Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Spring, Part 11 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change - Spring, part 11 of 13 By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson © 2014 Sunday, June 09, 1872 Father de Castro looked down at his notes for a moment before speaking. "My friends, I have a few quick announcements before the final prayers. Last week, Don Luis Ortega presented two challenges from our congregation to Liam O'Hanlan and the board of the Methodist Church. They have accepted them both." "The first, I have spoken of already at the daily Mass. There will be an auction of the picnic baskets at the town Fourth of July festival. The lady whose basket goes for the highest price will win a prize. The high bidder for each basket will share the basket with the lady who prepared it - with a suitable chaperone, if the man is not the lady's husband, of course." He stopped for the quick chuckle from the congregation. "Some of our ladies have told me that they do not feel such a contest is proper. I disagree. Most of the baskets will be won by the husband of she who made it, and what is the sin in doing your best cooking for your husband and family? Since I will be one of the chaperones, _and_ I will be sharing a basket of delicious food, what is the sin in cooking well for your priest?" Again there was a laugh, as the man licked his lips and rubbed his stomach, as if in anticipation of a fine meal. "Nor should the men feel that they are forgotten. Our second challenge was a baseball game between our own team, the Coyotes, and a team from their church. Gaspar Gomez, you are the co-captain of the Coyotes. Is our team ready for such a game?" Gaspar stood up. He was a tall, well-muscled man with a broad smile - as usual - on his face. "Padre, on the Fourth of July, the Coyotes will be more than ready to hooowwwlllll!" His voice rose in volume and pitch as he leaned back his head, pursed his lips, and finished with a very good imitation of the southwestern coyote baying at the moon. The congregation, including Father de Castro, laughed and then burst into a round of applause. * * * * * Cuddy Smith nudged the tiny blonde sitting next to him. Cuddy and the blonde, Hettie Morris, were having breakfast with the rest of Sophie Kalish's dance troupe. "Hettie, honey," he whispered, "what's the matter with Opal? She's been just sitting there, picking at her food, for the last five minutes." "Oh, not again?" Hettie looked at her friend, Opal Sayers, a slender brunette, and frowned. "She's... It's sort of like homesick, Cuddly. She misses going to church." "Church?" "Shhh! She'll hear you." Opal looked over at them, her eyes flashing. "She already did. What's so wrong about my wanting to go to church on Sunday, _Mr._ Smith?" "Nothing, I guess," he replied. "You just looked so... miserable, I thought that it would be something more impor --" She looked daggers at him. "_More_ important; what could be more important than -" "Opal!" Sophie Kallish interrupted in a firm voice. "How many times have we gone through this? If you want to go to church, just go. I doubt that Sam Duggan would mind, and I certainly don't." The other woman looked down at her plate. "I-I'm afraid to. In big towns it's easy to blend into the crowd; nobody knows your name or your work. I don't think I'd be very... welcome here." Ruth Kantor nodded. "I hate to say it, but she's right. With all the mishigoss - the craziness - that reverend's stirred up around about O'Toole and that potion of his, the _pious_ folk of Eerie wouldn't want a..." She rolled her eyes, as if in shock and held up her hands, pretending to fend off something unwanted. "... _dancing_ _girl_ in their midst." "No," Cuddy said apologetically, "they probably wouldn't. And it'd be their loss, too, Opal." He gave the woman a comforting smile. A smile that grew broader, as a thought occurred to him. "I wonder how those fine, upright folks'd feel about _two_ dancing girls." Sophie gave him an odd look. "Why? Which of us do you think should go with her, and why would the two of us be any better received than the one?" "Don't look at me," Ruth answered quickly. "I don't even go to shul for the High Holidays, so I sure won't go to no church." Cuddy shook his head. "None of you, actually; I was thinking of Nancy Osbourne, one of Shamus' girls, the one who does the cartwheels." "She's the one that used to be a schoolmarm, ain't she?" Hettie asked, a giggle in her voice. "The very same," he said. "She was a regular churchgoer before she 'fell into sin' as Reverend Yingling would say. Why she's in such a state of disgrace that Opal here'd look positively saintly by comparison." Opal made a sour face. "That doesn't sound very fair to her." "No, I guess it wasn't, and... Oww!" He winced as Hettie punched him in the arm. "I was about to say that I was sorry about it. People came down on her real hard, and, the way it sounded to me, there wasn't much proof to what they were saying. I don't know that she's back t'church since, and, if she hasn't, she probably misses it the same as Opal does. If she has, she's probably felt one or more set of nasty eyes glaring at her. The two of 'em can go together and give each other the sort of moral support they ain't likely to get from anybody else." Hettie leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. "That's a wonderful idea, Cuddly!" "I think so, too, Cuddy," Opal said. "And I'd thank you myself, but I think I'll leave that to Hettie." The little blonde kissed him again. "And I will thank him, too; just as soon as we get finished with breakfast." * * * * * Reverend Yingling strode confidently over to the podium to begin his sermon. "My friends..." He stopped and poured himself a glass of water. As he drank, he scanned his audience. They were looking up at him, waiting to hear and believe whatever he had to tell them. "An odd thing happened at last week's meeting of our church board. We, our congregation, were challenged by the congregation of the Mexican church. These challenges were a surprise, a great surprise, but they were accepted - accepted a bit _too_ quickly, perhaps - but accepted, nonetheless, in the spirit of friendship that _should_ exist between our two houses of the Lord." "Now, some might say that the challenge of the dinner basket was an invitation to the sins of pride and gluttony, but this need not _necessarily_ be true. My own dear wife, Martha, has told me that she will be preparing a basket. I have no doubt that the contents will be delicious, _and_..." He smiled down at Martha. "...that I will have to bid high for it." "As to the second challenge, the ball game, I am not as familiar with the game as our team captain, Horace Styron..." He turned and nodded at Styron, who stood for a moment, raised his right arm and waved his fist in a gesture of victory. Styron was about to speak, when the Reverend interrupted with, "Thank you, Horace," and motioned for the man to take his seat. Once he had, looking chagrined, Yingling continued. "I have no doubt that you and your team will give your opponents a strong game. _And_ I shall be there with many of you to cheer them on." "Yes, these two challenges are most exciting, but in that excitement we must not allow ourselves to be distracted from the far greater, the far more serious challenge of Shamus O'Toole's potion." "The potion is still there, my good friends, still poised and ready to create havoc in people's lives, to change _irrevocably_ the lives of innocents, to prevent them from attaining the destiny that our Lord has prepared for them. _Yes_, this, my friends, is what I am trying to thwart." "These many weeks, I have striven mightily for the creation of a group of honest, G-d-fearing individuals, men who would assume the responsibility for that infamous elixir and would carry out those duties in a manner far wiser than we could _ever_ expect from Mr. O'Toole." "And what have we gotten instead? In their timidity... in their _perfidy_, the town council did not give us what we wanted, did not give us what we _needed_. There is no strong body to protect us. There is, instead, an _advisory_ body, a body with no power except to _suggest_ what might be done. And who are they to make their suggestions to? To a man who, I feel, does not _begin_ to grasp the true danger that O'Toole's foul concoction represents." "_And_ a man who managed - by trickery - to tie my hands in my own modest attempts to protest this unacceptable situation." Judge Humphreys jumped to his feet. "Now, just a minute, Thad -" "Let the Reverend speak," Styron shouted, and a number of voices rose in agreement. Clyde Ritter rose to his feet. "You didn't give him a chance at the board meeting, Humphreys. This is _his_ turn." "I'll sit," the Judge grumbled, as he took his chair, "but this isn't the end of it." Yingling smiled. "No... it isn't." "The Judge has called a meeting of his ill-fated _advisory_ _committee_..." The Reverend continued, saying the last with disdain. "I shall be there. The only thing that the town council did correctly, I feel, was to name me chairman, but I see nothing useful coming from that meeting. And I intend to put things aright regarding the creation of a _proper_ group to control the potion. And, with your help..." He looked upwards and raised his hands, as if in supplication." ...and our Lord's, I shall -- _we_ shall - prevail." "Amen." * * * * * "You sure you ain't got no beer, Colonel?" Fred Reinhardt asked for the third time. Reinhardt was a short, heavyset man in an expensive, but ill-fitting, dark gray suit. He had a round face with brown eyes deeply set in a round, jowly face and sparse graying hair. Priscilla Stafford sighed, hiding her disgust as best she could. It was bad enough to have this horrible little man in her... her father's house, but to be polite - even pleasant - to him, was almost more than she could bear. Still, it was her father who'd ordered her to be cordial to him, and, so, what choice did she have? She answered for her father. "We might be able to find something in that line if you absolutely insist, Mr. Reinhardt, but do try this Chardonnay." She held up her own wineglass, filled with a pale, white wine. "It goes so wonderfully with the trout." Priscilla was a tall brunette, with a slender, womanly figure. Her hair fell in ringlets to frame a heart-shaped face with green eyes and full lips. At 22, she was less than half Reinhardt's age. "Well now, Miz Stafford," he said, "since it's _you_ that's asking." He held up his glass in his stubby fingers. "Fill 'er up," he ordered the harried butler. All the while he stared openly at Priscilla's body, trying to better discern her breasts, hidden as they were beneath her high-collared, green silk dress and layers of undergarments. Colonel Stafford caught his daughter's look of distaste and gave a quick cough, signaling her to smile. "Miss Stafford is _so_ formal," she replied on cue and with no affection in her voice. "Please call me 'Priscilla', Frederick... Fred." Reinhardt chuckled and took a long gulp of his wine. "Prissy by name, is it. I hope you ain't prissy by nature." He laughed and leered at her, never quite lifting his gaze above her neck. He burped and finished off the glass. "More," he demanded, waving his glass in the air. "I try not to be," she answered, taking a bite of lunch. The way the man was guzzling, she had every hope that he'd soon be too drunk to do anything more than fall asleep in his chair. 'With any luck,' she thought, 'he'll choke on something.' * * * * * As soon as the service was over, Judge Humphreys hurried over to the altar where Reverend Yingling stood, gathering up his notes. "Reverend... Thad, what was all that business about the committee and me? You all but branded me as one of the demons of Hell." "I am doing the work of our Lord, Jesus Christ," Yingling answered. "When you oppose me, you oppose Him, and that makes you an agent, a _willing_ agent, of evil." "You're saying that I'm evil just because I disagree with what you want to do about Shamus' potion. I think you're obsessed with that stuff." "Obsession! My _desire_ to serve our Lord and to protect ... protect the innocents of this town is hardly an obsession." "Look, Thad, in my own way, I try to do the very same thing. Protecting the people of Eerie is my job as much as it is yours, and you know it." The Judge took a breath, hoping that his words were having some effect. "We've been friends, worked together on various projects, for so many years. In the spirit of all that, can't you find some room for compromise on this?" "Compromise; yes, I suppose that I can see grounds for a compromise." "Wonderful, what do you propose?" "If you will cease your insistence on that foul _advisory_ committee and support me before the town council in my original proposal for a body strong enough to wrest control from O'Toole, then I will cease my efforts to denounce the current committee - and yourself as its promoter - as the workings of Satan that it, and you, truly are." "What! That... That's absurd." "So is your attempt to change my mind." Yingling put his papers into his brown leather carrying case. "Now, if you will excuse me, the _faithful_ members of my congregation are waiting for me." He closed the case and headed for the small group standing by the door: Styron, the Ritters, and a few others. Humphreys stood, dumbfounded, by the altar shaking his head. "Now what the Hell do I make of that?" he muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. * * * * * "Maybe I should get one of those things for myself," Amy Talbot said, as she and her husband watched Arsenio carefully lowering Laura's wheelchair down the steps outside of the schoolhouse. Laura was in the chair, leaning back and holding on tightly. She reached the ground, and Arsenio stepped down and pushed the chair clear. "Are you having 'baby' trouble, too?" Laura asked. "Just the usual for this point - at least that's what Edith Lonnegan tells me. I feel big as a house, and somebody..." She rubbed her belly. "...keeps doing somersaults. I've had a headache for the past week, and - ohh, there I go, carrying on. I'm sorry." Laura smiled. "Don't be. It's kind of nice to hear someone _else_ complaining about being pregnant. I'm immense, too. My feet hurt, and I'm stuck in bed all day." "You know," Dan Talbot said wryly, "Sometimes, I think women tell stories about being pregnant the way we men tell stories about fishing. Each one's trying to outdo the other." Amy scowled. "Fishing! When you have a... a trout flopping around inside your belly for nine months, you can talk to Laura and me about how hard it is to be pregnant." But then she took his hand and smiled. "It _is_ worth it, though... sometimes." "It does have its moments," Laura agreed. Arsenio took her hand, raised it to his lips, and gently kissed it. "Besides," she continued, "I'm almost... done." She shivered for a moment. The Sheriff's wife saw the change in her friend's expression. "You scared?" "Never been more scared in my life," she admitted, squeezing Arsenio's hand and glancing up at him. He put his hand on her shoulder. "Doc Upshaw and Mrs. Lonnegan came by Friday. They say that they're as ready as they can be, and that Laura... that the two of us shouldn't worry." "I'm feeling stronger, too," Laura added. "I wouldn't even be in this wheelchair, except that a certain blacksmith of my acquaintance keeps insisting on taking it." She reached up and kissed Arsenio's hand. Dan Talbot chuckled. "You should listen to your husband. That's something wives don't do near often enough." "Dan!" Amy punched him in his side. Hard. He winced. "_Some_ wives, anyway. I've no complaints against mine, of course." "Neither do I," Arsenio replied. "Neither do I." Laura giggled. "Now that our husbands have both agreed about what great treasures we are, Amy, I'm afraid that Arsenio and I have to be going. Jane's cooking our dinner today, and it's not fair to keep her waiting." "If you are able to get about," Amy said, "why don't the two of you come over for dinner some evening?" Laura brightened at the thought of spending some time away from her house. Still... She looked at her husband who nodded in approval. "We'd love to; what night?" "Wednesday, say... 6 o'clock." Arsenio nodded. "We'll be there, and thanks for the invitation." Just then Nancy Osbourne came out of the building. She walked unhurriedly through the schoolyard, pausing briefly to give a smile and a nod to anyone who greeted her cordially. She pointedly ignored the snide remarks and catcalls from others in the crowd. Some men leered, imagining her in the skimpy green dress and flashing pink petticoats of a Cactus Blossom rather than the demure blue dress she had worn to church. "Miss Osbourne... Miss Osbourne," Yully Stone called out, wriggling his way through the crowd. Nancy turned, beaming. "Yes, Yully, what is it?" "School graduation's this Thursday, Miss Osbourne. can you come... _please_?" If possible, her smile grew even broader. "Do you really want me there?" "Miss Osbourne, you was -- _were_ -- my teacher a lot longer'n my Ma. You gotta be there." Lavinia Mackechnie was standing close enough to hear the exchange. "She most certainly does not. The idea is absurd." "It's _my_ graduation, Mrs. Mackechnie," the boy replied, "and _I_ want her there. So do some of the others. When Lallie graduates next year, she can decide who she wants." "Thank you, Yully," Nancy said. "I shall be happy to attend." She couldn't resist giving Lavinia a quick "so there" bob of the head, as she walked away. The women watched her start on the road to town. "She gave years of her life to this school. She must miss the old days," remarked Amy. "Yully Stone just did her a world of good, I think." "She's got some courage, to face such a chilly reception by so many people," added Laura. "She just showed some real 'cavalry steel,' as my Poppa used to say." "That nice, sweet schoolmarm she used to be. Who would have supposed?" said Arsenio. * * * * * Ernesto was playing catch, throwing a ball against the back wall of his house and trying to catch it when it bounced back. Lupe sat on the porch with her doll, Inez, watching him. Finally, she got up and came over to him. "Ernesto, are you still mad at Mama?" "What?" He was so surprised at her asking that he missed the ball and had to scramble after it across the yard. "Why do you ask?" he said, when he came back. "Inez wants to know - and so do I. It is silly to be so mad for so long." "She lied to me - to us both, Lupe. That was not right." "You made her cry. That was not right, either. She is still very sad. I can tell. And it makes... Inez cry." "Inez is just a doll. She cannot cry." "She is my baby. Do not be so mean to her." Lupe hugged the doll. "It is all right, mi peque?a [my little one]. Mama is here." Her eyes glistened while she tried to comfort the doll. "He will not hurt you." After a moment, she continued. "We were all so happy when we first came to Eerie, so happy to be together, to be a family again. Why does it matter so much to you _how_ it happened?" "Because it _is_ important." "Isn't Mama important, too?" Lupe stood up, scowled at him. "You always _said_ she was." She scowled again and walked back into the house. * * * * * "Ernesto Sanchez, it is time." Ernesto looked up to see a strange, a grave looking man in a black suit. "Time, time for what?" "Time to leave. Your mother is a bandit and a liar. You and your sister cannot live with her anymore." The boy shook his head. "No... No." "You said so yourself, Ernesto. She lied to you." The man made some sort of gesture, and Ernesto was suddenly in chains, marching forward slowly, as much as he tried to resist. A wagon stood in the street a few feet away. The back was a large metal cage. Lupe was inside, dressed in rags. She was trying to reach through the bars to Mama who was trying to reach in. Both were chained, so that, at best, their fingers could barely touch. A door opened in the cage. The man picked up Ernesto and tossed him in. "What's this?" the man asked in an angry voice, grabbing for the doll at Lupe's feet. "She is my baby," Lupe answered in a small, scared voice. "Inez." He tossed the doll to the street and slammed the cage door shut. "There's no such thing as a baby - or a mother's love." He clambered up into the wagon's seat. "Not at your new home." He flipped the reins, and the wagon started moving. Ernesto scrambled to Lupe's side. They tried and tried to reach through the bars towards Maggie, but the chains stopped them. "Ernesto! Lupe!" Maggie fell to her knees, crying, her own arms outstretched as they moved farther and farther away from her. "Mama!" Ernesto sat up in bed, his eyes wide and filled with tears and his body covered with cold sweat. * * * * * Monday, June 10, 1872 "Ernesto," Maggie said in an exasperated tone. "You have been staring at me all through breakfast. What is wrong now?" The boy blinked and jerked his head back, startled. "Nothing is wrong... Mama. I-I was just trying to... I do not know how to... to apologize to you." "Just say what is in your heart," Ramon told the boy. Maggie sat where she was, looking surprised and uncertain. Ramon reached out and held her hand. "Mama," Ernesto said softly. "I-I was wrong to say what I did. I love you, Mama, and I am... sorry." Maggie rose from her chair and quickly knelt down, her arms outstretched towards her son. "Ernesto!" was all she could manage. "Mama!" He moved quickly to her from his own chair, and they embraced. Maggie kissed his cheek, while he hugged her as tightly as he could. "Ernesto," Ramon asked, rising to his feet. "Do you know the difference between a boy and a man; not that one is bigger or older, the _real_ difference?" The boy looked up at him. "A man does not make such stupid mistake as I did?" "A man can make as stupid a mistake as any boy - maybe even stupider ones." Ramon paused a moment for emphasis. "The difference is that, when you tell a _boy_ that he made a mistake, he yells, and hits people, and acts badly." "Like I did," Ernesto replied, looking down at the floor. Ramon nodded. "S?, like you did. A _man_, when you tell him that he was wrong, he apologizes and tries to make things right." He reached down, cupping the boy's chin and lifting it so that they were eye to eye. "And you did _that_, too. You are not a man yet, Ernesto, but today you took a big step towards being one." * * * * * Bridget set a couple slices of chicken and some coleslaw on her plate. She added three small pickles and walked over to the table where the Cactus Blossoms were having lunch. "You _ladies_ getting ready for another show tonight?" "And if we are, Kelly?" Flora asked cynically, "What're you gonna do about it?" Bridget shrugged. "Not that much; it just holds up my poker game for a little while, but I can manage. I was just thinking how the maneuvers Molly's got you all doing out there aren't exactly what you trained for, are they, _Lieutenant_?" "At least, I'm doing something, _Corporal_. You're just dealing cards; it's the men that're playing poker, and I proved _weeks_ ago, that you're no man." "You would certainly know about how men behave - or _mis_behave, considering the way you've been dancing with them, sitting on their laps, and _kissing_ them." Flora's teeth gritted, but she quickly remembered how the Hanks girls, Wilma, Bridget, and Jessie, always acted whenever she tried to bait them. Not getting angry was the best way to shut Bridget up. She lifted her chin and said with a smirk, "Jealous, 'Miss Bridget', that the only use any man in this whole town will _ever_ have for you is dealing cards in a poker game you haven't got the _guts_ to play in?" Nancy stood up. "Why don't you two cats go snarl at each other someplace else?" she said firmly. "Lylah and I would like to eat our lunch in peace?" She waited a moment. "Flora needs t'eat, too," Lylah added. "Molly wants us upstairs for more practice in a half hour." Bridget frowned. She owed Molly _a_ _lot_. "All right, for Molly's sake, I'll let the little slut eat." She walked away, taking a seat at a nearby table, not completely satisfied with the exchange. * * * * * "Shall we begin?" Humphreys asked the men assembled in his office. Yingling scowled. "I thought that I was supposed to be the chairman of this benighted group." "Sorry, Thad," the Judge said, quickly. "You are the chairman. Would you please start the meeting?" "If I must." He slapped the table he was sitting at with his hand. "The meeting is called to order; now what?" "I suppose that the first thing would be to explain what I want the committee to do." Horace Styron raised his hand. "I don't remember you being named to the committee, Judge." "Since the committee reports to me, I'm an ex-officio member," Humphreys explained. "What I'd like it to do is to work out a set of standards for me. When should a convicted prisoner be offered the potion as a punishment option? Under what circumstances should it be imposed without the defendant's consent? If a person does take the potion, how long should she be sentenced to work for Shamus? That sort of thing." "Are we allowed to discuss other matters?" Yingling asked sourly. The Judge braced himself. "Such as?" "Such as, where should doses of the potion be stored after manufacture and between uses, and who should have control of those doses?" "Your committee can make recommendations on any of those things, Thad. I'll be willing to read and consider anything approved by a _majority_ of the committee members." The Reverend rose to his feet, glaring at the Judge. "That is an outrage. These _people_..." He made a gesture that included, Ortega, Father de Castro, and Shamus. "...will _never_ agree to what I _know_ to be the _only_ proper way of dealing with O'Toole's brew." "I'm always willing t'be listening to a _reasonable_ proposition," Shamus said, leaning back in his chair, "but I ain't about t'be approving nothing that goes against me own interests - or against the interests of the town." Luis nodded. "That can be said of any of us." "I had hoped that I could lead you all to an understanding of what is the Will of our Lord in this matter," Yingling stormed in his best dramatic voice. "But I see now that my hope was in vain." He rose to his feet and started for the door, warning, "This is _not_ at an end." He then left, slamming the door in the face of Horace Styron, who had hurried after him. Styron stayed in his seat, looking uncertain. "I guess the meeting's over." He stated to rise. "It does not have to be," Father de Castro said in a calm voice. "I am vice chairman, and we still have three members here - four if you stay, Horace." Horace shrugged. "Might as well." He took his seat again. Maybe he could salvage _something_ from this mess. He could still try and push to get things the way he and the Reverend wanted. At the least, he could pass on to the Reverend -- once the man had calmed down -- what useful information might be had. "Thank you, Horace," the priest continued. "As I said, I am the vice- chairman. Anytime Thad Yingling comes back, he can take over. In the meantime, Your Honor, what has been the practice so far as to who gets the option of taking the potion?" Judge Humphreys looked thoughtful for a moment. "That's a good question, Padre. As a judge, my job is to get the facts of the case and use those facts to deliver justice or to help a jury do just that. Sometimes, before Zach Levy came to town, I even had to act like a lawyer in the case, questioning witnesses myself." "The potion raises a few new issues. We don't want outsiders to know about it, so it shouldn't get mentioned in cases with outsiders unless it _absolutely_ has to be. We _all_ know that." "Since it changes a man's life as much as prison time does, a lot more, really, a man gets out of prison. Someone who takes the potion will _never_ change back, according to Shamus. Using prison time as a guideline, I won't use the potion as a punishment except in major cases." "The first time I gave it as a sentence - the Hanks Gang doesn't count, they got the potion _before_ they came into my court - was when Phil Trumbell tried to shoot it out with Wilma Hanks. I gave him the choice, potion or prison time, and he took prison. So did Ozzie Pratt. Jake Steinmetz decided to take the potion" . "When Forry Stafford and Leland Saunders came before me charged with the attempted murder of Abner Slocum, I didn't give them a choice. Stafford bragged that he had political connections that could get him out of any reasonable prison time. I'd probably have considered giving the choice to Carl Osbourne when he was charged with robbing Abner - it _was_ grand theft, after all; conspiracy, too, but it turned out he was innocent." "How long people have to stay at Shamus' place after they take the potion is another question, and I'd like to take that up at a later meeting, if you don't mind. Right now, I'd like to hear what _you_ all have to say about deciding who should get the potion." * * * * * Aaron Silverman looked up at the sound of the bell over the door to his store. "Kaitlin, Trisha... and Emma," he greeted the people coming in. "What brings the whole O'Hanlan family to my store today?" "Hello, Aaron," Kaitlin said. "We've come to buy a dress for Emma. She graduates school this week." Rachel Silverman came out from behind the counter. "Mazel toiv - that means, congratulations, Emma. Come, we just got some nice, new dresses for you to look at." She led them over to a long rack of children's clothes. "These are very nice," Kaitlin said after looking at a few of the frocks. "But... do you have something a little more... mature?" Rachel looked closely at Emma. "For a _young_ _lady_, you want. Okay." She walked over to a second rack and pushed a number of outfits away from three dresses near the center of the rack. "These should be her size. For her coloring, I'd say..." She picked one and took out the hanger it was on, so they could see it better. "...this one." "Ohh, Mama," Emma said excitedly. "It's beautiful." The dress was emerald green with light green lacework on the bodice, around the cuffs, and along the bottom hem. "Can I... can I try it on?" Kaitlin smiled at the girl's enthusiasm. She had changed so much since November. "Don't you want to look at the others?" Emma glanced over at the clothes still on the rack. "They're pretty, I guess, but I really like this one." "Then go put it on." Kaitlin had barely spoken the words, when Emma grabbed the first dress and ran for the changing room. Trisha chuckled. "That was easy." She glanced around. "While she's in there..." She walked towards a small table with several different styles of corsets displayed on it. A couple of them looked like the sort of "man-bait" that she supposed Norma Jean would have liked. "These are all Thompson's Glove Fitting corsets," Rachel said, following Trisha over to the table. "How far along are you?" Trisha's eyes went wide. "What? What do you mean?" "I don't want I should spill the beans," Rachel said in a low voice, "but I've helped too many pregnant women buy _comfortable_ clothes to not be able to know another one when I see her. But don't drey your kopf, that means don't worry, you only show a little... today, anyway." "Please don't tell," Trisha said, sounding a bit desperate. "Besides my family - and Doc Upshaw and Mrs. Lonnegan, of course - nobody else knows." Rachel shrugged. "So who should I tell? You - and that little one - will be letting everybody know soon enough." She thought for a moment. "Let's get that dress for your Emma, and you can stay behind and see about a corset, okay?" "Uh, okay." Trisha looked very relieved. "And thanks." Before the shopkeeper could answer, Emma stepped out from the changing room. The dress fit her perfectly. The lace at her bodice, coupled with the darts sewn into the dress, emphasized her blossoming breasts without being obvious. The garment was cut to show off her narrow waist and wider hips. "How do I look?" Emma held out her arms and slowly turned around. Kaitlin sighed. "Like a princess." She smiled remembering how hard the newly transformed Emma had fought the idea of wearing _anything_ feminine. "I _feel_ like a princess," the young woman answered, sounding giddy. "Can I have it; please... please?" Trisha nodded. "That's what we came in for. Go take it off, so Rachel can wrap it up." "Yes, ma'am!" Emma sprinted back to the changing room. Kaitlin picked up a small purse from a shelf. "This is almost the same color. It'll look good with her new dress." She handed it to Rachel. "I'll ring them up together," Rachel said. "In the meantime, Trisha, why don't you take another look at the corsets? You should get one at least two or three sizes larger than what you normally wear. And you don't wear it as tight; that's bad for the baby." Trisha gave a slight shudder. "Every time I turn around, being pregnant gets more complicated." "That's how it works, having a baby," Kaitlin replied, and Rachel nodded in agreement. * * * * * "Excuse me," an unfamiliar voice said, "are you Nancy Osbourne?" Nancy glanced up from her copy of _Sonnets_. The speaker was a slender brunette. "I am... and you are?" She'd seen the young woman strolling along the street once in a while, but didn't know her name. "Opal... I'm Opal Sayers." The woman offered her hand. "I'm one of the dancers over at the Lone Star." Nancy shook her hand. "Have a seat then, and tell me what brought you over here." "Thank you." Opal pulled out a chair and sat down across the table from Nancy. "I-I've heard about you. I'm... oh, I don't know how to say it." Nancy shrugged. "Just say it, whatever _it_ is." "This Sunday..." Opal bit her lip nervously. "I wanted to - to ask...ask if - fooey! N-Nancy Osbourne, will you go to church with me?" "Why do you ask? You work at Sam's place, so you can't be one of those evangelizers." She smiled ironically. "Not that I need anyone else telling me to save my soul." Opal shook her head. "Heavens, no! It's just... I-I enjoy going to church on Sunday, but... a lot of places, they don't want to have me there, let alone welcome me in as a new member of their congregation. And the minister here has the people all stirred up even more than usual about something. I-I was _afraid_ to go by myself." "I know what you mean," Nancy replied. "Our Reverend Yingling's got some kind of bee in his bonnet, and some of the church's _ladies_ are even worse." "Cuddy Smith - he's Mr. Duggan's assistant barman - he said I should ask you to go with me... for 'moral support', he said." Nancy chuckled. "Your Mr. Smith has an odd sense of humor. I'm hardly the most welcome person at the church these days. Still..." Her lips curled in a mischievous smile. "...it might be... interesting to see how welcoming the Reverend _and_ Cecelia Ritter and her friends would be if I show up with _another_ 'scarlet woman' next Sunday." "You'll do it? You'll take me with you next Sunday?" Nancy nodded. "Sure; you just meet me here at 9:30 next Sunday morning - dress neat, but not flashy - and we'll walk over together." * * * * * Lucian Stone knocked on the half-closed door to his sons' bedroom. "Good evening, boys." "Evening, Pa," they answered, not even close to unison. "Yully, I want to talk to you. Come with me, please." "Sure, Pa." The boy put down his pencil, rose, and followed his father to his parents' bedroom. As he walked, he tried to think of what he had done to warrant whatever punishment he was about to get. 'Nothing,' he decided. 'I don't know what he's mad about.' Lucian waited for Yully to walk into the room before he went in, closing the door behind him. "You got a letter today..." He picked up a thick envelope from the top of the dresser and tossed it to his oldest son. "...from West Point." "West Point?" Yully looked at the packet. "Oh, yeah, I almost forgot." "You never mentioned wanting to go into the Army, and now you _'forgot'_ writing to the admission office at West Point? Ulysses Plutarch Stone, what _exactly_ are you up to?" "Pa, it's - well, it's kind of a secret." "The reason why you want to go to West Point is a _'secret'_?" "Kind of; we don't want nobody - want _anybody_ -- to know about that letter." "We? Who all is this _we_?" "Do I have to tell? I sort of promised." "I can respect a promise - you know that very well, but I would like to know what's going on." He smiled, trying to reassure the boy. "How about if _I_ promise something? I won't tell anyone else... not unless I talk to you about it first. Is that acceptable?" "I-I guess." He spat in the palm of his hand. Lucian spat in his own hand, and they shook hands, sealing the bargain. "Now," the man asked again, "who else is on this, and what are you trying to do?" "Stephan... Stephan Yingling; he's the one who wants to go to West Point, not me. I still want to study history at Pappous' [Grampa's] school up in Pennsylvania." "Your grandfather will be happy to hear that you still want to go to Dickinson, but, if that's the case, why did you write to the military academy?" "'Cause Stephan's pa won't let him be anything but a minister. If Reverend Yingling knew Stephan wrote that letter, he'd tan Stephan's hide." He swallowed nervously. "So I wrote the letter. We both signed it, but we just wrote my address." "Don't you think that Stephan and his father should be the ones deciding what he does with his life? They don't need you butting in." "Pa, the Reverend don't care what Stephan wants. He says Stephan _has_ to be a minister, just like _all_ the Yinglings _have_ to be ministers. Stephan's grampa and his uncle and his father're all parsons, and his older brother got sent away to some school for ministers about a year after he finished grade school." "Surely, Stephan has, at least, talked to his father about his own career choice." "He's talked and talked, but his Pa won't listen." Yully took a breath. "Heck, that's why Stephen ran away. He wanted to show his folks how serious he was. But all he got for it was a whupping, and his Pa got even more set in his mind that Stephan was gonna be a reverend." The boy studied his father's face. "Can I go, Pa? I've got still got some homework to do. Ma ain't -- _isn't_ going easy on us just 'cause school ends on Friday." "You can go. I may - I _will_ -- talk to your mother about what you just told me, but it won't go any further." Lucian made a "King's X" mark over his heart. "I promise." Yully let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Pa." He jammed the envelope into his pocket and hurried from the room. * * * * * "Here we go." Clyde Ritter led Flora over to one of the benches in the yard behind the Saloon. "Now we can _talk_ in private." Flora looked about nervously. "I don't know if this is a good idea." She smoothed out her dress, part of her Cactus Blossom costume, as she sat. She knew that it was barely long enough to cover her knees, and she found herself feeling a certain pride in how pretty her legs looked. "Sure, it is." He took his place next to her. Very close. His arm snaked around her waist. "We've been wanting to be alone - haven't we? And now we are." She didn't want to be alone _with_ him, but she did want things _from_ him, flattery for a start, which was always nice to get. But, more important, gifts, and then, the real prize, getting him to hire somebody to beat up Shamus O'Toole and Judge Humphreys for what they'd done to her. And being alone _here_ with Clyde Ritter seemed to be the only way to get those things she wanted. "I guess we are alone," she answered in a low voice. "You are _so_ beautiful." He pulled her even closer, leaning in as he did, so that their lips met. Flora's arms reached up and around him. 'At least, he's not too bad at kissing.' She sighed, consoling herself. Her lips parted and his tongue darted in, playing with hers. At the same time, his hand moved towards her neckline. It was cut _very_ low. The tops of her breasts were clearly visible - and accessible, since she wasn't wearing a camisole. His fingers glided down from her throat and on to her left breast, only the tips of his fingers touching her bare skin. It tickled her, and she shivered. Two fingers slipped down into her corset and found her nipple. They rolled it between them, and then one finger stroked it, his rough, fingertip stimulating her tender flesh. Flora gasped. Tiny jolts of purest pleasure shot from his fingers throughout her body. It was - _ooh!_ - so much better than touching herself in the bath. She arched her back, pushing her nipple against that wondrous finger of his. At the same time, some instinct she'd never known before made her move her knees apart. Ritter took the obvious hint. His other hand was on her knee, and then moving up and underneath her dress and petticoats, pushing them aside, as it progressed slowly, deliberately, _deliciously_ up her thighs. 'What the _hell_ are you doing?' she scolded herself. 'Make him stop, st-stop r-right now - ohh, G-d, doh-don't!' The small part of her that was still _Forrest_ Stafford hated the female rapture that Clyde was stirring up within her. The _Flora_ Stafford part of her luxuriated in her passion but hated the fact that Ritter was the one making her feel that way, instead of -- somebody she actually liked. "And what do ye think the two of ye are doing out here, Flora... _Mr._ Rittter?" Molly scowled at the pair of them. Clyde sat back quickly, guiltily yanking his hands away from her. "We're just... enjoying ourselves, Mrs. O'Toole," he said smoothly. "Making good use of this bench, as so many others have done." "Aye, so many _unmarried_ others," Molly scolded. "Ye're a married man, Clyde Ritter. I may not care for the woman, but she _is_ yuir wife. I'll respect that fact, even if ye don't." She drew a breath. "So I'm telling the both of ye t'be getting back inside. _Now_!" "Yes, Ma'am." He rose to his feet. Flora did as well, but she seemed a bit unsteady as she adjusted her dress. Her face was flushed, her breathing heavy, and her knees wouldn't work the way they were supposed to. "Can he help me walk in, at least?" she asked meekly. "Aye, he can do that." Clyde stepped over and put his arm around Flora's waist. "Lean on me" he told her, taking her hand in his. They started walking, with Molly following a few feet behind. "We'll have to try that again some time when she's not around," he said very softly, as they made their way through the kitchen. Flora's strength was coming back, but she didn't move away from him. She was bemused by the way her body was still reacting to his presence. "We can," she whispered back, "_if_ you bring me something nice to show me how much you want me." A thought came to her. "That ivory pin that Nancy Osbourne said you gave her once, the one she was too silly to accept -- that'd be just the thing." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "But, for now, you'd better go." And he did go, not saying a word but frowning thoughtfully. * * * * * Tuesday, June 11, 1872 Flora lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling in the darkened room. 'It felt so _good_,' she thought, 'so damned good that I almost didn't mind that it was Ritter doing it to me.' 'That's... dangerous thinking.' She shivered and rolled over onto her side. Sweetums was on the bed next to her, and the kitten mewed softly in complaint and darted out of her way. She stroked its back to quiet it and let her thoughts continue. 'It's supposed to be like... fly-fishing. You go out on the Little Colorado, south of Austin and tease those trout, flash your lure, and watch them go for it. Rainbows don't just swim over and swallow your lure.' 'And that's pretty much what Rosalyn told me; flash my lures...' She raised her head and looked down at her breasts lifting the blanket that covered her. 'Get men's attention by acting like a sweet little girl, that's what she said, do that, and it'd drive O'Toole crazy.' She chuckled softly. 'Like O'Toole cares. He and that wife of his're happy to see me acting the way I've been acting. He needs stronger medicine to get his comeuppance. That's why I want to get Ritter to strike to my bait, so he'll get somebody to beat the crap out of O'Toole for me.' 'Only,' she sighed. 'Only, tonight, it was Clyde Ritter who was doing the casting. I was putty in his hands, and those hands... mmm.' A smile came unbidden to her lips, as she remembered. Her body remembered, too. Her breasts were warm, tingling. Her nipples grew tight. Without thinking, her hand reached up to massage one breast, and the sensations grew. It was a good thing that she disliked him; otherwise she wasn't sure what might happen if they got that close again. Even so, it was pleasant to fantasize. Her other hand moved downward, her fingertips sliding over the fabric of her nightgown. It reached the juncture between her legs, and two - three - fingers rubbed her nether lips through the layers of fabric. She moaned and fell onto her back, her legs parted slightly to give her fingers better access. She lay there, panting, then her hips began to move to the rhythm of those fingers. "Ohh... yes... yes - NO!" She spoke the last word loudly. Her hand shot up to cover her mouth, and she lay quiet, almost holding her breath, waiting for Lylah to say something. Instead, all she heard was the other woman's gentle snoring. "Close," she whispered, giving a long sigh of relief. 'Ritter's all but got _me_ hooked,' she told herself. 'If I'm _ever_ going to deal with him on _my_ terms, I'd better strike now. Yes, tomorrow's - today's - the day I ask him for that favor. He's all but got me - and why did it have to be _him_, anyway? It wasn't like she wanted just any man. That last thought startled her. Who _would_ she want touching her like that? She shrugged and tried to get her thoughts back in line. 'I may as well get something _I_ want out of it?' She pictured someone big - she couldn't see whom - beating Shamus O'Toole into a bloody pulp. Some part of her liked what she was seeing, in a detached way, but she told herself that the real thing would be much better. * * * * * "Lookee what came in the mail yesterday." Yully pulled a package from his school bag and tossed it on the table where the garrison was eating lunch. Stephan grabbed it and read the return address. "U.S. Mili - It's from West Point!" He turned it upside down and dumped the contents onto the table. He grabbed for one of the two identical booklets that had fallen out. A letter was folded inside it. "Dear Mr. Yingling," he read aloud. "_Mr._ Yingling, don't that sound grand? Thank you for your interest in the U.S. Military Academy. The enclosed booklet includes all of the information you will need to apply when you reach the minimum age of..." He frowned. "...seventeen. That's three years away." "Sounds like you just passed the arithmetic test," Tomas said, trying to add some humor. Ysabel shot the younger boy a nasty look. "That is not funny. What is Stephan going to do for the next three years until he can apply?" "Maybe that minister's school out in Indiana isn't a bad idea, after all," Yully said. "Didn't you say that they covered most of the stuff you need to know for West Point?" "All but the math -- boy, do they want a lot of that, and I can get that from Ysabel here, if no place else." He smiled at her. She smiled back. "S?, I will be glad to help." "I'll help, too," Emma said, cocking her head proudly. "Mrs. Stone told me that I won first honors in arithmetic." "We'll _all_ help," Yully added, "especially Ysabel. You do still wanna be a teacher, don't you?" "I do, but the school for teachers won't take anyone younger than sixteen." She gave a deep sigh. "My Mama says that I can help out with her laundry business till then." "That don't sound like much fun," Nestor Stone, Yully's younger brother, said. Ysabel shook her head. "It won't be, but there are not many jobs for a girl my age. Emma got real lucky." "It wasn't luck," Emma replied. "It was hard work, and a lot of it was because of your helping me catch up in math, Ysabel. You'll make a real good teacher someday; just wait and see." Stephan sighed. "I almost wouldn't mind going to that school if Pa agreed that it was just till I could transfer to West Point." He looked around the table, his glance stopping at Ysabel. "I'd miss you - all of you - though." "You think there's any chance your father would let you do that?" Penny asked. "Go for a couple of years, but then switch over to West Point?" Stephan made a face. "Oh, sure, about as much chance as our seeing pigs flying up over that hill." He pointed to a hill off to the west of the schoolhouse. As he did, he saw Mrs. Stone come out onto the porch of the building. "Looks like lunchtime is over," he said. "You better take this back, Yully." He handed the booklet over to his friend. "If my Pa ever found it, I'd... He'd whup me good 'n' hard." Yully put the material back into his book bag. "Okay, but I'll keep it with me so's you can see it any time you want." He paused a beat. "And don't worry 'bout my folks. My Pa knows about it, and he promised not to tell anybody else, especially your Pa." "Thank Heaven for that," Stephan answered, looking _very_ relieved. * * * * * Tommy Carson stepped carefully through the swinging doors of the Saloon, still remembering how Shamus had treated his parents a few days before. "Can I help you?" Lylah asked, walking over to where he was standing. If she recognized him as the child of the couple who had been so rude to her, she gave no sign. The boy glanced nervously around the room. "I was looking for -- _him_!" He pointed over at Cap, who was sitting, talking to Bridget. Without a word of thanks, he rushed over to the pair. "'Scuse me, Mr. Lewis. I got a telegram for you, sir." He held it out in front of him. Cap took the envelope. "Thanks, son." He handed Tommy a nickel. The boy pocketed it and hurried for the door. "Who's it from?" Bridget asked. Cap tore the envelope and took out the sheet inside. "Red Tully," he said. "I'll read it aloud for you." He took a quick breath. "Train leaves for Utah in twenty minutes. No change in Mr. Slocum. Bringing letters for you and Doc. Arrive on June 27. Red." "I'm sorry about your uncle," Bridget said in a gentle voice. Cap shrugged, taking her hand in his. "Doctor Vogel never promised an instant cure. And 'no change' means that Uncle Abner hasn't gotten any worse, either." He smiled, noticing that she hadn't pulled her hand away. 'Well,' he thought, 'something good came out of it, at least.' * * * * * "I do not want to rush things," Teresa Diaz said, trying not to sound nervous as she wrote out the words "Spaulding" and "Sabato" onto a tag. "But _have_ you decided about... my Annie?" She pinned the tag to the bag of dirty laundry they had just given her to clean. Mrs. Spaulding and Hedley both turned to look at Clara. "What do you have to say on that subject, daughter?" her mother asked in a firm voice. "I... Well..." The girl fidgeted in her wheelchair. "Yes," she said, giving a deep sigh. The only other girls she'd had the chance to speak to since sending Annie away weeks earlier were the Carson Sisters. And they only came to flirt with Hedley. They were _lying_ when they asked about her. Annie had lied, too. She had admitted it, but she did it - so she said - only to avoid embarrassing Clara or her family. She was a much nicer girl -- It was so hard _not_ to think of Annie as a girl. 'What's more,' she told herself, 'Annie must know a lot about boys, and that would be something _interesting_ to talk about.' She smiled graciously and said, "Mrs. Diaz, would you and... Annie please join us for lunch on Saturday?" Teresa felt her eyes moisten. "Thank you, Clara... Vida..." She smiled broadly. "We shall be happy -- _most_ happy -- to have lunch with you all." * * * * * "Se?ora Diaz... Se?ora Diaz... wait!" Teresa turned at the sound of her name. Hedley Spaulding was running down the street towards her, waving his arm to get her attention. They were about two blocks away from the Spaulding house. "Did your mother forget something?" she asked when he finally reached her. He shook his head, taking just a moment to catch his breath. "N-No... ma'am." "She did not change her mind about Annie, I hope." It hurt to ask, but it _was_ a possibility. "On, no, this has nothing to do with Saturday, except..." He stopped not sure how to ask what he wanted to ask her. "What is it then?" "Can..." He swallowed hard. "Can I talk to her? Is it all right - I mean, now that my mother and Clara are willing to talk to her?" Teresa tried very hard not to smile. It was sweet, in a way, that the boy and Annie - '_Arnie_' she reminded herself. 'I must remember to think of her as Arnie.' It was sweet the way they seemed to care for each other. Still... "I am sorry, Hedley, but my answer must be, 'no', for the present." "But why... my mother said it was okay for us all to talk?" "Hedley, your Mama got mad, and your sister got _very_ mad because... Annie kept a secret from them. Now you want to _meet_ her in secret." She shook her head. "No, not until _after_ lunch on Saturday?" He brightened. "But we can get together after that?" "After that - if it goes well - you can talk to my daughter about it yourself." * * * * * From the June 11, 1872 edition of _The_ _Eerie_ _Citizen_, an editorial by Roscoe Under: ` A New Game Begins ` Tonight at 6:30 PM, Horace Styron will be holding tryouts for the ` Eerie Eagles baseball team on the grounds of the Eerie Public School. ` The Eagles are sponsored by the Methodist Church, but the tryouts are ` open to _anyone_. The team's first game will be against the Eerie ` Coyotes, a team sponsored by the Church of Our Lady of Blessed ` Charity, as part of the town's Fourth of July Celebration. ` Frankly, _The_ _Eerie_ _Citizen_ is very glad to see the game being ` planned. It is especially glad-making, since the eventual goal is the ` combining the best players from both teams in to an Eerie City Team. ` Recently, political thought - and action - in Eerie has been most ` divisive, splitting our community apart, creating distrust between ` friends and neighbors. Some of this has been due to people who we ` would have expected to be far more responsible, people whose true ` role should be to turn us to the higher path, not to lead us to the ` lower one. ` Now we will have two rival teams, but they will be _friendly_ rivals, ` teammates eventually. Let's all hope that it can be that way off the ` field, too. Everyone of us working towards their own goals, but all of ` us working in a spirit of friendly cooperation that has been too long ` missing from our public affairs. ` It's a good sentiment on -- or off -- the field, "Play Ball!" * * * * * Constanza was putting the last of the silverware out on the table, when Arnie came through the door. "Mama," the young girl called out, "she is home." "Ysabel," Teresa said, "watch the food. I need to talk to Arnolda." She wiped her hands on her apron and walked towards Arnie. "In private; Arnolda, please come with me to my bedroom." Arnie nodded and followed her mother. She studied the older woman as she walked. No, there didn't seem to be any new problem with her leg. "What is it, Mama?" she asked once they were both in the other room. "Shut the door, please," Teresa ordered. She waited for the door to close before she continued. "We have an invitation, you and I." Arnie stared at her for a moment, before she realized what Teresa was saying. "Mama, do you mean...?" "S?, the Spauldings want us both to come to their house for lunch on Saturday." "They do?" Arnie's concerned expression broadened into a grin. "Oh, Mama!" She ran over and embraced her mother. "You certainly seem happy about lunch," Teresa teased. "Is Se?ora Spaulding that good a cook?" "Not as good as you, Mama. I am happy because -- if she invited me - she, they all have forgiven me, and we can be friends again." "All of them? Is there one of them that you _especially_ want to forgive you and to be friends with you, again?" 'Hedley,' the answer came at once to her, but she was _not_ going to say it. This was something different from any way she had ever felt before - as a boy or a girl. She looked down at the floor, hoping her mother wouldn't see her face flush. "Cl-Clara," she said aloud. "She is the one who was the most upset to find out the truth about me." "Clara... of course." Teresa covered her mouth to hide her expression. 'Spoken like a girl in love,' she thought, 'and trying to hide the fact. Where, oh where, would this lead to? Lunch on Saturday will be _muy_ interesting.' * * * * * "Nu, Phillipia," Aaron Silverman asked, as he took his seat, "have you decided to take our offer?" Aaron was sitting at the table in Whit Whitney's dining room. Whit and Arsenio Caulder, the other two members of the town council, were next to him. Phillipia Stone sat across the table from the trio. "It's a very flattering offer, gentlemen," she replied, "and I'll admit that I have enjoyed being a school teacher these past weeks." Whit, the chairman, smiled. "And you've done an excellent job of it. That's why we'd like you to stay on as the teacher for the next school year." "The problem is, I'm not just 'the teacher.' I'm also a married woman with a husband and four children to take care of. Three of those children would be my students next year, as well." "You managed to do all that this year," Arsenio said. "Or were there problems that you didn't tell us about?" "Not really, but I was only teacher for a few weeks, and, to be honest, Nancy Osbourne was helping me - in the beginning, at least. I'd like to have some help again next year." Aaron shook his head. "Getting Nancy's help might be a bissel - a little bit - harder next year. The Saloon keeps her -- jumping." "I wasn't thinking of Nancy," she answered. "There's... I know of a young woman; she has no formal training, but she very much wants to be a teacher, and I believe that she'd be an excellent one." "And who is this jewel?" Aaron asked. "And how much would it cost to hire her?" "Not very much. In fact, I'd be willing to take a small cut in what you offered me to help pay for her." "For who? A pig in a poke, I'm not interested in." The shopkeeper chuckled. "It ain't exactly kosher." "Ysabel Diaz. She's one of the two girls graduating on Thursday." Whit raised an eyebrow. "She's barely out of school herself, and you want her as your sort of assistant?" "She's been acting as the teacher's assistant all year. She'd help with the younger students while Nancy or I was working with the older ones." "So she'd only be there to help with those younger students; is that what you're saying?" Phillipia shook her head "Oh, no... I believe that you're all familiar with Emma O'Hanlan." "Yes..." Whit glanced at his fellow councilmen, both of whom nodded in agreement. "She took a dose of the potion last... November, wasn't it? She was badly injured, and it saved her life." "Yes, but _Elmer_ O'Hanlan was in fifth grade. Emma is graduating eighth grade. Ysabel tutored Emma after her change to bring her up to eighth grade level. In fact, Ysabel is a large part of the reason _why_ Emma is able to graduate." She paused a beat. "Not only that, Emma has a job with Jubal Cates when she graduates. He's training her to be a surveyor. That takes a great deal of math, and, as I understand it, Ysabel has been helping her with that, also." Aaron stroked his chin. "There's a saying that even an idiot can be a teacher, bu-ut..." He pronounced the word as if it had two syllables. "...he can't be a good one." He studied the woman's expression. "You , we _know_, are a good one; so, I ask you, are you saying that she's a good one, too?" "I am. She _wants_ to be a teacher, but the new teacher's college over in Prescott won't take any students less than 16-years old. I thought that she could get a very good start working with me." "Tell me one thing, Phillipia," Arsenio said. "Will you take the job - even if we don't hire Ysabel Diaz?" "I will, but I'll be able to do a better job for the children if you _do_ hire her." Whit rose and reached across the table. "The job is yours, then." "Thank you, Mr. Whitney... gentlemen." She shook Whit's hand. "But what about Ysabel?" "Let us think about it, if you don't mind. We'll give you and her both our answer at the graduation ceremony on Thursday, if you don't mind the wait." "I suppose not," she answered, looking Whit in the eye. "Especially if it's the right answer; you know how much we teachers prefer right answers." * * * * * Clyde Ritter pawed through the bottom drawer of his wife's jewelry box. "It's gotta be here someplace," he muttered angrily. He was about to give up and just pull out the drawer and dump it on the top of the dresser, when he saw what he was looking for. "There it is," he said in a triumphant whisper. He saw a flash of white, hidden - mostly - under a length of enameled chain. "When the hell did she get that piece of crap?" he muttered, pushing it aside. He carefully took out the pin, the item he'd been looking for. It was a finely carved, round piece of ivory with a lustrous white pearl set in the center. He smiled and held it up to get a better look. The pin sparkled in the light of the setting sun that was streaming through the bedroom window. "Clyde," Cecelia shouted from behind him, "what are you doing?" He turned to face her. "Nothing that concerns you. Go downstairs." "Nothing? That's my pin you're holding." "No, it's my pin. I just let you keep it in your jewelry box, but I didn't buy it for you." "I know only too well that you didn't, but it's mine now. You... You put it back, or I'll... I'll tell." He glowered and took a step towards her. "Tell what, that your husband stole something from you? Under the law, as your husband, anything you have is mine, anyway." He slipped the pin into his pocket. "No," he continued, "you'll stop complaining and just go off with Lavinia and those other loudmouthed busybodies in your sewing circle. I let you play your stupid _pretend_ politics because you were making trouble for the people _I_ wanted you to make trouble for." He took a breath. "And I'll do what I feel like with your - with _my_ -- jewelry." She blinked in astonishment. "My broach; you took that, too, didn't you?" She crossed her arms in front of herself, and tried to look firm. "You're up to your old tricks, like with Nancy Osborne. Is it her again? That saloon tramp! I-I won't stand for it!" "You won't stand for it?" He slapped her face; she winced and staggered a step back. "You'll stand for whatever I dam