Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Winter; Part 8 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Winter By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson Sunday, February 18, 1872 Carmen knocked gently on the bedroom door, then opened it a crack. "Wake up, Margarita." "What time is it?" Maggie stretched and sat up. Carmen stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "Just after 8:30." "8:30!" Maggie threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed. "Why did you let me sleep so late?" "Because you needed it, working until after 2 last night for Shamus O'Toole." "It is my job." She raised an eyebrow. "Besides, I work late every Saturday." "So why did I let you sleep in today?" Carmen gave her a smile of satisfaction. "Because my brother, Gregorio, is not the easiest man to face the first thing in the morning." Maggie crossed herself. "Madre de Dios, I almost forgot that he would be here." "That is my point. He is not here." She chuckled. "He was never one for going to the church. That is why he did not meet us there last Sunday." "Is he gone?" Please, Saints in Heaven, let him have gone home. "Out, but not gone. He left a while ago for a ride around the town. He will most probably wind up at Sebastian Ortega's house. They gave been friends since they were as young as Ernesto. Sebastian also does not often go to the services on Sunday." She paused a moment for effect. "But before he left, he said that he would meet us at the O'Toole's home at two." Maggie let out a sigh of relief. "I am safe until two, at least, but what will happen then?" "Who can know? We can only pray for the best. In the meantime, you may be safe from Gregario, but Ramon is downstairs having breakfast -- yes, _I_ made breakfast this morning. We will be leaving for church in..." She looked at the small clock on the dresser. "...about thirty minutes. You are hardly ready to go anywhere with him." She look studied Maggie, who wore only her light, cotton nightdress and drawers. "At least, not to church." * * * * * "Be careful with the butter," Maggie warned. "Do not let it burn." Jane gave the pot with the melting butter a quick stir. "Don't be so nervous. It ain't like I never melted butter before." "I-I am sorry. This is so... I just want everything to be perfect." "It will be." She put a hand on Maggie's arm for a moment. "Is the bread ready?" "It should be." Jane stepped back from the stove, so Maggie could open the oven door. "It is." Maggie used a pair of dishcloths to take a raised baking sheet full of toasted bread cubes from the oven. She turned and put it down on the worktable. "Pour out the butter over all the bread," Maggie told her. Jane nodded and carefully drizzled the butter on the cubes. As soon as she had finished, Maggie sprinkled them with pine nuts and raisins. "Now the cheese." "Halo, Margarita... Jane," Arnie interrupted, as Maggie reached for a small dish of grated cheese. "What are you making that smells so good?" He was carrying a tray of dirty glassware in from the saloon. "Some kinda bread pudding," Jane answered. "For upstairs." Maggie smiled. "Capirotada, it is called Jane, a treat for Lent." "Ah, my favorite." Arnie put the tray down next to the sink. "Can I have a taste when it's ready?" Maggie shook her head. "This is for... upstairs, Ramon and the rest of them." "Me and you'll have whatever's left," Jane said cheerfully. "But there will be nothing left if we do not finish making it." Maggie reached into the cooler and retrieved a glass jar filled with a reddish liquid. Jane shook her head. "I still don't see how tomatoes and onions can be part of a dessert." "Because they can." She unscrewed the jar. "They balance the pilocillo... the sugar, the cinnamon, and the anise. Now, pay attention, as I do this." She poured it over the bread. Arnie watched the two women until he was sure that their attention was focused completely on the bread mixture. He stepped back over to sink and set the tray down on the counter. Some of the glasses in the tray still held liquid. He took a last look back at the cooks. They were still looking at the bread. "Cheers, ladies," he whispered and took a drink, then another. That was enough to risk. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and walked back into the bar. * * * * * "What are you knitting, Molly?" Maggie asked. They were in Molly's sitting room, waiting with Shamus. Molly looked up. "A blanket for Laura's baby." She smiled broadly. "She's saying I'm t'be its grandma. Ain't that --" A knock on the door stopped Molly. "Ramon..." Maggie jumped to her feet and started towards the door. Shamus stood in her way. "I'll be getting the door, Maggie. Ye go sit down like the lady ye are." When she didn't, he added. "Now!" "S-Si, Shamus." Maggie sat quickly on the couch. Shamus walked over and opened the door. "Carmen... Ramon... Whit... and Gregorio, o'course." He stepped back, making a broad gesture of welcome with his arm. "Come in and have yuirselves a good sit down." "Thank you, Se?or O'Toole," Gregorio said. They all walked in, and Ramon hurried over to take a seat next to Maggie. She smiled shyly, as he took her hand in his. Molly stood up, her knitting stowed in the basket next to her chair. "Would any of ye be caring for some tea?" "Wait, a bit, Love" Shamus told her. "I'm thinking that we'll be needing an answer from Gregorio before we're offering these folks tea... or anything else." "That ain't very hospitable," Molly answered. "'Tis no more so than the way Gregorio pushed himself into things last week." Maggie shook her head. "No, Shamus, please. Do not do this." "You are right to be afraid, Margarita," Gregorio told her. He sounded annoyed. Suddenly Maggie could not hold in the building tension. She glared at Gregorio. "Afraid? Of you?" She snorted. "I have had it with you... with your arrogance." "Say whatever you have to say, Gregorio," Ramon was still holding Maggie's hand. "But say it to the both of us." Gregorio sneered. "As you wish." He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "Ramon, I was very upset when I met this woman. It seemed to me that you were marrying a peasant, someone who was far, far beneath you." He stopped and looked directly at Maggie. "Then I discovered who... what she had been, and I was even more convinced that you should not marry her." "Gregorio!" Carmen retorted, "you are wrong, so very wrong. Never have I seen you act so foolishly." Gregorio frowned. "Carmen, how dare you say that to me, your brother?" "How dare you say what you are saying to _your_ brother?" They stared fiercely at each other. Ramon stepped between them. "Gregorio, I love Margarita, and I am marrying her. You are my brother, and I would like your blessing, but we will be married whether I get it or not." "In that case, little brother, I have nothing more to say." He turned and walked through the still-opened door. At the last moment, he looked back and added, "for now." Then, the others watched him walk down the hall. "Well, that went well," Whit said, forcing a smile. Maggie held Ramon's hand in hers. "Did-did you mean what you said, Ramon, that you would marry me anyway?" "Margarita." He could feel her trembling. "I never doubted that I would marry you. The only question was what Gregorio would think when I did." She sighed. "He will not be very happy about it." "He'll come around," Whit told her. "He hated the fact that his sweet, innocent little sister wanted to marry some damn fool gringo. Now here it is only a few years later, and he can almost tolerate me." Carmen kissed her husband's cheek. "He does not see in you the qualities that I do." "That's 'cause he don't bring 'em out the way that you do, Hon." Whit put an arm around his wife's waist and pulled her close. Carmen laughed. "I have my ways. "Now if you will release me, Carida, we can start talking about the muhal... the bridal gift and the dowry." * * * * * Monday, February 19, 1872 Someone -- Emma suspected Hermione -- had brought a jump rope to school. "Emma and Yully` Up in a tree,` K-I-S-S-I-N-G.` First comes Love,` Then comes Marriage,` Then comes _Yully_ with a baby carriage." The girls' chant reached the side of the schoolhouse, where the boys were choosing captains for the week's ball game. "Dang!" Yully flinched at the sound of his name. His penny fell the farthest from the target by more than a foot, his worst shot ever. He retrieved the pennies he'd used. Hector Yba?es chuckled. "Looks like Bert and me is captains this week." "You and Stephen best keep your minds off your girlfriends when we're playing." Bertram McLeod added, as he picked up his own pennies. Yully tried not to show his anger. "They ain't our girlfriends." "Then you won't care if Emma don't play," Hector said. Bert nodded in agreement. "That ain't fair." "See, she _is_ his girlfriend." Stephen took a step towards Hector. "You're just mad 'cause she plays better than either of you." "Does not!" Bert answered. Stephen smiled. "Then prove it. Let her play, and we'll see who's the better player." Several other boys mumbled their accord "All right; all right. She plays." Bert knew when he'd lost, but he wanted one last shot. "Yully's girlfriend plays." * * * * * Roscoe Unger waited until mid-morning before he went over to O'Hanlan's Feed and Grain. "Is Trisha -- Miss O'Hanlan -- around?" he asked a stocky Mexican who was unloading a crate of seed packets, arranging the packets into a display. "In the office," Mateo told him, pointing to the door. Roscoe walked over and knocked on the doorframe. "Trisha?" "Come in, whoever it is," she answered from inside. "Oh, hello, Roscoe," she said when she saw him. "What can I do for you?" He stepped in, not quite closing the door behind him. "I'm getting ready for tomorrow's issue of the paper. You hadn't given me that ad for the dance that you promised." "Can't you just do one up yourself?" Roscoe shook his head, looking embarrassed. "I... I'm not very good at writing ads. There was one I did, I... I don't want to think about it." "What happened?" "Mr. Silverman was having a sale on men's shirts. I sold him a half page ad." He made a broad gesture. "It read, 'Big Shirt Sale' in 18- point type." "What's wrong with that?" "When I ran off a proof copy -- that's the last thing you do before the big run of the paper -- I discovered that I'd... I'd left out the 'R'." He chuckled nervously. Trisha thought for a moment, then she began to giggle. "Yes, I can see how that would be a problem, but..." She thought for a moment. "It didn't mean that the advertisement itself was bad." "No, but it got me thinking. Silverman's having a big shirt sale, and 'Big Shirt Sale' is the best I can come up with. You could've done ten times better I'll bet." "No, I couldn't." But even as she said it, a phrase, "Don't move, Gents; Silverman's got you covered", came to her mind. "Sure you could." He smiled. Trisha caught herself smiling back. "Well, I _was_ working on something for the dance." She took a sheet of paper out of the drawer and handed it to him. "It's a house... no, a school. The school, but with its roof blown off. Oh, I get it. 'Raise the roof to help us raise the roof.' That's a nice play on words." He handed it back to her. "See, I said you were good at writing these things." Trisha felt... something... pleasant run through her. "Thanks. I guess we'll use this for our ad." * * * * * "I wish to speak to the Reverend." Cecelia Ritter announced, as she stepped through the door and into the parlor of the Yingling house. Martha Yingling looked up from her dusting. "He's in the kitchen. I'll --" "Rather late for breakfast, I should think," Cecelia chided. The Reverend walked in carrying two glasses. "It is indeed, Cecelia." He handed a glass to Martha. "I was just getting some lemonade. Would you care for a glass?" "I've no time for lemonade," Mrs. Ritter sputtered. "Neither do you... considering." Yingling's smile faded. "Considering what?" He gestured towards an open door. "Shall we go into my study?" "We might as well stay right here." Cecelia smiled now that she was more in control of the situation. "What I have to say concerns you, too, Martha." Martha raised an eyebrow. "Me? What are you talking about, Cecelia?" "May I?" Mrs. Ritter sat down without waiting for permission. The Yinglings sat down opposite her on the settee and waited for her to continue. She took a breath and began. "Your boy, Stephan. Last week -- Valentine's Day, it was -- he kissed a young girl." Martha shook her head. "Are you certain of that? Our Stephan would never do something like that." "I have no reason to doubt my Hermione. She saw the whole thing. He kissed one of those Mex brats we let go to the school." She groped for the name. "Diaz... yes, Ysabel Diaz." Yingling's expression clouded. "I shall talk to the boy. Such behavior is totally uncalled for." "I agree." Cecelia pressed her point. "Though, from what Hermione told me, it isn't entirely his fault -- or the Diaz girl's, either." Martha took her husband's hand, bracing for even worse news -- or gossip. "Who's fault is it, then?" "Emma O'Hanlan, that girl who used to be a boy; she's been throwing herself shamelessly at Phillipia Stone's boy, Ulysses. Hermione told me that Emma kissed him first. Then... then, she made the Diaz girl go over and flirt with your Stephan." Martha tried very hard not to smile. 'Hermione's no better than her mother,' she thought. 'Cecelia's trying to make trouble because Yully Stone likes Emma.' "I shall talk to my son." The Reverend stood up quickly. He didn't sound very happy. He took Cecelia's hand, gently pulling her to her feet. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention." Cecelia looked flustered. "You... you're welcome." "I am always glad to speak with a concerned parishioner." He was guiding her to the door. "Good day, then." He opened the front door, smiling politely. Not knowing what else to do, Mrs. Ritter went out onto the porch. "Good day, Reverend... Martha." The reverend nodded and closed the door without a word. "You handled her very well, my dear." Martha handed her husband his glass. Yingling took a quick sip. "Practice, Martha, long years of practice." He took another sip. "I will have to talk to Stephan, though. He's been acting very oddly lately. If he did kiss the girl, it shows me just how badly things have turned." * * * * * Arsenio walked into the saloon just as Jane was bringing out a tray of sliced turkey for the Free Lunch. Laura and Dolores were standing next to the table waiting to get their midday meal. "Arsenio," Laura greeted him. "What brings you over here?" She set down her plate and kissed him on the cheek. Arsenio smiled and kissed her back. "That kiss was reason enough, but I came over to give you this telegram we just got." He handed her a Western Union envelope with her name written on it. "Now, who..." She tore it open and read. "It's from Theo. He wanted to let me know that they got to Salt Lake City all right." Arsenio raised an eyebrow. "It took a week to get there?" "No..." Laura's face reddened. "Today was the first chance he got to send it. Lizzie want to... umm... make up for lost time on the stagecoach." Arsenio chuckled. "Other than that, what's he say?" "Staying over another day," Laura skimmed the telegram. "Waiting for an eastbound train -- I hope they're getting a sleeper." She giggled. "He says I should take care on myself... and the baby" Arsenio put his arm around her. "I'll make sure of that." "Oh, and he says to say hi to his new sister, Jane." She folded the telegram and put it in her apron pocket. "That's about it." "What does he mean, 'new sister'?" Dolores asked. "You have been sisters all your lives." "No, we ain't," Jane said cheerfully. "Till I took that potion last summer, I was --" "Jane!" Laura and Arsenio both yelled. "Be quiet." She looked at the pair of them. "Wha... what'd I say?" "You started to say something about some kind of a potion," Dolores replied slowly. "Something that your _sister_ did not want you to say." Jane looked nervously at Laura who gave her a harsh look in return. "Then I guess I better not say it," Jane replied. "No, you shouldn't," Arsenio added. "Besides, it's time to eat, not talk. " Laura sighed and took an extra slice of turkey for the sandwich she was building. This wasn't going to be the quiet lunch she'd been hoping for. * * * * * "Go dig my grave both wide an' deep,` Place a marble stone at my head an' feet,` An' on my breast place a turtle dove` To show the world I died of love." Jessie stretched out the last note of her song. There was some applause as she finished, but not as much as she'd gotten used to. Nobody threw coins. She decided to make the best of it. "All right, then, anybody got a request?" "I ain't got a request," Molly called out from where she was standing by the bar. "But I got me a question." Jessie looked around. No one else spoke. "What's your question, Molly? Is it about a song?" "In a way, aye, it is." She took a breath. "So far t'night, ye sang 'Red River Valley' and this last song." "That's right. What's your question?" Molly pressed on. "Last night, ye sang 'Lorena' and 'Jeannie -- Jimmy with the Light Brown Hair'." "So?" "So? By all the blessed Saints, Jessie," Molly asked, "don't ye know any _happy_ songs anymore?" * * * * * Tuesday, February 20, 1872 Shamus was taking a break, reading the paper and having a cup of coffee. "You seem in good mood this morning, Shamus," R.J. observed. "You get to the piece about the big poker game, yet?" "I was just reading it now," Shamus answered. "One thousand dollar t'be buying in, twelve hours of table stakes poker; it sounds t'be a game they'll be talking about around here for years and years." R.J. gave a wry smile. "It does at that. Too bad it'll cut into the profits from that night's dance. A lot of our regulars are going to be watching to see who wins." "Och, didn't I tell ye, R.J.? Thuir won't be a dance that night. Abner Slocum's paying t'be using me saloon for the game." "Then we're really going to lose money." R.J cocked an eyebrow. "You don't seem very upset about it. When you heard about the church dance, you were --" "That dance cost me money. I'm expecting t'be _making_ a tidy sum from this here poker game." "Abner is paying that much for a table?" "More'n just the table. Abner's paying Maggie and me t'be having the kitchen open in case any of them high rollers gets hungry, not t'be mentioning that he's picking up thuir bar tabs." "That still won't make up for all the men who'd pay at a dance." "And they'll still be paying. I won't be _closing_ me saloon, just roping off a space for them big shots t'be playing. All them others -- and I expect thuir'll be a _lot_ of 'em -- can stand around and watch the game." R,J, laughed. "And watching a poker game can be thirsty work." "Aye, lad," Shamus said happily, "it surely can." * * * * * Father de Castro stopped sweeping when he saw Ramon and Maggie walk into the church. "Welcome, my children. What brings you here?" He noted their nervousness and the way they were holding hands. "Some good news, I should say." "Si, Padre," Ramon answered. "Margarita and I... I asked her to marry me, and she said, 'Yes.' We are going to be married." "That is good news, very good news," the priest said. "My congratulations to you both." "Thank you, Padre. We came to ask... when she formally accepts my proposal this Sunday, can we do it here at the church?" "Of course. I can think of nothing that would please me more -- except to officiate at your wedding. When will that joyous event be? You cannot be married during Lent, of course." Maggie smiled shyly. "We thought... the Sunday after Easter." "A good time." De Castro told her. "And we can do the betrothal ceremony right after Mass on Sunday; you can give Margarita her bridal gift out in the garden by the side of the church." Maggie smiled and looked at Ramon, "That would be perfect." "Any day that you agree to become my wife _is_ perfect." He smiled and took her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed it before letting go. The priest nodded. "And who will be here to bear witness on this 'perfect' day of yours?" My sister, Carmen, and her husband, will represent my family," Ramon answered. "And Sebastian Ortega will stand in for my godfather." Maggie hesitated. "My children, of course. My sister and brother-in- law back in Mexico do not know that I am a woman. Molly and Shamus acted as my family during Ramon's peticion de mano." "It is fitting that they be with us on Sunday," Ramon told her. "Molly is very much of a mother to you, and Shamus; did he not call himself the 'father of the bride' at Laura's wedding?" "Then they should be here, as well," Father de Castro said. "To make it _three_ miracles." "Three?" Maggie said. "I do not understand." "The first, the greatest is the love that the two of you feel for each other. Such a love is truly a miracle and a blessing from our Lord. As to the others, I have always thought that it would take a miracle to get Shamus O'Toole _or_ Sebastian Ortega to come to the Sunday mass." * * * * * Stephan Yingling knocked on the doorframe to his father's office. "Mother said that you wanted to see me, sir." "Yes, I did." He put down his pen. "Please shut the door behind you and take a seat. He waited while the boy did as he was told. "I heard a disturbing report about you yesterday. It seems that you have been acting in a lasciv... an improper manner towards one of your classmates." "I'm afraid that I don't understand." "Did you or did you not kiss one of the young ladies in your class?" Stephan blushed. "Oh, that. Actually, Ysabel... umm, she kissed me." He rubbed his cheek. "I was too surprised to do anything." "But you wanted to kiss her, didn't you?" "She's a pretty girl, sir. You told me about girls and the birds and the bees when we had that... talk last year. I like Ysabel -- as a friend. I wouldn't do anything to disrespect her." "I should hope not. If any word of your actions should reach Dr. Collier at the academy..." And Cecelia Ritter was just the sort of woman to do something like that. "...it could hinder your admission." "Wouldn't want that." Stephan tried to keep the irony out of his voice. He failed; the Reverend heard it all too well. "You _will_ be going to the academy, Stephan, and on to the seminary after that. My mind is set regarding your career." "Even if my mind isn't... sir?" "It will be. You will follow your brother and myself into the ministry and lifelong service to our Lord. _That_ is irrevocable fact." He paused for a moment. "What translation are you working on, now?" "Just finishing up Cicero." "I think that you'll do something of Terence next, 'Brothers', I think, and I'll expect five pages a week." "That's... that's quite a lot." "It will keep your mind occupied, which is as important in your increased fluency in Latin and rhetoric. I would like to keep you away from the young lady in question -- and her intemperate friend, Emma. But that is not possible without taking you out of school, which I will not do. You will, however, have nothing more to so with her than what your class work requires of you." "Sir, I don't think that you're being fair." "No sinner ever knows how just his punishment truly is." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "You may go now. We both have work that we must attend to." "Sir, please..." "Go, Stephan." Yingling picked up his pen and resumed work. He didn't even look up at his son as he worked. The boy sighed and left. * * * * * "Here are the plates, Jane." Dolores put a stack of dishes on the table Jane was setting up for the evening's dinner crowd. Jane took one from the stack and put it down between the knife and fork that were already on the table. "How come you brought these out instead of Arnie?" "I wanted to talk to you." She looked around quickly. "About what you started to say yesterday." Jane frowned and swallowed hard. "Laura said I shouldn't talk about that." "You do not have to tell her we talked about it. She is at home now, having dinner with her husband." Dolores didn't add that she had deliberately waited until that evening when she knew that Laura wouldn't be there to stop Jane from talking. "What do you want to know for?" "Because ever since I came to Eerie, I have had the feeling that there is some sort of secret in this saloon. People are careful about what they say whenever they see me. They at once start to talk about something else. Something happened here that people do not trust me to know about. Or are they trying to protect me from something that could hurt me if I found out about it?" "It ain't you, Dolores, but if the wrong person found out the secret, he could spread it around, and that'd hurt other people. Molly's told me more'n once how bad it could be." Dolores was quiet for a moment, wondering how many people were involved in whatever had happened. "Molly does not seem like the sort of person who would deceive a friend for no reason. What could be so bad that it would hurt many people?" She asked haltingly, "Was someone -- killed?" "Oh, tarnation, no. The potion stopped folks from being killed." "Is it a medicine then, something that saves people's lives?" "I don't know that it saves lives so much as changes 'em." "Changes lives, what do you mean? I vow on the virgin's tears that I will not say anything that could hurt anyone. If my friends here trust me so little, maybe I should find another job." Jane touched Dolores' hand. "No, for Pete's sake, don't do that. Me 'n' you is friends, and I'd miss you if you wasn't around!" Dolores sighed. "I do not want to go, unless I have to. Just tell me, what is so important about this medicine you took? Were you so sick or hurt that you had to take it?" Dolores could see that her questions were causing a struggle inside Jane. Finally the other young woman said, "It does save people's lives sometimes, but in a funny way." "Jane, dulcita, you are not making very much sense. If this medicine did not help you, why did you take it?" The blonde shook her head. "The Judge said I had t'take it for what I done." "The Judge said? How did a judge become involved? What did you do?" Jane looked down at the floorboards. "If I told you, you might not want to be friends no more." Dolores smiled encouragingly. "That cannot be, Jane. Everyone you know must already know what happened, and they still want to be your friends. Why do you suppose that I would be any different?" "It'll sound like a tall tale. It takes a little getting used to." The senorita stroked Jane's cheek with her fingers. "Coming to Los Estados Unidos I have to get used to new things all the time. Did you hurt someone, querida? Is that what you are afraid to have anyone know?" "I reckon I did hurt somebody -- a little. I -- me and Toby -- we took Jessie and Laura up to our claims up in the mountains. We didn't mean no harm; we thought they was sweet on us." Dolores took a step back. "You and this Toby, you were the sort of women that... that like other women?" Jane arched her neck indignantly. "Hellfire no. We was men." She flexed her arm as if making a muscle. "_Real_ men, if you knows what I mean, even if Toby 'n' me was both pushing 50." Dolores stared into her friend's face, amazed. "I think you have having a burla... a joke with me," she finally said. "I'm saying that it was the potion that changed me. Didn't you ever read about things like that happening in stories?" The brunette felt at a loss for words. She knew that Jane had a childlike nature and might easily go off into flights of fancy. But this was much worse than she had suspected. "Are you talking about magic? I hope not, because there is no such thing." "Maybe not in most places," Jane replied firmly, "but there's more 'n a little magic right here in Eerie." Dolores sighed again. 'Is that the secret?' she thought, 'that Jane is a little loca, and her friends do not want others to find out how badly off she is?' Deciding to get the whole story out of her companion, Dolores asked, "Did Toby take this magic potion, also?" Jane shook her head. "No, he... he died. They said it was a accident." She shrugged. "Maybe it was." "And you say that this medicine -- this potion, it changed you into a woman, into Laura's sister? Incre?ble... unbelievable." "The magic makes you look like the prettiest gal you ever seen. I was sweet on Laura, and 'cause of that, I looked so much like her, once I took that potion, that she said we was twins." Now it was Dolores' turn to shake her head. "It just is not possible. Jane, carida, is it not more likely that you have just dreamed all this? What do you say to your friends when they tell you it is not true?" "That's just it. They all know that it _is_ true. You can ask anybody. You can even tell 'em I told you." * * * * * "Did you see that advertisement for the dance in today's paper?" Kaitlin asked, taking a bite of the fried chicken she'd made for that night's supper. Trisha tried not to smile. "Was it any good?" "It was an excellent piece of work. The 'hens' were all talking about it at Ortega's market this afternoon." "The ladies liked it, did they?" "They did. Naomi Cates told me her husband, Jubal, even admitted that _he_ thought it was good." Trisha chuckled. "And him one of Horace's men." She ate a forkful of beans, then continued. "Anyway. I'm glad you liked it. Seeing as _I_ wrote it." "You?" "Why not me. I always enjoyed writing the advertisements for the Feed and Grain. Besides, this dance is real important to me. I need it to be a big success." "I'm sure it will be." "Truth to tell, you're doing more work on it than I am, organizing all those committees and such." "Thank you for noticing, but it was, still, your idea to raise the money with a dance." "It was." She took a breath. "That's why I decided to take your advice and get a dress." "Wonderful. We can go to Silverman's tomorrow." "I... ahh, with all that work you're doing, I didn't want you to have to work on a dress for me, too." "Alter it, you mean, so it would fit your b... so it would fit you better." "Uh huhn. I'm going to go over to Rylands' and see if they can fix me one in time." "Be careful when you go there, Trisha. I've heard stories about Enoch Ryland." "Stories, what kind of stories?" "Some of the ladies say he can get a bit too... familiar... with his hands, I mean." "Not with me he won't." She smirked, sure of her ability to handle herself, even in her new form. Kaitlin nodded gravely. "Oh, of course not. He knows your background. He wouldn't dare." * * * * * Wednesday, February 21, 1872 "Here's yuir lunch, Paul," Molly said, carrying the tray into the Sheriff's office." Paul cleared room for it on the desk. "How come you brought it, Molly? Usually one of the waitresses brings it over." "Aye, but t'day it's me that brought it, and brought a question with it, I did." "I thought so." He made a sour face. "All right, ask your question. Or should I ask it for you?' "Ask... if ye're so sure that ye know what I'd be asking?" "Jessie. You want to know what the problem is between her and me. Am I right?" "Aye. And now that ye've asked the question, why don't ye be answering it?" "It-it's hard to explain. Let's just say that I couldn't be what she wouldn't be herself." "Well that's clear... clear as mud. Just what in the name of all the Blessed Saints are ye talking about?" "Look, Molly. I know that you're trying to help, and I appreciate it. You just pass what I said on to Jess. You may not understand what I'm saying --" "Ye're danged right I don't." "No, but she will. At least, I hope she will." "And if she does?" "Then we can talk. With a little luck we can settle the whole thing." "And what if she don't understand -- or she don't _want_ t'be understanding?" "Then..." He took a deep breath. "...we'll both be the worst for it." * * * * * "Find anything?" Enoch pushed back the curtain and stepped into the fitting room. Trisha held up the album she'd been looking through. Each page had a color picture of a woman in a gown. The price and possible variations in color, trim, and length and shape of the sleeve were listed. "This one; it's the prettiest dress I've ever seen." "May I have a look?" He stepped around and looked over her shoulder. The dress was gold-colored, with dark gold trim. It was sleeveless, with a low neckline that would show off her bosom to good effect. The bodice was tight before it flowed out into a full skirting. The matching overskirt split into two, long apron-like overskirts, front and back, tied together with three large bows on each side. Trisha didn't know why -- and her own feelings surprised her -- but if she had to wear a fancy dress in public, this is the sort of dress she wanted to wear. Enoch nodded in agreement. 'This is just the sort of dress a frivolous, flirt of a girl might wear,' he thought. 'You may have started out as Patrick O'Hanlon, but I'd say more than your body has changed. Let's just see how much like sweet, _horny_ Wilma Hanks you are now.' "A very good choice," he continued aloud. "I'd suggest you do your hair the way the woman in the picture has hers." He touched the back of her head, then gently ran a finger down the length of her neck. "Long ringlets trailing down to your shoulders." "Do you -- ooh -- think so?" She shivered at the sensations his stroking finger sent through her. He noticed. And smiled. "I do. I warn you, though, that dress'll cost about $75. Do you want to spend that much?" "$75. That... that's a lot of money." "You could always, well, go to Silverman's," he said without any real conviction. "Aaron does have a lot of dresses." "Yes, but, with my... shape..." Her small hands made a gesture, as if to point out her lush bosom, narrow waist, and broad hips. "His dresses... they just don't fit me right." She paused in thought, looking at the picture again. "This dress here, it's so pretty... and it would be my first _real_ dress. The whole idea of a dance was mine. I _have_ to look my best." She nodded her head once, quickly. Her mind was made up. "Yes, _that's_ my dress." "Fine, then. Please take off your blouse and skirt... your corset and petticoat, too." Her eyes widened in surprise, and her hand rose again, fingers wide, to just above her bosom. "What? Why?" "So I can take the measurements I need to sew that gown." Then he cocked his head to one side and said, "there's no need to be apprehensive; it stands to reason that you wouldn't be used to dress fittings." Trisha didn't care for the idea that she might be acting more timidly than an ordinary woman. "That makes sense... I guess." She stood up slowly and began to unbutton her blouse. As she did, she glanced over and saw Enoch watching her. Despite her determination to remain calm, his expression made her... uneasy. "O-out," she said softly, almost a whisper, adding, "please. I-I'll call you when I'm r-ready." The tailor nodded. "I'll be just outside." He walked through the curtain, the album under his arm, and closed the curtain behind him. Trisha took off her blouse. A wooden clothes rack stood against one wall, with a number of hangers dangling on the crossbar. She hung the blouse on one and started on her skirt. Her skirt -- and her petticoat -- were soon placed on two other hangers. Her corset took a while longer. "Too damn many hooks," she muttered, as she draped the garment over the crossbar. She closed her eyes for a moment, readying herself. "Y-you can come back in now." Enoch walked in carrying a cloth measuring tape and a small notepad. He looked at her and smiled broadly. "Let's start at the top with that pretty neck of yours." "You know best. Like you said, I never got measured for a dress before. Only a suit, and that was for my confirmation when I was 14." "It's very much the same for a dress. Now hold still." He laid the end of the tape on the side of her neck, holding it there with a finger, while he carefully wrapped it around her with his other hand. It reached the starting point. He let it go and made a note on the pad. "Now, that didn't hurt, did it?" he asked. "No... not really." "Not really. You mean, it hurt a little? Well, let me fix that." He stepped in close behind her and, to her surprise, kissed her softly at the place where he had held the tape. Trisha's eyes opened wide in surprise. "What? Why did you do that?" "I didn't mean to startle you. Umm... raise your right arm straight out from your shoulder and hold it there." Bemused, she did as he asked. He put the end of the tape at the midpoint between her shoulder blades and ran it out, flat against her, to the shoulder. He stopped for a moment to look at the tape, then he continued on, stopping when he reached her elbow. He was standing _very_ close. Trisha could feel his breath on her bare skin, especially where the skin was still moistened from his kiss. When he took the tape away, he kissed her shoulder, just above the neckline of her camisole and nearest to where he had held the tape. He kissed her again at the other spot. "Do -- do you kiss every woman you fit a dress for?" she asked stumblingly. "No, of course not," he replied with an admiring smile. "Only the special ones like you. Now, raise your other arm, please," he told her, not waiting for her to say anything more. He started the tape in the small of her back, brought it around under her left arm, across her front just above her breasts, and back around under the right arm to where it began. As he had reached it around her, he had slid his fingertip against the fabric of her camisole and across her breasts. She felt a pleasant warmth grow in her body and, distracted by it, she let him continue. "A little lower this time," he said. He let go of the end of the tape and kissed her neck again. It seemed that this kiss lasted a bit longer. When he brought the tape under her arm, he placed it on her breasts, right atop her nipples. He used his free hand to check the placement, leaning over her shoulder, blowing a puff of warm breath on the moist spots on the base of her neck. She felt his body against hers. His hand was on her breasts, his fingers playing with her nipples. She could feel them stiffen at his touch as he maneuvered the tape. "Mmm," Enoch said, "You smell very nice, Trisha. That rose scent suits you." He kissed her neck again. The warmth flowed though her. "Oooh," she sighed and let her head roll backward. "Th-thank yooou." He brought the tape under her right arm and moved his head to look at the number. Then, all of a sudden, he was kissing her neck, her shoulder again. Both hands were upon her breasts now, caressing them, kneading them, and playing with her nipples. She shivered at the sensations that she was feeling, a warm flush that took her voice away. Her bedroom sessions with Kaitlin had shown Trisha the physical delights of having a female body. Kaitlin had ended their intimacy weeks before, and Rev. Yingling's pronouncement that the two women were no longer married had sabotaged any chance of their starting ever again. Now, Enoch's hands and mouth were reminding her of what she had been missing and how much she wanted, no, how much she _needed_ to feel once again what her former wife had caused her to experience. 'This is just what Kaitlin warned me about,' she told herself, 'but it feels so...' She shivered as Enoch rubbed a rough fingertip over her right nipple and gave a gasp that resolved into a soft moan. 'Besides, what harm can a little touching do?' "Moving down..." he took his hands from her breasts and came around in front of her. "Measure your waist next." He knelt down and looped the tape around her. After he had written the number in his pad, he reached over and lifted the bottom of her camisole, exposing her flat stomach. "What are you... oh... ohh!" Enoch's tongue flicked in and out of her navel. Trisha moaned again and swayed slightly, unsteady on her feet. It felt so incredibly intimate. Kaitlin had never done anything like this to her, and Trisha's mind reeled at the warm shivers that ran through her body. He stood up and put his arms around her waist. Up against her, he felt like a mountain of strength. Was that how Patrick had made Kaitlin feel? Her eyes were dazed and only half-opened. She looked up at Enoch and tried to speak. He silenced her by nibbling her lips. Trisha straightened with a lurch, her body instinctively stretching itself, as if to prolong the intense feelings she was experiencing. Her hands trembled, then, as if of their own accord, her arms rose up to circle around him. He was acting even better -- worse -- than Kaitlin had warned her about. Trisha was sure that she could make him stop, but wasn't quite so sure that she wanted him to. Not quite yet, anyway. She had up to now thought that it would feel awful to be touched in such a way by a male. But.... "_That_ was real nice," Enoch said when he broke the kiss. "We can get back to it after I finish with this." He smiled and held up the cloth tape. She nodded, her voice stolen away by the sudden intensity of what she realized was her arousal. He placed the tape a couple inches down from her waist and ran it around behind her. A finger ran along her hip as he moved the tape around. He managed somehow to give a gentle squeeze to each buttock as well. Trisha leaned her head on her left shoulder as each squeeze sent a tingling through her body, and made her breath come in panting gasps. He noted the measurement in the pad with the others, then he put one end of the tape at her navel. He ran it down to the floor. "Waist to ground," he explained. As he moved the tape slowly down her leg, he slid a fingernail along her skin. She trembled as the sensations flowed through her, especially since, they all seemed to converge at her groin. "I hope that didn't hurt." He moved the tape away. "But if it did..." He kissed her navel again, flicking his tongue in and out. Her knees were going weak. She put her hands on his shoulders -- his broad, masculine shoulders -- to steady herself. "Inseam last," he told her. "Please stand with your feet apart." She complied, not thinking about why he needed to measure the inseam for a dress. She was curious... ready... _eager_ for whatever he would do next. Enoch started the tape at the bottom of her right shoe and ran it upward. Again, his fingernail slid against her skin as he moved his hand, and, again, she trembled. She trembled more when he reached her crotch. He took a quick look at the tape, and, when he dropped it, his hand remained. She felt his fingers through the soft muslin of her drawers, as they caressed the entrance to her feminine core. She gasped, savoring this new and rare experience. "May I?" he asked. She looked down. His fingers held the ribbons that pulled her drawers tight at her waist. Undress her? She was about to say, "No", when he ran a fingernail down one side of her feminine slit and up the other. "Y-y-yes!" she hissed the word without thinking, then added, "Ooh, pl-please." He yanked at the bow before she could change her mind. It came undone, and her drawers fell in a heap around her ankles. Enoch leaned in and kissed her navel again. At the same time, his fingertip slowly -- oh, so slowly -- stroked her nether lips. His touch was flint on steel, setting off dozens of sparks of pleasure that shot through her body. How could a man make her feel this way? It seemed so wrong, but it felt so right.... She closed her eyes to shut out the world -- and there was nothing in the darkness except those sparks like a sprinkle of stardust a trail of stars leading the way to the womenhood she was now, oh, so ready, so eager to accept. He kissed her navel one last time. Then the kisses moved down her flesh, moving an inch at a time towards her crotch. He mixed the kisses with gentle bites and his lapping tongue. Lordy, he was so much better at this than Kaitlin. Trisha was quivering, barely able to stand, when he finally reached her soft patch of curls there between her legs. But he didn't kiss it. Instead, he blew a puff of air, then another, at it. The curls fluttered in his breeze, exciting her more than she could have imagined. He moved closer, and she felt his tongue dart into her, exploring the tender tissue inside, as she gave a shudder and a small cry. Her eyes suddenly went wide. His tongue had found its target. She felt it brush against her small nub of flesh. She was moist and warm down there. It was a rapturous warmth, that built and built and built, until sizzling pinwheels of energy spun through every part of her body. All at once, it was like he had pulled her trigger. Her hands flailed at his head. Her body shook and spasmed. She heard a woman's voice -- her own -- shrieking. Her legs gave way. The last thing she knew was her fall into darkness. * * * * * Emma hurried, wanting to be outside the school, waiting when Hermione came out. "I wanna talk t'you, Hermione Ritter." "Well, I certainly don't wish to talk to you." She tried to ignore the other girl. Emma grabbed her arm. "No, you'd rather talk behind my back." "You leave her alone, you horrid girl," Eulalie McKecknie scolded. "This ain't your business, Lallie," Emma answered. "Go away." "No," Eulalie said, trying to sound brave. "You go away... Patches." It was the insult from months before, back when Emma was still wearing boy's clothing. Hermione pulled her arm free and stepped next to her friend. "Yes, _Patches_, go home." She took a breath. "Nobody wants you here." "I do." Ysabel Diaz stepped in next to Emma. "You would," Hermione taunted. "You're as bad as she is." Penelope Stone was suddenly standing next to Ysabel. "What about me, Hermione? I'm Emma's friend, too." "Even after she went and kissed your brother?" Hermione taunted. "I thought you Stones were proper people." "That's what this is all about, ain't it?" Emma asked. "It's all 'cause Yully likes me more'n he likes you." "If it is, you can both stop." Yully stood a few feet away, a scowl on his face. "Last thing I need is a couple of silly girls fighting over me." Emma turned and stood blinking at him. None of the girls' taunts had stung worse than Yully's words. "But... but I thought," she stammered. "I thought you liked me." Yully shook his head. "I do. I like you just the same way that I liked you when you were Elmer, as a _friend_." "Th-that's all?" Emma asked, keeping her voice as steady as she could. Yully smiled. "I admit that I admired how hard you worked to keep playing ball, but then..." His smile became a grin. "...I always thought Elmer was a stubborn cuss." "You like me in a different way, though; don't you, Yully?" Hermione smiled in triumph. Stephan Yingling now stepped up cautiously and listened from couple steps away. "Not that much, Hermione," Yully answered without looking at any of the girls. "Not that much at all. Let's go, Stephan." The boys began walking and never looked back until they were out of the schoolyard. * * * * * Trisha's eyes fluttered open. "Mmmm," she said, delighting in the feeling of warm honey flowing though every part of her body. "Awake at last." Enoch sounded rather smug. She looked up at him. She was lying on a bed, she realized. She stretched, feeling the cool sheet against her... her _bare_ skin. "What!" She was wide-awake, now, looking down at herself. She wore her camisole, but it was unbuttoned and pulled back to expose her pillowy breasts and her still erect nipples. All she had on below her waist were her green and black-stripped stockings. "How... how did I..." "You fainted. I thought that you'd be more comfortable in a bed than on the floor. You weren't out for very long," he explained, a grin on his face. "My room's right next to the fitting rooms." He paused a moment. "Now that you're awake, we can continue." He slid a finger across a breast, tickling her. "Continue; with measuring me for the dress, you mean?" He couldn't mean anything else, could he? She felt vulnerable in a way she never had before. At the same time, what he'd done... what he was _doing_ to her left her weak as a kitten, unable to even shift her body away from him. If she had wanted to. "I have all the numbers that I need for the dress," he told her. "It'll be ready for a fitting in about a week." He looked down at her breasts. "But I know how _happy_ getting a new party dress makes you. Now it's your turn to make _me_ happy." He took her hand and moved it towards him. She touched something, something long and hard and _very_ male. Trisha looked over at him. Enoch was naked below the waist, and his maleness pointed back up at her. She -- her eyes went wide -- she was holding it. "No!" She pulled her hand away as if from a live snake. He bent over and tried to kiss her. When she turned away from him, he kissed her cheek, her jaw line, on down her neck to her shoulder. Kisses mixed with tiny love nips. The next thing she knew, he was sucking her nipple, rolling his tongue over it, and gently biting. What little resistance she possessed melted away like ice in July, overwhelmed by passions he was arousing in her. He still held her one hand, but his other was playing with her breast, kneading its soft flesh, tweaking the nipple. A heat grew. His touch simultaneously kindled heat in her breasts and down between her legs. She writhed and moaned as a tide of exquisite pleasure washed through her. It struck her that she was being unfaithful to Kaitlin, but she dismissed that thought almost at once. Kaitlin was a woman, like her - _like_ _her_! - she luxuriated in the thought, wrapping it around her like a blanket. Enoch was a _man, a man who was doing wondrous, _carnal_ things to her. He moved her hand, and, of their own will, her fingers curled back around his firmness. He glided his hand down her flesh and ran a finger across her nether curls. "You're ready, more than ready, Trisha. Such a lovely name; everything about you is lovely." She was so lost in the fires building in her body that she didn't realize what he was saying until he joined her on the bed, and her grip on him fell away. He gently moved her legs apart -- she didn't resist -- and took his place in between them. Her lower lips parted, and she felt him slide into her -- such a strange new sensation. She gasped at a sudden tearing, but the pain was washed away by the thrilling sense of being filled where instinct told her she should be filled. He was full in now, deep enough that she could feel the touch of his balls against her flesh. Was this what a woman felt, what Patrick had made Kaitlan feel? She began to wonder, but Enoch's irresistible energy was giving her no time to think. "Ahhh," she moaned as he moved, first out, and then in, and back out again. Being treated this way was startling, but she savored the pleasure of it all. His stroking was like the piston of a train, irresistibly building a pressure inside her. "Yes... yes," the words came out in a hiss. Her hands, desperate with need, clawed at his back. Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, making everything so much more intense. She felt wicked, as if she were tasting the Forbidden Fruit, gaining knowledge that she, as Patrick, was never meant to know. She had never dreamed of wanting this, to be taken by a man. Now, it seemed impossible to desire anything else. All she knew was that he _was_ taking her. The world shrank down to just his cock and the wonders, the mysteries that he was causing her to know. Then, she... _burst_! Her voice rose in a steam whistle shriek, and her body spasmed, unable to hold in all the excitement of mind and body that that was boiling within her. This time, she fought hard not to faint. This was far, far, too good for her to leave it behind in darkness. Enoch wasn't finished. He kept up that incredible, masterful movement. She wouldn't have imagined it, not in this world, but he was exciting her to an even higher pitch. It was like he was working sorcery upon her, and she screamed out again in wordless delight. In the midst of it, she heard him groan. He tensed and spurted within her. She felt a fierce, joyous rush, like a tumble down a heated waterfall, as they collapsed together on the bed. While Trisha lay there, trying to remember how to breathe, he slid off of her, slid out of her. He pulled her to him and gently kissed her forehead. She could feel his arms around her as the pleasure of what had happened to her settled into a happy glow, and she could barely hold back from laughing. He kissed her again and stood up. "I think I can see my way clear to knock that dress down to $50." He said it with a chuckle and then added, "When you get up, there's a basin of water and a towel over on the dresser. Your clothes are there, too." "You're... you're leaving?" That thought alarmed her somehow. He nodded. "I have to get back to my business. So do you, I suspect." "The store... Liam..." She scrambled to her feet. Something damp ran down her thigh, and she felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment. She stepped over to the washbasin and picked up the terrycloth towel. "What can I tell him?" He was already in his drawers. "I'm sure you'll think of something." He stepped into his pants and pulled them up, adjusting his suspenders. "I wouldn't advise the truth, though." He sat down on the bed and pulled on a pair of boots. "Brothers tend to think of their sisters as children, and you're anything but that." "I, uhh, agree." She moistened a corner of the towel and used it to dab at her leg, then further up. "Good girl." He stood and kissed her on the cheek. "Don't forget, come in a week from today for the fitting. Maybe we can find the time..." He let the rest of the sentence lapse, as he gave a gentle squeeze to her breast. "Till then, goodbye." He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. * * * * * Things weren't busy for the moment in the saloon. Dolores sat down on a barstool to catch her breath. After a moment, she heard, "A penny for your thoughts, Dolores." Dolores turned on the stool at the sound of her name. "A penny? What do you mean, R.J.?" "Just an expression. You've just been too quiet the last couple days," R.J. explained. "I was wondering if something was bothering you." "I did not think that you had noticed," she answered. "I did not think that you ever noticed anything -- except Bridget." "I watch pretty much everything that goes on in here. It's part of a barman's job, to watch and not be noticed doing it. I look out for any hint of trouble and keep it from getting out of hand." He gave her a sheepish grin. "Of course, I might have an extra reason or two for keeping track of Bridget." "Si, I suppose that you might." "You still haven't answered my question. Why've you been so quiet?" "That foolish, foolish story that Jane told me. I keep turning it over and over in my mind, trying to understand, but even after two days, I cannot." "What story?" "How could anyone with an ounce of sense believe that she was once a man." R.J. chuckled. "Did Jane say that Laura was once a man, too?" "Dios mio, no! She at least spared me that much nonsense." The barman looked at her intently, wondering whether she could be trusted. He thought she could be, but, regardless, she was going to find out about the potion ladies sooner or later, working here herself. Surely the people whom she lived with knew about them, too. "Well, you can believe it. I saw them both get changed. Laura was a wiry man, not too tall, with dark brown hair. He looked a lot like Laura's sister, the one that came visiting a couple of weeks ago." Dolores regarded him suspiciously. "And Jane, I suppose that she... he... whatever... was his twin." "Not hardly, and they weren't kin, either. Jake was a lot older -- nearly 50, I think. He was tall and real skinny, with a gray beard and long, gray hair." "And how is it that Se?or Shamus has the power to turn these two very different men into twin girls?" R.J. shrugged. "Shamus says his potion is a mix of old Irish magic and something he learned from the Indians -- he was raised by the Cheyenne, by the way. He won't tell anybody anything more about it." He thought for a moment. "And it wasn't just Laura and Jane, y'know." "It was not?" "Jessie and Maggie and, well, Bridget. They all were men." Dolores shook her head in disbelief. "Maggie... Margarita was a man? It cannot be." Were people trying to have a strange joke with her, or had she actually lost Ramon to a man? Even now that she had accepted the loss, that she had _given_ him to Margarita, this was too much. "R.J., mi amigo, you are carrying a bad joke too far." "It's true." He pointed to the door to the kitchen. "She's in there. Go ask." "I... I need time before I can do that, time to... to think." "Wish I could give it to you, Dolores, but three men just sat down over at one of the tables. You better go see what they want t'drink." * * * * * "And just what d'ye think ye're doing there, Arnie?" The boy started, he carefully put the glass back in the tray and turned to face, "Se?or Shamus, I-I did not hear you come in." "Ye wasn't supposed to." Shamus sighed. "Seems t'me we've had this conversation before, ain't we?" "Wh-what do you mean?" "Drinking, lad. Ye was gonna drink the whiskey left in that there glass, wasn't ye?" Caught, he tried to brazen it out. "I... no, I-I was not." "Then why are ye holding it like ye was?" When I gave ye back yuir job, ye promised not t'be drinking." "Any _you_ promised to trust me. I am keeping my promise. Are you keeping yours?" "Well, now, I guess I'll have t'be trying harder then, won't I?" Shamus stepped over and took the glass from the tray. In one smooth motion, he held it over the sink and poured the whisky down the drain. "And ye'll have t'_keep_ trying, too." * * * * * "Mmm," Trisha moaned softly, as she unbuttoned her blouse. Her breasts were still a bit tender from Enoch's attentions that afternoon. Kaitlin was standing a few feet away, the pair of them getting ready for bed. "Did you say something, Trisha?" "No... no, I was just... thinking." "About this afternoon? I imagine it was an interesting experience." "Oh, yes, yes, it was." "I know that I always enjoyed it --" "You did?" Did Kaitlin know what had happened? Had _she_... and Enoch? Trisha couldn't believe it, but then, Trisha could barely believe what she had herself done. "Of course, what woman doesn't?" "And you... you don't mind?" She tossed her blouse onto a chair and began to untie the bow that held on her petticoat. "Well, I was a little sorry that I couldn't go along, but I didn't want you to be nervous your first time." "But you don't mind that I-I --" "Went shopping for a dress without me?" Kaitlin shook her head. "Of course not. Now, you did get taken care of, didn't you?" Trisha smiled, partly from relief that Kaitlin hadn't been unfaithful to her, and partly from the sexual glow she still felt. "I certainly did." Then Trisha noticed the odd look on Kaitlan's face. They had been married long enough for her to know that it meant that her wife -- her ex-wife -- was trying to work to up asking an indelicate question. "Do you have something on your mind, Kaitlin?" "I was just curious if Enoch -- if he tried to get fresh with you." Trish managed to keep her expression absolutely still. "As a matter of fact, he did, and I let him know in no uncertain terms how I felt." "What d-did he try?" "He -- ah, he touched my neck and suggested I wear my hair in ringlets. It was just the silly sort of stuff you would expect from a man with a roving eye -- and roving hands." Trisha giggled and hoped at once that Kaitlin thought that the giggle was from the joke she had just made and not how her body felt. "I'm surprised he had the nerve to be so forward." "Well, I think he and I understand one another now." She had drawn herself up into a firm stance, the same way that Patrick had done whenever he had gotten his own way. She'd rather hang herself than admit to Kaitlin that Enoch was the one who had gotten his own way. But what she truly wanted to understand -- _needed_ to understand -- was the way that she had felt. How the experience _still_ made her feel. 'Everything is so damned different,' she told herself, 'since Emma and I changed.' She suddenly felt guilty. She had a daughter now, and she would never have wanted Emma -- when she got a little older -- to let things get out of hand the way she had done. All those Yingling sermons about temptation, they were all so true! "Good," Kaitlin replied firmly. "Are you going to tell me about the dress, or are you going to surprise me?" Trisha glanced past Kaitlin and into the mirror behind her. She saw a young and fetching blonde posing in her camisole and drawers, a sight that would make any man hard -- as Trisha well knew. Her mood shifted again, and she giggled at that thought. "Kaitlin, I think I'm even going to surprise me." * * * * * Thursday, February 22, 1872 "Dolores," Teresa called out as took the breakfast dishes over to the sink. "If you do not hurry, you will be late for work. Arnoldo has already left." Dolores came out of the bedroom. "I am ready. I just waited to talk to you after everyone else had left." "Why?" Teresa saw the troubled look on her cousin's face. "Dolores, what is the matter?" "I... I am not sure." She took a breath, feeling silly that she was perhaps falling for a ridiculous jest, then blurted out, "People at the saloon have told me that Margarita Sanchez used to be...a man. " Teresa frowned. "I was wondering when you would find out." Dolores' brow furrowed with incredulity. "Then, it-it was not just a silly story?" Her kinswoman took a deep breath and replied firmly. "No, it is true." "Teresa! I blamed the people at the saloon for keeping secrets from me. But how could you --" Suddenly Dolores paused. Could it be that Teresa had become part of the joke? That seemed impossible. It was so unlike her to join with others merely to perplex a family member. "People do not like places were there are curses and magic," her cousin continued. "People do not speak of it to outsiders, so that they will not carry away bad tales. When you became friends with those women at the saloon, I thought one of them would tell you. It is, after all, their secret to keep." "One of them did tell me, but I couldn't believe it. I did not even believe it when R.J. confirmed that it was true. If this impossible thing happened, why did it happen? Se?or Shamus does not seem like a wicked man. You would not let Arnoldo work there if he did terrible things to people." "He is not wicked. Some very