Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Spring, Part 2 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Salon: Seasons of Change - Spring By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson © 2014 Sunday, April 7, 1872 Nancy Osbourne sat, waiting, on the steps of the schoolhouse. "Good morning, Reverend," she said, standing quickly when she saw the man coming around the side of the building. "You, too, Martha...everyone," she added, when she saw his wife on his arm, with their children trailing behind them. "And to you, Nancy," Yingling replied for them all. "And how are you this glorious Sunday morning?" "Fine, thank you," she answered. "I was wondering if I might speak to you for just a moment." She took a breath. "In private." The man nodded and turned to his wife. "You and the children go in, my dear. I'll join you momentarily." "Very well, Thad," Martha said. She kissed him on the cheek. "Nice seeing you, Nancy." She started up the step, Stephan and the other children hurrying behind her. Yingling pointed to a picnic table a few yards from the steps. "Why don't we speak over there?" He offered her his arm. "It offers as much privacy as we are likely to get." "Thank you," she replied and let him lead her to the table. They sat down on opposite sides. "Now, then, what did you wish to discuss?" "I'm a bit concerned about some of the rhetoric in your sermons these past weeks. It's... it's creating problems at the school." "Whatever do you mean?" "A number of the children have taken your language as a reason to taunt Emma O'Hanlan. They're teasing her about having been a boy, calling her a 'potion freak.'" "I understood that Emma has been teased on a number of occasions since she took that potion. Why do you blame me?" To himself, he thought, 'Who are you to blame me?' "Because the teasing had all but gone away. The only one continuing it was... I don't wish to name names. It was a girl jealous of Emma's successes." The reverend nodded. 'Hermione Ritter, unless I miss my guess.' Aloud he asked, "Are you saying that this girl's jealousy is causing the trouble?" "She's a prime source, but she's not the only one. A number of the children have taken your language as a reason to taunt Emma O'Hanlan. They're teasing her about having been a boy, calling her a 'potion freak.'" "If they are fighting over Emma O'Hanlan, then I suggest that you speak to her or her parents, not to me." "But your sermons are the reason for the fights. The children hear you saying those things about Mr. O'Toole and the potion; that it's evil --" "It _is_ evil, or, rather, its continued possession by O'Toole is evil, a threat to the entire town." "I'm not saying that it is or it isn't. The way you're talking about it, though, the children are taking that to mean that Emma is also a threat in some way. _That's_ why they're carrying on the way they are. If you could just tone your speech down a little or tell --" Yingling stood up and glared at the presumptuous female. "Miss Osbourne, you are a woman, a mere tutor of elementary knowledge, a hireling with only a few years more education than those you are charged to instruct. It is hardly your place to tell me how I, a seminary- trained minister of Our Lord, am to conduct His Work in this town." Before she could answer, he stepped away from the table and strode unto his church. * * * * * Arnie finished buttoning the dress she was wearing to church. She looked down at it and frowned. "Mama, do you have a safety pin I can borrow?" "What is the problem, Dulcita?" Teresa asked. "This dress of yours is too big at the top. The seams keep sliding down on my shoulders." "S?, s?, just a moment." Teresa opened the top drawer of the small cabinet next to her bed. She took a pair of brass safety pins from a small sewing kit. "Come over here and sit by me." Arnie walked over and sat down. Teresa pulled up a bit of the edge of the collar on Arnie's right shoulder and pinned it back. The safety pin was inside the dress, so that less than an inch of metal was visible. She did the same on Arnie's right shoulder. "Now stand up, so I can see how it looks." Arnie did as her mother asked. Teresa studied her daughter for a bit. "The collar looks good, but..." She took a breath. "It is still easy to see that my dress is too big for you. You really should have one of your own to wear to church." "I-I do not want my own dress," Arnie answered, maybe a bit too quickly. "How many times do I have to say it to you?" "I just thought that you might want to look nice - you would look better in a dress of your own, you know. If not for the people at the church, then for those people you met, the... the Spauldings." Arnie considered the idea. It would be interesting to see how Hedley - and _Clara_, of course, Clara -- and their mother, too, would act if she was wearing something other than her rough work clothes. "I-I will think about what you say." Teresa smiled. "You should, but not right now. Now, you must help me to get my own dress on, so that we will not be late for Mass." * * * * * "I have spoken to you," Reverend Yingling continued, "this Sunday, and in Sundays past, of the dangers of allowing Shamus O'Toole to continue in control of his transformational potion. I have also told you what I - with the wise permission of your church board..." He turned and bowed to the seated board members. "...intend to do at this month's meeting of the town council. I shall be asking that they allow me to create a group to take physical possession of the potion and to advise the council on its use. When I ask this, I shall take pride in telling the council that I have the support of the membership of this church in my request." "Better than that, at the suggestion of your board president, Horace Styron, I intend to produce evidence of that support. Horace has drafted a petition asking the council to accede to my request. Copies of that petition are located on a table at the doors of this church. Those who support my intention can sign that petition here today. Mrs. Cecelia Ritter will be sitting by the table with additional copies of the petition. I also ask that the merchants among you take a copy or copies to your place of business, so that those who are not here with us today have the opportunity to affix their names as well." "With your help, we will succeed in this holy work." The reverend bowed his head. "Halleluiah, His Will be done." * * * * * "There's one name for the reverend," Horace Styron put down the pen he'd just used to sign his own petition. "And I'll take a few copies for my store." He'd held back from taking copies at the printer's, so he could make a public show of doing so. Cecelia Ritter was sitting next to the "signing table", as she called it. She smiled broadly and handed him four of the sheets she was holding on her lap. "Here you are, Horace, and thank you for setting such a good example." "I'm just following the fine example you set at the board meeting, Cecelia. With the help of you and your friends, I'm sure that we'll get the council to see things our way." Her smile grew even broader. "To see things the _Lord's_ way." * * * * * "May I have one of those petitions, Mrs. Ritter?" Cecelia looked up at the speaker. "Mr. Caulder." She smiled. "I guess you're one member of the town council we won't have to convince." She pointed at the table. "You can sign the copy here, or your name can be the first one you put on this copy..." She handed him a page. "...when you set it out in your smithy." "Wrong on all counts." He took the sheet from her, folded in and placed it in his jacket pocket. "Come on, Laura." He offered his wife his arm. Laura took it. "Yes, wrong as usual, Cecelia," she said smugly as they left the church. * * * * * Cecelia put out an arm as Nancy Osbourne walked past her. "Miss Osbourne, you forgot to sign the petition," she reminded the young woman, her tone chilly. "No, I didn't, Mrs. Ritter. I don't intend to sign it," Nancy said firmly. "May I ask why not?" Cecelia's voice was hard. "Even if I agreed with it - and I'm not certain that I do - as the teacher of this town's children, I feel that I should not become involved in any political matter. After, all I have to teach the children of those on both sides." "But this isn't a political issue; it's - it's a moral one. You're supposed to set a moral example for those children you claim to care so much about." "I am setting an example, neutrality." "You can't be neutral on this. You're either moral or immoral, with us or against us." "I'm neutral, Mrs. Ritter. Please respect that." Nancy walked away before the other woman could reply. Cecelia watched her go, but, as she observed Stu Gallagher signing the petition, she thought, "I most certainly will _not_ respect that, Miss Osbourne, and I'll deal with you _and_ the Caulders in my own good time." * * * * * "Shamus," Arsenio said, walking over to the bar, "you've got a serious problem." The barman looked closely at the other man's expression. This was not the time to make a joke. "And just what is that problem, Arsenio?" "This." The smith took the petition from his pocket and handed it over. "They set copies of it out at the church. Cecelia Ritter's sitting there to make sure that people sign as they go out." "And how is it that ye have a copy of the thing?" Shamus asked after a quick read. "That's the second part of your problem. She's got spare copies that she's handing out to people to put in their stores. Horace Styron and Clyde Ritter each took some, so did Jubal Cates. We left at that point, but I'll bet a lot of others did, too." "I'm thankful that ye didn't." "Shamus, as a member of the town council, I'm not sure that it would be right for me to do so. Besides, I think the whole idea is wrongheaded. I trust you with the potion. Look what it did for me." Laura had stepped up to join the men. "Well, thank you for that, Arsenio." She kissed him on the cheek. "I'm sorry that I ran ahead," Arsenio told her. "I thought that Shamus should see it as soon as possible. Besides, how could I not trust the man who gave me the most wonderful woman in the world?" "I think ye earned her on yuir own," Shamus replied, "but I do thank ye for yuir trust, and, much as I hate t'be saying it, I'm thinking that ye're right about this here petition. I was hoping that it'd be blowing over by the time of the town council meeting, but that don't look too likely now." "It surely doesn't," Laura said. "What are you going to do about it?" Shamus frowned. "I ain't about t'be lying down like a dog, that's for sure. Me Molly's been making ribbons - they say 'Trust Shamus' on 'em, and I'll be asking people t'be wearing them around, too. I'd like t'be throwing them that signed that petition out of me bar, but I don't know who they are. Besides, I suppose a man's got a right t'be stupid if he wants to be." "I'll wear one of those ribbons as soon as they're made," Laura said firmly. "You and Molly, you're... family. I trust you, and I'll bet that Dolores, Bridget and Jessie'll will, too. _And_ Maggie and Jane." Shamus looked thoughtful. "It would be a fine thing if they... could." Arsenio hesitated. "I support you, Shamus, but I... I _am_ on the coun - Ow!" He reached down and rubbed his leg where Laura had just kicked him. "Okay, okay, but I can't very well put a ribbon on my leather smith's apron. It'd probably catch fire. How about if you bring one home as soon as they're made, and I hang it on the door of my smithy?" "You'd better," Laura said, with a chuckle, "or I kick higher the next time." * * * * * Monday, April 8, 1872 "Hola, Jane," Ramon said, walking in through the kitchen door. "Where is Margarita?" Jane pointed to behind him. "In the pantry, getting some potatoes." "Not anymore." Maggie hurried out of the smaller room and over to her husband. He turned at the sound of her voice. They flowed into each other's arms, and their lips met in a kiss. "Sweet," Jane said with a sigh, as she turned back to the carrots she was chopping. Eventually, the couple had to come up for air. "Not that I am complaining," Maggie said, her voice soft with the pleasure of being in Ramon's arms, "but what brings you to my kitchen?" "Your kiss was all the reason I would ever need," he told her, "but I also came to give you this letter." He took an envelope from his jacket pocket. "It is for you... from Gregorio." Maggie's eyes went wide with surprise. "Gregorio... what could he..." She took the envelope and tore it open. ` "My dear, Margarita," ` "I write to you as the head of the de Aguilar family. ` Now that you are a member of our family, you should ` adorn yourself as befits the lady you are in name, as ` well as in fact. Take this letter to Dwight Albertson, ` and tell him that I hereby authorize him to present you ` with parcel 31 from the safety deposit box in his bank. ` Ramon will help you with this." ` "The parcel contains our mother's pearl earrings and her ` matching necklace, Margarita, and I give them to you, ` as I know that she would wish. Just as I know that you will ` look lovely in them. Say hello to my very lucky brother." ` "Via con dios, ` Gregorio" Ramon frowned. "I was wondering when he would do something like this." "What do you mean?" Maggie asked. "I think that it is a nice gesture." The man shrugged. "Perhaps, but it is also his way of reminding me - and you - that he is the head of the family and that he expects to be deferred to, as such." "Let him think that," Maggie said. "He also said, and he says it here again and in writing, that he accepts me as your wife. That is all that I care about." "Do you have any doubt that you are my wife?" Ramon gave her a wry smile, his eyebrow raised. "Mmm, none at all. You proved it to me so well again last night." She moved in close to him. "And I will do so again, but..." He looked at his pocket watch. "...I promised Aaron that I would be right back at the store." "And I have to get the Free Lunch cooked," Maggie replied wistfully. He took her chin in his hand and raised her face to his. "I do have time for another kiss." He took one, and when he was done, he added, "I will be back this afternoon for more _and_ to walk over to the bank with you. I want to see how beautiful you make Mama's pearls look." He gave her a quick peck on the forehead and headed for the door. "I will be waiting," Maggie answered, a cheerful smile on her face, as she watched him leave. She hugged herself, trying to contain her all the delicious sensations his kisses had stirred in her body. * * * * * "Hector, would you please come up to the board and show us --" Nancy was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door of the schoolhouse. Jubal Cates opened the door. "Excuse me, Miss Osbourne, may I come in?" "Certainly," Nancy answered. "Come up to the front of the room, if you would. Children, this is Mr. Cates. He's a surveyor, and I believe that he has something to say to one of you." Jubal walked slowly up to stand next to her desk. "I ain't - excuse me, I'm not used to talking to a lot of kids. I just figured to talk to Emma O'Hanlan." "Yes, Mr. Cates." Emma stood up, smoothing her dress as she stood. A few of the others giggled, but she ignored them and tried to look grown- up. "What did you want?" Jubal took a book from a pack tied to his waist. "Miss Osbourne tells me that you're the best one for the job of my assistant, so I'm gonna give you a try. This here - this book..." He held it up for all to see. "...has all the material you'll need to know for the job. You read the first chapter, do the problems at the end - if you can. You come by my office this Saturday at 2, and you can show me how well you did." "Yes, sir, Mr. Cates." Emma hurried over to the man and took the book. "And thank you so much for this job." "I didn't give you the job yet, girl. I just gave you the chance for it." "Thank you for that then." Jubal started for the door. "We'll see how thankful you are on Saturday." He stopped about halfway and looked back at her. "Good luck." He gave her a quick smile and walked out. "Congratulations, Emma," Miss Osbourne said. "I know that your friends want to congratulate you as well, but they will have to wait until the school day has ended. Right now, we are in the middle of an English lesson. Hector, as I was saying, would you please step up to the board and diagram the third sentence on page 205 of your reader?" * * * * * Ethan stepped back from the painting. He glanced quickly from it to the model, Wilma, who laid seductively on the bed, her nude form on full display. "Yes," he said with a smile. "I am done... _it_ is finished." "Can I see?" she asked coyly. "Of course." She rose out of the bed and padded over. She gave the painting a hard look, and a smile broke on her face. "It's beautiful." "It only reflects the beauty of the model." She turned and gazed at him, her eyes sparkling. "That's the first really nice thing you've said about me in all the time I was posing." "It was not the right time for such talk. I only wished to concentrate on capturing your likeness on canvas." "You certainly did that." She stared again at the sublimely rendered figure. "Can I thank you for how well you done?" "There's no need for that, I assure you. The amount that Lady Cerise and I agreed upon will be more than sufficient reward for my efforts." "That's between Cerise 'n' you. I-I want to thank you, too, for doing such a great job." "Very well." "And my way's a whole lot better 'n cash money." Wilma threw her arms around him and pulled him in for a kiss. She pressed her body close, deliberately rubbing her pillowy breasts against his chest. His mouth opened willingly, and her tongue slid in to begin to tangle with his. She sighed as she felt his arms close around her, even more when she felt the growing firmness of his erection. He broke the kiss much sooner than she wanted. 'We do have to breathe,' she consoled herself. She was about to try for a second one, when he gave her a light smack on the cheek, then her jaw and more times on down to her neck. She delighted at the attention he was giving her, sighing once more and shifting her head back onto her other shoulder. His trail continued down her neck, onto her shoulders, then slowly, ever so slowly down towards her breast. He gave her one last kiss before he began to swirl his tongue along the top of her left breast. He continued, circling around her breast. Gradually, deliberately, _agonizingly_, he continued the swirling motion, making those circles smaller and smaller. Wilma trembled, holding onto him to keep from falling. Her eyes were closed. All she knew was the motion of his tongue on her soft skin, the warm, exquisite ache that was building in her body. She reached down to grasp his maleness, trying to pull it into the so very hot, so very wet _emptiness_ in her loins. As his tongue began to brush against her almost painfully erect nipple, there was a great outburst of energy, like a lightning bolt straight from Heaven to her deepest female part. She squealed with delight as her body spasmed there in his arms. "Oh, Ethan," she gasped when she had regained enough control to speak. "That... that was _wonderful_. Please... please, take me - right here, right now." He grinned with male satisfaction. "I fear that I cannot, at least, not at the present. Another one of my commissions will be arriving..." He glanced quickly at his pocket watch. "...in about fifteen minutes. Just as it took time to properly use my skills to create the painting you so admire, it will take far, far, more than a quarter of an hour to do justice to your carnal desires." He saw her sated smile broaden into an anticipatory grin. He had all but promised that he would finally take her to bed. He decided to encourage her, even while making her wait for it. "Tonight, of course, will be a far different matter." * * * * * "With the discovery of gold at Sutter's Mill, the great California gold rush began. In the course of --" Nancy Osbourne stopped as the small clock on the corner of her desk began to chime. "And that's the end of today's lessons. For tomorrow, grades 5 and 6 answer questions 1-4 on page 247 of your history book. Seventh and eighth grades, please do those, as well as questions 5-8." If she had anything more to say, it was lost in the scramble as most of her students filled their book bags and began to file out of the classroom. "Congratulations, Emma," Ysabel said, as she put her books away. "You got the job." Emma shook her head. "I got the chance for the job. I still have t'show Mr. Cates that I can do the work." "You can do it. You're real good at math." "If I am, it's 'cause I had your help catching up to where we are." She had a sudden thought. "Say, can you come over and help me with this?" She held up the book Jubal Cates had given her, _Manual_ _of_ _Surveying_ _Instructions_ from the U.S. General Land Office, 1855 revision. "I-I don't know if I can. I don't know surveyor's math any more than you do." "No, but you're good at teaching math, finding tricks and helping me see how to do problems. I bet you could do that for this stuff, too." Stephan eased up behind her, his bag already on his shoulders. "Can I come over, too?" "Why?" Emma asked. The boy looked around nervously. None of his brothers or sisters were still in the room. "You both know how I want to go into the Army - to West Point if I can?" "Sure, I... we do," Ysabel answered quickly. Emma nodded in agreement. "An officer needs to know how to read maps, how to make 'em, too, sometimes. That means surveying. An artillery officer needs to know the same sort of math for calculating how to aim cannons." He took a breath. "I figure that the more I know about such things, the better chance I have of getting in. Studying with you and Ysabel seems like a good way to learn some of it." "I... suppose," Emma said. Ysabel smiled. "If I'm gonna be the teacher - sorta - I get a say in who I'm going to teach, and I think Stephan being in the class is a lovely... a real good idea." "In that case, you got room for one more?" Yully chimed in. "I've been reading about this Schliemann fellah over in Turkey using surveying to find where Troy really was." Penny joined them. "You know those're just stories, Yully. Even Mama says so. There aren't any giants with one eye." "Pappo?s says Troy was real," he argued. "I asked him about it." Then he added. "Pappo?s means 'grampa' in Greek. He's my ma's papa." "He taught those stories for all those years at his school," Penny replied. "For him they _are_ real." "That Mr. Schliemann thinks so, and I do, too. And, maybe, if I learn how, I can go help him." Emma laughed. "Maybe you will, but, for now, if you want, you can sit in, too, if Ysabel don't mind." "I guess I can try and teach three people as easily as I can try to teach two. Or do you wanna come, too, Penny?" The other girl shook her head. "He's the one that wants to find where the _real_ Ulysses lived. I'm Penelope, I can wait." "Penelope was the wife of the Greek hero, Ulysses," Yully explained. "She stayed home and waited while he spent all those years at the war and even more years coming home. Of course, she had all those _handsome_ suitors keeping her company while she waited." Then he grinned and added, "If _you're_ waiting for a bunch of handsome suitors, Penny, you're gonna be waiting even longer than that other Penelope did." "I... you take that back, Yully Stone." "Will not." He winked at Emma and ran for the door with Penny in hot pursuit. Emma laughed. "I guess we'll talk about when those classes are gonna be another time." "No, we can decide now," Stephan said. "I can tell Yully." Emma thought for a moment. "I have to see Mr. Cates on Saturday. Is Thursday, after school at my house, okay with the two of you?" "Fine with me," Ysabel told her and Stephan agreed. Somehow the idea of spending some time together sounded good to them, even if it was to study something. * * * * * "Ramon... and Miss Sanchez - excuse me, Mrs. de Aguilar," Milo Nash greeted the couple who had just stepped up to his teller's window. "What can I do for you this afternoon?" Ramon smiled. "We... my _wife_..." He squeezed Maggie's hand. "...want to get something from my family's safety deposit box." "Certainly." Milo slid down the door that closed the front of his window. Then he turned to the teller a few feet to his right. "George, I'm taking the de Aguilars to the safe. I'll be right back." When the other man nodded, Milo walked around to the side of the tellers' area and opened a door. "This way, please." Maggie and Ramon walked through then followed him over to a large half- opened steel door, the entrance to the bank's walk-in vault. A small table with two chairs were set up just outside. Milo pulled out one of the chairs. "Mrs. de Aguilar?" "Margarita... Maggie, please," she replied, sitting down. Ramon handed him Gregorio's letter. "Parcel 31, if you please." "Let me..." He quickly scanned the document. "It seems in order. I'll have it for you in a moment." He pulled a set of keys from his jacket pocket and walked through the door into the vault. He returned a few minutes later carrying a small leather case with a tag bearing the number 31. "I believe this is what you wanted." He handed the box to Maggie. "I-I am so nervous." She opened the box. "?Oh, qu? hermosa!" The teller looked confused. "I'm sorry; I'm afraid that I don't understand Spanish." "I was just saying how beautiful they were," Maggie explained. She turned the box so he could see what he had given her. Ramon smiled and put his hand on hers. "S?, they are almost as beautiful as the woman who will wear them." He took a breath. "Put them on. I want to see how lovely they look on you. Then we will go back to the Saloon, so everyone can see." "W-wear them?" she asked nervously. "No, I... I do not want to put them on right now. It is not the right time." She closed the box and handed it to Ramon. "Please, you... you hold them for me." Ramon frowned. "What do you mean? Of course, you should wear them." "No, I-I should not, not now." He put the box inside his jacket. "Very well. I will take them back to the store for now, and we can lock them up at home tonight." He spoke slowly, his tone alerting Maggie that she had made some sort of mistake. "And perhaps _someday_, you will find the right, the special occasion when you _can_ wear them." He took her arm and walked her back to the Saloon, never saying another word. And when he left her, he barely gave her a kiss on the cheek. * * * * * Nancy Osbourne compared the answers on Miriam Scudder's test paper to the answer sheet she'd prepared for the fifth and sixth graders' arithmetic test. "Five out of eight," she said. "I'll have to work with her on fractions a good bit more." She made a note to that effect in her sixth grade lesson plan. She was about to reach for another paper when the door opened behind her. "I want to talk to you, Nancy," Zenobia Carter told her. "Mrs. Carson," Nancy replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice, as she turned to face her landlady, "I've asked you many times not to come into my room without knocking." Zenobia sneered. "I'll not be knocking on a door in my own house, asking _your_ permission to enter." "This is _my_ room, and I think I deserve some privacy." She was sitting in just her yellow nightgown and a light brown robe. She'd already eaten, and she planned to grade papers until she went to bed. If she were dressed, Mrs. Carson would have tried to get her to do housework. "I don't, and I don't trust people who'd lock their door on me." She took a breath. "You are only here on my sufferance, anyway. You can leave if you don't like it, but I very much doubt that you would find any place this nice that was willing to put up with you." Nancy frowned. Room and board was part of her salary as school teacher, but she had to take what she was offered. Mrs. Carson was being paid by the town board to board her this year, but the matron always behaved as if she were doing it out of the kindness of her heart. 'Maybe I can find a better place during the summer,' she thought. 'In the meantime, just change the subject.' "What did you want to talk to me about, Mrs. Carson?" "Cecelia Ritter told me that you didn't sign the petition about Reverend Yingling. She gave me a copy." She took a folded sheet from her apron pocket. Looking down, she didn't notice the schoolteacher tense at the mention of Mrs. Ritter's name. "You can sign it now." She unfolded the paper and held it out for Nancy to take. "You might as well put that away. I have no intention of signing it." "Why not, may I ask?" "Because, as the school teacher, I think that I shouldn't involve myself in controversies. After all, my students have parents on both sides of this issue." "That's a good reason to sign and to tell your students that you signed. So they know that it is the correct thing to do." Nancy shook her head. "I don't believe in going against a child's parents." "Stuff and nonsense. If their parents won't sign, then they are in the wrong, and the children must be shown that. Perhaps the tykes can even persuade their parents that the right thing is for them to sign it." "Who's to say that it _is_ right? I'm not so sure that we shouldn't leave well enough alone. Mr. O'Toole seems to be doing as well as I would expect the reverend to do." The older woman gasped. "Are... are you saying that some... some common _barman's_ judgment is as good as that of an ordained minister, especially on a _moral_ question like this potion?" "I'm just saying that I don't wish to sign that petition. I don't see that I need to explain my reasons to you or anyone else." "You are a very, very foolish woman, Miss Osbourne, and I can see that I am wasting my time trying to reason with you. Goodnight." She tramped out, slamming the door behind her. "_That_, Mrs. Carson, is the first thing you've said that I agree with." Nancy smiled and began to check Nestor Stone's test answers. * * * * * Tuesday, April 9, 1872 Clara picked at her apple cobbler. "Annie, could you... would you please do me a favor?" "If I can help you with something," Arnie replied with a smile, "just ask." A chance to get on Clara's good side, yes! The other girl fidgeted with her fork, as she spoke. "It's this dress that Mama is making for me. It's almost done - it just needs pinning, but I... I really can't stand up as long as it takes her to put in the pins. We're about the same size. Would... could _you_ wear it while Mama works?" "Me; you want _me_ to wear a... to wear _your_ dress?" "Oh, yes, if you would, please..." Mrs. Spaulding chimed in. "It would be a great help to me, Annie. I'm sure that you know how much work goes into making a dress, getting the bottom hem right and all." "No," Annie shook her head. "Not really." She thought quickly, not wanting to reveal who she really was. "I-I never really paid attention when my mama made clothes for my sisters - or me." She closed her eyes and took a breath. 'You did sort of give your word,' she chided herself. Aloud she said. "All right, I will do it, but I cannot be here for too long. I have a cart full of laundry to bring home." The mother stood up. "Very well, Hedley, you can clear the table, while I get my pins. The dress is on a form in Clara's room, Annie. Do you think you can manage her chair?" "S?, I have a lot of practice. My Mama is in a chair because of her accident." Annie rose to her feet and walked around to where Clara was sitting. She slowly pulled the girl's wheelchair away from the table. Hedley ran over to the nearby door. "Let me get that for you, Annie." He pushed open the door and held it, while Arnie guided Clara and her chair through. * * * * * Arnie sat down on the bed and pulled off her shoes. Once they were off, she stood and unbuttoned her pants. She stepped out of them and began to undo her shirt. Clara sat watching her. "You have lovely lacework on your underclothes," she said. "Who did it?" "My Mama," Arnie told her. "She is very good at making lace." Then she added. "I am sure that you have nice lace on yours, too." The girl smiled. "I do." "May I see?" She tried not to leer as she spoke. "That's silly, why do you need to see mine? Do you know how to tat lace?" "No, I-I never learned." "Oh, but you should. Mama says that it's a very ladylike skill. She taught me a long time ago?" "Did you do the lace on your... clothes? Can I see it?" "If you must," Clara answered. Arnie smiled in anticipation until she pointed to a tall cabinet. "There's a petticoat of mine you can wear over there in my armoire." When she saw the look on her friend's face, she added. "Don't look so surprised. The dress won't fit right without a petticoat underneath." "Oh... of course." Arnie hid her disappointment. She opened the door and took the garment from a hanger. "This is lovely lacework," she said, honestly admiring the scrolls of blue trim along the bottom edge of the garment. * * * * * "Will this be much longer?" Arnie asked. She was beginning to feel stiff from holding in place for so long. Mrs. Spaulding took a pin from her mouth and used it to adjust another part of the hem of the dress Arnie now wore. "I'm just finishing, dear." She turned to her daughter. "What do you think, Clara? It's your dress." "It looks lovely," the girl answered. "I just hope it looks as good on me as it does on Annie." Arnie laughed. "I am sure that it will look even better on you." "We can see when you come back with the laundry on Saturday," the mother said. "I'll have it all finished by then. If you want, you can both model it." Arnie shook her head. "That won't be necessary. Clara is welcome to it." "Whether you wear it or wear one of your own," Hedley replied, "I do hope that you will be joining us again for lunch." Clara clapped her hands. "Yes, please do. You can wear a dress that your mother made the lace for, so we can see more of her work." "More?" Hedley asked. His sister blushed. "Yes, Annie had lovely patterns of swirled lace all over her..." She stopped and blushed. "Her... undergarments?" Her brother finished the sentence. "I'm sure that they _are_ most becoming, and I deeply regret that I am too much of a gentleman to ask to see them." He winked slyly and bowed low. Arnie felt odd and couldn't quite bring herself to face him as she answered. "Th-Thank you. And... and I will be happy to have lunch with you... with you all on Saturday when I come back with your laundry." * * * * * "Hey, Maggie," Laura said, walking into the kitchen, "what's for lunch?" She stopped when she saw the mournful expression on her friend's face. "Hey, what's the matter?" Maggie shook her head. "Nothing, nothing at all; it-it is the onions." "She's been like that all morning." Jane chimed in. "Maybe you can get her to talk." Laura walked over to the cook and took her hand. "C'mon, Maggie, fess up. You can't be keeping secrets from your madrone, now, can you?" "I... I cannot tell anyone," she replied. "It is just so... so silly." Laura squeezed Maggie's hand. "You can tell me. Who knows, maybe I can even help." "Ramon... oh, Laura, Ramon is so mad at me. I-I do not know what to do." "I told you there'd be fights didn't I? It happens to all married couples. Just what was the fight about?" "It wasn't really a fight. He... Gregorio sent word for him to give me some of their mother's jewelry - it was at the bank, in a safe - and I-I did not want to wear it." Jane raised an eyebrow. "Why not, didn't you like it? Was it something ugly?" "No, it... they, the earrings and necklace, they were beautiful, so _elegante_, I was afraid to wear them." She sniffed. "And it hurt Ramon that I refused. I could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. And when I tried to-to talk to him last night... in bed, he-he p-pulled away from me." Her lip began to quiver and she looked away so that her companions couldn't see. Laura hugged her friend tightly, making cooing sounds and trying to comfort her. Maggie tugged herself away from her. "Laura, what should I do?" The taller blonde shook her head. "You should know _that_ better than I do." "What do you mean?" "You've been a husband, something I've never been. Put yourself in Ramon's shoes; that should be easy for you. Think what could have bothered him and what you would want your wife to do if it had been you and her instead of Ramon and you." "He wanted me to put on the jewels like I was a rich lady to whom they didn't mean very much. He doesn't seem to understand that I come from poor people. They are like a treasure we never dreamed of. We would bury such things for bad times when the crops fail, or when Apaches burned the pueblo, or else put them into a big city bank and hope it is not robbed." Laura crossed her arms and regarded her friend skeptically. "You're both still pretty poor, moneywise, Maggie, but Ramon comes from a home where people enjoyed precious things and didn't make such an incredible fuss over them." "When Gregorio and Ramon gave you their mother's jewelry, I think they were saying that you had become one of them, a de Aguilar, just like their mother did when she married their father." "By not putting them on, not displaying them as their mother would have, you were saying that you're not fully ready to be part of their family. What could upset Ramon more? You have to tell him what you told us, but you have to be clever in the way you tell him, so it comes out just right." "What can I do now that the mistake has been made?" Maggie asked gloomily. "That's easy t'solve," Jane blurted out. "Wear 'em." Maggie stopped sobbing and looked over at her assistant. "What are you saying?" "I'm saying you gotta wear 'em. Wear 'em at home, if you're scared of wearing 'em here. And you tell Ramon that you love him so much that you _had_ t'wear 'em, even if you was afraid t'wear 'em here." Laura laughed. "I never thought I'd say it, but Jane's right. You should wear that jewelry at home for Ramon. Tell him how you're worried about what could happen to it, but tell him _while_ you're wearing it. Do that and you'll be stepping into the shoes of the woman of the house, which is what Ramon wants you to be." "Perhaps you are right," Maggie said. "I will think about what you said. And thank you, thank you both for your help." Laura smiled. "Glad to..." Her voice trailed off. She grabbed for the edge of the table. "Chair," she said in a weak, fearful voice. "Ch- Chair... please." "Jane," Maggie ordered, grabbing hold of the other woman. "Get a chair quick." Jane hurried over with a chair, and they both helped the pregnant woman sit down. "You want a drink or something?" Jane asked. "No, I'll... I'll be okay in a minute." Maggie shook her head. "Maybe you will, or maybe you will not. Do you want Jane to get Arsenio so he can take you home?" "No, I-I just felt tired all of a sudden. I don't want to worry him." "If you're that tired, then you oughta be laying down," Jane told her. "No. I'll be fine. Don't you be worrying so much about me." Maggie firmly put her hands on her hips. "Jane, you take her upstairs and put her in your bed. Do it right now." "Please. I'm... I'm fine." "The hell you are," Jane answered. "You come upstairs with me _right_ now , or I'll... I'll tell Molly you ain't well and won't do nothing about it." Laura chuckled and held up her hands in surrender. "Not that." She tried to stand, but stopped and slowly settled back in the chair. "Maybe... maybe laying down for a while _would_ be a good idea." * * * * * "I truly can't imagine what Mr. Cates was thinking," Hermione said as she and Lallie walked down the schoolhouse steps for lunch. "Imagine offering a job to someone like Emma." Lallie responded to the cue. "Oh, I know what you mean, but I'm sure that he'll see the error of his ways as soon as he sees how poorly she does the work." "Who should he give it to, Hermione," Stephan asked, "somebody like you, who can't tell her seven times tables from nine times tables?" Emma rose in her own defense. "He gave it to me 'cause Miss Osbourne told him I could do the job, and I can." "A potion freak like you?" Hermione gave a nasty laugh. "You don't even know if you're a boy or a girl. I suppose that's why you're dumb enough to think you can do a man's job." Yully smiled. "So now you're saying that Emma's a girl." "I... no, I'm saying no such thing." Hermione's smile faded. "He-she... Emma's a _thing_, a potion freak, neither boy or girl." Emma rose from the bench she was sitting on. Her hands curled into fists. "That's the second time you've called me a potion freak, Hermione. Say it again, and I'll black them beady eyes of yours." "Don't do it, Emma." Stephan stepped in front of her. "You'll get in a lot of trouble, and it'll just give her more lies to tell about you." He turned to face the other girl. "Do you know what the Bible says about people who spread lies and start fights, Hermione?" "No, no, I don't." She stepped back, reminded that she was confronting the minister's son. Stephan smiled. "Then, maybe, after you two eat lunch, you should go back into the school and check Miss Osbourne's Bible t'find out." He laughed as he watched the two scurry away. "What does the Bible say about people who tell lies and start fights?" Yully asked as they sat down around the picnic table where they normally ate. Stephan laughed. "I don't know right off the top of my head, but it's gotta say something." He took a bite of his chicken sandwich. "But Hermione ain't gonna be scared off for very long, so we'd all better watch our backs for a while." * * * * * "This treacle tart is delicious, Ceceilia," Lavinia Mackechnie told her host. Cecelia Ritter smiled. "I'm so glad that you like them. Would either of you like more tea?" "Please," Zenobia Carson said, lifting her cup, so that Cecelia could reach it easier. Cecelia poured the tea, and then set the pot down on a wooden trivet next to an embroidered tea cozy. Zenobia added a spoon of sugar and stirred the tea once before setting the spoon aside. "So how are the petitions coming?" "Very well," Cecelia replied. "We got thirty-some signatures on Sunday, and there are copies of the petition at a number of stores. It took a bit of persuading, but I even got Mr. Albertson to post a copy at the bank." She took a sip of her own tea. "And my Clyde is asking everyone who comes into his livery." Lavina nodded. "Excellent. It's too bad we couldn't get it into even more stores, say, Silverman's or Ortega's." "Silverman's Jewish," Cecelia said scornfully. "You can't expect _those_ people to support any proper Christian work. And those Mex aren't that much better. I didn't even ask Mr. Ortega." Zenobia nodded. "And some of the members of our own church aren't any different. I saw Mr. Caulder take a copy of the petition, but I'll bet that he didn't put it out in his smithy." "What do you expect?" Lavinia asked. "He's married to one of those potion freaks." Cecelia shook her head. "That Laura Caulder has always been a problem. I've no doubt that she was the one who came up with those 'Keep O'Hanlan' ribbons when Horace Styron and my husband, Clyde, were trying to get that horrid Trisha O'Hanlan off the church board." "Those potion freaks all stick together," Zenobia said. "You'd think that they would hate O'Toole for what his potion did to them, but Mrs. Caulder carries on like he's her father. It's... disgusting." "We all know that O'Toole could control the minds of those women. Maybe he's still doing it. It's very disturbing," said Cecelia. Lavinia tried one of the almond cookies that Cecelia had set out for them. "I agree, but we have to be nice to Mrs. Caulder for now, at least. Her husband's on the town council." "For now," Cecelia replied. "After we've won, and the reverend has control of the potion, our next objective should be putting _our_ sort of people on the council." * * * * * A slender young woman walked in the back door of the Lone Star Saloon. She set down the bucket and mop she was carrying and stepped through the door into the barroom. "Pa," she asked Sam Duggan, "did you hear anything of a petition about Mr. O'Toole?" "Not a word, Winnie," Sam answered. "Do they want to shut him down?" He gave an ironic laugh. "I couldn't be that lucky." The girl took a folded sheet of paper from her apron pocket and handed it to her father. "No, Pa, it's about that potion he brews up, the one that changes people. They want the town council to make him give it all to Reverend Yingling." "Oh, and what is the good reverend going to do with it?" "It doesn't say. All it says is that he'll form some sort of a committee to tell the town council when they should use it. There was a bunch of copies of the petition over at Mr. Styron's store. When I bought the new bucket and mop - they're in the kitchen - he gave me a copy and told me to bring it back here for you. He said he could get more copies if you needed them." Duggan unfolded the sheet and quickly read it. "A committee, is it now, and that bas-- and Horace Styron expects me to sign it _and_ to put it out for others to sign. Well, no, thank you." "I thought you hated Mr. O'Toole, pa. Why don't you want to sign?" "I trust that preacher even less than I trust Shamus O'Toole. Yingling's making a grab for power, and he's using Shamus' brew as an excuse. I wouldn't be surprised if he plans to parlay that committee of his into a way to shut down Shamus and me and every other place in town. I'll be damned if I'll help any man cut my own throat." He took a breath and added, "And, for what it's worth, I don't hate Shamus. I just don't like having him - or any other man -- making money that I'd make if he wasn't here." * * * * * "Margarita?" Ramon glanced up from the book he'd been reading and looked around. There was no sign of her. "She went upstairs to put the children to bed," he reminded himself. He had to chuckle. It was still hard to believe that Ernesto and Lupe were now his. "Almost mine," he corrected himself. He made a mental note to talk to her about formally adopting them. There were other things to talk to her about first. "The jewelry, I want - no, I _need_ -- to know why she was so quick to reject it." He started for the kitchen, guessing that she might be there. "Ramon." As if on cue, her voice came to him from the direction of the stairs. "Could you come up here, please?" He nodded. 'Already the obedient husband,' he thought wryly, as he climbed the stairs. She wasn't waiting for him at the top, but the door to their bedroom was ajar, and he could see lights flicking inside. "Margarita, what -- " He froze at the doorway. The room smelled of cinnamon, her favorite scent. She was standing by the bed, lit by a dozen small candles placed about the room. Her hair, usually tied in a ponytail, hung loose about her shoulders. She wore the white silk camisole, the one she had worn on their wedding day, but now it was unbuttoned, revealing her full, firm breasts and her slender waist. Besides that, all she wore were the matching white stockings, tied high on her thighs with lace ribbons, and a pair of ivory slippers. And his mother's necklace and earrings. "You said that you hoped to find a 'special occasion' when I could wear these pearls." She spoke softly, her lip quivering as she did, and he could hear the uncertainty in her tone. "I was hoping that tonight could be such an occasion." He hesitated a moment, taking in the weight of her words. She had understood how she had hurt him, and without his having to tell her. He was as pleased by her understanding as by her beauty. He warmed in every part of his body, his anger now gone like the snows of last Christmas. He rushed over to her and pulled her close. "It will be the right occasion," he assured her, putting his hands on her cheeks. Her eyes glistened, even as she smiled in anticipation. They kissed, tenderly at first, then with a fierceness that acknowledged the passion that they felt for each other. His tongue invaded her mouth, dueling with her own. Their hands roamed over each other's bodies, arousing an eager expectation that swelled and swelled inside each of them, demanding release. Maggie's hand reached down to fumble with the buttons on the front of Ramon's trousers. He broke their kiss and took a half step back. Now that she wasn't distracted, Maggie quickly dealt with the buttons. Her fingers reached down into his drawers and circled his erection. "So warm," she murmured, "and so... ready." "As are you." He gently pushed her backwards, until she fell onto the bed. Her legs spread wide in connubial welcoming, dangling over the side. He let his pants and drawers slide down around his knees. He leaned over her, one arm braced on either side of her head. As he lowered himself to kiss her, he felt her hand take hold of his manhood and guide it into her. She _was_ ready, and he began to move his hips in and out. Maggie moaned, and her legs lifted to encircle him. It was a _very_ special occasion, indeed. During the calm after the tempest, they lay together atop the still-made bed. The only cold part of her was the metal and gems he had wanted her to wear. His arm was around her, tenderly rubbing her stomach. She turned her head and kissed his cheek. "Ramon," she said hesitantly, "about the pearls." "What about them?" She felt his body tense, his hand ceased its movement on her skin. Was that suspicion she heard again in his voice? She took a breath to steady herself and continued. "I... all my life I was so poor. I could never buy such things for myself - or for my wife, _my_ Lupe - no matter how much I wished, for her sake, that I could." "Now, _everything_ is changed. I-I am _your_ wife, and from you - or Gregorio... _whoever_ - I get these pearls. They are so, so beautiful, and I know how much they must mean to you because they were your mother's. I-I was afraid of them. What if I..." Her voice cracked. "...I lost them or broke them? What if one of the earrings fell into a pot of b-boiling hot stew? I could not bear the loss of them, what that would do to you, how you would feel about me for letting such a thing happen." "But you are wearing them now." "S?, I am. I saw on your face how hurt you were when I would not wear them. I-I could not stand to see you so disappointed." She smiled slyly and ran a finger across his bare chest. "Besides... if they _had_ broken tonight, it would have been because of _your_ passion. You could not blame me for that." "Margarita, you will always be to blame for my passion." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed each finger. "And you look so beautiful in Mama's pearls. I will take the risk so everyone can see you wearing them." He turned so that they were face to face. "But just now, I am ready for yet another special occasion." * * * * * Wednesday, April 10, 1872 "How's the picture coming, Ethan," Jane asked, fidgeting a bit as she did. "Seems like I been posing for it forever." Ethan stepped back to compare image and subject. "As a matter of fact, I have all but completed my efforts at capturing you - as you, that is - on canvas." "And what the heck does 'as I am' mean?" "That I am near to finishing the capture of your likeness in the pose that you are in now, the... ah, maiden. I anticipate that I should conclude with this session... _if_ you stop moving about." He paused a beat. "_However_, other portions of the portrait are not yet done. Your sister missed her scheduled session yesterday. Can I expect her here today?" "Laura wasn't feeling too good yesterday." "Nothing serious, I trust." "Nope, she was just real tired from carrying that baby around in her belly. She said t'tell you that she's feeling better, and she'll be over today." "Excellent. While I have put all but the last few touches on her pose as 'the mother', there is still the figure of 'the elder', the seated one, to complete. Still, in answer to your original query, I believe that the entire scene should be captured within a week." "Shamus told me he's got something planned for it after it's done." "Mr. O'Toole has requested that there be a grand exhibition at his establishment for all three pieces, 'The Three Fates' and the pictures of Miss Hanks - Jessie Hanks, that is - and his wife, Molly, are ready." "They're gonna hang in the Saloon, then?" "For a short interlude, they shall. I suspect that he plans to take the portrait of Molly up to their rooms. As I've said previously, I intend to ship 'The Three Fates' back to Philadelphia." "Yeah, you said you was gonna put it in some kinda show." "I am not a wealthy man, Jane. I support myself with my work. A number of my pieces are currently stored at the Academy of Fine Arts, and upon my return, I shall be exhibiting those paintings and 'The Three Fates' for viewing and - I hope - for sale." "How 'bout if you sold this one t'me instead?" "My dear Jane, you've spoken of that possibility before. I don't wish to embarrass you or to boast, but my work is already quite well known. The prices that I receive for my efforts are, I presume, considerably higher than you could afford." "Don't be so sure of that. I got money, a fair bit, too, or so Dwight Albertson tells me." "Albertson at the bank, he handles your finances?" "Like I told you, me 'n' Toby had claims up in the mountains. We... uh, we found some gold up there, and Dwight takes care of it for me." She wasn't about to say that they had found the gold by accident, rather than while digging for it. "Well, far be it from me to dissuade a potential buyer." "I ain't sure yet if I'm gonna buy it. Milt - my... uh, friend, Milt Quinlan, he says I should keep my money in Dwight's bank and let him make me rich like he's been doing." She'd mentioned Quinlan before, and, from what she'd told him, they were much more than mere acquaintances. Which was a shame considering how much _he'd_ like to become more familiar with this buxom young innocent's body. Still, he could see her uncertainty. "Why don't you just think about the matter for now? It will be two weeks, at least, before I ship this piece back east. If you decide in the interim to purchase it, I'm sure that we can come to some mutual accommodation." "I guess that'd be okay. We'll talk about it another time." "Indeed, we shall. But there will not _be_ a painting to discuss unless you resume your pose so that I may complete it." * * * * * Sam Braddock walked into the saloon. He took a look around the place then headed over to Bridget's poker table. "Hi, gents... evening, Bridget." "Hi, Sam," Bridget replied. "We just started a hand, but I'll be glad to deal you in for the next one." He shrugged. "Fine with me. I'll just go over and get m'self a beer. I wanted to talk to Shamus anyway." "Okay, I'll give a signal when it's time for the next hand." He nodded and walked over to where Shamus was standing at the bar. "Hey, Shamus, I got some news you might be interested in." "And what would that be?" the barman asked. Sam tossed a silver dollar onto the bar. "Gimme a beer, and I'll tell you." "Beer it is." Shamus drew a beer and set it down on the counter. He put Sam's change down next to it. "Now, what's this big news ye've got for me?" "I got a new job today... over at the Lone Star." "The Lone Star, is it, and what exactly has Sam Duggan hired ye t'be doing?" "He wants me to build a stage, a big one - eight by sixteen - and sturdy enough for three or four men to move around on." "And did he telling ye what he was gonna be doing with that grand new stage o'his?" "Not a word - and I asked him a couple times. I asked Cuddy Smith, too. He said he didn't have any idea what his boss was up to." "Well, whatever it is, I thank ye for telling me about it, Sam. You let me know if ye find out anything more." "I will, Shamus, but right now, I see Bridget waving. She must be ready to take my money now." "Good luck t'ye, Sam, and let me know when ye're ready for yuir next beer. It'll be on the house, just my way of thanking ye for what ye told me about Duggan." * * * * * Bridget took a sip of wine and looked across the table at Cap. "So, tell me, what's going on? You were so mysterious when you asked me to have dinner with you tonight." "Can't a man just want to have dinner with you? You're an incredible woman, Bridget Kelly, beautiful, smart, kind... good." He reached across and took her hand in his. "In or out of a man's bed." Bridget raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Is that the reason? You want to get me back into your bed?" "Not necessarily, I'm just as willing to get into _your_ bed." He tried to judge her expression. "Whenever _you_ want me to be there." "I-I do want you, but... I don't know if I-I'm ready yet." "Maybe you'll be ready when I get back." "Get back? Are you going away?" "Yep, that was the reason I came into town today, to say goodbye to you and to fetch some supplies. Uncle Abner's sending me off to Prescott on business. I'll be negotiating cattle sales to the territorial government, to the Army, and to the Indian Agency. I should be gone about two weeks... more or less." "Two weeks! Oh, Cap, I-I'll miss you." "I'll miss you, too. That's why I asked you to dinner. I want to spend as much time as I can with you before I have to leave on tomorrow's stage." "You're spending the night here in town?" "I am. I already rented a room from Shamus." He squeezed her hand. "If I need it." Bridget blushed as a sweet warmth ran through her body. "We'll... we'll see about that later." * * * * * Lady Cerise gently tapped the side of her wineglass with a knife. "Attention, attention, s'il vous plait." She waited until everyone in the parlor was looking at her. "We are here to debut this fine work of art by my good friend, Ethan Thomas." She clapped her hands, and most of the others joined her. "Thank you, my lady," Ethan replied, giving her a low bow. "My thanks, also, to all of you, and, most especially, my thanks to my beauteous model, Miss Wilma Hanks." Wilma was standing beside him. 'Most beauteous,' she thought, 'He said I was beautiful.' She felt the heat of a blush run across her face. Wilma wasn't used to blushing about anything, and she didn't want people to see it and give her the hee-haw. "Show us the thing, already," someone yelled, and a few others laughed. Cerise smiled. Teasing men in different ways, making them want what you had to offer them, was a large part of her profession. "Very well, everyone." She waited one moment, then another. "Wilma, ma ch?re... and Ethan, come over here." They did, walking hand in hand, Cerise noticed. His painting hung on the wall near where she was standing, covered by a white drop cloth. She positioned them on either side. "Ethan," she asked. "Would you do the honors?" "I defer to the subject of the work," he answered. "Wilma, if you please." "You sure?" When he nodded, she took the bottom of the cloth in her left hand. In one quick motion, she yanked it upward and off the portrait. The reaction was immediate. "Whoowhee," a man's voice called out. "If that ain't a sight t'get a pecker hard!" There were many other, similar comments as the crowd gathered around. "It is, indeed," Ethan whispered. He and Wilma had stepped out of the way, as the people pressed in for a better look. They stood off to one side, watching the men stare at the canvas. Wilma looked up at him. "Is what?" she asked. Though now fully dressed, she felt somehow uneasy around the man she had posed nude for all those weeks. "A sight to harden any man's 'pecker', as someone said." Ethan took her hand and pressed it against his crotch. "Shall we do something about that?" She beamed, instantly aroused, her nipples tight as an exquisite heat ran through her, centering in her loins. Now she was feeling again like the old Wilma. "Oh... oh, yes!" She led -- almost _pulled_ -- him to the staircase. Most of the people in the room were gathered around the painting. Beatriz was not one of them. She'd been leaning against a wall, watching the men. And watching Ethan - and Wilma. She saw him position her rival's hand on his groin and saw them hurrying away. "Merde!" she hissed, her face contorted into an expression of pure hate. * * * * * "Raise a quarter." Cap tossed the coin onto the pile on the table. Bridget looked at her hand again; seven of hearts, seven of spades, seven of diamonds, five of clubs, and jack of hearts. "Call." She slid a quarter of her own onto the stakes. "How many cards?" Stu Gallagher asked. He'd dropped out of the betting but he was still dealer. Fred Norman frowned. "Gimme two." "None for me," Cap said with that same grin that had _almost_ distracted Bridget all evening. She thought for a moment. "One card." Stu dealt. She picked up the card and set it in her hand. 'Four of diamonds,' she thought. 'Nothing.' "The bet's to you, Fred," Stu said. Norman set his cards on the table. "I got nothing." "Another quarter," Cap sounded almost happy to have it down to just him and Bridget. She considered her hand. It wasn't that good, not the way he was betting. "Fold. What'd you beat me with, Cap?" She showed her own cards. "Wit and charm," he told her. "That and a pair of queens." He leaned forward to rake in the pot. Bridget forced a smile. "Congratulations, Cap. You got me that time." "Thanks. Is there time for another hand?" Stu took out his pocket watch. "Ten of two, I don't think so." "Last call," Shamus yelled, as if to emphasize the fact. A couple of men at the bar raised their glasses, and the barmen hurried to refill them. Bridget sighed. "Looks like you called it, Fred. Thank you all for a very pleasant evening of poker." She gathered in the cards to form up a deck. Stu and Fred thanked her in return and pocketed their winnings. They stood and walked towards the door. "Need help?" Cap asked, his own winnings still on the table. "Only with reading your tells. You bluffed me out twice tonight." She put her cash-box on the table, putting the cards and her own money into it. "And you won at least a dozen hands tonight. That's more than I did." "I suppose. It still bothers me, though." He walked over and stood close to her, _very_ close. "I kind of like it." He was grinning again. Bridget felt her body come alive in reaction. "Shall we head upstairs?" "I-I have to give Shamus my money. He'll store it in his safe till morning." She started towards the bar, and Cap fell in behind her. Somehow, by the time they reached the bar, he was holding her hand. Shamus took the cash-box with a nod, and they walked to the stairs. "Cap," she said suddenly, "I-I still don't know... about tonight, I mean."