Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Winter; Part 3 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Winter By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson 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 Se?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 Se?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, se?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. "Se?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." "Se?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