Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Spring, Part 9 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Salon: Seasons of Change - Spring By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson © 2014 Sunday, May 26, 1872 The music woke Lylah up. "What the hell?" She tossed back her blanket and sat up in bed. Only... she wasn't in bed anymore, or even in the room she shared with Flora. She was downstairs in the Saloon. The room was full of light, and she could hear music, although she couldn't see the musicians. She couldn't see _anyone_. She was alone. "This hasta be a dream," she said, looking down at herself. She was in one of the chairs set against the wall for the waiter-girls to use while they waited for men to give them tickets for a dance. But all that she wore was her camisole, her drawers, and the short aprons that the girls used to hold the tickets they were given. As she looked down, she saw a pair of feet - men's feet - step in close to her. "Care to... dance, Lylah," a voice asked. "I-I suppose." She looked up. For some reason, she couldn't make out the features of the man's face, but the outstretched hand that offered her a ticket was... dark, a Negro's hand; a hand the same color as her own. Lylah felt a warm flush run through her, as she rose to her feet. She accepted his ticket, and her fingers tingled as they momentarily touched his. The tingling spread, when he took her hand and led her out onto the _empty_ dance floor. "A waltz," he said in a confident voice, "nice 'n' slow." He pulled her gently into his arms, and they began to move to the music. Something deep inside her seemed to be responding. "Nice 'n' slow," she murmured, pressing herself against him. She was filled with the same exquisite sensations she'd felt in the bathhouse all those weeks ago, and that she'd been forced to "remember" every time she and Flora had danced. Her breasts ached -- _ached!_ -- to be touched, and her nipples felt hard as two pieces of lead shot. "Ooohh!" she moaned softly, and the man - whoever he was - came even closer. His head moved in next to hers, and he sucked on her lower lip. After a moment, he shifted, his tongue sliding between her lips to tangle with her own. Her head was swimming. Her arms, she suddenly realized, were draped around his neck. The kiss deepened, and her body seemed to glow, filled with some marvelous, ecstatic light. She gloried in the touch of his bare skin against hers. Bare? She broke the kiss just long enough to glance down. They were still in the Saloon, still dancing to the music. Only now, they were clad only in their drawers. His were tented almost to bursting, and hers... hers were warm and... and damp, as if she'd peed herself. Before she could react, the man leaned down. His lips closed around her left nipple, and he began to suckle like a newborn calf. She couldn't move - couldn't think. Lylah closed her eyes, luxuriating in the sensations flowing through her. Whap! Something hit her head. "What?" She opened her eyes. She was back in her bed, dressed again in her nightgown. Flora was sitting up in her own bed, glaring at her in the light of the oil lamp near her bed. Even her new kitten, curled up against her hip, managed to look angry. "Stop playing with yourself, you damned horny nigger," she hissed. "You were making so much noise that you woke me up." "I-I'm sorry," Lylah answered, feeling relief and embarrassment. It had been just a dream. Except that her hand was down _there_, two fingers pressed against her... cunny. She moved it away and settled down in the bed. "No; no you aren't, not from all the sounds you were making." Flora turned down the wick, and the lamp dimmed. "Just shut up for now." Lylah nodded. "I-I'll try." She lay in the darkness trembling from both the pleasure she'd experienced during the dream, and the fear that her dream would return. * * * * * "My text this morning is Matthew 27:24," Reverend Yingling began. "When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it." "He took water, and washed his hands. Pontius Pilate washed his hands, and he thought that he was at an end of some minor problem. He washed his hands because he did not understand the enormity of what was at stake as a result of his actions. He washed his hands because he did not realize that he had handed our Lord Jesus over to those who were to crucify him." "That is the way some people are. They make the wrong choice, the trivial choice, the _easy_ choice because they do not understand what issues are at stake. They make these choices, these so very wrong choices, and they try to walk away unscathed, leaving us to live with the, oh, so horrible results." "You may say - you may want to believe - that such things don't happen anymore. If you do, my friends, then you are wrong, so very, very wrong for it happened right here. It happened here - in this country, in this territory, in this _very_ town, and it happened just a few days ago." "It happened when the Eerie town council finally... _finally_ chose to act on my petition." "I believe - as so many of you do - that the transformative elixir created by Shamus O'Toole is evil." "Some might ask, how could it be evil when it delivered this town from the danger of the Hanks gang? Even the worst of the minions of Lucifer, it is said, can take on a pleasant seeming. The better to entice the innocent. The initial good that the potion manifested must be weighed against the evil that it has done since." "And... _And_ the evil that it may _yet_ do. The lives that it may disrupt, the innocents that it may cause to stray from the path of Righteousness and from the destiny of good that our Lord has planned for them." "And they, the town council, washed their hands of it." "They washed their hands of the opportunity to put O'Toole's brew into the hands of those most capable of discerning the good and evil of it and of best dealing with it. We asked them for a committee, and they gave us a joke." "But we are not laughing. We do not see the humor - or the purpose - in what they have done. And we will not accept it." "I have no intention of working with this 'committee' that they created. Nor - he has told me - does Horace Styron." Yingling paused a moment to look over at Styron. The other man smiled and nodded in encouragement of the reverend's words, and Yingling went on. "The town council will meet again in a month. With your help, we shall be ready for them. We will force the Eerie Town Council to abolish the existing committee and to allow me to form a group of true believers, men who can to _properly_ deal with Mr. O'Toole and his potion." "Hallelujah!" he proclaimed, arms raised, looking toward Heaven in supplication. But only a part of the congregation roared out in response, "Hallelujah!" "Let our next hymn show the reason we cannot help but be victorious," the minister announced, ignoring the weak response. "Sing out with 'Oh What Strength We Have in Jesus,' on page 87 in your hymnals." * * * * * "Mind if I join you?" Flora looked up from her breakfast. Nancy Osbourne stood across the table from her, holding a tray. "Sit," Flora said with a shrug. "Thanks." Nancy set the tray down on the table and took a seat. "I... umm, wanted to talk to you about the dance last night... if I may." "What's to talk about? It was the same damned dance as every Saturday. We get our feet stepped on and our asses pinched by a bunch of foul- smelling... horny men." Even as she spoke, Flora felt a flush come to her cheeks, as her body remembered things. Nancy looked dubious. "I don't know; you seemed to enjoy some of it. I saw the way you were dancing with Clyde Ritter. And..." She paused for effect. "...I saw you kiss him." "What of it?" Flora thought quickly. Nancy and Molly were pretty chummy. Was she spying for Molly - or, worse, for Shamus? She decided to stick with the story she'd been giving the Irishman. "I-I'm a girl now. Girls kiss men. It feels kind of nice, in fact." Nancy grimaced slightly, as if at an obdurate student. "Yes, but when they do, they should know _who_ they're kissing. He's married." "That didn't stop him. Why should it stop me?" She frowned and nodded. "It takes an awful lot to stop him. You know that I used to be the school teacher here in town, don't you?" Flora couldn't resist. "Yeah; you've certainly come down in the world haven't you?" The other blonde smiled ruefully. "I prefer to think that I've simply taken a different path than the one I was on." Flora was a bitter woman, Nancy knew, and they had never been friendly towards one another. Well, no point in stopping now. If Flora got involved with Ritter, it might be trouble for everyone at the saloon. "I have an unpleasant history with Mr. Ritter myself, and I wanted to warn you about him. My contract with the town called for me to get room and board from the parents of one of my students. Last year, I lived with the Ritters." "And?" "The man was relentless. He chased me the whole time I was there: making suggestive remarks - even in front of his family, catching me alone in a room and trying to steal a kiss -- I even had to mount a bolt lock on my bedroom door, after he used his key to let himself in one night." Flora had to smile. "He certainly seemed determined." "He was. At Christmas, he gave me a rather lavish present, an ivory pin. He told his wife that it was because I was doing such a fine job teaching their children." Nancy made a face like she'd just sipped straight lemon juice, instead of the coffee on her breakfast tray. "Later on, he caught me alone in the hall outside my room. He leered and told me that the pin was actually payment for, as he put it, services not yet rendered." She sighed. "It was a lovely pin. I never wore it, though, and I left it behind when I moved out." She took a bite of her toast. 'Bingo!' Flora thought. 'What was it Rosalyn had said about the rewards of flirting?' This Nancy Osbourne certainly seemed na?ve for a grown woman. Aloud, she asked, "Did he ever give you any other... presents?" "He tried to. He offered other things: a new dress, jewelry - once he just asked me outright how much I _charged_ for my... favors." Flora tried to look shocked. "Hot da.... My goodness, what did you do?" "I told him that I'd tell his wife if he kept talking like that. He - He _dared_ me to. He laughed and said that she wouldn't believe me." "Did you tell her?" "I-I tried. He was right. She all but ignored me. And, from what she did say, you'd have thought that it was all _my_ fault. I didn't know what else to do, so I told Mr. Whitney - he's head of the school board - that I wanted to get to know more of my students' families. A teacher, especially a female teacher doesn't have much of a social life. I asked if he could find me another family to board with, starting as soon as the school year ended. He did, and I moved out as quickly as I could after that." She sniffled. "A fat lot of good it did me." Flora considered what she'd just heard. "You know what I'd have done?" "No, and that's why I warned you, so you'd know what you were getting into." "What Ritter was offering you was a business transaction. You didn't handle your end of it very well, from what you're saying." Nancy looked surprised. And Flora surprised herself, too, at how easily she could say the words, "I'd have taken his presents." * * * * * Reverend Yingling stood on the schoolhouse porch after the service, as always. He shook hands with his parishioners as they left the building, taking a reading of how the service -- and his sermon -- had gone. "Wonderful sermon," Cecelia Ritter gushed. "I am _so_ glad to hear that you haven't given up the good fight for control of that horrid potion." The reverend smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Cecelia. With the support of fine, Christian people like yourself, I know that our side shall ultimately prevail." "We most certainly will." She beamed at his praise. Her husband simply shook the minister's hand and moved on, taking Cecelia's arm in his own. Arsenio was further down the line, pushing Laura in a wheelchair he'd borrowed from Doc Upshaw. "Good morning, Laura," Yingling greeted her. "How are you feeling today?" She looked up at him and frowned. "Not too good, Reverend. I didn't care very much for your sermon. I especially didn't like hearing my husband being compared to Pontius Pilate." "I can speak for myself, Laura," Arsenio said. He turned to the minister. "And I didn't like it either. You've got your committee, sir. Why don't you try to work with it first before you tear it - and the town council -- down?" "Because it is not in me to 'work with' evil, Arsenio, and that is how I see O'Toole's potion." "You seem to be doing very well at such 'work' just now, the way you're riling everybody up. Did you actually say that the devil changed my wife and her friends only so they'd be able to do even more evil?" Yingling stiffened, but before he could answer, Laura put her hand on her husband's arm. "It takes evil to see evil," she said. "Especially where no evil exists." She paused, feeling suddenly weak. "We're holding up the line, Arsenio, and I don't think either of you is going to convince the other." Her voice trailed down a little. "Besides, I'm feeling a bit tired." "Then I'd best get you home," he answered. "We'll continue this _discussion_ later, Reverend." The other man nodded grimly. "We shall. We shall, indeed." * * * * * Teresa placed a plate of frajitas on the table and took her seat at the head of the table. "So, Arnolda," she began, as she used a pair of wooden tongs to lift two frajitas onto a plate. "You have been very quiet this morning. Are you thinking about Se?or O'Toole's job offer?" Without waiting for an answer, she passed the plate to Arnie, who passed it on to Dolores. "S?, but I have not decided yet?" Arnie replied, taking another plate of food from her mother. "I do want the job, but I do not know if I want to be a waitress or a busboy." She also handed that plate to Dolores, who had given the first plate to Enrique. She took the second one and set it down for herself. "You better decide soon, cousin. Shamus expects you - and your answer - tomorrow morning." She cut a piece of the frajita. "What is so hard to decide?" "Waitressing pays more," Arnie said thoughtfully, "but I would have to act as if I were a girl." Constanza looked at Arnie from across the table. "What do you mean, Arnolda? You _are_ a girl." Arnie gave her sister a troubled glance. "I... I only look like a girl. Sometimes, I-I admit, I _may_ act like a girl." As she said it, the memory of Hedley and of his kiss sprang into her mind. "But I... I am n- not a girl; not... not really." She took a breath before she continued. "If I take the waitress job, I have to wear dresses--all the time - and I-I do not have any except for the ones that Mama pinned up for me. Men buy the waitresses drinks, so they can talk to them for a while, and I do not want to do that." "Why?" Ysabel asked. "From what I have heard, you were not very good at talking to girls... before." Arnie scowled and ignored her. "And... And Se?or Shamus may even want me to dance with the men at his Saturday dances." She had a mental image of dancing with Hedley and shivered at the way it made her feel "If people saw me dancing with men, they would think that I _like_ doing it, and they would have no right to think that." It would simply be part of her job as a waitress to dance with men, but the thought of it caused an emotional churning inside her. She wasn't sure if what she felt when she was dancing with Hedley -- or might feel with any other man she danced with -- was a good thing or a bad thing, and that left her very confused. "We could use the extra money, Dulcita," Teresa said. "And it would not be hard for me to fix one of my dresses for you by tomorrow." She gave a small sigh. "Maybe Senor O'Toole would excuse you from dancing if you really did not want to. I do not want you to do anything that you truly dislike." Arnie relaxed. "Then I will be a busboy, I think." "Well," Dolores said, winking at Teresa, "if you are _afraid_ to be a waitress..." The transformed girl looked surprised. "Afraid? Why should I be afraid?" "I do not know," her cousin answered, "but that is what it sounds like to me." She paused a beat for effect. "And I would not expect that of you." Arnie frowned. "You are trying to shame me into taking the waitress job, Dolores, and it will not work." "Good," Ysabel said. "Because I think you should decide on your own... to be a waitress." Enrique nodded in agreement, his mouth full of food. Arnie laughed. "You, too, Ysabel -- _and_ Enrique." She looked at her youngest sister. "Constanza, you are the only one who is not pushing me to be a waitress. What do you say?" The young girl took a bite of frajita to give herself a moment to think. "I..." She finally answered, "It is like when Mama cooks something new, something we never ate before. Sometimes... Sometimes, the food looks funny and - maybe - it smells funny. Mama says that we do not have to eat it all, but we got to, at least, try it. If we eat some, and we do not like it, we do not have to eat any more, but we do gotta try some." Dolores' eyes went from Constanza to Arnie. "And what do you think of what Constanza just said?" "I think that I have a very smart little sister," Arnie replied with a wry smile. She held up her hands as if in surrender. "All right, I will _try_ being a waitress - for a week; it will mean more money. But if I do not like it, I will not 'eat' any more, and I will be a busboy." * * * * * "So how were things at the store this past week?" Kaitlin asked. Trisha leaned back and took another sip of after dinner coffee. "Pretty good, I'd say. We're working as hard as ever these days." "Some of us are working _too_ hard," Liam added. Trisha gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean, Liam?" "I mean..." he explained, "... that you're still trying to carry - _drag_ would be the better word - twenty-five and even fifty pound sacks of feed." Kaitlin looked shocked. "Trisha! In your condition that could be very dangerous." "That's what I thought, too," he said. "I don't think she should be doing things like that anymore." Trisha shook her head. "I don't see it that way. I've been lugging sacks of feed around since I was a kid. Why should I stop now?" "You could seriously strain something," Kaitlin explained. "You... You could even lose your baby." Liam's face grew stern. "Trisha, I'm your older brother now, and you promised to mind me. I'm _telling_ you that I want you to stay behind the counter from now on. Leave the heavy lifting to Mateo and me." "And I'm telling you that it's my store as much as it is yours, and I won't be stuck behind the counter." Kaitlin glared at her former husband. "You're right, Trisha. The store _is_ as much yours as it is Liam's. But twenty percent of it is _mine_, and I agree with Liam. The store is more _ours_ than it is yours, so you _will_ stay behind the counter." "And if I don't?" Kaitlin's eyebrows narrowed. "Do you really think that I'm giving you a choice?" "No; no you aren't." Trisha sighed. "I'll do it, but I won't like it -- and I will remember your bad attitude." Kaitlin chuckled. "Go right ahead. As long as you _remember_ from behind the counter." * * * * * Monday, May 27, 1872 "Wakey, wakey," Molly called through the closed door to Flora and Lylah's room. Flora groaned. "Go away!" "Yeah," Lylah added. "We got us a couple o'real bad belly aches." Molly opened the door and walked in. "O'course, ye have. 'Tis yuir monthlies, just like I told ye." She closed the door behind her. "Get outta them beds. Now!" The pair had to obey, and they did with no little moaning and clutching at their stomachs. "How long're we gonna feel like this?" Lylah whined. "Four days," Molly answered, "once yuir flows get going." Flora gave her a suspicious look. "Our 'flows'; what's going to be flowing, Molly? It-It isn't... blood, is it?" "Aye, it is - and it'll be coming outta yuir privates for the next four days." Lylah shook her head. "A... A man can't bleed for four straight days. He-He'd die." Molly chuckled. "It ain't _men_ that bleed like this - yuir monthlies, we call 'em. 'Tis only women... like the two of ye." She waited a beat. "And ye'll be doing it _every_ month for the next twenty years or more. Unless ye're pregnant, that is." "And _that_ ain't never gonna happen!" Lylah said emphatically. Molly smiled, remembering that Laura had used almost the exact same words. 'And look at her now,' she thought. Aloud, she replied, "And who's t'be saying 'never', me girl? Ye never thought ye'd be having monthlies, did ye?" "No, we didn't," Flora answered sadly. "But now that we have them, what do we do about them?" "Since ye're asking, Flora, I'll be showing ye first. Take off yuir nightgown and drawers." Flora grasped her nightgown below her waist and pulled it up over her head. As she did, Molly looked down at the new woman's drawers. 'No sight o'blood - yet,' she observed silently. "Now what?" Flora asked. She had undone the bow that held her drawers tight at her waist. The garment fell down around her feet, and she stepped out of them without bothering to pick them up. Molly reached into the small cloth bag she was carrying and pulled out a long, narrow strip of cloth with a string attached to each corner. "This." She handed the strip to Flora. "Set it b'tween yuir legs and tie them strings off on yuir hips, so it stays in place." "Okay, but I don't see how this'll help." Flora did as she was told. In a minute or so, she was looking down dubiously at the loose-fitting loincloth. The older woman took a roll of white cotton from the bag and handed it to the almost naked woman. "Put this in yuir pouch--that thing ye just tied on ye." "O-Okay..."Flora said hesitantly, doing as Molly directed. "Feels... weird." She gave a slight shiver as she felt the rolled cotton press against her privates. Molly nodded. "Aye, but 'tis a lot better than not having something down thuir. Ye'll be seeing that for yuirself soon enough." She waited a moment. "Now get dressed and head downstairs t'be helping with breakfast." "Yuir turn," she added, handing a second pouch to Lylah. "And hurry up. Thuir's work t'be done, and the two of ye need to be getting to it." Lylah looked up from tying the knot on her right hip. "We hurt, _and_ we're gonna be bleeding for the next four days. How come we gotta work?" "Because ye ain't going t'be getting off from work for something that's happened t'every woman since Mother Eve," Molly told her. "I don't take time off for me own monthlies, and neither does _any_ other woman that works here." "But I _hurt_," Lylah complained. Molly tried to look sympathetic. "I'll have Maggie make ye some herb tea. That sometimes helps. So does hard work, come t'think of it." She smiled wryly. "Ain't that handy?" * * * * * "Are you ready, Arnolda?" Dolores asked, as they reached the entrance to the Eerie Saloon. Arnie took a breath to steady herself. "No, but I am here." She walked through the batwing doors and into the Saloon with Dolores right behind her. "Arnie," Molly greeted her. "And Dolores, too. Good morning to the both o'ye." She looked closely at Arnie. "Since ye're in a dress, Arnie, I take it ye decided t'be working here as a waitress, instead of a busboy - a busgirl - whatever." The girl had worn the green dress that she sometimes wore to church. In the past, Teresa had always just pinned it to fit her, but her mother had worked most of Sunday, altering it to her actual size. "I... I wanted to talk to Se?or Shamus about that. Where is he?" "He'll be in his office just now." Molly pointed to the door, set in the wall near one end of the bar. As if on cue, the door opened, and Shamus stepped out. He saw the group and walked over. "G'morning, ladies. I see ye decided t'be me waitress, Arnie." "No," Arnie said, feeling unsure. "That is, I-I don't _know_ if I want to be a waitress, but I-I also know that I want to _try_ waitressing. My Papa used to say, 'The greatest mistake you can make is to be afraid to make a mistake. '" Shamus lifted a curious eyebrow. "I ain't sure what ye're saying, Arnie. Do ye want t'be working for me or don't ye?" "I do, but only _maybe_ as a waitress. If... If you don't mind, I'd like to try the job for a... a week. If I like it, fine. If I don't, then - if you still want me -- I will be a busboy." Shamus considered the idea. "And if I don't like yuir work - or if ye _steal_ from me again - I can be firing ye outright. A trial week, that seems fair, I suppose." "And I will train her to do the job right - if you do not mind," Dolores added. "It will be easier than for you or Molly to do it." Arnie's mind seemed to be somewhere else. She was thinking about mentioning the idea of not dancing, but it hardly seemed to be the right moment to bring up such a distraction. Molly looked uncertain. "I still got all that work t'be doing with the Cactus Blossoms." She smiled. "All right, Dolores, ye've got a deal." She spat into her hand and offered it, first to Dolores and then to Arnie. Both shook hands eagerly, and the matter was settled. * * * * * Paul Grant yanked at the leather cord, tightening the strap holding his bedroll tightly behind his saddle. "Done," he said, satisfied that it was secure. He glanced over at Jessie Hanks, who was fixing her own rig on Useless, the horse she'd taken from Toby Hess all those months ago. She looked to be as far along in her preparations as he was. "Glad t'see you two ain't gone yet," a voice behind him said. Jessie turned. "Hey, Wilma, you come over t'see me and Paul head out?" "I did," Wilma replied. "In fact, I even brought you - you 'n' Paul - a going-away present." She tossed Jessie a small drawstring bag. Jessie caught the bag. "Thanks." She loosened the cord that held the bag closed and looked inside. "Wilma!" she hissed indignantly, as a blush spread across her face. "What's the matter?" Wilma asked innocently, stepping in close to where her sister was standing. "I figured that you'd pack yourself _some_ riding coats" she replied in a soft voice. "I just wanted t'make sure that you had _enough_." Jessie quickly stashed the condoms in a saddlebag. "More'n enough, I'd say, but thanks." "Just trying t'take care of my little sister. Lord knows, I want you to enjoy your... trip." The demimonde chuckled. "I'm sure you 'n' Paul'll put 'em to good use." "We will, and thanks again." Before Wilma could reply, Shamus and Molly walked over. "Hello t'ye, Wilma," Shamus said cheerfully. "Jessie, I brought ye that bottle I promised, some fine Kentucky sipping whiskey t'be toasting the bride 'n' groom with. " "Thanks, Shamus." Jessie took the brown glass bottle from him and stuffed it carefully in the same saddlebag that she'd just placed the condoms in. She arranged a pocket for it in the folded clothes already in the bag. "I just come out t'be saying goodbye," Molly told her. "The two of ye have a good trip and come back to us as soon as ye can." She leaned over and kissed Jessie on the cheek. Paul put his foot in a stirrup and rose up into the saddle of Ash, his cowpony. "You ready, Jess?" "Just about." She closed her saddlebag, putting the strap through the metal hitch that held it tight. She'd been practicing riding in a skirt, and she scrambled quickly onto Useless. "See y'all real soon," she called, as the pair started off. Molly waved. "Good bye, and... be careful." "Don't worry," Paul answered. "I'll take care of her." Wilma smiled. "Mmm, I'll just bet you will. Have fun, sister." "We will." Jessie turned Useless to face west and rode down the street. Paul waved one last time and followed after her. * * * * * Phillipia Stone glanced over at the small clock ticking softly on the corner of her desk. "All right, children, it's 3 PM, and class is dismissed for the day. Please put your books and papers away and raise your hands when you're ready to go." She waited a moment, watching her students scrambling before she spoke again. "Except for Abe Scudder, Basil Mackechnie, Paula Frick, and Ernesto Sanchez. The four of you will be staying for a while, so keep out your pencils and tablets." "Mrs. Stone," Basil Mackechnie whined. "Luis Gonzales and Sam Yingling was fighting, too. How come they ain't gotta stay and write lines?" Phillipia gave him a stern look. "Because I saw what happened. Their sole participation in the fight was to pull you and Paula away while Abe and Ernesto were having at it. Three on one is hardly fair, is it?" "Umm... no, ma'am," the boy answered, looking down at his desk. "I guess it ain't." He didn't sound convinced. The teacher waited for the rest of her students to leave. Most did so quickly. When Luis Gonzales started walking towards Paula Frick's desk, rather than towards the door, she asked, "Are you that eager to stay here and write lines, Luis? I can arrange it, if you are." "No... ah, no, thank you, Mrs. Stone," he replied. He turned and all but ran for the door. Phillipia chuckled for a moment before she turned to face the foursome. "Basil, Abe, and Paula, I want you each to write, fifty times each, 'I will not tease others and start fights.'" Paula moaned. "Fifty times!" "Yes," Phillipia told her. "Unless you'd like to try for more." The girl shook her head. "No, ma'am." She picked up her pencil and began printing out the words. "I thought not." The teacher shifted her glance to Ernesto. "And you, Ernesto, your sentence is 'I will not lose my temper and get into fights.' And you will also be writing that sentence fifty times." Ernesto sighed. "Yes, Mrs. Stone." "And you should all know that I will also be writing something," Phillipa went on. "Each of you will be taking home a note from me explaining why you were kept after school today, a note, which each of you will return to me tomorrow, _with_ a parent's signature." * * * * * "Are we all agreed, then?" Shamus asked. "Three nights a week?" "Don't you mean _four_ nights?" Hiram King corrected him. "Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights - starting tonight - we play for your Cactus Blossoms, and, on Saturday, we do the regular dance." Shamus rolled his eyes. "Aye, four nights then." "Four is more than enough," Tomas Rivera said. "Much more and my wife and my children would forget what I look like." Natty Ryland laughed. "They won't. You can go right home after the 10 o'clock show, if you want. And with a little extra money in your pocket to make it up to them." "Aye," Shamus added. "I'll be paying yuir band five dollars a night for the three weeknights. Ye can all be taking that home, along with the $9.50 ye get for playing at me dance on Saturday." Natty shook his head. "Not directly. I was thinking about hanging around to talk to Flora - or maybe Nancy." "I can't hardly be blaming ye for that, but ye'll be spending enough time with 'em both when the music for thuir new dance gets here." "And you'll be paying us extra for practicing with your Blossoms, right?" Hiram, the leader of the Happy Days Town Band, asked. Shamus nodded, "I will, just like we agreed." "That's all I wanted to know." Hiram put out his hand. Shamus spat into his palm and shook the other man's hand. "Done." And the arrangement was sealed. * * * * * Tuesday, May 28, 1872 From the front page of the Eerie edition of _The_ _Tucson_ _Citizen_ ' Well and _Finally_ Done ` "The Eerie town council has finally resolved - we hope - the ` matter of Shamus O'Toole and his potion. This paper can ` hardly fault them for the length of time that resolution took, ` since _The_ _Citizen_ has, from the first, urged caution and a ` full consideration of _all_ points of view and of all concerns." ` "There were some people who felt that the matter was settled as ` soon as they made _their_ opinion known. There are always ` people like that, people who bask in the absolute certainty of ` their beliefs and in the absolute _falsehood_ (and, probably, ` the evil intent) of any other." ` "Even if this paper did agree with their ideas about how to handle ` Mr. O'Toole's concoction - and it did not - fairness and a deeply ` held belief in the democratic process would have had us ask that ` all other opinions be heard and given equal consideration." ` "Which is exactly what this paper did." ` "The town council listened, and _The_ _Citizen_ thanks them for ` doing so, and it congratulates them on what would seem to be a ` most _equitable_ compromise. Reverend Yingling asked for a ` committee. That committee now exists, and he is the chairman. ` Father Diego de Castro, of Our Lady of Blessed Charity Church, ` has agreed to be the vice chairman. The other committee members ` were chosen to ensure that a range of voices are represented: ` Horace Styron, of Styron's Hardware and Mining Supplies; Don ` Luis Ortega, of the Ortega Ranch; and, in a surprising but very ` logical move, Shamus O'Toole, himself." ` "The role of the committee has also, we think, been properly ` defined as an advisory body to Judge Parnassus Humphreys. Since ` the potion - primarily - has been given to those found guilty in ` his court, this would seem to be most appropriate." ` "There are those who feel that the town council was wrong, that a ` stronger committee with a stronger role would have been the ` better way to go. There were also those who felt no need for a ` committee of any sort. _The_ _Citizen_ applauds the town council ` for their wisdom -- _particularly_ where it agreed with our own ` thoughts - and wishes the Reverend and his committee much success ` in its deliberations. It also counsels those who would see the com- ` mittee in another role to give it a chance in its current form." * * * * * Tommy Carson stepped nervously through the swinging doors and into the Eerie Saloon. "T-Telegram for Miss Jessie Hanks," he called out. "Telegram f-for Miss J-Jessie Hanks." "She's outta town for a few days," Molly said, walking over to the boy. "I'll just be taking it for her." The boy looked uncertain. "I-I don't know ma'am..." His voice trailed off. "It's all right, Tommy," Nancy told the boy, joining Molly. "M-Miz Osbourne?" he asked. Nancy nodded. "One and the same. How are you doing with your spelling words?" "I'm getting better, I guess. Mrs. Stone, she's been quizzing me on the words, just like you done." "Like I _did_," she corrected him. "How are your other grades?" "I... Miz Osbourne, my PA told me that I ain't supposed t'talk to you." He sounded embarrassed as he said it. Nancy looked stunned. "I-I'm sorry, Tommy. I don't want to get you in trouble." "Why don't ye be giving me that thuir telegram?" Molly asked the boy sourly. "And ye can be getting the he - getting outta here?" The boy all but shoved the telegram into Molly's hands and hurried towards the door. At the last moment, he stopped and yelled back. "Goodbye, Miz Osbourne. I'm sorry, but please don't tell nobody that we talked." Then he was gone. "G-Goodbye, Tommy." Nancy whispered, her face furrowed in anger. She closed her eyes and gave a deep, mournful sigh. When she opened her eyes, she added. "Well, that pretty much settles who sent that telegram back to Hartford." Molly studied the other woman's face. "Are ye all right, Nancy? Do ye want t'be laying down for a wee bit?" "No, I-I'm -- no, I'm _not_ fine, but I will be. Right now, I think some hard work'll do me more good than anything else I might do." Molly smiled and placed a reassuring hand on the younger woman's arm. "Hard work, is it? Well, _that_ we got plenty of." "Don't I know it? By the way, what's in that telegram for Jessie, if you don't mind my asking?" "T'be telling the truth, I'm a wee bit curious about that meself. Well..." She tore open the envelope. "...thuir's only one way t'be finding out." She took out the folded paper, unfolded it, and began to read. ` "Miss Jessie Hanks ` Eerie Saloon ` Eerie, Arizona" ` "Jessie. Urgent reasons you not - repeat - not come to Hanna's ` wedding. Will explain later." ` "Love, Piety and Hanna Tyler." Molly's eyebrows furrowed. "Something's wrong; very, _very_ wrong." "You think Jessie's in trouble," Nancy asked. The older woman nodded. "I do, and thuir's no earthly way t'be warning her about it. They're traveling cross-country, and I can't be asking a man t'ride hard after 'em, just 'cause I don't like the wording of this here telegram. Paul 'n' her are riding into an unholy mess of trouble, I'm thinking, and all we can be doing about it is t'be praying that it ain't half as bad as it sounds." * * * * * Aaron Silverman made his way back through the storeroom to the small desk that he and Ramon had rigged up for Ernesto. "Nu, Ernesto," he said, trying to sound cheerful, "what're you doing back here, instead of up front in the store?" "I didn't want to be up there today," the boy answered. He sounded angry. And sad. "And why not? Most days, we almost have to bribe you with some of Bubbie Rachel's sugar cookies to get you to come back here to do schoolwork." "Because... I don't want to." He looked up at Aaron's face. "Because Uncle Ra - Se?or de Aguilar is in the front, and I don't want to talk to him." He waited a moment. "Zeyde, do I have to go home when you close the store? I wanna stay here." Aaron's head jerked back in surprise. "Here; you want you should live in my storeroom?" "No, I thought - maybe - I could live... upstairs... live with you and Bubbie Rachel." The man moved a crate over by the desk and sat down on it. "Now why do you want to give up that nice room you got over at your mother's house? As the Sages say, it's a foolish bargain to trade what you know for what you don't know." "I don't wanna live with Mama - or Se?or de Aguilar - anymore. They don't love me... they... they lied to me 'n' Lupe about what Mama was, 'n' how she _got_ t'be my Mama." "So I heard." Aaron thought quickly. "You ever think that they lied to you _because_ they loved you. Because they didn't want to upset you and Lupe. They just wanted the both of you should just be happy living here with 'em. For the sake of peace, the Sages tell us, you can lie; just so that peace isn't a lie. What you got with Maggie and Ramon, that ain't a lie." "But she... they... they shoulda told us the truth before now." "Are you mad because they lied or because they kept up the lie?" "Both!" "That's a lot to be mad at. Like they say that anger comes in as a guest, but, if you ain't careful, it winds up as the host." "What does that mean, Zeyde?" "It means that you gotta work all this out with your mother and Ramon. A-und..." He pronounced the word as if it had two syllables. "...you _ain't_ gonna work it out if you're living over here." "You won't help me?" Ernesto sounded almost ready to cry. "Of course I will." Aaron decided to lighten the mood _ein_ _bissle_ [a little]. "Ain't I already given you all this wonderful advice? This is something you gotta figure out for yourself. You can't let it get you sour like a bad apple. _But_, while you're figuring, I'll be here, ready to talk to you about it, okay?" He tussled the boy's hair and gave him a big smile and the wink of his eye. Ernesto couldn't help but grin. "Okay, Zeyde." * * * * * "Thunderation!" Thad Yingling's voice echoed through his household. "I won't stand for it. I swear I will not stand for it!" "Good Heavens, Thad," Martha Yingling said, hurrying into her husband's study. "Whatever is the matter?" "This..." He held up the newspaper and waved it about in the air. "This... rag, this pack of lies, have your read it, Martha? Have you read the so-called 'editorial'?" She shook her head quickly. "No, no, I haven't." "Just as well," he answered. "Rubbish... absolute rubbish. That Unger boy ought to be ashamed of himself." "Whatever do you mean?" "That committee the town council stuck me with, he doesn't describe it until page 3, but most of the second page is filled with an editorial that makes it sound like the foremost idea of the nineteenth century." He crumbled the newspaper. "And Unger is... congratulating them for doing it - why, he's... he's even taking some of the credit for it." "He isn't!" "He is, and, in a way, it _is_ his fault. 'Take your time,' he kept telling the council in this _rag_ of his. And... And he kept raising questions, putting ideas into other peoples' heads... and their mouths." The minister all but growled. "I only pray that, when the Wrath of the Lord settles upon this town for the sin that the town council committed in foisting that less than worthless committee on me, I pray that Roscoe Unger receives his full share of the punishment!" * * * * * Arnie stood, watching the image in her mother's mirror, as it - as she - buttoned the last buttons of her new dress. 'Bad enough to get only _clothes_ for my birthday,' she thought, 'but they want to see how I _look_ in them, too.' "Still..." she whispered, considering what she saw. The dress was indigo, a fine contrast to her coppery skin. Trim at the collar called attention to her pert breasts. The dress was cut tight down to her narrow waist, and then it flared out over her wide hips and flowed down almost to the floor. In spite of herself, Arnie smiled, turning slowly to the left and right. "Nice... _very_ nice." She was posing, admiring the way she looked. "I wonder what Hedley would --" No! Don't think about him. She tried to follow her own advice, but, in her mind's eye, she could see him smiling, nodding in approval at her appearance. "Hola, Arnolda," Dolores called from the other side of the closed door. "Are you coming out any time today? We have to get back to Shamus' very soon." Arnie shook her head to clear it of her thoughts about Hedley and headed for the door. "I am out; I am out," she answered as she stepped into the main room. "Very pretty," Teresa said. "Turn around, so I can see how you look from the sides and the back." Arnie did. "When I saw that dress in Silverman's," her mother told her, "I knew it was made for you. And I was right." "I still do not see why you all had to buy me clothes," Arnie protested. Dolores chuckled. "You are not a child anymore, cousin, are you; to be upset because you got clothes instead of toys for your birthday? Besides you will need a lot of clothes for working at the Saloon." "And they should be your own clothes," Teresa added, "not my clothes pinned up to fit you." Arnie sighed, in surrender. "I suppose." "Good," Ysabel chimed in. "Now go change into the blouse and skirt that _I_ gave you. I want to see how you look in them next." * * * * * The wall clock had just stuck 8, when Clyde Ritter walked into the Saloon. He stopped just inside the door and looked around. 'Where's the show?' he thought. He saw Flora talking to Nancy over at the bar. He waved to catch her eye and took a seat at a nearby table. "Good evening... Clyde," Flora greeted him when she came over to his table. "What would you like this evening?" He smiled and stood up. "Your company, Flora." He gestured towards an empty chair next to his. "Would you please bring me a beer - and one of whatever you'd like - and join me for a while?" "My pleasure," she answered in an affected purr. She hurried off, returning quickly with two beers. She set them down on the table and stood next to the empty chair. He stood up again and pulled out the chair, pushing it back in as she sat down. "I had hoped to see you dancing tonight," he said, taking his own seat. "Is there a problem?" "No. Jessie Hanks was supposed to play for us. Her and that deputy of hers rode off yesterday for something over near Yuma. They'll be gone a good week, maybe more. O'Toole hired a band - the one that plays at the Saturday dance - to fill in, but they're only going to play for us Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights." "I'll have to come in one of those nights, then - if I can." He paused and tried to look sad. "My... ah, work doesn't let me come in here _every_ night." "Your work or your _wife_?" His expression changed to embarrassment - and concern. "You... ah... know about Cecelia?" She smiled broadly. "I do, but it - she - doesn't bother me - not too much, anyway. A handsome man like you, it's no surprise that some lucky girl managed to trap - to get you to marry her." It was a line she'd been practicing since Nancy had talked to her about him, and she almost had to bite to tongue to keep from laughing at how well it seemed to work. "Well," he said, relief obvious in his voice. "I'm certainly glad to hear that. I was afraid --" "Oh, don't _ever_ be afraid with me." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I like you, Clyde. I like you a _whole_ _lot_." He took her hand in his. "Good, 'cause I like you, too. How about I come in here early tomorrow evening and buy you dinner, if I may." "Mmm, I don't see why not... Clyde." She spoke his name softly. "I like it when a man buys me things: a beer... or dinner... or other... things." She sighed again. "It makes me like him _even_ _more_." Flora knew all those words that _Violet_...that all those wheedling gold diggers had said to Forry. She had told Nancy, it was all just a business deal. Maybe it was, or maybe it was just a way to show up O'Toole. She wasn't sure. Maybe it was a way to get a powerful ally that she might call on down the road. The important thing was that Clyde seemed to going along with the game. She could hardly believe how easily the words came out of her and, more importantly, how much he seemed to be buying what she was saying. Ritter's smile grew into a broad grin, as he considered what "even more" might imply. 'I'll certainly have to keep that in mind.' * * * * * Wednesday, May 29, 1872 Clyde Ritter shook his head. "I'm sorry, boys, but I'm not about to hire someone who plans to quit as soon as they get enough money to go gold hunting." To himself, he added, 'especially when they're dumb enough to tell me about it in advance.' "But we's good workers," Septimus Blake protested. He was a short, well-muscled man with the dark skin of a person who'd spent most of his life working under the sun. He wore dirty, blue-gray work clothes and a three- or four-day growth of beard. "I'm not saying you aren't," Ritter replied, "but I'm still not interested." He paused a half beat. "I will give you ten dollars for that mule of yours." Septimus' partner, George Higgins, answered for them both. "No, thank ya, Mr. Ritter. We'll need Homer t'get what gear we do have up to them new gold fields in the Dakota Territory." George was dressed much the same as Sep Blake, but he was taller with no hair on his head, top or chin or in-between, except for a pair of bushy red eyebrows. "In that case, I can't help you." Before anyone could say another word, the bell over the door jangled. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." Ritter's voice trailed off, signaling the end of the conversation. He came out from behind the counter and hurried over to greet a more important caller. "Reverend Yingling, what brings you in here this morning?" "Very little, just now," Yingling answered. "I wanted to ask you, Horace Styron, and, perhaps, a few others to come over to my home around six this evening for supper and to discuss how we might _persuade_ the town council to revoke their inane decision regarding O'Toole's concoction, to abolish that... _committee_, and to give us the sort of authority needed to _properly_ deal with that foul brew of his." Ritter considered the idea. It would mean missing dinner with Flora, but he could make it up to her. This was important, too. Besides, he didn't need the grief he'd get from Cecelia if she heard that there was a meeting, and that he _didn't_ go. As far as dinner with Flora was concerned, well, what that withered, old potato, Cecelia, didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "I'll be there," he sighed. "You know, I thought we had 'em, that they were gonna give us what we wanted." "I also think that they would have done so -- if it hadn't been for that thrice-damned Roscoe Unger and his newspaper. He insisted that the council stall in their considerations, and he used that time to stir up Ortega and those Mexicans to oppose us." Ritter nodded. "I know just what you mean. Unger was a real pain in the... arse about things, getting everybody all riled up with them lies he printed." "Indeed, and I must admit that I take some small pleasure in the certainty that he will be punished in the Next World for defying the Will of our Lord." "If you say so, Reverend, but I don't wanna wait that long for him t'get his due. Hell - excuse me - Heck, I'd pay good money to see that happen right here in Eerie." The Reverend studied his companion's expression for a moment, but then pursed his lips and said nothing. * * * * * Luke Freeman walked into the Feed & Grain and over to the counter where Trisha was sitting. "Afternoon, Miss O'Hanlan. How're you doing t'day?" "Well enough," Trisha answered. "And you?" "Tolerable well, I s'pose." He shrugged and took a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. "Carl Osbourne 'n' me come into town for supplies." He unfolded the list and glanced at it quickly. "First thing's two hundred pounds of Cosgrove's Oat Supplements." "We're having a sale on Cosgrove's products this week. A fifty pound sack'll cost you less than two twenty-five pound sacks normally would. Do you want the larger size?" He thought for a moment. "Sounds right good t'me. Let's go with them fifty pound bags." "Fine," she replied. "I'll go get one for a start." Liam had been standing near enough to listen. "No, you won't, Trisha." He cupped his hands over his mouth. "Mateo, bring four fifty pound sacks of Cosgrove's Oat Suppliments over here." "S?, Se?or." Mateo, a burly Mexican, had been stocking shelves in a corner of the store. He put down a bottle and walked over to a stack of large gray and purple muslin sacks. He grabbed one, threw it effortlessly over his shoulder, and started for the counter. Trisha frowned at her brother. "I could have gotten that sack as easily as Mateo." "You'd have spent a good five minutes - looking ridiculous the whole time -- _dragging_ that sack over here." Liam looked at her sternly. "Besides... didn't we _agree_ that you wouldn't waste time trying to lift heavy stuff like that anymore?" She sighed, remembering Liam's threat to reveal her pregnancy. "Yes, Liam." "That's what I like to hear," he told her. "You keep on saying 'Yes, Liam', and we'll get on just fine." She gritted her teeth and spoke slowly, trying not very well to hide her anger. "I'll say it, Liam, just like we agreed, but don't expect things to go fine and dandy." "I know what to expect, _little_ _sister_, and what _not_ to expect." Liam turned to his customer. "Now then, what's the next item on that list of yours, Luke?" * * * * * "Is everything closed up, Winthrop?" Clyde Ritter bellowed at his older son. The boy nodded. "Yes, sir, but I don't understand..." "You don't have to understand, boy. I have a meeting over at Reverend Yingling's, and I want the place locked tight for the night before I go." "It is, sir. I-I had Hammy Lincoln feed and water the horses, as soon as you told me you wanted to leave early." "Good, and what about those Mex?" "Pablo helped Hammy. Nando put away the livery. They'll be going home, as soon as they're done." "Even better. You get going yourself. Tell your Ma I'm over at the reverend's house for a meeting, and that I'll be home when it's done." He waited a half-beat. "Now, get going." Winthrop nodded and ran out the front door without another word. Clyde pulled his key ring from his vest pocket. He turned the "Open" sign on the door around, so the "Closed" side faced out. He walked through the doorway, turned and put the key in the lock. "Mr. Ritter?" a voice behind him said. He turned around and saw Hammy standing there, with two grubby men waiting behind him on the wooden sidewalk. "A couple o' gents tah see'ya, sir." He recognized the two of them. "Yes?" "You recollect us, sir?" one of them said. He pointed his thumb towards his chest. "Septimus Blake. And this here's George Higgins. We was in this morning looking for work." Now Clyde remembered. "I'm still not hiring men who plan to leave as soon as they get a grubstake." "Maybe not t'work in your livery stable," Blake replied. He paused and glanced at Hammy Lincoln. "We'd like this conversation to be in private, if you don't mind, Mr. Ritter, sir." Ritter nodded warily and told Hammy to head on home. When the black man was out of earshot, Blake continued. "I heard you talking to that reverend fellah 'bout another job, one just right for a couple of men looking t'leave town in a hurry." "Look," Ritter said, beginning to lose his patience. "I'm in kind of a hurry, myself, right now." He wanted to tell Flora that he had to cancel their plans for tonight. 'Friday, maybe,' he thought. 'Cecelia has some sort of hen party every Friday.' The two men smiled. "This won't take too long, Mr. Ritter," Higgins answered. "You still looking for somebody t'pay a visit on that Unger fellah?" "And if I am?" "Twenty dollars each, and it's a done deal." "And just what would I be paying for?" Ritter asked suspiciously. "Let's just say that me and Higgins are good at making low-lives respect their betters." Ritter scowled. So that was their game. He saw possibilities in the offer. He was tired of just being Horace Styron's backup man, of paying Styron's way at - nevermind that. If it worked, this would be a chance to show the Reverend what he could get done. Just the same, there _was_ some risk; better to think about it first. "Can we talk about this another time?" He pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time. "We can if we got the job." "I said, we can talk about it later." Clyde was too eager to see Flora to really want to deal with what was being discussed. His thoughts were mostly centered on how she looked in her "Captain Spaulding" costume, and how she'd look _out_ of it. Both men nodded. "Yes, sir... later," Sep Blake said, touching the rim of his hat, as if saluting. "Just remember, sir, time and tide wait for no man." "Fine, fine; just get out of my way." He stepped quickly around the pair and headed down the street. They were talking about scaring Unger enough to mend his ways. Shutting the printer up would be a good start to taking over Trisha O'Hanlan's seat on the board at the next election, but such a measure would be better if Yingling could sign off on it. After all, the Reverend seemed to want something done, too. Blake sneered after the businessman. "He hasn't got any spine, but there's a way to give him some. I think we've gotten all we needed from this visit. Let's go, Georgie." * * * * * "Everything okay?" Lylah asked Judge Humphreys and Doc Upshaw. The Judge swallowed the bite of steak he'd been chewing. "Just fine." "Same here," the physician agreed. He was enjoying one of Maggie's specialties, baked chicken with a spicy chocolate sauce. Lylah refilled their water glasses. "Either o'you need anything, you let me know, okay?" When both men nodded, she headed back to her seat by the bar, the one set aside for the waitress on duty at the restaurant. "He's still watching," R.J. whispered, as she sat down. She glanced over at the table where Luke Freeman had been sitting for the past half hour, nursing a beer. He was looking her way. "Dang it," she spat. "So he is." At that moment, their eyes met, Luke winked at her. He lifted his glass, as if in salute, and took a drink. "What the hell does he think he's doing?" she said in exasperation. Still, she caught herself smiling back at him. He thought she was pretty. Well, no surprise there. She was starting to accept - maybe even _like_ -- her fetching face and figure. Without thinking about it, she sat up straight, as if posing for him. "And what the hell am _I_ doing?" She continued sitting that way even when he didn't come over to talk to her. He just stayed where he was, staring. She glanced at others in the room. When she had to, she walked around, waiting on the dinners at "Maggie's Place." The big wall clock ticked on. And whenever she glanced his way, Luke was still staring in her direction. "This is getting silly," she told R.J., who mumbled something she didn't quite hear. All she could think of was how embarrassing it was. She felt... she wasn't sure how she felt. Part of her felt like a bug on display. When she looked at her reflection in the big mirror behind the bar, she saw how good she looked tonight. She suddenly felt even more annoyed. With a girl like her just a short walk away from him, why was Luke Freeman just sitting there like a bump on a log? * * * * * Clyde Ritter glanced around quickly. 'Nobody's watching,' he told himself, as he stepped quickly through the swinging doors and into the Eerie Saloon. Flora was bringing a tray of beers over to Kelly, the female poker player. Clyde saw her set the tray down on the table and hand out steins to the players. Kelly said something to Flora, who curtseyed towards the woman gambler before she turned, a grimace on her face, and walked back towards the bar. "Flora," he called out, and hurried to catch up with her. She stopped and wheeled around to face him. The grimace transformed at once into a warm smile. "Why, Clyde, I didn't expect you to come by this early." "I had to." "Oh, that's... that's sweet." She kissed his cheek. "You missed me that much." "No - Yes, I-I'm very sorry, Flora, but I can't have supper with you tonight." He sighed. "I have to go to a... meeting." She pouted, "Can't you get out of it?" "I wish I could. I... I really do, but I just can't miss it." He waited a half beat. "Much as I'd like to." Flora looked down at the floor. "I understand. If you _have_ to be there..." Her voice trailed off. "I do, but _please_... please let me make it up to you. Friday, I-I promise. I'll make it up to you Friday." "Well... I suppose you should get another chance. But it'll take more than just buying me dinner - like you were _supposed_ _to_ tonight - to get back into my good graces." She studied his expression. "If you _really_ want to." "I do; I do." He meant it, even if he wasn't sure exactly _how_ he would make it up to her. 'Well,' he thought, 'I'll have two days to figure it out.' He was hooked for sure! Flora smiled in victory. "Then, I'll see you Friday, and, just so you don't back out again..." She kissed him quickly on the lips, startling both Clyde and herself. She had actually enjoyed the kiss and the warmth it aroused in her. His interest in her was flattering. But it was only the kiss she had liked, not the man. 'Damn monthlies; I'm as horny as Lylah,' she chided herself as she hurried off. Clyde broke into a broad grin, as he watched her scurrying back to the bar. He quickly wiped his mouth with a kerchief - couldn't let anybody notice any lip paint - and started towards Yingling's meeting. * * * * * Martha Yingling stood in the door to her husband's study. "More coffee, gentlemen?" She held a tray with a steaming coffee pot, a sugar bowl, and a small creamer. "We're fine for now, my dear," the Reverend replied. "Just put the pot over there, if you would." He pointed to a table in the corner. She put the tray down on the table. "Very well, then, Thad. Will you be out later to say goodnight to the children?" "If I can." He took a breath. "Please close the door behind you." He waited until she had, then turned to face Horace Styron, Clyde Ritter, and Jubal Cates. "Now then, to the business at hand, O'Toole's potion." Styron pursed his chin one and spoke. "Seems to me, the first thing we gotta do is get rid of that committee." "Or change it to one more along _our_ way of thinking," Ritter added. "That means changing a lot of minds." Yingling gave them a confident smile. "I have already started that with my sermon on last Sunday. I plan to speak more of the same truth in future sermons." "It'll take more than that," Styron said. "You're going to have to show folks that the way the committee is now is a bad idea." "Do you mean the way they set it up," Ritter asked, "or the men they put on it - not counting you two, of course?" Styron nodded. "Both. Of course. The Reverend and I'll be on the _new_ committee, too, Clyde, and there'll be a spot for you on it, as well." "We must do both, gentlemen, show the uselessness of the committee in its present form _and_ repudiate the other appointments," said Yingling. Ritter frowned. "That's gonna take a lot of work." "First thing we gotta do, is get Roscoe Unger and his paper to shut up," Styron observed. "Or get him over t'our side," Clyde added. "I wholeheartedly agree," Yingling said. "I have thought of speaking to him privately about how his opposition to our righteous work is endangering his immortal soul." He smiled grimly. "And, if that doesn't work, to see about expelling him from membership in the church." Styron shook his head. "I think we need something a bit stronger. When he wouldn't print those petitions, we threatened to pull our advertising from his paper. I even talked about going into competition against him." "You think either of those things'd work now?" Clyde asked. "Right now, I need money for stock for my shelves," Horace answered. "I don't have any to spare. And not advertising would hurt me as much as it'd hurt him. Maybe more." Clyde thought for a moment. "Maybe we need to threaten _him_, not his business." He wanted to broach the idea carefully, to see their reactions. "There were two drifters in my place today looking for an odd job. Breaking his precious printing press or beating him up'd be - -" "I do not wish to hear such things spoken of in my house," Yingling said sternly. Clyde looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Reverend. If you don't think we should do something like that..." His voice trailed off. "I am not saying what I think," Yingling said. "I am saying what I do not wish to hear it spoken about." Ritter looked at the Reverend, wondering if he meant what Ritter thought he meant. Jubal Cates had been sitting quietly, drinking his coffee and listening to the others talk. "I don't think I want to hear about it, either." He stood up. "You changing sides, Jubal?" Styron asked. Cates shook his head. "I'm still your man, Horace. And yours, too, of course, Reverend. I just think this mud is getting a little deeper than I care to wade through." "Take it easy," Styron said, putting his arm around Cates' neck. "We w