Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Spring, Part 12 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Salon: Seasons of Change - Spring, part 12 of 13 By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson © 2013 Sunday, June 16, 1872 Nancy Osbourne and Opal Sayers walked slowly through the schoolyard towards the building. Both were dressed demurely, Opal in dark brown, and Nancy in her blue "church-going" dress. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea," Opal whispered, looking around nervously. Nancy shook her head. "Yes, it is. It's _always _ a good idea to go to church on Sunday. You and I belong here as much as anyone else, so we'll just go inside and be a part of today's services, okay?" She reached out with her right hand. "O-Okay." Opal took Nancy's hand in her own, and they continued on towards the school house. As they walked, Nancy felt any number of eyes on her and on Opal. 'Pretty much everybody knows me,' she thought, 'but most of them don't know Opal.' She smiled. 'They're probably wondering, who's this woman with the town's painted lady?' "Hey, there, Opal," a man's voice abruptly greeted the two women. "What're you doing here? Are the other girls with yah?" He leered. "If they are, I hope they's dressed better'n you are." Opal looked down, shyly. "They're not... I'm the only one here, me 'n' Nancy." "And we are here to go to church, thank you." Nancy said firmly in her best "teacher-in-charge" voice. "So if you'll excuse us." She tried to go around the man. He stepped back in front of them. "I don't know what sorta game you 'n' your friend here're playing, Opal. Let's you 'n' me go find someplace _real_ private, 'n' you can explain it t'me." He grabbed for Opal's arm. "_We_ came here to go to church," Nancy told him, as she moved between the man and Opal. His eyes roamed up and down Nancy's body. "Maybe _we_, all three of us could go find us that special, _private_ place 'n' have us a fine old time." "We know precisely where we intend to go," Nancy replied, "and it's a very _public_ place." She grabbed Opal's wrist and walked briskly towards the building. "I'm sorry that we had to run into a fool like that." Opal shook her head. "I meet that kind every night. I'm only worried about what the high and mighty people will do when they find out who I really am." "They'll probably treat you like the treat me. Some biddy might test your nerve by telling you to go home, but if you just smile and say, 'Yes, ma'am, that's what I intend to do right after the service.' She'll probably sneer and say, 'Well, I never!' and go back to her pew. We won't have a lot of friendly conversation after the service ends, either, I expect." "Except for the sort of conversation we just had with that man," Opal replied with a sigh. "Well, we came here for Sunday services," Nancy said decisively. "And _that_ is what we are going to do." The women turned and walked deliberately to the school house, while the man admired their sway as they strolled away. He was imagining that they were in their cancan rigs, the bare-shouldered, feathery outfits he had seen them wearing many times already. * * * * * "A moment of silence, please, my good friends." Reverend Yingling raised his arms up into the air. "I ask for a moment of silence for our brother in Christ, Clyde Ritter, Senior." He bowed his head, mouthing a silent prayer, while most of the congregation did the same. At the end, he lowered his arms and continued. "Clyde was a good, decent man, a family man who dearly loved his wife, Cecelia, and their children, Winthrop, Hermione, and Clyde, Junior." He stopped for a moment and looked directly at Cecelia and the others, who were seated in the center of the first row. They were all in mourning black, with Cecelia and Hermione veiled. Cecelia knew that everyone was watching them. "Sit up straight," she hissed at Clyde, Junior, "and try to look brave." He did at once. Then she gave a loud sniffle and dabbed at her eyes with a white lace handkerchief. Hermione whimpered, right on cue. "Clyde was a hard worker," Yingling went on. "He worked hard at his livery stable to support his family. And he worked just as hard to support our church. There was seldom a meeting that Clyde missed, seldom a project that was not made better by his temperate presence. He was ever at the side of our board chairman, Horace Styron, the two of them in tandem, two stallions pulling together to move our church towards noble ends." "That team is broken. That firm hand is lost to us. A loving wife, herself a pillar of our church family, no longer has a husband to cleave to. Three children no longer have a wise father to guide them along the path to adulthood." "Death comes to us all, so it is ordained, but it need not have come so early for Clyde Ritter. I have spoken - I have _warned_ -- so _many_ times about the dangers posed by Shamus O'Toole's potion. And now, my worst fears have been tragically realized. The potion has led to the death of a good, G-d fearing man." "Clyde was lured to his death - he was foully _murdered_ -- by a she- demon created by that potion. O'Toole knew the sort of woman she was; he knew that she had been given her new form for attempting to kill yet another pillar of our community, Abner Slocum. Abner now is in a hospital back east, gravely injured and far, far away from us. We all pray to the Almighty, I am sure, for his speedy and complete recovery." "Yes, Shamus O'Toole knew what sort of woman Flora Stafford was, but did he keep her apart from others - did he make _any_ attempt to protect us from her? No, he flaunted this _potion _ _girl_, dressing her in scandalous costumes and having her dance lewdly for all to see." "And what is the result? A grieving widow and her forlorn, fatherless children, a broken family seeking our comfort and support." He waited a half beat. "And seeking justice." "Flora Stafford has been tried by a jury, twelve good men and true, tried and found guilty in this very room, in our church, a place sanctified and filled with the presence of our Lord. One would hope, then, that justice would be served. But even this, it would seem, is to be twisted by the evil that is O'Toole's potion. Friends of O'Toole, supporters of his evil machinations, have forced a reconsideration of that trial's verdict." Reverend Yingling paused for a moment and glanced over at Judge Humphreys, a _very_ satisfied look on his face. The Judge knew that there was no purpose to be served in interrupting the sermon, but he glowered back at Yingling. "We can only hope," the minister continued, "that fair, _pious_ heads will prevail, and that the justice which Flora Stafford truly deserves will be served. And towards that end, let us pray." * * * * * Molly put her elbows down on the bar and leaned forward, staring at the batwing doors of the Saloon. It almost seemed as if she were willing someone to come through those doors. "What's bothering ye, Love?" Shamus came over to stand beside his wife. His hand rested gently on her shoulder." She turned to face him, a sad smile just barely curling her lips. "I'm much worried, Shamus." "So am I, t'be telling the truth, Molly, but that lawyer fellah, Levy, seems like a sharp tack. He'll be doing all he can for Flora." "Aye, but that ain't too much, seeing as they've already found her guilty. Only, she ain't the one I was worrying about just now; 'tis Jessie and Paul. They was supposed t'be back a week ago, and we ain't seen hide or hair of 'em. With the telegram that come the day after they left, I'm... I'm scared for 'em." "I won't be telling ye not t'worry, Love." Shamus bent closer to her and kissed her cheek. "That'd be like telling the sun not t'rise up in the morning. But they both know how t'live in the wild. Didn't Jessie tell ye them tales about what she done when she ran off after Toby Hess... died?" "She did." "And Paul'll be thuir with her. Ye _know_ that he'll be looking out for her if anything _does_ happen - which it won't o'course." "Just like she'd be taking care o'him. I know that, Shamus, but I still can't help worrying." "Did I ask ye t'stop?" He chuckled. "Ye know what _I_ think happened?" "What?" "Thuir's a lot of pretty country between her and that farm they went to. I'm thinking that they're holed up someplace, taking some time t'be doing what young folks that love each other like t' do." She tried to smile. "Ye think so?" "It's what I'd be doing if I was out thuir with a pretty young barmaid o'my acquaintance." He winked and kissed her again, this time on the side of her neck. Molly couldn't help but giggle in spite of her concern. "Ye're a naughty, naughty man, Shamus O'Toole, t'be kissing me like that when I'm worrying so about Jessie and Paul." She took his hand in hers. "Thank ye." * * * * * "Tramp!" "Hussy!" "Ought to be ashamed!" More than one voice, mostly female, hissed as Trisha left the church, and some of those "good women" who didn't speak just glared at her. A few of the men leered. Trisha walked across the schoolyard, holding Kaitlin's hand, while Emma walked behind them with Liam. They were more than halfway across, when Arsenio Caulder guided Laura's wheelchair up next to them. "Can I talk to you for a bit, Trisha?" Laura asked. Trisha shrugged. "I suppose, but can we keep walking? The sooner I'm away from some of these _people_, the better." "Arsenio?" Laura looked up at her husband, when he nodded and kept pushing her forward to keep up with the O'Hanlans, she said to their church friends, "Walking's fine." "I heard about what happened at the Ritters'," Laura continued. "Is it... are you..." Her eyes moved down to examine Trisha's stomach. "Yes, you... you _are_ pregnant, aren't you?" Trisha frowned and then nodded. "I am, about fifteen weeks along, Doc Upshaw tells me." "You don't sound very happy about it." "Should I be?" "It's up to you. I know that you've made a lot of other people happy. You've lived up to their worst expectations about you." "Thank you so very much," Trisha said coolly. She started to move away from the couple. Laura reached out and grabbed her arm. "Wait -- _please_, I was only joking. I'm sorry, I'm _really_ sorry." Trisha looked over her shoulder and said, "You should be." "I am. Sometimes my mouth just moves faster than my brain. I know how scary all this must be for you, and I was trying to lighten things up a little." "It-It is scary, and, to tell the truth, seeing you sitting in that chair doesn't help any." "I'm sure it doesn't, but just because I'm in a wheelchair doesn't mean that you'll have to be. Doc Upshaw says that every pregnancy is different. When I asked him, he said that it's entirely possible that you won't need one." "You asked him about me?" "Actually... no. I asked him about pregnancy and potion girls back when Maggie Sanchez was getting ready to marry Ramon de Aguilar. And I asked again after Milt Quinlan proposed to my... sister, Jane. I got pregnant right off when Arsenio and I got married, and I wondered - you know - about them." She smiled and looked down at her own gravid middle. "I just thought you should know." "Thanks, I suppose." Laura took Trisha's hand. "If you have any questions - any at all - or, if you even just want to talk, you come and see me, okay?" "I-I guess." "Don't guess; I mean it. After all, we're the only two of our kind, the only two pregnant potion girls _ever_, as far as I know. We _have_ to stick together." * * * * * "Penny for your thoughts, Honey," Mae said. She leaned over and kissed Zach, several quick pecks on his cheek. He sighed. "I'm sorry, Mae. I was thinking about that appeal hearing on Wednesday. It's going to be close." "What's the problem?" "Clyde Ritter, some people've been talking him up as a real honest, forthright, moral pillar of the community. It's like the whole town is going to collapse without Clyde there to show us all the way." She giggled. "That's almost funny, considering how much time he spent here at _La_ _Parisienne_." "He was here? A lot?" "Honey, he was a _regular_. Matter of fact, yours truly..." She patted her hair. "...was his favorite." "Do you have proof - that he was a regular here, I mean? I can understand that you would be his favorite." She thought for a moment. "I don't have nothing with his name on it, but he's probably listed in the Lady's account books." "Mae, I could kiss you - and I think I will." He shifted and kissed her meaningfully. She moaned and her right arm slowly slid up and wrapped around his neck. When they broke the kiss, he said, "I'll have to take a look at those books. Later." "How much later?" He raised an eyebrow, giving her a wicked leer. "Later later." He waited a beat and then added, "Thy two breasts are like two fawns that are twins of a gazelle, which feed among the lilies." It was a line from the biblical _Song_ _of_ _Songs_. Jewish tradition called for young couples to use the work as an onset to sexual relations. Milt shifted again and kissed her left "fawn." Mae knew the tradition from her own childhood, and she answered as he'd taught her. "His left hand should be under my head, and his right hand should embrace me." She smiled, as his hands moved as she had just directed. * * * * * "I could ask Judge Humphreys to subpoena your account books," Zach told Lady Cerise. They were both in her office. Wilma and Herve, Cerise's "friend", were there, as well. A red, leather-bound account book sat open on Cerise's desk. Cerise gave him a sly smile. "He may not be willing to do that, Monsieur Levy, not when his own name _might_ be read in those same pages.' She thought for a moment. "Still... I, too, have tired of hearing what a fine, saintly man Clyde Ritter was." "Seems t'me," Wilma began, "we gave his wife 'whore's coins' last autumn, when she was raising money for the victims of that fire in Chicago." She smiled slyly and winked at Zach. Zach look confused. "What're 'whore's coins', Wilma?" "An old custom, a way to get back at people who condemn what we do here," Cerise explained, "but who are so willing to take the money we earn doing it. For a time, a coin - a silver dollar, perhaps - is wrapped in each of the pessiaries that my ladies use to prevent becoming _enceinte_... with child. Afterwards, we collect the coins, and... spend them. In this case, we gave them to the high and mighty Madame Ritter." She chuckled. "She said that she was so grateful for our _efforts_ on behalf of those poor people." She chuckled again. "I did not tell her that some of those 'efforts' involved her own husband." Zach shook his head, his body wracked with laughter. "You _really_ did that?" When she nodded, he laughed and added. "From now on, though, I think I'll be asking you to pay my legal fees by check, if you don't mind." "Seriously," he said, after gaining control again, "I don't have to read the entire book, just a few marked entries that prove that he's been in here on various occasions." "Eet would be a problem for my business is thees whole book were read out loud," said Cerise. "Many of my customers have wives." Zach shook his head. "I don't think the court will want to have the entire book read publically." Zach now grinned broadly. "Especially not the Judge, from what you said." "Zhat is a relief! As a rule, we just enter the income on a given night from food, drink, and... other services without listing the names of our gentlemen callers." The lawyer frowned. "I need Ritter's name." "And you shall have it," Cerise told him. "I said, 'as a rule.' After the fight, he took... here, let me show you." She leafed through the book until she saw what she was looking for. She turned the book, so he could read it and pointed to an entry. Zach read. "Clyde Ritter and Horace Styron... The Dining Room... $50. What's the dining room?" "A private room," Wilma explained, "with its own entrance. Two or three gents can eat their fill 'n' drink up some good booze, b'fore they get down to... business. There's some couches in the room for 'em t'use, all set up for privacy." "And what did you mean 'after the fight', Cerise?" * * * * * Liam leaned forward, his hands flat on the dinner table. "All right, Roscoe, the first question - the one that I _have_ to ask - is, are you the father of Trisha's baby?" "Umm, ah, Liam... Mr. O'Hanlan..." Roscoe squirmed in his chair. "In all honesty, no, I'm sorry, but I'm not the father." Kaitlin knew the truth; Trisha had confessed the names of the three possible fathers to her months before. "Then why did you say you were?" "I-I thought that it would go easier for Trisha if I did, especially the way Mrs. Ritter was shouting insults at her." Liam raised a skeptical eyebrow. "My sister's a very pretty woman, Roscoe; even I can see that. Were you just angling for a chance to... _be_ with her?" "No!" The man shook his head. "I like Trisha. I like her a lot. If I was wishing for anything, I-I'd wish that she was mine--her _and_ her baby, both - mine to protect and take care of and..." His eyes grew wide as if he was just becoming aware of what he was about to say. "...and love." Liam seemed to come to a decision. "Stand up, Roscoe," he ordered. "You too, Trisha." Roscoe slowly rose to his feet. He tried to keep his eyes on Liam, but he kept taking quick glances at Trisha, as she also stood. "Mr. O'Hanlan, if I said anything wrong, I'm sorry..." "There's no need for you to be sorry, not if you've been telling the truth. Just take my sister's hand and get down on one knee. If you're going to propose, you might as well do it right." Trisha's jaw dropped. "Propose?" "Propose. Roscoe's the only chance you've got at being an honest woman, Trisha. The news that you're pregnant is all over town by now. Isn't that right?" The newsman nodded. "Probably. Mr. Pratt used to say that half the people in town bought the paper to see which of that week's rumors we'd decided to print." "So the whole town knows you're pregnant," Liam continued, "but nobody else has stepped up to admit that he's the one who got you that way. If the two of you _don't_ get together, it won't do Roscoe much harm, but you, Trisha, you'd be a foolish, fallen woman, betrayed and abandoned by the father of your child." Roscoe took her hand and dropped down. "He's right, Trisha." He smiled up at her. "Will you marry me and let me save you from such an awful fate?" "You... You want to... marry... me?" She could hardly believe what was happening. Part of her was panicking, but part -- and not small part - - of her tingled with excitement. He got back on both feet, still holding her hand. He took a firmer grip and pulled her to him. "Yes, I do; very much, now that I think of it." He gently placed his hands on either side of her hands and, before she could say anything more, moved closer and kissed her with all the passion he could muster. Trisha sighed, as a warm glow enveloped her. There were a thousand reasons, she knew, why she shouldn't marry -- _couldn't_ marry -- Roscoe but, at that moment, she couldn't think of a single one. * * * * * "Hello, Flora." Zach Levy was smiling, almost grinning, as he and Tor came around the corner and back towards her cell. Flora stood up next to her cot. "What're you so happy about, and what took you so long to get here today?" "Wait a minute." He tilted his head, pointing towards Tor. The deputy opened the door, and Levy walked in. "Thanks, Tor." He waited until the other man had shut and locked the cell door and headed back to his desk. "_Now_, I'll answer your questions. I was over at _La_ _Parisienne_... ah, checking things out." "I'm sure," she said coolly. He chuckled. "All right, all right." He held up his hands, as though he was defending himself. "That wasn't _all_ I was doing, but I did find out some things that I think will help your case." "What... What did you find out?" "Let's just say I think I can prove that Clyde Ritter may not have been the even-tempered family man that some people are claiming he was." "That's what I kept saying at my trial." "Yes, but you were hardly the most objective of witnesses." "Do you have enough to get me freed?" "First things first; my goal on Wednesday is just to get rid of that death sentence. That's all the Judge was willing to consider. If I can prove your case - and I think I can -- and get your sentence dropped to twenty years, _then_ I can go for a new trial." "But if you can't." The air seemed to go out of Flora, and she sank down onto her cot. "Shouldn't we be talking about..." She sighed -- or was it a whimper? "...my will?" He sat down next to her, cupping her chin in his hand. "Hey, now; I'm not so desperate for business that I'll waste your time on something that you won't need." "Are you that sure I won't need one?" "You're the one who complained about my being an 'honest lawyer.' If I thought things were going to go bad, I'd be happy to help you write your will, wouldn't I?" "Yes." "And if I thought things were okay, but I was greedy, I'd also take on the job. But I'm an honest lawyer, so if I won't work up your will it must be because you won't be needing one, understand?" "I guess." She gave him a weak smile. "Good. Now you relax. You'll see; you'll be out of here in no time." * * * * * "Hey, Bridget," Sam Braddock set his carpenter's toolbox down on the table. "You up for a game of poker... for nails, of course." Bridget had been playing a game of Maverick solitaire. "I suppose." She gathered in the cards. "Good." He opened the toolbox and took out a box of nails and dumped them out onto the table. "Here you go." He sat down and pushed a handful to Bridget and took roughly the same number for himself. Then he carefully picked up the remainder and returned them to the box. Bridget shuffled the deck twice and offered it to Sam to cut. He tapped the cards with a finger and nodded for her to deal. "Can anybody get in this game?" Bridget looked up to see... "Carl, what brings you in here?" "I rode in t'see Flora." He ignored the frown that briefly clouded Bridget's face. "Only she's talking to her lawyer, right now. They said they was gonna be a while, so I came over here for a drink." He looked down at the nails. "Only this looks more interesting." Sam took a handful of nails from the box and put them down near where Carl was standing. "Have a seat." "But..." Bridget cradled the cards nervously. So far, she'd only been playing poker with Sam. Still, Carl was a friend. He'd been sitting in at the poker table with her since she first started dealing cards for Shamus all those months ago. 'I-I can trust him,' she reassured herself, 'even if he... is with Flora.' The cowboy saw her expression. "If you're afraid to play for something as important as nails..." He gave her a quick wink. "...we can always play for cash money." "No," she answered. "Nails will be fine." She took a breath to steady herself. "Five card stud, okay?" When both men nodded, she dealt the cards. Sam tossed two nails to the center of the table. "Ante up." "Okay." Bridget fanned out her hand; 10 of clubs; 2, 7, and 8 of diamonds, and 10 of hearts. 'Not a bad hand,' she thought. She leaned back in her chair and started watching the two men for tells. It was like she'd never stopped playing * * * * * Monday, June 17, 1872 Flora used a biscuit to soak up the last of the grease from her bacon. "Well, you gonna tell me?" "Tell you what?" Carl asked. He was sitting opposite her at a small table he'd brought into her cell along with the picnic basket that held their breakfast. He took a bite of his own biscuit. "Why it was you that brought breakfast this morning... _and_ why you stayed to eat with me?" "I... Did you enjoy having breakfast with me?" She shrugged. "I suppose." She saw his expression cloud. "Yes... Yes, I did. It was..." She thought for a moment. "It was... nice. In fact, I enjoyed it more than I expected to." "I'm glad. Would you like to have breakfast with me again tomorrow?" "Yes, but you haven't answered my question." "How about the day after tomorrow... and the day after that and the day after that?" She chuckled at his eagerness, putting up her hand to cover her mouth. "Yes, yes, but why..." "How about every morning for the rest of your life?" "Now how could I..." Her eyes widened in surprise, as she realized what he was asking. Carl smiled and took her hand in his. "By marrying me, Flora. Will you be my wife?" "Are you crazy?" She stood up quickly. He rose and walked around to her side of the table, still holding her hand. "'Course, I'm crazy; crazy in love with you. Do you love me?" "Well, I...I don't know. I don't know if I feel the _marrying_ kind of love. I need to think." She felt confused... and surprised... and uncertain.... He stepped even closer. His other hand reached up to softly stroke her cheek. She stared into those warm green eyes of his, her lips parted. Then his lips touched hers in a kiss that made the world just... drift off for a while. "That'll give you something to think about," he told her when they separated. Her legs felt unsteady, and she sank down on the cot. It was like all the strength had gone out of her. What was he doing to her? Without another word, but grinning as he worked, Carl loaded the leftover food and the dirty dishes into the basket. He folded the table, and then he called for the sheriff. "I have to put the table outside your cell," he explained. "Th-Thanks," she said, blinking as if she'd stared into a bright light. "See you later." He leaned down and kissed her in the cheek, as the sheriff opened the cell door. "You surely will, Flora, honey; you surely will." * * * * * Roscoe raised his hand, but then he paused a moment before he knocked on the half-opened door. "Reverend Yingling?" "Yes, come in." Yingling dog-eared the page of _Frank_ _Leslie's_ _Illustrated_ _Newspaper_. 'I'll finish this later,' he promised himself as he set it down in a drawer of his desk. Roscoe pushed the door open and walked in. Trisha was with him, holding his hand. "Good morning, Reverend," they said, almost in unison. "And a good morning to the both of you. What can I do for you?" "We... ah, we want to get married," Trisha answered, trying to hide the quiver in her voice. Yingling nodded gravely. "After the events of last Friday, I am hardly surprised." "You heard about that, did you?" she asked. "I was there, actually, over in a corner pouring myself a cup of tea. I witnessed the entire incident." "Whatever you may think, sir, I love Trisha, and I -- _we_ -- want to do the right thing." "We want to get married," she added. "Seeing as school's out for the summer, I thought..." She smiled and squeezed Roscoe's hand. "_We_ thought, maybe, we could use it as the church. We'd like to get married on Thursday afternoon, if that'd be okay for you." The Reverend leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "It is most uncertainly _not_ okay with me. I will not officiate at your wedding, not on Thursday nor on any other day. Nor will I allow the use of my church for such sacrilege." "Sa-Sacrilege?" Trisha's eyes went wide. "If it's because I'm... pregnant..." She let the thought hang. The minister shook his head. "I do not, of course, approve of the sort of behavior that led to your... condition, but I know that it _can_ happen. In your case, I would almost _expect_ it to happen." Roscoe's expression hardened. "What do you mean 'expect it to happen'? What are you implying?" "Patrick O'Hanlan was a good, church-going man before he was transformed by Shamus O'Toole's infernal potion. That the woman he became would indulge in such indecent practice - to become... with child - is only to be expected, given that potion's corruptive influence." She glared at the man. "Now just a minute, Reverend; you can't say something like that about me." To herself, she added, 'or about Emma.' "No?" Yingling shook his head again. "That potion is the foulest evil I have ever encountered. My feelings on the matter are well-known, and I will do nothing that can possibly be taken as condoning it in _any_ way." "That's absurd," Roscoe argued. The other man rose to his feet. "No, it is our Lord's revealed truth. Since you both refuse to accept this, I fear that our conversation is at an end." He took a breath. "And I will ask you to leave." "This conversation may be ended," Roscoe replied, "but, rest assured, the matter is not." He put his hand around Trisha's waist and guided her out the door. * * * * * "That went well," Trisha said sourly, giving Roscoe a wry smile. The pair had just left the Yingling home. Roscoe smiled back. "No, it didn't, but it's his fault, not yours. And, just in case you're wondering, I still want _very_ _much_ to marry you." His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close. "Good, because I feel the same way." They looked at each other for almost five whole seconds before they kissed. * * * * * "Is _he_ in, Mr. Wynn?" The clerk looked up. Roscoe and Trisha had walked into Judge Parnassus Humphrey's outer office. The Judge was standing a few feet away looking at a file. "I am, Trisha... Roscoe." He handed the file to Obie Wynn, his clerk. "Can we talk about whatever the problem is in my office?" "We want to get married," Roscoe said, "and your office will be fine for now." The three of them went into the office, and the Judge shut the door behind them. "Are you all right, Trisha? Do you want some water or anything before we start?" He glanced down at her stomach. "I'm fine, Your Honor." She took a quick look down, and then shook her head. "Aside from just being there, 'Junior' isn't a problem... yet." "Cecelia Ritter never was much for tact. She picked a terrible way to announce him... or her." Roscoe gave a harsh laugh. "That's for sure. It's not nice to say it, but I was hoping that her husband's death would slow her down - for a while anyway." "It probably won't," Trisha added. "But that's not why we're here." She took Roscoe's hand. "We want - not need -- _want_ to get married." "I'm flattered to be asked to officiate, but, frankly, I'm a bit surprised that you didn't ask Thad Yingling." Roscoe frowned. "We did ask him, to tell the truth. He refused. He said that everything about Shamus O'Toole's potion was evil - even Trisha." He squeezed her hand. "He not only refused to marry us, he said that he wouldn't allow us to get married in _his_ church." "His church?" Humphreys scowled. "I think not. Strictly speaking, it's mine, mine and the rest of the board, to administer in the name of the congregation." "I'm on the board." Trisha brightened for a moment. "That is, I was till I took that leave of absence. Liam's on it now." She brightened again. "If Liam and you, Judge, and... and Rupe and Dwight Albertson said it was okay..." Her voice trailed off. The Judge nodded. "Then, of course, you two could use the church. I have no problem with that. The good reverend's getting a little too arrogant for my taste. You know, you two aren't the first couple he's refused. He said 'No' to Milt and Jane Quinlan when they asked." She frowned. "'I heard you married those two at the Saloon. But I didn't know that the choice had been forced on them." "Nobody called him on it. Milt and Jane were happy enough to have the wedding at Shamus' saloon." "I think Trisha and I would prefer the church. Can you help us?" The other man nodded. "I think so. When would you want the ceremony?" "Thursday afternoon," Roscoe answered. "It's summer break, so the school house is available." "Hmm, and does Liam approve of this wedding?" "He sure does." She wouldn't say that it was his idea originally. "Good, ask him to talk to Rupe Warrick about the church board meeting tonight --- at your house, Trisha, if you don't mind." "I don't. Kaitlin approves, too, so she shouldn't mind our meeting there, either." "Good; I'll talk to Dwight. We'll start at 7 or so." Trisha smiled. "I think that'll be fine." She thought for a moment. "And I think that I'll go drop in on Jubal Cates. Emma's working for him, and I want to see how she's doing. Of course, if I just happen to tell him about tonight - he just might happen to show up." "The more the merrier," the Judge said with a chuckle. * * * * * Flora sat on her cot, staring at the bars of her cell and at the brick wall beyond it. As she did, Carl's words - his question - kept repeating over and over in her mind. "Will you be my wife?" "How can I be his wife?" she asked herself. "How can I be _any_ man's wife when _I'm_ a man; when I'm Forrest Wainwright Stafford?" "Will you be my wife?" "Well, I _was_ a man, before I took that damned potion, anyway. O'Toole made me dress like a woman. And those damned baths -- I had to remember how the baths made me feel every time I got up and danced. What with brushing my hair and saying, 'I'm a girl' and lessons on how to walk and sit, I couldn't help but start acting girly, but acting girly and _being_ a girl, those are two _very_ _different_ things. Aren't they?" "Will you be my wife?" "And _why_ did I have to flirt with Carl? I flirted with Clyde to rile Shamus. I let Clyde think he could get into my drawers if he was nice to me, if he brought me presents. Carl, okay, I was _practicing_ with Carl. But he... he was different... special.' She smiled to herself. 'And he made me feel special, too." "Will you be my wife?" "Now he wants to be with me forever; except _forever_ is only probably the few days till they can hang me. That... That's not too long a time." She sighed. "What would it be like, I wonder, to be with a man, to be his? To hold him and touch him and... to find out if this crazy feeling, that I'm feeling, is really...love." "Will you be my wife?" "But what if isn't it love? What if it's just an impulse to try out something -- anything that's new -- to take my mind off the hanging?" "Will you be my wife?" "And if I don't hang... if we do have a life together, can I be the sort of a wife that he needs - that he _deserves_, or will I immediately want out of our marriage? That would hurt Carl _so_ much, and he's the last person in the world I want to hurt." "Will you be my wife?" "Even if I tried to do my best for him, what would my best be? Keep house, like Laura Caulder does for her husband? I hate doing that sort of work for Shamus. Help him relax after a day of roping cattle? Bring him a beer in our house, if we even have a house? Sleep with him? I never did that with a man. Does he want children? Could I _ever_ be enough of a woman to do that? The whole idea scares me." "And what about my days? What will I be doing? Is my father going to disown me and leave me with nothing? Am we supposed to live on a cowboy's wages? Wouldn't I have to keep dancing so we'd have a little extra to spend? Even with a cowhand's and a dancehall girl's wages together, we'd still be poor. Could I live with being poor?" "Will you be my wife?" "Is it even possible for me to let somebody love me and not have the person end up hurt? It's happened before - too many times. But I never felt serious about anyone before. Everything about this thing with Carl feels serious. Is it even possible? Should I run, or should I give it a chance and see what happens? Forry Stafford wasn't the bravest of men, Lord knows. Does he - do _I_ -- have the courage to actually love someone, and let him love me for however long - or short - the rest of my life is going to be?" * * * * * Kirby leaned back in his chair and glanced around the yard. "It's really nice - nicer than I expected - having dinner with you here in Shamus' backyard." "I thought that you'd like it," Nancy replied. "That's why I asked Shamus to put the table out here." He gave her a wry smile. "I admit to being a little surprised at first, but it's just the thing for a demure, little school teacher who can't be seen having dinner with a man." "Or for a brazen hussy of a dance hall girl," she teased him back, "one who wants to be alone with her beau." "And am I that beau?" "I would think so." She smiled. "You've been working at it long enough." He shifted his chair, so he was sitting closer to her. "I think so, too." He took her hand. "You're a wonder, Nancy Osbourne. Somehow, you've managed to be that 'demure, little school teacher' _and_ 'the brazen hussy', both at the same time. "Which do you prefer?" "The dancer; I couldn't even talk to the schoolmarm, let alone be having dinner with her. But I can certainly talk to the dancer. She seems more natural, more free. I can watch her show, and then, afterwards, I can sit with her and tell her how much I enjoyed it. Even better, on Saturdays, I can buy a ticket and dance with her, hold her in my arms and feel her moving across the floor with me." He took a breath. "Yes, I definitely prefer the dancer." "You sound like you have no use for the schoolmarm," she teased. He leaned in close. "I most certainly do. She's every bit as pretty as the dancer, and she had the courage to spite Mrs. Ritter and the rest and to _become_ the dancer. I'm proud of her and proud to know her." "You didn't talk that way when you first found out what I was going to do." He shrugged. "You'd been hurt, and I thought that you were going to make a mistake that would get you hurt even more. Also, I cared so much about the person you were, and I was afraid that my feelings would change if you stopped being the schoolmarm that first won my heart." "Speaking for the schoolmarm, I'd like to say that you're a very sweet man, Kirby Pinter." She touched his cheek, brought her face close, and kissed him softly on the lips. Kirby smiled. "And another thing, she kisses just as well as the dancer." Nancy looked down and said through a smile, "You silly! That _was_ the dancer kissing you!" * * * * * "Evening, Flora." Flora looked up from the last of her dinner to see Carl Osbourne and Sheriff Dan Talbot standing outside her cell. "C-Carl, what are you doing here?" "I came for an answer to the question I asked you this afternoon." Carl stepped back, as the Sheriff unlocked the cell door and swung it open. "Thanks, Sheriff," he said, walking into the cell. "I'll call if I need you." Talbot closed the cell door, making certain that the lock clicked shut. "You do that - and good luck." Without another word, he turned and headed back to his desk. "Are you sure you want my answer?" She took a last sip of her coffee and set the empty cup down on the tray. ?For that matter, are you still sure that you want to marry me?? ?Yes; yes to both questions.? ?Why?Why for heaven?s sake do you want to do something that crazy? Don?t you know who I am ? who I was? What I did?? He nodded. ?You used to be a fellah named Forry Stafford, and he done some pretty nasty stuff. But you ain?t him no more.? ?I don?t look like him anymore; I know that.? She took a fleeting look down at her body. ?But inside --? ?You ain?t him _inside_ neither,? he insisted. ?You still got his spunk, some of it anyway, and I admire that ?bout you, but you talk different ? not so sure of yourself, not so angry ? more friendly.? ?That was an _act_ for the Saloon crowd. I was just playing up to people. It was good for business.? ?Is that so?? He took her hand in his own. ?Flora, you just ain?t that good an actress; the real you keeps peeking through. You look like a gal. You walk and talk like a gal. And, best of all, you kiss like a gal.? He looked her straight in the eye. ?What does that make you?? ?A monster!? She looked away from him. ?Carl, I don't know anyone in the world who wouldn't rather have me dead, except, maybe, my sister Prissy; maybe my father, too, but only because he wouldn't want to lose a piece off his game board. And how many friends have I made in this town? Half of it is howling for my blood.? ?Flora, you've got to accept that you're a potion girl. I know most of the potion girls, and there?s no way in hell that any of them are still men under their pretty skin. It's magic, Flora. Every move you make, every breath you take, every word you say tells me you're a hundred percent gal.? She spoke in a soft, uncertain voice. ?You're wrong.? But, silently, she asked herself, ?Is he? Am I _really_ a girl? And if I am, does it make any difference?? Her two conflicting natures seemed to be deadlocked. She had the deciding vote. What should she do? She could either be the monster, or be the girl... Carl tugged gently on her arm. ?No, I?m right,? he said, ?You?re all gal, now -- _my_ gal.? He pulled her to her feet and into his arms. ?Look, Flora, you heard me tease my sister about being so stubborn. Well, it runs in the family. I can be just as stubborn, when it?s important to me.? He took a breath. ?And I can?t think of _nothing_ more important than getting you t?marry me.? ?You need someone who'd be good for you, and good to you. Why do you think that person could be me?? Carl shook his head. ?My sister?s the one who?s good with words. Lemme give you _my_ best argument for why you oughta marry me.? He took her in his arms. Her breasts were pressed against his chest. She could smell the citrusy aroma of his Pinaud aftershave. He was smiling, his green eyes sparkling. Flora stopped her nervous squirming and accepted his embrace. She had felt so alone in the cell, but Carl was here for her now. What did the preachers say? ?For better, for worse?? She had to admit that things were pretty bad. Her arms, of their own accord, reached out to encircle his neck. Her body was responding. She was aroused, and she welcomed it. But this wasn?t just the beginning of a new adventure in sex. She felt cherished, protected. Her logical mind told her that it was a false feeling, this sense of being cherished. It had to be false because she was sure that she didn't deserve it. If only she knew _how_ to deserve it. But suddenly, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, she started to warm, first deep inside, and then spreading outward from her core. An epiphany, an incredible sense of relief filled her. The hard, hard work of quarreling with herself was over. Only one voice was speaking now. It wanted her to give him the chance to love her, and she wanted, somehow, to love him, too. She wanted to make her decision before that second, nay-saying, voice came back. She shifted slightly and whispered one word in his ear. ?Yes.? He stopped kissing her and looked into her eyes, eyes that were hot and wet. ?I love you, Flora, and I promise to make you happy.? ?If --? she said, ?if that's what you're trying to do, a little voice tells me that you're on the right track.? * * * * * Five members of the Eerie Methodist Church Board of Elders ? everyone but Horace Styron and Willie Gotefreund ? sat around the O?Hanlan dinner table. Rupe Warrick, as board vice president, was at the head of the table, with Liam, and then Trisha at his right. As they waited for the meeting to start, Trisha noted one or another of the others glancing nervously over at her, at her stomach, to tell the truth. She never met their eyes with her own, though. ?Oh, Lord,? she thought, and not for the first time that evening, ?why couldn?t Roscoe be here?? ?Thank you all for coming.? Liam rose to his feet. ?I?d like to start this meeting with an announcement.? He waited for a moment. ?My sister, Trisha?? He gestured towards her with one arm. ??is getting married to Roscoe Unger.? Dwight Albertson was first to speak. ?Well, congratulations, Trisha. When?s the happy day?? ?That?s the problem, gentlemen,? Liam continued. ?Trisha and Roscoe wanted to get married in our ? in _her_ church, and by _her_ minister. Even if she is on leave, she?s still a member of this board, and Roscoe?s been a member for ? what ? three or four years?? His voice grew hard. ?Only Reverend Yingling refused.? Jubal Cates looked perplexed. ?Why?? ?Because I?m? I?m a potion girl,? Trisha answered. ?He said that the potion was evil. That _I_ was evil. And he?d be condoning that evil if he married Roscoe and me.? Dwight Albertson glanced ? again ? at her body. ?I hate to be indelicate, Trisha, but was that the ? ah, the _only_ reason?? ?Yes, it was, Dwight,? she answered firmly, trying not to show her embarrassment. ?What other reason could there possibly be?? The banker held up his hands, as if warding off an attack. ?I do apologize, but I-I had to ask.? ?It?s the only reason.? Liam told them all. ?And there?s more to it. Reverend Yingling not only refused to perform the ceremony; he said that he wouldn?t allow the wedding to take place in the church -- _his_ church_ --under any circumstances.? Rupe scowled. ?Since when is it _his_ church? If anybody owns it, it?s _us_, the board. We hold it in the congregation?s name.? ?He said the very same thing when Milt Quinlan wanted to get married,? Judge Humphreys added. ?That?s why he and Jane were married in Shamus O?Toole?s saloon.? ?Is that why? I always figured that it was because Jane worked there.? Humphreys shook his head. ?No, they asked, and he refused. We can?t very well force the man to perform the ceremony when he doesn?t want to.? ?It?d give a whole new meaning to ?shotgun wedding,? wouldn?t it?? Jubal said with a sly smile, but then he saw the expression on Trisha?s face and quickly added, ?Sorry.? She smiled back at him graciously. ?Don?t worry, Rupe. As a matter of fact, _Roscoe_ proposed to _me_.? ?To get back to my point,? the Judge interrupted, ?Thad Yingling doesn?t have to marry them ? though I think he should, anyway ? but he has no authority to deny them the use of _our_ building.? ?What can we do about it?? Rupe asked. The Judge turned to face Trisha. ?When did you say that you two want to get married?? ?Thursday? This Thursday afternoon.? ?Fine; I move that the board grant permission for Trisha O?Hanlan and Roscoe Unger to hold their wedding in our church this Thursday afternoon. I?ll perform the ceremony myself, unless Thad changes his mind. If I do it, it?ll be a civil wedding, of course, but it?ll still be binding.? Liam quickly raised his hand. ?Second.? ?All in favor?? Rupe asked. All five hands were raised. ?Passed; congratulations, Trisha.? She wiped a tear from her eye. ?Thank you? friends. Thank you so very much.? ?What do we do if the Reverend objects?? Dwight said nervously. The Judge frowned. ?_When_ he objects is more like it, and how we react will depend on what he says and does. Whatever that is, I think we can handle it.? ?From your mouth to G-d?s Ears,? Liam added, looking heavenward. The Judge took a quick look at his watch. ?If there?s no other business, gentlemen? and ladies, I?m afraid that I have to get to another engagement.? He rose and started for the door. ?Good night to you all. And congratulations again, Trisha, to you _and_ Roscoe.? * * * * * ?It would be easier,? Judge Humphreys observed, ?if I ? we ? do this in the hall, rather than in Flora?s cell.? Sheriff Talbot shrugged. ?Hall or cell, she?s still in jail.? ?Let?s do it that way, then.? The Judge walked over and stood in the hall outside the two jail cells. ?Everyone get into place.? Flora walked down towards the other end of the hall, where Shamus and Molly were standing. ?I still don?t see why Levy and Quinlan have to be here,? she said. ?Because we?re appealing your sentence on Wednesday,? Zach Levy explained. ?When a person in your? situation has any sort of a meeting with the judge hearing the case, her lawyer and the prosecution lawyer have to be there. Otherwise, it?s what they call illegal ex parte contact.? ?Well then,? Molly chimed in, ?let?s be getting this here ?parte? started.? Humphreys smiled at the deliberate pun. ?All right, Carl, you stand here before me as groom, with Zach, your best man, to your left.? He waited while the men stepped into place before calling out in a clear voice, ?Gentlemen, if you would.? The Happy Days Town Band had been playing for the remaining Cactus Blossoms? act, and Shamus and Molly had brought them along. They were just around the corner in the Sheriff?s office, and, at the Judge?s signal they began playing ?The Wedding March.? ?Are ye ready, Flora?? Shamus asked. He offered her his arm as father of the bride, Flora took his arm and tried to smile. ?No...? she said softly, ?but let?s do it anyway.? They began walking towards Judge Humphreys. Her glance shifted from Shamus to Carl and back again. Both men, she discovered, were smiling back at her. When they reached Carl, Shamus gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. ?For luck,? he told her. He stepped away and walked over to stand next to Molly, the matron of honor, signaling the band to stop playing. Flora slipped in between Carl and Nancy, her maid of honor and future sister-in-law. Carl lifted the veil that Molly had loaned to Flora, and they both tuned to face the Judge. Suddenly Flora burst into laughter. Silently the crowd regarded her. ?S-Sorry,? she said struggling to keep a straight face, as the absurdity of what she was doing struck home. ?It?s just?.never mind. Judge, please continue.? ?Dearly beloved,? Judge Humphreys began. * * * * * ?Excuse me, folks,? Sheriff Talbot announced, ?but it?s after 9:30, time I was making my rounds. I?m going to have to ask everybody but Flora and Carl to leave.? The Judge and the two lawyers had left right after the ceremony. ?I can?t very well fraternize with someone who?s appearing before me in two days,? he had explained. The band had headed back to the Saloon to play between shows, as they usually did. ?Just as well,? Shamus said now, looked at his pocket watch. ??Tis almost time for the second show. C?mon, Nancy, Lylah can?t be dancing alone, ye know.? He put his arm around Molly?s waist. ?Ye come along, too, Love. We?ll be leaving these two for the night.? He guided her towards the door. Nancy gave Flora a hug. ?You take good care of my big brother, and? welcome to the family.? ?Thanks? sister.? Flora hugged her back. She wondered how her sister ? her _other_ sister, Priscilla, would react to the news of the wedding and to her new in-laws. Her grin faded for a moment, as she wondered when ? and _if_ she?d ever see Priscilla again. If the trial didn?t go according to Zach?s plan, she wouldn?t have to worry about getting Priscilla?s approval for anything. The Sheriff was looking through his keys. ?Time to lock you two up for the night.? ?Not much privacy for a wedding night,? Carl said, staring at Flora?s cell. Flora felt her face flush at what he was implying. Talbot glanced at the cell and chuckled. ?No, it?s not, but, like I said before, ?in the jailhouse? is ?in jail.? Come with me.? He led them to a door at the other end of the hallway. The door had a latch bolted on it, with a lock in place. The word ?Storeroom? was painted on the door in white letters. ?I?ll just lock you in here tonight.? He unlocked the door and opened it wide. ?Go on in. It?s not as bad as you think it?ll be.? Carl and Flora stood in the doorway and looked around the room. The room was much larger than Flora?s cell. A bed, covered by a blue blanket sat in the far right corner. A bed table with an oil lamp, already lit, was set next to it. A wooden rack with three wooden hangers projected out from the back wall, with a low dresser along the side wall. A tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses was placed atop the dresser. ?Wine?? Carl asked. ?This is quite a storeroom you have, Sheriff.? Talbot chuckled. ?Shamus and Molly brought over the wine. Molly made up the bed, too.? ?We?ll have to thank them,? Flora said. She was surprised at the idea, but it seemed the right thing to do. She chuckled to herself, ?This is a day _full_ of surprises.? A file cabinet stood to the left of the door, and there was a gun cabinet, locked and chained, with four Winchester 1866 model repeating rifles and ten boxes of ammunition stacked on a small worktable to the right of it. ?This is one heck of a place,? Carl observed. ?It started out as just a storeroom,? the Sheriff told them, ?but my wife, Amy, fixed it up some for nights when I had to be on duty. And then, this was where my other deputy, Paul Grant, lived before he found? ah, other accommodations. Now, if you don?t mind...? He gestured for them to go in. They stepped through the doorway, and Talbot closed it behind them. ?Goodnight,? he shouted through the door. They heard the click of the lock being set in place followed by the footsteps of Talbot walking away. Flora stared at the locked door with a sense of foreboding. ?Oh, G-d,? she thought, ?what have I done? I-I?m locked in a room with a man who has every right to expect me to have sex with him.? Part of Flora was horrified by the idea, remembering the _power_ a man felt having sex with a woman. That's what Carl would be feeling. Somehow, though, another part of her wondered what _she_ would be feeling, what sex as a woman would be like. Clyde Ritter had given her a taste of what it felt like to be touched _that_ _way_ by a man. She shivered, and for more than one reason. Her body was tingling in _anticipation_ of what might happen. At the same time, she was worrying, ?Will I be good enough in bed to please him?? That she cared so much about not disappointing him scared her even more. ?I _better_ be a girl,? she said to herself, ?or else this is the last place in the world where I ought to be.? ?Are you all right, Flora?? Carl asked. ?You got such a funny look.? She looked down, unable to face him. ?I-I?m sorry, Carl. I know what you?re planning on tonight, but I ? oh, Lord ? I don?t know if I?m ready, if I can do what you want me to do.? He was silent for a moment, thinking, then he sighed. ?Well, I can?t say that I?m not disappointed, but I ain?t about t?force you t?do something you don?t wanna do. How about we just settle for what _you_ wanna do, what you do so good, kiss and cuddle?? Feelings of relief and disappointment ? disappointment? ? warred within her. This night should be special; kissing and cuddling wouldn't be special. But beyond kissing and cuddling lay danger. ?Okay, I guess.? ?Let?s have some of that wine for a start.? He poured them each a glass. He handed one to her, and then took the other, raising it upwards. ?To my beautiful wife.? He winked and took a sip. She nodded, nervously, accepting the compliment. ?Thanks? I guess.? She grinned abashedly and said, ?_Wife_ is going to be a hard word to get used to.? Then she drank most of the wine in one gulp before she set the glass down on the tray. ?Lemme start then? wife.? He put down his own glass, moved in close, and took her head in her hands, steadying her. Their lips touched. Their passion grew, as one of his hands snaked behind her neck. Her lips parted in a moan, and she tasted the wine on his breath. He broke the kiss after a time, but then he kissed her again, a quick peck on her lips before he shifted, kissing her cheek, her jaw line, and on down her neck, a trail of kisses that lit delicious sparks under her skin. She sighed and closed her eyes, even as her arms slipped ever so slowly around him. Their bodies pressed against each other. Their hands explored each other?s form. The sparks in her grew even more intense, filling her body with an inner light. Carl had reached the base of her throat by now. The high collar of her dress kept him from going any further. Flora trembled, and the motions of her hands became less certain. He took a half-step back, and his hands reached up to the top button of her dress. ?Can I?? he asked in a confident voice. ?Y-Yes.? Flora looked up at him with dazed eyes, an uncertain smile on her face. She wasn?t sure why, but it seemed like what she _should_ say. As nervous as she was, she didn't want to cry uncle first. He undid the button, waiting for her reaction. Her smile became more of a grin, as the absurdity of the situation once more began to loom. He grinned back. ?All right, then.? With a bit of a flourish, he opened the next button. And the next button and the next. And the next, until the dress was opened wide. Carl paused a moment, trying to make out his bride's reaction. She was looking up at him, uncertain and dewy-eyed. Her lips were bravely set. Encouraged, he carefully parted the two halves of the dress, revealing her cobalt blue corset. The sight of it, contrasted with the milk- white skin of Flora's perfect neck, made him sigh with desire. With fingers slightly atremble, he slipped the dress off her shoulders, exposing the top of her white camisole, with its low, heart-shaped collar, which barely showed the top of her corset. The tops of Flora?s breasts were now visible. He kissed the cleft between them. ?So damned beautiful.? He lifted his head and pushed back the hair gathered around her neck. Then he leaned in and kissed her exposed flesh. She gave a small gasp. The kiss lasted for some time, and, when he moved away, there was a small, purplish bruise, a love bite, where his lips had been. As he drew back, he could feel her body trembling. ?Sshh!? he whispered and gently stroked her hair for a moment, as he would an overexcited horse, trying to calm it. Then he began inching his way down towards her breasts. The soft kisses alternated with tiny nips. He could hear her sighing, almost moaning, and unable to speak. When he had reached her camisole, without waiting, without asking for permission, he began to unhook her corset. Flora shivered. Was it from fear or desire? She didn?t know, but she said and did nothing to stop him. She simply watched his nimble fingers do their work. And, when they were done, he took the garment in one hand and reached over to set it atop the dresser. Her nipples poked out her camisole, and he could see their dark pink though its white fabric. They begged to be played with, and he obliged, cupping her breasts with his hands, tweaking her nipples with his fingers. ?Ooh!? Flora?s eyes went wide. A sort of liquid fire flowed into her breasts from his fondling. It was like a delicious itch, the more the fire entered her body, the more of it she wanted. Her nipples were tight as a drumhead. She arched her back, pushing her breasts into his hands. Her head swam as the fire spread through her to every corner of her body, but, especially, to the cleft between her legs. She wanted ? no, she _needed_ to be touched, down there, just as fiercely as she needed him to keep kissing her lips and touching her breasts. Her hands reached up to rest on his shoulders as she ground her groin against his, still uncertain but excited now by the hardness she found there. Her lips curled in a wry smile as she came to terms with what it meant, and she leaned in to kiss him again. As she did, her dress fell off her right shoulder and dangled about her elbow. ?Maybe you oughta take that thing off,? Carl told her. ?You?re gonna have to eventually.? Flora raised a curious eyebrow. ?Oh, _really_?? ?Sure, that dress is too pretty t?sleep in.? He moved around behind her and took hold of the fabric. ?Here, lemme help you.? He held it in place, while she pulled her arms out, and then he pulled it upwards and off her body. Carl set the dress down gently on the dresser and stepped up behind her. His arms went around her waist, and he kissed the side of her throat. Flora trembled at the sensations of his lips on her skin, of his body against her. ?You can?t sleep in this, neither.? His left hand reached down to tug at the bow that held her petticoat tight at the waist. It slipped apart, and the garment fell to the ground. He kissed her neck again and breathed in the scent of her. ?Oh, Lordy, what the sight and the smell and the _touch_ of you does to a man.? He pressed the massive tenting in his trousers against her rump, as his hands began to caress her breasts again. ?Aah,? she sighed. What Carl was doing seemed to awaken a whole new set of sensibilities. She reached behind her back, and her fumbling fingers searched for the buttons on his trousers. ?Seems to me that I?m not the only one who has to take off some clothes.? She giggled, amazed at her sudden aggressiveness. Carl kissed her neck again and stepped back. ?Be faster if I take care of my own pants.? He began undoing the buttons. Flora smiled to see how his fingers fumbled in his rush to remove his pants. She thought she should try to keep up with him and so started to step out of her petticoat, but a buttonhook on her shoe caught on the material. She turned and sat down on the bed to better deal with the tangle. ?That?s a good idea.? Carl finished with the buttons and let his now- loosened pants fall down around his ankles. He shifted and sat down next to her, lifting his right leg, so that he could remove his boot. In spite of herself, Flora glanced over at his crotch. ?Ooh, my,? she whispered, looking at the size of the tenting in his drawers. She glanced up to see him smiling at her. Her face flushed bright red, as she quickly went back to the problem of her petticoat. In a matter of moments, the undergarment was tossed atop her dress, and two pair of boots sat on the floor. ?Now what do we do?? She asked. Her body and her mind were giving her all kinds of answers, and the answer from the small part of her that was still Forry, ?Run away!? was lost in a chorus of very erotic ? and _very_ _contrary_ -- suggestions. Rosalyn had talked about using the skills she was teaching Flora, the ones that went beyond just touching, talking, and teasing, on a man. And now, as if in a dream, she was about to find out how well she had learned those skills. He grinned at her. ?We just keep on doing what we was doing, kissing and cuddling.? He slid over, next to her. His arm went around her waist, and he kissed her behind her ear. She shivered, her body tingling once again, and turned to face him. Their lips met, as she draped her arms around his neck. She moaned softly and her tongue darted out and ran across his lip before it retreated back into her mouth. His followed, and it began to tangle with hers. She moaned again from the exquisite sensations the kiss was creating in her. Carl?s hands reached down and slowly, very carefully began to undo the buttons of her camisole. Once it was opened, his hands moved into it. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing against her extended nipples. Reacting, her breath came in tiny, rapid gasps. Flora broke the kiss. She had to. She could barely breathe, so intense was the ache building within her. And coupled with that ache was a most delicious _emptiness_ in her feminine slit. Without thought, she spread her legs apart, as if in welcome, and her hand came down to rub against the bulge in his drawers. She felt it twitch to her touch, and that only served to intensify the ache ? and the void. He smiled, and his hand was down at her crotch. He ran his fingers across her nether lips, tickling them through the fabric of her drawers. The feelings grew stronger yet. Too strong. Flora was swamped by them, and it both scared and delighted her. Could she give in? Could she give up the last bit of her that was still male, still Forry? Could she be a woman, Carl