Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Spring, Part 4 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Salon: Seasons of Change - Spring By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson © 2014 Sunday, April 21, 1872 "Arnoldo," Teresa hissed, "you are walking too fast." Her mother was holding onto her right arm, as they walked. "I am sorry, Mama." She slowed her pace. "Is this better?" "Si, fine." The woman smiled. "I suppose that I should be happy that you are in such a hurry to get to church." "I'm just happy that I don't have to push you in that wheelchair anymore." "Why, was I so heavy?" "Of course not; I am glad because you do not _need_ the chair anymore." "So am I. It is good to get around on my own two feet again." She chuckled. "I will even be happy to pull that heavy laundry wagon around again." "And I will be happy to see you pulling it." "What will you do then, when I am back at work?" Arnie shrugged. "I don't know, give the Spauldings their Spanish lessons, I suppose." "That is only a few hours a week. You cannot just sit around the rest of the time. As your papa used to say, 'The lazy man is brother to the beggar.' I do not want that for you." "We can talk about such things later. We are almost at the church." The young woman looked around nervously. "What is the matter, Dulcita? Who are you looking for?" "Pablo and his friends, I do not need to be teased for wearing this pretty dress." Teresa glanced at the churchyard. "I don't see them, but I do see Father de Castro. You can relax. They won't try anything with him watching." She pointedly ignored the way Arnie had just described her dress, as the priest walked over to greet them. * * * * * "What're you grinning about, Dell?" Forry Stafford asked his hireling. They were standing in the hall outside their rooms on the second floor of the Lone Star, ready to go down for breakfast. Dell Cooper wouldn't meet his boss's eyes. "Nothing, Mr. Stafford, sir." "Bullshit," Stafford spat. "What is it? Tell me, right now." Dell sighed. "I got that man I told you about, got him good." "What did you do, and who did you do it to? I don't need people asking questions." "That cowhand you saw the other day, the one that all but called me out just 'cause I been paying attention to his sister, the schoolmarm." Leland Saunders gave a quick laugh. "Trying t'get into her drawers, you mean. You have any luck?" "Not yet," Dell said with a nasty smirk, "but I expect to, now that her brother's in jail." Forry sighed. Cooper was up to _something_. "And just why would he be in jail?" "'Cause he stole the money he was supposed t'be taking out to that Mr. Slocum's ranch - or, at least, they think he did. I used that trick with the rope, the one we used against blue belly riders back in the War, t'knock him off his horse. Then I snuck up behind him and knocked him out. He musta had close to $400 in his saddlebag." Leland whistled in admiration. Stafford just glared at the other man. "Where is it now?" Forry asked. "Most of it's in the bottom of my valise. I left some in his saddlebag with a note t'make it look like he was in on the job." Forry glowered at his employee. "You stupid son of a bitch. If you've screwed things up for me in _any_ way, getting turned over to the sheriff for trial will be the least of your worries." His hand shot up and around Dell's neck, forcing him back against the wall. "Understand?" "Y-yes, sir, Mr.... Mr. Stafford, sir. Anyway, I -- I was always intending to divvy it up." Forry let him go. "Fine, bring me the money, so I can find a _proper_ hiding place for it. The last thing we need is for that barman's daughter to turn it up it when she cleans." "Yes, sir." Dell hurried into the room he shared with Saunders, returning less than a minute later with a cloth satchel holding the cash. His employer took the bag. "You two go down to get breakfast. I'll be along momentarily." He stood for a moment and watched them head for the stairs before he went into his own room. "Not a bad profit," he whispered, hefting the Gladstone. "I may even give that idiot, Cooper, some of it back when we're done here." * * * * * "This Wednesday night," Reverend Yingling began, "I shall be appearing before the town council, requesting that they vest control of Shamus O'Toole's transformative potion in more responsible - more _moral_ hands. In this effort, I am most pleased to say, I have the support of our church board and, more importantly, of this congregation. Like Gideon's band, we are small in number, but we are rich in the spirit of our Lord." "Many of you have shown your support for my efforts by signing the petition that Horace Styron prepared." He paused. "Horace if you would please." Styron stood up. "It was my honor to help, Reverend." He waved and sat down. "At this time, I must also thank Mrs. Cecilia Ritter, who worked so hard to ensure that as many people as possible were able to sign." Cecelia got to her feet. "I'm always ready to help in a noble cause." "Ah, yes, and that help is appreciated, Cecelia," Yingling said, motioning for her to sit. "But we are not done yet. I know how busy you all are, but I would ask that those of you who can be there at the council meeting join with me. Let the men of the town council that you are serious in this matter." Mrs. Ritter hadn't sat down. "We're with you, Reverend Yingling," she shouted. "Anyone who _isn't_ there has no right to call themselves a member of this congregation." She suddenly burst into song. "Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war, with the cross of Jesus going on before." "Christ, the royal Master, leads against the foe;" Lavinia Mackechnie and Zenobia Carson rose to join Cecelia. Before Yingling or anyone else could stop them, much of the congregation was singing along. The reverend watched for a moment, looking surprised, before he smiled broadly and added his own deep, basso voice to the impromptu chorus. * * * * * "Good evening, Mr. O'Toole," Ethan said in a cheery voice. Shamus nodded at the man. "And the same t'ye, Mr. Thomas. What ye be having t'night?" "Supper, first, I think. Then, I shall be wrapping 'The Three Fates' for shipping. I was wondering, though, if I might keep the painting here until morning. I find that the freight office is closed, alas, and your establishment is much closer than my studio." "O'course, ye can. The ladies are welcome t'be spending the night in me office." Before Ethan could answer, Jane hurried over from the kitchen. "You won't have t'pack 'em up, Ethan. I decided t'buy that painting m'self. We can go over to the bank tomorrow t'get the money, and you can move it up t'my room." "I'm sorry, Jane, but it's not for sale." She pouted prettily. "But I got the money. I got lotsa money, just ask Shamus." "She does," Shamus answered, scowling at the woman. "And she shouldn't be wasting it on buying paintings and such." He turned to look at Ethan. "I'd be saying that about any painting she wanted t'be buying, Ethan. I don't mean nothing against yuir three ladies." Ethan looked gravely at Shamus. "I understand, Mr. O'Toole, and no offense is taken. Your generous payment for my portraits of Jessie and your wife, Molly, is obvious proof of your appreciation for my talents." "You are a lovely woman, Jane," Ethan continued, "and it was a pleasure to have you as a model, but, as I said, 'The Three Fates' is not for sale at this time." Jane looked as if he had suddenly stuck her. "Why not; when I talked to you about buying it before, you never said nothing like you wouldn't let me buy it." "If I did anything to lead you to think that it was available, I must apologize, but I must also repeat that it is most emphatically _not_ for sale." "But --" Shamus gently put his hand on her arm. "I don't think it's worth ye wasting yuir breath, Jane. The man ain't budging. Besides, thuir's three tables o'people over there..." He pointed to the tables of Maggie's restaurant. "...waiting for thuir supper. Should n't ye be in the kitchen helping Maggie t'be cooking it?" She looked nonplussed. "Y-yes, but..." Her voice trailed off. "Please go and cook, Jane," the artist told her. "I've no wish to argue this matter any further, and I do look forward to once again sampling your excellent cuisine." She sighed. "Well, thanks for that, at least." Without another word, she turned and walked slowly back to the kitchen. * * * * * Molly knocked on the door to Bridget's room. "Who's there?" came a voice from inside. "'Tis me, Molly. Can I be coming in?" "Go... go away." "Please." Molly heard a sigh - or was it a sob - "Oh, all right, come in." "What... what do you want, Molly?" Bridget asked. She was sitting on the edge of her bed. Her dark blue dress was unbuttoned almost down to her waist. "Thuir's men downstairs waiting t'be playing poker with ye. I come t'see why ye're still up here." "I-I spilled some of Maggie's stew on my dress. I came up to change." "Aye, ye did, but ye've been up here the better part of an hour, and ye're still wearing the dress ye came up here t'be changing." Bridget sighed heavily and stared down at her feet. "Why change? Nobody cares about me or how I look." "Now why are ye saying something like that? Of course, people care." "Why should they? I know how people think about women like me." She sniffed, trying to hold back the tears she felt swelling in her eyes. "To them I'm just a... a wo-worthless... _whore_!" She gave a great sigh, buried her face in her hands, and wept loudly, her body shaking with grief. "Ask anybody." Molly hurried over. She sat down next to the crying woman and hugged her fiercely. "That ain't true, and ye know it. Ye've lotsa friends hereabouts, and Cap, he loves --" "Don't say it. Please. How can he love me after what I've done?" "What that spauleen, Stafford, did _to_ ye, don't ye mean?" "No... I... he - oh, Lord, Molly, Cap'll hate me." "That ain't true, neither. Ye just wait till he gets back from Prescott." "I hope he never gets back, and... and if he does, I'll just stay up here, so I can't see his face when he finds out, so I won't see the disgust in his eyes." "There won't be none of that in his eyes - not for ye, at least, though I wouldn't want t'be Stafford when Cap finds out. He loves ye, ye'll see." "No, no I won't. I won't see him. I don't want to see him - I don't want to see _anybody_." "Ye ain't serious about that. How could ye be playing poker if ye feel that way?" "Maybe I don't want to play poker. Maybe I just want to stay up here." She took a breath. "_Forever._" Molly shook her head. "Not forever, surely, but I'm thinking that ye won't be playing poker with them men downstairs tonight. Do ye want me t'be staying here with ye, or can I go tell 'em?" "Go ahead. I guess I owe them that much." "Spoken like the _lady_ ye truly are. I'll tell 'em, and then I'll be back. I'll bring some nice tea, and we can sit and talk for as long as ye want." Molly stood up, but before she left, she gently kissed Bridget on the forehead, as she might her own daughter. * * * * * Jane was sitting at the bar, waiting to see if anyone wanted a drink. "Hey, there, Milt," she greeted the man when he came close. "What brings you in tonight?" "I realized how long it had been since I saw you last," he answered, grinning at her, "and I decided that it was _too_ long." Jane chuckled. "It's no wonder you win all your cases, when you can say things like that." She kissed his cheek. "And thanks for coming, I needed something t'smile about tonight." "Really, is something the matter?" "Yeah, that painter, Ethan Thomas, came over t'pack up that painting he done of me and Laura. He's shipping it off on the morning stage." She frowned. "I told him I wanted to buy it, and he wouldn't sell it to me." "He... he wouldn't? What _exactly_ did he say when you asked him?" "Nothing much, just that it wasn't for sale. I don't understand. Ain't he shipping it back east t'sell? Why waste all that money, when I can buy it?" Milt tugged at his collar. "Perhaps he thinks he can get more for it in New York than he could ask you to pay." "New York?" She shook her head. "He told me he was from Philadelphia." "Really? I-I must have misunderstood." She suddenly brightened. "Hey, I got a idea. Milt, you're so good with words. How 'bout you try t'get him t'sell _me_ his painting?" "I-I don't... I don't know if I c-could. He sounds like his m-mind's set on... shipping it out." "Will you, at least, try?" She gave him her best pout. "Please... for me." He sighed. "Very well." Milt looked around. "Is Ethan still here?" "No, he left 'bout a half hour ago." "Good - I mean, okay. I'll talk to him tomorrow morning before the stage leaves." He smiled. "But, as a lawyer, I'm going to have to charge you for doing so." She raised an eyebrow. "You lawyers charge for everything. How much is _this_ gonna cost me?" "Something _very_ dear, I think, a kiss, and not on the cheek." "Well... if I have to." She leaned in close, and their lips met. Milt enjoyed the kiss so much, he almost didn't feel guilty. * * * * * Monday, April 22, 1872 Jane hurried down the street towards the depot. The Monday stage sat next to the platform. From the distance, she could see a few people milling about. 'Don't you leave yet,' she mentally ordered the driver, or whomever that was climbing up onto the seat. People were still standing and talking as she came closer. She recognized Ethan... and Milt. 'They's shaking hand,' she thought excitedly. "You done it, Milt," she called out as she reached the crowd. "You got me my painting." Both men turned to face her. "I-I'm afraid not," the lawyer told her. "But I saw you 'n' him shaking hands, like you just made a deal about something." She asked, uncertain of what was going on. "We... uh, we did talk, but he-he wouldn't sell." Milt replied. "Yes, that's it, and I-I shook hands with him to show that... that there were no hard feelings." He sounded relieved, as he finished. Ethan stepped forward. "I am sorry, Jane, but I feel that it would be more... profitable to ship the painting back east for display and sale there, more profitable in a number of ways." "But I got the cash t'pay you right now," she protested. "And I'm _in_ the painting. Don't all that count for nothing?" The painter shook his head. "Not in this case, I fear." He looked at a watch connected by a fob to his jacket pocket. "And now, I must bid you adieu. Mr. Lyman will be arriving at my studio shortly, so that I may work on the portrait he has commissioned for his place of business." "See you later, then, Ethan," Milt said. "And thanks... for, uh, listening to my-my offer, anyway." Ethan bowed slightly. "The pleasure, I assure you, was entirely mine." He nodded to Jane. "A very good day to you both." * * * * * As Arnie stepped up onto the back porch, she could see Mrs. Spaulding watching her through the kitchen window. The older woman was frowning. "Good afternoon, Annie," Mrs. Spaulding said, opening the door before Arnie could knock. Arnie tried to smile. "And a good afternoon to you, too, Se?ora Spaulding." When the woman didn't respond, Arnie added, "Is anything wrong?" "I had hoped that you would take our discussion of appropriate clothing to heart, Annie. The sort of outfit you're wearing might be the right thing for a laundress, but it is most certainly _not_ the proper attire for an instructor - instructress - of Spanish." "May I put these bundles down before I answer?" Arnie hefted the four packages she was carrying. When Mrs. Spaulding nodded, Arnie carefully set them down on the kitchen table. "Most of today, I _was_ a laundress," Arnie continued. As she spoke, the young woman separated one package, a bright green "X" on the top, from the others. "And I am a laundress right now, bringing you _your_ clean clothes. She pushed the three packages towards her customer. And that will be $4.44, by the way." "I have a dress and petticoat in here." She lifted the remaining package for a moment. "And when we are finished with this business, I'll change into them." * * * * * "Enjoying your lunch?" Nancy looked up from her sandwich. That rude man - Dell... Something -- she remembered him now from Ortega's Grocery, was standing a few feet away from her desk, watching her. She glanced around quickly. Her students were all outside eating their own meals. "What are you doing here?" She asked him angrily. "I made it clear that I wasn't interested in you - or your threats. My brother --" "Your brother told me not t'bother you. I ain't here t'bother you. I come here t'help you - t'help _him_, matter of fact - if you're interested." "To help him, what do you mean?" "I heard 'bout what happened t'him th'other day." The man walked around her desk, stopping no more than two or three feet away from her. "Shame on him letting somebody steal all that money." He gave a nasty chuckle. "'Course now, some folks are saying that he wasn't robbed at all. They're saying that he was in cahoots with whoever got that money now." She jumped to her feet, the better to look this scoundrel in the face. "That's a lie!" "Maybe it is," he grinned, "and just _maybe_ it ain't. They're gonna have t'find _somebody_ to blame for stealing all that cash, and he's the one most likely t'get picked." Her heart sank. Could this slimy little man be right? Was Carl really in danger of going to prison? "But he didn't do it. He couldn't." "So you say. Too bad there ain't nobody around t'back him up." He gave her a moment to think. "But there could be." "Wh-what do you mean?" "I mean that _I_ could say that I saw what happened - at a distance, o'course, so I couldn't do nothing t'stop them men. Yeah, I saw some men stop him, and knock him out, and ride off. I could say that at the - at _his_ trial. And I would, for the right price." "But I... Carl and I, we don't have money, not really." "It ain't your money I want. You come have supper with me t'night over at that rest'rant - what's it called - oh, yeah, 'Maggie's Place.' You do that t'night, have dinner with me, and act like you _like_ being with me, and t'morrow I'll go and tell the sheriff, tell the judge, too, if you want, what I said about seeing what happened." "H-How do I know I can trust you? It's against the law to lie under oath." "Who says I'll be lying? _You_ gonna shoot holes in the story that'll save your brother's neck? Besides, what's a man get for lying, a few months, at most? Your brother's facing five, maybe ten years in prison." Nancy closed her eyes. The man was pressing her, not giving her time to think. 'Carl, why did you have to go back to the ranch, so I can't ask you what I should do?' She pictured him smiling, calling her "Nanny Goat," in that silly, teasing voice of his. Then she pictured him being led away in chains. "All right," the words leapt out of her. "I-I'll do it." She gave a sad sigh. "I'll... I'll have dinner with you." He ran a finger down her cheek. "Say it again, _Nancy_. Say, 'Why I'll be very happy to have dinner with you tonight, Dell.' And _smile_ when you say it." Her smile was more of a grimace. "Why, I-I'll be... happy to have dinner with you tonight... Dell." "See how easy that was. I'll pick you up here at four. That way, we can talk some first, get t'know each other a little bit." "F-five would be... better." A later start meant that she'd have to spend less time with him. "I have papers that I need to correct for tomorrow's class." The man shrugged. "Okay, five." He gave her a sly smile. "See you then, Nancy... honey." He kissed a fingertip and touched it to her nose, ignoring her shudder from contact with him. He chuckled and headed for the door. "'Scuse me, little gals," he said, as he walked outside. The "little gals", Hermione and Lallie had been standing at the door, listening as best they could to what had gone on inside. They waited until he had rode off before they began to talk. "Who do you think he is?" Lallie asked. "I don't know," Hermione replied. "I never saw him before." She giggled. "But Miss Osbourne must know him if she's gonna have supper with him. Wait till I tell my Ma." * * * * * "Annie." Hedley knocked on Clara's bedroom door. "Lunch is ready." Annie opened the door. "And so am I." She stepped out wearing the dark green dress she had worn to church the day before. It was still pinned to fit her and displayed her slender, blossoming feminine figure. Without quite knowing why, she'd pack one of her sister Ysabel's green hair ribbons, and her hair was now tied in a ponytail that draped down onto her left shoulder. "And well worth any wait." Hedley gave her his best smile. "May I escort you to the table?" He offered her his arm. Arnie took it and let his lead her to where his sister and mother were waiting. She couldn't help from smiling as a pleasant tingle ran through her body. She glanced downward as she took her seat, so they wouldn't notice the blush she could feel warming her face, especially Hedley - and Clara, of course. She was still smiling after he pushed her in to the table and sat in the chair directly opposite her. * * * * * "Mama, Mama," Hermione yelled, rushing into her mother's kitchen. Cecelia Ritter turned away from the stove to face her. "Hermione, where the devil have you been? It's well after 5 o'clock. You should have been home over an hour ago." "I-I'm sorry, but it was important." "Really, and what was so important that you couldn't come home to help me with dinner?" She turned back to the stove just long enough to move the sauce she'd been stirring to a back burner. Away from the direct heat, the sauce would simmer, but it wouldn't scorch. "Miss Osbourne... she --" "What did she do? You weren't kept after school for misbehaving, were you? I will not be disgraced by you, not when I am doing such important work." "I didn't do noth - didn't do _anything_, Mama. Miss Osbourne did." That caught Mrs. Ritter's attention. "Miss Osbourne, now whatever could she have done to make you come home so late?" "I... Lallie and I, we stayed around the school to see if she was gonna go off with that man." "Man, what man are you talking about?" Cecelia Ritter was only too aware of the "good morals" clause in the schoolteacher's contract. "I don't know who he is. But he's been at the school a couple of times talking to her. He came by today at lunchtime and went straight in to see her -- Miss Osbourne usually eats lunch inside. Lallie and me got curious, so we snuck - we walked up to the door and listened." The girl studied her mother's expression. "Was it wrong that we did that?" "Heavens no; what did they say to each other?" "We couldn't hear a lot; they didn't talk too long, but it sounded like she said she'd love to have dinner with him, and... and that he should come for her at the school at 5. That's why we stayed around there so long. We wanted to see if he was gonna show up, and if she was gonna go with him." "And did he come by for her?" "He was there, Mama, big as life. He was grinning when he went in - we were in the woods, so they wouldn't see us. When they came out, it looked like she was smiling, too. She was holding his arm, like you do with Papa when we walk to church." Cecelia dropped the spoon she was still holding. "Why that brazen hussy. It's bad enough that is acting like a... a _common_ who - a common woman, but to flaunt such vulgar behavior in front of two innocent young girls, such as you and Eulalie --" "Flaunt, Mama? She didn't even knew we were there." "She knew. She just didn't care. Women like her never do." The woman stared at her daughter for a moment. "They - she - has no concern for the example she's setting. I wonder if we should allow such a woman to continue as the teacher of Eerie's children." She smiled maliciously. "Yes, perhaps, we should bring our concerns about the lascivious Miss Osbourne to the attention of the town council at tomorrow's meeting." * * * * * Molly brought an empty pitcher back to the bar. "Ain't much of a crowd here t'night," she said to Shamus, as she set it down for him to refill. "Thank heaven them that are here're a thirsty crew." "No, not many at all," he answered, a bit of sadness creeping into his voice. "And there ain't likely t'be, not for a while, anyways." Molly shook her head. "True enough; thuir's barely enough audience for Jessie t'be doing her show. And Bridget... I don't think she'll be running her game again for a while." She shook her head, unhappy at the thought of what the lady gambler was going through. "Not after what that..." He muttered something in Cheyenne. "...Stafford done t'her." Molly glanced over to the restaurant tables that Jane and Dolores were clearing. "At least the supper crowd ain't dropped off." "It ain't another restaurant Sam Duggan's thrown against me, 'tis them girls o'his." He sighed. "And what man ever gets tired of looking at a beautiful woman?" He gently took her hand in his own. "I know that I never do." She raised her hand - and his - to her cheek. "Thank ye, Love. 'Tis a shame he had t'be raising the ante on ye like he done." "What d'ye mean, Molly?" "Ye was the one who was the first t'be filling his saloon with pretty gals. Ye done it when ye agreed t'be watching Wilma and them others after they drank yuir potion. He one-upped ye when he got them dancers in, but..." She paused for effect. "...thuir's no reason ye can't be one- upping him." He chuckled. "Bring in me own dancing girls, ye mean?" He leaned across the bar and kissed her. "That's as fine an idea as ye've ever had, Molly, me love. I ain't sure that I'll do it, but 'tis surely something worth thinking about." * * * * * 'Finally,' Nancy Osbourne thought as she walked up the steps to the Carson's front porch. 'Any inquisition I suffer through with Mrs. Carson, once I get inside, will be better than what I've had to put up with tonight.' She glanced at Dell Cooper. The man had let go of her hand as they reached the steps. Now that they were on the porch, he took it again. "No, thank you, Mr. Cooper." She wriggled her hand free from his. "Dell; I told you t'call me 'Dell', Nancy, didn't I?" "You did, but now that I am home..." Her voice trailed off. 'And this evening is thankfully over,' she added to herself. "Just 'cause I brung you back home don't mean we're done with each other." He reached for her hand. When she pulled it away again, he grabbed her by the wrist. "We still got time before you go in." "T-Time for what?" "It's a purty enough evening. We can sit out here and... talk for a while, hold hands, and just enjoy each other's company. Same as any other couple." She tried to pull free, but he was too strong. "We most certainly are _not_ a couple, and I do not enjoy your company." "Then why'd you let me take you out t'dinner." "You know why. You forced me." "Just tell me _how_ I forced you." "You... you told me that, if I had dinner with you, you'd confirm my brother's story about how he was robbed." "That's right, I did, and I'll keep my word and go to the sheriff first thing t'morrow morning. If...." He leered at her. "...if you keep _your_ word." "I did. I-I dined with you tonight. What more do you --?" She stopped, realizing what she was asking _and_ what he might answer. "What more do I want? Nancy, there's a whole lotta things a man wants from a gal like you." He chuckled. "And some of 'em need a whole lot more privacy that we got on this here porch." He ran a finger down the side of her cheek. When she shuddered, he laughed. His finger moved on down her neck before it played with the top button of her dress. She managed, finally, to pull free and took a quick step back, away from him. "How dare you?" "I dare all sorts o'things, gal. What do _you_ dare?" "I'll dare to get away from you as soon as I can," she answered quickly. "Maybe so, but do you dare my going to the sheriff and telling him _another_ story? A story where I saw your precious brother meet up with two men and help them put that money into their saddlebags. After that, one of 'em tapped him on the head, and they both rode off." "You... you wouldn't?" "Sure I would. You already know that I'm willing to tell one story. Why shouldn't I be just as willing to tell another one?" "But you-you can't. He didn't do it." "Never? Yep, that's how often they let men in the territorial prison have visitors, or so I hear." He stopped, enjoying her horrified reaction. "No, I'm sorry, they let then prisoners have visits every... two months or so." He studied her for a moment, his glance lingering on her bosom. "You'll look real purty on visitors' day." Her body slumped in surrender. "All right, a kiss, but a quick one... please." "It ain't really your place t'dicker over how long I take, not with the big favor you're asking." He pulled her to him and put his hand under her chin, tilting it upwards. She closed her eyes, not wanting to watch what she was being forced to do. Their lips met. She could smell the garlic from the fish he'd eaten on his breath. His tongue ran along her lip. She refused to part them. Suddenly, his hands grabbed her buttocks. She gasped in surprise, and his tongue darted into her mouth, seeking her own. She tried to use her own tongue to push his out, but failed. She instinctively wanted to bite him, but was afraid that he'd get violent -- and then go lie about Carl. He pressed his body against hers and began to roughly knead her derriere. She felt unsteady on her feet and wrapped her arms around him for support. She suddenly realized what she was doing. "No!" She pushed against him with all her strength. He laughed; it was a nasty laugh. "Aw, we're just getting started." He thought a moment. "I'll be back for another kiss soon enough." "In your dreams," she said angrily. "In your own dreams. You can kiss me for telling my story - the _right_ story - to the sheriff. And you can kiss me again when your brother gets off." He leered at her again. "Matter of fact, after I get _him_ off, you can get _me_ off. Won't that be fun?" "I'd sooner die." She ran for the door. Once she was inside, she slammed it behind her and hurried up to her room to change. She couldn't throw out the dress she was wearing - she didn't have the money to replace it. But she wanted it washed - no, _fumigated_ -- before she wore it again. Zenobia Carson had heard the sound of feet on her front steps. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she saw what looked like a good bit of flirting on Nancy's part. She saw the apparently not so pure teacher kiss the stranger and let him touch her body in some sort of sexual play. "I knew it," she said smugly. "All your pretending to be little miss prim and proper was just so much nonsense. We'll see to you soon enough, Nancy Osbourne." * * * * * ~ Tuesday, April 23, 1872 An editorial from the Eerie, Arizona edition of the _Tucson_ _Citizen_: ` Consider What You Do, Town Council ` Tomorrow night, the town council of Eerie, Arizona will making ` a very important decision. They'll be voting on whether or not ` to give Reverend Thaddeus Yingling total control of Mr. Shamus ` O'Toole's transformative potion. ` I think that they should vote "No." ` If they vote at all. ` Reverend Yingling is my spiritual advisor. I've gone to him for ` guidance on more than one occasion, and I've always benefited ` from what he's told me. ` But there's a very big difference between giving advice and having ` control. While Reverend Yingling is excellent at doing the first, ` I don't think that it's right for him to be doing the second. ` We trusted the men on the town council enough to elect them to their ` office. How can we ask them now to let the Reverend Yingling make ` moral decisions for them -- rather than expect them to rely on ` their own good judgment? ` This is an important question, and it should not be decided lightly. I ` am not saying what the town council should decide, but I am saying ` that their decision should be based on lengthy, deliberate consideration. ` There are those, supporters of the Reverend, who are demanding that ` the decision be made quickly, without consideration _and_ without the ` opportunity for other voices to be heard, other opinions to be con- ` sidered. This is irresponsible. ` There is no pressing need for a final decision to be made. Let the town ` council's decision this Wednesday night be that the council will take ` the extra time they need to _properly_ consider all of the ramifications ` of what they are being asked to do and to consider the opinions of _all_ ` of the citizens of Eerie before they cast their final vote. * * * * * Wilma strode into the Saloon. She stopped and looked around the room before she walked over to where her sister was sitting. "Hey, Jess, how's it going?" "Not too bad," Jessie answered. "Just trying t'learn a new song." She rested her guitar on her lap. "What brings you over here?" "I come t'check up on Bridget. Where is she?" The singer glanced upward. "In her room; seems like she spends most of her time up there these days. Molly practically has t'drag her down here to eat." "What about her poker game? She can't run that from her room." "She _ain't_ running it. As far as I know, she ain't touched a card since Sunday." "Shit!"Wilma spat out the word. "Thanks, Jess. I'll see you in a bit."She headed for the steps before her sister even had a chance to wish her luck. * * * * * "Go away, Molly," Bridget yelled when she heard the knock on her door. "Please." The door opened. "I ain't going away," Wilma said, coming into the room. "And I ain't Molly." "Damn it, Wilma, leave me alone." Bridget was lying in bed, atop the blanket, and wearing a light green robe over her camisole and drawers. She sat up sullenly. Wilma walked over to a chair and sat down. "I can't." "What the hell do you mean, you can't?" "Long, long time ago, in a orphanage far, far away, I made me a pact with this kid, Brian Kelly - maybe you remember him. I promised I'd watch his back, and he promised t'watch mine." Bridget had to smile, if only for an instant. "I remember, but that - that was in another life." "Seems like the same life t'me. It just turned out a whole lot different'n we ever figured it would." "That's the truth. We went from rangers to... outlaws to... to..." The word caught in her throat. "...whores." "You say 'whores' like it's a bad thing. It ain't bad, but it ain't true neither. I may be a whore." She stopped, stood, and defiantly put her hands on her hips. "Hells bells, let's face it. I _am_ a whore, and I'm damned good at it." She waited a moment, hoping to see Bridget smile. When her friend didn't, she continued. "And I ain't ashamed to be one, neither. But you ain't no whore, and you never was one." "Yes, y-yes, I-I am, and ev-everybody in town is thinking it." "They don't think any such thing." "They do so. I can tell from the way that they - they all look at me." Her eyes began to fill with tears. "Forget about whatever promises we made all those years ago; forget about me. Brian Kelly is dead. I'm just his -- I don't know what -- his no-good tramp of a sister." "Like hell! You're as good a gal as I am, maybe even better." "No, I'm not. I'm -- like I said, I don't know _what_ I am." Wilma came over and sat down next to Bridget on the bed. "Well, you're a better _poker_ _player_ than I am. You can't deny that." "Not any more, I'm not. I was losing just about every hand. How can I play poker when I can't look the other players in the eye, imagining what they're thinking?" "All that is, is your imagination. What you're seeing in their eyes is worry about what you got in your hand and how much money you're gonna take 'em for." Wilma thought for a moment. "You got any cards around here?" Bridget pointed to a drawer in the night table next to her bed. "There's a couple of decks in there." "Chips, too, I see," Wilma said, opening the drawer. She took out a deck and a box of chips and tossed them onto the other woman's lap. "Okay, deal." "What?" "I wanna show you you're wrong. You ain't got no trouble looking in my eyes, so we'll just play cards for a while today. And I'll keep coming back every day till you're feeling up t'running your game again." She moved back to the chair. "One thing, though." "One thing?" "Yeah, this here game is just for fun. I know better'n t'play a sharp like you for _real_ money." * * * * * "Will you stop glaring at me, Trisha," Liam demanded during a break when the Feed and Grain was empty of customers. Trisha blinked in surprise. "Was I?" "You were, and I'm getting tired of it. What's the matter with you?" "You - you and Kaitlin, _I'm_ getting tired of the way you're acting around her, flirting and carrying on every time the two of you get together." "Sort of the way you 'go to' with some men around here, isn't it?" "No!" She stomped her foot, then crossed her arms for emphasis. "It's nothing like - I do _not_ flirt like that." "The hell you don't. You've been chasing after men since before the dance. _That's_ why some people believe those lies Cecelia Ritter's been spreading - or _are_ they lies?" "Of course they are!" She was hardly about to say how much worse the truth really was. That would come out soon enough. "That's what you keep telling me." He paused a half-beat. "I will admit that there are a few things different between the way that you and I are acting." "And what are those differences, exactly?" "You say that you're just flirting with all those men for fun. I'm serious, really serious, about Kaitlin, and, you know what, she likes the attention I'm paying her." "What're you saying?" "Just what you think. You keep saying how I'm acting like I'm courting her -- well, I am. She knows I am, and she doesn't mind. In fact, she's told me that she's pleased with the idea of my courting her." Liam smiled at the shocked look on his sister's face. "And now that you know, you've got a real reason for glaring at me, don't you?" * * * * * "Zenobia," Cecelia Ritter called out from the street in front of Ortega's Market. "Wait a moment." Zenobia Carson stopped walking and waited for her friend to cross over from the other side of the street. "Hello, Cecelia. How are you this afternoon?" "Very well, thanks. I was hoping I would run into you today." "Any special reason why?" "Yes, I was wondering, did you notice anything... odd about Nancy Osbourne's behavior yesterday?" Mrs. Carson smiled, happy to be sharing gossip. "My dear, there was very little about her last night that _wasn't_ odd." "Whatever do you mean?" "As a rule, she comes home around five, though she tries to get up to her room instead of helping me with supper as she should, but yesterday..." She paused for dramatic effect. "Yesterday, she didn't come home at all; at least, not before dinner - or _for_ dinner, either. I was concerned, of course, any decent Christian would be, but I had to see that my Thomas and the children were fed." Cecelia nodded approvingly. "You're a good soul, Zenobia." "One tries. I asked my Tommy if anything had happened at the school. He said, 'no', but he also told me that some man had come to see Miss Osbourne at lunchtime." "That's what my Hermione told to me. I was concerned because she shouldn't be seeing any men socially, especially not at the school." "She wasn't just seeing men at the school," Zenobia continued. "She finally did come home about 8:30, but not alone. There was a _man_ with her." "No!" Cecelia tried to look concerned. "Really?" "Yes, he walked her right up onto my front porch. They talked - holding hands, no less -- _then_ he kissed her, kissed her right on the mouth. And, so far as I could tell, _she_ kissed him back." "The brazen hussy," Cecelia gasped. "And it's probably not the first time, either. According to Hermione, he's been to the school to see her more than once. The Lord only knows what sort of sinful goings-on they've been up to." "At the school, where all the children could see them? That cannot be allowed to continue." "I think it's time we found a new teacher for our school." "With that - what do they call it - that _morals_ clause in her contract, we should have a very easy time getting rid of her." "Indeed, I've no doubt that this Cooper fellow is not the first man she's dallied with. I didn't wish to spread any hurtful rumors around. I wanted to give that poor, foolish woman every possible chance to reform." "What are you talking about, Cecelia?" "When she was lodging with Clyde and me last year, I had some very serious doubts about her character. It seems she's only gotten worse with time. Now her behavior has gone beyond toleration. Something has to be done." She gave Zenobia a self-satisfied smile. "I believe that the day has come for Miss Osbourne to pay the piper, and we shall see that she does as soon as we've settled with Mr. O'Toole and that ungodly potion of his." "To be sure, we'll have this town running the way we want - the way it _should_ be run, in no time." * * * * * "I got something for you, Jess," Paul stood over the woman, a sly grin curling his lips. She returned his grin. "Oh, you do, do you?" She put down her guitar and stood up. "And what would that be, Mr. Grant?" "This... for starters." His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Her arms went up, circling his neck. Their lips met, and the room went away for a while. Finally, they had to break the kiss to breathe. "Now that was_ real_ nice," Jessie told him, her voice husky. She was still holding on to Paul. "You said, 'for starters,' just now," she went on. "What else you got in mind?" "I've got a lot of things in mind, and we can... discuss them all upstairs when I'm off duty." He sighed. "Right now, I've got rounds I have to make, and all I can do is give you this." He retrieved an envelope from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. Jessie opened the envelope and skimmed the letter that was inside. "It's from Hanna Tyler. Her Grampa, Nathaniel Mullens - that's her ma's father - got sick or something. They really want him t'be at the wedding, so they're pushing it back two weeks from Sunday, May 19, to Sunday, June 2." "Damn," she muttered. "Now I'll have t'ask Shamus all over again if I can go." "And I'll have to ask Dan, but I think they'll let us." He winked. "We'll talk about it tonight." She giggled. "I suppose we'll have t'talk about something... eventually." The letter and the envelope fell to the floor, as she moved in to kiss him again. * * * * * "What's _he_ doing here?" Jane asked, her voice full of anger. She was sitting with Milt Quinlan, taking a short break. Milt looked around. "Who - oh, Ethan. He, uh... mentioned Jessie when we... uh, when we talked yesterday. He probably came in to hear her sing." "Least people are still coming in for something. The place's half empty these days, thanks t'them damn dancing girls over at the Lone Star." She suddenly brightened. "Still... that gives me a chance t'talk to him." Before Milt could stop her, she stood up and yelled. "Ethan... hey, c'mon over 'n' join us." The man had turned at the sound of his name. He nodded and walked over to their table. "Jane, how... delightful to see you once again, and you, as well, Milt." "Sit yourself down right there, Ethan." Jane pointed to an empty chair. He sat. "My thanks to you both for the invitation, and how, may I ask, are you this evening?" "Not too bad," she answered, "still a little unhappy 'bout not getting that painting you done." "I do regret that," the artist said gently, taking a seat. "You were a delight to work with, and I am sorry to have disappointed you in the matter of 'The Three Fates' painting." "If you really feel that way, maybe I don't _have_ to be disappointed." Milt raised a curious eyebrow. "What do you mean, Jane? The painting is long gone." "It ain't that 'long gone.' Sure, it's on its way from here t'Philadelphia, but that stage has t'make a whole lotta stops. You could wire ahead - to Sante Fe, maybe - tell 'em you changed your mind and t'send your picture back here." Ethan shook his head. "That would be... difficult - and expensive." "I can pay for it, same as I can pay for the portrait when it gets back here." Milt placed his hand on her arm. "Jane, it's halfway to Utah by now, you --" "Utah!" She cut him off. "Who says it's going t'Utah?" Milt looked nervous. "Ethan... he, ahh... yesterday, he said - didn't you say, Ethan, that you were going to ship it east by train?" "I did?" the artist looked surprised for a moment. "Oh, ah, yes, I did. We had spoken about the matter before you arrived on the scene at the depot, Jane." "What ain't you two telling me?" Jane demanded. The men glanced quickly at one another. "Nothing, nothing really," the painter said. "There is just less danger to the portrait if I ship it by rail, that's all." "But that just makes it easier t'get back. When the stage gets to Utah, they can just put it on one heading back here, instead of on the train." "Perhaps, but I decline your offer, no matter how generous and well- intentioned, Jane. I prefer to have my work displayed back East." "Since when is the money back East any better 'n mine? Come t'think of it, how come you made up your mind so fast? Last week you was more 'n ready t'sell it to me?" "Jane, please. I'm sure he had a good reason." Milt shot a quick look to the other man. "Besides, it sounds to me like you aren't the only - what did you call it once - the only 'mule-stubborn' one at this table." "Indeed." Ethan got to his feet. "And the most simple way to end this apparent stalemate would seem to be for one of us to no longer be at this table." He gave a low bow. "Another time, perhaps. Good evening." Jane watched him walk to another table halfway across the bar. "How come you took his side so much?" she asked Milt. "I-I wasn't trying to take anyone's side. I knew he wasn't going to send for that painting, and I just wanted to end the discussion." "You _knew_, did you? And how was that?" "I... I'm a lawyer, Jane. Knowing people's part of my job." He relaxed as he saw Jessie moving towards the small stage near the stairs. "Right now, it looks like the show's about to start, so we need to be quiet." He leaned back in his chair and hoped that the argument was over. * * * * * Wednesday, April 24, 1872 Nancy picked at the fried chicken leg she'd packed for her lunch. "Damn," she said to no one in particular and pushed her wooden plate across her desk. "First time I ever saw you pass up fried chicken," a voice said. She looked up to see... "Carl, what are you doing here in town? I thought Mr. Slocum was going to have you stay out at his ranch for a while." "He wanted to, but I said to him, 'Mr. Slocum, sir, you gotta understand, I need to check up on my little sister.' Turns out, he had a little sister, too, Cap Lewis' mama, so he knew what I was talking about. He said I could ride in, but I had to promise to be quick and to stay outta trouble." He grinned and threw his arms out wide. "I promised... and here I am." "You did _not_ tell Mr. Slocum that you had to check up on me?" She smiled shyly and hid her face with her hands. "I'll never be able to look him in the face again." "And just how often do you look him in the face?" "You know what I mean. I... " Her embarrassed smile suddenly darkened. "Oh, Carl, I-I'm so glad you're here." He hurried over to her. "Sounds to me like there's something more than fried chicken bothering you. C'mon, fess up, what is it?" "That... _bastard_..." She hissed the last word, but softly, so no children could hear. "...Dell Cooper, h-he - I don't want to talk about it." Her eyes began to well with tears. "C'mon, Nanny Goat, don't go all stubborn on me again." He hugged her and gently patted her head, as he might a small child. "You'll feel better for the telling. You just see if you don't." "He-He said that he'd back up your story about the robbery if I had dinner with him." "You say that like you think I was lying about what happened." "I-I believe you. I know that you'd never rob Mr. Slocum. B-But when I told him that I wouldn't have dinner with him, he... he said that, if I refused, he'd tell the sheriff that he s-saw you... helping those crooks, who-whomever they were. He'd tell _that_ story if I didn't... go out with -- " He deliberately cut off her words. "So you agreed to... to protect me. Nancy, I'm sorry that you thought you had to do something like that." "That's not the worst of it. We... He took me to that restaurant in Mr. O'Toole's saloon. Everybody saw me, and, when we went back to the Carson's house, he... he kissed me, and I-I let him. I know Mrs. Carson saw it. She was colder to me this morning than January back in Connecticut. She'll surely gossip to everybody. What am I going to do?" Carl's expression was dark, angry. He struggled to control his tone. "First thing, you're gonna dry those eyes of yours. _Then_ you're gonna finish that chicken leg. You know what Aunt Clementine used to say about wasting food." He used a finger to carefully raise her chin, so she was looking right up at him. "And don't you worry about Cooper; I'll talk to him." "Just talk?" "Well, I may have to use my fists to move the talking along the way I want it to go." "Please be careful, Carl." "Carefullest man in town." * * * * * "How's it going, Love?" Molly asked, as she stepped through the doorway into Shamus' office. He looked up from his ledger and tried to smile. "Just as ye might be expecting... terrible. We're really taking a hurting, since Sam Duggan brought in them dancing girls o'his." "Aye, but 'tis only a few days since they started doing thuir shows. Ye'll see, the men'll be getting tired of sitting over thuir, and they'll be coming back." "Maybe... someday they will, but I'll not be holding me breath waiting for men t'be getting tired o'watching pretty girls dancing for 'em. And he'll be making so much money that he'll be able to fix up that place o'his and keep me regulars even after the novelty of them girls has worn off." "Ye could always get some dancing girls for over here, ye know." "I know, and I been thinking about doing it, too, just as I said I would. It'd be expensive, though -- and risky - t'be fixing up the place and bringing in dancers from San Francisco or Denver or wherever Duggan got his girls from. We might not be making up what money we spend t'do it." "It don't have t'be." "Any why not?" "Thuir's a pretty girl or three right here in Eerie." "Aye, but are any of them dancing girls? I think not. Besides, too many o'them pretty ones have husbands or parents who ain't about t'be letting them dance -- or they already have a job with somebody like Lady Cerise and ain't interested working for us here." He sighed. "And them few that are interested ain't likely t'be knowing much about the job." "Maybe not, but they don't have t'be knowing anything at all, not with the experienced dancer ye got t'be training 'em up." He gave her a wry smile. "And who would that be?" "Who d'ye think?" Molly replied. "Just 'cause I ain't worked as a dancer since we got married, don't mean I forgot what I knew then." "That was more'n a few years ago, Molly Love," Shamus teased. When he saw her expression, he quickly added, "Even if ye don't look a day older." He considered the idea for moment. "I ain't saying yes t'yuir offer, but I ain't saying no, neither. I want t'be thinking about it for a while first." * * * * * Carl strode purposefully into the Lone Star. He glanced around for a moment before walking over to the bar where Dell Cooper was standing alone, drinking. "I want to talk to you, Cooper." "Really?" Cooper set his beer on the bar and glared at Carl. "What about?" Carl glared back. "My sister... I told you to leave her alone. She says you're still bothering her." "Getting her hot and bothered, you mean." The man laughed. "Damn _hot_, and ready for some fun with a _real_ man." "Mister, you better apologize for saying that, if you know what's good for you." "The hell, I will." Dell glowered and stepped back, arms set and ready to fight. Carl's hands balled into fists, but before either man could throw a punch, Sam Duggan stopped them. "This is a peaceable bar, gents. If there's gonna be a fight, I'll ask you t'take it outside." "Fine, with me," Carl replied. "I can beat the shit outta him outside as easy as I can do it in here." The other man sneered. "Lead the way, mister, and we'll see who takes care of who." "Just be sure you ain't too scared to follow me out." Carl turned and started for the swinging doors that led to the street. Cooper waited until they were about five feet apart. His face contorted into a nasty grin as he slowly drew his pistol from his holster so the angry man wouldn't hear the rasp. "Carl, look out!" Duggan yelled. Carl spun to the left and quickly drew his own weapon. He fired once, on the fly for cover behind a table. Dell lurched back a step. "Son of a..." His voice trailed off as he looked down unhappily at his chest. A red stain was growing on his shirt. He barely had time to mutter, "Shit..." before he dropped towards the floor. He was dead before he hit it. Carl hurried to his feet. "You ain't even worth that bullet, Cooper," he said with disgust. "Somebody get the Doc." He shook his head. "and Stu Gallagher, the undertaker, too, just in case." He heard somebody agree and run out the door. "Better get the Sheriff, too," he told Duggan, weariness seeping into his voice. "This sure as hell ain't gonna help me at my trial." * * * * * "May I come in, Thad?" Martha Yingling knocked on the half-opened door to her husband's study. He looked up from his papers and smiled at her. "Certainly, my dear. What did you want?" "I-I was just out doing some shopping, and I heard the most horrid gossip about Nancy Osbourne." "What sort of gossip?" "They're saying that she's been out cavorting with all sorts of men, sitting on their laps, kissing them, and who knows what all else." He leaned back in his chair. "And who's been saying these things?" "I heard it from several women, Roberta Scudder, Lavinia Mackechnie... Zenobia Carson seems to be the main instigator, her and Cecelia Ritter." She took a breath. "Cecelia's even talking about getting Nancy fired. You've got to talk to her, make her stop saying such foul lies. And tell others not to believe what she's saying." "How do you know that they're lies?" "Because I know Nancy Osbourne, and she'd never do such things. And I know - we _both_ know - Cecelia Ritter, and we know how much she likes to stir up trouble, especially when it would hurt someone she doesn't like. She's had it in for Nancy for some time, ever since Nancy boarded with the Ritters last year." "Right now, Cecelia Ritter is one of my strongest supporters in getting that dangerous potion away from O'Toole. She has been doing the work of the Lord with that petition." "Right now, she's maliciously spreading lies against a very good woman, one whose only crime is to be younger, prettier, and smarter than she is." "For everything there is a season, and I will not go against her at this time." "Could you just talk to her, in private if need be, and ask her stop her attacks on Nancy?" "There are very great issues riding on keeping Mrs. Ritter's support. It would not be politic to go against an ally." "But she's wrong - so very wrong - can't you see that?" "Aren't you taking sides too quickly? In the past few weeks, Miss Osbourne has shown me a willful streak that you may not have seen. Time and again she's argued with me about the meaning of the teachings of the Lord. She is not thinking clearly. She can make mistakes, it's clear. It is not so hard for me to believe that there may be some truth in the stories that Cecelia is telling." Martha considered his words. "I-I'm sorry, Thaddeus. I'll leave you to your work." She walked out of the room, trying to understand just whom she was sorry for. * * * * * The schoolhouse also served as the site for meetings of the town council. The three members of the council, Whit Whitney, Arsenio Caulder, and Aaron Silverman, took their places at the large table in the front of the room. "As chairman of the Eerie Town Council," Whit Whitney said firmly, "I declare the April 24, 1872 meeting called to order." He banged his gavel on the tabletop. "We seem to have a larger crowd than --" Cecelia Ritter quickly rose to her feet, interrupting him. "Mr. Chairman..." "Yes, Cecelia," Whit answered. "Do you have a question?" She nodded. "Yes, I want to know why that wicked woman is up there with you?" She pointed at Nancy Osbourne, who was sitting at the corner of the desk. "Miss Osbourne is taking the minutes of the meeting. It's part of her duties as our schoolteacher." "Duties she is not fit to do," Cecelia said, angrily. A number of voices from around the room agreed with her. "I... _We_ demand that she be fired." A gasp came from Nancy, but before she could say another word, Lavinia Mackechnie jumped to her feet. "Second the motion." Her words were met with a round of applause. "Now, wait a minute," Arsenio Caulder shouted from his place on Whit's left. "Before we do anything like that, I, for one, want to know why. What is this all about?" "She's not fit... the morals rule." Zenobia Carson answered. "I saw her." "She didn't see anything -- I mean, she didn't understand!" shouted Nancy. "That may be, Miss Osbourne," said Arsenio, "but let one person speak at a time. We have to know exactly what you are being accused of before you can give an appropriate answer." Aaron took that as his cue to speak up. "And what, exactly, was it you think you saw, Mrs. Carson? As they say, the mind can fool the eye if it wants to be fooled." Zenobia's features set firmly in place. "I know what I saw. That... trollop kissed a man - in public - and allowed him to paw at her." "That's not true!" Nancy rose indignantly to her feet. Zenobia smiled, a cat playing with a mouse. "It is so. They were right there on my porch. I saw it all through the curtain from my parlor." She paused for effect. "They were out somewhere, together, doing the good Lord only knows what. When they came back, they were walking hand in hand - more than just friends, I thought. He followed her up onto my porch and sat down beside her. He took her in his arms, and they... kissed. She seemed to enjoy it. Not her first time kissing a man, I should think." "And you was watching all this?" Aaron asked. "Without doing anything?" "I-I was shocked at such scandalous behavior. I tapped at the glass, but they didn't seem to hear. Not at first, anyway. All of a sudden she broke away and came inside. I suspect that she was ashamed of what she was doing - or angry that she'd been caught - because she went straight up to her room without saying a word." "I have something to add," said Cecelia. "You'll get your chance. But it's Miss Osbourne's turn to defend her conduct now," said Whit. He looked toward the teacher and asked gently, "Nancy would you like to give your version of what happened?" He paused a moment for effect. "If anything did." The young woman sank into her chair and thought for a moment. How could she explain? 'Tell them the truth', she told herself. 'Tell them that Dell Cooper had threatened to lie about your brother.' She paused. 'But which would they think was the lie, that Carl committed the robbery or that he didn't? The foul little man was dead, dead by Carl's hand, and didn't that just make things worse?' "I... Mrs. Carson is mistaken. He tried to get familiar with me, but I-I wouldn't allow it. When I got the chance, I ran inside to get away from him." "Why were you with him in the first place?" Cecelia accused. "Where were you, and what sort of sinful behavior were the two of you up to?" "I-I can't really explain. It's so complicated." She looked down at the table, not able to face their accusations. Cecelia's voice rang out. "Can't explain or don't want to explain? It's all true, you hussy, and you know it. Even before Zenobia saw what she saw, all the children were talking about how their teacher was carrying on with that Cooper fellow at the schoolhouse -- or maybe it was with a number of different men, who can be sure? Can we allow our children to be exposed to a... a _woman_ like her? Fire her, I say." "Is _that_ what you had to add, Mrs. Ritter?" Whit asked sourly. "Yes... My own daughter told me what she'd seen. And people saw her dining with the man at that saloon. She should be fired just for going into a saloon, much less for cavorting lewdly on a porch." "Fire her... fire her." The words echoed through the room. Whit banged his gavel. "Folks... please, give the lady a chance to speak." "She ain't no lady," someone yelled, "she sure as hell ain't no teacher - not for my kids. Fire her." "It's not fair to act on these accusations before they can be fully investigated," Phillipia Stone scolded. "Nancy Osbourne has been here for almost five years, and nothing remotely like this has ever been reported against her before. My children think she's a wonderful teacher, and she's a good churchgoer, too." Lavinia stood up. "Her brother just killed that man in a saloon fight today. He's a thief and a killer. No wonder she's comfortable with bad types. Mr. Osbourne will probably be sent away to prison in a few days.? ?Damned straight, he will,? someone yelled, and others in the crowd agreed. Lavinia smiled smugly and continued. ?Nancy deliberately got those two stirred up against one another and probably enjoyed doing it.? The barber sighed. ?Nancy, is there anything more you can add that will put to rest these accusations?? She shook her head slowly. ?I don't know. It involves matters I'd first like to talk over with the councilmen in private. Someone might be hurt if I say too much in an open forum.? ?Confess! Confess in public!? some woman shouted. ?Nancy?? Whit tried again. ?I --? she shook her head. ?It has to be in private.? Arsenio spoke softly. ?If that's the case, people need a cooling off time. We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise, but we first have to think of protecting the reputation of the school until all questions are answered.? The councilmen then talked in low voices for a moment. After a moment, Whit looked up. ?All in favor of _suspending_ Miss Osbourne until we can find out what?s really going on here, raise your --? ?The hell with suspending her,? Horace Styron insisted, taking up the chant. ?Fire her? fire her right now.? Whit seemed to ignore him. ?All in favor, raise your hand.? Aaron and Arsenio slowly raised their right hands. Whit gave ano