Firelands-The Beginning

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-31-08

 

Jacob was traveling light.
He'd replaced rations with clothing and had gold in his money belt; tall, slender, with callused hands and an anxious expression, he wasn't much different from many other young men of the era. He was dressed for travel, ready for war, and his belly was slowly, steadily, tying itself in knots.
Word travels fast in a small town, and word travelled fast in Firelands: he'd been given a quick meal, but a good one; he'd been able to clean up and change clothes and some kind soul shined his boots while he was so occupied.
There had been quiet discussion after he'd left the Sheriff's office for his quarters at the Jewel, and as he came out of the Jewel, Charlie, Jake and Jackson Cooper met him on the boardwalk.
Charlie spoke first.
"Jacob, you've shown remarkable good judgement in the past," he said. "You've carried a man's load and not complained once."
Puzzled, restless, Jacob looked from one unsmiling lawman to another and said "Yes, sir."
"Jacob, you are being trusted with perhaps the most important mission of your life so far."
"Yes, sir," Jacob agreed solemnly.
Jake turned back Jacob's left hand lapel and pinned a deputy's star on it, turned the lapel back.
Jacob's eyes were big, his face wooden.
"We trust you, Jacob. You may need that, but don't use it unless you absolutely have to."
"Yes, sir," Jacob said, and each lawman in turn stuck out his hand, and Jacob shook each one in turn, and he had kind of a funny buzzing in his ears he'd never heard before.
Jacob's walk to the depot was uninterrupted, but Sean and the Welsh Irishman were waiting for him.
Sean took Jacob by the shoulders. "Saint Florian," he breathed, "ye're growin' up, lad!"
"Yes, sir," Jacob said uncertainly.
"Ye'll have need o' this." Sean turned, and the Welsh Irishman handed Sean something on a chain, and Sean said gently, "Take off your hat, lad."
Jacob removed his Stetson.
Sean worked the necklace over Jacob's head, slid the medal down under Jacob's shirt collar. "Saint Florian is the patron saint o' firefighters, lad. Ye must be a brave man indeed t' fight the Devil in his own playground, and ye've proven yerself as brave a man as I've ever met." He stuck his own big hand out.
"I'm proud o' ye, son!"
"Thank you, sir," Jacob said, and the Welsh Irishman shook his hand as well, and winked.
There was a light step behind him, and Sean looked up, and smiled.
Jacob turned.
Miss Messman stood with her hands clasped, blue eyes anxious behind her spectacles. She opened her mouth to say something, and closed it, and tried again, and fnally raised up on her toes and kissed Jacob on the cheek; then, rabbit-quick, she turned, and seizing up her skirts, she ran back toward the library.
Sean's meaty hand pounded Jacob on the back. "Well done, lad!" he laughed. "Ye've a reason t' come home now!"
The Lady Esther hissed steam in a great cloud, and the engineer gave the whistle a quick tug; the conductor swung out on his step and shouted "Board! All aboard!"
Judge Hostetler exhaled a great cloud of blue Havana smoke and smiled. "Well come on, Deputy," he called from the rear observation-deck of his private car. "I'm saving a seat for you in my car here!"
Jacob handed the Judge his rifle and climbed the steps into the Judge's private car, and the conductor waved to the engineer; the engineer opened the sand-valve and the throttle, and the Lady Esther leaned into her load, and headed east, toward the Mississippi.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-31-08

 

Mr. Michael Moulton, Esq. -- attorney-at-law, Councillor for the Bar, gifted orator and speechmaker -- often practiced his craft, addressing the open air in the privacy of his office, or of a convenient barn or shed, speaking in the ringing tones of a naturally gifted public speaker: with his wordsmith's skills he had swayed juries, intimidated and over-awed opposing counsel, persuaded skeptical judges.
Mr. Michael Moulton now spoke for what was perhaps his most critical audience.
Mr. Michael Moulton's eyes sparkled with delight as he curled his lip and said "Daddy's widdle man wanna baffie?" and the laughing, pink-skinned baby boy laughed and squealed and splashed soap suds on his Daddy's starched shirt, and one chubby hand reached up and squeezed Mr. Michael Moulton's aquiline nose.
Mr. Michael Moulton, Esq., attorney-at-law, Councillor for the Bar, gifted orator and speechmaker, kneeling beside the wooden wash tub, happily plying wash cloth and soap over his baby boy's belly, had absolutely no idea his beautiful wife was watching from the doorway, pressing her fingers against her lips and doing her very best not to laugh, for it was not in Tilly's gentle heart to spoil this precious moment.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 1-31-08

 

Jake, Charlie and Jackson were all walking back toward the jail when Duzy, Fannie and Kid came into town, with the trail worn businessman, his bowler hat askew, bleeding from his gun hand and his inner thigh, his suit torn and wrinkled and none too happy with his three traveling companions, as he lay sprawled across his horse, with Fannie behind him on her horse!

They can’t prove anything, Lester James was thinking, and he hoped to see the dark haired woman behind bars for standing over him and shooting him like he was nothing more than a snake! He had heard the other’s call her name as Duzy…..and they weren’t much better, standing looking amused as she had questioned him, although neither was too easy to read, then or now…..

Jake was the first to get to the buggy. He knew his fiancée was angry and as he reached for her to help her down from the buggy, he looked at Kid, then to Fannie and back at Duzy. “What’s going on, Darlin’?”

“This is the man that threw the rock through my window and he gave me a couple other names of the people he is working for. He may need to be bandaged up a bit before taking him to jail.”

“Now wait just a minute! This lady is the one who belongs in jail. She shot me, not once but twice and I want her charged! Oh, I see, he sneered, you just called her Darling and you are probably just a crooked as she is! I am an innocent man!”

Jake jerked the man off his horse throwing him to the ground, picked him up, and gave him a hard right, knocking him back on the ground. “You will apologize to the lady for that remark or not live to regret it!” Jake pulled him to his feet and called for someone to get Doctor Greenlees.

Charlie and Jackson were standing close, Charlie’s eyes on Fannie, who for once wasn’t saying a word, and Kid wasn’t speaking either. “Duzy, what happened? Charlie asked.

“This man was hiding in a grove of scrub brush as we were on our way back into town and was planning to ambush us. The next thing I can recall, he was lying on the ground and blabbering the names of who he worked for if I wouldn’t shoot him a third time, which I would still love to do, by the way, but as you can see, I need more practice or the first shot would have killed the snake!”

Duzy thought she heard Kid stifle a chuckle or clear his throat, which made her that much angrier, so she turned to him. The expression on his face was of such an innocent nature, his hat pulled low, and in a relaxed position, just as if it was any beautiful sunny winter day, making Duzy think she must be wrong, but gave him a glaring look anyway, and turned back to the lawmen in front of her.

“Kid, do you have anything to add?” “Nope, seems she summed it up well enough.”

“Fannie?” “You heard her Charlie, Fannie said smiling, but if you think she needs any backup witnesses, she has them. I have the names of the men he said he is working for, Kim Wong and Chester Morris, so that should be enough to start an investigation on the slave trade business in this area! He started all of this by threatening Duzy to never write again, so it’s my opinion he is fortunate to be alive!”

Doctor Greenlees arrived with his bag in hand. He looked at the man’s hand and said, “Looks like you won’t be using this hand much, but the place on your leg is barely worth bothering with….just a bandage to stop the bleeding….good thing whoever did this wasn’t shooting a half inch higher!”

Duzy heard another strange sound from Kid, but didn’t bother to look this time, as she knew what he was thinking and Fannie had outright laughed and said, “You’re right about that, Doctor!”

Jackson Cooper volunteered to go with Doctor Greenlees until he could return the prisoner, with the man protesting as far as you could hear him. “You don’t know who you are dealing with! I work for some powerful men!” “Shut up, or you won’t be working for anyone again,” came Jackson’s reply. “Better listen to him.” Doc stated and kept walking to his office.

“Thanks, and sorry Duzy, but I needed the facts. I’ve seen his face somewhere; I just can’t remember where right now….with all that is going on with Sheriff Keller.”

“Uncle Linn, what has happened to him?” Duzy interrupted as Charlie was speaking.

“Seems someone is setting has set him up on a murder charge and there are wanted posters out for him, and we have sent word to get Esther and Linn back here, before someone kills him for the reward. Jacob just left. Now, I remember, his face was in the file you gave me from San Francisco, right Kid?”

“Yes, that’s right and he is wanted there for murder. His operation is to intimidate mostly, but he has killed to get the job finished….might make your job easier to send him back for the murder charge.”

The anger at Lester James completely left Duzy, leaving her worried, and yet she knew if any two people could take care of their selves, it was her Aunt and Uncle. Jake pulled Duzy close to him and kissed the lone tear that had begun to fall, as she wondered if Jacob would make it in time.

“I think we could use a good warm bath,” Fannie stated, as she looked at Charlie and winked. “Is there anyway we can help with Linn and Esther?”

“No, nothing now, Jackson can take care of the prisoner and I’m sure the rest of us could use a break too. How about we meet for a bite to eat after you ladies freshen up?” Charlie replied, his eyes never leaving Fannie.

“Please join us Kid?” Duzy asked. “I have an idea I think you could help me with!”

“That reminds me Duzy, Bonnie was asking for you. Maybe they can join us too.” Jake said, as he took Duzy by the arm, as they all walked to the Silver Jewel.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-31-08

 

"Glostermen! Ha!" one whaler sneered. "Daisies, they are! No' a real man among 'em!"
"It would take ten Glostermen to make a Nantucket whaler, sure!" another agreed, still well fueled on a significant volume of several varieties of distilled grain.
A third nursed a sore cheek and a lump on his head; he hadn't been as quick on his feet as the other two, though he'd given good account of himself when the fight reached his end of the bar, and even then he hadn't really been inclined to hostilities until one injudicious soul slapped the drink from his hand. He'd taken it as a personal mission to use said individual's carcass as both a shield and a battering-ram, and had waded through half-a-dozen close-pressed pugulists. By the time he was done with his corner of the tavern, most of the furniture would be useful as kindling, or perhaps toothpicks in the raw, but little else; the erstwhile combatants who made it their business to pick on strangers were either out cold on the dirt-and-sawdust floor, still running, or held by the throat in the horn-palmed grip of a blue-water sailor.
The Nantucket men, loud, boisterous, quarreling, seemingly half-drunk and full of fight, formed an efficient screen around the Sheriff and his wife as they made their way back aboard the sternwheeler. Esther paid a boy an extra coin to return the rig, gave the gray an affectionate stroke on its neck, and hurried aboard.
The Nantucket men cleared the way to the stateroom, mostly by sheer noise; once they reached the door, they turned to the Sheriff.
"Sor, we don't know what's in the wind, but we know an ill breeze when it blows our sails," their leader said in a quiet and serious tone. "You are a man worthy of the name. Do you need help, we are your men!" -- to which the other three responded with a hearty "Aye!" and a vigorous arc of fists the size of setting-mauls.
"Gentlemen," Esther said, and her gentle voice seized their attention; to a man, they leaned closer, inclining their best ear to her. "We thank you for your kindness, and we accept your kindness. We may well have need of your assistance, and you may be assured that, should occasion demand, we will not hesitate to avail ourselves of your good services."
"Aye, that we will," their leader said, and the others nodded and muttered.
"We would be honored if you would dine with us this evening, in the Grand Saloon."
The whalers looked uncomfortably at one another. Esther stood out among them, to quote the inestimable Dr. Watson, "like a diamond of the first water in a setting of brass." Their garb was rough, more fitting the deck of a ship than the grand and formal setting of this floating palace, but Esther insisted, and their ears reddened, and they nodded, and touched their forelocks, and departed for the lower deck.
A white-coated porter waited discreetly for their departure before approaching. "Will Madam require a bath?" he asked in cultured tones, and Esther gave him a look of gratitude.
"That would be so very nice," she said sincerely. "Please!"
Linn unlocked their stateroom door and stepped in, the muzzle of the double gun leading the way.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-1-08

 

I am in a curious position for a lawman, he wrote.
I am named a murderer, and wanted, with a thousand dollars on my head.
The Sheriff looked at the opposite wall, seeing the wanted poster again in his mind's eye.
He dipped the whittled quill in the ink-pot and continued.
I was mistaken for another outlaw on board this lovely boat. Not only am I wanted under my own name, but apparently someone who looks like me is wanted as well.
He paused again, considering.
"Ironic," he muttered. "A thousand dollar bounty on me and I'm nearly shot as a petty criminal!"
Esther was nearly ready; he himself was dressed, his suit freshly brushed, his boots polished; his Colts were loaded with six rounds apiece, the hammer nose set down between the cartridge-rims.
His hand slipped up under his coat-tail, to the hidden pocket between the buttons of his galluses.
Bless you, Charlie, he thought as he felt the solid weight of the Derringer Charlie had given him as a wedding present. Wrapped in a bandanna, hidden in his luggage, he found it after he was aboard the boat and changing for dinner: the Derringer, and a note, in Charlie's precise, blocky hand:
Might come in handy.
"It might very well, my friend," the Sheriff said aloud.
Esther stepped into the room, taking a final tug at her long gloves. Snapping her fan open with a brisk flip of her wrist, she flirted her eyes over its pleated rim, and he felt the heat of her smoldering gaze.
The Sheriff stood, and took his wife in his arms, and kissed her passionately.
Esther snapped the fan shut one-handed and returned the favor, with interest.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-3-08

 

Dining at the Captain's table was a custom that had not come about quite yet: nevertheless, when the Captain joined his guests at dinner-time (as the swells back East called it), this merited comment, and showed favor, as only the distinguished and the honored dined with the Supreme Chieftain of the boat.
This night his table was over-large, for not only was the Captain seated at the head of the table, but he had a number of guests; it was a rollicking, riotous table, with shouts, jests, oaths, shoves and good-natured punches; it also shared beauty, grace and gentility.
It was also overwatched by a hand-picked few, tasked with keeping the guests in general, and one guest in particular, safe: discreetly positioned and equally discreetly armed, they were invisible to the diners.
The Sheriff, of course, spotted them immediately, and nodded, for the Captain was a good judge of tactics, and he'd covered the approaches and exits efficiently but completely with the few that he'd chosen.
Esther's gentle nature and shining beauty moderated the lusty and full-blooded language of the Nantucket whalers; their lively appearance added a delightful spice to the atmosphere, and Esther, ever the student, eagerly listened to their tales of a "Nantucket sleigh ride" as their whale-boat, towed by a wounded and angry whale, burst through the waves rather than riding over them; the red-capped leader, who was also a harpooner, stood to demonstrate the proper throw of the harpoon, then the correct stance for the final thrust of the killing-lance; one fellow showed a crooked arm, where a careless flick of a giant tale had smashed their whale-boat and sent all hands into the brine, to the loss of two of their number.
Esther was astonished to find that most whalers could not swim.
Discussion was frank, open and honest: the Sheriff made no secret of the price on his head, of the mistaken identity with a local, petty crook, which led to the initial unpleasantness but a single day past, here in this same saloon; he voiced a degree of discomfort -- "I have led men into battle," he explained, "and I have stood and faced large and angry men bearing a variety of weapons. I have in my young life been shot, stabbed, cut, thrown from more horses than I care to recall, gored by a steer and knocked to the ground by a buffalo cow." He reached over and took his lovely wife's hand.
"But these were risking only my own neck." He looked around the table and made contact with every eye.
"I can view my own life, and my own death, with equanimity."
He smiled at his bride, squeezed her hand gently.
"I cannot countenance the thought of Esther, being left a widow in this cold and uncaring world."
The Nantucket whalers were not entirely certain as to the meaning of the word equanimity, but they were men cut of the same cloth: every man Jack of them had at one time or another looked Death in the eye, and had either shrunk from it, or laughed and belted Death in the chops and dared Death to do his worst.
"Captain, your hospitality has been matchless," the Sheriff concluded, "but my presence threatens the safety of all on board. Should a stranger discover that a wanted man with such a price is riding the river, why, they may try to sneak aboard from a rowboat, or even purchase passage, spending a little in order to earn a great deal." He looked across the Saloon, assessing, calculating. "Even a guest aboard might be tempted beyond their ability to resist."
The Captain chewed thoughtfully at the excellent cut of prairie beef.
"You are my guest, sir," the Captain said slowly, "and you are under my protection. I will personally guarantee your safety."
"And we have no doubt of our safety," Esther interjected diplomatically. "It may be best, though, Captain, if we disembark and take other transportation."
The Captain frowned. "Madam, I must disagree," he rumbled. "Here we are isolated from the land. What transport would you take? A train, where some skulker could slip aboard at any time, with murder in his heart and a knife between his teeth? Or a stray shot as you drove a hired carriage, or even a stranger in a stagecoach. No," he paused and took a savoring swallow of brandy from the snifter beyond his plate, "no, you shall not endure the rigors of a stage-coach, nor shall you rattle your eye teeth loose on a springless buggy, nor jostle and shake on a railroad. You shall remain my guests, and you shall travel in comfort." He hoisted his brandy balloon to Esther, with a gentle smile, and she smiled, and colored a little, and raised her own wine-glass in reply.
Every glass hoisted, and every throat drank.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-3-08

 

Daisy stroked Nellie's velvety nose and fed her half a dried apple. "Hello, girl," she said softly. "Will you take me around today? I've a bit of work to be done."
Nellie happily masticated the dried apple, accepted another.
Daisy hoisted the bushel basket into the back of the wagon, swinging it up and in with strength hidden under her calico sleeves; humming a little tune, she turned back to the porch of the snug little house she and Sean now owned, and picked up the woven hickory-withe basket she'd bought the week before from Maude, that she thought would be just right to carry little Sean in.
The red-faced boy-child waved his arms and looked around, an expression of perpetual surprise on his chubby face, and Daisy smiled, and stroked his cheek, and cooed to him; he laughed and reached up and felt his Mama's cheek in return, and Daisy picked him up basket and all, and set him in the floor boards, then climbed into the buggy seat herself.
Unwinding the reins, she released the brake lever, gave the reins a gentle twitch and made a kissing sound.
Nellie's ears turned back, then forward, and she leaned into her collar and towed the simple wagon and its smiling cargo toward the firehouse, a few hundred yards distant.
Daisy had fixed a noontime meal for the Irish Brigade, and of course where the mother went, the infant went as well, for both child and man must be fed, and while the wild Irishmen were dining, little Sean would probably be wanting to dine as well.
The morning was not terribly cold. Daisy's breath steamed in the morning air, as did Nellie's; Daisy reached down and drew the cover up over little Sean's face.
Of course he threw the cover off his face and laughed at his Mama.
His Mama laughed with him.
Nellie's harness-bells jingled a merry tune as they neared the firehouse.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-3-08

 

His name was Nathan.
His face was lined from sun and salt spray; a pipe, upside-down against dampening from an unfriendly wave, smoldered patiently as Nathan's jaw clenched the box elder pipestem between worth teeth.
His hands, callused from hauling lines aboard ship, were surprisingly dextrous as he gripped the walrus-tusk and graved delicately with a sharpened bit.
Esther's step was light on the polished wood deck; her husband was in conference with the Captain, and she was of a mind to explore; curious as to why the broad-shouldered seaman should be seated on a cotton-bale, alone but obviously occupied, she approached to take a look.
He glanced over at her approach, the movement wreathing his head in fragrant blue smoke. His eyes were bright and twinkled with suppressed merriment.
Esther cocked her head, frowning a little at the seeming-blank surface of the walrus tooth.
"May I join you?" she murmured, and the big whaler gestured to the bale beside him. Esther smoothed her skirts under her and sat, as regal as an Elizabeth on a velvet throne.
The whaler turned the ivory tusk in his hand, catching the light across it; frowning, he drew on his pipe, dropping a few flakes of tobacco-ash onto his blue wool coat. Esther saw the scars of past pipes on his coat-sleeve, but said nothing.
The whaler tucked the sharpened graver in his coat-pocket and withdrew a small jar. Working the tapered stopper free, he placed the jar carefully on the railing beside him. Holding the stopper as if it were precious, he touched its wet, blackened end on the ivory, working it rapidly back and forth, then replaced the stopper in the bottle; with one stained forefinger he briskly rubbed the India ink into his recent engraving, and Esther's breath drew in quickly as a woman's profile appeared on the formerly-blank tusk.
It was her profile, exquisitely rendered in fine, precise scrimshaw: the face, the cameo, the hair, the bodice: he had perfectly captured her expression, one of gentleness, kindness, patience.
He turned the tusk a bit, and again rubbed the ink-wet cork over its surface; another magical pass of the forefinger, and a river-boat made its appearance, smoke billowing from its stacks, and a plume of steam from the whistle-stand, froth splashing up behind its paddle-wheel: with the clever use of short, closely-spaced lines, he had even managed to capture the illusion of movement, or rotation, of the paddle wheel itself.
Nate turned his pipe over and puffed vigorously for a few moments. His tobacco had the odor of apples, obviously a local blend; the only tobacco available to sailors was generally old, dried, and disagreeable, she knew, but this was rather pleasant.
Nate continued turning the tusk, and anointing it, and rubbing the India ink into its polished surface, and the story of his voyage continued to emerge. Now she saw a ship under full sail, and a whale-boat, smashed and broken; another, with a figure in its prow, and the harpoon in mid-flight.
Nate's voice was gentle, surprisingly gentle for a man of such rough appearance.
"We don't write in fine diaries," he said simply.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-3-08

 

Scarce an hour before, Jacob had been seated on a velvet-upholstered chair, discussing matters with the Judge: on the train ride they'd spoken of many things, and Jacob, inclined more to listen than to talk, was amazed at the depth and breadth of the older man's knowledge.
Like most older men, the Judge was flattered by the attentions of younger ears; he'd waxed eloquent on the law, on society, on government; he spoke of responsibility, of gentility, of duty.
He finally fixed Jacob with his bright gaze and asked, "And what of you, my lad? Shouldering a man's task at such a tender age?"
Jacob considered the question carefully, and frowned a little.
"I have it to do, sir," he said simply.
Judge Hostetler nodded, pressing his lips together approvingly.
"An answer, complete, and eloquent in its simplicity," he said. "Now let me ask you this: have you ever been to the city?"
"No, sir," Jacob said honestly, "nor have I any wish, but I must if I am to see my father again."
"Right you are!" the Judge declared. "It is but a short walk from the depot to the wharf, and your Memphis Belle, as one of the newest and more famous boats on the river, will be tied up in a prominent place. I should imagine any difficulty would present itself on your approach to the boat, when your attention is forward, to this floating palace. There are brigands, my boy, thieves whose livelihood consists of snatching belongings from those who approach the wharf. You must be on your guard."
"Yes, sir," Jacob said quietly, and there was something cold in his eyes as he said it.
They heard the sigh of the brake pistons, and the high hissing scrape of brake shoes pressing on the steel wheels. Mr. Westinghouse's air brakes were still new to the Western railroads, though Esther had mandated their use on all Z&W stock. The cars bump-bump-bumped together as the slack banged out of the couplers, and Judge Hostetler and Jacob swayed very slightly at this change in velocity.
Jacob stood. "Reckon I'd best get ready, sir," he said.
His Honor stood and handed Jacob his hat. Jacob accepted it, left-handed, settled it on his head; he slung his saddle-bags off his left shoulder, with his Winchester in his left hand.
His right he thrust out to Judge Hostetler.
"Thank you, sir. I do appreciate your hospitality," he said, and meant it.
His Honor's bright eyes shone with pride. "Go with God, son, and make me proud!" he said, and Jacob squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, and stepped out of the Judge's private car, and into the confusion of the river town.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-3-08

 

The wharf-side parasites were not long in trying Jacob. One seized his saddlebags from behind, and ran; Jacob was on him in two long jumps, and tackled him, driving the crescent steel plate into the back of the man's skull, hard: snatching up his saddlebags, he stood, glaring fiercely around, a challenge: most looked away, not wanting to face a warrior, obviously ready for a fight.
Not a hundred yards nearer the water the scene was repeated, but this time from the front; one hand seized his saddlebags, the other held a knife.
Jacob had no formal martial-arts training, but he was schooled in the rough-and-tumble brawling of the frontier. He kicked the opponent hard, just below the knee, swinging the Winchester up and blocking the incoming blade.
The thief hit the ground with a shrill scream, and Jacob's heel stomped him, hard, behind the ear, tearing the scalp and introducing his face rather ungently into the pavement underfoot.
A hand landed on his shoulder and he spun, driving the muzzle of his Winchester into a stomach, and the constable turned a sick shade of green.
Jacob turned back his lapel with his left hand, his right welded to the rifle's wrist. "Deputy Keller, Firelands. I'm after a murderer. You will assist me or you will stay the hell out of my way."
The constable looked down at the cocked rifle in the young man's grip, and thought of how small his salary was compared with the size of hole the Winchester could make, and decided the tall, slender deputy's argument was quite valid.
Jacob backed away from the constable, toward the Memphis Belle; easing the hammer to half-cock, he strode up the gangway as if he'd done it all his life, and presented his ticket to the steward on deck.
He was shown to a cabin on the topmost deck, and given a key; he gave the porter a coin and asked how long before they docked again.
"We gon' dock ag'in two days time, boss," came the grinning reply, and Jacob thanked the man, and locked the door after him.
He tossed his saddle-bags on the neatly-made bed, hung his hat on a peg and looked at his reflection in the ornately-framed mirror.
"Two days, Pa," he whispered. "I'm a-comin' to you, sir. I'm a-comin'!"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-3-08

 

I stood in the wheelhouse, restless, listening to the Captain's deep, confident voice as he spoke of this stretch of river.
He knew his river, and its moods; he knew the people his boat touched, and their moods.
He spoke at length of vignettes from his many years, traveling this very waterway, of grounding on unexpected sand-bars, of gutting a boat on an unseen loggerhead, of surviving a boiler explosion and fire when he was a green deckhand, many years before. He spoke of meeting princes, dukes and counts, lords and ladies fair, one President, several generals and any number of strutting shavetails fresh out of West Point.
I listened with one ear, my eyes busy. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I was looking: my gut told me the world was a more dangerous place than it had been for quite some time.
I need to beard the lion in its den, I thought.
I need Jackson Cooper, and I need to travel to Chauncey, and I need to seize that lying scoundrel Jollins and drag him back to Firelands in irons!

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Mr. Box 2-3-08

 

"So how did Nelly treat you, Daisy? Did she mind her manners?"
"Oh yes, Fred."
"Well, I recon you can use her anytime you can talk her into it. How's the little shaver doing?"
"Oh just fine."
"Is he riding that rocking horse yet?"
"Not yet, Fred."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-4-08

 

Cowboys had many individual differences, but they generally shared certain similarities:
They were not afraid of hard work;
They preferred work that could be done from a saddle;
They were often starved for reading material, and would ride miles to borrow a book, or a pamphlet, or a newspaper.
The Firelands library, from the day it opened, was a popular destination, and indeed it had trouble keeping books on the shelves: Miss Messman tried without success to enforce a two-week lending limit, until it was gentle explained to her, by a slender fellow made of whipcord and Texas trail-dust, that a cowboy might have that library book in his saddle bag for the duration of the trail drive, and that it would likely circulate through at least twenty set of hands; it would be returned, to be sure, but in all likelihood, not until the end of the drive.
Sure enough, she found, the books would be faithfully returned, and in surprisingly good shape: her stock on the shelves represented only about a third of the library's total holdings, the rest being out on loan.
Generosity of the townsfolk, especially a select few, kept the library's shelves comfortably filled, and Miss Messman herself proved the second big reason cowboys would come to the library.
An attractive young woman was regarded by these knights of the prairie as a thing of beauty and indeed of reverence. Most of them had her on a pedestal; not a few had her on a pedestal of such altitude that a lesser soul would have died of nosebleed.
In spite of the attentions of the customers, Miss Messman kept mostly to herself. She busied herself with the library half of her day, and the other half, with Duzy in the newspaper-office, often proofing the planned publication.
"Duzy?" Miss Messman asked one evening, her spectacles halfway to the end of her nose and light furrows texturing her youthful forehead. "This article...?"
"Yes?" Duzy came over, her head cocked sideways a little, the better to read the sheets before her partner in print.
"Bonnie wrote of ... some things here ..." Her voice scraped to a halt, and Duzy, alarmed, knew her young protgege's eyes were looking far beyond the hand-written sheet on the standing-desk she was working on.
"Yes?" Duzy said gently, and Miss Messman seized her skirts and turned, and ran for the back door.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 2-4-08

 

Sarah snug as a bug in her bed, and ‘finally’ sleeping peacefully.

“Oh, Mercy, but Sarah ran all day long, Caleb! That child’s legs never stopped for a moment, and that is for sure and for certain.”

Caleb laughed, “And Twain Dawg right behind her.”

Caleb was sitting at the table creating paperwork of his own. It all began, with earnest, when the telegram reached its way to Caleb’s hands. A favorable responce from his Father and David, stating an extension to Rosenthal and McKenna Textiles was, indeed, a good thing to begin in
Firelands.

“So, when do you think David will be here to help get things going, Caleb?”

“Probably not for a few weeks, but in the meantime, there is plenty to do. I’ll meet with Michael in the morning to get the Smyth place secured. Then it’s off to get preparations made to get the old barn prepared to be used as a base of operation. I believe we should also rebuild the house into an office building ... what do you think?”

“Perfect! Caleb? I understand the house I lived in before leaving for Illinois is still available. Duzy said it would be just fine if we settled into there until we can get a house built for ourselves.”

“Wonderful!” Caleb exclaimed. “We should get the business in order first, and not having to think of building a house, just yet, will simplify things greatly.”

Caleb put aside the pen, “I also sent notices out to get merchandise from the San Francisco area. Michael is going to make some contacts at port of entries to aide immigrants to feel welcome coming this way for work and etc.” Thoughtfully, Caleb added, “You do realize, Bonnie, that not everyone is going to share the ideas favorably about immigrants moving here .... prejudice is something that will have to be dealt with, I’m afraid.”

“I know, Caleb ..... on step at a time. This will work. It has to!”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-4-08

 

Miss Messman pushed her spectacles up on her forehead and pressed her lace-edged kerchief to one eye, then the other.
She wished for her Papa's arms around her, but knew that would never happen again; she would never see her beloved father in this lifetime.
She'd been with friends and got turned around on her way home from school, just a week before graduation, and she cut through a back street and then a series of alleys, trying to get back to familiar territory.
She found out later she was in a part of town where "decent girls" don't go ... she didn't know that.
All she knew was a sense of shock when two women, Chinese by appearance, were hauled from a carriage.
They were in irons.
Shocked, she stood in a little alcove, hidden in a shadow; she saw the tall gate open, and within, another being beaten with a thin cane.
The gate closed.
Frozen, horrified, she stood and listened as the cane hummed savagely through the air, and she heard the muffled agonies of the gagged woman, and the gruff, snarling voice that accused her of laziness, of not earning enough money.
Somewhere, somehow, she broke free of her paralysis and ran, ran like the wind, away, she didn't care where, just away!
She burst into the kitchen and Papa was there and she ran into him and held him, shivering like a scared rabbit, and her Papa, bless him, wise man that he was, held her, and let her shake, and he held her for the longest time ...
Miss Messman tilted her head back and took a deep breath. That was ... that was a little over a year ago, she thought, and she was well away from it, but the memory was fresh, and clear, and frightening.
She thought of her indecision when she ran from the library to the depot, hoping against hope the Lady Esther hadn't pulled out yet; she thought how afraid she'd been when she walked up behind him, and how she tried to say something, tried -- but her throat closed as she opened her mouth -- and finally she raised up and kissed him on the cheek ... and afraid again, she ran, back to the safety of her library ...
Silly girl! she shouted silently at herself, and pressed her kerchief against her closed eyes, vainly trying to stem the scalding tide.
Men! she thought. At least they can dash the tears from their eyes with an angry fist! All I can do is stand here and ...
Gentle hands closed on her shoulders, and drew her into a motherly embrace.
Miss Messman wasn't sure who it was, only that it was most welcome, and she grieved into the welcoming bosom of someone who understood, like her Papa, that sometimes it helps just to be held.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 2-4-08

 

“Caleb? Would mind terrible much if I slipped over to the Library really fast? I see a light on ....I don’t think it’s Duzy, so it’s probably Miss Messman. I’ll only be a little bit ...”

Caleb interrupted, “Maybe I should go with you, Bonnie ... it’s dark after all.”

“I’ll tell you what, Caleb. You stand right here by the window. You will be able to watch every move I make. Besides, I’ll have Sweet Betsy.”

Caleb found himself chuckling once again .... something that happens often with Bonnie and Sarah in his life, “Who names their guns, Bonnie?”

“I do! And Sweet Betsy isn’t any ordinary Derringer you know? AND .... if she hears you talking about her, she won’t like it!” With a smile on her face, Bonnie slipped out the door. Caleb, true to form, did, indeed, plant himself at the window.

Bonnie entered the library door and was getting ready to speak, but stopped in her tracks when she saw the silently crying young woman.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-4-08

 

 

Jacob hid his rifle under the mattress.
He'd considered not leaving his cabin until they made landing again, but his stomach argued against the idea; besides, he was a curious sort, and wanted to view the world as it passed by. He might not have this opportunity again, at least for a while, he thought.
He locked his cabin door behind him, looking around with the ease of long practice: he'd watched his Pa proceed cautiously through doorways and out the mouth of alleys before, and without realizing it, the Sheriff had been a teacher of considerable influence: Jacob imitated his Pa, and practiced the art often, until it had become a part of him, and he practiced it unconsciously.
Except now, he thought with a wry smile. Now I thought about it.
He made his way to the Grand Saloon, and had a modest meal; his stomach could have held considerably more, but he wanted to be alert, not sleepy from food-bloat. He had coffee, as he did not trust the water, nor did he trust himself with strong drink. He was no stranger to alcohol in its several forms -- he'd tried a sip from most of the bottles there in the Jewel, when he thought no one was looking -- only once did he sip to excess, and the following morning's distresses were enough to persuade him of the folly of the practice.
He ate his beef and beans and drank his coffee, and never stopped looking around.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-5-08

 

I lay, spent, shivering, in the darkness of our cabin.
I'd loved my wife with a fierceness I'd not felt before, almost a desperation, as if this may be the last time I knew her.
All life is a gamble, and death walks beside us constantly; it hides in a shadow, it whispers on the edge of a knife, it straddles a musket-ball and seizes cannon-shot, white-knuckled, trailing along like a grim kite-tail. It lurks in a child's glass of milk, it skulks hidden in pox-infected blankets, drifts with the misty miasma from a foul swamp.
I do not fear death. The war stripped that from me.
I feared leaving Esther.
Finally, finally, I found myself able to love, able to give -- something I thought would never happen, no, never since my beloved Connie died and was buried before I could see her again ... and Dana, little blond Dana, with her Mama's eyes and fever-bright cheeks ...
No parent should ever have to bury a child.
I held my wife, and held her tightly to me, with the desperation of a drowning man clutching a life-preserver.
I lay there in the darkness of our cabin, and Esther stirred a little, cuddling into me, warm and solid and very real. I felt her breath on the base of my throat, and I nuzzled my face into her hair, and her arm slipped around me ...
I was afraid, I realized.
I was afraid.
Esther, queen of my life, I thought, I don't want to leave you a widow!
Esther's breathing was easy, and I willed my own to be as well.
Tomorrow, I thought.
We dock tomorrow, near the Memphis Belle, and Jacob will be there.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-5-08

 

Jacob's reluctance to leave his cabin was short-lived; indeed, it evaporated like morning dew once he was on deck.
Restless, unused to leisure, the tall, slender boy-man unbuttoned his coat and checked its drape: he wanted his Colts covered, but available: he was a stranger in a strange land: he was no stranger to unpleasantness, but he was not inclined to seek it out.
Should it seek him out, however, he would give it a warm welcome.
Very warm.
The Memphis Belle was reputed the fastest sternwheeler on the river. Jacob had no nautical experience, but he wasn't terribly impressed with her velocity; he knew what true speed was -- he knew what it was to have his beloved stallion surging between his knees, thrusting hard against packed earth, hooves drumming an urgent cadence as his hat, tugged free by the wind's mischievous fingers, fell back off his head and bounced on its storm strap, while he leaned low over the stallion's neck, and the world streaked by in a tear-blurred smear of running watercolor ...
Here, even on the fantail overlooking the great, red-painted stern wheel, their velocity, though constant, was not spectacular.
Still, he thought, compared to other boats on the wide expanse, they were making their way faster than any other craft.
He trod the deck from fantail to bow, climbed gangways and descended stairs, and peered into the engine room: without an invitation he was reluctant to descend into the hot, darkened heart of the boat's power, though curiosity ate him alive, and he would have given much to see the great steam-engine laboring against its twin pitman-arms.
Jacob ascended to the catwalk surrounding the Texas, and leaned against the railing. He was the only one on this elevation, other than the Captain and an officer, within the wheelhouse.
There was a sharp rap on the glass window.
Jacob turned, curious.
The mate grinned at him and made a motion as if to cover his ears.
Jacob glanced up at the shining brass cluster of calibrated and tuned tubing that made up the steamboat's whistle, and grinned in reply, covering his own ears.
The riverboat's voice rolled out across the mile-wide expanse of water, saluting the other craft, and announcing its presence, a great, huffing monster, inexorable and steady and absolute ruler of the muddy expanse. Jacob laughed with delight as its vibrations shivered through his chest, more felt than heard at this close distance.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 2-5-08

 

Bonnie approached the young woman and reached her arms around her. Bonnie let her weep and sob for some time, and then began the soft words comfort.

“Shhhh ..... shhh .... It will be alright, Miss Messman. Whatever it is, I assure you, it can’t be this bad, can it? Shhh ......shhhh ....”

With her name spoken, Miss Messman looked up into the eyes of the last person she expected to see. With a nervousness about her, she took a step backwards, rested her glasses more evenly upon her nose. “Mrs. Rosenthal! Um ...” Then she looked at Bonnie and realized being embarrassed was probably unnecessary, and so she took another step back, and seated herself in a chair. Bonnie did likewise and sat across from the young woman.

Bonnie spoke first, “So .... would you like to talk about it? I hope you realize that you can call me Bonnie. There has never been a need for formality here. At least where I am concerned.” Bonnie pulled a hanky from her coat pocket and extended it to her.

Tentatively, the young gal began her tale. Because of the words she had read earlier, she began with the horrible things she saw with the Chinese women, leading into the topic of Jacob, which Bonnie only smiled secretly about. First loves where private and special and sensed this girl was
experiencing her fair share of butterflies feeling. Best to leave that topic alone for the time being. Then she spoke of her Papa, which was a topic Bonnie, too, thought of often. How does a girl or woman ever get through life without the safe embrace of their Papa’s?

“When Papa’s are taken away from us, it is important to replace that comforting embrace with one that would do honor to your Fathers memory. Do not be misled by just any embrace, as not all are honor bound ..... but you will know, my dear .... you will know.

And as for the horror you witnessed. That is an ugliness, indeed! One that will be rectified and remedied. At least that is the hope of many people here.”

Now ... to be honest, I have nor real idea as to why I came over here, other than God must have spoken His little words to me,” Bonnie smiled her beautiful smile, “So do you think we should close this place up? Perhaps call it a day?”

Miss Messman nodded and Bonnie added, “and do not worry about Jacob Keller, my dear young friend! Pray for him, yes ... but worry? No.”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-5-08

 

Miss Messman composed herself with difficulty, helped greatly by the quiet, reassuring presence of the gravid woman seated across from her, intimately close.
Bonnie grimaced and shifted in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. Little felt really comfortable, here in the late stages of her pregnancy, but she fairly glowed with the good health and delight of a mother-to-be.
She laid one hand gently on her belly.
"Bonnie?" Miss Messman asked tentatively.
"Yes?" Bonnie smiled.
"Thank you." She leaned forward and handed the damp kerchief back to Bonnie.
Bonnie smiled, a fleeting look of discomfort crossing her face as she reached for the lacy linen.
Miss Messman slid her spectacles back up her nose. "My name is Annette."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-5-08

 

Sarah rubbed her eyes and yawned, warm in her flannel nightie, curled up in Papa's chair. Twain Dawg was curled up beside her, his head in her lap, asleep.
Sarah closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the leather upholstery, one hand caressing Twain Dawg's fur.
Twain Dawg groaned in his sleep, drifting from one pleasant dream to another.
Caleb stood at the window, gazing fixedly at the library, across the street. His mind was not entirely on the library: he was considering the move back into the house the ladies had occupied before, and new land, and new construction.
New opportunities, he thought.
Bonnie's instincts are good, he thought.
His gut told him to go with her ideas.
He smiled a little, his breath fogging the glass slightly. It was getting colder; the pleasantly mild weather they'd all been enjoying was departing, and it was probably close to frost outside.
He heard a carriage approach: curious, he looked up the street, and saw the doctor's surrey.
Out late tonight, he thought. Probably delivering a baby. Babies never come at a civilized hour!
The library door opened, and Bonnie and Miss Messman emerged into the chilly dark.
The doctor's surrey drew up, and he saw the silhouette of Dr. Flint as he lifted his hat to the ladies, and saw the puffs of steam as their conversation condensed on the cold night air.
Caleb frowned and stepped to the door. Dr. Flint had set the brake on his surrey, and was climbing out of his carriage, for Bonnie had laid a worried hand on her belly and leaned back abruptly against the library's stone door frame.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 2-5-08

 

"Bonnie? Are you ok?" Dr Flint said as he jumped off the buggy.

""Yes .... I believe so. Must be one of those early pains Daisy was telling me about .... sounds like she had her fair share of them."

"If you don't mind me asking, Bonnie," Dr. Flint interjected, "when did the Dr's back east say your baby was due?"

"I still have 3 months to go, Dr. Flint ..."

Dr. Flint was looking at Bonnie questioningly and Bonnie noticed. Everybody looked at her this way. "I think I am just one of those women who really show alot while pregnant."

Annette Messman was looking on with young and worried eyes, "Now Annette, do not be looking at me like that! I am fine, and will be better once I get back to my rooms."

"Bonnie? Perhaps you should come by the office .... let's just take a look at you ..... make sure everything fine."

Chuckling, "People generally make a mountian out of a mole hill! I'm fine!"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-5-08

 

"Then allow me the honor of escorting you across the street," Dr. Flint said gently, offering his arm.
Bonnie wrapped her hand around Dr. Flint's forearm, near his elbow, and with an effort drew herself away from the door frame. She wobbled for a moment, laughing a little, then raised her chin, squared her shoulders, and stepped confidently across the walk and onto the street.
Caleb was in the doorway, silhouetted against the warm glow of the oil lamps; Dr. Flint watched his patient carefully as she took the steps, steadily and without hesitation, and handed her off to the good offices of her husband.
"A moment's vertigo," he said, "not at all unusual for her ... condition." He cocked his head, curious. "May I come in?"
"Of course, Doctor."
Miss Messman, uncertain as to quite what she should do, followed the pair across the street, and into the house; she closed the door behind her and stood, an axious expression on her young face.
Dr. Flint's hands were gentle on Bonnie's face as he turned her head toward the light. Drawing down on her lower lid with his thumb, he murmured "Look up," and examined something; releasing her eyelid, he felt her temples, then under her chin, and back at the hinge of the jaw, and rested his hands on her shoulders.
"My prescription, my dear," he said with merriment in his eyes, "is a good dose of husband and family, taken with a quiet evening and perhaps a nice cup of tea."
Bonnie smiled. "I think I like your prescription, Doctor," she said, shifting her weight uncomfortably.
"Your back?" Dr. Flint asked, and Bonnie nodded, and Dr. Flint motioned to Caleb, who steered his wife toward a comfortably overstuffed chair.
Dr. Flint touched his hat-brim. "I will bid you a good night, then," he smiled, and turned, and Miss Messman flowed out of his way like a shadow before a sleepwalker's lamp.
Twain Dawg looked up and blinked, and yawned a great yawn, and went back to sleep, and Sarah's hand, resting on Twain Dawg's furry back, twitched once.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 2-5-08

 

As Bonnie sat, Sweet Betsy tipped out of her pocket and onto the floor. Annette let out a bit of a shreek.

Caleb reached over and picked up the Derringer and laid it on a high shelf, "Annette ... oh goodness! Don't be alarmed ... it's just Sweet Betsy. She's a .... security of mine."

"Sweet Betsy?" Annette questioned.

"The Gun ..."

"Oh ....." Annette was looking uncomfortable and Bonnie added,

"Do you not know how to shoot?" Bonnie asked carefully.

Miss Messman shook her head. "Well!" Bonnie exclaimed, "I have a chore for Duzy! She's a wonderful marksman, and an excellent teacher."

Annettes eyes darting a bit, and then Caleb, "Miss Messman, allow me to escort you home. This conversation can continue later." He opened the door, and escorted her out into the crisp night air. "Now, Miss Messman, tell me how things are going at the Library these days ....."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-5-08

 

It was a little walk to the Jewel, where Miss Messman was staying, and as they walked, they talked: Caleb, she found, was easy to talk to -- she was surprised, for though she ran the library, and had been working with Duzy on the newspaper, she hadn't been terribly social: not out of any snobbishness, nor hostility, but rather the opposite: she'd come out to gather her dead brother's effects, and news of her Papa's death reached her before she could return home, and the offer was made to have her run the library ... she was suddenly orphaned and alone, and terribly afraid.
She spoke, hesitantly at first, about the library, and what a surprise it had been when books were returned after a trail drive, months after being borrowed, and how difficult it was for her when cowboys would come in and pretend to look at a book while they were really watching her: and how one of the foremen had explained to her that these young men would ride for miles to sit and watch a homesteader's daughter hang out laundry, or sit on her porch and sew ... just watch, admiring.
They reached the Jewel. Caleb opened the door for her and Miss Messman asked suddenly, "Mr. Rosenthal, what kind of a young man is Jacob Keller?"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-5-08

 

Jacob rolled over on his side, curling up a little under his quilts, warm and relaxed; he slept light, unused to the slight movements of the riverboat.
Most captains were reluctant to travel by night, for fear of hitting a floating snag, or grounding on a newly-shifted sand bar: but the Memphis Belle had a reputation for speed, and her Captain knew his river, and he was not about to waste a good, clear moon and tie up for the night.
He wished for better lights, but the electric dynamo and arc-lights that were soon to appear on railroad locomotives were not yet available; he had to make do with experience, with memory, and with a moon that shyly drew a modest veil of gauzy clouds across her chaste and silvery face.
Another riverboat, not to be outdone, followed: his reputation as a safe and reliable captain was well established, and a less experienced captain might follow in the belief that, if one boat could travel safely, why, theirs could too.
The captain of the Memphis Belle saw, too late, something disturbing the water's appearance: he wasn't sure what it was, but he knew he had to do something, even if it was wrong: he seized the bell-pull and hauled it twice, then once: the engineer's head came up like a hound's at a distant horn, and his firemen, stripped to the waist, turned to the dry and seasoned elm, kept ready to hand for just such a moment.
Two bells, then one, was the Captain's signal for full throttle, and they were not about to disappoint the man.
Elm burns fast and hot and was favored for scalding hogs: the boilers responded, and the great, brightly-painted paddle wheel mauled the water, throwing up foam behind the Belle, and she gained a little, just enough, just enough to ride her hull over the floating obstruction: she grated a little going over, pushing the half-floating boat-killer deeper into the water, safely below the wooden flights of her stern wheel: the boat following had no way of knowing the snag would rise, and drove into its stub end, ripping her belly open.
Jacob sat bolt upright in bed, instantly awake, at the sound of the second boat's boilers exploding.
He blinked in the darkness, thinking it perhaps a dream, and lay back down, warm and relaxed.
Tomorrow, he thought.
I'll see my Pa tomorrow.
He smiled a little, and closed his eyes, and was soon asleep.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 2-6-08

 

“Bonnie has known Jacob Keller longer than I have”, began Caleb. “but by what I can tell, Jacob is one of those rare individuals that is far beyond his earthly years. He is studious, hardworking and devoted. He is also quiet and thoughtful. Traits that I find very honorable. Why do you ask Miss Messman?”

“I’m not sure really .... just wondering.”

Caleb smiled at this point. He had seen how the two looked at each other at various times.

“I have cared for Bonnie my entire life, I think. Caring for someone demands a certain amount of responsibility, and I do not believe a person could go wrong with Jacob Keller, Miss Messman.

Now, if I may, how do you like living here in Firelands? You are a young woman .... do you dreams and aspirations for the future?”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-6-08

 

Something is wrong, Jacob thought, and his dark-blue eyes snapped open as his slender young body tensed under the sheets and quilts he'd drawn up into a wadded nest through the night.
Linn, too, snapped awake, and Esther's emerald eyes opened slowly, languidly, and regarded her husband's light-blue eyes with amusement. He, too, had gone from completely relaxed to tense, ready to spring like a cat, in something under three-tenths of one second.
Each had wakened in the same manner, and at the same time, and for the same reason.
Both the Memphis Belle and the River Queen had tied up, and their great engines were stilled, and they were venting steam through the steam-pipes.
The younger man and the older both slipped from under their covers with a remarkable stealth: one out of habit, the other out of consideration for his wife, who was still relaxed and warm under the barely-disturbed covers.
Both men tended their morning ablutions quietly, swiftly, efficiently: each selected a clean shirt, knotted his tie carefully, brushed off his suit, and dressed.
Each checked his revolvers, and his rifle, and the Derringer in the middle of his back.
Each turned his lapel over and regarded his image in the mirror, and let the lapel fall back, concealing the insignia of office.
Only Linn had exercised a straight-razor. He took pains to trim his mustache. Jacob had taken the time to polish his boots.
Each walked quietly to his cabin door, turned the key in the lock, and with a grim sense of preparation, opened the door slightly and took a look.
Each one stepped out on the upper deck, eyes busy, nostrils flared.
Each saw the other at the same moment.
Both of them grinned.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-6-08

 

"I don't have much of a future, I'm afraid, Mr. Rosenthal," Annette said softly, looking at his boot-toes, wondering how he kept them so immaculate. Her Papa, bless him, as hard as he would try, always managed to dirty or muddy the tops of his boots almost as much as the bottoms.
Caleb waited patiently, knowing the curiosity of the younger female, and he was right: she looked up, shyly, to gauge his reaction.
Caleb remained silent, knowing this would be the best way to draw her out, and he was right on this count as well.
Annette looked down again, calculating the wear on the knees of his trousers, knowing this was a vain attempt to keep from answering the question.
Sometimes you just have to face up to it, she thought, and nodded.
"Mr. Rosenthal, my Mama died just before my brother was killed, and Papa was not well. It was not his wish that I come out here to gather my brother's effects, and see that he was properly interred" -- Caleb's ear twitched at her pronunciation: in-tear, he thought, like the tear shed in grief --
"and soon after I arrived, there followed the telegram bearing news of Papa's death, and after that, the news that a cousin had sold the house and everything in it, and made off with the money, and so I was alone, with only the clothes in my trunk and the dress that I wore." She looked up at the city man, looking for a response.
It was not long in coming.
Caleb gathered her into his arms and held her, and she let herself be held, and he felt her shiver a little with the grief that still thundered and echoed in her fragile shell of a body, carefully hidden and stoppered behind a proper young lady's reserve.
Annette drew the damp kerchief from her sleeve and shoved her spectacles up on her forehead; pressing the rumpled cloth against one closed eye, then the other, she whispered, "You must think me a weak and foolish child!"
Caleb shoved his hands in his pockets. "No, Miss Messman," he said formally. "I believe you are a strong and resourceful young woman, and a brave one: making your way in the world, a stranger in a strange land, and yet never once has your chin wavered, your head bowed, nor your knee bent. You have stood straight and tall and looked Fate in the face and dared it to do its worst."
Caleb's words were spoken quietly, there in the Jewel's foyer, and Annette Messman felt the strength in them, and knew he spoke truly.
"Get a good night's rest now, Annette. You are a stranger no more."
Caleb smiled, and turned to the door, and with a swirl of winter air, was gone into the night.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-6-08

 

Reading a railroad schedule, a stage schedule or a riverboat schedule was a matter of course for those who were literate; literacy was therefore pursued, and not always by decent or honorable folk.
It was known that a particular Sheriff suddenly had a one thousand dollar reward on his head, and discreet inquiry revealed that Sheriff to have been in a scrape of some kind on a riverboat; word of mouth carried the name of the boat to unwholesome ears, and with the assistance of other like-minded individuals plans were made, schedules studied, and passage booked.
Evil has not always a dirty, unwashed face, nor does it always wear coarse and untidy garments: the eyes that watched Jacob depart the Memphis Belle were situated above a neatly trimmed mustache, and below a pearl-gray hat-brim, and the eyes that saw the man whose hand Jacob shook with obvious delight reflected that delight, for the quarry had been sighted.
The riverboat schedule was not needed any longer.
Manicured hands purchased a ticket to the River Queen, and a shining pair of townie shoes mounted the gangway, bearing black treachery with them.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-6-08

 

The Sheriff sat down and Jacob beside him, in a corner table in the Grand Saloon; a white-coated porter was instantly with them, greeting them with a pleasant if gravelly voice, and an incredible expanse of startling-white teeth. The Sheriff was inclined to breakfast, and Jacob even more so; as the smiling porter departed, a fellow in an expensive, European-tailored suit stepped up to the sheriff and inquired if he might join them.
The Sheriff gestured to an empty seat.
The fellow stuck out a hand. "Major Charles Roberts, late of the Queen's Mounted Artillery, at your service," he introduced himself.
"Sheriff Linn Keller," the Sheriff replied, standing to accept the man's hand. "The name Roberts is familiar, sir. Would you be related to General Frederick Roberts?"
"I have the honor of being a rather distant relative, thank you, sah," came the reply, and the former artilleryman stroked his precisely-trimmed mustache with pleasure. "I rode in his relief-column."
"Three hundred mile march, wasn't it?" the Sheriff asked, leaning back as the porter appeared by magic, placing coffee before he and Jacob, and nodding at the old soldier's request for tea.
"Three hundred fourteen mile forced march, sah," the Major nodded. "My uncle was killed in what was later called the Maiwand Disaster. Among other less kind names."
The Sheriff nodded. "Your arrival was met with a rather decisive victory, if I recall correctly."
"You do ineed, sah," the Major smiled. "One September in the year of our Lord 1880. The Battle of Kandahar." His smile faded a little, and there was a profound sadness in his eyes; then: "But you, sah -- you have the cut of a military man. The Southern Insurrection, eh?"
The porter materialized at the man's elbow, placed a cup of freshly brewed tea before him and asked deferentially, "Your eggs, sir ... how many, and what style?"
The Sheriff looked at Jacob and smiled, and Jacob knew the smile, and the porter knew the wink he was given, and read the Sheriff's three fingers: Jacob, too, discreetly splayed three fingers on the spotless linen tablecloth, and the porter winked at the Sheriff and gave a tiny nod to Jacob.
"Oh, I reckon a dozen eggs fried up, a pound or so of bacon and slice up a loaf of bread for toast, with plenty of butter, a pound of potatoes fried crispy and I reckon that'll make a good start."
The porter looked at Jacob and could barely keep a straight face. Jacob nodded and said solemnly, "The same."
The Major's eyes were bulging and his face was beginning to color. Masking his surprise with a sip of tea, he sputtered, "Gad, sir! You can't be serious!"
"I beg your pardon?" the Sheriff asked innocently. "I've not eaten since supper last night, and I laid awake most of the night thinking of the first meal of the day. Why, my wife was ready to make me sleep in the next room, my stomach was complaining of being empty!"
"But -- but --" he sputtered, and Jacob added, "Can't fire a boiler on twigs, sir."
The Major's eyebrows came close to disappearing under his wig line, and he choked on his tea.
"This ought to hold us for a little bit, don't you think, Jacob?" the Sheriff asked mildly.
"It'll do for an hour or so, yes, sir," Jacob agreed solemnly.
The porter appeared at the Sheriff's elbow. "I do beg your pardon, sir," he said with deference and sorrow, "but the hen won't lay more than a half-dozen until noon. I'm afraid three apiece is the best we can do."
The Sheriff nodded. "My complements to the hen, and tell her that I shall not over-task her."
"Thank you, sir," the porter said, struggling manfully to keep mirth from overriding his sepelchural tone, "the hen will be pleased."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-6-08

 

Esther's bearing was regal, as she made her way to the Grand Saloon; her curtsy in response to the German's lifted topper and erect carriage and his heels snapped loudly together was one truly befitting royalty.
All eyes turned at her entrance; all heads turned slowly, following her stately progress.
The Sheriff rose, as did Jacob; the Major, puzzled, looked behind him, and fairly leaped to his feet.
Esther extended her hand to the Sheriff, who kissed her knuckles gently.
"My dear," the Sheriff said, "may I present Major Charles Roberts, late of the Queen's Mounted Artillery. Major Roberts, my lovely wife, Esther Keller."
"Major Roberts," Esther said, extending her hand, and the Major took her hand in his and bowed his head over it. "My Lady," he murmured, and Esther gave him a small curtsy.
The men remained standing as Jacob drew out a chair. Esther was seated -- no, enthroned -- and again the Sheriff marveled at this jewel, this beauty that was his wife, and how in one moment she could be as mischevious as a schoolgirl, and in the next breath, a queen.
Mystery, thy name is Woman, he thought.
The Major turned to the Sheriff and began inquiring, as old soldiers will, about the Sheriff's campaigns during the War. Jacob saw his opportunity, and drew the folded and sealed paper from his breast pocket, and brushed Esther's elbow with its flat edge.
Esther maintained her pleasant smile, but as she looked at Jacob, her eyebrows asked a question.
Jacob's eyes, by way of reply, shifted to his father, then back to Esther.
Esther's slow blink was her acknowledgement. The paper disappeared, to be examined in a less public venue.
The ubiquitous porter stepped out of nothingness and murmured politely, and Esther smiled and ordered her breakfast, and the porter disappeared as if spirited away by djinns.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-6-08

 

The Major was relieved to see Jacob and I eating a normal breakfast -- well, normal for us, anyway. I think it was more than Her Majesty's artilleryman would have eaten; he was happy with one egg and a half dozen slices of bacon.
Rashers, he called them.
Jacob smiled.
I winked at Jacob, for he and I both delighted in picking out accents, dialects, fine turns of phrase, and this genuine British soldier was at once surprising to the ear, but equally delightful.
Esther ate a light breakfast. I don't see how she keeps any meat on her bones, I thought. If I'd eat as little as she does I'd waste away til I couldn't throw a decent shadow!
I looked over at Jacob, and his eyes led mine to a fellow in a fancy suit, sitting alone at a table, pretending to be very interested in the cards he kept dealing himself.
The Brit didn't miss our silent exchange.
When we finished our meal and our conversation, the Major and I stood, and shook hands, and the Major said loudly that he hoped to see more of me, that he was fascinated with Lee's brilliant campaigning: as he spoke, he turned a little, and I saw his eyes narrow as he picked up that fellow plying his pasteboards.
The Major started to turn away, then turned back and inquired in a low voice, "How long have you campaigned?" -- nodding to Jacob.
"He is my son," I said.
The Major gave me a calculating look. "No, sir. There is more than meets the eye, sir. Your ... son ... is vigilant as any soldier who's seen action."
Jacob's hand was casually beside his lapel. As the Brit turned to look at him again, he turned the lapel over and displayed a star. "Deputy Sheriff," he said quietly, dropping the lapel back down. "The Sheriff is my father."
I managed to keep a poker face.
Jacob, a deputy? I thought, then: Not a bad idea! He would need some authority to get to me with his message.
Every father hopes his son will follow in his foot steps, and I had thought of future times when I might attempt to recruit Jacob ... somehow I hadn't thought of this happening quite so soon.
I'm getting old, I thought, and then looked at Esther, and remembered ...
Well, maybe not so old after all, I thought, and my ears warmed a little at the memory.
The fellow at the far table folded his cards, and stacked his deck, and slipped the deck into his coat pocket, and walked casually out of the saloon.
Jacob and I exchanged a look, and Esther saw the look.
Esther's hand was warm on my arm as we crossed the Grand Saloon, our tread silent on the carpet. The Major was investigating the bar, and what delights might lurk in the fine collection of bottles neatly ranked on its shelves; Jacob preceded us, looking around as he approached the doorway, and then stepping out, onto the lower deck.
We followed him out.
It was a fine day, the sky was an absolutely clear blue, with huge cumulus clouds sailing across the zenith like galleons under full canvas: the River Queen's progress was steady, I could feel the chop-chop-chop underfoot as each of the paddle wheel's blades wrought its individual vibration through the entire boat.
It smelled ... it smelled of a good clean winter's day.
I remember how the trees stood out in bold relief against the riverbank, and Jacob turned, and I saw his coat come open, and I seized Esther's arm, and spun her around behind me.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 2-6-08

 

Jacob's coat tail swatted aside, held momentarily by the weight of half-a-dozen pistol balls sewn into its lower seam. His hand was on his Colt, and the hammer was at full cock just as the muzzle cleared the holster.
The two men were stepping out from behind a stack of firewood, aiming at the Sheriff: one wore a pearl-gray hat, and Jacob recognized him as the fellow in the Saloon who was trying so hard to be invisible; the other he'd never seen before, but the revolver in his hand made him familiar enough.
Jacob's engraved Colt spoke once, twice, and his father's matching revolver added its voice to the discussion: Jacob's two shots went between the second and third shirt buttons of the left-hand assassin, and the Sheriff's two shots were two fingers higher, on the second bushwhacker.
Jacob saw the look in their eyes, the surprise and then the vacancy of a man with the bottomless knowledge that he is dead, and the pair sagged, and fell: one fell toward him, the other fell back.
Jacob turned, crouched, looking for any further threat; he turned back to where the two had half-hidden, took three quick steps forward.
Only the dead met his searching gaze.
Jacob felt himself starting to shake, felt as if a bucket of cold water were being poured over him. He willed himself to move, willed himself to reload.
Punching the empties out of his revolver, he dropped in two fresh rounds and eased the hammer's nose down between the rims, and, still shaking a little, turned back to his father.
The Sheriff was laying back in Esther's lap, and she had a great wad of reddened cloth pressed hard against the side of his neck, and there was an impossibly large pool of blood growing under him on the polished wooden deck.