Firelands-The Beginning

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-19-08

 

"You rascal!" Bonnie chuckled as she, Beverly and Lavender Knight walked in through the back kitchen door at the Silver Jewel, "I should have known." Twain Dawg looked up from is comfortable spot on the floor. His big ears perked at, "Sarah has been looking for you." Twain Dawg stood and looked expectantly at Bonnie. She bent over and scratched the side of his large head, "You'll find her right out back fella." And with that, Twain Dawg stuck his nose in the crack of the opened door and ushered himself outside. In the close distance the women could hear Sarah, "You ole scally wag! Don't you know you're going to get fat if you keep mooching food?" One could almost see her small hand on hip and finger wagging with the other. The women inside laughed.

"Daisy? I would like you to meet Beverly Knight and her daughter Lavendar."

Daisy wiped her hands off on her crisp white apron, and Bonnie continued, "Beverly, this is my dear friend Daisy and adorable son Sean."

Small talk continued on for a bit , and then Daisy pulled Bonnie aside with a face expression none to cordial, "We are goin to have to do something with Elizabeth, Bonnie!!"

"Oh no .... what now?"

"With my own eyes I witnessed her trying to sink her claws into the Sherriff! Does she not know how tha Lord is givin her a fresh start?'

Bonnie looked at Daisy, remembering thier own rescue into a world outside of a Brothel, "Some need more time Daisy .... some need guidance ...."

Daisy interupted, "Some need a fryin pan laid across their head!"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-19-08

 

With head laid back against the train bench and hat pulled over his eyes .... though not aslepp, but people tend to leave you alone if they think you are .... Levi sat and pondered the trip ahead of him.

Reluctantly, Abram and David bid farewell to Levi in Chicago a couple of days before. Levi urged them not to send a telegram informing Caleb of his journey in their direction, telling his Father and Brother Caleb would be busy getting Monty Knight settled into the business, and he did not think it neccessary to add any other distracting thoughts.

Distracting thoughts .... well, that would be an understatement in the end.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

"Jackson Cooper!"
The Sheriff's hail made the little girl flinch, her good arm tightening a little around his neck. His own arm circled around her little bottom, holding her close as Hijo trotted smoothly over toward the hospital.
Jackson Cooper had just kissed his wife goodbye at the schoolhouse for the morning, as he always did, and was turning their fine buggy around as he always did. He called a gentle "Ho" to their patient Sam-horse, and Sam ho'd, and the Sheriff drew Hijo to a halt.
"Jackson Cooper, fetch in the Irish Brigade," the Sheriff said. "My bones tell me this isn't over."
Jackson Cooper considered the explosion he'd heard earlier, and the sound of a galloping horse: he didn't know the child clinging to the Sheriff, but he recognized a child badly in need of the reassurance a big strong Papa-figure could provide, and knew intuitively there was quite a bit more to the situation than he had facts to fit.
Jackson Cooper nodded once, briskly: "Yup, Sam," he called, flicking the reins, and Sam yup'd, and Jackson Cooper trotted Sam rather briskly out toward the fine road that led out toward the mines, the road where the Irish Brigade took their exercise.
Now if you were to sit on the bench in front of Maude's general store, and look across the street, you would see mostly the Silver Jewel, and the library, and the newspaper building. You would see the alley to the left of the Jewel, and its fine double-doors, visible under the brow of the boardwalk's overhanging roof; you would see the several large windows opening into the dining area, curtained for half their height; on the second floor, above the leftmost margin of the dining area, you would have a guest room, and beside that, the office of the Z&W Railroad; more windows, each one into a guest room, clear to the end of the building.
If you'd taken a seat when this adventure all started, you might have noticed a smoky nimbus gathering in the far right hand windows: and if you'd set there for a time and just watched, you would have seen the nimbus become darker, and more ominous, and perhaps you might have seen a dirty orange glow behind the nimbus.
It wasn't until smoke started to seep out that anyone realized the Silver Jewel was afire.
Maude, as a matter of fact, first raised the alarm.
Maude had a sudden thirst for some coffee, some she hadn't brewed herself, and she knew Daisy was likely baking already this morning; somehow the woman seemed to come up with ingredients for good apple pie no matter the time of year, and Maude was of a notion for some good apple pie, with cinnamon on top and a lattice crust, and so she hung up her shop keeper's apron, bade Bill and Mac watch the store, and could she bring them some pie when she returned?
She'd no sooner stepped out the door than she stepped back in, her lips white and set.
"Mac!" she snapped. "Fetch the Irish Brigade! The Jewel is afire!"
Mac handed his broom to Bill and reached behind to untie his apron. "Yes, ma'am!" he barked, his stride lengthening, and by the time he crossed the threshold, he was at a dead run.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

Sam had been a trotter before Jackson Cooper made trade for the dapple.
Sam loved to trot, and took every opportunity to fetch that fine buggy along at a trotter's velocity.
Jackson Cooper was not a tail-sitter, as sulky-drivers were called by saddle jockeys, but he did enjoy a fast horse, and though he loved the pounding run of a horse at gallop, there was something absolutely delightful in the smooth and surprisingly rapid pace of a good trotting-horse.
Sam was good!
Jackson Cooper sailed happily out the flat, smooth road, toward the onrushing practice wagon. He took off his hat, waving it, seemingly on a collision course with the three-mare hitch.
Jackson Cooper knew he had to make the onrushing Sean, standing and singing and roaring at his mares, understand that he was not merely hailing a fine sight: he needed them to know his mission was urgent.
"Ho!" Jackson Cooper called, and Sam ho'd, squarely in the middle of the road.
Jackson Cooper stood, and fetched out his .44 revolver, and standing himself, fired twice into the air.
Sean recognized the dapple a moment before he recognized the bearded giant driving: "HO, LADIES!" he shouted, which scarce slowed them, but his firm hand on the reins conveyed his wish, and the galloping ladies reluctantly began to slack their flat-out run.
Sean's stomach tightened when Jackson Cooper stood and fired twice in the air.
"HO!" Sean commanded, and the mares recognized his word as command, not request, and slowed.
"HARD ABOUT!" Sean roared. "LADS! WE'RE OFF! ALL HANDS ON DECK! NO IRISH NEED APPLY! YAAH!" He swung the black snake whip over the mares' heads and the mares brought the practice-wagon around.
They knew, somehow, this time it was for real, this time it wasn't exercise, this time it wasn't play.
The mares pointed their noses at the practice-house, and the real steam-engine that waited, patient and gleaming, for an emergency hitch-up.
This, too, was a move the Irish Brigade had practiced.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

The Irish Brigade moved with smoothness born of practice and of close association.
The engineer tossed in a measured amount of coal oil and a lighted Lucifer match, getting the boiler quickly afire; his supplies were on board, in sufficient quantity to fight the initial fire: the War of Northern Aggression had seen implementation of a draft, and the Irish Brigade was not at all reluctant to draft from the Unorganized Militia, so to speak, to detail a team back to the firehouse and fetch up more coal as needed. They were using the hard Western coal, not that filthy black Eastern coal: it burned hotter and cleaner and gave them more steam, more quickly, and in this the engineer was quite pleased.
By the time the Irish Brigade had unhitched and abandoned the practice-wagon, by the time they hitched onto their steam-wagon with its pre-connected ladder-wagon, the boiler was beginning to heat: by the time they came to the edge of town, the engineer hauled down on the lanyard, and their shrill steam-whistle shrieked alarm, warning all out of their way, the Irish Brigade was coming through!
By the time they arrived a crowd was gathering, dismayed at the sight of smoke from between the hand-split shake shingles at the far end of the Silver Jewel. The crowd scattered quickly before the mares three abreast and Sean set the brake, precisely in the spot where they'd practiced so many times before.
Their preparation was quick and sure: the hard suction was run under the board walk, down the little stone-lined chute into the great cistern, maintained for this very purpose; the engineer set his valves and waited for the signal to start the steam-pump.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

Daisy tilted her head curiously. "Do you smell something burning?"
Mr. Baxter, too, frowned and sniffed, and came around the end of his shining bar.
Tilly stood, curious, and walked around the big, ornate bannister-end and looked up the stairs.
"Mr. Baxter," she called, her voice suddenly tense.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

Tilly turned as the ornate double doors were hauled open and Sean strode in, the Welsh Irishman at his side: each had folded fire-hose over one shoulder, an ax in their free hand, and a stern look on their faces.
"Mr. Baxter," Sean said in a jovial tone, "would you kindly evacuate the lower floor for us? We seem to be busy today!" and without waiting for an answer, Sean and his partner took the stairs, two at a time, trailing two lines behind them.
Mr. Baxter swung around and headed back to the kitchen at just short of a dead run.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

"Why aren't you squirting water at it?" one man shouted, agitated, gesturing wildly at the smoking second-story conflagration.
The English Irishman stood ready, his hose in a Keenan loop, waiting for his signal: the engineer, too, waited, hand firm on the valves, waiting.
"Because, ma lad," the English Irishman said, his tone sharp and impatient, "I've two men inside and if I hit it now, it'll push the fire right into 'em!"
There was a commotion at the window beside the involved room; it was raised and the Welsh Irishman shoved head and shoulders out. "Gi' us some water!" he shouted, and the enginner grinned and hauled open the discharge valve, then engaged the pump.
He'd been waiting for this moment.
The flywheel spun a little faster as he adjusted the throttle and the rig shivered as the piston pump proceeded to thrust water into the shining pressure-dome and out the discharge line.
Sean crouched at the closed door, knowing he would have a fight on his hands the moment he kicked it open. The solid brass, tapered nozzle had no adjustment, nor even a shut-off valve; it's what he was used to, it's all that was available, and it's what he'd used and to good effect back in Porkopolis.
He watched the flaccid fire hose, limp and rippled where they'd run it up the stairs and down the hallway carpet.
"Come on, come on," he muttered between clenched teeth.
The nozzle hissed as air was displaced ahead of the onrushing water and he saw the hose bulge and surge as the first fruits of the engineer's labor came his way.
"Now's for it!" he yelled, driving a booted foot against the door near the knob, ducking quickly as the flame rolled out overhead.
A stream of water drove out of the nozzle, shoving hard against him, but Sean was a muscled Irishman and used to it: he wielded the stream of water like he would wield a club in a street brawl, hitting the fire high and low, bouncing it off the ceiling, breaking the stream into smaller particles, turning it into steam: the fire reached for Sean, hungry, and Sean fed it water and profanity, swearing at the inferno as if at a personal enemy.
The Welsh Irishman was hard against Sean, backing him, helping hold the back-thrust from the straight-tip nozzle: as Sean would duck-walk forward, the Welsh Irishman would duck-walk with him, hauling the weight of the charged line.
Sean spun the straight stream in great circles about the ceiling, knocking burned plaster down in big chunks; water sprayed against the hot window-glass and broke it, from both pressure and thermal shock: glittering shards sparkled and spun down on the onlookers below.
"Back! I told ye to get back!" the English Irishman yelled. "Gi' me some water!"
The engineer reached over and pulled a valve-handle and the English Irishman's line charged.
He fired the straight stream at belt buckle height, swinging it in a quick arc, dousing the onlookers.
"Now get out o' ma way!" he yelled, giving them another sweep, scattering them before his wrath and his bath.
"Guid! Shut 'er down!" he yelled, and the engineer laughed and shut the valve he'd just opened. It was a trick they'd used, and not a few times, when gawkers and sightseers would crowd in too close.
It took a bit of time but they murdered the heart of the beast: Sean thrust up the windowless frame and yelled down, "Shut 'er down, lad, and send me a hook!"
The engineer waved and slowly closed the steam-valve, and the fire pump coasted to a stop. Sean hung the nozzle out the window.
A hook was tossed up to the waiting Irishman: shaped like a Medieval polearm and five feet long, the pike pole, as it was called, had a point on its tip, and a hook just under it, and was particularly useful for ripping down lath-and-plaster ceilings.
Ax and pike were plied with vigor; it took a few more applications of water to kill the remnants of the fire, and even then Sean was not certain; he continued to cut and rip and explore and hose until the fire was chased to its last hiding-places and utterly extinguished.
Part of the roof was broken up and tossed down; the corner room was destroyed, part of the framing damaged, but the Jewel was saved.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

Sam paced back into Firelands with enough lead on the Irish Brigade to make it back to the hospital, and stopped, before the fire engine sailed past, whistling alarm and spinning up dust.
He set the buggy's brake and walked over to the Sheriff, who was carefully dismounting from his great golden stallion, holidng a little girl who was holding him.
The Sheriff turned to Jackson Cooper. "Jacob?" he asked.
Jackson Cooper nodded. "Here he comes." He frowned. "Looks like he's found someone."
The Sheriff turned, his free hand reassuringly on his young charge's back.
Jacob was leading his Appaloosa; a stranger with a splinted leg sagged in the saddle, kept there only by Jacob's good right hand.
Jackson Cooper sprinted for the young deputy and seized the injured railroader from the opposite side. Together they got the man to the hitch-rail, where the Sheriff tied Apple-horse, and together the three of them lifted the railroader over the back of the saddle, and off the back of the horse, Jacob murmuring to his stallion to keep him quiet, keep him reassured, keep him from kicking as they brought the injured man straight back and off his mount's hinder.
The injured man was carried inside.
The Sheriff turned to Jacob.
"Report."
"Sir, the freight engine blew up. The fireman there said the crown sheet was burned through, that he observed this condition and was refused maintenance and repair, and that the engineer ran it out of water, then ran water into the hot boiler, causing the explosion."
"Hm." The Sheriff nodded. "Jacob, we have yet to find the conductor. I don't know if we'll ever find the engineer. See if you can find the conductor and the passenger manifest." He smiled sadly. "A boy and two men are dead in the passenger car, a drummer is knocked silly and will need brought in here, and we need to know who this young lady is."
"I'll find out, sir."
The Sheriff winked. "Good man," he said.
A familiar hand clapped the Sheriff on the shoulder.
"Do you always keep things so dull and boring?" Charlie MacNeil asked.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 6-19-08

 

Linn turned and gave Charlie a grim smile. "I do my best," he said with just the slightest tinge of irony in his voice.

"I've been to the depot," Charlie said. "The passengers from the other cars are all okay. Apparently one of them was an engineer, and not the train drivin' kind, and he's got some of the men organized into a work party. They've got all of the casualties uncovered." He stopped to count up what had happened so far. "Oh yeah, that drummer had a bottle in his valise, and it's about half gone by now."

"It sounds like you've got things started," Linn said. "As soon as I get my charge here to the doctor, I'll be headed down there." At his words the little girl in his arms wrapped her good arm tighter around his neck.

"Or not," Charlie said. "Don't worry, I'll head on back down there and keep an eye on things." He looked over at Jacob. "Providing of course that it's alright with Deputy Keller."

Jacob gave him a startled look and a nod. "That'll be fine, Mister MacNeil."

"I asked you to call me Charlie," Charlie said. "I'll see you down there then." He turned and went down the street toward the depot.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 6-19-08

 

The last wisps of smoke and steam meandered out the window. Water dripped from what remained of the ceiling plaster and ran in rivulets down the walls. The two Irishmen leaned on their tools and surveyed the damage. "Sure and this'll take some serious rebuildin'," Sean said. "But it's a job well taken care of." He leaned out of the window to shout to his compatriots below. "She's extinguished for fair," he said. "Reel in the lines." As if alive the hoses began to slither from the room and back down the stairs.

Fannie tentatively looked up the stairs. "Is is safe to come up?" she called.

"Safe enough, lass," Sean said. "The fire's out. You'll be wantin' to look in on yer belongings, I'll wager."

"Aye, that I would," Fannie said in a creditable imitation of Sean's broad brogue. Sean gave her a smile.

"Be ye from the Auld Sod then, Lass?" he asked.

"Aye, that's where my family came from, these many years ago," Fannie said. She stepped up on the landing and Sean gave her a bow.

"It's always a pleasure to meet someone of the blood," Sean said. His partner nudged him in the back.

"And he'll stand here and talk all day if we let him," the Welsh Irishman said. Sean gave him a glare that would shrivel lesser men in their tracks and merely evoked a chuckle from the Welsh Irishman.

"I can see I'll get no respect here," Sean said drily. "If you'll excuse us, ma'am?"

"Of course," Fannie said. She gave them a dazzling smile and the two men tramped down the stairs.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

The Sheriff drew up a chair beside the exam table, seated himself.
"Sweetheart?" he asked gently. "Can you sit up here for me?"
The little girl's arm tightened a little more about his neck, then relaxed a little; finally she slowly, reluctantly released her grip, allowing the Sheriff to sit her on the edge of the table.
The Sheriff resumed his seat, putting him about eye level with her. He knew it would be intimidating for long tall him to stand towering over her, and he wanted her as much at ease as he could get her.
She still clutched her rag doll in the injured arm.
"Can I look at your arm, sweetheart?" the Sheriff asked, holding out his hand.
The little girl blinked twice, then slowly reached her little hand out and laid it in his big hand. She transferred the rag doll to her other arm.
"My name is Linn," the Sheriff said, his voice soft, soothing. "Can you tell me your name?"
She blinked again, then buried her face in her doll.
Nurse Susan came over and looked at the child's arm. "Oh, it's not bad at all," she said, "I'll just wash it off." She squeezed a wash cloth in a basin; at the sound of the squish and the trickle of water, the little girl stiffened and her hand clutched the Sheriff's.
Nurse Susan wiped the lacerations, gently, carefully, assessing their depth: she was relieved to see they were superficial, now that the blood was cleaned off. She carefully laid a warm hand on the child's back.
"Do you hurt anywhere, honey?" she asked.
The little girl blinked, then shook her head, a quick left-right, and looked at the Sheriff.
"Are you sure, sweetheart?" he asked.
She blinked again, then shook her head, twice this time.
Nurse Susan undid the child's dress; together, with a towel for modesty, Susan examined while the Sheriff held -- or was held, for the little girl was equally adamant as to maintaining a firm grip around her rag doll, and around the Sheriff.
Preferably around his neck.
Nurse Susan assessed the long bones and each joint, the ribs, her back; the belly was soft, the head was free of obvious injury: her eyes were busy, her fingers moreso: Nurse Susan was watchful for a multitude of things, none of which she verbalized: satisfied, she dressed the silent child.
The Sheriff ran his left arm under the back of her thighs again and she pretty much was seated on his forearm, her good arm again around his neck.
"Looks like you've got a friend," Nurse Susan smiled. "I can't find any other injuries. Has she spoken yet?"
"No," the Sheriff said softly, not wanting to startle the child again.
He frowned.
"I have work to do, but she's had a terrible shock." He didn't want to voice his fear that the dead he'd observed were her family. "What would you suggest?"
"I would suggest just what you're doing," Nurse Susan said briskly. "She'll let you know when she's ready to let go."
Again the Sheriff held his counsel, all too aware that the child's ear was but inches from his lips.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-20-08

 

Sean looked down the hall toward the kitchen, where Daisy was fussing and banging pots and pans: as much as he wanted to go and buss his wife soundly on her soft cheek, his work wasn't finished.
The hose had been gathered, bundled and once back at station, would be washed and hung in the chimney-like hose drying tower built for that purpose: hose saw so little use out here, Sean thought, there would be no excuse not to keep it clean and presentable.
The mares danced in their harness as the Irish Brigade brought their rig around and trotted back to station, little boys yelling after them as they always did. The engineer kept a little steam up, enough for an occasional toot on the whistle; it was expected, and no one took offense.
Daisy, on the other hand, was fussing over half-baked loaves of bread she'd been forced to leave; her stove, untended, had lost its heat, and her morning baking was ruined.
"No help for it, then," she sighed, brushing a wisp of red hair from her forehead with the back of one flour-white hand. "I'll just have to make new."
So saying, she reached for the flour.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-20-08

 

Mr. Weaver, the Z&W's conductor, handed the passenger manifest to Charlie, who held it out to Jacob. They read it together.
"You're sure?" Charlie asked quietly.
The conductor nodded.
Jacob whistled. "Pa won't like this," he said quietly.
"Poor little thing," Charlie said. "Her only family, you say?"
"Yes, sir, as far as I know." Mr. Weaver shook his head. "I remember the father said he was a widower, and they'd sold everything to move West, he and his boys and the little girl."
"And now they're all dead." Charlie's expression was neutral, but Jacob read his eyes, and knew the man was ready to bite the horn off an anvil and spit railroad spikes.
Jacob examined his own feelings and felt a general unease.
"Charlie?" he asked. "Might I ask your opinion on a matter, when we've some time to talk?"
There was a quick flash of a grin, then gone: Jacob had finally managed not to say "Sir" or "Mr. MacNeil."
"Sure, Jacob. Whenever you like."
"Thank you, sir."
Charlie's right eyebrow went up, just a little.
"I mean thank you, Charlie."
The eyebrow settled again.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 6-20-08

 

Charlie was outwardly calm and only Jacob had seen the signs of the mad he had on reflecting from his eyes. The demon that should have been laid to rest by the passing of Duzy and the Sheriff's eulogy for her had merely been biding its time back in the shadows in the back of Charlie's brain. It was pacing back there like a lion in a cage, and now it wanted to step to the fore and wreak havoc on those responsible for the death of the little girl's family. With a major effort of will Charlie reined it in once again.

He could see through Jacob's ruse easily. It was essentially the same one he had used on Jacob just days before when all the young man wanted to do was ride out and avenge his family. The little girl wasn't Charlie's family, but the feeling was the same. The innocent had been injured, and someone had to pay.

Then something came to Charlie. If the girl's family was dead, she was going to need a new family. Linn and Esther had lost their baby. Just maybe, there might be a chance...

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-20-08

 

Jake came riding up, his face troubled. Charlie and Jacob looked at one another, looked at Jake.
Jake swung down, wiped across his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I found what was left of the engine's cab."
Neither of the other two lawmen spoke.
"Wasn't much left."
Jake staggered over to the nearby water barrel and shoved his head in, hat and all, and held for a long moment.
He came out, shook his head once and took a deep breath.
It didn't help any.
He managed a few steps before he bent over and heaved up his guts.
Jacob reached for his wild rag, pressing his lips together in disappointment as he realized he'd used it to splint the railroader's leg.
Charlie pulled his loose and handed to the younger man.
Jacob nodded once by way of thanks and walked over to the coughing Jake.
He sloshed the bandanna a couple times in the rain barrel and then leaned down beside Jake, one hand on the man's shoulder, silently offering the wet rag.
Jake took it with his own nod of thanks.
Jacob patted his shoulder lightly and returned to Charlie.
"I reckon he must've found the engineer."
"Looks that way."
Jake was another minute getting himself composed. A veteran lawman, he'd fought in skirmishes and outright battles, he'd see his share of unpleasantness and death was no stranger to his eyes ... something must have been well beyond horrible to turn a hardened stomach like his.
Jake shook his head. "You never forget the smell," he muttered, and turned away again, gagging with dry heaves.
Charlie's eyes narrowed. He'd smelled burned flesh before, and Jake was right.
You never, ever forgot the smell.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-20-08

 

Bonnie, Beverly Lavender, Sarah and Pram holding Polly and Opal had no sooner left the Jewel and on toward The Merchantile, when Bonnie heard Maude yell. She next saw Mac .... "Is he running?" Bonnie thought, thinking the man much more spry than one would think, given his age .... though she didn't think anyone knew the ages of Bill and Mac.

The group of women and children turned in the direction Maude was pointing, and where Mac was running, and saw the smoke.

"Good Heavens!" Bonnie exclaimed, "Come! Let's get out of the way!" She led them to the Merchantiles steps. Sarah ran up to give Mr Bill a hug. Bonnie noticed the hug was short and sweet and that he disappeared into the store. "Goodness!" Bonnie was thinking again, "But he's moving faster than normal, too! hmmm ...." But what Bonnie saw next was Bill hurring down the other side of the store and moving down the street away from them. Maude, too noticed, "He must have gone out the back door! Wonder where he is going in such a hurry?"

"I don't think I have ever seen those two move with the speed we are seeing today!" Bonnie resonded.

"You'd think 'they' were the ones with the fire burning in their trousers ..." Maude and Bonnie laughed, then Bonnie said, "Sarah? Did Mr. Bill say anything to you when you first saw him?"

"No, Mama ... well, not really."

"Not really?"

"He mumbled ... I couldn't understand the words."

Maude reached out her hand to Beverly, "Hello ... My name is Maude, Proprietess of The Merchantile."

Beverly took her hand, and a blushing Bonnie, "Oh! I am so sorry! Maude, these are new comers from Illinois, Beverly Knight and her daughter Lavender. Remember, I told you they were on their way?"

Maude reached over the edge of the pram and pulled out Opal, who was all smiles and coos and goos. Opal's little fingers were reaching for Maudes nose. Maude made a little honking sound as Opal grabed on, making Opal giggle.

While the women laughed, Sarah was busy watching Linn carry a little girl toward the Hospital. "Mama?"

"Yes, Sarah."

"Who's the girl, Uncle Linn is carrying"

"I don't know, Sarah ... I can't really see her from here."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-20-08

 

Bill made his feet and legs work harder than he liked. As he moved down the street, the words anyone would hear, if they were listening, "What do I do, Lord? What do I do?"

Then it dawned on Bill that he hadn't called out to the Almighty in twenty years, and was thinking this was the second time in as many days that he had done so .... Would the Almighty even pay attention to him now?

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-20-08

 

With Mac being directed in one direction, and Bill heading off in another, Maude ussered the women into The Merchantile, as her prior plans of coffee and apple pie were now a distant memory .... she would now need to stay put.

"What do you make of Bill, Maude?" Bonnie asked

"It's been almost 20 years since I first met the two of them. Daddy hired them shortly after they came to town back then. Bill was always quiet .... thoughtful .... sad, actually. At least that is how I always thought. Your Sarah was the first person to bring him out of a shell."

Bonnie looked toward Beverly and was getting ready to say something to her, but noticed she had a puzzled face expression. "What an interesting day this is turning out to be," Bonnie thought, once again.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-20-08

 

"So what do I do now?" I wondered aloud.
"You do what you always do, Sheriff," Susan said. "You take care of your people." She smiled at the little girl and how her head was laid down on my shoulder, her eyes closed. "It looks like you're doing a good job of just that."
I nodded, carefully, not wanting to disturb the little one whose arm still laid firm claim to my neck.
Susan opened the door for me and I settled the Stetson on my head as I went out the door.
Something big, furry and menacing was sitting in front of Hijo, sniffing noses with the stallion.
"Hello, Dawg," I greeted him. "I see you've met my horse."
Dawg gave me a fine display of dentistry that would have made an unsuspecting soul faint.
"What say we head over for the depot?"
It was a little awkward mounting with an arm full of child, but I managed.
Hijo turned his head to look at me and muttered something probably uncomplimentary, but he didn't offer to act up, for which my aching tail bone was grateful.
We turned, the four of us, and headed toward the depot. Hopefully Jacob had found the conductor or at least the manifest.
There would be death notifications to make, and this little girl had a name. I just had to find it.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-21-08

 

The Irish Brigade was returning to the Jewel.
It was plain Sean's ladies wanted to run it again -- he was laughing and admonishing the mares that no, we'd no' need their efforts this time, just a nice slow trot would do -- and the mares obeyed with ill grace: between his words and his firm hand on the reins, strong but gentle, the Irish Brigade wheeled back up the street, only instead of a smoking boiler and a steam whistle, it was with hammers and saws and as much lumber as they could tie down on the trailing ladder wagon.
The Daine brothers had already begun work on the damaged room. From the look of things, at least at the distance involved -- I was down near to the depot when I looked -- there was a fair amount of demolition involved. I'd had my hands full, and the Irish Brigade was taking care of the fire when it happened, so I hadn't gone up to sightsee like those with a bit more time on their hands.
Matter of fact I didn't have time to go look even yet.
Excitement and the unusual tend to draw people. There were a few at the depot, gawking at the destroyed passenger car. Now that I had the opportunity to just sit back and look at it, I marveled at the utter destruction involved.
This will be a complete rebuild, I thought. Might as well send this one back East and have 'em strip it to the frame and start over.
"Hey Sheriff!" one of the hangers-on hailed. "Ain't she a little young for a deputy?" There was laughter, at least until Jacob walked over to the man. I didn't hear what he had to say, but the fellow turned away, and his posture told me he'd just been corrected.
I came carefully out of the saddle, my young charge still asleep on my shoulder. Charlie's face was complex -- Charlie always was a deep one, I thought -- but he was also businesslike as he handed me the manifest.
His finger traced down the names, stopping at three, one right after the other.
"The conductor tells me they were a family," Charlie said quietly, glancing up at the calico clad child on my fatigued forearm. "This man" -- he indicated the first name -- "was a widower, and these two" -- again, referring to the list -- "his sons."
Charlie's finger stopped at the third name.
Her name.
Charlie and I looked at one another.
I nodded, carefully, my free hand going to the middle of the little girl's back. She stirred a little, sighed in her sleep.
"It's a good name," Charlie said quietly.
"It is," I agreed.
"Why don't you go get her somethin' to eat? Knowin' Daisy she'll have enough feed ready by now for the entire Union army, unless the Irish Brigade gets there first."
I grinned. "Reckon Angela and I had better get up there."
"Go on ahead. We'll take care of this."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-21-08

 

Esther, as usual, was brisk, businesslike, and organized.
She surveyed the damaged room from the safety of the hallway, frowning at the amount of harm occurring in a short amount of time; her gaze trailed upward, and both Sean and Fiddler Daine followed her gaze.
Sean's big hands were surprisingly gentle as they settled on the dignified woman's shoulders. "Do ye no' worry now, lass," he rumbled, "we'll make sure th' monster isna' hidin' above."
Esther's chin raised. "Sean, ma lad," she said, the imp of mischief dancing in her emerald eyes, "I leave it in the good hands of yourself and the Daine brothers. Set my Jewel to right." She shifted her mahogany walking-stick from one hand to the other and ran an arm around Sean's solid middle and gave him a quick, firm squeeze.
Surprised, Sean looked at Fiddler Daine, who grinned and winked at the big Irishman.
Esther released Sean and switched the walking-stick again and ran her other arm around Daine.
It was the tall, skinny Kentuckian's turn to look surprised.
Esther patted him on the chest and walked slowly down the hall, back toward her office, at the far end of the building.
Sean and Daine looked after her, realizing she suddenly looked old, and sad.
Sean swallowed hard.
"Yon's a woman, now," he murmured.
"She is that," Daine said thoughtfully.
Sean turned to regard the blackened room. "I'll no' disappoint such a fine lady!" he declared. "The Irish Brigade will tear out an' your lads will rebuild, an' we'll do her proud!"
Fiddler Daine nodded, contemplating the job at hand.
"Yep," he agreed.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-21-08

 

Tilly looked up, curious, as the Sheriff did not generally go around carrying sleeping little girl-children.
Dawg, on the other hand, exhibited no such curiosity: he tended to take things as they came, and after a toothy grin at Tilly, he meandered back toward Daisy's kitchen, for his nose told him biscuits and gravy could be had, and he was of a mood to partake thereof.
The Sheriff winked. "Long story," he said quietly, and Tilly nodded, smiling: somehow the man looked natural with a little one in his arms.
The Sheriff's tread was soft on the stairs, and as luck would have it, he met Esther at the top, where one hallway came into another.
He leaned down, carefully, steadying little Angela as he bent: he kissed Esther, who tilted her head a little to the side and regarded his still bundle.
Esther laughed, quietly.
"Daisy said something about your having another woman!" she teased.
The Sheriff sighed. "I seem to have one now. This is Angela."
"Bring her into the office. I'll turn down the bed."
Esther opened her office door. It still smelled smoky; the window was open, and she propped the door to get a breeze through.
"Daisy is back in the kitchen, saying unkind things about being run out of her kingdom," Esther chuckled. "She had to throw out a half dozen loaves of half-baked bread and start over, and oh! how she did abuse the fresh dough she made up!"
The Sheriff bent over the narrow bed, carefully laying little Angela down, going slowly to his knees to accomplish the feat: his backside ached from the strain, but he ignored it as best he could.
Angela sighed and rolled over on her side, releasing the Sheriff's neck, but never losing the hold on her rag doll.
The Sheriff drew the sheet up over little Angela. She cuddled into the bedclothes, just a little, and seemed to relax.
The Sheriff turned to Esther, gestured to her chair: he drew one up, close, facing her and sat, their knees nearly touching.
The Sheriff leaned forward, forearms on his knees. His posture was that of a man who wished a quiet, intimate conversation, which indeed he did.
It was also the only way he could sit that did not pain his injured hinder.
"The freight engine exploded," the Sheriff said sotto voce. "Jacob found he fireman. It seems the engineer ran the boiler dry, then ran water into the empty boiler and blew it up. The fireman yelled at him not to do it and jumped, knowing it would blow."
Esther's delicate hands clenched, slowly, then relaxed; her face was impassive, her emerald eyes on his.
"Our passenger train was almost past when it went. I have had no chance to talk with our engineer or fireman, at least not yet. The conductor is alive, but three passengers were killed and one passenger car destroyed." The Sheriff looked over at the sleeping child. "The conductor told Jacob her father was a widower, and was coming out with Angela and her two brothers." His expression was troubled. "Angela survived."
Esther's lips pressed together, hard. "I may know why this happened," she murmured. "I want to talk to our engineer." She looked over at Angela. "Is there any family back East?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I'm hoping with Charlie's contacts we can find out." I looked over at the child. "Until then ..."
Esther smiled. "How old would you say she is?"
"I looked at the passenger manifest. It gave her age as four years."
"Half of Sarah's age," Esther said slowly, thoughtfully. "I'll see if Bonnie has any of Sarah's outgrown dresses."
Esther looked the Sheriff squarely in the eye.
"We have a perfectly good bedroom that will make a fine room for a little girl."
The Sheriff nodded. "I was hoping for that."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-21-08

 

Water trickled down Jacob's chin as he drank deeply from the gourd dipper.
He hung the dipper back on its hook and looked over at Charlie.
"Kind of a busy day," Charlie said dryly, propping the front door open.
Jacob nodded, frowning.
"You wanted to ask me something."
Jacob nodded again, hooking his thumb in his belt and frowning at a knot in the floor.
Charlie waited, knowing there was turmoil behind the veiled eyes; he gave Jacob the time he needed to arrange his thoughts.
"Charlie, you're going to think I've lost my mind."
It was Charlie's turn to veil his eyes. He knew a young man often felt turmoil, at times magnifying what to a scarred adult was something minor into something completely out of scale.
On the other hand, he knew, sometimes it was actually as monumental as a troubled young heart might perceive it.
"Charlie, I had to kill some fellow here not long ago, out at the mine."
Charlie nodded, settling himself down in a convenient chair.
"He wanted to fight. I didn't pa'tickilar want to fight him" -- Charlie suppressed a smile, hearing Linn's common pronunciation falling with such ease from his son's lips -- "but he insisted and so I obliged him.
"He come out in second place real quick, and then he taken up a pick handle and came at me.
"I was close enough to my horse to fetch out my Winchester.
"I told him to drop the stick or I'd drop him.
"He didn't.
"I did.
"Nobody had any objection, there were plenty to witness and they all agreed it was a fair fight."
Jacob paused, looking through the far wall, remembering the moment.
"Did you like it?" Charlie asked quietly.
Jacob looked the man square in the eye. "Charlie, that's what scares me. I did not like it. I did not dis-like it. I didn't feel a thing, Charlie, I just killed a man and I didn't feel one damned thing!" Jacob folded his arms. "Time and ag'in I have been so boilin' mad I wanted to rip someone's head off clear down to their belt buckle." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, trying hard not to look agitated. "When that jack mule kicked Mother -- Charlie, I wanted nothin' more than to rip it apart with my bare hands and likely I would'a killed it but Pa beat me to it, him and that big Mexican stallion."
Charlie nodded, a small smile escaping his reserve. "I seem to have heard something about that."
Jacob shook his head. "Then when I saw that hornet caught just under the back of that jack mule's pack, or what was left of it, I knowed I couldn't kill that mule no matter how bad Mother was hurt." He looked at Charlie again, clearly torn.
"Charlie, I knowed 'twas that jack that hurt Mother, and I wanted real bad to hurt it back, but it warn't his fault -- so I couldn't do it.
"I didn't feel nothin' for those fellows dead in the passenger car, neither." His lower jaw thrust out as he considered. "They were strangers to me so that don't surprise me ... but God Almighty, Charlie, you saw how they were busted up! And that little boy sittin' up ag'in that seat with his eye sopen, deader'n a politician's promise! I didn't feel one thing, Charlie.
"Nothing!"
His gesture was vigorous, a chopping-off motion with his edged hand.
"Now this."
"Now this what?" Charlie asked mildly.
"Pa an' that little girl he dug out from under the roof o' that car." Jacob's expression softened. "Charlie, I never saw a child more in need of comfort in my life. I can't even imagine what she saw or how much she saw. Pa fetched that trash off her and brought her out of wreckage and into a set of strong arms, and she taken to him." The corners of his eyes started to smile.
"Charlie, do you reckon Pa will want to keep her?"
Charlie chuckled a little. "You make her sound like a stray pup or something!"
Jacob's smile spread over the rest of his face. "You're right."
Charlie scratched his head. "I've listened to you meander over quite a bit of ground. Now that we know where you've been, where are we goin' with your question?"
Jacob sat down and leaned forward in his seat. "Charlie, I didn't feel nothin' when I killed that fella. He had it comin'. I felt nothin' when I looked at what I knew were father and brothers, the only family that little girl had in the world." He looked directly at Charlie again. "Is that natural?"
Charlie leaned back a little in his chair, considering his words carefully.
"Jacob," he finally said, "when you have enough about to even ask that question, that tells me that you've got a conscience, and it appears to work just fine."
Charlie closed one eye, considering. "I knew someone who was in the War who wondered much the same things."
"Sir?"
Charlie nodded slowly, letting the honorific pass without comment. "A young officer, after a battle. He'd led his men -- the job of an officer is to lead -- but things were hot enough he fought as well, and was bloodied in the skirmish.
"He ignored his own hurt to see that his men were tended, and afterward he counted up the dead, and wrote down their names, and then lent aid to the wounded on both sides." Charlie's eyes softened a little as he remembered the conversation. "Your Pa told me later that it was a day before he realized that he, too, had felt nothing, and his conscience troubled him that he'd taken lives, named the dead, all the while feeling nothing."
Charlie brought the legs of his chair down with a solid thump. "It's what we do when we have to, Jacob. You had a righteous shoot. It was needful, you did it and you moved on. He brought his own death on himself, you were blameless and so your conscience did not take up any grief it hadn't earned.
"You didn't know those fellows killed in the rail car so there was no connection there.
"You had a job to do in both cases, and you did it." Charlie leaned his chair back a little again. "You set your feelin's aside to get the work done. Sometimes we have to do that."
Jacob mulled the veteran lawman's words for some time.
Charlie let him think.
Finally Jacob said, "Charlie?"
"Hm?"
"Charlie, I was worried."
Charlie nodded.
Jacob grinned shyly and Charlie could see the younger man's ears turn red. "Charlie, I'm kind of sweet on Annette."
Charlie nodded solemnly, for this was common knowledge.
"I figure to ask her to marry me."
Again Charlie nodded without comment.
"I was scairt I might not feel ... well, if I didn't feel nothin' lookin' at those fellers, an' that fellow at the mine..."
His voice trailed off and he ground bashfully to a halt.
Charlie looked over to the doorway as Dawg shoved his big head in to say howdy. He was licking his chops, very likely having had some of Daisy's biscuits and gravy.
"Have you kissed her yet, Jacob?"
Jacob's ears were positively flaming; it's a wonder his hair didn't catch fire, or at least scorch.
He grinned bashfully.
"I have, Charlie."
Charlie nodded.
"Did you enjoy it?"
The rest of Jacob's face was warming to the approximate thermal profile of his cherry-red ears. "Yes," he admitted. "I surely did."
Charlie thought back across the years to a time when the world was younger and so was he, and remembered the feel of a slender-waisted lass in his arms. He remembered the softness of her neck, and how she smelled, of soap and lavender water, and how he, too, had known that first tentative kiss ... and how it lit a fire he was loath to extinguish.
"Jacob, I reckon there's not a thing wrong with you, at least nothing the rest of us haven't wondered about at one time or another."
Relief washed off Jacob like melting snow.
Dawg padded in and laid down in front of the cold stove, dropping as if heart-shot, and began to snore almost immediately, content with a full belly and a clean conscience.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-22-08

 

Angela woke not long after.
Esther smiled, looking over at her, and I turned and smiled.
The little girl yawned, rubbing her eyes, and sat up, looking around.
I went over to her, moving to the side of the bed -- not directly at her, but a little to the side -- I am a big man, and she was so tiny; she'd been through a lot, and I didn't want her to think I was bearing down on her like the noon freight.
Like a freight engine, I thought, and my belly knotted up again.
I glanced over at Esther. She was still seated, but smiling a quiet little smile, probably amused by a big strong man's discomfiture with this strange creature with whom he had so little experience.
"Good morning," I said in my gentlest voice.
She looked at me with the biggest brown eyes.
I didn't see any fear, just ... curiosity?
I eased my backside down in the chair. "My name's Linn. Can you tell me your name?"
She tilted her head a little and blinked.
I waited a few moments.
"Is you name Susie?"
She blinked again, sitting up and folding the sheet down.
"Is your name ... Anna?"
She turned her head and regarded me with an owl-like solemnity.
"Is your name ... Schickelgrubenheimen?"
She smiled and hid her giggle behind her rag doll.
She can hear, I thought, smiling over at Esther.
"Schickelgrubenheimen?" Esther asked.
The child bounced a little on the bed, looking left and right, exploring her surroundings. She was still seated, but she found with a little shift of her weight, she could bounce a little, and she giggled again.
"I'll bet," I said with a conspiratorial tone, "I'll bet your name might be..."
She looked at me with those big brown eyes.
"...Angela!"
She smiled, and her smile was like daybreak after a long night. She spread her arms in a hug-me gesture, and I did, wrapping my arms around her. She took me around the neck again and both my arms were around her tight, tight ...
The swift patter of little bare feet and the sudden weight of a giggling little girl, little arms around me and mine around her, a delighted "Papa!" and I was home, I was home, and everything would be all right, all right ...
I looked over at Esther, and she was dabbing at her nose with a lacy little hankie.
It took me a moment to let go of that long ago memory, the last time my little girl ever came to me, short days before the small pox took her from me forever.
Enough! I thought fiercely. The past is dead and buried, let it be!
Angela pulled back a little and looked at me, blinking. She tilted her head a little and reached up and stroked my mustache.
I kissed her hand and she jerked it back, giggling, with the most delighted look on her face.
She reached for the mustache again and I waited, and she blinked, and put her hand against my lips.
I kissed it.
She pulled her hand back, giggling again, hiding her chin behind her rag doll.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-22-08

 

"Johnny!" Miz Emma called.
Johnny looked down from his lofty perch. "Yes, ma'am!"
"Johnny, do you have that chalk line?"
"Yes, ma'am." Johnny shifted on the tree branch, one arm around the slender trunk, looking down at the schoolmarm.
"Since you're up there, I need your help." Miz Emma shaded her eyes, looking up at the barefoot lad.
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Run your string down until I tell you to stop."
"Yes, ma'am!" Johnny pulled the chalk line out of his overall pocket, unwinding it from the stick he kept it on, letting the lead bob carry it down through the intervening branches. The weight swayed a little as it descended, but Johnny unwound steadily, and managed to bare most of the stick before Miz Emma called, "Johnny! Right there!"
"Yes, ma'am," he called down.
"Pick it up just a little ... there! Throw a half hitch around your stick now!"
"Yes, ma'am!" Johnny threw a quick baler hitch around the stick, marking the string's length.
"Now, Johnny, this is important," Miz Emma called. "I want to know the exact length of that string, right where you've tied the knot. Can you climb down, but keep that string from shifting on the stick?"
"Yes, ma'am!" There was a note of pride in Johnny's voice. He was the best climber around, and he needed only shove the stick in his pocket to keep the knot intact, and thus the string's length determined.
"Now, Johnny, when you climb down, don't let the string loop over any branches. Follow the string down as best you're able."
"Yes, ma'am!" Johnny's high, clear voice was easily heard over the schoolyard.
Most of the students had gathered to watch his steady progress downward. All knew he wasn't supposed to be up the tree, and there were nudges and whispers and speculations on how severely Miz Emma was going to switch his backside.
"Now, class, gather round," Miz Emma called. "Peter. What is the Pythagorean Theorum?"
"A-squared plus B-squared equals C-squared," Peter answered without hesitation.
Miz Emma nodded. "Draw it out," she directed, pointing to a bare spot on the schoolyard.
While Johnny was navigating the last few branches, hanging from both hands from the lowest branch -- a little over seven feet off the ground -- Peter drew a right triangle in the dirt with a stick.
"Johnny!"
Johnny let go of the branch and free-fell the seven feet, landing on the balls of his feet, grinning.
"Yes, ma'am!"
"The string, if you please, young sir!"
"Yes, ma'am!" Johnny gathered the chalk line into big loops and presented it to her, looped line and plumb-bob in one hand, the winding-stick in the other.
"Now. Peter."
"Yes, ma'am!" The older boy came over, tossing the stub of a stick aside and hitching up his jeans a little.
"Peter, take this" -- she handed him the plumb-bob -- "and walk away from me, slowly so we don't tangle the string."
"Yes, ma'am!" Peter began walking backwards, carefully, as Miz Emma drew loop after loop free.
"Good!" She held up a flat palm, and Peter stopped.
"Now. Peter, how can we measure this length?"
One of the younger children came running out of the schoolhouse waving a yardstick. "Miz Emma! Here!"
Miz Emma smiled. "Thank you, Jenny. Peter!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Hold your string at chin height, please!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Johnny and Adam!"
"Yes, ma'am!" Two grinning little boys jumped in front of the schoolmarm, shifting their weight from one foot to another, anxious to be involved with whatever it was that had everyone's attention there in the schoolyard.
"Adam, I want you halfway between here and Peter, holding the string off the ground."
"Yes, ma'am!" Adam reached up and made a circle of thumb and forefinger, running toward Peter, the chalk like running through his hand-tunnel.
"Johnny!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Johnny, I will stand here and hold the stick. You take the yard stick and walk it the full length of the string, calling off the length as you go."
"Yes, ma'am!" Johnny's youthful voice high and happy, and carried beyond the schoolyard.
Jackson Cooper leaned against the hitch rail, watching the proceedings with a grin on his face. He'd watched young Johnny skin up the tree like a coon and wondered just how his wife would get the young scamp down, short of sawing the trunk a foot off the ground.
Miz Emma and Peter held the string taut as young Johnny marched out its length, carefully marking the end of the yardstick before moving it on; his arms were short enough he was obliged to accept the help of a compatriot, but between their several effort, the deed was accomplished.
"Forty-two feet, Miz Emma!" he and Peter chorused finally.
"Forty-two feet! Good! Peter, hold the bob and walk it in as we wind it back up! Johnny, come here, please, and wind up the chalk line!"
"Yes, ma'am!" Dust puffed up under his bare feet as he sprinted back to the schoolmarm.
"Now, class." Miz Emma dusted her hands together and the children surrounded her in a loose circle, listening attentively.
"We want to know how tall the tree is, how do we do this?"
"We send Johnny up with a chalk line?" was the hopeful offer.
Miz Emma smiled. "Let's say we don't have Johnny, and nobody wants to climb the tree. Can we measure it some other way?"
"We could measure its shadow," a little girl offered.
Miz Emma pointed to her. "Excellent idea! Where is the shadow now?"
"There!" A general stampede ensued.
"Johnny! Fetch up the yardstick!"
"Yes, ma'am!" Johnny pelted to the terminal end of the shadow.
"Now, Johnny, you and Peter measure the shadow. We know how high you were, and we will discount the last--" Miz Emma shaded her eyes, looking at the crown of the tree. "You were within about ten feet of the top, so discount the last ten feet."
The yardstick was enthusiastically applied to the shadow, a quick conference followed: it was measured again, first from trunk to tip, then from tip to trunk again.
"Miz Emma, I only get nineteen feet."
"Nineteen feet," Miz Emma repeated. "Johnny, what was was the string's length?"
"Forty-two feet, ma'am!"
"But the shadow is only nineteen." Miz Emma pretended to think, tapping her cheek with her finger tip. "Class, come with me."
Miz Emma walked over to Peter's right triangle.
"Now." Miz Emma picked up the drawing-stick and quickly sketched tree, schoolhouse, the ground, and a distance above and to the side, a circle with radiant lines.
"Now. Here is the sun."
Young heads nodded wisely.
"With the sun here" -- she touched it with the stick -- "the tree is this high" -- heads nodded -- "it will throw this shadow."
Everyone looked; everyone nodded.
"Now. Let's make it earlier in the day, or later: the sun is higher in the sky." She drew a second sun. "What happens to the shadow?"
"It's shorter!" a half-dozen young throats exclaimed.
Jackson Cooper smiled, scratching his beard at the sound of delight and discovery in the young voices.
"So can we measure the shadow and find the height?"
Peter looked up, an idea in his eyes; Miz Emma caught his eye and smiled, nodding once. She knew he'd found an answer.
"Let's go to Peter's drawing." She walked over to the right triangle.
"We know the tree grows straight up." She sketched branches on the short let of the triangle. "We know the shadow is here." She sketched the long leg of the triangle. "We don't know this length" -- she ran the stick along the length of the hypotenuse -- "but we don't need it. Peter."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Peter, what do we need to know one side of a right traingle?'
"Two sides and the included angle, ma'am."
"Peter, we know one side and we know the included angle. Can we calculate the second side?"
Peter came over, pointing as he thought aloud. "We know the length of the base, we have the included angle, we can ..." He looked up with delight in his eyes. "Yes, ma'am!"
Miz Emma clapped her hands. "Everyone inside! I'll need all your help on this one!"
Jackson Cooper laughed as the children raced back into the whitewashed schoolhouse. He knew his wife would use the knowledge of each student to solve this simple problem: whether it was the youngest, who could say that yes, we made this measurement with string and a yardstick, or one of the students who had shown skill at multiplication, whether it was Peter, who would extract a square root with much labor and frowning, he knew she would engage every single young mind under her roof.
Emma Cooper looked over at her admiring husband and smiled, chivvying the last of her young charges into the door.
Glancing quickly within, she stopped to blow him a kiss.
Damn, I love that woman, he thought, and the thought warmed him clear through.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-23-08

 

I stroked Angela's curl with the back of my bent forefinger.
Angela tilted her head and regarded me with open curiosity and an absolute lack of fear.
She reached for my collar and I leaned toward her, a little.
Angela's little fingers hooked under my collar and I felt her exploring the scar at the base of my neck, the one I'd inherited when those spalpeens ambushed me on the river boat some time ago.
Angela's eyes changed and she pulled her hand back suddenly.
"It's all right, sweetheart," I said. "It doesn't hurt."
Angela's little face screwed up and I thought she was going to cloud up and rain all over us, so I did the only thing I could think of.
I bundled her up in my arms and held her.
She was shivering a little but in a minute she relaxed, and I drew back, for I was kind of bent over and my back ain't quite as young as it once was.
I stroked her rag doll. "Does your doll have a name?" I asked.
Angela smiled, again that brilliant smile, and she hid that sunshine of a smile behind her doll's head. She swung back and forth at the waist a little.
A thought occurred to me. "Angela, do you have a mama?"
Angela looked at me, blinking.
"Do you have any aunts or uncles or grandparents?"
Again that solemn look, then finally she dropped her eyes.
"Tell you what." I stroked my mustache. "How about we get you a bath?"
Angela's eyes grew big.
"Would you like a nice hot bath?"
She nodded, once, timidly.
Esther rose and came over to us.
I laid a hand on Esther's shoulder. "Angela, this is Esther. She is my wife."
Angela blinked and looked squarely at Esther, and smiled that first-day-of-creation smile, and spread her arms, and Esther picked her up and laughed a little. "My, you are a big girl!" she said in that special voice mothers have for their little girl-children, and she stood, Angela fingering a stray curl of Esther's immaculate red hair that somehow escaped her styling.
"Angela, do you need to go to the little house?" Esther asked softly in that delightful, trace-of-a-drawl voice that just plainly melted me the first time I heard it, and Angela nodded vigorously.
"If you will excuse us, dearest, we ladies have important matters to attend," Esther said formally, and Angela giggled, and the President and Owner of the Z&W Railroad swept out of her corporate office to tend the needs of a potential client.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 6-23-08

 

Esther and Angela were back in rather short order. Esther had a strange look on her face and her eyes were brimming over. "Angela has something to say and a question to ask you," Esther told Linn. "Go ahead, Sweetie."

The little girl walked up to where Linn sat and laid her tiny hand on his knee. She looked up at him earnestly and said in a high, piping voice, "My momma is with the angels, and so is my daddy. He told me so while I was sleeping. Would you be my daddy?"

Linn was stunned speechless. He looked from the tiny girl in front of him to Esther and back. His mouth worked and he could feel tears welling up in his own eyes. "I would like nothing better," he said when he at last found his voice.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-23-08

 

TRAGEDY ON THE RAILS, the headline shouted in bold letters: A FAMILY DESTROYED, A DREAM SHATTERED!
"Monday morning -- We are told of the fatal explosion of the westbound ore locomotive Mazeppa, bound for the ore crusher some miles distant, with damage and death to the Z&W's eastbound passenger train.
"Thanks to the alert nature and quick responses of the Z&W's engineer, who divined some malfunction with the freight engine on the adjacent track, the eastbound passenger train leaped ahead in a desperate attempt to escape the proximate danger, and was nearly successful.
"The freight engine's boiler exploded, rending the cab from its moorings and instantly killing its engineer, whose badly mangled remains were found some distance from the wreckage: his fireman shouted a warning and jumped, and sustained a broken leg. The fireman is recovering in the Firelands hospital, and late word has it that he may lose the leg."
Miss Messman held up the single sheet newspaper and scanned it critically, searching for typos, for misalignments, for flaws. Satisfied, she laid it down with its fellows, fed another sheet into the press, and hauled down on the long, cast-iron handle.
"So great was the blast that a passenger car was destroyed, reduced to scrap and to kindling, with loss of most on board: a widower and two sons, Westbound to start new lives, perished instantly. Only a four year old girl and a drummer were spared, the drummer with a cut on his scalp and a headache, and the child with lacerations on one arm.
"The Z&W Railroad was but one day from assuming full ownership of the freight line and all rolling stock. This writer remains confident that, given the excellent safety record of the Z&W and the high quality of its maintenance and operation, had the Z&W been in full ownership this great tragedy would never have occurred."
The newspaper continued with other items of local interest only, as news traveled but slowly from back East; there were tonnage reports from the mine, mention of a misdirected wagon train that passed nearby the week before; three births were listed, all at outlying ranches, and there had been two deaths.
Only one obituary was listed.
Miss Messman knew miners, especially, were hungry for news; like the ranchers and cowhands, they made regular use of her library, and new books were in steady demand. A newspaper of any sort was a popular thing and would be passed from hand to hand to hand, read and re-read and re-read again, posted more often than not in a community location and displayed until age and weather shredded the paper and it ended up as wadding in a shotgun barrel, or lining a drawer somewhere, or layering over boards in a bunkhouse in an attempt to stop drafts from running cold fingers down a sleeping cowhand's back.
An enterprising lad with big ears and a big grin seized up the stack of papers and headed for the mines. Miss Messman carried the second stack over to the General Store. The mail would run the next day, and if there was any mail at all, the entire town would cycle through Maude's doors, not so much to see if they had mail, but to see who got mail. If the newspaper were sitting there in an inviting stack, why, folks just might be inclined to drop a coin and take a sheet.
Miss Messman laid the last sheet on the table and looked at it, smiling.
Her name appeared on the masthead, of course.
Right under D. Wales, Executive Editor.
Though there had been two deaths, only one obituary appeared.
Below this, separated by a space, was the simple entry:

Executive Editor D. Wales is on extended tour abroad.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-24-08

 

There were several folks sitting in theater seats behind my eyes, watching out through them, interested.
There was the Lawman, taking careful note of new information: the child had previously only giggled and had never offered to speak -- but now had communicated an idea, clearly, both to Esther, and then to myself. Her speech is clear, the Lawman thought, her words well formed, her thought is complete as stated. Kentucky accent.
There was Husband and Father, living too long with a big hole inside where a wife and daughter had once been: though Esther took up a big part of Husband's heart, still there was a void, especially where a little girl-child had once lived. This fellow was leaned forward in his seat, straining to wrap his arms around this angel, his Angela!
There was the observer, silent, dispassionate, watching, listening, skeptical: There could be family, he reminded, there could be people back East.
The first two offered to throw the third down the nearest staircase.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

NCGranny 6-25-08

 

I felt I had been blessed with a long life; full of joys and heartbreaks, just like everyone else, being rich or poor made no difference, for I had been both. Now, I was starting over, having outlived my two small children and my husband; God rest their souls. They had died trying to go West, us all packed up and excited, and then somthing had made em sick and took em in a matter of days. I never understood why I didn’t die with em. I tended em the best I could and they all died in my arms, with my tears falling with each one, like a waterfall running over the edge of a rock. Nanny was there too…and died with em.

I had survived the raids on my Father’s plantation, with my Nanny’s help, hiding me in the root cellar at seventeen years old; afore anyone knew I was there. I heard her screaming and pleading and wanted to run to her, but I had been taught to listen to her and knew that whatever she was enduring, she was doin it to save me! She had told me that no matter what I seen or heard to stay hid and made me swear I would. I swore alright, I swore revenge that night, and over the years I had got most of em, as I had seen their faces and heard them calling each others name, jesting with each other as they tore her clothes off and raped her repeatedly. Blue uniformed devils they were and all of em had deserved being kilt. They had already kilt my family that day; Nanny was all I had left. She survived and I had just now buried her as I hitched my team.

I thought back to the day I was only sixteen, dressed in the finest clothing of the day. Papa never spared any expense when he saw the sparkle in my eyes at a pretty piece of material, a new piece of jewelry, or anything else for that matter. I was his little girl and knew what it felt like to be loved and pampered....seems so long ago!

Now, I had decided to leave on my last journey, to see the places I had never been or got to see. Foolish old woman, I said to myself and then laughed, yep it was true, but so what? Never anytime like the present when you are running out of time….

Nanny had been the only one who knew what my mission was and I think she was proud of me. I had married mainly to survive. I had never known what it was like to love a man, and except for Nanny and family, never did, until my first baby was born. She only lived to be three and my baby boy died soon after his birth, all of em, everyone I loved in one week’s time….even Nanny.

The devils had burned my house and the fields, but I was only interested in getting those Yankees. I changed a lot that day. I went from being a pampered young lady to a hunter. Papa had taught me to hunt and hunt I did. I knocked em off one at a time, sometimes seducing them to my room afore I stuck my knife in em. Sometimes I did it from a distance, aiming my rifle and shooting their privates first and then went for the kill, making em suffer if I had the time before I moved on. There was only one left and I meant to get him afore I died….

I looked at the four mounds of dirt and rock, took my hat off for one more moment of love and respect, climbed onto my wagon, and headed out. I had heard the last man was in a place called Firelands and I was on my way. One more kill….and my mission would be done....took a long time, as here it was already 1880 and I was feelin' old....it was a wonder I had made it to my thirties....

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

 

Lady Leigh 6-25-08

 

Bill was kicking up dust as he swept the steps at The Mercantile. Deep in thought ... or maybe there were no thoughts .... safer that way. You don’t have to deal with anything if nothing is there.

Swish, swish, swish .... change directions .... swish, swish, swish ..... change directions .... the dirt really never left the porch, it just went from one pile area to another and back again.

Maude was perplexed with Bills behavior. She frantically tried to get him to open up, but only got the mumbles and grunts. Mac was of no help to her either where it concerned Bill, but at least there were legible words to be heard when Mac did respond, “I recon, Ms Maude, past demons can toss some heavy blows when they have a mind ta do it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not fer me ta say.”

Swish, swish, swish ....... swish, swish, swish .....

“Oh! Pardon me sir!”

Bill looked up startled at the masculine voice directly in front of him.

Eric played a few dance steps before trying to pass Bill when he accidentally stepped on the toes of Bills own dance partner. “I am just trying to pass, Sir, so if you’ll excuse.” Tipping his hat at Bill, Eric passed to enter the store.

Bill stood there ... sweat began to form on his forehead and along his upper lip .... Not because of the heat .....

For a brief moment, Bill knew he had looked into a mirror. He saw himself some 50 years younger. At that moment, Bill knew the answer to a question nearly 40 year old.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-25-08

 

William Carroll Gordon, youngest child of an Arcadian Mother and a Scottish Celt Father.

He loved the land. He loved helping his Father and two older brothers working the Texas ranch. He loved every aspect there was to raising the Texas Longhorns ... everything !

But he honored his Mothers wishes, and left Texas as a Jesuit Priest.

The church sent him to Louisiana to bear witness to the faith, and set him up in Convent, Louisiana. It was a small parish with the white families, but William took it upon himself to bear witness to the many slaves on the surrounding plantations.

The Chevalier Plantation was the largest in the region, and he had Lucien Chevalier’s permission to be there on Saturday evenings. So every Saturday afternoon he walked to the plantation and spoke to the dark skinned people about the glory and love of God ... he told them they where God’s children too, a risky type of talk, as most of the White community thought differently with that particular subject.

Many embraced him, but one in particular caught his eye. A Mulatto woman. Tall. Thin. Regal looking. Deep brown eyes ... eyes that regarded him in a special light as well.

Tulla ....her name was Tulla.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 6-25-08

  

Charlie went and hunted up the Z&W's conductor. "Do you remember, did that widower say where he was from?" he asked the man.

"Come to think of it, he said he was from some town in Kentucky I ain't never heard of," the conductor answered. "Give me a minute and it'll come to me."

"While you're thinking, let me ask you another question. Did he say anything about any family back yonder?" Charlie went on.

"That one I can answer easy," the conductor came back. "He talked about a lot of things, but he didn't say one way or another about family." Then it came to him. "He said he was from Pike County, a little burg called Ashcamp. The name stuck with me because it sounded sort of different. Why?"

"I need to check on some things," Charlie said evasively.

"It's about that little girl, ain't it?"

Charlie just nodded.

An hour or so later, Charlie was sitting in the Jewel with Fannie and a slab of cherry pie when Linn came through the door. "Where's your shadow?" Charlie asked with a smile.

"She's with Esther," Linn said. There was no trace of a smile on his face. "Charlie, I need a favor."

"I sent three telegrams an hour ago," Charlie said. Linn looked at him, startled.

"What are you, a mind reader?" Linn asked.

"No, but I could tell by the look on your face," Charlie answered. "I hope to have some answers by the end of the day."

"Thanks." Linn turned as if to say something else, then shrugged and went back outside.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

NCGranny 6-25-08

 

I drove the horses hard, had my rifle by my side, I was hoping to make it to Firelands as quick like as I could. Looked like a storm was coming up, so I found shelter, tended the horses, quieted em down some, and then had some jerky for myself. Thought I may as well get a bath too while the good Lord was willin to wash my hide, so when the lightning stopped, I stripped down and took out a bar of soap and washed up real good. Everone likes to look their best when they is meeting new people.

I had worn many hats, sometimes passing for a man, sometimes a lady and sometimes a, well I spose a harlot would be a good word for the game I played to lure some of them Yankee devils! They always tickled me at how easy they were to fool, never a one of em suspecting a thing. After the first, it just got easier until I liked killin em….thinkin of my Nanny ever time and puttin a smile on my face, specially if I got to see em suffer. I spose I could be hunted down, but so far, I had got em all, all but one without anyone knowin. I figured this one would be jest as easy.

My Nanny used to say, “now Eda Mae, you has got to be a good girl, tain’t nobody likes a bad girl!” But, then when she heard one of those Yankees was dead, she looked at me and smiled and sometimes tears would start to form in her eyes. When that happened, I told her, “not to shed another tear over that night, cause they would all be gone before her!” And they were, all cept one.