanted me on the Board. I figure that makes this the
best time to get something done."

"And what do you propose to do... exactly."

"You remember, before the election last fall, I told you that I wanted
to build us a better church if I got on the Board."

"I remember. I thought that you were speaking figuratively. Most
people seem satisfied with the arrangement we have with the school."

"I'm not satisfied, and I don't believe that you are either."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I think that you'd like a real office, with a bigger desk and
shelves for all your books."

"It would be nice, I suppose, but hardly necessary."

"Maybe not, but it's not the only thing we were thinking of."

"We? Who all were doing this thinking?"

"Me, of course, the Judge, Rupe Warrick, and Dwight Albright. We met
at my place about a week ago."

"Might I assume that Horace Styron, Jubal Cates, and Willie Gotefreund
were not invited?"

"You may, indeed." She seemed to stifle a giggle.

"And what exactly did you plan -- or should I just ask how soon before
the construction starts?"

"We didn't get that far. You're right. A lot of people like the deal
we have, and two members of the town council, Arsenio Caulder and Whit
Whitney, belong to the church."

"What are you planning to do then?"

"We're going to start a church improvement fund. We'll raise the
money, while people think about what they want to do. With luck --"

"With the Lord's help," Yingling interrupted. "Most assuredly, with
our Lord's help."

"With the Lord's help," Trisha continued, "when they decide what they
do want, we'll have the money for it."

"And how do you plan to get this money?"

"To tell the truth, we only came up with the _beginning_ of a plan.
We're gonna move to start the fund at the next meeting and..." her face
lit up as she continued, "...we're going to start off starting off by
holding a dance the end of February."

"A dance." The reverend's eyebrow raised skyward. "And who thought of
that?"

"My... Kaitlin did. I wasn't sure at first, but it does seem like a
good idea, now; doesn't it?"

"I suppose it does." He paused a beat. "And this will all happen at
the next meeting of the church board?"

"It will. We didn't want to call a special meeting or anything."
Again, she seemed almost ready to giggle. "Not so soon after the last
one, and not for a dance of all things."

"No, I can see that."

"I'm glad that you understand. Can I ask... you don't have any
objections to this, do you? I'd hate to call things off, but if you
don't approve..." She let the thought trail off.

"There are many things that the church could use, Trisha, and all of
them take money. This seems to be as good a way as any to raise it.
Even if it doesn't go to building me an office, there are -- I'm
certain -- any number of things that we are much more in need of."

"Probably. We just thought that we'd like you to have one."

"I appreciate the thought, but it isn't really necessary."

"Why don't we let the congregation decide that -- once we have the
money, of course?" She stood up, and so did he. "I'd like to ask one
thing, though."

"And what is that?"

"Like you said, Horace wasn't there at my house. I felt like I should
tell you, but I... I'd kind of hope that you don't feel like you have
to tell him."

"You know that I don't enjoy playing politics with the Board."

"I do -- believe me, I do. I'm not asking that you take sides. Horace
will do that quick enough. If he doesn't know, he can't ask you.
He'll find out anyway. It just won't come from you." She put out a
hand. "Okay?"

Yingling took her hand in his. It was still amazed him how small and
delicate Patrick O'Hanlan's large, rough hands had become. "I won't
tell, but I won't deny it either, if Horace asks."

"Fair enough, Reverend. Fair enough."

* * * * *

Someone knocked on the door. "Just a minute," Teresa Diaz answered.
She wiped her hands on her apron and walked from the sink full of
dishes to the front door.

"Buenos noches, Teresa," Ramon said when she opened the door. "Is
Dolores ready?"

Teresa shook her head. "Not quite. Constanza, go tell your cousin
that Seá±or de Aguilar is here."

"Si, Mama." The young girl was doing her numbers. She put down the
pencil and climbed off the stool she was sitting on. She walked over
to a bedroom door and opened it a few inches. "Dolores, he is here."

"Please ask him to wait," came a voice from the bedroom. It was loud
enough for everyone to hear.

Teresa motioned to a nearby chair. "Have a seat, Ramon. I'm sure that
she will be out very soon."

"Thank you, Teresa." As he sat down, Ramon took a watch from his
jacket pocket.

Teresa raised an eyebrow. "Are you late for something?"

"Dolores asked me to take her to hear Jessie Hanks sing," Ramon told
her. "Jessie's first show begins at 8, about twenty minutes from now."

"You have more than enough time. It is barely a five minute walk from
here to Seá±or O'Toole's saloon, close enough that my Arnoldo can come
home from working there to eat supper with us."

Ramon nodded. "I know. I was just checking the time." He smiled
sheepishly and put the watch away. "A bad habit, I am sorry."

"Such things happen." Teresa nodded in agreement. "If you will excuse
me, Ramon, I have a sink full of dinner dishes to wash."

Ramon watched her walk back to the sink. He wouldn't, he _couldn't_,
say that he was actually concerned about Maggie. She usually took Lupe
and Ernesto home about 7:30, but sometimes she stayed a bit later.
He'd prefer not to walk in with Dolores on his arm if Maggie was still
there.

'Even if Jessie or Jane tells Margarita we were there -- and they
probably will,' he thought, 'it is better than for her to actually see
us.'

At that moment, as if on cue, the bedroom door opened and Dolores swept
into the room. She wore a dark brown dress with pale yellow trim at
the cuffs and collar. The dress hugged her figure, showing off her
slender waist and firm breasts without being vulgar. Her hair was
pinned up, with a sprig of flowers the same color as the trim tucked in
above her left ear, a courting flower.

"I am so sorry that I kept you waiting, Ramon," she said softly.

Ramon stood up and stared at her, a smile forming on his lips. "To see
you like this, Dolores, was well worth the wait."

* * * * *

Jessie waited for the applause to die down. "Thank you, folks. It's
been grand singing for you tonight."

"Give us another one," someone yelled.

"Betsy From Pike," said another man. A few others called for specific
songs.

Jessie beamed at the crowd. "How 'bout I sing you a new one?"

"Don't wanna hear a new one; sing 'Suzanna'."

"Aw, and I worked so hard learning this one." She made a pretty pout.

"Let her sing it." There were more supportive shouts until she picked
up the guitar and began,

"Arise, arise, Collee, says he.
` Arise an' come with me.
` An' to the land of Ireland go
` An' married there we'll be."

"She then took all her father's gold
` Likewise her mother's fee,
` She took two steeds from out their stalls
` Where they stood thirty by three."

The song told how they rode to the coast, where the man revealed his
true plans.

"There's six king's daughters in this sea,
` An' you the seventh shall be."

"But first take off that costly ring
` An' give it unto me
` 'Twould be shame for that costly ring
` To be moldering in the sea,"

But the best of plans, as they say...

"As he stood for to look around,
` To view the grass an' trees,
` She picked him up right manfully..."

Jessie flashed a wicked smile.

"An' _throwed_ him in the sea."

There was a collective laugh. Jessie continued singing how the maiden
cursed her murderous beau before she rode home.

"She then put back her father's gold,
` Likewise her mother's fee
` She put the steeds back in the stalls
` Where they stood thirty by three."

And when the noise she makes awakens her father, the girl's pet parrot
covers for her sneaking about.

"The old gray cat come to my cage
` An' tried to weary me.
` An' I called Collee up to drive
` The old gray cat away."

"An' I called Collee up to drive
` The old gray cat away."

Jessie finished the song with a flourish and stood listening to the
clapping, the catcalls, and the sound of coins hitting the small stage
she was standing on.

What she didn't see was Shamus scowling at her from behind the bar.

* * * * *

Wednesday, January 17, 1872

"When ye've finished yuir breakfast, Jessie," Shamus said, sitting down
across from her. "I'd like t'be talking to ye."

Jessie took a sip of coffee to wash down the last of her toast. "Sure,
Shamus; I'm just finishing. What d'you want to talk about?"

"Something I'd rather be discussing in private if ye don't mind."

Molly walked over. She sat down next to her husband and put her hand
on his arm. "Thuir's nobody about but the three of us, Shamus. Why
not be talking now instead of making the lass wait and worry?"

"She's got what t'be worrying about, Molly Love. Ye well know how much
songs like that upsets me just now."

"I know, Shamus, and I know why," Molly answered. "But she don't, and
ye won't be telling her, I'm thinking. But, for me, at least try t'be
keeping yuir temper while ye're talking."

"For you, Molly, I'll try." He put his hand on hers and smiled. "And
I'll just hold on t'ye as a way t'help keep me from losing me temper."

Shamus turned to face Jessie. "Lass, what was ye thinking t'be sing
that new song ye sang last night?"

"You mean 'Collee's Ride'? Most of the folks loved it. What's the
matter?"

"That song's about lying and deceit and... and murder. 'Six king's
daughters drown in the sea, and the seventh t'follow; except she drowns
him that meant to do it, instead." He scowled. "That ain't the sort
of song I want t'hear in me saloon."

"But they _liked_ it," Jessie argued. Her was voice almost a whine.
"I made over seven bucks last night in tips. That's a lot more'n I
usually do."

"Jessie, dear," Molly said quickly, cutting off whatever her husband
was about to say, "a saloon's supposed t'be a happy place, a place men
come to enjoy themselves. They can't do that if ye're singing such sad
songs at them."

"What about Lorena?" Jessie argued. "That's a song about somebody that
died."

"No," Molly answered. "It's about a love that lasts forever and the
joy the singer feels knowing that they'll be together again in the life
to come."

Jessie tried another tack. "What about them that comes in to drink so
they can forget about life and what it done to them?"

"If they're drinking t'forget," Shamus said angrily, "then they don't
need ye t'be singing songs that remind them."

"But..." Jessie tried to think of another argument she could use. "But
there's always been songs about murder. They're nothing new. In my
book there's an old one called "Edward...."

"No buts," Shamus said firmly. "I don't want ye t'be singing that song
again." He paused for effect. "Understand?"

"She understands, Love," Molly said.

Shamus stood up. "Good." He walked away without another word,

"No, she don't," Jessie said softly. "Molly what's biting his ass so
damn bad that he came down on me like that?"

Molly sighed. "That damnable trial down in Tucson, it's truly wearing
on him. Please, Jessie, could ye be giving himself a little slack."

"I... I suppose," Jessie said. She was still mad, but the sorrowful
look on Molly's face kept her from arguing. For now.

* * * * *

"Hey, Milt," Jane called as Milt came into the Saloon. "Where you been
keeping yourself?"

"Uh... Good afternoon, Jane," Milt answered, feeling embarrassed. It
had been a while since he'd been in the saloon. "How are you today?"

"Busy, too _dang_ busy, in fact."

"I didn't think Shamus got this busy so early in the day."

"He don't, not usually, but Laura was feeling kinda tired. Shamus said
she could go upstairs and lay down. She's been up there for a while; I
think she fell asleep."

"She must be tired, to fall asleep in the middle of the day."

Jane nodded. "A baby'll do that, I guess. She's my sister, and I want
her t'have a good, healthy one. But I do miss her when there's a lotta
folks in here wanting drinks, and I gotta take care of 'em by myself."

"It's good of you to be concerned about her, Jane. I'm sure she
appreciates it, and that she'll be back down here soon."

"She better be. Jessie was around, too, but she went off someplace.
Looks like I'm the only one left t'wait on folks. So if you got
something for me to read or sign or anything, it'll have to wait." She
hurried off to get an order from the bar.

"Yeah, Miltie," Matt Royce said. "You'll haveta cool your heels for a
while, maybe do something useful for a change."

Milt ignored the man. "Actually, I was looking for Mort Boyer or Jerry
Domingez." He looked around for the men. "I need some papers taken to
Phoenix."

"Mort was in here 'bout an hour ago, but he left. I ain't seen Jerry
all day," Fred Norman said.

"Maybe he's off doing some real work," Royce chided. "You should try
it some time; it ain't nothing t'be afeared of."

"I do my share and more, Royce," Milt replied. "What's it to you?"

"I don't know about that. Seems to me, you spend most of your time
these days, sucking up to Jane. It must be nice t'work for the richest
woman in town. Even nicer when she likes you, or is all that sucking
up you do the reason she likes you?"

Milt's expression soured. "I'd better go find Mort or Jerry. Those
papers have to get filed." He turned and left.

Jane looked back over from the bar just in time to see Milt walk out
the door. "Now where is he...?" Her voice trailed off. She sighed.
"And couldn't he even take the time t'say goodbye t'me?"

* * * * *

"I think that answers my questions," Aaron Silverman said. "Thank you,
Mr. Johansson." He turned to Whit, who was acting as chairman of the
Town Council. "Now we vote."

"Hold on," Joe Kramer called out. "I still got some questions."

"We usually don't allow questions from the floor," Whit said patiently.

Kramer stood up. "I got some anyway. For a start, why do we need to
hire another man for anyway?"

"Out of order." Whit hammered his gavel on the tabletop.

Dan Talbot slowly stood up. "Mr. Chairman, even if it was out of
order, I'd like to answer that question anyway."

"Sets a precedent," Whit replied, shaking his head. "We don't want
t'be doing something like that."

"Better we should answer, Whit," Aaron told him. "Unanswered
questions, as the Sages say, are like a swarm of angry bees buzzing
about a man's head."

Whit shrugged. "All right, Dan... Sheriff, answer the question."

"Whit... Mr. Whitney just called me 'sheriff.' That there's part of
the reason," Dan began. "I'm the town marshal for Eerie, _and_ I'm the
under-sheriff for eastern Maricopa County. That means I've got to be
outta town on a regular basis. Right now, when I'm doing that, Paul
Grant gets to be marshal all by himself. That's not fair to Paul _or_
to the town."

"That ain't been a problem so far," another man yelled.

Dan shook his head. "Yes... yes, it has. Most folks just didn't
notice 'cause Paul does such a good job." He waited a beat. "The
thing is, it's getting worse. There's more n'more men working claims
up in the mountains and more n'more men working on the ranches
hereabout."

"And more people in the town, now, too," Arsenio Caulder, the third
Councilman, added. "Not to mention that Dan's got a little more on his
mind now with a baby coming."

"Why should the town pay for his baby?" Kramer asked.

Dan glared at the heckler. "Nobody's paying for that but me, and, if
having a baby on the way does anything, it makes me work harder.
Arsenio -- Mr. Councilman Caulder there -- will be finding that out for
himself soon enough. I want to make sure that Eerie's a good, safe
place for my new little one _and_ for my wife and my boy, Jimmy."

Now Aaron stood. "It seems to me that hiring another sheriff or deputy
or whatever is a good thing. It means that the town's growing. Just
like I might want to hire another clerk for all the new business --
_kayn_ _ahora_ -- I got coming to my store. Besides, Dan says Mr.
Johansson is going to be deputy marshal _and_ deputy sheriff. That
means that the county is going to pay half his salary." He winked at
the crowd. "By me, that's a bargain we shouldn't let pass. I say,
'Yes' to hiring him." He sat down quickly.

"So do I," Arsenio added.

Whit pounded his gavel. "Same here; vote's unanimous. You're hired,
Tor. Congratulations."

* * * * *

Paul folded his pants and laid them over the chair in his room. "I
liked that new song you sang last night, the one about the Irish girl."

"You mean 'Collee's Ride?' I'm glad you liked it," Jessie said, as she
stepped out of her dress.

"Uh huhn, it gave me an idea." He grinned and turned towards her.

Jessie posed for him in her camisole and drawers, the same wicked smile
on her face as when she sang the song. "And what exactly was that, Mr.
Grant?"

"To throw you into the sea, Miss Hanks. I wanted to do that as soon as
I heard you sing about it. A song like that gives a man ideas."

"I think Shamus would agree with you. But we'll have to ride quite a
ways from Eerie before we get t'the sea."

Paul shrugged. "Maybe I can't throw you into a seabed out here in the
desert, Jess..." He stepped towards her, still grinning. "...But I've
another, a much better kind of bed right here, that I can throw you
into."

Without saying another word, he swooped down on her. He picked her up
in his arms before she could react and tossed her onto the bed.

Jessie landed with a squeal of surprise, but before she could climb off
or even voice a protest, Paul landed next to her. "I thought I'd throw
myself in, too," he explained. "It seemed only fair."

"Well, now that you got me on this here sea bed, what're you going t'do
with me?"

"Same as I did that night I fetched you out of that flash flood, take
off all your clothes and rub your body all over till you get warm."

"Mmm, that may take a while, but you're more'n welcome to try."
Jessie's arms reached out and pulled him towards her.

"I'll certainly do my best," he managed to reply before their lips met
in a long, torrid kiss.

* * * * *

Thursday, January 18, 1872

Dolores sat back on her bed and read the letter again.

"Hola, Dolores."

"You have been gone from the City for so long that I
am writing to see how you are and what you are doing."

"There is so much excitement here. All I hear people
Talking about is their plans for Carnival. I am
having a new dress made, dark green with silver lace
brocade. Luis is taking me to the dances. I think
that he is getting serious about me. I am not
ready to marry -- I am a butterfly like you -- but
he is so _very_ insistent."

"And persuasive, too. When he kisses me, my toes
curl, and when we -- but a _maiden_ should not say
such things, even in a letter."

"Oh, but his kisses, they are _so_ good."

"Are you coming back in time for Carnival? In your
last letter, you said you were seeing someone, an
old friend. If you and he have gotten serious about
each other, you should bring him back with you.
I am sure that he would want to leave a flea trap
like Eerie for Mexico City, especially to be with you."

"Even if you are not serious, you should bring him.
If only to make Ximon more sorry than ever that he
agreed to what his parents arranged with the Guzmans.
I just _know_ he is marrying Elvira for her money.
She is not the beauty you are, and we both know what
a _bitch_ she can be."

"Should I cross out that last paragraph?"

"No, I want you to get mad, mad enough to stop feeling
sorry for yourself and come home. Especially if you
bring home a handsome souvenir like this Ramon you
told me about."

"Or has _he_ made you stop feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Please write soon and tell everything to"

"Your friend,
` Perdita Moralez"

Dolores folded the letter and put it back on the small table next to
her bed. She had things to think about and plans to make.

* * * * *

"Well, boy," Horace Styron asked, "you find what you're looking for?"
The man was beginning to sound impatient.

Arnie pointed to a tray inside the glass cabinet. "Si... yes, there,
the box on the far left."

"For the navy pistol?" When Arnie nodded, Styron took a small brass key
from his vest pocket and unlocked the cabinet. He opened the door and
picked up the box. "Box of six hundred cartridges..." He flipped the
box over. "...that'll be $8.25."

Arnie's eyes went wide. "So much?" It was more than he made in a week,
even counting his share of the tips, and he turned most of what did he
earn over to his mother. "I-I do not... can I pay you some of it now
and the rest later?"

"I don't give credit, boy, not to new customers, anyway. You got the
$8.25, you get the shot, otherwise..." He let his voice trail off.

Arnie shook his head. "Not today; I-I am sorry."

"You best start saving up your pennies, then." The merchant frowned
and replaced the box in the cabinet. As he locked the door, he added,
"When you get enough, you come back, and I'll sell 'em to you." He
chuckled. "Or you could ask your ma and pa to give them to you for
your birthday."

The boy bristled at the insult. "I will get the money, seá±or. I will
be back for the cartridges, and _sooner_ than you expect, you will
see." He turned and stormed out of the hardware store.

'I just have to figure out _how_ I will get it,' he thought, as he
started down the street.

* * * * *

Amy took a firm hold of Jimmy's hand. "I have to go into here, dear.
Hold my hand, and don't talk to anyone unless I say that you may."
When the boy nodded in agreement, she opened the door and walked into
Doc Upshaw's office.

Edith Lonnigan was working at a desk near some file cabinets to her
right. To her left was the waiting area, a set of chairs scattered
along two walls. The place was nearly empty. A farmer Amy didn't know
sat in the corner, his arm in a cast.

Amy gave Jimmy his toy horse and told him to sit down on one of the
chairs. The boy walked over and climbed up onto one a few feet away
from the man. He settled in it and began to play with the toy.

"Amelia," Mrs. Lonnigan said, looking up from whatever she was working
on, "and little Jimmy. How are you both today?"

"Very well, thank you, Edith," Amy replied. "And you?"

"Doing well enough. I do hope Jimmy isn't sick."

Amy shook her head. "Goodness, no, I came to talk to you about my...
condition."

"Is something wrong? Are you in any sort of pain?" The older woman
was purely a professional now.

"I'm fine. Still a bit queasy in the morning, but that's all. It's,
well, I was talking to Laura Caulder the other day. She... uhh... she
asked if I was your patient, too. I told her I was, and she asked if
we could have our check-ups together. I said I'd ask you if we could."

Edith smiled. "I think it's a grand notion. The poor dear is
terrified. This being pregnant is something she never expected in her
wildest dreams. I think that it would do her a world of good to have a
friend to share it with."

"That's what I thought, too. Laura is a strong person, but being a
woman is so new to her, even now. And to be _pregnant_, no less."

"It's good of you to want to help, Amelia, and I'll be happy to
cooperate."

"I was flattered that she asked me. Besides, to tell the truth, I'm a
little afraid, too."

"There's no shame in that. Childbearing is not the easiest thing a
woman ever has to do." Edith looked down at a calendar. "I'm seeing
Laura the first Tuesday of the month right now, early in the afternoon.
That would be the 6th of February. Is that all right with you,
Amelia?"

"I believe so. Does she come here to the doctor's office?"

"No, I walk over to the Saloon. Mr. O'Toole lets us use one of his
upstairs rooms. Is that agreeable to you?"

"It is. I'll tell Laura, and we'll both see you in about three weeks,
then."

* * * * *

"Here, lad, let me get that door for ye."

Shamus held the door to the kitchen opened while Arnie walked through
holding a heavy tray full of glassware. "Thank you, Shamus," Arnie
said as the door closed behind him.

Arnie walked slowly over to the sunk and set the tray down on the
counter. He looked around quickly. He was alone. "Bueno," he
whispered.

Two glasses were almost full. They were propped against the side of
the tray, held in place by several other glasses. He carefully lifted
one out and checked it again. There was no sign of dirt, cigarette
butts or food. "Still has some of its head left." He leaned back
against the sink and slowly drained the glass.

"Very nice." He put the glass down into the sink. He could feel the
alcohol flow down into his belly, feel it warm him from the inside. "I
believe I'll have another." He lifted out a larger beer stein and
began to drink.

"Put that down, Arnie." Shamus' voice echoed through the kitchen.
"Now!"

Arnie almost dropped the glass. "Seá±or Shamus, I... I did not hear you
come in."

"Ten years I lived with the Cheyenne," Shamus told him. "I can still
move as quiet as any of them if I'm wanting to." He glared at the boy.
"And what did ye think ye was doing?"

"I... I was bringing in the glasses like you told me to."

"I told ye t'be bringing them in to be washed, Arnie, not so's ye could
be drinking in the privacy of me kitchen."

"I only did it this one time... Honest."

"Ye mean, I only caught ye this one time. I been smelling sen-sen on
yuir breath for a good while now. I was hoping I was wrong, but I
wasn't." He took a breath. "It stops now, Arnoldo."

"Seá±or?"

"It stops now. Ye'll be drinking no more from the glasses ye bring
into me kitchen or any other time so long as ye're here working for me.
D'ye understand?"

"I... I understand."

"Ye'd better. If I catch ye drinking again I'll be given serious
thought t'whether I want ye in here at all, let alone as me employee."
With that, Shamus turned and walked away without another word.

Arnie watched him go. "I'll think about this later. For now..." He
picked up the stein and looked at it for a moment. Then he smiled
grimly and poured the beer that was still in it down into the sink.

* * * * *

Jessie finished "Betsy from Pike" with a guitar flourish; her daily
practice sessions were paying off. Most of her audience had sung along
with her at the end. "Thanks," she said happily, as the audience
applauded, and a few of them tossed money.

"Hey, Jessie," somebody yelled. "Sing that song you done the other
night, the one about the girl and the parrot."

Jessie winched. It was the song Shamus hated for some reason.

"You mean 'Collee's Ride'? Nah, you don't want t'hear that old thing.
How about I sing --"

"Collee's Ride" another voice yelled. A few others joined in.

"How about I sing 'Lorena' for you?" she asked hopefully. She liked
the other song, but she _had_ promised Molly. Sort of.

"I think she just wants to be coaxed." A coin came out of nowhere and
landed at her feet. Two more followed from other parts of the room.

Jessie glanced over towards the bar. Shamus was watching her, an angry
expression on his face. Molly stood next to him, whispering something.
Her hand was on his arm.

"Are you sure?" Jessie asked. "There was them that didn't like that
song."

"Who cares?" The crowd was getting restless. A few were clapping
their hands or pounding a stein on a table. They were chanting
"Collee... Collee."

Jessie shrugged and looked over at Shamus as if to say, "I tried." He
glared back at her and turned away to pour someone a beer.

She picked up her guitar and began to play.

* * * * *

Friday, January 19, 1872

Arsenio woke up and rolled over, still under the covers. "Mmm, good
morning, Laura." He stopped when he saw the look on her face.

"What?" She was sitting up, her eyes wide with fear, staring at the
far wall. "What did you say?"

"Never mind that." He leaned over and took her hand in his. "What's
the matter?"

"I... I don't know. I felt... I feel odd, all fluttery like, down by
my stomach."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, it's like a gas bubble or something, uncomfortable but not...
painful."

He raised an eyebrow at her hesitation. "What's wrong?"

"It's... the... whatever it is, it's down by where the baby is? I...
I'm... what am I going to do?" He could see her eyes beginning to
tear.

Arsenio threw the covers back. "You're going to stay right there and
try not to worry. I'll be back with Doc Upshaw as soon as I can."

"Do... do you think it's that serious?"

"Damned if I know, but if it's got you scared, that makes it serious as
far as I'm concerned." He tucked his nightshirt into his pants and
pulled on his shoes without putting on socks.

Laura started to get out of bed. "Do you want me to come along?"

"I want you to stay put. I'll be back soon enough." He finished tying
his shoe and stood up. "You just relax." When he saw her climb back
under the covers, he leaned over and gently kissed her on the forehead.
"Don't worry, Laura, and... I love you."

She smiled up at him. "Oh, I never worry about that."

* * * * *

Shamus stopped Jessie as she was coming down the stairs. "Ye couldn't
resist, could ye, Jessie?"

"Shamus, is this about last night?"

"Of course, 'tis about last night. I told ye not t'be singing that
song."

"You were there. You know I tried not to."

"Aye, ye _tried_. Trying and doing, them's two very different things."

"Come on, Shamus. They were yelling, pounding their glasses. What'd
you want me to do?"

"Sing something else -- _anything_ else. They'd've settled down if
ye'd started t'be singing some other song."

She thought about that for a moment. "Maybe they would have -- or
maybe not. I don't know. But what's so damn bad about 'Collee's Ride'
anyway? Nobody else gets mad when I sing it."

"_I_ get mad, and that's more than enough."

She still wanted to argue. "I still don't see what the problem is."

"Oh, ye don't, do ye." He glared at her, trying not to lose his
temper. "Well, there's only two things ye _need_ t'be seeing, Miss
Jessie Hanks." He raised a hand, the index and middle finger pointing
at her. "First, I'm yuir employer." He lowered one finger. "And,
second, while I am, ye'll not be singing that song again."

Shamus lowered the other finger and walked past her up the stairs.

* * * * *

Doc Upshaw carefully moved his stethoscope from one point to another on
Laura's abdomen. "Take a deep breath and hold it."

Laura nodded and inhaled sharply. At the same time, she felt Arsenio
squeeze her hand. "It's okay, Laura," he whispered. "I'm here."

"Shhh," Mrs. Lonnigan hissed at him. The four of them were crammed
into the bedroom. Laura was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her
nightgown was unbuttoned to make the examination easier.

Doc stood up and let the stethoscope fall to his side. "It's just what
I thought. You can get dressed now, Laura."

"Am I all right, Doc," Laura asked nervously. "Is the baby all right?
I... I didn't lose it, d-did I?" She was trembling.

Arsenio moved closer and put his arm around her. "Yes, Doc. Is she --
and the baby -- are they all right?" he asked.

"She's fine." Doc smiled. "And so is the baby." He took off the
gloves he had worn for the examination and put them in his bag.
"Edith, you told her about the baby quickening, didn't you?"

Mrs. Lonnigan snorted. "Of course, I did, Doctor." She turned to
Laura and Arsenio. "Don't you remember, dear? I told you at your last
appointment that the baby was going to start moving very soon."

"You... mean that's... that's what I'm feeling..." Laura looked down
and gently put her hand on her swollen stomach. "...the baby?"

"That's exactly what he's saying," Mrs. Lonnigan told her. "The...
_your_ baby is far enough along that it's begun to move."

"And it's supposed to do that?" Arsenio asked.

Doc chuckled and put his hand on the other man's shoulder. "That's
exactly what it's supposed to be doing, Arsenio."

"Ohh!" Laura's eyes went wide. "It's moving again. I... I think I
can feel it when I put my hand on my stomach."

"It might be a little early for that," Doc said, "but you'll be able to
soon enough."

"Indeed, the baby will start kicking soon," Mrs. Lonnigan added. "Then
you'll both be able to feel it."

"Both of us?" Laura asked uncertainly. "How?"

Mrs. Lonnigan smiled. "Well, you have to be close... hugging, perhaps,
but you two don't seem to have any problem with that."

* * * * *

"Is something wrong, Trisha?" Liam asked.

Trisha looked over at her brother from behind the counter where she was
sitting. "What? Oh, uhh... no, I'm... I'm fine."

"So you say, but you've been fidgeting all afternoon. Are you sure
you're all right?"

"I'm just feeling... ah... a little out of sorts," she admitted, "but
it's nothing serious... really."

Even as she said it, Trisha hoped it was true. Her shoes were pinching
her feet, and her corset felt tight around her breasts, as if it had
shrunk. When she'd gone into the office to try and adjust her corset
in private, her breasts had seemed... bigger.

'More tender, too,' she remembered. 'It had felt so good to touch --
no, Trisha,' she chided herself. "Don't be thinking like that. Think
about your work -- your work, damn it!"

She closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten. It helped. Some.
'Maybe tonight,' she thought, 'I can get Kaitlin to help me.'

Trisha had just been thinking about asking Kaitlin for advice.
Somehow, though, the picture of the two of them on the bed in just
their chemises had popped into her mind. She shook her head, trying to
shake away the image like a wet dog shaking itself dry.

It didn't work. The image faded, but it kept coming back, now and
then, for the rest of the day. And whenever she saw it in the back of
her mind, Trisha fidgeted even more.

* * * * *

Jessie walked past Herve and into the parlor of _La Parisienne_.

"Hey, Jess," Wilma said cheerfully. "What brings you over here this
afternoon?"

Jessie's face soured. "I needed to get out of Shamus' for a while, so
I decided to come over 'n see you." She looked around the room.
Besides Wilma, Mae, and Roselyn were there in the parlor. So were
about half a dozen men.

"I ain't interrupting anything, am I?" Jessie asked. A couple of the
men were looking at her in a way that was making her feel...
uncomfortable.

"No, little darling," one of the men said, patting the sofa next to
where he was sitting. "You're more'n welcome. Come on in and join the
party."

Wilma glowered at the man for a moment. She stood up and walked over
to Jessie. "What's the problem with Shamus?"

"I sang a song the other night, and he didn't like it. He liked it
even less when I sang it again yesterday."

"If he hated it so much," Wilma asked, "why'd you sing it the second
time? You _trying_ to make him mad at you?" She laughed and added,
"Not that it don't sound like a fun idea."

"I didn't plan to -- I sorta... promised Molly I wouldn't -- but the
folks last night, they kept yelling for me t'sing it. I finally did,
and I got some nice tips. They throwed good money the first time I
sung it, too."

Wilma thought about that. "Seems t'me the money's all the reason you
need. Shamus is always saying he's a businessman; he should understand
that."

"I suppose. You know I never was one t'turn down an honest dollar."

"You never had no trouble going for the dishonest ones, neither." They
both laughed at that.

"'Scuse me, little lady," the man on the couch interrupted. "Instead
of talking, why don't you let us all hear this song of yours that
causing all your trouble?" A few of the others agreed.

"Seems fair." Jessie cleared her throat and took a breath.

She was about to start, when Wilma put a hand on her arm. "Wait a
minute, Jess. Gents, my sister's a professional; she gets _paid_ for
singing."

"You saying we gotta pay her, Wilma?" the man asked wryly. Wilma
nodded. "So," he continued, "she don't give it away for nothing any
more'n you do." He laughed heartily, and the other men joined in.
Roselyn snickered at Wilma's embarrassment.

Wilma put her hand on her hip and batted her eyes at the man. "I never
heard you -- any of you boys -- complain about what you got for your
money, Otis."

"Point taken, Wilma." He reached into his pocket and took out a silver
half-dollar. "And if that pretty sister of yours is half as good at
what she does, it'll be worth the money t'hear her." He tossed the
coin to Jessie, who caught it on the fly.

"Okay, then." She smiled and began to sing "Collee's Ride."

After a few lines, the men were smiling and nodding their heads in time
with the song. When she repeated the last verse, ending the song, they
broke into a round of applause. Three of the other men tossed coins at
Jessie.

"Sing us another one," Otis said. "A happier one this time."

Jessie thought for a moment. This was a new situation, and that seemed
to call for a new song. "Well, there's this song I been learning. How
'bout I try it out on you?"

"Do it," said another of the men, a tall lanky fellow she'd heard
somebody call Nate.

She looked at Wilma, who nodded back at her, and she began.

"When the dance hall girls kick high,
` They never ask the how or why.
` When joy is lost, they merely sigh;
` The tune of love is not a lie."

"Miss Amanda Walford-Biddy,
` She's the toast of Kansas City.
` A. has boyfriends, one-two-three;
` She'll have twenty, wait and see."

It was a merry tune, and the men in the room were soon clapping along.
And tossing coins when the song ended.

"Tres bien," Cerise called out, leading the applause. "Tres bien."

"My Lady," Wilma said. "I didn't know you were listening. You don't
mind Jessie singing here, do you?"

Cerise shook her head. "Not in the least, Wilma." She turned to
Jessie. "I heard you speak of the troubles you have with Monsieur
Shamus. If they continue, you are more than welcome to come here to
sing your songs."

"I always knew you'd wind up working here, Jess." Wilma laughed and
slapped Jessie back.

Jessie wasn't sure she liked the sound of _that_. "I'm hoping that
Shamus and me can still work things out, Lady Cerise, but thanks for
the offer."

"Just a thought," Cerise said. "Mayhaps you could sing here in the
afternoon and over there at night."

"Maybe I can," Jessie said. "We'll be busy tomorrow setting up for the
dance. Lemme come back Sunday, and we'll see how it works."

"Bien, Sunday it is," Cerise said, nodding in approval at the
suggestion.

* * * * *

R.J. took a sip of wine. "I see that you taught Arnie that game of
Brett's."

"You mean 'Maverick Solitaire'?" Bridget said, cutting a slice of her
roast beef. "Yes, I did. Jessie and Laura have been giving him
lessons on how to shoot a gun. I thought a few lessons on thinking
before he did something risky would be a good idea."

"Besides," she continued, "he gets bored when there isn't work for him,
and you know what they say about idle hands."

"I do indeed. Just the same, it was a good-hearted thing to do."

"He jumped in when those men were ready to shoot me. I owe him."

"I seem to recall having something to do with that, myself."

Bridget gently touched his arm. "I remember, and I thank you again for
that help, but you're a grown man, R.J. He's still a boy. He can be
rash, and I worry about him, especially if he might have a pistol on
hand."

"And I've noticed you trying to keep an eye on him, too. You've been
watching him while he's working, watching like a mother hen."

She smiled, feeling a bit embarrassed at the comparison. "I guess I do
-- and why exactly are you watching me, R.J. Rossi?"

"I'm old-fashioned, I guess. I like to look at my friends, now and
then." He took her hand in his. "One friend in particular; do you
mind?"

"Not really, I suppose. Can you do me a favor and keep an eye on
Arnie, too?"

"If you want, but it won't be near as much fun as watching you." He
grinned, then turned serious. "Do you really think he needs watching?"

"I don't know. When he first started working at the saloon, he did
pretty well, but now..."

"Have you tried talking to him? He'll surely listen to you. He likes
you -- which shows he's got good taste, if not good sense."

She felt her cheeks warm at the compliment. "He doesn't listen -- not
to me, at least. His cousin, Dolores, he listens more to her."

"Then I'd say you should talk to her." He smiled again. "But right
now, I'm glad that you're talking to me." He gently lifted her hand to
his lips and kissed it softly.

* * * * *

Kaitlin stood watching Trisha changing into her bedclothes. She was
already in her nightgown, while Trisha was still fumbling with the
hooks of her corset. "Is something bothering you, Trisha?"

Trisha frowned and looked down at her body. "It's my... my breasts.
There's something wrong with them?"

"Do they hurt?"

"No, they seem a little bigger somehow, more tender, too."

Kaitlin nodded. She thought she knew what the problem was. "Tender?"
she prompted.

"Yes, when I touch them... like this..." She slid a finger across her
left breast, just above the lace trim of her corset. "I -- ooh! -- I
feel it so much more than usual."

"That sometimes happens to a woman." Kaitlin counted in her head.
Yes, she was right; Trisha's monthlies were due in a day or so.

"I think it's, maybe, because we haven't..." Trisha glanced towards
their bed. "...haven't... umm, you know... in so long."

Kaitlin gave her a wry smile. "Are you asking what I think you're
asking?"

"Uh huhn." Trisha still had a hand on her left breast, one finger
dipping down under the corset lace, touching her nipple. "Could we...
please." Her voice was breathy and a bit uneven. She moved to undo
the rest of the corset hooks. She finished and let the garment drop to
the floor. "Please."

Kaitlin looked at the woman, now standing before her in only her
camisole and drawers. "I do believe that your breasts _have_ gotten a
bit larger, Trisha." They had, and Kaitlin could see that Trisha's
nipples were erect and pushing out the thin, soft muslin of her
camisole.

"They have," Trisha said. "And they feel so good... so _very_ good."
She took a step towards Kaitlin. "Let... let me show you." She
grabbed Kaitlin's right hand and pressed it against her breast.

Kaitlin pulled her hand away from Trisha's breast as if from a hot
stove. "Trisha! Stop that."

"But..." The shorter woman put her arms around Kaitlin's neck and
moved in close so that their bodies were touching, their breasts
rubbing against each other. "I thought you liked it."

Kaitlin began to feel her own arousal. Should she give in? 'No,' she
thought. 'Better that Trisha spends the night feeling like she does
now. She'll never be more aware of her female body and its needs.'

She pushed Trisha away. "Not tonight," she stated firmly.

"No?" Trisha pouted prettily. "Why... why not?"

Kaitlin took a step back. "Because I said so; now get your nightie
on."

"Aww." Trisha pulled off the camisole. But, instead of taking up her
nightgown, she raised her hands to her breasts. "I... I need to --"

"_You_ need to sleep someplace else tonight. So I, Kaitlin McNeil
O'Hanlan, do hereby command you to obey, and I order you to get your
nightie on and go downstairs to sleep."

"That's not fair," Trisha complained. She didn't want to, but the
voice in her head made her pull the nightgown over her head and let it
fall down over her body towards the floor.

Kaitlin shrugged. "Maybe it isn't, but let's go. Now."

"Don't want to," Trisha protested, but even as she did, she walked over
to the door. She sighed and walked out of the bedroom and towards the
stairs. Kaitlin followed behind her with a pillow and blanket.

Patrick had slept on the sofa before when he and Kaitlin were fighting
over something. Now it was Trisha's turn.

And, as had happened before, the noise of her parents walking passed
her half-opened door, woke Emma. She lay in bed quietly, listening to
them argue.

* * * * *

Saturday, January 20, 1872

"G'morning, father," Stephan Yingling and his brothers and sisters
greeted their father when he came into the kitchen. The Reverend liked
to sleep in on Saturday mornings, since he had to be up so early on
Sundays.

"Good morning, children," the Reverend answered, greeting his family.
"A pleasant good morning to you all." He sat down at the head of the
table and whispered a short prayer of grace.

"And to you, dear." Martha Yingling had come over. She kissed her
husband on the cheek and poured him a cup of coffee. "How would you
like your eggs?"

"Hard scrambled, I think." Yingling added a cube of sugar to the
coffee. He stirred it twice and took a sip. "So tell me, Stephan," he
asked. "Have you given any thought to what you want for your birthday?
It's but a few weeks away."

The boy took a bite of his own scrambled eggs. "Yes, sir, I have. I
was looking in the wish book... in the toy section. They had these
sets of tin soldiers --" The reverend frowned slightly. The "wish
book", the oversized winter edition of the Sears and Roebuck Company
mail order catalog, included a well-illustrated section of children's
toys.

"Soldiers?" His father answered slowly. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes, sir. They had this one set --"

Now his mother interrupted. "Is there anything else you'd like, dear?
Your grandfather and your uncle and aunts will want to send presents,
too, I'm sure."

"There was a bunch of different sets," the boy said eagerly. "If I got
enough of 'em I could do real battles."

"Surely there are other presents you'd like," Mrs. Yingling asked,
trying to lead him in a different, safer direction. "Clothes, perhaps,
or a book?"

Stephan made a face. "Clothes! No, thank you. There were a couple
books I saw, though, history books."

"Excellent," she replied. "After breakfast, you can show them to me."
The "wish book" also offered a small library of available books. If
she could just get him to point to one or two Thaddeus would approve
of.

"Now enough talk of birthdays." She brought over the pan and dumped
three scrambled eggs onto her husband's plate. "Finish your
breakfasts, the both of you." And to herself, she added, 'in peaceful
silence... please.'

* * * * *

"Fold that blanket please, Trisha," Kaitlin asked.

"Do I get to take it upstairs," Trisha said sourly, "or am I sleeping
down here again tonight?"

"That depends. Should I expect a repeat of last night?"

Trisha shook her head. "No, I don't feel as... eager as I did last
night. I don't know if I should be upset or relieved?"

"Do you understand any of what happened to you yesterday?"

"I understand that you refused me again. I'm your husband, blast it.
I have certain rights --"

"At the moment, _husband_," Kaitlin told her coolly, "your rights
include the right to wear a pouch again. The reason you were so
'eager' last night is that your monthlies are about to start."

"Shit!" The thought of her monthlies stole all the wind from Trisha's
sails. She sighed and began to fold the blanket.

"You might as well take that blanket upstairs," Kaitlin added. "I
don't expect to have any problems with you for the next four nights."

Trisha stiffened. "Oh, you'll have trouble with me, Kaitlin. I can
still argue with you, even if that's all I can do."

"In that case, Trisha, leave the blanket -- and the pillow -- down
here. It will save you the trip upstairs to fetch them tonight."

"I'll sleep in my own bed, thank you."

"You'll sleep down here as long as you think like that." Kaitlin
crossed her arms in front of her and glared at Trisha. "I can make it
an order, or you can keep your dignity and do it of your own pigheaded
free will."

* * * * *

Dolores gently tapped her knife against the side of her glass. "I do
not mean to interrupt, but I have an announcement to make."

"What is it?" Teresa asked.

"I have had a wonderful visit here with you all," she told them, "but
it is time for me to be going home."

"Do you _have_ to leave?" Constanza asked sadly.

"Yeah, do you have to?" Enrique repeated his older sister's question.

"Please stay," Arnie insisted, "for a little while at least."

Dolores shook her head. "I have already paid for my ticket. I will
leave on Monday, the 29th."

"I... we will all miss you, Dolores," Teresa said. "It has been a
pleasure to have you here, and you've been so much of a help." She
didn't add that much of that help had been in dealing with Arnoldo.

"It had been _my_ pleasure, cousin," Dolores answered. "Seeing you
all, seeing how much my young cousins have grown." She looked at
Arnie. "And seeing how my cousin, Arnoldo, has grown into the man of
the house."

Arnie looked at her and then at Teresa. "Mama, we must throw her a
going away party, the biggest one ever."

"That... that is not necessary, Arnoldo," Dolores told him. "And it
would be so much work for your mother."

"I will help," Arnie said. "We will all help." He looked at his
sisters and his younger brother. "Won't we?" The children also
agreed. "There, you see, Dolores. It is decided. We will do such a
good job that Mama will not have to lift a finger."

Teresa raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and who will cook the food for this
fiesta you want to have for Dolores?"

"Well," Arnie replied, "that much of a finger I will let you lift." He
grinned at his own joke.

"Oh, thank you," Teresa said sarcastically. "I will try to help and
not get in your way." She wasn't going to show it, but she was proud
of how he was trying to be the one in charge. 'Thank you, Dolores,'
she said to herself. 'For this, thank you.'

* * * * *

"That is surely a lot of drink, Cerise." Wilma put down her pen and
closed the inventory book. She'd spent the best part of an hour
entering the latest delivery of wine and hard liquor.

Her employer shrugged. "For a house this size and in such a place as
Eerie, perhaps. When I worked for Madame Gabriella in Savannah -- ah,
but that is a story for another time. Just now, I wish a story, as it
were, from you."

"From me?" Wilma scratched her heard for a moment. "I guess. What
kind of a story d'you want t'hear?"

"I wish to hear that you have settled the matter between yourself,
Rosalyn, and Beatriz. Can you tell me that story?"

Wilma sighed. "'Fraid not, unless you wanna hear a fairy tale. Things
ain't at all settled between us -- not yet, anyway."

"They must be settled -- and soon. Beatriz' last attempt to discredit
you involved a patron of this house. He was displeased. I will _not_
lose business because of this fight between the three of you."

"If you'd let me whup them -- even just one of them -- that'd put an
end to it."

"No, I will not have one of my... staff injured -- not in any way that
a patron might see."

Wilma smiled wryly at that. "And they do see everything, don't they?"
She chuckled. "That's what they pay for."

"Ma oui, and they will not pay -- I will not ask them to pay -- for
less than the best."

"You got me then," Wilma admitted. "I'd probably have t'do some damage
t'break their spirits enough to stop bothering me."

"We understand each other, then," the other woman said. "I do not wish
their spirits -- or anything else -- broken." She thought for a
moment, as if remembering something she disliked remembering.
"Besides, if you hurt them, but you do _not_ break their spirits,
things could become truly worse."

"I can take care of myself, Cerise. Don't you worry none about that."

"I most assuredly shall worry. That is a part of my job. And do not
be so certain. You can be... distracted, after all."

Wilma smiled, thinking of how she was so easily and so often distracted
by men. "Well, there are times when I got other... things on my mind."

"To be sure. And at such times, _things_ can happen. There are... I
know of stories where one girl settled an argument with another...
permanently."

Wilma's expression soured. "Cerise, if you'll warn me 'bout _that_,
why won't you let me deal with Rosalyn and Beatriz the way I want?"

"Because you will deal with them the way that _I_ want. You have two
choices."

"And they are?"

"This matter will be settled to my satisfaction -- _my_ satisfaction --
by... let us say, by the end of the month."

"Or..."

"Or, as much as it pains me to say this, you will no longer be my
second in this house."

* * * * *

Dolores leaned her head on Ramon's shoulder as they danced to the waltz
the band was playing. "Mmm, I think that I will miss these dances most
of all."

"Miss," Ramon asked. "Won't you be coming to the dances any more?"

"After next week, I won't be able to," she told him. "I am going home.
I have a ticket for the stage a week this Monday."

"Why are you leaving? I thought that you liked... like Eerie."

"There are many things about Eerie that I do like, one thing in
particular." She smiled up at him. "But I am homesick. Besides,
Carnival is coming, and I want to be there. The Carnival fiesta in
Mexico City is something truly amazing to see."

"So I have heard. Maybe someday --"

Dolores stopped moving and stepped back so that they were facing each
other, still holding hands. "Why 'someday', Ramon? Come with me."

"What? I... my job at Aaron's... and where would I stay? I have no
family in Mexico City."

"You could stay at my... at my parents' hacienda on the outskirts of
the city. We have quite a large place with many rooms, many
_bedrooms_." She said the last word in a low purr.

"I... I will have to think about it."

"Of course. It is not an easy decision." She stepped in close and put
her arms around him. As they began to dance, Ramon could feel her
pressing her body against his. "And this," she whispered, "is just my
way of helping you make that decision."

* * * * *

Sunday, January 21, 1872

"Hola, Arnoldo, nice suit."

Arnie and his family were outside the church, starting home for their
noon meal. Arnie stopped when he heard his name.

"Isn't that Pablo Escobar?" Teresa Diaz asked, pointing to the boy
standing some ten feet away.

Arnie made a face. "Si, it is Pablo."

"You may stay here and talk to him," Teresa told her son, "but do not
be long. Seá±or O'Toole expects you at noon, and I want you to eat
something first."

"Why don't I just go home with the rest of you. If I want to talk to
Pablo, I can do that another time."

"Arnoldo, I know that the two of you do not get along. Today, it seems
that Pablo is trying to be polite."

"There is no shame in trying to make peace, Arnoldo," Dolores added.
"If nothing good comes from it, you still will be the man who tried."

That convinced him. "Very well, Dolores... Mama." He shrugged and
walked over to Pablo. "Hola."

"That is a nice suit you wore to church today, Arnoldo. Is it new?"

Arnie shook his head. "You know this suit. I've had it for almost a
year."

"I know it. It is a shame that Seá±or O'Toole does not pay you enough
to buy some decent clothes. This suit..." He turned around slowly.
"_is_ new. It is good to work for someone like Seá±or Ritter, who pays a
man properly for good work."

"If he pays for _good_ work, then why would he be paying you?"

"Ha! I suppose the boy who scrubs spittoons knows about a man's work."
The two youths glared at each other. They balled their fists,
circling, looking for an opening.

A stern voice stopped them. "In the very yard of our Lord's house, on
His day, is this the way you act?"

"Padre," Arnie said. "He started it."

Father de Castro shook his head. "You two have been fighting for so
long that I do not believe either of you know remember what you are
really fighting over."

"But he insulted me," Arnie argued. "I came over because I thought he
wanted to talk, and he insulted me."

"That is a lie," Pablo yelled.

"Truth or lie, that is enough," de Castro said. "Just go home and
think about what you want to do with your lives, and if you will let
this hatred between you sour those lives."

Pablo laughed. "Let him go running home to his mama, Padre. Me, I
have a man's job to do." By way of apology, he added, "But I, at
least, will think of what you said."

"I will go, Padre, because it is you that asks." Arnie turned to glare
at Pablo. "But this is not over. I am the better man, and I will
prove it."

* * * * *

Rachel gently put her hand on Ramon's arm. "So tell me, Ramon, what's
the matter with you?"

"Rachel." Ramon blinked and looked up at her. "I... I did not see you
standing there."

"If it's me you're asking, you ain't seen much of anything since you
came in today. Not the way you been looking up at the ceiling."

"I am sorry. I have been thinking about something."

"Something serious, I'm sure. So, _nu_, what is it all ready?" She
took a breath. "And don't you say it's just nothing. From such
nothings, a world can be built, as the Sages say."

He laughed. "I never could fool you, Rachel." He sighed. "It is
Dolores, Dolores Ybaá±ez. She is my problem."

"Seems to me that this Dolores has been a problem for you -- and for
mine Maggie -- for a while now. Something is changed, maybe, to get
you so _verklempt_... so upset."

"She's leaving Eerie. She told me last night that she's going home
next Monday."

"And it bothers you that she's leaving?" She looked at him closely.

He nodded. "It is more than that, Rachel. She... she asked me to go
with her."

"And..." Rachel raised a questioning eyebrow.

"And..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head again. "I do
not know. _That_ is what I have been thinking about all day."

* * * * *

"Once Amy gets a man to keep
` She'll be alone when not asleep.
` But until that day her life's her own;
` Her wedding gown is still unsewn."

"Whenever dance hall girls kick high,
` They never ask the how and why.
` When love goes wrong, they hardly cry;
` The tune of love is not a lie."

Jessie finished the song with a flourish and bowed low to a round of
applause as a few more coins joined the ones already at her feet.
"Thank you, gents," she said to the crowd gathered in the parlor of
_La_ _Parisienne_. "Glad you liked my act."

Most of the men were standing, though a few sat on chairs or the long
sofa. Mae and Wilma were sitting on the laps of two of them.

As Jessie bowed, the man whose lap Mae was on whispered something in
her ear. "That's a grand idea, Ralphie," she answered and stood up.
She took Ralphie's hand as he got to his feet. "Nice show, Jessie,"
she added. "You, too, Rosalyn."

"Thank you so much," Rosalyn replied. She played the piano, and Lady
Cerise had told her to accompany Jessie. She tried to smile as she
watched Mae lead Ralphie towards the stairs. 'Beatriz is upstairs for
the second time,' she thought, 'and Wilma's been up and down with her
gentleman, while I have to sit here and listen to her sister's
howling.'

"You done with the show, then, Jessie?" a tall, bearded man asked.

Jessie was kneeling down to pick up the money the men had thrown. "I
am, Max."

"In that case," Max ventured, "how 'bout me and you go upstairs, and
you can sing something just for me."

Shamus' canary, as some called her, shook her head. "Sorry, Max, but
the only singing I do here is downstairs."

"The hell you do." He took a step towards her. "A gal who works in a
place like this --"

"I ain't the singer my sister is," Wilma said, stepping in front of
him, "but I got _other_ talents you might wanna try out."

Max's eyes ranged up and down Wilma's form. Her hair was down around
her shoulders, and she was wearing a lavender corset that exposed most
of her pillowy breasts and a silky white pair of drawers that clung to
her wide hips and teardrop ass. "You'll do, darling," he said, "and
then some." He took Wilma's hand as his lust overcame his anger.

Another man walked over to stand besides Rosalyn. "I want to see what
else this pretty lady can do with them clever hands of hers."

"You would be surprised, sir," she answered in a sultry voice, "and
very much pleased." She reached over and ran a finger over the bulge
at his crotch. "Mmm, lovely. As my friend, Blanche Dubois, used to
say, _I_ have always delighted in the hardness of strangers."

Cerise walked over to Jessie, who was putting the money the men had
tossed at her into her reticule. "And I have always delighted in
whatever my guests have delighted in, Jessie. Here is the money we
agreed upon." She handed Jessie a five dollar silver piece. "And I
would be more than delighted to continue paying, were you to sing for
my guests in a regular basis."

Jessie put the coin in with the others. "And _I'd_ be delighted t'take
the money, Cerise, but... can I think about it for a little bit more?"

"Oui, cherie, but do not take too long."

* * * * *

Maggie was browning the cubes of meat for the stew she was making, when
she heard the kitchen door slam. "Hello," she called, turning to see
who had come from the yard.

"Mama, mama, say it is not so." Lupe ran over and wrapped her arms
around her mother.

Maggie put down the fork she was using to turn the meat and looked
down. "Lupe... why are you crying?"

"Uncle... Uncle Ramon." the girl was sobbing, the words coming out one
at a time. "He-he... is... going... away!"

She reached down and gently hugged her daughter. "Now who told you
that?"

"He... he... did. I-I went over to... to ask why he did not go to
church with us." She let out a sob, then continued. "He was t-talking
with Bubbe Rachel. I stood quiet and waited. And... and I heard him
say he... was -- that lady, Dolores. She is going home, and he... he
is going to... to... to go with her."

Lupe hugged Maggie tightly. Tears streamed down her daughter's cheeks,
and she was crying too hard to continue talking.

"Now what's ailing you, little one?" Jane had just come in from the
bar.

Maggie picked up her daughter. "Jane, please take over for me. I am
making that spicy stew with the chilis. You know the recipe, I think."

"I do." Jane went over to the stove. She used Maggie's fork to begin
to turn the meat.

"Bueno," Maggie told the other woman. "I am taking Lupe upstairs to
lie down for a bit. I will return as soon as I can."

Lupe rested her head on Maggie's shoulder. "Are you going to talk to
Uncle Ramon, mama?"

"Yes," Maggie told her. "But not right now, Lupe. You are too upset
to leave alone for very long, and I have to make the meals for the
restaurant."

"But Uncle Ramon..." Lupe's voice trailed off. She was still
sniffling.

"I do not think that he is leaving today," Maggie said. "I will talk
to him and find out what is going on. I promise." It was as much a
promise to herself as to Lupe.

* * * * *

Monday, January 22, 1872

Jessie was sweeping the floor near the front of the saloon, when Laura
came in. "Morning, Laura," she greeted the other woman.

"Hi, Jessie," Laura answered. "This is handy. I wanted to talk to
you."

"What about?"

"Arnie's lessons. I don't think I can help out with them anymore."

"Why not?"

"The baby." She gently touched her stomach.

Jessie looked worried. "Ain't nothing wrong, I hope."

"No... it's nothing like that." She smiled, grateful for her friend's
concern. "Last Friday, the baby started moving. I could feel it...
feel it moving inside me."

"What's that got to do with Arnie?"

"Not Arnie - not exactly. But every time he fired his pistol, the baby
moved - jumped, almost. I think the baby heard the noise, and - maybe
- got scared by it." She rubbed her stomach, the bulge that marked her
pregnancy. "I can't exactly tell it not to be scared, so I figured
that it'd be better if I wasn't there when he's practicing."

Jessie chuckled. "You're probably right." She lightly placed her hand
next to Laura's. "You behave yourself for now, little one, and don't
give your mamma no trouble. You do that, and, when you get old enough,
I'll teach _you_ how t'shoot."

"Thanks for the offer," Laura replied, "but I sort of plan to do that
myself." She smiled at Jessie again and added, "But you're welcome to
help."

* * * * *

"Hola, Ramon," Maggie said softly as she walked into the Silverman's
store.

Ramon was restocking a display of shirts. He turned at the sound of
her voice and smiled. "Margarita... what brings you over here?"

"I-I heard that you were l-leaving Eerie, and I... I came to say
goodbye."

His smile faded. "Who told you that I was leaving?"

"Lupe heard you telling Rachel about it yesterday." Maggie felt a
spark of hope. "Did she not understand something she heard you say?"

Ramon shrugged. "Only in part." He looked around. It was mid-
morning, and Rachel Silverman was waiting on the only customer in the
store. Aaron was sitting near the register reading. "Can we talk in
private?" Ramon asked.

"Where?"

"We can go in the back of the store. Would that be all right?"

Maggie nodded. She followed him through a curtained doorway into the
storeroom. He turned a corner and stopped next to a high set of
shelves filled with boxes.

"What did you mean 'in part', Ramon?"

"Dolores Ybaá±ez is going back to Mexico City next Monday. She --
Margarita, she asked me to come with her."

Maggie's eyes went wide. "Are you going?"

"I-I have not decided. It is a big step. I have --" He paused for a
beat and seemed to be considering something. "Margarita..." he began
again, "... how would you feel if I... if I did go with her?"

It was an unexpected question. "I... I would miss you very much. You-
-you are a... a good friend."

Ramon gave her a wry look. "A good friend? Yes, and, perhaps, more
than just a friend." On a sudden impulse, he pulled her to him. Then
he paused, his lips above hers, just long enough for her to push him
away if she wanted to. When her only reaction was a surprised widening
of her eyes, he kissed her, deeply.

A pleasant warm feeling ran through Maggie's body. Before she realized
it, her arms were around his neck and she was returning his kiss with
an urgency that surprised her. 'He will stay,' she thought with
boundless relief. 'Wait until I tell Lupe and Ernesto.'

Lupe and Ernesto -- the thought of them drove the passion from her.

With a gasp that was almost a sob, she lowered her arms and pushed
Ramon -- no, she pushed _herself_ away. "I cannot do this," she said,
shaking her head.

"Margarita." Ramon reached for her, but she twisted away from him. He
sighed. "I do not understand your changeable ways. Tell me
truthfully, what is it that you cannot do?"

Eyes filling with tears, she seemed to struggle to find the words that
would not come. But, a moment later, still silent, she turned and ran
from the store.

* * * * *

Reverend Thaddeus Yingling walked around his desk to greet the two
parishioners coming into his small office. "Trisha, how good to see
you again. And Kaitlin, as well. How can I help you two la..." He
stopped as Trisha's expression changed. "...you two on this Monday?"

"You can sit down for a start," Trisha told him, smiling again. Both
she and Kaitlin sat down. Trisha waited until the man was sitting
behind his desk to begin. "A while back, you came into the store and
asked how Kaitlin and I were getting on. Do you remember?"

"Indeed. I offered my services if you were having any problems because
of your... because of what happened." He put his fingers together,
forming a small tent with his hands. "May I assume that you've come
here today to take me up on that offer?"

"You may," Trisha replied. "Kaitlin's been making a lot of trouble
where there shouldn't be any."

"_I'm_ making trouble!" Kaitlin glared at Trisha. "You're the one who
keeps forcing me to --"

"A husband shouldn't have to force his wife." Trisha looked straight
at Yingling. "You tell her that, Reverend. I've got my -- what do you
call them... conjugal -- I've got my conjugal rights."

Yingling looked askance at her, but he quickly regained the calm face
he customarily used when a parishioner threw some unpleasant news his
way. "Trisha, are you saying that you want to have... _relations_ with
Kaitlin?"

"I am." Trisha nodded. "Doesn't the Good Book say that a man should
cleave to his wife?"

"Matthew 19:3," Yingling answered her. "It also says that maid shall
not lie with maid."

"But I've got... needs," Trisha protested, "the same as I always had."
She giggled. "Well, maybe not the _same_, but damned -- excuse me,
Reverend -- darned close. Kaitlin's my wife. It's her duty to --"

"Duty!" Kaitlin spat. "It's not supposed to be a _duty_, Trisha.
'Rejoice in the wife of your youth.' That's in the Bible, too. Isn't
it, Reverend?"

"It is; Proverbs, chapter 5, verses 18 and 19." Yingling wasn't
certain how to proceed. "The Bible says many things, Kaitlin. And all
of them are intended to guide us to do our Lord's will."

Trisha shook her head. "I don't know what got into you, Kaitlin. When
I first asked you..." She stopped and looked at Yingling as if studying
him. "Can I trust you, Reverend Yingling, trust that you won't tell
anyone else what we say to you?"

Yingling seemed to be studying the pair in return. "Have you ever
heard of my telling anyone what I was told in confidence?" When
Kaitlin and Trisha both said no, he continued. "I am here as the
representative of our Savior, to give aid and solace in His name. I
would betray Him, as well as the two of you, were I to reveal what I am
told in secret, and _that_ I will _never_ do."

"That's more than good enough for me," Trisha said. "When I first..."
She paused and looked over at Kaitlin.

"_Now_ you're having second thoughts?" Kaitlin said angrily. "You
dragged me over here, and the good reverend has promised not to say
anything. Go ahead and tell the man what you think is so important."

Trisha frowned. "All right, then. When I first asked Kaitlin to
have... relations with me, she said that she wanted to think about it a
while. I gave her --"

"You gave me!" Kaitlin interrupted. "I think not. I asked you for a
week to think about it, and you agreed. And reluctantly, I might add."

"Whatever," Trisha continued. "When that week was over, you seemed
more than happy to go along with the idea. We went at each other
pretty good for more than a few times. And it felt _real_ good."
Trisha's face reddened. "Then, all of a sudden, she _won't_ do it
anymore."

"Do it?" Yingling asked, not certain that he wanted to hear the answer.

"Yeah," Trisha answered. "I'd start out kissing her, touching her
where she likes to be touched, but she makes me stop -- that potion I
took, it makes me obey her. That ain't right. A wife's supposed to be
-- what's the word... submit, yeah, a wife's got to submit to her
husband, not the other way around." She looked at the minister, trying
to gauge his reaction. When she couldn't, she continued. "She
wouldn't let me touch her, even when she was touching _me_, touching my
--"

"Th-that's enough," Yingling quickly interrupted. "I get the idea."

Trisha pressed on. "But now she won't even do that. A couple of days
back, I really needed --"

"I said that is enough!" Yingling interrupted her again, using his
best preacher's voice. Trisha stopped, and both women looked at him.
"It is just as well that Kaitlin has stopped... stopped being a part of
what you described."

"What are you saying, Reverend?" Kaitlin asked, sounding a little
hesitant.

"Kaitlin, you and Trisha are both valued members of my congregation.
I've enjoyed working with you on various projects as well as being your
spiritual advisor." The man's voice turned harsh. "But, _as_ your
spiritual advisor, I tell you that what you and Trisha have described
to me just now must come to an end now and forever. It is unnatural,
evil."

Trisha looked shocked. "Evil? Don't you think you're being a little
hasty, Reverend?"

"Hasty, why do you say that?" He sounded surprised to be questioned.

"It seems to me that you're jumping the gun on this," Trisha said
carefully, not wanting to insult the man. "You're giving an answer
without really taking the time to think it through."

Yingling sighed. "I doubt that I shall change my opinion, but I will
agree to take more time to consider the matter -- for your sakes and
for the sake of the friendship that I believe we have shared. Please
come back Friday afternoon at... ah, is 2 PM all right?"

"Two, it is." Trisha stood and offered the man her hand. "We'll see
you then."

Yingling shook the offered hand. "Fine, and I'll give you both my
_thought-out_ opinion."

* * * * *

Arnie backed through the door into the kitchen, holding a heavy tray of
glassware. The room seemed empty. "Anybody here?" he asked
cautiously.

"Just me," Jane answered him. She was kneeling down, feeding the fire
in the wood stove. Her back was to him. "Maggie's in the pantry,
getting some more carrots."

Arnie nodded. He carried the tray the rest of the way to the sink and
set it carefully on the counter. Most of the glasses were empty and
went directly into the sink, but someone had left almost two fingers of
whiskey in one glass.

He looked around quickly. Jane was still working the fire. 'Better
hurry,' he thought. He took the glass and downed the liquor in one
quick gulp. The now-empty glass went into the sink.

Before he took another glass out of the tray, Arnie reached into his
pocket for a small, unmarked tin. He opened it and popped a sen-sen
into his mouth. He tasted the sweetness of the candy, a "breath
perfume" the manufacturer called it, in his mouth, even as he felt the
warmth of the whiskey settling in his stomach. It was a pleasant
combination.

At that same moment, Maggie walked in carrying several large bunches of
carrots. 'I took that sen-sen just in time,' Arnie thought. 'Must be
my lucky day.'

He was smiling when he came out of the kitchen a short time later with
a second tray, this one full of clean glasses. He walked behind the
bar and set the tray down under the counter.

R.J. watched him closely. "You look a little unsteady there, Arnie."

"Seá±or?" What was R.J. talking about?

"Unsteady, like you were having trouble walking... or you were drunk."
The barman leaned close and sniffed. "I don't smell anything, but that
doesn't mean there isn't something to smell."

Arnie laughed. He'd fooled the man. "There is nothing there, R.J."

"I hope not, 'cause I heard Shamus warn you. He's not in the best of
moods right now, and I'd advise you not to cross him."

"Aaah," Arnie said, trying to sound blasé. "He ain't gonna find
nothing,"

"Like I said, I hope not." R.J. shrugged. "By the way, the folks at a
couple of those tables you bussed owed money. You pick it up?"

Arnie reached into his pocket and pulled out several coins. "Here you
go. I think we even got a tip or two."

R.J. put the money on the counter and sorted it into two piles. "We
did." R.J. put most of the coins in the register, but a few went into
the "Tips Jar" Shamus kept behind the bar. Tips were split between
R.J., the women, and Arnie, with Shamus taking only a share as
bartender.

"I better go back and wash those glasses," Arnie said. R.J. nodded and
started to sort the glassware.

Arnie started back towards the kitchen. He was trying not to laugh.
"Fooled him about drinking _and_ managed to keep twenty-seven cents
from the tips," he whispered to himself. "This _is_ my lucky day."

* * * * *

Tuesday, January 23, 1872

It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and Miss Osboune was allowing her
students to eat their lunches outside. Emma, Ysabel, and Tomas took
their usual places at one of the tables farthest from the schoolhouse.

Tomas was the first to take the lid off his lunch pail. "I got tamales
again and... coricos." He held up three of the yellow, ring-shaped
cornmeal cookies. "Anybody want to trade?"

"I got tamales, too, and some dried apple slices," Ysabel said.

Emma took out a sandwich, a thick cut of roast beef between two slices
of home-baked bread. "Trade you each half of this for a tamale, okay?"

"Done," Tomas replied. Ysabel nodded as well. Both placed a tamale on
the lid of Emma's pail, which served as her plate.

Emma glanced around. "Is anybody looking?" When her friends shook
their heads, "No", Emma twisted around on the bench, so that her right
leg was resting on it. She leaned over and pulled her mumbly-peg knife
from her high-button shoe.

She opened the knife blade and used it to cut the sandwich neatly in
half. She wiped the blade clean with her napkin, folded it into its
sheath, and slid it back down into her shoe.

"You oughta just wear pants, Emma," Tomas said, as he took his piece of
chicken. "Then you wouldn't have to hide it in your shoe like that.
You could just keep it in your pocket."

"I'd probably have to hide it anyway," Emma answered. "Ma was real
angry at Uncle Liam when she found out he give it to me."

"Why didn't she just take it then?" Ysabel asked, taking a bite of
chicken.

"She did, but Trisha gave it back. She said a boy my age had every
right to have a knife like that."

"Ma said I wasn't a boy, but she agreed to let me keep it, as long as I
kept it in my room. She checked my pockets when I wore pants. I left
it in my room or hid it in my shoe, same as I do now. Since I'm
wearing dresses, she figures I can't be carrying it."

"Is that why you stopped wearing pants," Ysabel asked, "so you could
sneak out with that knife?"

Emma shook her head. "Nope. I got tired of being called 'Patches.' I
know Hermione and Clyde started it to tease me, but it was getting to
be a nickname. Last week, when we was playing ball, and I had it, Bert
yells, 'Toss it to me, Patches.' That was the last straw, my own
teammate calling me that."

"Did it work?" Tomas asked, "or is he still calling you that?"

"Not since the next day when I came to school in that yellow dress of
mine," Emma replied. "The one with the lace at the cuffs." She
finished the first tamale and wiped the corners of her mouth, copying a
quick gesture Ysabel had made moments before. "I'd've thought I'd get
more teasing if I came in a dress instead of pants, not the other way
around. It doesn't make a lick of sense."

* * * * *

Someone once asked Molly O'Toole, "Why does Shamus mostly curse in that
funny talk of his?"

"That's Cheyenne, he's talking," Molly explained. "They raised him, ye
know. As for why himself cusses in it, well, that's me doing. I'm not
one for using profanity; I heard too much of it as a lass from me
father and me brothers. So, when we was first married, I asked him if
he'd stop."

"And he stopped?"

"Whust, no. He said it weren't natural for a man t'not be cussing,
said it was part of what made a man a man. 'When a dog can't bite the
one that's hurting it, it whimpers,' he says t'me, 'but when a man
can't strike back, he can still curse.' Now, what could I be saying
t'that?"

"You must've said something, to make him change."

"I did," Molly said with a satisfied chuckle. "I told him how his
cussing was bad for business. He had such a talent for it, says I,
that a man that's feeling the need t'be cussing some while he drank
wouldn't come in t'our place for fear of being outcussed by himself
behind the bar."

"And that worked?"

"O'course it did. He's a man of business, me Shamus. Besides, he
found that he got just as much satisfaction -- which is half the joy of
cussing, ain't it? -- doing it in the Cheyenne. Not one man in a
hundred knows what he's saying, especially here, where there ain't no
Cheyenne about, so they don't care what he says." She laughed. "And
neither do I."

* * * * *

Shamus was keeping his promise. For more than an hour, he'd been going
strong in Cheyenne on the results of the Fort Grant trial. He was
calling down the wrath of the spirits that his Cheyenne stepfather
worshipped and the Trinity and saints of his own Roman Catholic
heritage down upon William Orry, the judge and jury, and the Papagos
Indian tribe. In between calls for vengeance, he prayed for the souls
of 100 Aravaipas Apache, all but 8 of them women or children.

The victims had been repeatedly shot or had their brains beaten out of
them, many of them in their sleep. Some of the women were raped before
they died. Bodies were mutilated. Thankfully, some 30 children had
survived, but they were the prisoners of the Papagos.

The perpetrators of this evil were 48 Mexicans, 8 Anglos, and 94
Papagos, all led by Bill Orry, former mayor of Tucson.

"That Orry bastard calls it a 'memorable and glorious morning', may he
rot in hell." Shamus was speaking Cheyenne as he quoted from the
newspaper next to him on the bar. "Some lying judge tells the jury
it's all right for folks t'be defending themselves if the Army won't,
and it takes them misbegotten vermin all of 19 minutes t'be letting
Orry and them other sons o'the devil go free."

Molly stood near him. When he downed another whiskey -- she'd lost
count how many, she finally spoke up. "Are ye sure ye should be
drinking like that so early in the day, Love?"

"And why shouldn't I?" Shamus answered her in English. "This here is a
'memorable and glorious morning', ain't it?"

She shook her head sadly. "No, it ain't, I'm sorry t'be saying." She
took his hand. "Shamus, Love, for me, please go and have yuirself a
bit of a lie-down."

"Gotta stay." His voice was shaky, his words slurred. "I-I got me a
saloon t'be running."

"There ain't that many here just now. It's early, and, besides, R.J.'s
here t'be helping me if there is a crowd."

"R.J., aye, he's a good man, R.J."

The taller man had held back, standing some distance away to give Molly
and Shamus some privacy. Now he stepped over at the mention of his
name. "Let me give you a hand up to your room, Shamus."

"I can... can m-manage by meself, R.J," Shamus told him. "The People -
- that's what the Cheyenne called themselves -- they taught me how t'be
walking, silent as a shadow."

R.J. put Shamus' arm over his shoulder. "Really? Can you show me how
you do that on the way up to your room?"

"All r-right," Shamus agreed. "Ye start like this..." He took an
unsteady step and, with the sort of dignity that only a very drunken
man can ever assume, let R.J. lead him upstairs.

* * * * *

Ramon took a second, longer sip. "This is an excellent madeira,
Sebastian."

"I thought you'd like it," Sebastian Ortega replied. "We have several
cases of it at the store, if you'd like to buy some more." Sebastian's
family ran the only grocery in Eerie, stocked mostly with produce from
the land-grant ranch they still controlled and had converted to
farming.

The two men were in Ramon's sitting room, part of the old guesthouse
attached to Carmen and Whit's home. Carmen and Ramon had inherited the
town house from their parents. Carmen and Whit had taken the main
house, and Ramon had moved into the attached guesthouse.

Ramon chuckled. "Ever the storekeeper."

"And you are not, over at Silverman's?"

"I try. To tell the truth, I enjoy working there more than I probably
would have enjoyed being a rancher like my brother."

"I wish you were more like your brother. I know that he will buy some
of this madeira. In fact, he already has."

"My brother can afford 50-year old wine far better than I can."

"Not a case, perhaps, but you can buy a bottle or two, surely."

"Perhaps, for now, I will enjoy this gift bottle you brought."

"I thought that it might make things easier," Sebastian said, pouring
himself a glass. "You sounded most troubled when you asked me to drop
by tonight. What is it, money or women?" He hesitated a moment, then
smiled wryly. "From what you just said about this madeira, your
finances are the same as ever, terrible. It must be women."

Ramon chuckled. "It is. Dolores... she is leaving for home next
Monday."

"Ah, and you don't want her to go, is that it?"

"No, she asked me to go with her."

"Poor Ramon, a beautiful woman wants him to run away with her. I
should have such trouble, my friend."

"I... do not... I am not certain that I-I want to go with her." He
took a breath. "Margarita..."

Sebastian finished the thought. "Wants you to stay? Or is it that you
want to stay with her?"

"That's the problem. I-I don't know what... _who_ I want."

"They are both muy attractive woman. I would not mind having either of
them --"

"Sebastian, Margarita is not that sort of woman."

"I meant as a sweetheart." He raised an eyebrow. "Is Dolores _that_
sort of woman? Ramon... having you been holding out on me?"

"I have not... _we_ have not. Not yet anyway, but Dolores has all but
promised that we will if I go back to Mexico City with her."

"I can see how you would want to avoid having to suffer such a thing."

"I am hardly inexperienced in such matters, Sebastian. It is just
that, for so long, it has been Margarita that I have... wanted."

"Leaving town with another woman would certainly not help your chances
with her, would they?"

"No, and now you see my problem."

"Actually, I see two problems," Sebastian told his friend.

"Two?"

Sebastian reached over and topped off the wine in Ramon's glass. "Si,
the problem with your decision, and the problem that the madeira in
this bottle is not enough to help you decide what to decide."

* * * * *

"Just remember what I told ye," Shamus said gruffly. "Don't be singing
_that_ song."

Jessie glared back at him. "I know what you said." She waved him
away. "You just go downstairs and introduce me."

Shamus grumbled something under his breath. He walked downstairs and
over to the small stage. "All right, folks; all right." He clapped
his hands to get the crowd's attention. When things were quiet, he
continued. "As the owner of the Eerie Saloon --"

"And a damned Injun lover," someone shouted.

Shamus eyes narrowed to thin slits. He looked around to see who might
have yelled. When he couldn't, he counted to ten and took a breath.
"I'm proud t'be presenting -- even if some of ye don't deserve it --
the pride of Eerie, Jessie Hanks." He began to clap his hands, and
most of the crowd soon followed.

"The years creep slowly by, my darling..."

Jessie started down the steps. She finished the song, standing on
stage, to a hearty round of applause. She bowed and moved on to "Betsy
from Pike."

As the second round of applause died down, somebody yelled, "Sing
'Collee's Ride' next." A few other voices agreed.

"Aw, you don't really want me t'sing that one, do you?" Jessie said,
trying to smile.

"I think she wants to be coaxed," someone yelled.

Others chimed in. "Sing it, Jessie."

"C'mon."

"Collee's Ride... Collee's Ride."

Jessie looked over at Shamus, standing over at the bar. He frowned,
shook his head slowly, and mouthed the word, "No".

"You sure?" Jessie asked, still looking at the barman. The crowd
thought that she was talking to them and began to applaud.

Shamus glared at her and nodded once, firmly. He was sure.

Jessie picked up her guitar, still not certain what to do. She saw
Molly come over and stand next to her husband. Without saying a word,
she took his hand in her own. Her face was a mask of sadness.

"I know how much you all like 'Collee's Ride', but I just learned me
another song. I like it better, and I'm gonna sing that one instead,
whether you like it or not." She frowned for a moment, as if
challenging them to protest. Then she winked and began to sing.

"When the dance hall girls kick high..."

There were a few protests, but the crowd settled down. By the end of
the song, they were clapping along. And more than a few tossed coins,
when she finished.

"I think you like that one, too," Jessie said, bowing. She glanced
over at Shamus and Molly. His expression didn't change, but Molly
nodded slightly and mouthed the words, "Thank you."

* * * * *

Maggie turned down the wick. The lamp dimmed so that the hall was
almost dark. Satisfied, she stepped through her bedroom door...

...into a room she did not know.

It was larger than her bedroom, but with no windows. A fire blazed in
a six-foot high hearth that took up much of one wall, the only light in
the room. A high-backed chair stood near the fireplace and turned away
from her. There was a bed in the center of the room, wider than her
own, with the covers pulled back and a sloping cloth canopy above it.

She sniffed the air; cinnamon, one of her favorite scents. The floor
was covered with a thick rug; fur of some sort; she could feel it
between her toes.

Between her toes? She had been wearing slippers.

Maggie looked down. Yes, she was barefoot. More than that, her dress
and apron were gone. She wore a pale blue silk chemise and matching
drawers, both trimmed in white lace. The chemise was sheer enough that
she could see her dark nipples press against the material. When had
she bought such a garment? For that matter, when -- and why -- had she
put it on?

A figure rose from the chair and turned to face her. It was a dark
silhouette against the flame. "Margarita?"

"Ramon," she gasped in surprise. "What is happening?"

"What do _you_ want to happen?" He moved towards her.

Maggie realized that he wore only a pair of gray, cotton drawers. As
never before, she appreciated his broad shoulders, his well-muscled
arms and chest, his narrow waist.

The bulge in his drawers.

Her nipples crinkled and grew tight. There was a warm, somehow
pleasing ache between her legs.

His arms went around her and pulled her close. Her breasts were
pressed against his firm chest. His bulge was pressed against her
groin. "Ramon," she whispered, "this is not right."

"Do you really care?" he answered. He took her head in his hands then
and steadied her as they kissed.

She moaned softly as their lips met. Her mouth opened slightly. His
tongue slipped in and began to tangle with hers. She trembled at the
sensations running through her body.

An instant later -- though she didn't know how it came to be -- they
were on the bed, still kissing. Her chemise, she realized, was gone.
Ramon broke the kiss and smiled at her. "Do not be afraid, Margarita.
Everything that happens is what _you_ wish to happen."

Astonished, she began to shake her head and mutter, "No...noooo..."

He stilled her protests by kissing her again, softly, on the lips,
before moving his head lower. He left a trail of kisses down past her
chin, on her throat, and on down to her chest. He kissed one breast,
then the other. He switched between them, alternating kisses, with his
rough tongue, and with gentle love bites.

Maggie arched her back, pushing her breasts to his mouth. She trembled
again, nearly lost in the pleasure.

Her hand snaked down of its own will, and her fingers took hold of his
member. Madre de Dios, he was naked! She felt him throb as she
carefully guided him into -- she was naked, too! -- into _her_.

Maggie's eyes went wide with surprise as he slid inside her. She
hadn't known how wet she was -- or how much she wanted him. She almost
purred as he filled her. It was like...

A blessing, a healing.

Ramon shifted his body and began to pump in and out of her. It was as
if she had become Lupe, and Ramon was Miguel. She started to move her
hips to match him, and the sensations became even more intense. She
wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper. Her hands
clawed at his back.

Waves of sexual heat spread from her groin like a spill of warm syrup
to every part of her. Her fingertips, her hair, even, tingled. The
pleasure grew deeper and warmer, and pushed against her like she were a
dam. At long last, the dam broke and flowed across her like a flood.
Maggie gasped.

She screamed.

She woke up.

Maggie was in her own bed. Alone. Her left hand was on her breast,
under her nightgown, a nipple between the finger and thumb of her left
hand. Her right hand -- no! -- it was flat against her crotch, rubbing
against her most intimate place through the thin material of her
drawers.

She pulled her hands back as if from a hot stove. She cast off the
covers and clambered quickly out of bed. A bowl and a pitcher of water
sat on her dresser for washing herself in the morning. She splashed a
handful of water in her face, shivering at how cold it felt.

"This has never -- never! -- happened before," she whispered.: "Oh,
Ramon, why did you have to kiss me like that, and why -- Madre de Dios
-- why did I kiss you back?"

She sank back onto the bed, her head in her hands. And she began to
cry.

* * * * *

Wednesday, January 24, 1872

Tommy Carson knocked on the half-opened door. "Telegram, Sheriff."

"He's not here right now, son," Paul Grant called out. "Will I do?"

The boy looked at the envelope he was carrying. "It says, 'Sheriff
Talbot' on it, but I don't think my pa'll mind if I give it to you,
sir." He handed Paul the telegram and stood quietly watching while the
deputy read. "Is it something important?" he finally asked.

"Yep." Paul tossed the boy a penny. "Here, you go. Thanks."

Timmy caught the coin. "Thank you, sir," he yelled as he ran out the
door.

"Heading straight for the penny candies at Silverman's, I'll bet," Paul
said with a chuckle.

Paul picked up his hat and headed for the door himself. "Might as well
deliver it; things are quiet enough just now."

The telegram was addressed to "Dan Talbot, Sheriff of Eerie, Arizona,"
but it really belonged to Laura. It was late afternoon, and she was
probably at the Saloon working.

"I'll just take it over to Laura and head back," he said to himself.
"Of course, if I _happen_ to run into Jessie while I'm there..." His
smile grew broader. If it things were as quiet at there as they were
in the office, there might be time for Jessie and him to do a bit of
talking -- or whatever.

* * * * *

Ramon turned at the sound of the bell at the door of the Silverman's
store. "Hola, Dolores."

"Hola, Ramon. Have you decided?"

"De... decided?"

"Si, are you coming with me to Mexico City?" She walked over to him.
She was wearing the green dress he liked, and he could smell the
familiar rose scent of her perfume. "It will make the trip back go so
much faster." Her voice was low, soft and sultry, full of sexual
promise.

"And when we get to Mexico City, Ramon, we will have so... so much
_fun_, won't we?" She stood close, her hand on his arm.

"I sup... Dolores, please, I-I have not yet decided if I want... if I
_can_ go with you."

She pouted prettily. "Oh, but you must decide, and soon. The stage
leaves Monday, and you will need time to pack."

"I know that." He decided that it wasn't fair to keep her waiting.
"Dolores, have dinner with me tomorrow night, the restaurant, at 6:30.
I-I promise that I will have my answer then."

She smiled. "And I know that it will be the right answer." She kissed
him, quickly, but with feeling.

"Just a hint to help you decide," she told him as she broke the kiss.
She smiled and left the store.

Ramon watched her go. Then he turned to see Aaron, Rachel, and the
customers who had been in the store all staring expectantly at him.
"Th-thank you for your interest, Miss Ybaá±ez," he said from habit of
waiting on trade. A moment later, he had the good sense to blush as
everyone laughed.

Aaron came over to Ramon a few minutes after Dolores left. "I saw
you... ah, you was talking to that young lady just now."

"_Everyone_ saw me. I will be teased about what happened for days."

"The easiest misfortunes to bear are somebody else's." Aaron shrugged.
"So tell me, have you decided yet?"

Ramon shook his head. "No, but I told her that I would give her my
decision tomorrow night. That will _force_ me to decide."

"That's a good idea. As the sages say, it's easier to hit the target
once you decide what the target is."

"I'm taking her to Margarita's restaurant. I'll tell her there."

"To Maggie's restaurant -- _veys_ _mer_. Whatever you decide, that's a
brave thing to do. Good luck, _kayn_ _ahora_."

"Thank you, Aaron."

"Don't be so quick to thank me. Luck, you'll need." He stopped for a
moment. "I don't want I should influence your decision, but, if you do
decide to stay, there's something you and I, we should maybe talk
about."

"What is that, Aaron?"

"Pheh, when you decide, _then_ I'll tell you. Maybe. In the meantime,
while you're trying to make this big decision of yours, do you think
you could find _ein_ _bissel_... a little time to wait on the
customers?"

* * * * *

"And what are ye so happy about?" Molly asked Arnie. The boy was
whistling as he stowed a tray of clean glasses under the bar.

Arnie looked up and all but grinned. "Didn't you read the paper today,
Seá±ora O'Toole? Those men down in Tucson, the ones who killed all them
Apaches, the jury set 'em all free."

"And ye're happy about that? A hundred souls murdered in thuir beds,
and that makes ye happy?"

"Not people... Apache." He spat the word.

Molly was surprised. Arnie had never shown that kind of strong
feelings before, except for that feud he had with Pablo. "Arnie, lad,
most of them was women and children. Some of 'em was wee babes."

"Like my brother, Enrique, was a baby when the Apache killed our
father. I say good for the men who done it. I-I hope they go out and
kill 100 more... 200... a thousand."

Molly stiffened, trying not to show her own anger. "Arnie, I'll not be
telling any soul what t'be thinking, but don't ye say that -- or
anything like that again -- not where me Shamus or I can be hearing
it."

* * * * *

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Jessie... Miss Hanks."

Jessie was standing on the boardwalk in front of the Saloon, getting a
breath of air. She looked to see a tall man staring down at her. "I
suppose. What d'you wanna talk about, Sam?"

"I'm pleased that you remember me," the man said, a broad smile on his
face, "what with everything that's been going on over here."

"Sure, I remember you, Sam. You run the Lone Star Saloon. You offered
me a job as a waitress as while back."

"That's right. You turned me down, said you just wanted to work here
for Shamus."

"That I did. Why're you over here bringing it up now?"

"'Cause I hear you ain't just working for Shamus these days. A couple
of my customers was talking how you was singing over at Lady Cerise's
place on Sunday. They said you was pretty good."

Jessie smiled. "They did, huh? Well, whoever they was, you tell 'em
thanks for me."

"Why don't you come over and thank 'em yourself?"

"What d'you mean? Are they over at your place?"

"Not right now," Sam explained. "What I mean is, you come work for me,
sing at my place, and I'll point 'em out t'you the next time they come
in."

Jessie smiled. "I'll take that as a complement, Sam, but I got me a
job singing for Shamus."

"I know, buy I figure if you was happy working for Shamus, you wouldn't
be working at Cerise's place, too. Well, you can keep on working for
her days, so long as you're singing in the Lone Star at night."

"I... I do like working for Shamus."

"Maybe, but you'll like working for me more. I'm as good a boss as he
ever was, and I'll pay you a dollar a day more'n he does -- however
much that is. You can pick your own music, too. I heard there was
some song he wouldn't let you sing." He took a breath. "I don't know
what it was, or what Shamus has against it, but you can sing it at my
place."

"I won't say 'yes', Sam, but I won't say 'no', neither -- not right
now. I'll think about it some and let you know in a few days. That
okay?"

"Since I don't got a choice, it is. I'll talk to you later." He
smiled and walked away. He was whistling happily as he sauntered off.
The prospect of putting one over on Shamus was a pleasant one. The
prospect of stealing his star attraction and, he suspected, a
guaranteed moneymaker, was even more pleasant. Besides, the men were
flocking into O'Toole's every damn night to see the prettiest girls in
town. And the prospect of having one of them at his place instead of
Shamus' saloon appealed to him, as well.

* * * * *

Laura heard the sound of Arsenio's hammering. As she walked towards
the smithy, she watched him working metal, enjoying the sight of the
firm muscles of his broad, tanned back moving as he worked, shirtless,
at the forge. "Mmmm, nice," she whispered, hugging herself.

But that wasn't why she was there. "Arsenio... ARSENIO!" She had to
yell to be heard over the noise.

Arsenio stopped, cocking an ear. "Somebody there?" he asked turning.

"Me." Laura stepped towards him.

He smiled broadly and carefully put down the hammer. He laid the iron
bar he'd been working on back in the fire and walked towards her.
"Laura... what brings you over here this time of day?"

"This." She handed him the telegram. "We've got company on the way."

He read a few lines and looked up. "Your sister and her husband are
coming. We know that."

"Look closer. We knew they would be coming _someday_. Theo sent that
letter from St. Louis between trains. This says that they'll be here a
week tomorrow, eight days from now. Eight days, and they'll be looking
for _my_ grave."

Arsenio took a step and put his arms around her. "And I'm very happy
to say that they won't find it."

"Arsenio, what are we going to do? How can I tell Elizabeth that _I'm_
her brother Leroy?"

"I wish I knew. We'll have to tell them something. They're coming out
her for your... for Leroy's body."

"Maybe... maybe the Judge could just refuse to let them dig... me up."

"I don't know. If there was some sort of law against it, the Judge
would've told 'em right away by telegram, wouldn't he, not wait till
they came all the way out here."

"I don't know... would it hurt to ask the Judge if he could tell them
no?"

"I suppose not. We'll go ask him when we're done."

Laura looked up at Arsenio. "Done?" She asked, not certain what he
meant.

"Well, I was just thinking that... since you _are_ here..." He lifted
her chin with his hand, lowered his head, and kissed her.

Laura put her arms up around his neck and pressed her body against his.
When they finally broke the kissed, she sighed. "They're not going to
be here for a week, after all. I suppose we do have _some_ time."

* * * * *

Ramon was waiting on the boardwalk outside of Silverman's, when Ernesto
walked past on his way to Maggie's kitchen after school. "Ernesto," he
called after the boy.

Ernest kept walking.

"Wait." Ramon came over. His long stride let him catch up with the
boy easily. "I have not seen you in a while," he said, taking
Ernesto's hand in his. "Why have you not come over to the store this
week?"

"Why should I?" Ernesto shot back.

"Well," Ramon began, "you always told me that you were coming over so
that you could have a talk with a _hermano_... a man." He tried to
smile.

"A _man_ keeps his word." The boy spat the words angrily. "Did you
not promise that you would help me with the Candlemas party?"

"Si, I did."

"But you will not. You are going away. You will be long gone by the
time Candlemas comes."

"Ernesto, I... please let me explain."

"I do not want to hear more lies." He pulled his hand free from
Ramon's. "I do not want to talk to you at all."

Ernesto kicked Ramon in the shin and ran off. "Liar!" he yelled back
as he ran.

Ramon watched the boy dart into the alley next to the saloon before he
turned and limped back to the store.

* * * * *

Cap slid a quarter to the pile of coins on the table. "I call. What
do you two have?"

"Two pair." Hans Euler laid down his cards. "Tens and fours."

Bridget smiled sympathetically. "Sorry, Hans, we were playing new
rules, you'll remember."

"Ja, I do," Hans answered. "Mr. Leighten here asked us to, und nobody
said no."

He glanced at Leighten, a tall, leather goods drummer visiting some of
the merchants in town. The man had dropped out of the hand after the
first round of betting. "You got something dat beats me mit dem new
rules, Bridget?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," she replied. "A straight, the eight,
nine, ten, jack, and queen." As she spoke, she put down each card in
turn.

"Those new rules _are_ interesting," Cap said, "but they still don't
beat a good, old-fashioned full house..." He showed his cards.
"...sevens and threes."

Euler shook his head and laughed. "Looks like you beat us both, Cap."

"Congratulations, Mr. Lewis," Bridget said coldly. "If you gentlemen
don't mind, it's almost seven. We've been playing for over an hour,
and I find myself growing hungry. I wonder if we might stop for some
dinner and resume play in thirty minutes?"

"I've just come into a small bit of money, Bridget," Cap said as he
scooped in the poker pot. "May I buy you supper?"

Bridget frowned. "My meals are included in my arrangement with Shamus.
There's no need --"

"Yes, there is a need, Bridget," Cap answered, "_I_ very much need to
talk with you. In private."

"But do I need to talk with you, sir?"

"Please." Cap's voice was low and very sad.

Bridget just managed not to smile. "Oh, all right. You may join me."

"Thank you, Bridget, I knew you couldn't resist that puppy dog look of
mine. No woman has since I used it on my mama when I was a boy."

"You are incorrigible, Cap... Mr. Lewis." She lost her resolve and
smiled at his joke.

"Maybe, Miss Kelly, but it still got me the chance to have supper with
you." He took her arm and led her to one of the restaurant tables.
Neither spoke until Laura, the waitress that evening, had taken their
orders.

"Now, what was so important?" Bridget asked brusquely.

"Getting back in your good graces. I can't think of anything more
important." He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. "I want
to apologize, Bridget."

"I shouldn't have doubted you," he continued. "Uncle Abner kept
insisting that the facts in that report he got had to be true."

"And you believed them."

"No, I told him that there had to be more than that." He smiled. "He
said I was thinking with my John... letting my affection for you
overcome my reason."

"I know how influential Mr. Johnson can be. I knew him myself once,
remember?" She looked at him closely, trying to find his tells, to
read what his body language was saying. "Are you saying he was right?"

"Bridget, I hurt you, and you have every right to doubt me. If my mind
was overruled, it was my _heart_ that was doing it. I knew that there
was more to the sto... to what happened, because I can't believe what
the report said about you. Please tell me the rest of it."

"That's all very well, but I'm not sure that I'm ready to say what did
happen. Especially when the man that I need to convince isn't ready to
listen."

"Please don't hold me responsible for my uncle. I can't control what
he thinks any more than _he_ can control what _I_ think."

"Cap, I almost think that I can forgive you, but your uncle can't
forgive me, and until he's willing to listen -- well, we can be
friends, I suppose, but things won't be the way they were."

He reached for her hand again, and this time she didn't draw it back.
He picked it up and gently kissed her palm. "Bridget, I'll work on
Uncle Abner, I promise I will. For now, I'm just happy that you're
calling me 'Cap' again."

* * * * *

Thursday, January 25, 1872

"So this is how the 'Songbird of Eerie, Arizona' spends her time."

Jessie spun around from the bed she was making. "Wilma, what brings
you over here? Something going on I don't know about?"

"Just visiting m'sister," Wilma replied. "You come over t'see me the
last few times, and I figured it was my turn t'come over here."

"I'm glad you came. I'll be done here in a minute, and we can have
some lunch."

Wilma pulled a chair over and sat down. "I'll wait."

"Be done sooner if you'd help."

"I don't help _gals_ in beds, Jessie," Wilma said with a sly grin, "not
even you."

"You never were much help, not even when you was stuck working here."

"Maybe that's 'cause I wanted more outta my life than making beds and
cleaning spittoons for Shamus."

"I got more than that. You said it yourself; I'm the 'Songbird of
Eerie, Arizona', ain't I?"

"That songbird's still in a cage if you're still working for Shamus.
Once you serve your time, you don't hang around the jail."

"It's been a long time since I thought of this place as a jail. I
don't mind the work -- not too much, and it was Shamus, after all, that
got me t'be a singer. You got something against Shamus? You still mad
about that potion of his?"

The brunette swept a wisp of hair back behind her ear, like a cat
grooming itself. "Not hardly. Taking the second dose of that potion
was the best thing that ever happened to me, and _that_ was my idea."

"Feeling charitable, Wilma?"

Jessie's sister smiled wickedly. "Not a bit. He tried to stop me from
drinking that second dose. No, I'm just saying that Shamus helped you,
maybe, by making a singer outta you, but you worked here long enough
t'say 'Thank you.' Now that everybody knows how good a singer you are,
you're gonna get other offers. Hell, Cerise'll be happy t'have you
sing over at her place as much as you want."

"She ain't the only one," Jessie admitted. "The other day, Sam Duggan
asked if I wanted t'come and sing for him at the Lone Star."

"When d'you start? What'd Shamus say when you quit?"

"I... I ain't quit yet."

"Hell's bells, do it now, Jess. I wanna watch his face when you tell
him."

"Wilma, I-I don't know if I'm gonna quit. I like working here.
Molly's got t'be... family. Hell, Shamus is even kinda family. I-I'd
-- well, I'd feel bad quitting." She sighed. "I ain't sure what
t'do."

"Sounds t'me like you're getting to like the life the potion gave you,
_little_ _sister_."

Jessie scowled. "Better the potion than a bullet in the gut, and
that's where we was all heading. You know it's true. We got off easy,
maybe."

"I guess that Paul Grant is pretty easy to take, but I still can't get
my head around the idea of mean-as-hell Jesse Hanks spooning with a
lawman."

Jessie gritted her teeth. "If you can't give any useful advice about
my real problem, maybe we should just go and get that mouth of yours
stuffed full of grub instead of sass."

"Oh, that. Well, I'd say you got two choices. You can take them other
jobs and be done with Shamus -- and have the fun of sticking it to him
when you do, or you can use them other jobs to drive a deal with him,
one that's more on _your_ terms."

Jessie shrugged thoughtfully, impressed with Wilma's insight. "You
just may be right, I'll have to think about it. I gotta admit, I did
enjoy singing at Cerise's. I think the men that was listening enjoyed
it, too. Hell, even that gal, Rosalyn, enjoyed it. I could see her
sitting there and smiling while she played that piano."

"That's 'cause she got to sit there and act like the lady she likes
t'tell everybody she is. Rosalyn loves t'play at being the lady she
used to be, instead of what she is now."

"Yeah," Jessie said with a laugh, "and her friend, Beatriz, just loves
t'play_. She went upstairs twice while I was singing."

Wilma laughed with her. "She does enjoy playing. She must like it
near as much as I --" She suddenly stopped talking and stared ahead at
the wall.

"What's the matter, Wilma?" Jessie asked nervously.

Wilma smiled, her lips curling up cruelly. "Nothing, little sister,
and thank you. You just give me the start of an idea that's gonna save
my job."

* * * * *

"Arnie," Shamus called from behind the bar. "Bring that tray over
here. I got some more dirty glasses ye can be taking back t'be
washed."

Arnie walked over and put a half-filled tray down on the bar. "Okay,
Shamus, here y'go."

While Shamus piled glasses into the tray, Arnie reached down into the
pocket of his apron. He pulled out a small handful of change. Leaning
over the bar, he put it down on the counter. "That's from tables 3, 5,
and 8."

"I know, lad." Shamus divided the coins into three piles, payment for
the drinks at each table, and put them into the register. A few coins
remained, and these went into the "tips jar" behind the bar.

Arnie carefully picked up the tray, which was now full almost to
overflowing. "I better get these to the sink," he said. He stepped
back, away from the bar, and carried the tray into the kitchen.

"Anybody here?" Arnie looked around as he set the tray down. He was
alone. He took a couple of empty steins out of the tray and reached
for a glass, still filled with whiskey. The taller steins had hidden
the whiskey in the smaller glass.

"Before ye take that drink, lad, I'll be asking ye t'be for the change
ye left in yuir apron."

Arnie spun around. "Sh-Shamus, I didn't hear you come in."

"I told ye, lad," Shamus explained, "Ten years and more, I lived with
the Cheyenne, and I can walk just as quiet as any of 'em." He held out
his hand. "Now give me the rest of the money, what ye held back just
now."

"You set me up, didn't you, you damned Injun lover," the boy muttered
under his breath.

"What did ye just say?"

"I said that I didn't keep any of that money."

"Oh, really?" Shamus' hand shot into the apron pocket before Arnie
could stop it. "What's this, them?" Shamus brought out his hand and
showed Arnie the three dimes he'd found pushed into a corner of the
pocket.

"I-I thought I'd gotten all the money out." He tried to lie, even as
his anger grew. "I guess I was wrong."

"Ye knew them coins was there. Ye left 'em there, and don't be lying
and say that ye didn't."

"You calling me a liar, Squaw Man?" He was caught, but he was too mad
to care. It wasn't stealing if it was for a good cause... wasn't it?
And getting the shot he needed _was_ a good cause.

"Don't push me, Arnie. The tips've been light the past few days. I
watched, and I finally caught ye at it."

"All right, you caught me. What're you gonna do, scalp me?"

"No," Shamus answered, his face red with anger. "I'm gonna fire yuir
insolent ass. Get outta here. Now."

"You don't have to tell me twice. I can barely take the Injun-loving
smell of the place." Arnie glared at Shamus for a moment, then walked
out through the back door.

* * * * *

Emma came over as Ysabel was packing her books at the end of the school
day. "Hey, Ysabel, you wanna go over t'the fort and play some cards or
something?"

"I got chores at home, Emma. You know that. Maybe on Saturday, we can
all play there."

Emma sighed. "Oh, okay. Maybe Tomas..." She looked around just in
time to see the boy run out the door. "Dang!"

"What's the matter?" Ysabel put a hand on the other girl's shoulder.
"You don't sound too happy."

"I... I just hate going home. These days, all my folk seem t'do is
fight."

"Is your father --"

"Trisha. She's Trisha now. When we first changed, Ma told me all I
could call her was Trisha, and that potion I took -- that's still what
I have t'call her."

"She must hate that. You must hate that."

"I don't think either of us liked it at first. Now I'm used to it,
just like I got used to being called Emma."

"I never thought about that. I've called you Emma from the first day
you came to school." She thought for a moment. "But... well, Elmer
was just a boy in the class. He and I weren't friends like we are
now."

"No, I... I guess we weren't," she waited half a beat. "So, _friend_
are you sure we can't to over to the fort today?"

"I wish we could, but Mama expects me to come home and help with the
housework after school. Are you that afraid to go home to your parents
arguing?"

"They won't be arguing. Trisha don't get home from the store till
almost six. But they do argue so much that Ma... well, she's grumpy
all the time, on a hair trigger. It seems like anything I say or do
sets her off."

"Can you hide from her or does she make you stay where she can watch
you do chores when you get home?"

"I wouldn't call it hiding; she don't mind if I go upstairs and study
or do my homework till suppertime." She sighed again.

"What's the matter? It gets you outta your Ma's hair, and you get you
homework done, too."

"It just seems... I don't know. Maybe I'm doing it too much. I... I
don't like being in my room. I'm..." She shrugged. "...tired of it, I
guess."

"Maybe you need a change."

Emma looked down at herself and laughed. "I've had more'n enough
change in my life, thank you."

"No, silly. I mean your room. When did you fix it up the way it is
now?"

"There wasn't one time. I found that skull I got on my wall about a
year ago."

"Then you're due." Ysabel nodded her head once, very firmly, for
emphasis. "Instead of going to the fort Saturday morning, I'll come
over, and we can fix up your room real pretty."

"Pretty? Why does it have to be pretty? I'm still a boy... sorta."

"I meant that like nice... pleasant, that's all."

"Oh, okay, I suppose we can do that."

Ysabel suddenly hugged Emma. "Wonderful. This'll be so much fun. I
don't have a room I can decorate at home. I share with my sister and,
now, my cousin. I love them and all, but the place isn't... mine."

"My room ain't yours either." Emma laughed and broke free. "But you
come over Saturday, and we'll see what we can do with it."

* * * * *

"Shamus, can I talk to you for a minute?" Bridget asked.

Shamus sighed and walked closer to where she was standing at the bar.
"I been wondering when ye'd come over, Bridget. I'm truly sorry for
what happened."

"What did happen? I saw you follow Arnie into the kitchen, then you
come storming out of here, and I haven't seen him since."

Shamus frowned and shook his head. "He was stealing, keeping some of
the money he picked up when he bussed them tables. When I told him
that I'd seen him do it, he lied t'me and tried t'be weaseling out of
it. I threw him out the back, the same as I'd be doing to any other
trash."

"I-I can't believe it. Are you sure there wasn't some mistake?"

"I'm sure. I won't be having no thief working for me. Especially not
one that..." He let his voice trail off.

Bridget gave Shamus a curious look. "That what?"

"That -- never ye mind what. He's fired, and that's the end of it."
The barman turned and walked back to where he'd been working.

Bridget returned to her table to wait for a game. "Maybe it is," she
whispered to herself, "but maybe it isn't." She could see how angry
Shamus was, but, to her, he sounded a little sad, as well.

* * * * *

Dolores took a sip of wine to steady her nerves. "You are not going
with me; are you, Ramon?"

Ramon studied her face. "How did you know?"

"You have been quiet all through the meal, hardly the manner of a man
planning to run away with his... lady."

He took her hand in his. "Dolores, I am sorry. You are a beautiful
woman --"

"Just not beautiful enough," she finished the thought looking down at
the tablecloth.

Ramon heard the sadness in her voice. "Beautiful enough for any man
who was not a fool or blind or... or in love with someone else."

"Margarita?"

"Si, Margarita. I spent the last few days thinking about my choices,
you or her. I did almost nothing else." He shrugged. "Aaron
Silverman was very cross at how little attention I paid to our
customers this week."

"I am sorry if I got you in trouble."

"I told him that I first had to pay attention to _my_ life." He paused
a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "Dolores, if I went to
Mexico City with you, we would... there would be much we would enjoy,
wouldn't we?"

She smiled at the thought. "Si, there is so much to enjoy at
Carnival."

"At Carnival," he said gravely, "but Carnival does not last forever.
Life comes back on Ash Wednesday. What do we do then?"

"A silly question. We go to church, of course, and the padre will mark
our foreheads."

"And after that?"

Dolores shrugged. "Home for breakfast. Why do you ask about such
things?"

"Because I want to know. After breakfast, do we go see the sights?"

"Why not? It is a beautiful city, after all."

"I am not a rich man, Dolores. How do I pay my way in this 'beautiful
city' of yours?"

"You are my guest. I will pay."

"And what would you think, in time, of a man who depended on you to pay
his way?"

"It would not be forever. You could find some sort of work."

"I do not have the money to start a business. I would have to start
over as a clerk in some other man's store, a man who does not know me,
where the hours are long, and the pay is very low. I would still not
have the money then -- or the time -- to be with you."

"I could ask my father to find you a place in his business."

"And he might -- he probably would. Your father is a good man as I
remember him, but what sort of a place would he find for someone whose
only recommendation was that he was your friend?" He took her hand.
"Or am I more than a friend?"

For the first time since this conversation began, Dolores smiled.
"More than a friend. You must know that."

"So, who would you be asking your father to hire... your lover?" He
shook his head. "No, he would not be happy with that. But he would be
most eager to employ your fiancé or your... husband."

Dolores' lips pursed gravely and she shook her head. "I... No, I am
not ready for that. Someday, perhaps, but for now, I am young and
free, and I want to enjoy myself for a while before I settle down and
become some man's wife."

"Yet you ask me to come with you to Mexico City, to give up my life
here to be with you. How -- _why_ should I do such a thing unless you
plan for us to be together, to marry, perhaps to even have children
someday?"

"I do not know. I had not thought about it." Was he right? Had she
implied that she wanted to spend her life with him? Why _had_ she
courted his attention so fiercely? Had it only been a game on her
part? Was she only trying to forget the man who had abandoned her, the
man she had truly wanted?

"You are a beautiful, charming, caring woman, Dolores, and I would
enjoy spending Carnival with you."

"Thank you, for that at least."

"But," he continued, "you did not ask me about Carnival. You asked me
to think about so much more, to think about the rest of my life. But
now you tell me that you are not truly ready for me to ask the question
that would give it all meaning."

"And you, I think, do not want ask to it."

"I would not ask you to do something that you are not ready to do, that
you do not _want_ to do."

She felt somehow relieved. This wasn't a rejection; it was a release -
- from a trap that he had not set for her, but which she had set for
herself. "But you would ask it of Margarita, would you not?"

"I would." He glanced over towards the door to the kitchen. "I
believe that the time is coming when she will want to be asked."

Dolores sighed. Something told her that it was all true. She had not
won the game -- in part because she hadn't known, truly, what the
stakes were. "It has been great fun spending time with you, Ramon,"
she said, finally. "But there is no one with whom I want to share the
settled life that you seem to be ready for. I thank you for our time
together, and I hope that we can still be friends."

"Dolores, we have been friends for as long as I can remember. Why
should that stop now?"

"Why, indeed? And as your friend, Ramon de Aguilar, I tell you to stop
talking to me, and to go back and tell Margarita how much you love
her." When she saw him still sitting across from her, she made a
motion with her hands. "Go, Ramon, go."

Ramon stood up. "Thank you, Dolores." He kissed her hand and started
towards the kitchen until...

"One moment, old friend," she called after him. "You invited me to
dinner. Have you forgotten that?"

"No," he said uncertainly.

"Then you should remember that _you_ are the one who pays for our
meal."

* * * * *

The five men walked into the Saloon laughing. Three of them staked out
a table near the stage where Jessie would be singing. The other two,
Blackie Easton and Joe Ortleib, continued on to the bar. "Bottle of
whiskey, Shamus," Joe said, "the good stuff." He put a five dollar
gold half-eagle on the counter.

"And five glasses," Blackie added. "And I expect we'll want us another
bottle when that first one's empty."

Shamus handed over a bottle and took the coin. "Seems like ye boys is
celebrating something. What's the happy occasion?"

"That trial down in Tucson," Blackie answered. "The jury did what it
was supposed to and set them all free."

"Hell," Joe said, "there wouldn't've even been a damned trial if
General Grant hadn't put his nose into it. Took 'em long enough t'let
them fellas off."

Shamus's smile disappeared. "Ye're talking about the Camp Grant trial,
ain't ye?" Both men nodded. "That was women and children that was
killed. I don't see that it's worth celebrating that thuir murderers
got off scot-free."

"You ever seen what Injuns do to a man they catch out on the range,
Shamus?" Blackie asked. "I have. Mr. Slocum lost more'n one hand to
them devils."

"There's been times we had to ride herd in pairs," Joe added, "even at
night, t'keep 'em from getting the jump on us."

"Aye," Shamus answered, "I've heard them stories, but these was just
woman and children, most of 'em asleep and not bothering a soul."

"I see a rattler in the grass, I ain't gonna wait till he strikes
t'shoot it," Blackie's voice was angry. "I ain't gonna check t'see how
old it is or if it's a boy or a girl. I'm gonna do what I need t'do
and -- blamm! -- it's goodbye rattler."

Shamus clenched the bottle he was still holding. "Blamm! Why ye
lousy, stinking, no good --"

R.J. hurried over. "I'll finish this, Shamus." He gently took the
bottle from his boss's hand and gave it to Blackie. "I... I think
Molly was looking for you." Shamus muttered something under his breath
and walked away. "Shamus is a little upset just now," he told the two
men. It was an explanation, not an apology.

Blackie left with the bottle. Joe stayed while R.J. put five glasses
in a tray. "Y'know, R.J., I always liked Shamus; I thought he was good
man, and he runs a square place here," Joe said slowly. "His having
the ladies here for dancing don't hurt neither."

R.J. studied the man. "What's your point, Joe?"

"Me and the others'll come t'hear Jessie sing tonight, and we'll stay
for that, but it just might be... well, not to make too fine a point of
it, this Saloon ain't the only place in town a man can buy himself a
drink."

* * * * *

Maggie was taking a break to have dinner with Lupe and Ernesto, when
she heard a door slam. "Ramon, what are you doing here?"

"I-I came to see you," he said. "To talk to you."

"You have nothing to say to us, you... you _liar!_" Ernesto spat the
words.

"Ernesto, hush," Maggie ordered. "Behave yourself." She turned to
him. "What do you have to say to me, Ramon?" She braced herself for a
"Goodbye."

"I... ah, I was having dinner with Dolores --"

Was he going to rub it in her face? She decided not to give him the
satisfaction of seeing how upset she was. "I know," she interrupted.
"Laura told me when she came in with your orders. Did you enjoy your
meal?"

"It was fine, delicious as always."

"And Dolores, did she enjoy her supper?"

"As far as I could tell. Maggie, listen to me."

She ignored his protest. "I am glad she liked it. My skills are
hardly up to the standards of the restaurants of Mexico City. When you
get there..." She ached to say the words. "...you will see how fine
the food --"

Now he interrupted. "Margarita, will you be quiet a moment?" He put
his hands on her arm, just below the shoulder. "I want you to listen
to me, listen carefully." He almost sounded mad until, at the end, he
added, "Please."

Maggie made a determined effort to stem her rush of emotion. "Y-yes,
Ramon." She looked up into his face and saw him begin to smile.

"I am not going to Mexico City, Margarita. When I told Dolores, she
said to come in here and tell you."

"Oh, she did, did she? And _why_ are you not going?"

"Three reasons. First," he raised a finger, "Aaron told me that there
was something that he wanted to talk to me about if I decided not to
go. I think that I am going to get a raise, maybe a big one."

"A raise, congratulations." Was he staying just for the promise of
money? That hardly sounded like Ramon, or had she been wrong about
him?

"Gracias. Second, as Ernesto rather forcibly reminded me..." He
reached down and rubbed his leg. "...I promised to help him with the
Candlemas party."

Maggie looked past Ramon to where her son was sitting. The boy smiled
a very guilty smile and hurriedly resumed eating his supper. "We will
talk of _how_ you reminded him when we get home, Ernesto." She looked
at Ramon again.

"And the third reason, what was it?"

"Something that I think is _muy_ important, if only I can convince you
of it."

She cocked a dubious eyebrow. "What can be so important?"

"This." He pulled her towards him and used his left hand to lift her
chin, tilting her head back. Their lips met in a kiss.

She gasped in surprise and staggered back. The half-remembered dream
rushed back to her. In it, Ramon had said, "Everything that happens is
what _you_ wish to happen." Was _this_ what she had wanted?

Then she heard noise and looked back. Ernesto and Lupe were clapping
and yelling. "Yes, Mama, yes. Kiss him again."

Ernesto and Lupe! What must they be thinking of her?

Maggie closed her eyes and sighed. "Ramon, we-we cannot, we must
not... not _do_ this." She held him away from her, reluctantly, oh, so
very reluctantly. "In front of the children, it... it is not...
proper."

"We can go out and play, Mama," Ernesto suggested.

"Si," Ramon agreed. "That is a wonderful idea, children."

Maggie looked up at Ramon, her eyes now glistening with tears.
"Ramon... please..."

"As you wish, Margarita." Ramon stepped back. He took her hand and
raised it to his lips, gently kissing it. "If you say that it is not
proper, then I shall go. But I will be back sometime soon and make it
proper."

He bowed low, then turned and walked briskly out of the kitchen.

* * * * *

Friday, January 26, 1872

Molly was alone behind the bar when Laura came in. "Good morning,
Molly. Is Shamus around?"

"Morning, Laura. He's off on an errand just now. Is thuir something I
might be helping ye with?"

Laura nodded. "I need a room."

"Och, there's not trouble between ye and Arsenio again is thuir?"

"No, no, things are fine. It's for my sister, Elizabeth, and her
husband. They're coming to Eerie. According to the telegram they
sent, they'll be here in about a week."

"Ah, that'll be nice, seeing family and all."

"I... I don't think so; not in this case, anyway. They read that story
Nick Varrick wrote about the big shootout between Dan Talbot and the
Hanks gang. They're... They're coming for me... For my.... Oh, hell,
Molly, they're coming for Leroy Meehan's body. They want to take it
home and bury it in the family plot back in Indiana."

Molly covered her mouth and tried _very_ hard not to laugh. "Now
_that_ might be a wee bit of a problem."

"Molly! This is serious. How can I tell them that _I'm_ Leroy, that
I'm married to Arsenio, that I'm..." she took a breath. "...that I'm
pregnant?"

"I don't know, dear, but I'm sure that ye and Arsenio will think of
something."

"Arsenio?"

"Aye. Ye're his wife. That's his baby ye're carrying. And ain't them
his new in-laws? He loves ye, and that makes this his problem as much
as it is yuirs. That's what marriage is about. Ye've a week t'be
figuring it out, and me and Shamus'll be helping, too." She took a pad
and pencil from her apron pocket. "In the meantime, I'll just be
fixing up that room way in the back. 'Tis the farthest from the noise
of the saloon." She made some notes and put the pad away.

"Did I hear you talking about family coming, Laura?" Jane had come out
of the kitchen while Laura and Molly were talking. She was carrying a
large tray of dishes and silverware for the "free lunch."

"Little pitchers have big ears, Jane. Ye've better things t'be doing
than listening in on conversations that don't concern ye. And if ye
haven't, I'll be glad t'give ye something to be doing."

Jane looked mad. "Not concern me? Molly, Laura's family is _my_
family. We're sisters, ain't we?"

"No, Jane," Laura said. She took a deep breath and shook her head.
"We just look alike." She then realized, dismally, that her
resemblance to Jane was one more impossible thing that she'd have to
explain to Elizabeth.

"We is so sisters," Jane countered. "You said so lotsa times." She
did a little dance step over to the free lunch table and began setting
things out from the tray.

"I didn't have much family when I was Jake," she continued. "Now I got
Laura and Arsenio for a sister and a brother-in-law, and I'm gonna be
an aunt. And now you say I got even more family, and they're coming to
meet me. Yippee!"

Molly put her hand gently on Laura's arm. "We'll think of something
for this, too, Laura. Don't ye worry."

* * * * *

Arnie stormed into the saloon and over to Jessie. "Where were you?" He
demanded.

"What d'you mean, Arnie?" She asked. "I been here working all day?"

He glared at her. "It's Friday. I waited over an hour for you to show
up for my lesson."

"Well, it ain't like you had anyplace else t'go... seeing as you ain't
working here no more."

His eyes grew wide in surprise. "No... I am not. Shamus... he and
I... did not... agree..." His voice trailed off.

"That right. You thought it was all right t'steal from him, and he
didn't." Her eyes grew angry. "And I agree with him. I ain't
teaching no crook."

"Pretty fancy words from Jesse Hanks the bank robber and cattle thief."

"Maybe I was all that, but I told you back in December that I don't
hold with backstabbers that steal from their own gangs."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"You steal from your boss, from the people you work with, it says I
can't trust you. A gun in the hand of a man with no sense of honor is
a bad mix. Till I know you're the sort who can be trusted to stand by
his own kind, I sure as hell ain't teaching you how t'handle a colt."

"But --"

"No buts, no _nothing_, not till you show me that you're a better man
than the one you acted like yesterday." She looked around. "And now -
unless you're planning to apologize to him - you better get your sorry
ass outta here."

"I am honorable. You will see - you will _both_ see how wrong you are
about me." He turned and stomped out of the saloon.

Jessie watched him go. "I hope so, kid. I really hope so."

* * * * *

Martha Yingling knocked on the open door of her husband's study. "The
O'Hanlans are here to see you, dear."

"Thank you, Martha, dear." The Reverend rose from his chair. As he
did, he heard the grandfather clock in the parlor chime twice. "And
right on time, too. Please show them in."

Martha turned to face Kaitlin and Trisha, who were waiting in the
parlor. "He'll see you now." As the couple walked past, she asked,
"Would you like some tea while you're here?"

"I... don't think so," Trisha told her. "This ain't exactly a social
call."

"Thank you, though, Martha," Kaitlin added.

"That will be all, thank you, Martha," Yingling said firmly. "Please
close the door behind you."

Martha took the hint. "Perhaps another time." She smiled and left,
closing the door.

"Well, what'd you find?" Trisha sat down quickly, motioning for
Kaitlin to sit next to her.

Yingling went back behind his desk. "Before I start, Trisha, may I say
again how much I value you and Kaitlin, both as friends and as members
of my congregation."

"We've always thought highly of you, Dr. Yingling," Kaitlin said.
"And I don't believe that will change, whatever you tell us today."

"That goes for me, too, Reverend," Trisha said, "You're a good man.
Kaitlin's been worried the last few days about what you were gonna say,
but I'm not. I just know you're gonna tell us that there's nothing
wrong with what we've been doing."

Yingling shook his head. "I'm afraid that's not the way of it, Trisha.
As your spiritual advisor, I must tell you that what you have described
to me must come to an end, now and forever." The man's voice turned
harsh. "It is unnatural, evil."

Trisha looked shocked. "Evil? How can what goes on between a man and
his wife be evil?"

"First Romans says it is." He picked up an opened bible from his desk
and read. "Chapter 1, verse 26. 'Their women exchanged natural
intercourse for unnatural.' Paul calls it 'degrading passions' and
'shameless acts.' And it says of those who do such things... 'those
without natural affection are worthy of death.' Would you argue with
him?"

"But..." Trisha shook her head. "...we're married, Kaitlin and me.
How can our love be unnatural?" She thought a moment. "It seems to me
that you're still jumping the gun on this."

"It may be that you two are... not married. 'Man and woman, he made
them.' You are not man and woman anymore."

"The hell we aren't," Trisha said angrily. "I may be stuck in this
woman's body, but inside -- where it counts -- I'm still a man."

"Perhaps you do still have the soul of a man, Trisha, but marriage is
for the body, not the soul. It is the Lord's way of making the sinful
urges of our bodies into a force that can serve His holy purpose."

"That's what I'm saying. Kaitlin and I, we have urges, sure, but we
can satisfy those urges with each other because we're still married."

"The Lord's first commandment was 'be fruitful and multiply.' The
animal urges you talk about are to procreate, to produce children to
serve the Lord. Can two women produce a child between them?"

Kaitlin shook her head. "No. No, they can't." She spoke with an air
of sadness.

"Kaitlin! Do you know what you're saying?"

"I... I'm afraid that I do, Trisha. I'm saying that -- maybe -- we
aren't married anymore."

"No! He's wrong. Yingling is wrong; he has to be. You're my wife,
and you always will be. Like Dr. Norquist said when he married us back
east. 'What the Lord has joined together, let no man tear asunder.'
No man, not ever."

"Perhaps it was G-d's Will that you drank that potion," Yingling
answered. "Male and female He made you, but, when you drank it,
Trisha, _you_ became female, and two females can _not_ be man and
wife."

"I think I knew that from the first day," Kaitlin said softly, her eyes
filling with tears. "I... I just didn't want to admit it, not... not
even to myself." She buried her head in her hands and began to cry.

Trisha hugged Kaitlin, trying to comfort her. "See what you did,
Reverend."

"All that I did was try to help you face the truth about yourselves. I
am so very sorry that it is such an unhappy truth." He reached into
his pocket and offered Trisha a handkerchief.

Trisha snatched it out of his hand and gave it to Kaitlin. "Face the
truth, the man says. I'm not sure that I --"

"No, Trisha," Kaitlin suddenly said. "Please don't say anything that
you may regret." She wiped her eyes. "Th-thank you, Dr. Yingling, for
your help, but I... I believe that we should go now."

"But..." Trisha was too surprised at Kaitlin to respond.

Yingling nodded. "Perhaps you're right, Kaitlin. I am most truly
sorry about what I had to say and at how it upset you. I do hope that
you both will come to speak to me about it again, once you have had
time to consider all the implications of it."

"We will, Reverend, but for now, good day." Kaitlin took a deep breath
and stood up. "Come, Trisha." She took Trisha's hand and started for
the door. At the last minute, she looked back at the Reverend and
added, "And please thank Martha, again, for her hospitality."

* * * * *

"What'll it be today, Milt?" Whit Whitney asked, as Milt Quinlan
settled back in the barber chair.

Milt rubbed his cheek. "Shave, I think, and a haircut."

"Done." Whit laid a barber's cloth over Milt and tied it behind the
man's neck. "I'll have you looking real nice for the dance tomorrow at
Shamus'."

"I suppose," Milt said, not sounding very happy at the prospect.

Whit picked up a comb and began working on Milt's hair. "Here now,
what's the matter?"

"It's Jane... no, it isn't her; it's me."

Whit had the scissors, now. "You two have a fight or something?"

"No, it's her money, that gold she brought down from her claim."

"What about it? You told me that you made her put it in the bank;
sensible thing to do, if you ask me." He paused a moment. "She's not
mad at you about that, I hope?"

"She's not mad at me about anything as far as I know, and I'm not mad
at her either, before you ask." He sighed again, then he held still as
Whit moved to trim the hair near his left ear.

"Milt, there's nobody else here, so why don't you tell me what's really
troubling you. Barbers are like bartenders, you know, we're here to
listen to people. The only difference is, we barbers apply the alcohol
externally."

"I suppose I have to tell someone, but you have to promise not to
laugh."

"I promise. You don't want that in writing, do you?"

"No," Milt said with a chuckle. "I'd only have to charge you to draw
up the papers. The problem is, I'm... well, I'm afraid of Jane."

"Afraid? You saved her life, Milt. Why would she want to hurt you?"

"No, no. Sometimes I-I'm... afraid of being seen with Jane. I'm
afraid of people saying that I'm some kind of... that I'm just after
her money."

"Nobody's going to say anything of the sort -- hold still; I'd hate to
have you leave here with only one ear."

"Matt Royce and Fred Norman already have. I was in the saloon...
getting her signature on something for Dwight Albertson, and they
starting in on me about it. I-I was so embarrassed that I all but ran
out of there after she signed the paperwork."

"You let those two fools run you off like that?"

"I know that it wasn't the smartest thing I ever did. I... panicked."

"Panicked? The man who stood up to Ozzie Pratt's pistol with nothing
more than his fists panicked when a couple of barflies ragged him.
That's a tad hard to believe."

"Maybe, but it's true. I worked hard to become a lawyer, and I've
worked harder since - especially since I came out west -- trying to
build a professional reputation. I didn't realize how sensitive I'd
gotten about that reputation until Royce started in on me. That was
what I panicked about."

"So you care more for your reputation than you do for Jane?" Whit made
a clicking sound of disapproval. "I wouldn't have thought it of you,
Milt."

"I wouldn't have thought it of me, either, and it bothers the hell out
of me that it might be true."

"Might be true?"

"I care a lot about Jane, and I think she cares for me, too."

"Then keep thinking about her, and don't let it bother you. If
somebody says something, you just consider who he is and if his
opinion's worth caring about." Whit had been working as they talked.
He put down his scissors and turned the chair around, so Milt was
facing the mirror on the wall behind the worktable. "In the meantime,
what do you think about this haircut?"

Milt sat up and looked at his reflection, turning his head to see how
he looked from each side. "Good job -- good advice, too."

"Thanks." Whit turned the chair and tilted it back. "Thanks. You
want a hot towel before I shave you?"

"Just the shave, I think."

Whit took Milt's shaving mug, black enamel with a scale of justice and
Milt's name in gold on the side, down from the shelf. "Fine, you just
lean back then." He poured in some shaving soap and began to work up a
lather. "And don't forget about my good advice, when you're figuring
how much to tip me for the haircut and shave."

* * * * *

Dolores was sitting on the porch reading, when she looked up and saw...
"Arnoldo, what are you doing home in the middle of the afternoon.
Should you not be at Seá±or Shamus' saloon?"

"I don't work there no more, Dolores," Arnie explained.

She frowned perplexedly. "What happened? Why did you quit?"

"I... I didn't quit. He... fired me."

Dolores closed her book and put it in the table next to her. "What
happened, Arnoldo? I thought that he liked you."

"So did I, Dolores. He found some money in my apron, money I didn't
turn in."

She put her hand in front of her mouth, fingers spread wide. "Oh, no.
Arnoldo, did you steal from him?"

"I... it was just three dimes. They got caught down in the apron seam,
and I didn't get them when I took out the other money. Th-that was
all."

"Shamus is a good man. I am sure that if you explain -- apologize --
to him, he will take you back."

"That Injun-loving bastard, I will never apologize to him."

"You did not call him that, I hope."

"I did. Apaches killed my father. Who is he to defend them, to be
sorry that men were not punished for killing them?"

"Madre de Dios, that trial in Tucson. You knew how upset he was about
that, and you still talked that way to him?"

"I did. I am happy that they went free. _That_ was why he fired me,
not because I took that money."

"So, you did steal it?"

"What if I did?"

"Arnoldo, how can you say such a thing? Think how hard your mother has
to work for thirty centavos."

"If the Apaches hadn't killed Papa, she wouldn't have to."

"And you think that makes it right, Arnoldo? Stealing from Shamus will
not bring your father back."

"But..." He was stung by her disappointment and anger.

"Your mother will not be proud to know that you were fired for
stealing. And your brother, your sisters, is this what you want them
to think being the man of the house is about?"

He hadn't thought of that. "No, but what can I do? I will not
apologize to Shamus."

"Why not?" She pointed a finger at him. "You are a proud boy,
Arnoldo. Think about what you did and how it will affect the people
you love. Maybe, if you do, you will see how much differently you must
act to be a proud _man_."

* * * * *

Liam O'Hanlan looked across the dinner table at his sister. "Okay,
Trisha, it's later."

"What are you talking about, Liam?" Trisha asked.

"You've been mad about something since you came back to the store from
the Reverend's place this afternoon," Liam explained. "And every time
I asked about it, you growled and said, 'Later.' Well... it's later,
and I want to know."

"And I don't want to tell you." Trisha pouted and crossed her arms in
front of her. "So it looks like you're stuck."

"Oh, go ahead and tell him," Kaitlin said. She and Emma were doing the
dishes. She dried her hands on her apron and walked over to the table.
As she sat down, she saw that her daughter had followed her. "Emma,
you go back over and finish the dishes. You can set them in the rack
to dry."

"Do I have to, Ma?" Emma whined.

"You do." Kaitlin pointed towards the sink. "Get going." After a
moment, she added, "As long as you keep working, you can listen to the
conversation."

Emma's hopeful look shifted into resignation. "Yes, Ma." She walked
back over to the sink and picked up a dish.

Now Kaitlin looked at Trisha, the same stern expression on her face.
"Well, tell him."

"If you're in such a hurry for him to know our personal business,"
Trisha said, "you_ tell him."

"All right, I will." Kaitlin took a breath. "Trisha kept insisting on
her... _rights_ as my husband, rights that I didn't think _she_ was
entitled to."

"You thought so those first few times when --"

"You confused me those first few times, Trisha, but I decided that it
wasn't right."

"But it was right when you did it to me?"

Liam shook his head. "I'm not sure that I want to hear any more of
this."

"Suffer, little brother," Trisha shot back at the embarrassed man.
"You asked for it. Besides, she won't even do _that_ anymore. I went
over to see the Reverend, to get him to tell Kaitlin that she should...
cooperate."

"And did he?"

"Just the opposite," Kaitlin answered. "He said that what Trisha
wanted to with me do was the worst kind of sin, and we should never,
ever, do it again."

Liam gave her an odd look. "I guess he didn't buy Trisha's saying that
it was a husband's right."

Trisha laughed bitterly. "Buy it? The good reverend said I had no
such right because Kaitlin and I weren't married anymore."

They heard a crash and looked over to see Emma kneeling down to pick up
the pieces of a broken dish. She had a scared look on her face. "You-
you and Ma ain't married no more?"

Kaitlin ran over to Emma and pulled her to her feet. The girl threw
her arms around her mother, trembling. "Now look what you did,
Trisha," Kaitlin scolded. "You've no call to be scaring Emma like
that."

"Me? I didn't do anything." She glared at them both. "Emma, let go
of your mother. You're acting like a child."

Emma shook her head and held her mother even tighter. "She's acting
like a fearful young girl," Kaitlin shot back, "which she is, because
of what you said."

"Well, I won't have it." Trisha banged her fist on the table. "First,
Yingling, then you and Emma. Doesn't anyone understand all the trouble
I'm having?"

Liam put his hand on Trisha's shoulder. "Seems to me, you're the one
who doesn't understand, Trisha."

"What, you, too, Liam? Are you taking her side against me, too?"

Liam shook his head. "I'm doing what _you_ should be doing. You're so
eager to have your 'rights' as Kaitlin's husband that you forgot about
the responsibilities, standing with her at hard times -- and believe
me, she's having one danged hard time right now."

"And now you know more about being her husband than I do."

"Maybe I do -- right now." Liam had an odd, embarrassed look on his
face.

"And _right now_, pigs are flying home all over the territory." Trisha
stamped her foot. "Well, to hell with you, Liam, and... and to hell
with Yingling... and O'Toole and his damned potion... and... and...
everybody!" Trisha glared at them all and started for the stairs.
"I'm going to bed -- _my_ bed, thank you very much, and _you_ can sleep
on the sofa tonight, Mrs. O'Hanlan!"

* * * * *

Saturday, January 27, 1872

"I think you missed a spot," Ysabel said.

Emma was sitting on the floor while she painted her dresser. She
stopped and looked up at her friend. "What do you mean?"

"Over on the left side, there..." Ysabel pointed. "...you missed a big
spot just below the hole for the top drawer."

Emma looked closely at her dresser. Most of it was now a cheery canary
yellow, instead of the dark brown it had been. However, there was a
thin patch of brown where Ysabel had said. "Dang, you're right. I
don't know what I'm thinking of, to have missed that."

"Some boy, maybe." She giggled when she said it.

"Am not." Emma said quickly, a little too quickly, she thought to
herself afterwards. "Well... to tell the truth, I am."

"Ha, I knew it!"

"Not like that. I'm a boy myself -- inside, I am, anyway. I was gonna
say, I was thinking of Tomas. He come over t'play, like he always
done, and we chased him away."

"We did not chase him. We... _you_ asked him to stay and help. He was
the one that decided that he didn't want to."

"I know. He said that spending the day fixing my room was silly, that
it was girl's stuff and not for him." Emma paused a beat. "Is it... I
mean, am I acting like a girl, doing something like this?"

Ysabel shook her head. "You are acting like a... person, one who wants
a place to hide out because her parents are acting loco... crazy... all
mixed up. That is what you told me, anyway."

"It's true, too. Last night, Mama and Trisha were yelling about if
they was still married. How can they not be married?"

"I don't know, but it seems to me that you don't need to be a part of
that yelling. And if you're going to be spending a lot of time hiding
away from them here in your room, it makes sense to me that your room
should be a place where you want to spend all that time." She stood
back to look at the new curtains she had just hung. "And now it is."

It was mid afternoon. The room had a different look after several
hours of work. Kaitlin had helped, when she found out what Emma was
doing, but the pair had done most of the re-decorating themselves.
"It's my room," Emma had said, "and I'll fix it as I want."

The new curtains were the same color as Emma was painting her dresser.
Both matched the quilt now covering her bed. Two lace ribbons were
hung on the wall besides them, so that the curtains could be tied back
to let in the sun. A long strip of yellow cloth trimmed with the same
lace framed the top of the window. A pair of ruffled pillows lay
together at the head of the bed.

"Yellow is a nice, bright color," Ysabel had suggested when she'd gone
shopping for the room with Emma and Kaitlin that morning. It also was
feminine without being so obvious that Emma would get obstinate, as
Ysabel knew she might have, if pink had been the suggested color. Mr.
Silverman had given them a good bargain on everything once he heard
what it was for.

The low table that Emma used as a desk was also painted yellow. The
paint was drying now, the desk, back in its place. A small vase filled
with dried summer flowers sat in a corner on a small, embroidered
cloth. There were similar vases of dried flowers on the bed table and
the window ledge, all supplied by her mother.

Ysabel had wanted to get rid of the skull that still hung on the wall.
Emma had flatly refused. She had let Ysabel tie yellow bows onto both
horns. The ribbons trailed down a foot or so from each horn. Emma had
said that the bows looked silly, but hadn't taken them down.

What Ysabel wasn't saying, except to herself, was, 'It has become a
room any girl would be happy to live in.'

* * * * *

Whit Whitney stood for a moment in the Saloon door and looked around.
When he saw Shamus at one end of the bar, he quickly walked over to the
barman.

"Hello, Whit," Shamus greeted him. "I ain't seen ye in here in
donkey's years. What're ye drinking?"

"I... ah, didn't come in here for a drink, Shamus."

"Just like I go over t'yuir shop to _not_ get me hair cut," Shamus
teased. Then he saw the serious look on the other man's face. "All
right, then. What did ye come in for, if it weren't t'be having a
drink?"

Whit took a breath. He straightened his stance and began. "Mr.
O'Toole, may my family and I call upon you, Mrs. O'Toole, and Miss
Margarita Sanchez --"

"Of course, ye may, Whit. What's all this silliness about?"

"Let me finish, Shamus. I promised Carmen and Ramon I'd say this
speech the way they made me learn it." Shamus nodded, and the man
continued. "You and Molly and Miss Margarita Sanchez tomorrow at 2 PM
at your home? We wish to discuss a matter of some importance."

"And how long did it take ye t'be learning that pretty speech?"

Whit shrugged. "An hour, maybe. Ramon insisted that I have it
perfect." He made a sour face. "And Carmen backed him up every time I
tried to beg off. When she gets that look in her eyes..." He
shivered. "...and I thought winters in Maine were cold."

"Aye," Shamus agreed. "It ain't easy t'be refusing yuir wife when she
truly wants something." He laughed. "Not if ye love 'em."

"Something we both know personally, I think." He paused a beat. "So,
Shamus, can we come over tomorrow afternoon?"

"Molly and me ain't got a home, but we have a nice couple o'rooms
upstairs. We'll be happy t'be welcoming ye thuir at 2 on Sunday."

"We'll be there, then. Carmen said she got somebody to watch the
children."

"Then Molly, Maggie, and me'll be waiting for ye."

"Are you that sure you can speak for Maggie?"

Shamus raised an eyebrow. "I am -- if ye're talking about what I think
ye are."

"I probably am, but I'm not supposed to say anything." He started to
go, then stopped. "One last thing, Shamus."

"And what'd that be?"

"I didn't come in here for a drink, but after all that, I believe I
need one." He put a silver dollar on the bar. "Beer, if you please,
and draw one for yourself."

* * * * *

Teresa Diaz stood in the doorway watching her cousin packing. "I still
cannot believe that you are going."

"I would not be packing if I were staying," Dolores replied with a weak
attempt at a smile. She took a pile of neatly folded undergarments
from a drawer and put them carefully into a large carpetbag.

"Si, and I wish that you _were_ staying."

"I will be back again one day." She reached for more clothing. "You
could always come to Mexico City for a visit, you know."

"Oh, of course. I can just leave my business and travel all that way
any time I want to." Teresa's voice was full of sarcasm.

"Perhaps not, but I will visit again, I promise."

"How easy you say that."

"What do you mean?"

"You talk like everything was fine, like Arnoldo... Arnoldo..." Teresa
tried hard not to sound angry.

"I am sure that everything will work out."

"How? I do not know what to say to him. He-he is so mad about losing
the job, and I-I cannot... h-help him." Her eyes began to fill with
tears.

Dolores walked over and hugged her cousin. "You are his mother. You
will find the words."

"I-I never have before. I talk and talk, but he says he is a grown
man, and he does not listen to me."

"I am sure that things are not as bad as you say."

"No, they are worse. You, Dolores, he listened to you."

"He was being polite to a guest in your house, that was all."

"No, he listened. He listened because you knew what to say, and I
didn't."

Dolores tried to smile. "I said the same things you did. Maybe I said
them a little differently, but --"

"No, you can talk to him -- you _must_ talk to him, find out what
happened and make him go back. Tell him to apologize to Seá±or O'Toole,
to ask -- to beg -- for his job back."

"Arnoldo is _muy_ proud. He will not beg."

"He will if you tell him to." Teresa clutched at her cousin. "You
must. He... he sounds so angry, I am afraid for what he might do. And
now, he... he has been... practicing with Luis'...pistola."

"I will talk to him, but I am leaving Monday. I may not be able to
persuade him by then."

"Then stay, at least, until you _can_ persuade him. Please, stay and
help my Arnoldo."

"Teresa, I... the Carnival, Mexico City, I have --"

"What do you have? What is there in Mexico City that is more important
to you than what happens to your cousin, Arnoldo, here in Eerie?"

* * * * *

R.J. was setting the stage up for the dance when he saw Blackie Easton
and Joe Ortleib walk into the Saloon. He stood up and walked over to
greet them. "I hope you boys aren't here to make trouble."

"Make trouble?" Blackie answered. "It's men like President Grant and
that pissant Quaker, Colyer, he put in charge of Injun Affairs that
make the trouble, coddling them red bastards."

R.J. shook his head. "If you're going to talk like that, you might as
well leave now and save us the trouble of throwing you out."

Joe held his hands up as if in surrender. "Whoa, whoa, R.J. We'll
behave. Won't we, Blackie?"

"We will," Blackie conceded. "At least for tonight, we will."

R.J. raised a dubious eyebrow. "No insults? No picking a fight with
Shamus?"

"No, sir," Joe said. "None of that tonight."

"Why the sudden change, and what do you mean it's for tonight?" R.J.
looked at the pair of them.

"It's like this," Blackie began, "we start telling Shamus how wrong he
is about them Injuns, he's likely to throw us out of here, just like
you said."

R.J. nodded. "And I'd be helping him."

"I didn't think you was no Injun lover, R.J.," Joe said.

"I believe in backing up my boss, Joe," R.J. told him. "You still
haven't said why you're going to be on such good behavior tonight."

Joe laughed. "It's simple. Regardless of what we think of Shamus, we
care about them pretty ladies that'll be here for the dance."

"Yeah," Blackie said. "It wouldn't be right t'deprive them of our
presence just because the man they're working for is a pig-headed,
Injun loving fool."

* * * * *

Milt stepped in front of Jane. "May I have this dance?"

"You sure you wanna be seen with me, Milt?" Jane asked sourly. Still,
she took his ticket and tucked it into her apron pocket.

"Of course I do." He took her hand and led her out onto the dance
floor.

"You got a funny way of showing it," she said as they took up their
position and waited for the music to start. "You hardly come around
here any more, and, when you do, you only talk t'me to order a beer or
get me to sign something."

Before he could answer, the music began, a waltz. Jane continued as
they danced. "Are you mad at me for something?"

"No, you--you've done nothing to anger me." All of his resolve about
telling her about what the trouble really was seemed to melt away. She
was so full of doubt. He was suddenly afraid that hearing the truth
would hurt her too deeply.

"Then... then you're ashamed t'be seen with me. Is that it?" She
spoke softly, afraid to hear his answer.

Milt almost stopped in surprise. "Ashamed? Now why would I be ashamed
of you?"

"'Cause you're a lawyer -- college trained and all -- and, me, I never
got past fourth grade."

"So what? I doubt that many of the men in here had much more education
than you. Look at Shamus; he was raised by the Cheyenne, and probably
never had a day of school in his life."

"Then what is the matter with me?"

"Nothing. It's... it's hard to explain."

"'Cause I'm too dumb to understand?"

"No, it's because... because _I'm_ too dumb, too dumb to be able to
explain it, even to myself."

"Now, I really don't understand. You're a lawyer. Only a judge can be
smarter."

"You don't have to understand, Jane. I do. When I figure things out
well enough to put them into words, I'll tell you. I promise."

"And just what am I suppose t'do in the meantime?"

"You just have to be yourself and let me hold you close while we
dance."

Jane smiled and put her head on his chest. "I can do that, I guess."

* * * * *

Sunday, January 28, 1872

"I gotta tell you, little missy, you are one fine singer." The speaker
was a tall, dapper-looking man in a dark blue frock coat.

Jessie dimpled. "Thanks, and, please, call me Jessie."

"All right... Jessie, and I'm Randolph... Randy, to you. And Randy
_for_ you," he added with a wink. "You are as pretty as an ace-high
straight."

"Well, now, thanks for that, too." Her smile grew even broader. She
liked being told she was pretty, even if it wasn't Paul doing the
telling.

"Yes, sir, damned beautiful. What do you say we go upstairs, and you
can show me just how beautiful."

"I'm sorry, Randy... Randolph, but all I do for Lady Cerise is sing in
her parlor."

"A woman as pretty as you, in a place like this, and all you do is
sing?" He raised an eyebrow. "Surely, that can't be true." He looked
at her closely. "Or do they just charge more for something as special
as you?"

Herve stepped between them. Randolph was tall, but Herve was just as
tall and much more muscled. "Ma'm'selle Jessie told you, sir. She is
here to sing -- and _only_ to sing."

Randy took a step back. "Which she, ah, does very well. I just
thought... _hoped_ that there was more, that just she had to be coaxed,
perhaps. That was all. I meant no harm."

"Except for the last part," Jessie told him with a forced smile, "I
took what you said as a compliment." She wanted to keep things
friendly, so Cerise wouldn't lose any business on her account.

The man grinned back nervously. "I'll just take my leave of you then."
He hurried over to talk to Mae. She smiled at something he said and
led him out of the parlor and towards the stairs.

"This is getting to be a habit with you," Cerise said, joining Jessie
and Herve. "Last week, it was Max and today Randolph. I hope it has
not put you off the idea of singing at my establishment."

Jessie shook her head. "No, but I didn't expect I'd get propositioned
so often. I'm just glad that Herve came over when he did."

"It was my pleasure to rescue such a fair damosel," Herve replied,
bowing low with a broad sweep of his arm.

"Thanks, Herve, but I didn't really need rescuing. If Randy there
_had_ tried anything..." she smiled mischievously, "...what I'd'a done
with my knee would've put _him_ off."

* * * * *

Whit Whitney took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair.
"This is really good scotch, Shamus." He grinned. "Better than what
you serve downstairs, I think."

"I have a bottle of it down in me bar, and I'll be serving it t'any man
willing t'pay me what it's worth."

Carmen was sitting on Whit's left in the parlor of the two-room
apartment that Shamus and Molly kept on the second floor of the Saloon.
"Shall we get down to business finally?" she asked, shifting the cloth
bag on her lap.

"Please." Ramon was on Whit's right. Shamus, Molly, and Maggie sat
across from them.

"All right then." Whit took a final sip. "Normally, Ramon's parents
and his godfather would handle this, but, well, his parents're dead,
and, these days, Juan Ortega's too old and sick to leave his house.
That leaves it to Carmen and me to ask."

Molly took Maggie's hand in hers. "And what would ye be asking, Mr.
Whitney?" She felt Maggie's hand clench as soon as she said it.

"They call it a 'peticiá³n de mano', a request for a lady's hand," Whit
told her, "and, normally, Ramon and Maggie wouldn't be here, but --"

Ramon interrupted. "But I wanted to be here, to be the one to ask."
He looked across at Maggie. "Seá±or and Seá±ora O'Toole... Margarita,
will you give me the greatest gift any man can ever receive, the hand
of the woman he loves in marriage?"

"Ramon, I..." She looked rattled. "You know that I cannot --"

Molly jabbed Shamus in the ribs. "Very well said, Ramon," Shamus
quickly interrupted. "Now, as I understand it, the girl's parents --
which'd be Molly and me in this case -- are the ones who answer the
boy's family -- which would be ye, Whit and Carmen. Ain't that right,
Maggie?"

"Si," she answered, "but I..."

"We answer for ye, Maggie dear," Molly interrupted this time. "'Tis
our answer that counts, so be a darling and leave it to us." She gave
Maggie's hand a gentle squeeze. "Trust us, dear."

Maggie sighed. "I do, but..."

"We'll talk about it later." Molly gave a reassuring smile and patted
Maggie's hand before she turned to face the others. "Carmen told
Shamus and me how this petition thing works, and we've given some
thought about how t'best be answering the question." She tilted her
head towards Shamus for a moment.

"We'll talk about what ye asked," Shamus continued, "aye, we'll be
thinking long and hard on it, and we'll be giving ye yuir answer a week
from today, if that's all right with ye?"

Whit stood and reached out. "That's fine." He took Shamus hand and
shook it. "We'll be back then for your answer."

"His answer?" Maggie said, sounding almost angry. "Custom or not,
should _I_ not be the one to answer?"

Carmen smiled. "Only if it is the right answer. In the meantime..."
she opened the bag. "...custom calls for a _sabucan_... a gift of food
and drink to celebrate that our peticiá³n is so well received."

"Uncle Juan -- our godfather -- could not be here, but he sent this
bottle of madeira, and I brought _rosas_, a bouquet for the... bride."
As she spoke, Carmen took the bottle and a stack of flower-shaped
pastry swirls sparkling with pink sugar out of the bag and laid them
out on the table. She smiled and handed out the rosas, while Shamus
opened the bottle and poured everyone a drink.

Maggie sat quietly, not knowing what to do or say. Or what she
_wanted_ to do or say.

* * * * *

"Cream and sugar, Phillipia?" Kaitlin asked.

"Just sugar please." Phillipia Stone was Yully's mother, a slender
woman whose olive skin and curly black hair proudly showed her Greek
ancestry. She waited while Kaitlin added the sugar and passed her the
cup. "I've spoken to several women -- discretely, of course -- and
they've agreed to bake for the dance."

"Wonderful, Phillipia." Kaitlin had put two spoons of sugar in a
second cup and was handing it to Trisha.

"Could I have some milk, too, please," Trisha asked.

Kaitlin added the milk to Trisha's tea, while she continued her
conversation with Mrs. Stone. "And will you be making those little
layered honey cakes of yours?" She passed the cup to Trisha.

"My baklava? Of course," Phillipia said. "And you'll make the mint
tea?"

"Yes," Kaitlin answered. "And Martha Yingling will bring the big
punchbowl and the glasses and plates that belongs to the church.
They're all kept at her house." She took a sip of her own tea. "I
also spoke to Nancy Osbourne about decorations. She'll have the school
children make paper chains and paper lanterns as a craft project."

"She'll need a lot of paper for that," Trisha said thoughtfully. "It
really isn't fair to ask the school to pay for it. I'll... I'll talk
to Roscoe Unger about donating some when he comes in to see about my
store's advertisement for next week's paper."

"You should ask him to give us space in the paper to promote the
dance," Phillipia suggested.

Trisha nodded. "That's a good idea; I will." She thought a moment.
"I'm sure he will. He's a nice... a good man, and the church gives him
a lot of business."

"It certainly sounds like we're ready," Kaitlin said. "All we need is
for the board to approve the whole idea of holding a dance."

"They... _we_ will," Trisha replied. "That is, I think we will. We've
got the votes."

Phillipia nodded. "My papa used to say, 'don't sell the fish until the
boats come in.' It sounds better in Greek, but you get the idea." She
sipped her tea. "Do you think Mr. Styron knows what we're trying to
do?"

"No." Trisha shook her head. "If he did, I'd have heard of it --
probably from him directly. Still... there's still more than a week
left until the meeting."

"Can he do anything?" Phillipia asked, "If the votes are there, I
mean."

"He could try," Trisha replied. "Rupert, the Judge, and Dwight all
said that they liked the idea, but..."

"But what?" Kaitlin asked.

Trisha continued. "But if enough people raise an objection at the
meeting, any one of them _could_ change his vote."

"Then it's your job to see that they don't," Kaitlin said, a determined
look in her eye.

"Yes, ma'am," Trisha answered quickly.

* * * * *

Maggie watched Shamus walk Ramon, Carmen, and Whit down from the
apartment. She and Molly were left to clean up and put things away.
"Why did you not let me answer when Ramon proposed?" she asked Molly.

Molly looked at her carefully. "And what answer would ye be giving
him?"

"I..." she sighed. "I do not know."

"And that's why we didn't let ye answer, 'cause ye don't know." She
waited a half-beat. "Don't ye want to marry him?"

"I... I love him, and I so very much want to be with him."

"Aye, only thuir's a 'but' ain't there?"

She looked at Molly, her eyes beginning to glisten. "But... but I
promised Lupe, my Lupe, that I would take care of our children. I... I
cannot put my happiness ahead... ahead of that promise."

"Maggie, dear, ye've been saying that t'poor Ramon for months. Ye've
been caught, caught like that dog in the manger, between love and
duty."

"And I still am."

"Then ye couldn't be answering him today, could ye?"

"I couldn't," she admitted, choking on the words. "And it will be the
same next week, when he comes back for his answer, the one you and
Shamus promised him." She stared down at the floor, unable to look her
friend in the face.

Molly gently lifted Maggie's chin with her hand. "No it won't, Maggie,
dear," she said smiling. "We've got us a week, me, ye, and Shamus,
t'be figuring out a way for ye to give Ramon the _right_ answer. We'll
find that way, ye'll see."

* * * * *

"And where the devil have ye been?"

Jessie ignored Shamus while she tied on her apron. "Where I said I was
going, over t'see Wilma. What's the matter with that?"

"She did say she'd be going over there, Love," Molly added, trying to
keep things calm. "And it wasn't like we was so busy this afternoon."

"That ain't the point, Molly," Shamus answered stubbornly. "We're
never busy on Sunday afternoon. What I'm wondering is, was she
visiting with her sister or was she singing for all them men over there
at Lady Cerise's?"

Jessie glared at him. "I'm not saying that's what I did, Shamus, but
what if it was? You don't have me singing in here on Sundays, so why
can't I sing over there if I want to?"

"If she pays ye to, ye mean. Sam Braddock was in here an hour or so
ago, and he was telling me how ye was singing there, singing 'Collee's
Ride', too. The song I told ye not t'be singing."

"You pay me for singing in here two days a week -- three, if you count
the times I sing at the dance on Saturday. That's all. You never said
I couldn't sing nowhere else." She took a breath. "And _I_ decide
what I sing. I don't sing 'Collee's Ride' in here because Molly asked
me not to, _not_ because of anything you said."

Shamus looked over at his wife. "Molly? Because _she_ asked ye..."

"I was just trying t'keep the peace, Love," Molly told him. "I
couldn't stand t'see the way it hurt ye t'be hearing that song." She
put her hand on his shoulder. "Please don't be mad."

Shamus reached up and put his hand over hers. "I'm not mad, Love. Not
at ye, anyhow. But this one..."

"Look, Shamus. I wasn't here this afternoon, so don't pay me for it.
As far as what I did do, that's my business. It ain't like we got a
contract. We shook hands on my singing for you two nights a week, and
that's the end of it."

Shamus let out a deep sigh. "It is for now, Jessie. It is for now.
Go wait on me customers."

* * * * *

Teresa Diaz looked over at the couch where Arnie was stretched out.
"Arnoldo, are you asleep?" It was after 10, and her younger children
were all in bed.

"No, Mama." He turned his head to face her. "Just thinking." He
paused a beat. "Dolores is leaving tomorrow. I thought that, after we
see her off, I would go look for another job."

"What about your old job? Maybe Seá±or Shamus would give it back to you
if you asked him."

Arnie sat up quickly. "No! I will not ask that old bas -- that old
man for my job."

"But you always said that he was a good jefe."

"A good boss would not have fired me like he did, for no reason."

"But you _stole_ from him, Arnoldo. You told me so yourself."

"One time, Mama, one time, and it was only thirty cents."

"If it was only the one time -- only a mistake -- then he will forgive
you. You must ask him."

"You mean I must _beg_ him. I _will_ _not_ beg some Apache-loving son
of a bitch -- yes, son of a bitch -- for a job."

"But... but who will hire you if they find out that Seá±or Shamus fired
you? He is a man of importance in this town."

"I'm a man of importance, too. You just don't see it."

"What I see is a boy, a boy trying hard -- maybe too hard -- to be a
man."

"Then you see nothing." He stood up. "And we have nothing to talk
about." He turned and walked towards the front door.

"Arnoldo!" Teresa started after him. He ignored her and kept walking,
slamming the door hard behind him. She shuddered at the sound as if
struck and sank down into a chair. "Arnoldo!" she moaned. "Why do you
have to be so much like your papa?"

Dolores had heard everything through the half-opened door of the room
she shared with her cousins. She was beside Teresa almost at once, her
arms around her. "He just lost his temper," she told the grieving
woman. "He will be back, and you two will be able to talk it out."

"Si," Teresa answered, "he will be back, but I will be no better at
talking to him than I was just now. He would talk to you, but you...
you will not be here to help me." She put her head on Dolores'
shoulder and began to cry.

* * * * *

Monday, January 29, 1872

"You awake, Jessie?"

Jessie opened one eye. "Jane, it ain't morning yet. Go back to
sleep."

"I can't. I been trying and trying." She sounded mad about something.

"What's the matter?"

"Milt. I-I can't figure him out. Sometimes, he acts like he really
likes me. And sometimes... sometimes it's like he can't stand t'be
around me."

"Did you ask him why?"

"I did. He said he couldn't explain it t'me. You think it's 'cause
I'm... I'm too dumb?"

'Don't answer that,' Jessie told herself. Aloud, she asked, "Did he
say you was dumb?"

"He... he said he couldn't figure it out for himself, but that don't
make no sense t'me. What d'you think?"

"I-I don't know." Jessie yawned. "It took me a long while t'figure
Paul out."

"Well, you musta got him figured out now. You two are together so
much." Jane giggled. "'Specially at night."

"Jane!"

"It's true, ain't it? Fact is, I can't see why you spend any nights
over here."

Jessie felt her body warm at the thought of being with Paul every
night. But she couldn't. "Paul says -- and I agree with him, I guess
-- that there room of his over t'the jail is like a fishbowl." She
sighed. "It'd be too much if I was t'move in with him."

"He could move in here. There's lotsa room."

"Sure, and put on a show for you every night? Go to sleep, Jane."

"I can't. I still don't know what t'do about Milt."

"I'll tell you what; you think about what I'm gonna do about Paul for a
while, and I'll think about you and Milt. How's that?"

"You will? You promise?"

Jessie stifled another yawn. "I promise."

"G'night, then." Jessie heard Jane shifting on her bed. She lay
still, there in the darkened room, until they both were asleep.

* * * * *

Teresa stirred the eggs in the skillet. "Constanza," she called to her
younger daughter, "please go tell Dolores that breakfast is almost
ready."

"She is not here, Mama," Constanza answered, putting the dishes in
place on the table. "She went someplace early this morning."

Teresa looked over at the door. Dolores' luggage, two large
carpetbags, was still waiting there. "Do you know where she went?"
Dolores had said nothing while they had talked the night before.

'Of course,' she added to herself, 'I was so busy worrying about
Arnoldo last night that I --.' Her eyes started to fill with tears.
'No, I will not get upset this morning. Let Dolores see me smile when
she leaves.' She wiped her eyes quickly, hoping her children would not
notice.

Ysabel was pouring milk for everyone. "Maybe she went to say goodbye
to Seá±or de Aguilar," she suggested, giggling at the thought of how
they might be saying their goodbyes.

"She had better get back here soon from wherever she is," Teresa said.
She took the scrambled eggs off the heat and folded in a mixture of
onions, tomatoes, and shredded beef she had cooked earlier. Setting
the skillet down, she continued, "Otherwise, she will not have time to
eat before Arnoldo and I take her to the stage."

"Can we go with you, Mama?" Enrique asked, "or do we have to say
goodbye here and go to school?"

Teresa thought for a moment. "I think that you can be late this one
time, but you will say short goodbyes and run to the school as soon as
the stage leaves." She walked around the table spooning portions of
the egg and meat mixture onto everyone's plates, including some for her
missing cousin.

"Something smells very good," Dolores said, choosing that moment to
come in.

"I made machaca con huevos," Teresa told her. "I wanted you to have a
good meal before you left." Food at the stations along most stage
routes was notoriously bad. "You had best hurry, though."

Dolores sat down at her place and took a forkful. "I have plenty of
time. I am not going -- not today, at least. I was just at the depot
turning in my ticket."

The younger children cheered, and Ysabel gave Dolores a hug. "I am so
glad you are staying."

"As am I," Teresa said, "but I have to ask why?" Teresa felt
embarrassed. She knew that she needed help, but was Dolores staying
out of pity?

Dolores looked at the children and shook her head. "For now, let us
only say that I decided last night that staying here in Eerie might be
just as exciting in its own way as Carnival back home."

"Last night... you mean when I..." Teresa's cheeks felt warm. It _was_
pity.

Dolores hugged Ysabel back and reached out to gently put her hand on
Teresa's arm. "I mean that I decided that I love my cousins -- _all_
of my cousins -- here in Eerie too much to leave yet. I will spend
Carnival right here."

She looked over at Arnie's empty chair. He had eaten earlier, not
wanting to be around his mother. It was a feeling she reluctantly
shared. At the moment, he was out back getting Teresa's small laundry
wagon ready to carry Dolores' luggage to the stage. "I am sure,"
Dolores added, "that there will be some interesting fireworks
hereabout."

* * * * *

"Ramon," Aaron called from behind the counter, making a broad motion
with his arm. "Come over and join us for some lunch."

"Why?" Ramon answered. "I do not mean to be rude," he added quickly,
"but do you not always say that we should not all eat at the same time,
so there will always be someone to wait on any customers that come in?"

Aaron chuckled. "Ma nistana ha-yom hazeh? Sorry, that was a joke,
sort of. It means 'why is this day different from every other day?'
That's something we say as part of the seder, the special meal we have
for our Passover holiday."

"And I'm sure he has at least four questions," Rachel interrupted her
husband. Without any explanation of what she'd just said, she
continued, "Please come join us, Ramon. And if it bothers you so much,
you can turn the sign on the door around, and we'll be closed. It's
quiet now," she said with a shrug, "closed for ten or twenty minutes--
feh! -- what can it hurt?"

"In that case, I will be happy to join you." Ramon walked over to the
door and reversed the sign before taking a seat at the small worktable
they had set up for the meal. "Especially for some of Rachel's
brisket." He put two slices of meat on a slice of the bread.

Rachel handed him a small jar filled with a very pungent, grayish-brown
paste. "Try some of this horseradish on it, but not too much. It's
strong."

"I know." Ramon used a knife to spread some of the paste -- as strong
as any chili paste he'd ever eaten -- on the second slice of bread. He
topped off the sandwich with a slice of lettuce, added the bread, and
took a bite. "Delicious," he said truthfully. Then he turned to face
Aaron. "What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Always to the point," Aaron said, laughing. "When Fortune calls, as
the Sages say, get her a chair quick. Since you ask, I'll tell you.
Better yet, I'll ask you. Ramon, how would you like to be a partner in
the store -- one third share each to me, Rachel, and you?"

Ramon's eyes went wide. "Partner? I had thought, perhaps, a raise,
but this... I am very flattered, Aaron.... Rachel, but should it not be
your sons that are your partners?"

"You mean like Michael Goldwasser -- excuse me, keineh horah,
_Goldwater_ -- and his boys over in Phoenix?" Aaron said, a sarcastic
tone in his voice. "Being partners with my sons would be nice, but do
you see them standing around here anywhere? Shmulie, my oldest, is a
rabbi in San Francisco, working with Rabbi Belinski, the chief rabbi of
the city, no less. Yitzchak, my other boy, has his own store -- and
it's doing well, he tells me -- up in Denver. And my daughter, Tuva,
her husband works in San Francisco, too, for the Port."

"Don't be so hard on Moische," Rachel scolded. "Not after he and Tuva
gave us that pretty granddaughter two years ago."

"I'm not mad, Racheliebe," Aaron said, taking her hand in his. "I'm
just saying they aren't here to be partners with."

"And so you are stuck with me," Ramon said wryly.

Aaron shook his head. "Stuck? Gottenu, no. _Lucky_ is what I am with
you. You're a good boy, a real mench, as we say, and a hard worker.
I'll be proud to have you as my partner." He held out his right hand.
"If you'll take my offer?"

"I will be proud to your partner, Aaron, my friend." He shook the
older man's hand. "And yours, as well, Rachel."

"A handshake is good," Aaron told him, "but where there's room for a
question, something is wrong. I'll have Milt Quinlan draw up papers to
make everything kosher. We can sign by Shabbos."

Rachel smiled contentedly. "Now that we've settled that, Ramon, try
one of these pickles."

* * * * *

Cerise looked up from her paperwork at the sound of the knock on the
office door. "Entre vous, come in."

"Morning, Cerise," Wilma said, stepping into the office and closing the
door behind her. "How you doing today?"

"Bien, mon brave, and you?"

"Just dandy." Wilma grinned. "I think I got an answer t'what I should
do about Rosalyn and Beatriz."

"Tres bien; what is it that you are going to do?"

"Nothing. _You're_ gonna do it."

Cerise frowned. "I 'ave told you, Wilma, that it is you that must
solve this problem if you are to truly be my second."

"And I have. Lemme ask you something, what you do t'them two for
getting tea over all those ledgers of yours?"

"I... I scolded them for their impertinence, of course. What else
would you have me do?"

"Seems t'me they oughta be put t'work replacing what they ruined.
Then... long as they're working on them books anyway, they can enter
all the expenses since."

"It will take them hours to do all of that. They will..." Celeste's
lips curled into a wry smile. She nodded in approval. "I see what you
mean, and... I think that it will work." She gave a deep, hearty
laugh. "And they will work."

Wilma joined the laughter. "I thought you'd like it."

"I do; I very much do like it. Brava." She clapped her hands in a
brief applause. "I shall call them in this very afternoon."

"Exactly. They wouldn't do it if I asked, but they'll have to do it
for you." She thought for a moment. "But I'd wait till Wednesday
t'have them do it."

"Why? There will not be that many more bills to enter by Wednesday."

"No, but I just remembered that Beatriz said Sebastian Ortega's coming
over here Wednesday afternoon." She pretended to look sad. "Be a real
shame if she was too busy doing the work in here, and he went and
picked somebody else t'be with."

* * * * *

"Be careful as you bone the fish," Maggie warned Jane. "We could not
get as much of the fresh Gila trout as I would have liked."

"I done this before," Jane answered. "Mr. Mckechnie's wagon's've
brought 'em up more'n once."

Before Maggie could reply, Ramon burst into the room, a broad smile on
his face. "Margarita, I have news."

"Ramon, what is it that is so important?"

He rushed over to Maggie. "Wonderful, wonderful news. I-I had to come
over and tell you. Aaron, just now he... he offered to make me a
partner in the store."

"An equal partner in his business? That is good news."

Jane slapped him on the back. "Yeah, congratulations, Ramon."

"Actually, Aaron, Rachel, and I will all be partners," he continued.
"They asked me to sit with them for lunch. He made me the offer, and
I... I said yes. Milt Quinlan will write something legal, and we will
all sign."

"I am proud of you, Ramon," Maggie told him. "What did Whit and Carmen
say when you told them?"

"I have not told them yet." He took a step closer. "You -- oh, and
Jane -- you are the first ones to know."

"Me?" Maggie felt a warm tingling run through her.

"Who else would I want to share this news with?" He nudged up close to
her, very close.

"Ramon, I have fish all over me. " She tried to push him away with an
elbow that was reasonably clean.

He took hold of her waist and held firm. "Something to remember you
by," he said with a smile and kissed her. Maggie shifted from pushing
him away to encircling his neck. Their bodies flush, they held their
embrace until breathless.

And time and Jane and the fish all went away for a while, lost in the
depths of the couple's feelings, like a school of fish lost in the
depths of the ocean.

Ramon reluctantly broke the kiss. He drew in a deep breath, stepped
back and brushed some bits of fish and skin from his shirt. "Not your
best perfume, but a memorable one." He looked at his pocket watch. "I
must go. I promised my... partners that I would not be gone too long."

"And a promise is a promise," Maggie said with a sigh. "I should know.
Goodbye then."

Ramon turned to go, but then he glanced at his shirt and brushed
another small scrap of fish away. "What is this that you are cooking?"

"Grilled trout with salsa verde," Maggie answered. "That and fried
chicken will be the menu tonight."

"May I join you then for dinner -- with Ernesto and Lupe, of course --
I want to tell them the good news, too." He paused a beat. "I will
get a bottle of wine from Shamus, and we can all toast my becoming a
partner."

"You are welcome, of course." She tried not to seem _too_ happy at the
prospect of dinner with him. "But what about Carmen and Whit. Should
you not tell them?"

"I will, and I will drink a toast with them, also. Whit has a very
good wine cellar." He took her hand. "And on Sunday -- I have every
hope that -- we will be drinking a toast to another, and much better
partnership."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. Maggie trembled,
but before she could answer, could say anything, he released her hand,
bowed low, and was gone.

* * * * *

Tuesday, January 30, 1872

Dolores was writing a letter, to explain to her friend, Perdita
Moralez, why she would not be coming home for carnival. Arnie watched
her for a bit, then sat down across from her at the table.

"While Mama is out delivering laundry, I wanted to thank you for
staying for a while longer. You made her very happy."

She put down her pen. "You are welcome. I enjoyed my visit, and I
decided that it would be more fun to spend carnival here with all of
you than to go back to Mexico City. I _know_ what the festival is like
there."

"Just the same, it was good of you to do it for her."

"You are a good... son, Arnoldo, to care so much for your mother's
happiness."

"What sort of a son would I be if I did not think of my mother?"

"What sort of son would you be if you thought even more of your
mother?"

"What do you mean?"

"She is very worried about you."

"I know. I am trying to find a new job."

"And I am sure that you will." She studied his face for a moment, then
added, "but your job is not the only thing that worries your mother."

He tensed. "What do you mean?"

"Your papa's pistolas, are you still trying to learn how to use them?"

"No, I..." he looked down at the table top. "I decided to stop for a
while. I will use the time to..." His mind raced. "...to find a
job."

"That sounds like a good idea. Have you told your mother this?"

"No." He sensed a trap.

"Then do so. Better yet, give her the pistolas to hold while you are
not using them." She put her hand on his. "do it for me... and her.
Show us that she does not need to worry, that you are the _man_ I know
you to be."

He thought for a moment. 'Jessie will not give me lessons, and I have
no money for bullets. Why not let Mama think I am doing it for her?'
He nodded. "Very well, I will do it. I will give them to Mama as soon
as she comes home."

"Maravilloso!" She came around to his side of the table and hugged him
tightly. 'And I will talk to the people at the saloon. Maybe I can
help you to get your old job back.'

* * * * *

Rev. Yingling stood up as Trisha walked into his study. "And how are
you today, Trisha?" he asked as she sat down opposite him at his desk.

"Hopeful, Reverend," she answered, as he took his seat.

"Hope is a truly blessed state. Are your plans for a building fund
progressing that well?"

"I think they are, but that isn't what I'm hopeful about right now."

"And what is it that you are so hopeful about?"

"I'm hopeful that I can get you to change your mind on what you said
about Kaitlin and me."

Yingling shook his head. "I fear that is not possible, Trisha."

"But --"

"Please let me finish. When we first talked last week, you asked me to
think about what your relationship with Kaitlin was and what it ought
to be. I did. For three straight days, I thought of almost nothing
else. I had to rush to finish last Sunday's sermon."

"It didn't seem rushed to me. You talked about repentance and trying
to follow G-d's Will."

"I'm glad you were listening."

"I always listen to your sermons, Reverend."

"Really, tell me, just as a guess, how many times I've spoken on the
subject of repentance in the past year?"

"I... I never kept count... umm, a dozen times, at least."

"And how many times would you say I've spoken on understanding our
Lord's Will or on following his Laws?"

"Are you saying that this..." She gestured at her body. "...is His
Will?"

"Who can say what is or isn't His Will? That isn't my point."

"What is your point, then?"

"Have you ever heard me change my position on repentance... or on any
other topic I've spoken of in my sermons? Even when such a change
might seem warranted because of something that was happening to a
member of my congregation?" He stared directly at Trisha, as if daring
her to answer.

"No... no, I-I haven't."

"Then why... how can you expect me to change my mind on this? I am
sorry to say it, but say it I must. Your marriage to Kaitlin ended the
moment that your body changed. Woman cannot be married to woman,
_that_ is Holy Writ."

"I wasted my time -- and my hopes, then." She sighed. "You can't --
or won't help me."

"I most certainly can help, Trisha. I can help you -- you and Kaitlin,
both -- to find solace in our Lord and to come to terms with what has
happened to you." He gently placed his hand on hers. "Please let me
try to help the two of you in this, help you to find the peace that
lies in His Love."

Yingling's hand on hers bothered Trisha. She pulled hers away and
shook her head. "Someday, maybe, Reverend. Today, all I feel is hate,
a hate for what Shamus' potion did to me."

"I am of several minds on Mr. O'Toole's potion, but I remind you that
it did save your son's life."

"No, it ended it. Based on what you said before, it ended mine as
well. Patrick and Elmer O'Hanlan are dead and gone. What happens to
what's left, to Trisha and Emma O'Hanlan, remains to be seen."

"All things are in the Lord's hands. Pray with me. Ask Him for His
Blessings and Mercy."

"Not today, I think." She stood up. "I do thank you for your time,
though."

* * * * *

"Can I talk to ye for a bit, Maggie?" Molly asked, walking into the
kitchen.

Jane answered first. "Sure you can, Molly. We was just taking a break
before starting on tonight's supper."

"I was talking t'Maggie, Jane," Molly said patiently, "and I'd like
t'be talking to her alone if ye don't mind?"

"Can't I stay? I'll be quiet." Jane sat down at the worktable. "I'll
just sit here and not say a word."

Maggie put a hand on her helper's shoulder. "Please, Jane. I know
that you want to stay, but this is something... something just between
Molly and me."

"Oh, all right." Jane frowned but she did stand up. "I'll go sit out
front and hope that Milt'll come in t'see me."

"I hope that he will," Maggie said, "I truly do. And thank you."

Jane was almost to the door. She stopped and turned around. "Don't
thank me, Maggie. You owe me one for this, and don't you think I ain't
gonna collect." She winked and walked through the door and into the
saloon.

"She's a good girl," Molly said, watching the door close behind Jane,
"but sometimes..." She let the words trail off.

Maggie poured Molly a cup of coffee. "I do not think she knows how
important this is." She poured herself a cup and sat down. "Have you
thought of anything?"

"Aye, dear. I've thought of a question." She added sugar to the cup
and stirred. "What exactly was it that ye promised that wife of
yuirs?"

"I..." Maggie looked surprised. "I promised what I said, that I would
take care of Ernesto and Lupe."

"D'ye remember yuir exact words when ye made the promise?"

"Remember?" she sighed. "I remember it too well. Lupe... my wife, had
a hard time giving birth to L... to our daughter. We thought that she
was getting better, but a few months later, she woke up in pain and
with a terrible fever. There was no doctor, just Father Telles and the
midwife." Maggie stopped and closed her eyes.

"It's all right, Maggie." Molly gently laid her hand on Maggie's right
arm. "It's all right. Ye don't have to be telling me."

Maggie's left elbow was on the table, her arm bent and her hand
covering her eyes. "Si, I-I do. They did all that they could, but it
was... it was not enough. Even I knew it, though I did not want to
admit it, even to myself."

"Late in the afternoon, Lupe asked to see the children. My sister,
Juana, was taking care of them, and Mother Gracia, the midwife, went
for them. Then Lupe asked Father Telles to let us be alone. My... my
heart beat so hard that it hurt. I feared that she was saying goodbye
to me."

Molly could feel the tears in her own eyes. "And was she?" Molly
asked softly.

"She was, in her way. 'Miguel, mi corazá³n' -- my heart, she called me.
'You must promise me something.' I said that I would promise anything.
I would have. I would have sold my soul if it would have made her
well."

Maggie continued. "She tried to sit up, but she could not. I shifted
some pillows behind her. 'Thank you,' she said. 'You have always been
so good... so good..." Maggie sobbed, holding her head in her hands.

Molly hurried around the table and took the younger woman in her arms.
She began a gentle rocking motion, trying to calm Maggie, as she might
try to calm a suffering daughter.

It seemed to work. Maggie' voice grew steadier. "I am... better," she
finally said. "Thank you."

"D'ye think ye can be telling the rest of it?"

Maggie nodded. "Lupe was saying, 'you have always been so good to me,
Miguel. You must promise to me that you will take care of our
children, mi corazá³n.' We will take care of them together, I said. I
knew it was a lie, but I could not say the truth."

"Lupe shook her head. She smiled and kissed my hand. 'We both
know...' she stopped. She could not say the truth any more than I
could. 'Just promise, mi corazá³n, promise that you will care for them
as we would have if we... I were there to care for them with you."

"I closed my eyes, so that she would not see the tears. I will
promise, I said, but you will be there with me, you will see."

"Before she could argue, there was a knock on the door. Mother Gracia
was back. 'Good,' Lupe said, 'I know that you will keep that promise.'
Then she called for Mother Gracia to bring the babies in. She... _we_
played with them for a while. She even nursed Lupe one last time. Then
she said that she was feeling tired."

"Mother Gracia took the babies back to Juana's. Lupe asked for Father
Telles. We prayed together, the three of us, for some hours. I could
hear Lupe's voice getting weaker. At last, she... she asked the padre
for the last rites. He gave them to her. She thanked him and took my
hand. 'Mi corazon,' she said, 'remember your promise.' I said that I
would."

Maggie began to cry again, and Molly held her. "Lupe and I... we held
hands like... like the lovers we were. I-I held her until... until she
slipped away to the world be-beyond." Maggie's voice fell away into a
moan and she laid her head against Molly. She didn't try to speak
again; she was sobbing too hard.

"So that's the size of it," Molly whispered. She held Maggie in her
arms, even as tears ran down her own cheeks.

* * * * *

Horace Styron calmly watched Dwight Albertson as the older man re-read
the loan application. "Everything in order, Dwight?"

"It is. Are you certain that you want to borrow this much?" He set
the form down on his desk.

"I am. I need those funds to restock for the spring. Between the
miners coming down from the mountains to get supplies and the farmers
looking to put in their crops, I have to have a bit of everything in my
store."

Albertson signed and carefully blotted both copies. "And you will."
He handed the papers to Styron, who also signed them.

"And your bank'll get the payments, same as we do it every year." He
folded his copy and slipped it into a pocket in his suit.

"Can't argue with success." Albertson put the bank's copy in a folder.
He paused, trying to change the subject. It was never good to let a
customer dwell on a loan. "You ready for the church board meeting next
week?"

"I am. It'll be nice to have a quiet meeting, even if it's with...
Trisha still on the board."

Albertson fidgeted with his pen. "A... ah, quiet meeting, yeah,
that... that'll be nice."

"What's going on, Dwight?" Styron asked, sensing trouble.

"Nothing, nothing."

"Dwight, you just approved a $7500 loan without batting an eye, but you
start twitching like a scared little boy when I mention the board
meeting." He stood and leaned over the desk. "What aren't you telling
me?"

"The... uh, budget. I was just thinking that we have to start working
on next year's budget."

"No, you weren't. You never worried about the budget before. This is
something else. This is... Trisha! Yes, it has to be." He looked at
the banker and knew that he'd guessed right. "All right, Dwight, what
is that bitch up to now?"

* * * * *

"Mind if I join ye, Jessie."

Jessie was sitting at a table, nursing a fake beer, and killing time
until her next show by sorting the money her audience had tossed at her
earlier that evening. She gestured at the chair opposite her. "Sit
yourself down, Shamus."

"Thank ye." He pulled out the chair and settled down into it. "That
was a good set of songs ye was singing t'night. The men enjoyed it,
too, judging from all them coins ye got there."

She shrugged. "It ain't bad, but I'd've gotten more if you'd've let me
sing 'Collee's Ride.' They keep asking for it; you heard 'em tonight."

"I heard. I also heard the clapping -- just as loud, it was t'me
thinking -- when ye sang that 'Jimmy with the Light Brown Hair'
instead."

"Maybe they's clapping as loud, but they ain't throwing as much money
as they do when I sing 'Collee's Ride.' Are you offering t'make up the
difference?"

"No -- 'cause ye can't be proving t'me that there _is_ a difference."

"They want to hear 'Collee's Ride', and they're getting tired as a
tomcat walking in the mud of me not singing it."

"Aye, and I'm getting just as tired of arguing with ye about it."

"Then let me sing it."

"All right, then. Ye can sing it in yuir room upstairs or when ye're
doing chores. Ye can sing it when ye go walking with Paul Grant -- or
whatever else it is the two of ye is doing. Ye can sing it wherever
else ye want t'be singing that blasted song, but ye'll _not_ be singing
it on me stage as part of any show ye do for me. Understand?"

Jessie's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I understand, Shamus; I really do."

* * * * *

Wednesday, January 31, 1872

Sam Duggan was sweeping the boardwalk in front of his saloon. He could
have had one of the help do it, but it was a chance to, as he said, "To
get a look-see at what's going on in the world."

"Mr. Duggan..."

He turned to see... "Jessie Hanks, what brings you over to the Long
Branch? Good news, I hope."

"Can we go inside?" Jessie looked around nervously. "I ain't got much
time, and I'd just as soon we wasn't seen."

Duggan pushed aside the swinging door to the saloon and gestured for
Jessie to go in. "After you then." She walked through, and he
followed her inside.

"I told Shamus I was going out to get some air," she told him. "Is
your offer still good?"

"Sure is. When can you come over here?"

"Now, I ain't quitting Shamus -- not yet anyways, but I don't sing for
him every night."

Duggan frowned. "So... you'll sing for him some nights, and me other
nights. Is that how it works?"

"For now, anyway -- _if_ I like working for you. How 'bout I try it
on Friday, and see what happens?" She offered her hand. "Okay?"

"No, but if it's the best I can get..." He shook her hand. "...I'll
take it."

"We got a deal then. And, by the way, Shamus pays me $7.50 a night, so
that'll be $8.50 from you." She smiled. "A dollar more a night _was_
your offer."

* * * * *

'Wish I could practice some card tricks,' Bridget thought as she
shuffled the deck. 'Just to do something different with my time.' She
sighed, feeling out of sorts. 'Yeah, girl,' she told herself, 'and if
any of your regular players see you doing them, they might get to
wondering if you're doing sleights like that _during_ a game. And then
it's _goodbye_ players.' She sighed again, and began dealing out the
five hands for yet another hand of Maverick solitaire.

She looked around. "Maybe I can get R.J. to play a game with me. We
could make another bet and --"

A finger gently tapped her on the shoulder. "May I speak with you,
Bridget?" A moment later, Dolores stepped around into view.

"Sure, sit down," Bridget said, glad for anything to break the long
afternoon monotony. She gathered up the cards while Dolores took a
seat at the table. As she did, she looked carefully at the other
woman. 'Her tells say she's nervous about something,' she noticed.

"I thought you'd gone home a couple of days ago," Bridget continued,
trying to make Dolores feel more comfortable. "I guess I heard wrong."

Dolores shook her head. "No, I... I was going home. I changed my mind
at the last minute. Teresa -- my cousin -- needed my help." She took
a breath. "And I need yours."

"I'm not promising, but... what do you need?" The two women had
occasionally talked on the Saturday nights when Dolores had worked as
one of Shamus' waiter girls. They weren't exactly friends, but Bridget
liked the tall Mexican. She admired loyalty, too, and that seemed to
be why Dolores had stayed.

"Teresa -- and I -- we are worried about her son, Arnoldo --"

"Arnie, the boy who worked here?" She saw Dolores nod. "I saw you
talking to him, now and then, but I didn't know you two were related."

"Si, Teresa's mother and my mother were sisters."

"What can I do for you two, then?"

"You know what happened to Arnoldo?"

"He and Shamus had a big fight. Shamus caught him drinking, I think,
and he called Shamus some nasty names --"

"He stole some money from Seá±or Shamus, also."

Bridget raised an eyebrow. "No wonder Shamus fired him." She hoped
that very few people knew the truth. Arnie would be disgraced.

"Si, but now... can he hire Arnoldo again? Arnoldo is not really a bad
boy; he is a boy straining hard to be a man. So hard that he does
foolish things."

"I don't know. Shamus was awful mad, and us Irish are a stubborn
bunch."

"I understand, but Shamus... the boy looked up to him. Arnoldo is
angry that he was fired, angry at himself, I think, but he won't admit
it."

Dolores took a breath and continued. "I thought... if he could get his
job back..." she let the words trail off.

"And you want me to talk Shamus into hiring Arnie again after what
happened?"

"His mother is so afraid that he will come to harm if he does not
settle down. You would be saving his life as far as she was
concerned." She looked straight at Bridget. "Just as he once saved
yours, or so I understand."

Bridget's expression soured. "_That_ was low, but you made your point.
Arnie's too young to get his life ruined for one dumb mistake." She
knew about such things from her own life.

And he _had_ jumped on Bill Hersh, when Hersh and Parnell tried to rob
her at gunpoint. She owed him, she had to admit, and she set great
store in paying such debts. "I'm in, Dolores. Heaven knows for what,
but I'm in. I think you'd better ante up some more into this game,
though."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll work on Shamus, and I think I can get Molly to help, but three of
a kind beat a pair any day. Long as you're staying around, why don't
you ask Shamus for a job, too?"

"Dancing with the men? I had thought about that. It was...
interesting."

Bridget shook her head. "No, I mean full time, waiting tables during
the week. Shamus is shorthanded with Jessie's singing and Jane
spending so much time in the kitchen. That's why he hired Arnie to
begin with."

"Then why should he hire both me and Arnoldo?"

"Because he's going to get more shorthanded as Laura gets closer to
having her baby." She let her voice drop down to a whisper. "And
because, even if he won't admit it, I think Shamus is sorry he had to
fire the boy."

There was sense in what Bridget was suggesting. Teresa hadn't said
anything, but Dolores could guess how much it her cost to feed another
mouth. Teresa wouldn't take charity, but she would accept being paid
room and board, and this job would give her the money to do that.
"I... I will think about what you have said."

"And I'll think about what you have asked." She glanced towards the
kitchen for an instant. "Just make sure that the only boy you're
trying to help is Arnie. Maggie's my friend, and I won't help you get
Ramon away from her."

Dolores sighed. "You do not need to worry. Ramon made it very clear.
He still would like to be my friend, but he _wants_ Margarita."

* * * * *

"January 23, 1872," Beatriz said in a tired voice. "Euler Brothers
Brewery... one barrel of dark beer, $23."

"Dark beer, $23," Rosalyn repeated the information, as she wrote it in
a column in a dark green ledger book. The two women were alone in
Cerise's office, sitting at her desk, which was piled high with ledgers
and bills.

"Same date and name," Beatriz continued. "Barrel of ale, also $23."

"Ale, $23." They heard a cough from the door and looked over to see...
"Daisy," Rosalyn scolded. "How long have you been standing there,
spying on us?"

"Spying?" Daisy answered, indignant at the thought -- even if it was
true. "Well, I like that. You two's been in here all afternoon, and I
was just thinking I'd bring you in some tea." She turned and picked up
a tea tray that she has set on the chair in the hall.

Rosalyn sighed and put her pen back in the inkwell. "I... I'm sorry,
Daisy. A break for tea would be lovely. Thank you." She saw the maid
walking straight for the desk and quickly pointed to a small table in
the corner. "Set the tray over there, if you please." She tried to
make it sound like an order.

Daisy smiled innocently and did as asked. "There you goes, Miz
Rosalyn. Don't blame you none for being careful. If anybody'd know
what this tea could do t'them papers, it'd be you and Miz Beatriz."

"How long have we been at this?" Beatriz kneaded the muscles on the
back of her neck. She turned and looked at the small brass clock on
the corner of Cerise's desk. "Madre de Dios! It is almost 5.
Sebastian Ortega will be here --"

Daisy chuckled. "That gentleman, he been here for a while. Miz Mae
tole him you was busy in here. She give him your best." She giggled.
"Then they went upstairs, and she give him _her_ best. They was still
up there when I came in with this here tea." She waited while her
words sank in. "Oh, and Miz Rosalyn, that Mr. Ritter that come here
sometimes..."

"Yes, what about him?" Rosalyn tried not to sound anxious.

"He and Miz Wilma, they's upstairs, too."

"That little bitch," Rosalyn hissed. "Who told her she could just step
in and take the attentions of one of my gentlemen?"

"Lady Cerise done that," Daisy told her. "She says she knows how long
it was gonna take you and Miz Beatriz t'get that there work done, and
she wasn't gonna close her doors just 'cause you two was busy."

"Thank G-d, then, that we are almost done," Rosalyn answered.

"You ain't done; you'se just finishing up for now. That's what the
Lady tole me."

"What!" Beatriz protested. "You do not mean that she planned for us to
do this work from now on, do you?"

Daisy nodded. "No, ma'am. She planned for Miz Wilma t'do it, but she
says that if'n you and Miz Beatriz was gonna be messing up Miz Wilma's
work, then the pair of you could take it over from now on." She
chuckled heartily. "And when Miz Wilma, she heard that, she says that
she'll be glad t'take over doing whatever..." She chuckled again.
"...or _who_ever you been doing."

* * * * *

Dwight Albertson walked slowly into O'Hanlan Feed & Grain. "Good
afternoon, Liam. Is... is Trisha around?"

"She's in the office, just now," Liam told the banker. "Working on the
books, as a matter of fact." He cupped a hand to his mouth and called
towards the half-closed door. "Trisha, you've got company."

Trisha came out a moment later, a lead pencil tucked into her hair
above her left ear. "Dwight, what brings you over here?"

"Bad news," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Horace Styron was at my
bank yesterday for some business. Afterwards, we... uh, we got to
talking about the board meeting next week. I-I guess I got nervous,
and he -- he spotted it."

"How much did you tell him, Dwight?" Liam asked.

"What makes you think I said anything?" Albertson tried to sound
indignant.

Trisha scowled. "Because you wouldn't be over here hemming and hawing
if you hadn't."

"I-I'm sorry." The banker took a handkerchief from his pocket and
began wiping his brow. "He took me by surprise when he started talking
about the board out of the blue like he did. I-I reacted before I had
time to think about what I was saying."

"You're the president of the bank," Liam told him. "It shouldn't be
that easy to take you by surprise."

"It isn't. He... all right, he did. I admit it. He caught me off
guard. We'd just... he came in to take out a big loan -- he does it
every year, so he can get a cash discount when he orders all the
hardware and equipment for spring. We'd just signed the paperwork.
You... ah, give a man all that money -- I won't say how much; it's his
business -- you give it to him; you're in a frame of mind to trust
him."

Liam shrugged. "Much as I hate to say it, that makes a certain amount
of sense."

"No, it doesn't." Trisha glared. "You shouldn't be spouting off like
that. It's irresponsible. It's foolish. It's likely to --"

"And it's done," Liam cut in. "Let's find out how bad things are." He
looked at Albright. "What did you tell him, Dwight? Give me -- us --
every detail."

"He was saying how much he was looking forward to a quiet meeting,
even..." He looked at Trisha nervously. "...Even if Trisha still was
on the board."

"What!" Trisha yelped. "Why that dirty son of a bitch. What'd you say
to that, Dwight?"

"I'm afraid that was when I gave the game away. I don't expect the
meeting to be quiet, not when you spring that building fund idea on
him. I... I started stammering. I do that sometimes."

"You do still support the idea, don't you?" Trisha looked Albright
squarely in the eye.

He nodded. "I do." He took a breath. "And I didn't tell him too
much. Honest, I didn't."

"How much did you tell him?" she asked suspiciously.

"I said that you had some... some new ideas about the budget and...
about fundraising. You were going to bring them up at the meeting, so
they could be a part of the new budget."

Liam cocked a wary eyebrow, as Albright continued. "No, honest. I
said that I was working with you on the financial part -- that was how
I knew you had something planned. He tried, tried hard, to get me to
say more, but I told him that I didn't know all the details, and he'd
have to ask you about them."

He put his hands on the lapels of his coat and tried to strike a pose.
"I admit that I may have slipped up -- a little. But now that I think
about it, I think that I recovered rather well, don't you?"

"Not really," Liam said, a wry look on his face. "But the damage
doesn't seem too bad." He shrugged. "We can handle it."

* * * * *

Molly set a tray with an empty pitcher and three almost empty glasses
down on the bar. "Here ye go, Love," she told Shamus. "These is from
table three..." She took a five dollar gold half-eagle from a pocket.
"...and this here's what they owe us for it."

"Thanks, Molly." Shamus put the glasses and pitcher in a tray sitting
on the counter behind the bar. The coin went into the register. "I'm
sorry ye had t'be doing the heavy lifting again."

"They wasn't that heavy, though I'd be glad t'be seeing Arnie busing
the tables again."

"I'm afraid that won't be happening. He shouldn't've been talking like
he was, drinking on the job, and stealing from me, too. He didn't give
me much of a choice, now did he?"

Molly shook her head. "No, he didn't, but I'm thinking that maybe ye
went too far."

"Maybe I did, but there ain't no going back now." He waited a beat.
"If ye're going to be trying to help somebody just now, ye might t'be
working on solving Maggie's problem."

"I have been thinking about that, but I ain't come up with anything."

"Seems t'me Maggie's problem is Maggie. She made a promise, that's for
sure, but I ain't never seen a promise that couldn't be... 'finessed',
as they say."

"Shamus! This ain't no poker bet Maggie has t'be paying off. This is
a deathbed promise t'her wife."

"I know that, Love. She swore that she'd take care of those two
youngsters, and she's bound and determined t'be keeping that promise."
He gave a sympathetic sigh. "They'll get the care she promised, even
if it she has t'be throwing away her own happiness t'do it."

"I know, and what bothers me the most is that I'm sure there's a way
out for her. I can feel it as sure as I'm standing here. I just can't
see it yet."

Shamus gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I know, Love, and I know, sure
as I'm standing here besides ye, that ye'll keep looking till ye find
it."

* * * * *

Bridget looked up from her cards and saw Cap walking towards her table.
"See your dime and raise another," she told Stu Gallagher, the only one
still in the game with her. As an afterthought, she added, "We'll deal
you in next hand, Cap."

Gallagher scowled. "Fold." He laid his cards on the table, but when
Bridget reached for the pot, he shook his head. "Not till I see what
you beat me with."

"Six... seven... eight... nine..." She put the cards face up. "Jack."
She smiled sweetly and raked in the money.

Gallagher turned over his own cards. "Two pair, the best hand I drew
all night, and she bluffs me out of the pot." He smiled in defeat and
shook his head.

"She surely did." Fred Norman said, as he gathered in the cards.

Bridget gave the three men at her table a smile. "That's the way the
game's played, gentlemen. Of course, there's always the next hand."
She motioned towards Cap, who was still standing. "There's room at the
table, Cap. Sit yourself down."

"Thanks." Cap sat down. "Before we start, could I take care of some
business?" The others agreed. "It's the end of the month, and I came
for my uncle's money." He held out his hand towards Bridget. "Could I
have it now, please?"

Her smile looked strained. "Don't you trust me, Mr. Lewis?"

"With my life, Bridget." He tried to smile but saw that it was wasted
on her. "I just thought that I'd take care of it now. I have to leave
--"

"Don't let me stop you."

He ignored her tone. "I have to leave by ten. I thought that I'd get
the business out of the way now, so I could have the pleasure of
playing... playing _cards_ with you."

"I think you and your uncle are playing with me more than enough." She
opened the tray she kept her cards and chips in and took out an
envelope. "But never let it be said that I welshed on a debt." She
put in on the table in front of Cap.

"I have my account book here, too," she added. "In case you didn't
trust my word that this is the amount your uncle is due."

He took the check without looking at it and put it in his shirt pocket.
"I've never looked at your records before, and I don't intend to start
now."

"You sure a woman with my past can be trusted?"

"I trust you. I always have." He tried smiling at her again.

Norman shuffled the cards. "Can we just play some poker? You two can
fight this out on your own time."

Enoch Ryland put a hand on Bridget's arm and gently squeezed. "I trust
you, too, Bridget."

"But can she trust you, Enoch?" Norman handed the cards to Enoch. He
cut the deck and handed it back.

Norman began dealing. "Game is seven card elimination. Everybody ante
up."

* * * * *

"So you're going to do it?" Paul asked. "You're going to sing at the
Long Branch."

"I said I was, didn't I?" Jessie answered.

They were sitting in the Sheriff's Office, Paul behind the desk and
Jessie across from him. Tor Johansson, the new deputy, was on patrol,
and he wasn't due to check in for at least an hour.

Paul shook his head. "Shamus isn't going to be very happy about it."

"That's part of what makes it so much fun. T'tell the truth,
though..." She grinned mischievously. "...he told me I could --
sorta."

"He didn't?" It was more of a question than a statement.

Jessie sat up straight in her chair and gave her head a sort of a
shake. "He did. 'Ye can sing it in yuir room upstairs or when ye're
doing chores,' he says." She had lowered the pitch of her voice so it
was closer to Shamus's tenor and was doing a passing imitation of his
Irish brogue. "Ye can sing it when ye go walking with Paul Grant -- or
whatever else it is the two of ye is doing."

"I shoulda socked him one for that." She smiled and continued. "Ye
can sing it wherever else ye want t'be singing that blasted song, but
ye'll _not_ be singing it on me stage as part of any show ye do for
me."

"Maybe he did say that. It sounds like him. But I don't think that
your doing it in Duggan's place is quite what he had in mind."

Jessie cocked an eyebrow and gave him a wry smile. "You trying t'talk
me out of it, Mr. Grant?"

"No, ma'am!" Paul held up his hands in mock surrender. "I don't spit
into the wind. I know better than to try and talk you out of
anything."

Jessie suddenly stood up. "Good, 'cause I'd hate t'have you spoil what
I got planned for tonight." She picked up her reticule, a large one
that seemed to be stuffed with something. "You gimme 'bout fifteen
minutes, then come knock twice on your door, okay?" She started
towards the storage room that was Paul's -- and sometimes her --
bedroom.

"What're you up to now, Jess?"

"Fifteen minutes. You'll find out then." She gave a wink and
disappeared into the storeroom, closing the door behind her.

Paul spent the next quarter hour looking at the clock. Finally, the
time was up. He went over and knocked on the storeroom door. He
knocked twice, just as she had said. "You ready, Jess?"

"On-tray," a voice from inside called. "Kawm inn."

He did. "Why're you talking so -- _holy_ _shit!_"

Jessie stood before him in a blood red corset that lifted her breasts
so that they seemed even larger and white silk drawers that hugged her
lush hips. Her left hand was on her hip, her right knee bent. Her
hair was piled high in some elaborate hairdo that framed her face, with
a single, long curl hanging down over her forehead. She wore a dark
red lipstick and had a small, heart-shaped beauty mark on her right
cheek. Her smile hinted at mischief and lechery.

"Very nice, Jess. Very nice, indeed." As Paul came closer, he caught
the strong scent of lilacs. The room had a pink tinge from the red
kerchief she'd draped over his lantern.

She shook her head. "No, no, m'syur. Ah emm Giselle, zee finest --
'ow you say -- zee finest whore in zee Ahri-zoona Terra-toory. You
have paid zee moonie, and Ah emm yours for zee night."

"A whore?" He shrugged, a bit surprised but willing to go along with
her game. "Why not? But do you have to talk like that?"

She gave a pretty pout. "M'syur, Ah emm zee _Fronch_ whore."

"How about, if we're pretending you're a whore, we pretend you're
talking with that funny accent, okay?"

"But zis is 'ow Giselle tawk."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "I _paid_ for you, Giselle," he said
firmly. "I'll tell you how to talk."

"But I wanted..." She pouted, caught in her own game. "Oh, all right,
_m'syur_." She wouldn't use the accent, but he hadn't said anything
about the occasional word. She could still pretend.

"Good." He pulled her to him. "Besides, I have better things for that
mouth of yours to do than argue with me." He steadied her head with
his hands and, before she could say another word, kissed her. Jessie
let out a soft moan and pressed her body against his. Her arms went
around him, palms against his muscled back. Her lips parted, and her
tongue met his, then slipped backwards, inviting his to follow into her
mouth.

The kiss continued, feeding on their mutual need. Their hands freely
exploring each other's bodies. Finally, for lack of air, they had to
separate. "Mmm," Jessie said, "m'syur is a danged good kisser."

"You aren't too bad either, Je... Giselle. Now what've you got in
mind."

She smiled and licked her upper lip. "Whatever m'syur wants. Maybe...
this." She began to unbutton his shirt. When she finished, she pulled
it out from his pants and slipped it off him. He hadn't worn anything
under the shirt, and she paused for a moment to run her fingers through
his thick chest hair.

Paul reached for her, but she stepped back. "No, I'm your whore
t'night, bought'n paid for. Lemme do the work."

"Who am I to refuse an offer like that?" He stood still while she
undid the buttons on his pants and, with on quick yank, pulled them
down past his knees.

He'd loosened the laces on his boots while he waited for her to get
ready. Jessie knelt down and held each one in turn as he stepped out
of boot and pants leg at the same time.

She looked up. Paul was in only his own gray muslin drawers. His
erection was tenting those drawers only a few inches away from her
face. "Oh, oh my," she said. She ran her finger down the bulge and
heard Paul gasp. She grinned, her face growing warm, and took it in
her hand. She could feel it pulsing through the material. She
remembered another bit of French. "Ooh-la-la-la, it sure is big."

"Once I get these drawers off, you can kiss it... if you want,
Giselle."

She looked up at him in surprise, but she didn't take her hand away.
"What? K-kiss it? Put my lips right on it?"

"You never have before, but I figured... if you _were_ Giselle, you
might even want to do... even more than kiss it."

"You don't mean..."

"Not if you don't want to."

Jessie remembered the women of the brothel in New Orleans. A whore
there would be willing -- would be _more_ than willing -- to give Paul
the sort of oral pleasuring he seemed to be asking her for. Could she?

She stood up. "I... I don't wanna play this game no more."

"I didn't say that you had to, Giselle. I asked if you wanted to." He
could see how serious she had become.

"And I don't. This here's just a game. I'm pretending; I ain't no
real whore."

"I never said you were -- never thought it neither. This is your
game."

"I-I just... the last two times I sang over to Cerise's House, somebody
thought I was a whore and wanted t'bed me. I had t'tell 'em I wasn't."

"Of course, you aren't."

"Damned straight, but it got me... wondering -- wondering what it'd be
like if I was. I thought I'd find out t'night, play that I was... here
with you."

"Jess -- I'll call you that instead of Giselle, okay?" He waited until
she nodded agreement. "You're no whore, and you never were. You're a
mustang, my mustang."

She cocked an eyebrow. "And how is being a horse is better'n being a
whore?"

He put up his hands as if to ward off an attack. "No, no. I meant
that you're like a mustang, wild and free, beautiful and full of
spirit."

When she smiled, he pulled her to him. "And I'll play any game you
want, with any rules you want, if it'll get you into my arms. And my
bed."

She looked into his eyes for a moment, and they kissed, a short kiss,
but one full of passion. "Then help me outta this corset," she said
when it ended, "and I'll _be_ your mustang."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. I'll be your mustang, and you can do just like they
do in all them dime novels." She giggled. "You can ride me into the
sunset."

* * * * *

Thursday, February 1, 1872

"Here they come! Here they come!" Jane pointed at the stage couch
heading for the boardwalk in front of the Wells Fargo depot where she
was standing with Laura and Arsenio.

"Calm down, Jane" Laura ordered. "Remember, Elizabeth and Theo don't
know you. They don't know me, for that matter, and I'm -- I was --
Elizabeth's brother."

"They'll know me soon enough," Jane answered. "We's family now."

Arsenio was standing next to Laura. He reached over and took her hand,
giving it a reassuring squeeze. "They'll know us _all_ soon enough --
Lord help them, and us."

The stage came to a halt at the edge of the platform. "This here's
Eerie!" the driver, a burly, red-haired man called out. "They'll be a
30-minute wait while I unload a couple of you folks and we change
horses."

Even as he spoke, Pablo Escobar and a thin black man began to unhitch
the horses. Both Pablo and Caesar, the black man, wore vests with the
words "Ritter's Livery" painted on the back.

The passenger door nearest the platform opened, and a tall man in a
rumpled, gray suit came out, blinking his eyes at the sunlight. The
leather window curtain was down to keep the dust out. It worked, but
it made the inside dark, stuffy, and very hot. "Do you need help,
Elizabeth?" he asked someone still inside.

"I can manage, Theo." A woman stepped out. Her dress showed days of
being worn inside the stagecoach, and some of her mouse-brown hair had
been shaken loose by the ride from the tight bun she wore it in. She
stretched and took a couple of tentative steps to uncramp her legs.

Then she took notice of Theo. "Don't just stand there. See to our
bags. I'll talk to that sheriff, _if_ he ever gets here." The man
mumbled something and walked back to where a clerk for the stage line
was opening the rear boot to unload their luggage.

Laura stood a few feet away. Arsenio could feel her nervousness. He
let go of her hand and gave her a gentle push. "Arsenio," she said in
surprise, as she stumbled forward. She saw her sister staring at her.
"W-Welcome to Eerie, Elizabeth."

"Do I know - Trudy! Trudy Muller, what are you doing in this G-d
forsaken place?" Elizabeth asked.

Laura could see the confusion in her sister's face. "I-I'm not Trudy;
I'm Laura... Laura Caulder, but you do know me. It... it's kind of
hard to explain."

Jane stepped forward. "I'm Jane. Laura's m'sister. You are, too."
She took another step, arms opened wide to hug Elizabeth, but Arsenio
grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Twins? _My_ sister? What is going on here?" Elizabeth demanded,
stepping back in case Jane tried to hug her again. "Where is that
Sheriff Talbot we wrote to?"

"I... uhh, I asked the Sheriff to let me meet you. I'll explain it all
later. I promise." Laura tried to smile. "Right now, let's get you
to the room we've arranged for you."

Arsenio walked over to Theo, who was surrounded by a trunk and three
smaller bags. "I'm Arsenio Caulder, Laura's husband. Let me help you
with those bags... Theo, isn't it?"

"It is." He looked at Arsenio's broad shoulders. "Can you give me a
hand with the trunk?"

"I've got it." The smith grabbed the leatherbound Jenny Lind trunk
with one hand and hefted it onto his shoulder. "Jane, come and get one
of these bags." As he spoke, he reached down and picked up a smaller
valise with his other hand.

"Coming." Jane took the other two bags. "That leaves none for you...
Theo. I expect you'd rather take m'sister Elizabeth's hand anyway."
She giggled, happy to be helping her new family. "We'll have you two
over t'the saloon in no time."

"Saloon?" Elizabeth asked indignantly. "Why should we go to a saloon?"

"That's where you'll be staying," Laura told her. "There's no hotel in
town, but Shamus -- he owns the saloon -- rents out rooms on the second
floor. He's fixed up one for you, way in the back, nice and quiet."

Elizabeth looked from one of the women to the other. She _knew_ that
Trudy was the Muller's only daughter, yet these two, whoever they were,
were identical twins. "It's still a saloon. You say you're family.
Couldn't we stay with you?"

"Jane works in the saloon; she lives there herself," Arsenio answered,
walking over. "And I'm afraid that we only have one bedroom... one bed
at our house."

"Which you might be gracious enough to yield to guests... out of town
family, so you claim." This was the final straw. How could women who
worked in a saloon, let alone this... Jane who actually _lived_ there,
possibly be any kin of hers?

Arsenio raised an eyebrow. "Laura and I are expecting our first child.
The bed is reserved for her."

"Perhaps I could share it with her, and you and Theo could sleep
elsewhere." Elizabeth wouldn't give up.

Arsenio shook his head. "I suspect that the two of you would be better
served in your own room." The prospect of having in-laws was much less
appealing now that he was actually meeting them.

"Give you a chance t'get... reacquainted." Jane giggled again at the
notion. "You two must be looking forward t'having some time _alone_
after them five days on a stage."

"Well, I never!" Elizabeth answered, glaring at Jane.

"Then y'should. Y'are married, after all." Jane turned and starting
walking towards the saloon. The others scrambled after her, Laura and
Arsenio trying hard not to laugh.

* * * * *

"That'll do it, Trisha. This ad will be in the next two issues of the
paper." Roscoe Unger put the order form in his briefcase. "Tell Liam
I'll see him next time I come in." Liam was making a delivery to one
of the nearby ranches.

"Can you keep a secret, Roscoe?"

"That's not a fair question to ask a man who runs a newspaper. It's my
job _not_ to keep secrets." He looked at her expression and sighed.
"What's the secret?"

"Remember when I ran for the church board? I said I wanted to build a
better church." She saw him nod. "At next week's Board meeting, I'm
gonna make a motion to set up a building fund to do just that."

"Are you sure you want to do that? A lot of people like the
arrangement the church has with the school. They may not want to build
a separate building."

"I never said we were gonna build one. I'm saying we can have better
than we have now; maybe a library or an office for the reverend, or a
kitchen."

"And you're telling me this, but you don't want it in the paper?"

"I... I was just hoping you could wait till after the meeting. We
haven't worked out all the details."

"I'll wait... _if_ can I can an interview with you to find out those
details." He offered his hand.

"Thanks." She shook hands. "One detail we... uh, have worked out...
we want to kick off the fund with... uhh, with a dance."

"A dance? When?"

"Some time around the end of the month. That's why I'm telling you.
Can you help us get the word out in your paper."

"That's what it's there for. I'll mention it in the story. And, if
you buy those larger ads we were talking about, I'll give you free
space to advertise it." He thought for a moment. "I'll give you a
real good deal for printing the tickets and whatever posters you want,
too."

"Fair enough. I wanted to ask another favor, though."

"Well, I normally don't go to dances," he smiled wryly, "but I'll be
happy to be your escort."

Trisha shook her head. "Thanks, but, uhh... no thanks." The offer
sounded... interesting. 'Don't think about such things,' she chided
herself. Then, aloud, she added, "I just wanted to ask if you'd
donate some colored paper to the school. The kids will be making
decorations: paper lanterns, chains, and such."

"Fair enough, if I can get a sign up at the dance thanking me for all
this help I'm giving."

"If it's not too big a sign."

"It won't be. You really seem to have this thing in hand."

"I hope so. The Board hasn't voted yet, and I'm afraid that Horace
Styron knows what we're up to. He's gonna try to get people roused up
against us."

"Why don't you do some of the same?"

"I-I don't want make too big a personal deal out of it. If people see
it just as a fight between Horace and me, they won't take it serious."

Roscoe thought for a moment. "There is one way you could do it. Write
a letter to the paper -- you're pretty good with words -- about how the
church needs to fix up the schoolhouse, so it'll serve both the church
and the kids better. Don't mention the fund you want to set up or any
real details. Write like you're somebody else, somebody who doesn't
know what Trisha O'Hanlan's planning. Sign a made-up name, too."

"I... that's a great idea. I'll get that letter to you by tomorrow."
She took a step towards him, arms outstretched. At the last moment,
she stuck one arm forward and vigorously shook his hand.

* * * * *

"Uncle Ramon!" Ernesto greeted Ramon at the kitchen door. "You came."

Ramon smiled and stepped into Maggie's kitchen. "Of course I did. A
man keeps his word. Especially..." He made a show of rubbing his leg.
"... when he is so strongly reminded of it."

"I... Uncle Ramon, I am sorry." The boy looked down at the floor,
rather than look Ramon in the eye.

Maggie looked up from her worktable, where she was chopping onions.
"Sorry enough not to do it again, I hope."

"Never, I promise."

"And I am sure that you will try your best to keep that promise."
Ramon tousled the boy's hair. "So I will forgive you." He turned to
look at Maggie. "And a very good evening to you, Margarita. And to
you, as well, Lupe."

Lupe was sitting near her mother. She was tearing apart cornhusks,
separating the individual leaves. "And Inez, too." She stopped for a
moment and held up her doll.

"Of course." Ramon bowed. "Forgive me, Inez. I did not see you
there."

"She is a good baby," Lupe said, "always nice and quiet."

Ernesto made a face. "She is a _doll_. It is foolish to pretend that
she is a real baby."

"Mama," Lupe whined.

"Ernesto, what have I told you about teasing your sister?" Maggie
sounded angry.

"But, Mama, she is," Ernesto protested.

Ramon tried to change the subject. "So how many tamales are we making
for the party tomorrow?" He took off his jacket and draped it over the
back of a chair. Maggie handed him a plain, blue apron. He put it
over his head and tied the straps around his waist.

"Let me see." She counted on her fingers. "Four adults, Carmen, Whit,
you and me, each get three; that is twelve. Lupe and Ernesto and Jose,
get two --"

"Don't forget Inez, Mama," Lupe interrupted.

"She is a doll," Ernesto said loudly.

"Mama!" Lupe was sniffling.

Ramon spoke before Maggie could. "Lupe, be calm. I am sure that your
mama thought that you would feed Inez, just like your Aunt Carmen will
feed her baby, my nephew, Felipe." He looked at Maggie and winked.
"Is that not right? Margarita?"

"Si," Maggie answered. "I... I did not count Inez or Felipe."

"Naturally," Ramon told her, "they _are_ babies, after all." He turned
to look at Ernesto. "I know it can be hard, my young friend, but if
you _are_ the man of the house, you must take care of the women, not
tease them."

Lupe stuck out her tongue. "So there."

"And you, Lupe, must be worthy of his protection," Ramon added.

"Is that how it was with you and Aunt Carmen?" Ernesto asked, his eyes
wide with curiosity.

Ramon smiled. "To tell the truth, _my_ big brother, Gregario, looked
after Carmen and me." He paused a beat. "But he always told me that I
should look after Carmen when he was not around." His voice grew
serious. "Do you think that you can do that?"

"I can try," Ernesto said seriously. "If Lupe behaves." He smiled.
"And Inez, too."

"I am sure that they both will." He tousled the boy's hair again and
winked at Maggie. "Now, let us get back to the important matter of
making tamales."

* * * * *

"Have you talked to Rev, Yingling, yet?" Kaitlin asked. She and Trisha
were in their room getting ready to go to bed.

"I have," Trisha answered, "but how'd you know? I never said that I
was going back to see him again." She hung her blouse on a hanger.

"Because I know you, my dear. You never were good at taking 'No' for
an answer." Kaitlin unbuckled the wrap she was wearing, a sort of mix
of robe and housedress, and draped it over a chair. "So what did he
say?"

"The... the same as he did before." She sat down on the edge of the
bed and sighed. "We aren't... we aren't married any more. We haven't
been since the day Emma and I changed."

Kaitlin sat down next to Trisha and put her arm around the other woman.
"I-I'm sorry. I truly am."

"It's my fault. If I hadn't drunk that potion..." Her voice trailed
off.

"If you hadn't pretended to drink that potion, Elmer wouldn't have
either. Our son would be dead. It wasn't your fault that it made you
choke, and you accidentally swallowed it."

"I know, but... look at what we are now, what it's done to our lives."

"We're together, the three of us. Emma seems to be getting used to her
new life. I... I just hope that you can, too."

"I lost more than Emma did." She took Kaitlin's hand in hers. "I lost
you."

"No, you haven't. We're still together, good friends, sisters,
almost." She leaned over and softly kissed Trisha's cheek.

"I never wanted to be your _sister_, Kaitlin." Trisha turned to face
her wife. "I wanted to be your _husband_... and your lover."

"Please, don't start that again."

"Can we hug, at least? Sisters do hug."

Kaitlin raised an eyebrow. "Just a hug?"

"Just a hug."

"All right, a hug." The two women moved close and put their arms
around each other. Even sitting, Trisha was shorter than Kaitlin. She
rested her head on the taller woman's shoulder and closed her eyes.

"We can do this for as long as you want," Kaitlin told her, "but then
we need to talk."

"Talk about what?" Trisha tried to move, but Kaitlin's arms held her
tight.

"Rev. Yingling says that we aren't married any more. That's fine for
him, but what's true in the eyes of the Lord isn't always true in the
eyes of everybody else." She tilted her head down and kissed Trisha on
the forehead, as she might a small child. "I think that we need to
talk to a lawyer."

* * * * *

Friday, February 2, 1872

Laura walked through the saloon to the table where Elizabeth and Theo
were waiting. Theo was reading the Eerie edition of the _Tucson_
_Citizen_, while Elizabeth was finishing a cup of breakfast coffee.

"Morning," she greeted the couple.

"About time you got here," Elizabeth said. "When we told Mrs. O'Toole
that we were going to go over to see Sheriff Talbot, she insisted that
we wait for you. For some reason, she seemed to think that he had put
you in charge of dealing with us. She all but threatened to tie us to
these chairs until we promised to wait for you." She took another sip
of coffee. "Can you tell me why she should be so insistent?"

Theo closed the paper. "Mrs. Caulder claims to be your sister.
Perhaps --"

"She is no sister of mine," Elizabeth interrupted.

Laura shook her head. "I see you're still the same 'snapping turtle
Lizzie' you always were."

"Who told you about that horrible name?" Elizabeth glowered at her.
"You _must_ be Trudy Muller. What are you doing in this G-d forsaken
place? For that matter, where's Fred Hanson, and why is that Mr.
Caulder claiming to be your husband instead of Fred?"

"I'm not Trudy," Laura answered, "and Arsenio -- _is_ my husband."

"Then what's your connection with my late brother -- rest his soul?"
She looked closely at Laura, her eyes moving slowly down from Laura's
face to her stomach. "Mr. Caulder said that you were... with child.
Is... is it my... my brother's child?"

"Elizabeth," Theo scolded, "that's a very personal thing to be asking
someone we only just met."

"My brother is dead, Theo," Elizabeth replied angrily. "He may have
died a desperate criminal, but he was still my brother. If this woman
is carrying all that remains of Leroy Meehan, then I have every right
in the world to know it."

Laura sighed. There was no way to avoid the truth now. "Leroy isn't
dead, Elizabeth, not really, and this baby... it is his... in a way."

"I knew it!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I knew that story Mr. Varrick wrote
wasn't true. It sounded too much like those foolish dime novels that
Leroy was always reading." She looked around. "Where is he? Is he in
jail? Is that why Mrs. O'Toole insisted we wait until you arrived?"

"He... he's not in jail," Laura told her. "He... he's right here in
front of you. I-I'm -- I was -- I still am, sort of..."

"Get on with it, woman," Elizabeth insisted. "What are you trying to
say?"

"Or trying not to say," Theo added wryly.

Laura braced herself. "I-I'm your brother, Elizabeth, _I_ am Leroy
Meehan."

Elizabeth looked at the young matron with incredulity. "That is the
most absurd nonsense I have ever heard," she said. "How could you
possibly be Leroy?"

"Part of the story Nick Varrick wrote was true. When we rode into
town, we did fall into a trap. Shamus..." She pointed at the barman,
who was busily setting up for the day's business some feet away.
"...slipped us some of a potion he makes -- it's some of mix of Indian
and Irish magic, he says -- and it turned us all into women."

For a moment Elizabeth stared, as if she hadn't really heard. "What
kind of joke is this?" she finally asked. "It is very foolish, young
woman -- Trudy -- Laura -- whatever you're calling yourself."

"I can't explain it much better than that. It's magic. Shamus thinks
that because Trudy was always so much on my mind the spell made me take
her shape."

Elizabeth's sneer was dismissive and derisive. "And I suppose that...
that monster, Will Hanks, who led you all to ruin is the public school
teacher, now. And does she sing lead soprano in the church choir,
too?"

Laura had to laugh at that. "Not hardly, she... uh, Wilma -- that's
her name, now -- works over at the local... ummm, the local 'den of
iniquity', you might say. Her sister, Jessie, was one of the gang,
too, and now she sings here at the saloon."

Elizabeth frowned. "You can hold a straight face, I'll grant you
that."

"I'll prove it." She turned her head and yelled, "Shamus..."

Shamus turned his head at the sound of his name and came over to the
table. "Ye called me, Laura?"

"I did," she replied. "Do you have any more of your potion handy? I
want to use it on a stray dog or something to prove to Elizabeth that
it works."

"Och, I was afraid ye'd be asking for that. I don't have any just now.
I used the last of what I had with the O'Hanlans, and I didn't think
t'be making more for when yuir family came. I can be brewing up a new
batch, o' course, but I won't have it ready till Monday."

"Well isn't that convenient?" Elizabeth smirked. "The same day as the
stage back to Utah. I suppose it won't be ready until after the stage
leaves."

"I thought you could make up a batch overnight." Laura was confused
and a little exasperated.

Shamus shrugged. "I can, _if_ I've the time it takes t'be working on
it. Ye know how busy we are on the Saturday, with the dance and all.
I'd not have the time to do it proper." He shook his head. "No, I'll
have t'be starting it Sunday."

He looked over at Elizabeth, "and ye'll have t'be waiting for the
Thursday stage, if ye're so all fired stubborn that ye need to see the
potion work t'be believing what ye've been told." Then the barkeeper
put on his best professional smile. "We have a nice friendly town
here, Mrs. Taft. I think ye'll enjoy your stay."

* * * * *

Beatriz took a sip of breakfast coffee and leaned back in her chair.
"Rosalyn, do you think Daisy knew what she was talking about?" The two
women were alone in the kitchen, enjoying a late breakfast.

"She's rather smart -- for a darkie," Rosalyn answered. "And I
wouldn't be surprised if Lady Cerise confided in her about what she has
planned."

"I hope that you are wrong." She shook her head. "I do not want to
spend my time working on Cerise's ledgers. Sebastian -- and all my
other men, they will find someone else, Mae... perhaps even..." She
shuddered for dramatic effect. "...Wilma. I like the men, I like
being with them, having them touch me... having them in me. Mmm, and I
like the presents that they give me."

"You'll get no presents from any man for keeping the Lady's books. You
can count on that." Rosalyn sopped up the last of her fried egg with a
biscuit and took a bite. Then she added, "And Cerise is more than
welcome to those ledgers of hers."

"You did not like doing that work anymore than I did, I think."

"Of course, I didn't. I am an aristocrat -- F.F.V., in point of fact,
in a direct line from Lord Colin and Lady Viola Wessex of Jamestown --
and I was not put on this Earth to be a... a _bookkeeper_." She all
but spat the word.

"A bookkeeper, si, that is what you are, that is what we both are, if
she keeps us at that work." She sighed. "I wish you had not spilled
the tea on the records Wilma was working on."

"Me? I don't seem to recall you doing anything to stop me; quite the
opposite, in fact."

"But it was your loco idea, and I wish we had not done it."

"Are you saying that you actually _want_ that... that troll, that
changeling, Wilma, to be Lady Cerise's second?"

"If it means that _she_ is the one copying records into ledgers when
the men come, and _we_ are the ones waiting to greet them, then maybe -
- just maybe -- I do." She smiled wickedly. "A puta like Wilma will
hate it absolutemente while all the rest of us are having a good time."

Rosalyn frowned. "I'll not say that I agree with you, Beatriz, but
menial work like that is more suited to someone of her class than it is
to one such as myself."

"Or you," she quickly added.

* * * * *

Elizabeth walked into the Sheriff's office, with Theo right behind her.
"Which of you is Sheriff Talbot?" she asked the two men inside.

"Is him." Tor Johansson pointed at Dan. "I am der deputy."

"Please to meet you," Theo said, extending his hand. "We're --"

"I am Elizabeth Meehan Taft. This is my husband, Theo. I've come to
see about taking my late brother, Leroy's body, back to Indiana for a
proper burial."

"I don't believe that's possible, Mrs. Taft," Dan said.

"And why is that?" Elizabeth asked indignantly. "I have every right as
his next of kin." She put her reticule down on the sheriff's desk and
began looking through the contents. "I have some papers here from my
lawyers testifying to that fact."

Tor laughed. "It ain't possible 'cause he ain't dead, missus. He
ain't a 'he' no more, neither."

"I beg your pardon," Elizabeth said.

"Laura was supposed to tell you herself, Mrs. Taft."

"All Mrs. Caulder told me was some fool joke that Leroy and the whole
Hanks gang was turned into women."

Dan grimaced uncomfortably. "She was telling you the truth, ma'am.
Leroy -- the whole gang, in fact -- got turned into women by a potion
Shamus -- he owns the Eerie Saloon -- that Shamus made. Leroy is Laura
Meehan -- Laura Caulder, now. She's married to Arsenio Caulder, and
they're expecting a baby in a few months."

"Is the whole town participating in this ludicrous hoax?"

Theo took a step forward. "I've met this Laura Caulder, Sheriff. Are
you saying that that preposterous story she told Elizabeth and me is
true?"

"If she told you that she was Leroy Meehan, Mr. Taft, then yes, that's
just what I'm saying. I know hard it is to believe what must sound to
you like some sort of a cock 'n' bull story, but that's the simple
truth of it."

Elizabeth snorted and drew herself up to her full height. "I don't
know what sort of game you're playing, but I will not be lied to." She
glared at the two men and turned to leave. "Come, Theo." She left
without another word.

"Uhh, nice meeting you," Theo said before he hurried after her.

Tor shook his head. "Dat, Sheriff, is one stubborn voman."

* * * * *

"Maggie," Shamus called from the doorway between the kitchen and the
bar, "could ye be coming out here for a wee bit?"

"Si, Shamus," she answered. "Just give me a minute." She made a few
quick cuts with her knife, and the chicken was divided into pieces.

"I will be back as soon as I can," she told Jane. "You do the other
chickens while I am gone." Jane nodded and began slicing the drumstick
off one bird.

Maggie walked towards the door, wiping her hands on her apron. "What
did you want to see me about?" she asked Shamus when she reached him at
the door.

"Well, to tell ye the honest truth, it ain't me that wants t'be seeing
ye -- not directly, anyway." He turned and pointed to where a lone
figure sat at a table near the wall.

"Dolores!" Maggie all but spat the name. "What is she doing here? I
thought that she went back to her precious Mexico City."

"Either she didn't, or somebody's gone and moved me saloon south of the
border." He smiled at his own joke. "Go over, and I'm sure that
she'll be telling ye all about it."

"Why? Why should I talk to her?"

"Because it's me that's asking ye to, yuir partner and yuir friend,
Shamus O'Toole." He looked at her very seriously, then added,
"Please."

Maggie looked back at him, then over at Dolores. "Only... _only_
because you said 'please' will I do this." She glanced quickly at the
clock on the wall. "And not for very long; I have to get back to my
kitchen."

Head straight and back very stiff, she walked over to the table.
"Shamus said that you wanted to see me," she said as she sat down
across from the other woman.

Dolores studied her for a moment before speaking. "Actually, it was
Seá±or O'Toole who wanted me to talk to you. I asked him for a job, and
he said that I had to get your permission."

"Me, why did he say that?"

"He-he knows about Ramon... how we were rivals --"

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Were rivals or _are_ rivals?"

"I will not deny that I am attracted to Ramon. He is a handsome man."
She stopped and looked at Maggie's reaction. "But he wants things that
I am not ready to give, a home, a family, a... a wife." She shook her
head. "No, I am not ready to give up my freedom for a man -- for _any_
man."

She took a breath, then continued. "You... you are what he wants...
what he _always_ wanted. And I want him to have you, even if you do
not believe that I do." She smiled wryly.

"I would believe you more if you were on the stage back to your home,
not standing here asking for a job." She glowered at Dolores. "Why are
you still here? The truth! Why?"

"The truth?" She sighed. "Perhaps it is the only way. Very well, I
am not ready to make a new family, but I am part of _a_ family, one
that needs my help. I stayed to give it."

"A very noble story... if it is true."

"Arnoldo Diaz, the boy that worked here, he is my cousin. I was -- I
am -- staying at his house."

Maggie nodded, remembering. "Si, Shamus caught him drinking...
stealing. He denied it, and he called Shamus some terrible names."

"He is my cousin. His father was killed by the Apache, and his mother
has had nothing but trouble from him ever since. He wants so hard to
prove that he is a man, so he can go after them and avenge his father's
death."

"I heard him tell Shamus once how much he hated Indians. That, I
think, was part of why Shamus fired him." She paused a moment, "But
what has this to do with you?"

"His mother cannot cope with such anger from one fast becoming a grown
man. She thinks of him as her little boy, and she is afraid of what
would happen if he rode out after those Apache." She smiled. "I had
two older brothers, and I know about the demons that drive a boy his
age. Teresa, his mother, begged me to stay so I could help him calm
down, maybe even get him to try and get his job back here."

"And you think you will have an easier time if you are already working
here yourself."

Dolores shrugged her shoulders. "Si, also I do not wish to impose on
my cousin's charity any longer. With a job, I can pay my own way.
Besides, Arnoldo has one friend here already." She pointed to Bridget,
who was in the middle of a game at her corner table well across the
room from the two of them. "It may be that the two of us can get Seá±or
O'Toole to take him back."

Maggie was quiet and thoughtful for a moment, as if wanting to believe
the other woman's side of the story, but not being quite sure. Finally
she seemed to come to a decision: "There can be three of us." Maggie
put her hand on Dolores' arm. "You are a good person -- if you have
really stayed to help Arnoldo. If you are telling the truth, we have
no problem. I will not stand in your way."

"Thank you. Teresa has had a hard time trying to raise four children
alone. She is a good mother, one of the best, but takes more than one
person to really do the job well."

"You are hardly their father."

"No, and I will not try to be, but I can be a second voice, a second
adult for them to look to."

Maggie smiled. "Just so long as you look to them and not to a certain
store clerk that we both know..." She let her words trail off.

"Why should I bother, when you are the one _he_ looks to?"

* * * * *

"Does anyone want any more champurrado?" Teresa asked, walking over to
the stove. A pot filled with what looked like dark brown porridge was
simmering over a very low flame.

Enrique raised his hand. "I do, and can I have some extra piloncillo in
it?"

"Si." Teresa brought the pot to the table and poured some of the
chocolate and corn-based drink into his cup and into several others.
She put the pot on a trivit on the table and took a small, dark
triangle from her apron. "Here is your piloncillo." She crumbled the
cone of sugar in her hand and let it fall into the boy's drink.
"Anyone else?"

Ysabel took a sip of her chapurrado. "Mama, can we play the candle
game now?"

"I will set them up," Arnie said. He walked over to a cupboard and
brought three candlesticks, each with a candle, red, blue, or green,
back to the table. "Who goes first?" He set the candlesticks down and
held up a long white strip of cloth.

"Me, me!" Ysabel waved her arm eagerly

"Dolores is our guest," Arnie told his sister. "Maybe she should go
first."

Dolores shook her head. "The game was Ysabel's idea. Let her go
first." Then she added, "but you are a good man for offering,
Arnoldo."

Teresa quickly followed Dolores' lead. "Si, very good of you,
Arnoldo." She tied the blindfold over Ysabel's eyes, while Arnie lit
the candles. He stepped away.

Teresa slowly turned Ysabel around one time and pointed her towards the
table. "There, now try to blow one of the candles out."

Ysabel took a step forward and leaned towards the candles. She puffed
heavily. "Try again," Arnie said.

It took two more tries before she actually blew out of the flames. The
family cheered and she yanked off the blindfold. "Which one did I
get?" Then she saw. "Blue," she whined. "I do not want to travel. I
wanted red... for romance."

"You are too young for romance," Teresa told her.

Arnie gave her a gentle jab in the shoulder. "Maybe next year." He
took the blindfold. "Your turn, Dolores." He offered it to her.

"Why do you not go next, Arnoldo?" She pushed it away.

Arnie gave her a wry look. "Me? Why should I --?"

"Why not you?" Teresa answered.

"Let one of the younger ones go next, if Dolores does not want it."

"Oh, go ahead, Arnoldo," Ysabel said. "After all, _you_ are old enough
for romance." She giggled. The other children voiced their agreement.

He shrugged. "If you truly want." He tied on the blindfold. "Someone
light the blue one again."

"I will get it." Dolores lit the candle while Teresa slowly turned her
son once around and pointed him towards the table. When he stopped,
perhaps a foot from the table, Dolores quickly shifted the red and blue
candlesticks out of reach.

Arnie puffed twice. On the second try, the flame on the green candle
flickered and went out. Dolores hurriedly moved the other two
candlesticks back.

"Green!" Arnie took of the blindfold. "Money. This must mean that I
will get a good new job very soon."

"Perhaps it means that you will get your old job back," Dolores said.

"I do not want my old job back," Arnie answered. "I would rather not
have a job than go back to work for O'Toole."

"You would rather stay home than do honest work," Ysabel scolded.
"That does not sound very grown up."

"How would you know, _little_ _girl_?" He shot back.

Teresa clapped her hands. "I will not have such arguing. This is a
holy day."

"You are a proud man, Arnoldo," Dolores said. "So is Seá±or Shamus.
Why do we not just keep an open mind? If you ask... if he asks..."
She clicked her tongue. "We will see what the _future_ asks. Is that
all right?"

"It is with me," Constanza answered. "Now blindfold me, so we I can
see my future next."

* * * * *

Sam Duggan put two fingers in his mouth and let loose a loud, high-
pitched whistle that brought every conversation in the room to a halt.
Once he was sure that everyone was looking at him, he bowed slightly
and began. "Gents, once again, the Long Branch has spared no expense
to bring you the finest entertainment to be had in the territory."

"What'cha get this time, Sam," someone yelled, "a dancing bear?" The
remark brought a howl of laughter.

Sam shook his head. "She ain't dancing, and -- more's the pity -- she
ain't bare. I've managed to get -- and at great expense, I might add -
-"

"Price of drinks is going up again, boys."

Another shout, "You can only charge so much for water, Sam," and more
laughter.

"As I was saying," Duggan pressed on, "at great expense, the Long
Branch is proud 'n' happy to present Eerie's own golden thrush, Miss
Jessie Hanks." He raised his arm and pointed with an outstretched hand
to the top of the stairs.

Jessie nodded, acknowledging the applause, and started down. "I'd like
t'start with a song I ain't sung for a while." She paused a moment,
watching the crowd's reactions and began singing.

" Arise, arise, Collee, says he.
` Arise an' come with me.
` An' to the land of Ireland go
` An' married there we'll be."

* * * * *

"Do you think it's true?" Theo asked. He took off his shirt and draped
it over a chair.

Elizabeth shook her head. "That ridiculous story about Mrs. Caulder
being Leroy? I most certainly do not. How could a grown man suddenly
turn into a woman?" She stepped out of her dress and carefully placed
it on a wooden hanger.

"I don't know," Theo said cautiously. "I don't know. If it were just
her saying it, or even just her and her husband, or even just them and
that Jane character --"

"Jane! I don't even want to _pretend_ that woman is my sister. She
was prattling on like some overeager puppy the whole time, insinuating
things about you and I as if it were any of her concern."

Theo walked over to his wife. "I agree about Jane, but it _has_ been a
long time." He put his arms around her waist and kissed her softly on
the neck.

"Theo, please." Elizabeth twisted away from him. "I-I'm too upset.
Besides, someone might hear us."

"We're at the far end of the hall from the steps and behind a solid,
wooden door." Theo argued. "I can't hear them downstairs, can you?"
He waited for her to shake her head before he continued. "If I -- if
_we_ -- can't hear _them_, then how can _they_ hear _us_?"

"I don't know, through the wall or the floor perhaps. I just feel
so... so uncomfortable here. We're living in a saloon, for heaven's
sake, as if we were vulgar... people of the street, while everyone lies
to us. How can I possibly be in the mood for what you're asking of
me?"

She took a breath. "And why is all this happening? Because I tried to
do my Christian duty to a brother who ran away from his duties and died
a disgrace to his entire family, that's why."

"_If_ he is dead." Theo sat on the edge of the bed and took off his
shoes. "Wouldn't it be a good thing if they _were_ telling the truth,
if Mrs. Caulder were Leroy? At least he'd be alive and well."

"Don't tell me that you believe what they've been saying? I thought
that you had some sense, at least."

Theo shrugged. "The sheriff backs up their story, Elizabeth. So did
that Judge Humphreys. If a judge says --"

"If he really is a judge. He came to see us in the saloon, you'll
remember. We never went to any courthouse."

"They don't have a courthouse here. The man said that he does some of
his business in an office. He uses a saloon if he needs more room."

"Oh, I've no doubt that he uses a saloon -- and quite often I suspect,
but I doubt that it's in the cause of justice."

"We're getting away from the subject. If you won't believe a sheriff
or a judge, who would you believe?"

"A minister," she answered at once. "A man of G-d wouldn't lie to me."
She waited a beat. "If there is one, a real one, in this horrible
place."

"We'll go look for one, 'a real one', the first thing in the morning."

"Fine, the sooner we find out the truth about whatever happened to
Leroy -- to his body, the sooner we can go back home to civilization."
She sighed and undid the hooks of her corset, setting it down on the
same chair as Theo's shirt.

All she wore was her chemise and her drawers. As Theo watched, she
pulled the pin that held her mouse-brown hair in a bun. It came free
and fell down around her shoulders. He reached over and ran a finger
along the length of her arm. "In the meantime..." He let his voice
trail off.

"Nothing doing," she said firmly. "It's late, and we have a big day
tomorrow." She pulled back the cover and climbed into bed.

Theo sighed. "Very well, goodnight." He walked over to the dresser
and turned down the wick in the oil lamp.

* * * * *

Saturday, February 3, 1872

Maggie rolled over and looked at the alarm clock by her bed. "3:17,"
she whispered, "six minutes later than the last time I looked." She
sighed and closed her eyes. "Why cannot I not get to sleep?"

"The promise," she answered her own question. "I promised Lupe that I
would care for our children. I must keep that promise even... even if
it means I cannot be with Ramon. I must be a good mother..."

"Good mother." Where else had she heard those words? Who had --
Dolores? What was it she said? "She was talking about Teresa Diaz.
She is a good mother, Dolores said, but she could not give her children
all the care, all the help they needed, to grow up right."

Maggie shook her head when she thought of Arnoldo. "Just like my
Ernesto." She shivered. Was Ernesto going to grow to be the troubled
boy that Arnoldo was?

"No, not with Ramon around. He and Ernesto are so good together. He
will help..." She stopped. What was it that Lupe -- the children's
mother -- had made her promise so long ago?

She could hear the words, hear Lupe's voice, weak with the sickness
that would take her that very day. "Miguel, mi corazá³n, promise that
you will care for them as we would have if we... I were there to care
for them with you."

Maggie's eyes went wide as she realized what Lupe had _really_ meant.
"She could not bear to say it, but she meant that I should find someone
else, someone who would care for them with me, just... just as she
had." Tears ran down Maggie's cheeks as she shivered, only partially
from the cold, and hugged herself. "And I... I have."

She rolled onto her side, smiling and still clutching the pillow.
"Ramon" was the last word she said before she lapsed into a deep,
untroubled sleep.

* * * * *

Jessie opened the door of the Sheriff's Office and started out onto the
boardwalk outside.

"Don't forget this," Paul called from inside.

Jessie turned. "My reticule." She took the large handbag from him.
"Thanks, I wouldn't want t'be leaving my stuff behind."

"But it's such a lovely behind." He gave her rear an affectionate pat.
"Giselle."

She shivered, remembering how they had played the "whore game" again
the night before, this time to a much happier conclusion. "M'syur!"
She giggled. "Ah muzz go now, but Ah weel return."

"You better." He pulled her close for a brief kiss, but their shared
desire made it last longer than he had intended.

Finally, with a sigh, she broke away. "I gotta go back t'Shamus',
Paul." She ran out the door and across the street to the Saloon. It
wasn't quite 7 AM yet, and the street was empty.

The doors to the Eerie Saloon were closed, locked overnight, but Molly
had given her a spare key. She used it and slipped inside.

"I see ye decided t'come back." Shamus was sitting at a table near the
door. A pot of steaming coffee rested on a trivet in front of him.

"'Course I came back. I live here don't I?"

"Aye, and ye work here -- at least ye used to."

"Used to?" What was he saying?

"Last night, Friday night, one o'me busiest nights, ye wasn't working
here. Ye was over at the Long Branch singing for Sam Duggan. And
singing that 'Collee' song no less."

Jessie decided to attack. "Well, you said I could."

"I... I said nothing of the sort, and ye know it."

"What I _know_ is that you said you didn't want me t'sing that song for
you. You also said I could sing it wherever or whenever I wanted. And
last night I wanted to sing it at the Long Branch."

"Ye're twisting me words, Jessie."

"Maybe, and maybe I'm thinking of taking Sam's offer to go work for
him."

Shamus scowled. "Are ye now?"

"I am... I guess. I could work for the both of you, sing one night
here, one night there."

"Ye can't be serving two masters, so ye'd best be thinking long and
hard about what ye're doing." He yawned. "In the meantime, go
upstairs and change. Ye might even want t'be getting an hour or two of
sleep."

She yawned back. "Maybe I'd better."

"Aye, we've a full day of work here, and there's the dance t'night."
He studied her expression. "At least there is for them that work
here."

"I work here, Shamus, for now at least, I do." She walked past him.
"G'night."

He watched her walk towards the stairs. "Good _morning_, and try not
t'be waking Jane. _She_ was working last night, while ye was off
singing."

* * * * *

Liam could hear the pounding in his room above the Feed & Grain. He
hurried down tucking his shirt into his trousers as he ran. He got to
the door and quickly unlocked it. "What do you want this early,
Horace?"

"Your sister." Horace Styron stepped impatiently into the store.
"Where is she?" He looked around, expecting Trisha to be there.

Liam closed the door behind the man. He left the "Closed" sign on the
door, to the annoyance of several men waiting outside. 'They didn't
stop Horace,' he told himself. 'Let them wait.'

In the meantime, he still had Horace to deal with. "She'll be along
directly. I'm the only one here. What are you in such a hurry to see
her about? This is our busiest day; yours, too, come to think of it."

"That just says how important this is. If I can take the time, why
can't she?"

As if on cue, Trisha walked through the front door. She closed it
quickly before anyone else could follow. "I'll decide what -- and who
I take the time for, thank you, Horace."

The man turned to face her. "What are you plotting for the next board
meeting?"

"I'm not _plotting_ anything," Trisha said smugly. "Who says that I
was?"

"Dwight Albright," Horace answered. "I got him started talking about
it, but I couldn't get anything specific out of him."

She smiled. "You'll find out the specifics next Wednesday, the same
time as everybody else."

"I'll find them out now, by thunder!" He took a step towards her.

Trisha instinctively took a step back. She was suddenly aware of how
much larger -- and stronger -- than her Horace Styron was. "I-I don't
have to tell you anything, not if I don't want to. And I don't." She
stamped her foot for emphasis.

"Don't you play games with me, Trisha. I won't stand for it."

"Well, you'll just have to -- so there."

"You little bitch, I oughta --" He raised his arm, hand open as if to
strike.

"The hell you will." Before Trisha or Styron could react, Liam grabbed
Horace's arm and twisted it behind him. At the same time, his other
arm went around the man, pulling him back.

"Lemme go." Styron twisted, but couldn't get free. "I'll sic the
sheriff on you."

"Go ahead," Liam warned him. "When Dan Talbot hears how you burst in
here and threatened to hit my little sister, he's likely to throw _you_
in jail."

"You lousy... lemme go!" Styron kept struggling.

"Certainly," Liam said. "Trisha, open the door." She did. Liam
steered the man over and pushed him through. Styron stumbled out and
fell into the dirt. He growled at the crowd that gathered around him,
laughing at his expense. Then, without a word, he stood up and stormed
away.

"You okay?" Liam asked Trisha. He had closed the door. "I can wait a
bit for you to recover before I open."

"I-I'm fine -- except, what'd you mean 'little sister'? I'm three
years older than you."

Liam stepped over and put his hands around her waist. Without another
word, he effortlessly picked her up and sat her down on the counter.
"Oh, I don't know; it just seemed appropriate at the time."

* * * * *

Theo knocked on the frame of the half-opened door. "May we come in?"

"Yes, of course." Yingling stood up from behind his desk and walked
over to the door to greet his visitors. "Welcome to town. I am Dr.
Thaddeus Yingling, minister of the Methodist Church of Eerie." He
offered his hand.

Theo shook it. "Thank you. I'm Theodore... Theo Taft, and this is my
wife, Elizabeth."

"I am very pleased to meet you both." He shook Elizabeth's hand as
well before he went back to his chair. "Please..." he pointed to the
chairs by the desk. "...do have a seat." He waited while they both
sat down. "Now then, I understand that you are in need of some aid.
How may I be of help to you?"

"You can tell us the truth," Elizabeth answered. "What do you know
about the death of my brother, Leroy Meehan?"

Yingling thought for a moment. "I'm sorry to hear of your loss -- may
I call you Elizabeth?" She nodded, and he continued. "The name rings
a bell, Elizabeth, but I fear that I can't place it. Was he also new
to town?"

"According to the lie everyone keeps telling us, he rode into Eerie
back in July with Will Hanks."

"Leroy?" Yingling made the connection. "Yes, of course. But I feel I
am under some restraint. I really don't know how freely I should let
myself speak on this matter. May I inquire about the 'lie' that you
have just referred to?"

"The lie that everyone is telling me -- that Caulder woman, the saloon
keeper, the judge and even the sheriff -- is that Leroy turned into a
woman because of some magic spell!"

"Ah, so you have met Laura. I can confirm what she told you. Your
brother isn't dead, Elizabeth. They -- the sheriff with the permission
of the judge, I understand -- tricked him and the entire gang onto
drinking a potion prepared by Shamus O'Toole. It... aah... changed
him, changed him -- _her_ for the better, I should say, into a woman.
I see her and her husband in my church almost every Sunday, and I look
forward to christening their firstborn sometime this summer."

Elizabeth started again. " Everyone is saying the same thing you are.
I find it hard to believe. How can a man change into a woman?"

"I'm sure that I don't know. It... umm, happened in O'Toole's saloon,
a place where I am not likely to be found."

"It would have to be witchcraft," she insisted. "Black magic."

Yingling shrugged. "Perhaps, or a miracle, who can say? I've barely
met any of the others who changed that day." In fact, the brief
conversation he'd had with Jessie Hanks on the night before Christmas
had been something of a strain for both of them.

"That day? You make it sound like that wasn't the only time people
have been changed. How can such a thing happen? Why don't the
authorities stop this crazed man?"

"In one case, it was 'the authorities' -- Judge Parnassas C. Humphreys,
a good man and an elder of my church, I might add -- who ordered the
change as a sentence for crime. In another circumstance -- well, I'd
rather not talk about that. It involved a family, members of my
congregation."

Elizabeth pointed a finger at the reverend. "You sound as if you
approve of this potion and what it does."

"Actually, I'm of two minds on that. Giving it to the Hanks gang saved
the town from their evil -- robbery and probably even murder. Another
time, an innocent life was saved. Still, not all of the members of the
gang are as doing as well as Laura Caulder, and I know for certain fact
that the family I mentioned are having a difficult time of it."

"Sounds like it's good _and_ evil," Theo said, a wry smile on his face.

Elizabeth glared back at her husband. "Theo! You're taking like you
actually believe this silliness!" she challenged.

"Dearest, Rev. Yingling is a man of the cloth."

Elizabeth replied with a "Hummpt!"

"There is both good and evil in many things, Theo," Yingling replied.
"In the case of O'Toole's potion, I am still trying to decide which is
the predominant. I've heard that one of the Hanks gang tried to escape
from confinement last fall. Before she was re-captured, she ended up
saving a mother and child from Mexican bandits. Truly, the Lord works
in mysterious ways."

Elizabeth looked uncertain. "What you would have me believe then is
that the story is true, that Laura Caulder is my brother, as she
claims?"

"Yes, your brother, Leroy Meehan, is now Mrs. Laura Caulder, a happily
married woman expecting her first child."

In the quiet that followed, Theo and Elizabeth looked uncertainly at
one another.

* * * * *

Molly walked slowly over to where Maggie was standing, watching the
band set up. Maggie wore the white blouse, white ruffled apron, and
black skirt that were the uniform for the dance, but she also had a
yellow flower, a courting flower tucked neatly into her hair. "Good
evening, Molly," she said when she saw the older woman coming towards
her.

"And t'yuirself as well," Molly answered. "Ye look real nice t'night."

"So do you, Molly."

"I just hope ye'll be thinking as well of me after I tell ye the news I
got."

"News? What is the matter?"

Molly sighed and shook her head. "Maggie, darling, Shamus and me been
thinking all week, and between us, we can't think of any way t'be
getting around that promise ye made. I... 'Tis truly sorry I am."

"There is no need to be sorry." Maggie smiled at her friend. "I have
been thinking, also. The promise is not what I believed it to be.
Tomorrow --"

"Yes, what about tomorrow?" While the women had been talking, Ramon
had come over and was now standing behind them.

"Ye shouldn't be sneaking up on a poor woman like that, Ramon," Molly
scolded.

Ramon tried to look sorry. He failed. "I did not mean to scare you,
Molly. I am just anxious for the answer. When I saw the two of you
talking..."

"You will have the answer tomorrow, Seá±or de Aguilar, as was agreed
on," Maggie said sternly.

"Very well, then," Ramon answered. Now he did look sorry. "I will
wait."

Maggie smiled, suddenly shy. "But perhaps, I can give you a clue."
She carefully took the flower and moved it over to the other side of
her head, just above her ear. It was a sign that a woman no longer
wished to be courted, that she was "taken."

"Margarita, do you mean...?" Ramon just stared at her.

"It seems you need another clue." Maggie walked over to Ramon. She
put her hands on the side of his head and pulled it gently down towards
her own. Their lips met in a kiss that was full of love and future
promise.

* * * * *

To be Continued