Challenged to Write at least 11 Stories: 1 for each character in this list: Teaspon, Rachel, Sam, Emma, Tompkins, Ike, Buck, Lou, Jimmy, Cody There were 33 songs to choose from, all of the songs are in the Statler Brothers famous four part harmony. Character Title Summary Ike What Do I Care? Ike's last words to Emily. Rachel Woman Without a Home Rachel reflects on the meaning of home after Lou and Kid's wedding and Noah's funeral.  Continuation of story begun in "Ike:  What Do I Care?" Teaspoon Child of the Fifties Polly has a special surprise for her fifty-something husband.  Can he and the riders handle it?   Set after "Rachel: Woman Without a Home". Kid Almost Persuaded Three years after Kid left Lou behind to fight for Virginia, he considers what is best for his family and himself.  Set after "Teaspoon:  Child of the Fifties". Tompkins Got Leaving On Her Mind Can Lou tolerate working for Tompkins while her husband is off at war?  Continuation of "Kid:  Almost Persuaded". Jimmy It Should Have Been Me Jimmy encounters the enemy near the end of the Civil War, with tragic results.  Continuation of "Tompkins:  Got Leaving On Her Mind". Lou There's a Man in There Lou tries to deal with the consequences of war.  Set after "Jimmy:  It Should Have Been Me"  Cody Too Late for Roses Cody dreads the arrival of Sam's plain-Jane sister Rose.  Buck No One Will Ever Know Buck is caught between two very different women.  Continuation of "Too Late For Roses". Sam You Just Haven't Done it Yet Sam provides some brotherly advice for Rose.  Continues the story started in "No One Will Ever Know".   Emma We Owe it All to Yesterday Emma and Sam, still childless after all these years of marriage, visit Rock Creek and meet a suprising visitor from the past. To Be Continued In Ellie’s Second Set of Harmony Stories, “Lou:  Have a Little Faith" What Do I Care? Emily had a hard life by anybody's standards, but Ike worried that these last couple of days had been more than even she could stand. The loss of her father had hit her hard, and he knew that, as much as he wanted to stay with her and his friends, he would be leaving them soon. But he worried the most about his Emily. The rest of his friends would grieve for him, he knew, especially Buck. But they would have each other, while Emily was alone. He needed to see her, one last time, to be sure she would be all right. She had lost her father, someone she had always had to take care of. And when Ike died, he knew there would be no one to take care of Emily, or for her to care for. When she learned Ike wanted to see her alone, Emily slowly made her way down the hall, though her legs felt like lead. She paused to gather her shattered strength before turning the doorknob and entering the room where he lay. She fearfully surveyed Ike lying in the bed, and saw immediately that there was no hope. She'd seen that look enough to know what it meant - death - but still somehow he smiled, weakly, at the sight of her. Crying, she crept to the chair at his bedside and clasped his hand. "Ike, I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "This is all my fault… I was out of my head over my father... I didn't care what happened to me, I was going to find a way to punish the man responsible for his death. I never in a thousand years meant for you to get hurt." It was what he feared most. She shouldn't blame herself; it had been his free choice to run to her protection, and had known the risks. Even now, if he could do it over again, he wouldn't do anything differently. She leaned her forehead on her free hand, crying. Looking down, she saw that Ike's hand in hers was moving, trying to speak to her in the only way he could. She'd learned a lot of sign language from him in their short time together, but he was too weak to complete some of the signs, and she wasn't sure of some of the others. "Ike, I'm sorry, I can't make out what you are trying to - -" she repeated. Frustrated, he again made the sign for "write", and, finally comprehending, she leapt up, rushing to the desk in the corner. Rifling through the drawers, recklessly flinging the contents to the floor as she searched, she found a sheaf of writing paper, and some pen and ink. She brought them to his side, along with a book to rest them on. Don't be sorry, Emily, he wrote. I'm not. "Ike, you had your whole life ahead of you. I've taken that from you -" Emily wept. He was too weak to shake his head, but he raised his eyebrows and smiled, painfully, at her again. He continued to write in his neat, precise Catholic school-instructed script. Emily had always been astonished by Ike's letters, at how much Ike would have had to say, if he could have spoken aloud. Ever since I was little, no one ever thought I was worth much. They all thought because of how I looked, and how I couldn't talk, that I wasn't anything at all. By worldly standards, maybe they were right. "Ike, that isn't so. You're worth a hundred of those people. I … I love you, Ike. Please tell me you know that." What I'm talking about is how the world sees it. I never could be a rich or important man by this world's standards. You were the first woman to see past that, to see me as a real man, instead of somebody to avoid or make fun of. The pen was moving with agonizing slowness now. But it seemed important for him to finish. Emily slipped a new sheet of notepaper on the book under his pen. I may not have accomplished a lot in the world's eyes. Maybe I never would have. But what do I care? As long as you were mine a little while, my life was worthwhile, no matter how short. Please don't feel guilty about me - - you were the one who gave my life its meaning. Please promise to take care of yourself. The pen slipped from his fingers. He mouthed his final message to her, silently. "I love you." "I love you too, Ike. And I promise, for your sake." He managed a feeble nod, satisfied that she would honor his memory by going on with her own life, somehow. Emily climbed into the bed next to Ike, lying eye to eye with him for long minutes, holding him as his life slipped away, bit by bit. Suddenly, she sat up, at the sound of footsteps in the hall outside. She knew that her final moments alone with him were drawing to a close. Emily couldn't grudge them, though; she knew the other riders, like her, had seen past the world's assessment of this man and loved him as a member of their "family." Of course, they had the right to say their goodbyes to him too. She quickly bent and kissed him, tenderly, whispering, "Goodbye" to the gentlest, kindest man she'd ever known or ever would know. Before his friends reached the room, she sat back down beside the bed, folding up his precious last words to her and slipping them inside her skirt pocket, to keep and treasure until she was called to the hereafter, to join Ike, someday. When I'm all through if I haven't been what they think I should be If the total isn't high enough when they figure me … What do I care just as long as you were mine a little while… Woman Without a Home September 1861, Rock Creek Rachel Dunne forced herself to be cheerful and happy as she pinned and coiled and primped Louise’s short hair into a fashionable mass of curls and braids and flowers for her wedding day. Looking over Louise’s head as she worked, she examined her own reflection. She knew without conceit she was still beautiful, as if that really mattered. Rachel knew she looked little more than thirty, though in reality she was over forty. Old enough to have been Lou’s mother, had she been interested in a home and family back when most women her age were desperately seeking husbands as if their lives depended on it. In fact, she had come to think of Louise as a surrogate daughter, something that she would never have believed possible based on their prickly meeting. She thought back to that time, as she worked. Limping around the kitchen with her legs chained together, an escaped prisoner, she had somehow managed to put together a presentable meal and serve it to the riders and Teaspoon. She had noticed immediately that the smallest rider, a brunette with glasses, was a female. Rachel noticed a distinct attitude from the younger woman. The young woman’s eyes had flickered back and forth from Rachel to the boys, but narrowed dangerously when the one they called Kid smiled broadly and appreciatively at Rachel. At that, Lou had gotten up from the table and turned in early, refusing to eat. At first, Rachel had worried that the girl would make trouble for her, but after a day or two, revised her opinion. Lou was hot tempered, but probably more bark than bite. She was young, no more than seventeen, Rachel guessed, and Rachel was savvy enough to pick up on the girl’s inexperience and sensitivity underneath the tough exterior. Indeed, the first morning when Rachel came to serve breakfast, she saw traces of tears on Lou’s face from the night before, and almost pitied her. But Lou persisted in her surly attitude toward Rachel, when the boys continued to make fools of themselves over Rachel’s feminine assets. Putting the boys in their place was easy enough; Rachel knew that Lou might be a harder nut to crack. But if she didn’t confront Lou, get the problem out in the open, it could make trouble for her that she didn’t need. She had been surprised to learn the younger girl was jealous, and pleased when Lou quickly admitted it and apologized. Lou had become her first and closest female friend from that day on. Finishing her work, she held the mirror up and showed Lou how beautiful she looked. Lou carefully put on the cameo earrings Rachel had given her the night before. Rachel had said her own mother had given them to her before her own wedding. That partly was a lie, of course. Mama had died long before her and Henry’s wedding day, but it was true that those earrings had been the only thing of value Mama had left behind when she died. Lou said wistfully, “It’s getting towards time, though, isn’t it? No sign of Jimmy yet?” Glancing at the clock, Rachel shook her head. Lou hesitated. Her younger brother and sister had not been able to come to the wedding, because a couple of days ago, Jeremiah had broken his leg in an accident and Theresa was too young to come alone. Rachel felt for Lou that neither her real family nor her surrogate older brother Jimmy would be here on this special day. Lou looked up and said, “I can’t pick between the other riders, but do you think Jesse would see me down the aisle?” Rachel nodded, hugged her friend quickly, and rushed off to tell Jesse that Lou wanted to speak to him. Rachel manufactured and pasted on her brightest, most achingly artificial smile as she joined the riders at the church to see Kid and Lou married, knowing that it was only the prelude to goodbye. Watching the young couple promise themselves to each other, Rachel felt a hidden pang, knowing her younger friend would soon be leaving with Kid to start their own life together. Louise looked so happy, that Rachel was reminded of her own wedding day and her own dreams of a home and family, all dashed in a violent, brutal instant. She wanted Louise to be happy, of course; but knowing that Kid had said he would return to fight for Virginia if and when the war started, Rachel feared the worst for her best friend. In fact, despite her happy appearance, Rachel really pitied the young woman in her innocence, knowing the hideous blow that could fall on Louise at any moment if Kid carried through his promise and went back to Virginia as a soldier. At least her dear Henry’s death had been quick and sudden. They had such happy times the months they were married, with no cloud of war over their heads. Rachel couldn’t imagine what it would be like to wait every day for news of a husband hundreds of miles away at war. But for that matter, who was she to pity Louise or anyone, Rachel thought wryly. Louise’s future might be uncertain, but she still had a future, and perhaps it would work out better than it had for Rachel. And at least Louise had had a mother who loved her and took care of her as best she could; and plans to retrieve her brother and sister from the orphanage and make a home for them no matter what Kid chose to do. Rachel had never had a real home, only a drunken, broken down whore for a mother and a series of brutal “daddies” who made any place she ever lived a nightmare. Thirteen-year-old Rachel, walking up the stairs of the sleazy boarding house on her way back from a day scrubbing floors, reached the door to the small room that her mother Vanessa called ‘home’. She carried her scrub bucket in one hand and a book she had lifted from the mercantile today in the other. “Gulliver’s Travels”, and she couldn’t wait to get inside and get to it. But at looking down, she sighed. Mama had put the small red scarf that was her signal to stay outside on the door, again. She paused, uncertain where to go now; it was getting dark and she was hungry, but had no money. She was startled by the sound of a crash in the room and yelling from the man’s voice inside. Furious, she rattled the doorknob and pounded on the door. “Mama, you all right in there? I’m going to get the Marshal,” she screamed. The door flew open, and Rob Parker, the owner of the boarding house stood in the doorway, as she had suspected. Half the rooms in the house were rented to whores like her mother, who had to pay over the fees from their clients to stay in the horrible place. They were given only a pittance to live on. Mr. Parker looked Rachel up and down. Mama made a point of telling Rachel to dress modestly and stay away from Mr. Parker as much as possible. But her figure had developed early, and the little girl’s dresses couldn’t hide everything. Mr. Parker looked at her with interest. “Where you been hiding this little girl, Vanessa?” Mama’s face was bruised, and she wept weakly, “Mr. Parker, I’ll make up the money somehow. I know I lost some of my regular customers, but I’ll find a way, I promise.” Mama’s face, once so pretty, was faded and puffy, her beautiful figure gaunt from drinking and the life she had to lead. She looked twenty years older than she was. All that was left of her former beauty was her long, luxuriant blonde hair and her startling blue eyes. “Face it, Vanessa. You’re used up,” Mr. Parker said brutally. “You’re losing all your customers, and ain’t going to get any new ones. This one, though, she could make me a rich man,” he remarked. “Think about it, Vanessa.” He went down the stairs and a spirited Rachel had slammed the door after him. “Mama, don’t listen to him. I’m making some better money now, and pretty soon you and I can get out of here. You won’t have to do this anymore.” Her Mama looked back at her sadly. “No, Rachel. You can’t make enough for us to live on, not without . . .” she stopped. “I’ll never allow that. That’s the one thing I’ll never allow to happen,” she whispered desperately. Suddenly, Mama seemed overly bright and happy. “Let’s go out and have dinner, okay honey? Let’s get dressed up and go out.” Mama put on her black dress, the only decent dress she owned, and took out the precious cameo earrings Grandma had given her the night before Mama had married Rachel’s father. Holding them out, Mama had said, “I want you to wear these, Rachel. You’re growing up now, and I want you to keep them after tonight.” To her delight, they had gone out and window shopped and chatted and had a good dinner for a change. Rachel was amazed, at her mother’s vivaciousness, at having fun with her for a change. She caught her mother looking at her toward the end of the evening. “What is it, Mama?” “Having a good time, honey?” Mama asked softly. “Yes, Mama. I . . . I wish we could be like this always. Happy,” Rachel had answered. Rachel longed to be like the other children, with a mother they could count on to be awake and sober all the time, who took care of them. She’d never even been to school like she longed for, and felt like an outsider whenever she happened to see a girl or boy her own age. She’d been working here and there for the pennies she could get ever since she could remember. “I know, honey,” her mother had said, her face turning sad again. “I know I never gave you a proper home. I tried my best, did the best I could, Rachel. Just if you look back and remember me, can you try to remember that?” Rachel was frightened at her mother’s tone, and did not know what to say. “One more thing. I hope you learned at least one thing from watching me, Rachel.” Mama had sighed. “You’re different from your mama, honey. You have a good head on your shoulders, even if I never got you any schooling, you schooled yourself somehow. And you understand folks, why they do what they do, that’s something you can’t learn in a book. You’re starting out in life with that much, and a beautiful face in the bargain. That’s all you have to get by with in this world. But if you use that head, and don’t make mistakes like I did, that’ll be enough.” Her mother was walking slowly now. “And most important, don’t get used by men. You do the using,” her mother had said bitterly. “Think of Mama, and you won’t forget what men are worth. Nothing. So don’t feel bad if you turn the tables on them, like I know you can.” Mama had slipped out of their room that night, gone down to the levee, and drowned herself. Rachel left Mr. Parker’s establishment, soon taking up a life as a riverboat gambler and card dealer, swearing she’d never be used or played by any man the way her mother was. Better to be alone her whole life than that. The walls she built up to protect herself from men, who she believed were all like the men her mother knew, prevented her from finding love and family when she was younger, and she had never known what she was missing. But life had given her a wild card in the lousy hand she’d thought she’d been dealt. Henry: a kind hearted man whose heart became her home, a real home for the first and only time in her life, even if it only lasted a few months. Then, reality set in. The love of her life was murdered in front of her eyes, the child of that love lost, and worst of all, it was because of her own past mistakes. She knew she could never love anyone else the way she still loved Henry Dunne, and she wouldn’t settle for less after knowing what real love was. She wouldn’t ever have a real home, without real love. * * * * * * * * * * * Hard as it had been to watch her best friend leave the home Rachel had cobbled together, and to embark on that unpredictable journey of marriage amid the uncertainty they all lived in, the next day had been absolutely unbearable. Rachel had fooled herself into believing that she had been lucky enough to find the next best thing to a family, and what passed for a home when she was hired on at the station. Each and every one of the express riders and even Teaspoon were like herself. Outcasts. Orphans. Homeless. Rootless. They had bonded as quickly and as closely as they had for that very reason; it wasn’t just a job to any of them, but a family … because none of them had anywhere else to go home to. The little station quite simply was home. And it had hurt too much right after Henry died to consider looking for anything more. Standing at Noah’s funeral frozen with sorrow, she watched as her ersatz family and home ended. Ike was dead; now Noah. Kid was at odds with Jimmy and Rosemary. Jesse had turned his back on them all. Cody would be gone off to war before long. Rachel had fought her way to respectability while working for the Express, all while teaching at the school at the same time. Throwing herself into so much work was a distraction, of course. By keeping busy, by involving herself in the riders’ lives, she could pretend to herself that she wasn’t lonely, longing for a real home and husband and family of her own. But on days like today, those feelings were impossible to ignore. She sighed as she returned to the station house, past the nearly empty bunkhouse, up the stairs to her room. Taking off her black shawl, she pushed aside a stack of papers she had to grade for school, making room on her writing desk. She pulled out a small Bible she kept in the drawer, and opened it to the flyleaf. Writing carefully, she noted the date of Louise and Kid’s wedding; of Noah’s death the next day, neatly below her mother’s date of death, her own wedding date, and the date of Henry’s death. She closed the book and replaced it in the desk, thinking. She’d been lucky enough to find love once, a home twice. She lifted her chin resolutely. Maybe… maybe now that she knew what she wanted from life, it would come to her. She would just have to recognize it when it came knocking. A tap at the door at that very instant nearly startled her off her chair. She turned to see a familiar face looking at her from the doorway. “Thought you might be too done in for cooking tonight, Rachel, so how about I treat you to dinner in town? Might help both of us to keep our mind off things, don’t you think?” There was something in the man’s eyes that Rachel had noticed a few times over the last few weeks. Something not unwelcome or unreturned, either. Sure, folks might say they weren’t a “suitable” couple in any way, what with her past and the age difference between them, just for starters. But what of it? She smiled back and nodded brightly. “Sounds like just what the doctor ordered. I’d love to, thank you, Buck,” she answered softly, as his eyes lit up at her enthusiasm. They stood smiling shyly at each other for several moments, as if they hadn’t known each other for over a year, before he put out his arm and she took it, heading downstairs. After all, she thought, home is where you make it, isn’t it. . . Child of the Fifties March 1862, Rock Creek “Sugarlips?” a soft voice said, timidly, at the door to the Marshal’s office. Leaned back in a chair against the wall, busily finishing an elaborate fishing lure, Teaspoon grinned and tilted his hat back, looking fondly at his former fourth wife, current seventh wife, Polly Hunter. They had remarried four months before and this time, by all appearances, he was finally going to make a marriage work. He was looking forward to the two of them relaxing and growing old together, and in another year or so he planned to retire and take up fishing full time for a living. He had his lucky pole and a collection of fancy lures all ready for it. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from my bride in the middle of the day? Things that slow at the saloon?” he said teasingly. “No, no, it isn’t that.” Polly looked down. “I came to tell you … I’m expecting a baby,” she blurted suddenly. The chair shot out from under a shocked Teaspoon, and he landed flat on his back behind the desk. Alarmed, his wife ran around the desk, helping him up. “Sugarlips… are you … are you all right? I’m so sorry, I should’ve prepared you but I… I didn’t know how else to say it but to come right out with it.” Teaspoon shook his head as if to clear it… “Polly …” he started. Where to start? He was fifty-eight. She was forty-five. This was the last thing he had expected when they had remarried. He looked at his wife, still stunned. “Is .. is this safe for you, sweetheart?” he said feebly. “At my age, you mean?” she said a little acidly. “I suppose it’ll have to be, won’t it. You could try to look a little happy about it, couldn’t you?” Teaspoon couldn’t think of what to say. He had fathered children before, and it had never turned out well for the women involved. Two were daughters he hadn’t found out about until years later - Rosa in Mexico, Elizabeth with Beatrice. And he’d never had a chance to raise any of the children conceived from his many marriages either. His first wedding was a shotgun affair, at age sixteen. Margaret had a miscarriage less than two months later, and the young girl had decided she was not ready for marriage now that there would be no baby making it necessary. Her parents had paid off the judge for an annulment, and she married a well-to do rancher and went on to have a passel of children and recently grandchildren. She was the lucky one compared to some of his other wives. Teaspoon next had married Winona, a beautiful Kiowa woman and the daughter of a minor chief, under the ways of her people. She had divorced him under those same Kiowa laws, in a towering fury after less than a year of marriage. She had discovered he was unfaithful to her while out on patrol as a Texas Ranger, the greatest mistake of his life. She had taken his little daughter Tsomah back with her to her people, and he had never seen either of them again. He took his third wife at thirty-five after a long break from marriage, during which time he romanced a lot of women, Dolores and Beatrice among them. His third wife was a beautiful nineteen-year old Comanche maiden whose name meant Star Dancer. After a year of marriage, she died giving birth, and their son was lost with her. He and Polly had married once before, two years after his Star Dancer died, but he was too caught up in his work to be a proper husband. Polly refused to put up with it, divorcing him, and there were no children from their first brief union. His fifth wife, an ex-saloon girl named Agnes, delivered twin girls safely, but they had not survived to a year. Agnes had turned bitter in her grief and the two had gone their separate ways, unable to get past the tragedy. He tried marriage yet again at forty-five, to a thirty-five year old New England bluestocking named Clarissa. She was as different from him and from his first five wives as could be. Though highly educated and in fact a medical doctor, she had somehow seen past his rough exterior and found something to love about him. She had called him her “diamond in the rough”. Clarissa had graduated from the Female Medical College of Pennsylvania in its very first graduating class, and met him when she treated him for a gunshot wound that otherwise might have been fatal. But her medical training couldn’t protect her when she went into labor, and like his beloved Star Dancer, she died before their tiny daughter could be born safely. The little pale angel, just a couple of pounds, had no chance. He’d buried her tiny body under a marker engraved with the name “Angel Hunter” beside Clarissa’s grave. After that, brokenhearted, he put any thought of having a child of his own behind him for good. This unexpected development with Polly might be his opportunity, if all went well, to finally be a real father. But at what cost to the child… having an old man of nearly sixty for a father. And after losing Star Dancer and Clarissa the way he had, young women compared to Polly, he was more than a little concerned at the prospect of Polly having a baby. “I’m sorry, Polly. I don’t mean you’re too old, I’m just a little worried is all. I … I ain’t had such good luck in this department, and I,” he swallowed, unwilling to go on, but forcing the words out. “I don’t want nothing to happen to you is all.” Polly looked remorseful, recalling Teaspoon’s history with fatherhood up until now. She kissed him on the top of his head repentantly. “Sugarlips, I’m sorry. But there’s nothing we can do but wait it out, see how things work out. I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful father, though,” she encouraged him. “If you’d like to tell your friends at the Express, you can, I’m far enough along that it’s no problem. I’m going to finish my shift at the Saloon and see you later, okay?” Teaspoon nodded numbly in assent. ******************* A dazed and confused Teaspoon wandered to the stationhouse, where Rachel was putting dinner on the table for the three last remaining riders still working for the Express, Cody, Jimmy and Buck. The runs had dwindled so that the outfit hadn’t needed to replace Noah when he died, or Kid when he left for Virginia a few weeks before. Lou was at her own house in town now, taking care of her brother and sister and working as Rachel’s assistant at the school. Teaspoon automatically sat down at the head of the table as he used to do regularly before marrying Polly and sat looking blankly at the table. Rachel looked curiously at him, holding a pot of stew. “You … you joining us tonight, Teaspoon?” she asked. “I’m having a baby,” he blurted out. Rachel and the others stared at him blankly. “I mean Polly is. Having a baby. My baby. That is.” They still sat staring at him. Teaspoon understood a little why Polly had been irritated at his similar reaction. “What the hell are you all staring for? Is it that incredible that I could have a baby with my wife?” he demanded. “You could say that,” muttered Cody, pushing his half-eaten dinner away in distaste. “Did you have to bring this up at dinner?” “Cody!” Rachel reproved. “We’re just surprised, is all, Teaspoon. But we’re very happy for you, I’m sure,” she said, glaring at Buck and Jimmy, who sat green-faced and staring at Teaspoon with open mouths. “Yes. Happy,” said Jimmy awkwardly, trying hard to banish the mental images that had arisen at Teaspoon’s announcement. Buck simply nodded and smiled weakly. “That’s great, Teaspoon.” “Well, I think you could muster a little more excitement. I suppose you think an old man like me won’t make a good father. Well I’ll be proving you all wrong pretty damn soon, you mark my words.” Teaspoon got up and stormed out the door as they all sat looking at each other. “I didn’t think the old goat had it in him,” muttered Jimmy. Rachel looked at them with a foul expression. “I suppose y’all think only people under twenty-five are allowed to make love, is that it?” “Can we stop talking about this now?” pleaded Cody. “You made my favorite dinner, and I can’t enjoy it if you keep talking about this.” Rachel slammed the stew down and muttered, “Well get it yourself, then, I’m done for tonight. You three hurt Teaspoon’s feelings and I expect you to make it up to him somehow, understand?” She stormed out the door as the boys snickered to each other and reached for the pot of stew. As she headed up her stairs, Rachel suddenly pictured Teaspoon, in his filthy long johns stained with bear grease, on his wedding night with poor Polly. The smell alone must have been… she stopped, ashamed. I’m as bad as the boys. Teaspoon is a wonderful person and … she involuntarily pictured him approaching Polly in bed with his black battered hat still on his head, squinting and rubbing his hands together in anticipation. A little nauseated, Rachel shook her head, trying to clear it, but all she could think about was a tiny baby Teaspoon with a loaded diaper, sucking on a bottle as Teaspoon, who was closer to a grandfather’s age than a father’s, sat snoring in a rocking chair nearby. Dear Lord, Polly will need all the help she can get, Rachel thought pityingly, as she entered her room and got ready for bed. Teaspoon sadly trudged back toward his home. Even the boys thought this was ridiculous, he thought. And they’re my family. The rest of the town will be laughing their backsides off at me, at my son. At the thought of those words, Teaspoon suddenly smiled a little to himself. Maybe this would be the son he’d always dreamed of… maybe this was his big chance to be a real father. He stopped at the mercantile and greeted Tompkins. Scanning the merchandise, he spotted what he needed, and asked Tompkins to wrap it up as he counted out his money. Whistling and newly energized, he reached the house and called for Polly. He handed her the package, gallantly noting it was “for the baby.” She hesitantly pulled the paper from the oddly shaped package, and stood astonished as it revealed a small, child-sized fishing pole. “I plan on takin’ the little sprout out with me on the river, just as soon as he’s big enough to stand,” Teaspoon informed her proudly, as he kissed her on the cheek and headed for the kitchen for a bite. Almost Persuaded May 1864, Virginia Sergeant Kid McCloud wearily trudged down the road alongside his rag-tag company of men. This afternoon’s battle had been a brutal, hideous defeat. They had lost half their men, and all their commissioned officers. As the highest-ranking enlisted man, he was in charge for now. Nodding toward a thicket of trees, he ordered the remaining men to make camp. “It’s getting dark, we’ll start out first thing tomorrow to find another unit to join up with,” he barked out. “Sure thing, Sarge,” several of them agreed. Luckily, the men liked him and weren’t giving him any trouble as the commanding officer. But this God-awful war, that had been going on for so long, looked like it was about to end in defeat for them, Kid thought dismally. All this death and carnage for nothing, a waste. The Confederate Army’s back had been broken, Vicksburg was in Union hands now, and they were desperately trying to protect Richmond, the capital of the Confederacy in his home state of Virginia, from the onslaught of General Grant’s men. This was the final showdown, the reason he had joined up, to fight for Virginia, and he could see defeat staring him in the face. Stiffly hanging his gear in a tree, he unrolled his bed roll and lay down in it. Like he had every night for nearly three years, he took out a small picture of a girl with dark eyes and hair and looked at it, silently saying goodnight. He used to write at least a little bit in a letter to her every night as well, but there was no reason to now. She wouldn’t get any letters from him now. He pulled some of her old letters out and leafed through them by the light from the campfire a few feet away. They weren’t much like the letters the other boys got from their wives and sweethearts. At first, they had been. Simple, romantic love letters, writing about how much Lou missed him and scattered with little items of gossip from home, they were sweet and funny and interesting. She worked as Rachel’s assistant at the school, taking care of Jeremiah and Theresa, and saving up her money for when he came home and they could find and buy a horse ranch together. The letters were a comfort to him, knowing that she was as happy as could be expected while they were apart. But things had changed for his wife. She wrote to tell him that her brother and sister had died of cholera; after that, the tone of the letters was different. She couldn’t bear to work at the school where her brother and sister had been, and got a job scrubbing floors at the hotel Tompkins had bought in town. He remembered her words to him when she explained why she disguised herself to ride for the Express. “A girl with no ma, no pa, no kin. What’s left for me? Scrubbing floors, or worse,” she had told him. And now his wife was reduced to that, and for Tompkins, no less. He had the urge to come home to her when he finally read that letter, that had reached him months after she sent it. A large packet of letters had arrived at the same time, nearly six months’ worth. She never overtly complained or asked him to come home in her letters, but he could read her frustration, her boredom and loneliness between the lines. She wrote that she had not received any letters from him, though she assumed he was all right because his name had not been on any lists. But just the same, not even having letters from him was making her feel even lonelier than before. What was more, she felt as if she had no purpose now that her long-held dream of making a home for her brother and sister was dashed. Kid knew Lou well enough to sense, even from her letters, that she longed for the adventure, the excitement that she remembered from her Pony Express days. The last letter was dated three months ago, and she openly wrote how sick and tired she was of living alone, of doing the same boring, tedious, backbreaking work every day for strangers at the hotel. She finished the letter, “I don’t know if you are getting these letters or not. I never hear from you anyway. But I’m tired of this life, and I am going to do something about it. I’m leaving Rock Creek. I’ll write you soon and explain more, with an address where you can reach me, once I know what it is. Love always, Lou.” He folded up the letters, wearily. He had no way to know where she was, until he got mail again, which was seldom. And this was the final stand for the Confederacy; he couldn’t leave just now to go on a wild goose chase for her who knew where. He had no idea where on earth she intended to go, or what she intended to do. He got up restlessly and walked off through the woods carrying his sighted rifle along by force of habit, wandering for about ten minutes before stopping at a clearing by a stream. Finding a broad tree, he leaned back, and prayed silently that his headstrong wife would be all right, wherever she was. “Sergeant McCloud?” The voice snapped him out of his reverie. Standing before him was one of his men, Private Keller. “Yeah, Keller?” “Fella here says he’s your cousin, been looking for you. Says he got separated from his unit, wants to muster in with us.” Kid noticed that a small soldier, wearing colonel’s stripes and a cap pulled down low, was just behind Keller. “Here he is, Corporal McCloud,” Keller said, turning and walking back toward camp. The little soldier looked up with a taunting, yet tremulous grin. “Hey, cousin,” she said, a little shakily. They stood looking at each other for a split second before Kid caught her up in his arms, knocking her gray cap to the ground as they collided together. To his slight surprise, she hadn’t cut her hair this time, and it had grown to her shoulders, soft and silky. Their emotions were too overwhelming for them to speak for a long time, and they simply stood together, holding each other in silence. So much time had gone by, so much suffering had been endured without each other, that time stood still for the couple as they clung together in the moonlight. Finally, though, Kid had to chuckle a little. “Lou, all the months I’ve dreamed of when “Johnny comes marching home again,” I never pictured it quite like this. I might have known you’d be the one to come marching to find me. I’m sorry about your brother and sister and all you went through . . . just got your letters about it, and if I’d known I would have come back home to help you.” He leaned her back a little and looked at her with appreciation mingled with disbelief. “That’s quite a costume, Lou. You’re a corporal, I see? Where’d you get that little uniform?” She looked at him a little surprised. “I got it the same way you did, Kid, I mustered in to the Army and they gave it to me three months ago. I earned my rank for gallantry on the field, this isn’t a costume.” Kid stood frozen, looking at her. “You… you’ve been in battle?” he said, low. “For three months?” “Sure. Seen plenty of action, too, saw some this morning in fact. Got word that your unit was in that scrap too, and ran off from mine during the fight to find you. I’m sure my Captain thinks I got killed, though, since he knows I’d never desert,” she said ruefully. “I may send word to him so he knows I’m okay and fighting in your unit now.” “You’re … you’re fighting where?” “In your unit, of course. I guess I’ll have to get used to you being my superior officer,” she said saucily, looking as seductive as the gray military uniform she wore permitted, slipping her arms around his neck and turning to kiss his cheek gently. Kid put her away from him gently and looked at her again, puzzled. “But Lou, why? This isn’t your fight, you aren’t even from the South. There’s other ways we can be together until the war’s over.” She looked disdainful. “Be a camp follower, you mean? No thanks. I like being a soldier,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “And maybe Virginia wasn’t my home by birth, but it’s your home, so that makes it mine too.” She paused. “Kid, I can’t go back and sit and wait for you anymore. I can’t, it was making me crazy. Don’t try to persuade me to go home, please, sweetheart. I just can’t go back alone and live that dull lonely life anymore. Not after the Express, after the last three months of action. It would be even worse now. If you don’t let me stay with you I’ll just find another unit until the war’s over, that’s all.” He looked at her glowing face a moment, as she continued talking about the action she’d seen so far. Most of the soldiers he knew were like himself; hating war but steeling themselves and getting through it however they could and doing what needed to be done, praying for an end to the conflict as soon as God could send it. A very few were cowards, who shirked their duty. But an even smaller number he’d seen seemed to love the call of battle for the excitement and thrill it gave them. They seemed to thrive on danger, to thirst for it, and ran headlong into the blaze of oncoming fire, eyes shining wildly and sabers flashing. That type of soldier had always astonished him; he wondered what it was like to know no fear, like them. He looked in his tiny wife’s blazing, enormous eyes, felt her trembling with excitement as she talked about the battles she’d been in, and realized to his dismay that his wife was just such a soldier. He was a little surprised, though he knew from the times they rode together for the Express that she had courage and nerve to spare. But he had never quite realized just how much his wife craved excitement and adventure until this moment. She distracted him from the thoughts flashing through his mind, when her lips touched his softly. “I’ve had enough talking for now, haven’t you, Sergeant?” she said, slipping out of her wool jacket and reaching for his. Wavering, he dropped the topic of her soldiering as the two of them sank to the ground and rediscovered each other in the moonlight, losing themselves in passion for the first time in too long. ********************** The next morning, he woke to see her fastening her saber by her side and slipping her hat back on her head. He was torn, watching her. How could he let her put herself in this kind of danger? And a worse problem, how on earth could he persuade the headstrong girl to go home without him? The answers formed in his mind, even as he stood to get dressed himself. “Lou,” he called out. “Yes, Sergeant?” she said, snapping him a smart military salute. He smiled in spite of himself, as his own hand automatically went up to return the salute, after three years of training. He started slowly, knowing that this would take some convincing on his part. “Thing is, Lou, I know that this is kind of a big adventure to you, but, well, you’ve only been in three months. I’ve been doing this three years.” “I know how long you’ve been gone, Kid,” she said softly. “What are you getting at?” “Just that, well, seeing you again, and with the way things have been going for our side the last few months, seems like it’s all over for us,” he said, struggling with his own conscience at the words. “Doesn’t seem like much point hanging around now. I realized last night we could have our old life back, be happy finally. I think I’ve earned it, we both have. Let’s go home, start that ranch we always planned, what do you say?” She looked at him gravely. He could see she was almost persuaded. He met her gaze directly, hoping she wouldn’t guess that he was only asking to go home to keep her out of danger, and that his conscience otherwise would have kept him here fighting. Lou nodded, slowly. “Okay, well, if that’s how you really feel, I won’t force you to stay of course.” She brightened. “We can go home, now, back to Rock Creek. Rachel’s still there, and so’s Buck. I left all our money in the bank, in greenbacks, so it’s safe. We can buy a ranch right away, get some new stock and start breaking it right off. Maybe start a family, too,” she said shyly. “If we didn’t already, that is.” He grinned sheepishly, thinking of the night before. “I’d love that,” he said, and to his own surprise, he realized she had almost persuaded him as well. As she moved toward him, he realized that no matter what his feelings about deserting, he would never forgive himself if anything happened to her on the battlefield if he could have prevented it by going home with her. And she had sacrificed enough, they both had, over the last three years. He needed to take his little soldier home for good. Got Leaving On Her Mind Spring 1862 The new hotel was the tallest and fanciest building in Rock Creek, and Bill Tompkins the proudest owner that ever was. He stood before his new establishment beaming with happiness. He had seen an opportunity and seized it, buying up land in town that a number of townspeople had been eager to unload. He was rolling in capital from the mercantile, since he’d taken full advantage of the shortages to ratchet up prices as far as possible, and had grabbed a number of government contracts to supply the local army installment. Now his latest dream was a reality. Tompkins saw Lou McCloud slowly approaching him down the street. He liked Lou, but felt a little uncomfortable around her lately. Her house had been among those he had bought and demolished to build the hotel. She had needed money to pay doctor bills from her own and her brother and sister’s recent illness, and for her brother and sister’s funeral when they finally succumbed. Her husband had left to fight for the Confederacy early in the war, and word from him was infrequent. Tompkins reminded himself that Lou and Kid had savings in the bank from their Pony Express days that Lou wanted to hang onto for some fool notion of a horse ranch when Kid returned. She could have used that money to pay her expenses and hung onto her house in town if she had really wanted to, he thought guiltily. And she had a nice job at the schoolhouse now, must be making enough to support herself, and was staying with her good friends at the old station house. I have nothing to feel bad about, he told himself. The hollow-eyed young woman greeted him, “Mr. Tompkins, I’ve been meaning to speak to you if you have a minute.” “Sure thing, Lou,” he said. “What can I do for you?” He avoided looking directly into her face; she looked tired and worn down and thinner than ever from her illness and grief, her tiny hands twisting in her black mourning dress. “Was wondering if you had any jobs available, seeing as you’re opening this new place soon.” He looked at her surprised. “But I thought you had a job, working for Rachel at the schoolhouse. Looking for a second job?” She shook her head. “I can’t go back there. Jeremiah and Theresa aren’t there anymore. It hurts too much,” she said haltingly. “Well, I was planning on hiring some maids and scrubwomen, that type of thing, Lou, but I can’t imagine you’d be interested in that kind of work.” She looked disappointed. “That’s all you got?” Tompkins was getting a little impatient. “Yes, that’s all I got for a woman’s job. Take it or leave it, Lou.” “I’ll take it,” she said, wistfully, looking down at her hands. “When can I start?” “We’re expecting our first guests this week, so come in Wednesday. Pays $12.00 a week.” She nodded, and turned away absently, wandering off down the street aimlessly, looking longingly at Buck and Jimmy and Teaspoon as they rode past, badges pinned to their chests, on some official business or another. Tompkins looked after her, wondering what on earth made him offer her twice the normal weekly pay for a scrubwoman. Looking back at the hotel he’d built on her old house’s site, he sighed, admitting the reason to himself… he’d profited more than enough from this war and the misery it caused. Maybe it was time to turn over a new leaf, he thought; then, shaking his head, he muttered to himself, “And maybe I’m just getting damn soft in my old age.” ***************** February 1864 Lou was a valuable worker, Tompkins found, even at the moderately high wages he was paying her. She was always on time, and always got the work done, if a little slowly sometimes in the early days before her strength returned. But her greatest value was revealed after Tompkins found running a hotel a lot harder than he’d thought, and sometimes his temper was frayed. He came to rely on Lou being there more and more, even as his attitude ran the other maids off one after the other. And she was a great hand with the unrulier element of his clientele. Tompkins chuckled, remembering when he was on the receiving end of Lou’s “fighting skillet” back in the Sweetwater days. Now her resourcefulness and spunk were to his benefit, and he was becoming fonder than ever of his best worker. Tompkins was surprised, then, when one day he found Lou crying despondently in one of the rooms, sitting on the bed next to her scrub bucket. He had the urge to keep walking down the hall past the open door, but for some reason, looking at her, he went into the room and shut the door instead. The proud girl stood up and dashed away her tears with her apron. “Need something, Bill?” she said almost defiantly. “No ma’am. But I get the feeling you do.” She looked at him puzzled. “You’ve been reading about the war back east again, I see,” he said, gesturing toward a paper open on the bed next to Lou. “So has everybody, Bill.” “I think you’re fixing to go find that husband of yours, maybe even join up in his company.” She stood open mouthed, staring at him. “How did you know?” she gasped. “I haven’t said a word to anybody, not even Jimmy or Rachel. How did you figure it out?” “Just seemed like you had leavin’ on your mind ever since you started here, Lou. This job ain’t for a gal like you. How long can I count on you to stick around, two weeks?” She looked down. “I was hoping to leave even sooner, Bill. I’m not telling anyone at the old station what I have planned, they’d just try to talk me out of it. You won’t let on, will you?” He smiled. “I told you once before, Lou, I figured if that’s how you wanted to go about things, that was your business.” He handed her a fifty dollar bill. “Get going, you’ve got a train to catch, I reckon. Here’s your last week’s pay and a little extra. To thank you for, well, for everything. I ruined things with my real daughter, and I’ve come to think of you like a daughter, since you started here.” “Speaking of that, Bill, I did one last piece of business for you a while back, and here’s the result, it arrived just today,” Lou said, pocketing the bill and handing him a letter. “It’s from your daughter. I’ve been writing to her, letting her know what type of fella you turned out to be.” She looked down. “I know you drove a hard bargain on me about my house, Bill. But since then, you’ve been real good to me. I appreciate it, and I let Jenny know. She wants to come and stay with you a while. It’s all in the letter, so, I’ll let you get to it.” She pulled her apron off and folded it, handing it to him. “Good luck, Bill. See you when this thing is finished.” And she strode out the door, her step sure and steady like the old days. It Should Have Been Me May 1864 Jimmy Hickok, Union soldier, woke up dazed, beside a stream near Richmond, Virginia. He checked his wounded leg, and was relieved to see that it seemed to be fairly superficial and healing well so far. With what happened in the field hospitals to wounded men he had a holy terror of infection or gangrene setting in. So far, so good; but now that he was able to get up and walk, he’d best find his way to a Union camp and the sooner the better. He limped to the stream and washed himself off tiredly, before figuring he’d better head along the stream, toward a headquarters he believed was set up downstream about two miles or so. He was tired, from the poor sleep he’d had in the underbrush with his aching leg. What’s more, he’d found going to sleep harder and harder since he’d left Rock Creek almost a year ago to join up. He hated war, though he was good at it. He didn’t enjoy taking orders; didn’t like the tedious camp life with no freedom or privacy; and worst of all the unremitting, wasteful carnage day after day was wearing even for an experienced gunslinger like himself. It was one thing to face down a single man in a challenge they’d both chosen, kill or be killed. It was another to have to kill over and over, innocent men who were only doing what they saw as their duty. Young and old the enemy came, but unified in one thing; they were all ordinary men who could have been his neighbors and friends in another time and place, if only they were not all caught in this terrible grapple between forces bigger than any of them. All of them fighting a fight that was not between just them but between larger, powerful forces seeking drastically different destinies for this country. Wearily, he thought back to Rock Creek, to the little family he’d left behind there. Cody had joined up pretty early on, of course. But Rock Creek still was home to Teaspoon and Polly, who welcomed their little daughter Josephine not too long ago, and Rachel and Buck. And Lou. Most of all, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Walking quietly and as quickly as his leg would permit, he followed the line of the stream, dwelling as he did on memories from back West. Kid and Lou had gone their separate ways for a few months, long ago while they all still rode for the Express. During that time, there was an unspoken but undeniable chemistry between Jimmy and Lou. He took her out on the town shortly after she and Kid broke up, and he had enjoyed her company so much that he fantasized once they returned to Rock Creek, he would talk to the Kid, ask him if his friend would be upset if he courted Lou. But the evening had ended in disaster, with Lou’s life nearly lost because of him. Shaken, Jimmy had shelved his budding feelings for Lou. Over the next few months, he had seen that Kid and Lou’s feelings for each other were still strong, and had refrained from pursuing her. He didn’t want to be second choice for Lou, didn’t want to step on his best friend’s territory. One time, though, the attraction they shared burst into brief but intense passion, in a heady kiss they hadn’t been able to finish. He backed away from her again the next day, feeling at that time that caring for her would only bring her heartache. Not long after that, Kid had made his move to reclaim Lou’s heart, and whatever chance he had with Lou had ended. He would never betray his friend by pursuing Lou once she was back with Kid, no matter what he felt for her. After that, he carefully concealed any feelings for her other than a deep friendship. He’d been so convincing that she’d asked him to give her away at her wedding, and he’d done it gladly, believing that Kid after all would make her happiest. He had been surprised and disappointed to learn that he was wrong about her and Kid. Kid hadn’t made Lou happy, not at all. Within a few weeks of their wedding, spouting nonsense about protecting a home he hadn’t seen in years, he left Lou behind in Rock Creek to fight for the South. Jimmy had watched, aching for Lou, as she stood bravely seeing him off. She told Jimmy that Kid had always said this was what he had to do, and she accepted it. But Jimmy never quite reconciled the Kid who had been friends with Noah and seemed to be opposed to slavery, with the Kid who went off to fight for the South’s right to hold slaves. At first, Lou threw herself into her work at the school and raising her brother and sister, and seemed contented enough to wait for Kid. But times got tough for her; and it was Jimmy, not Kid, who was there for poor Lou when Theresa and Jeremiah came down with cholera, and a half-sick Lou had to care for them until they died. Even once she was well again herself, she was never the same. She couldn’t bear to work for the school anymore, and the only other work she could find was taking orders from Tompkins as a scrubwoman at his new hotel. That type of work was honest, all right for some folks, but not for Lou who was meant to live a different kind of life. Jimmy had burned with resentment toward the Kid when he walked into the hotel lobby and saw a once-spirited Lou on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. Her eyes were dead, where once they had blazed with life and adventure. I’d been wrong, dead wrong. Lou might live a long life as Kid’s abandoned wife, but she would have been happier by my side living the kind of wild and free life she loved so much. If only I hadn’t held back, maybe she would have chosen me, not him. It should have been me she chose, he thought more sadly than angrily. Then she would never have lost herself the way she did. Though Kid was like a brother to him, always would be, there was a part of him that would never forgive Kid for that, for killing the part of Lou that Jimmy had always loved the most. He had almost told her the truth, the day before he left Rock Creek to sign up with the Army. “Can’t believe it . . . of all of us it’ll just be me and Buck here in Rock Creek, waiting on you and Kid and Cody to come home,” she’d wistfully said, when he came to say goodbye. “I’ll miss you. . . you been a good friend to me, Jimmy Hickok,” she said softly, stretching up to kiss him goodbye on the cheek and give him a hug. He’d clung to her just a little too intensely, a little too long, and she had drawn back, confused. Jimmy had stood looking at her straight in the eyes, thinking that this could be the last time he saw her. He almost told her the truth, that he loved her, but remembered in time that she was Kid’s now, and he would never betray his friend. Smiling briskly, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Goodbye, Lou. Take care,” he whispered in her ear. As he walked down the steps, she called to him from her doorway. He turned and looked at her, imprinting every little detail about her in his mind, like a daguerreotype. The slender figure, the doelike eyes, the trembling hands. “You take care too, Jimmy,” she called back. “And thanks, thanks for bein’ the friend you’ve been to me since I’ve known you.” She paused a second, then blurted, “And thanks for understanding me . . . even things Kid couldn’t understand.” They looked at each other a moment, and he knew what she meant. Much as she and Kid loved each other, there was a little piece of Lou that he never quite understood, that part that loved the thrill of danger and adventure, just like Jimmy did. Jimmy could see that at that very moment, she longed to jump on her horse and ride off to war, along with him and Kid, that her very being was quivering with that longing. And only he would ever understand that. Jimmy’s tumultuous thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a camp ahead. Most likely Confederate, he thought, since they usually camped among the trees while Union troops preferred the open fields. He pulled out two Ketchum grenades from his haversack, thinking this might be an opportunity to take out a few Johnny Rebs fast and easy. Through the trees, he saw two Confederate enlisted officers ahead by the stream, looked like a sergeant and a slight-statured corporal, their hats pulled low over their eyes as they looked over a map together. Jimmy could hear the sounds of the camp further ahead; no sense wasting time with just two low-ranking officers, he thought, and started off. But as Jimmy tried to slip around the two officers, he stepped on a branch and it snapped loudly, drawing the attention of the rebel sergeant, who raised a rifle to his shoulder with lightning speed, training it on Jimmy. Jimmy saw even at this distance it was a Whitfield rifle with a telescopic sight attached, and the man wore a sharpshooter’s insignia. From previous brushes with the Rebel sharpshooters, he knew the members of the sharpshooter brigades were elite, highly trained, and could pick a man off in a trench at up to 1200 yards with such a weapon. For reasons Jimmy couldn’t fathom, however, the man looking through the sight at him hesitated, not firing; a fatal mistake, Jimmy grimly thought, as he launched one of the grenades he held toward the pair. As so often happened, the grenade landed and lay undetonated briefly. The sergeant shoved the corporal to the ground and in the same movement dropped the rifle, leaped forward, and grabbed the grenade. To Jimmy’s astonishment, the sharpshooter flung it away, not toward Jimmy as he expected, but toward the stream. The Reb was a second too late, though, as the shell detonated almost in his hands with a blast of fire and shrapnel. The little corporal’s hat had fallen off, revealing long dark hair, and when the soldier looked up dizzily, Jimmy’s heart shattered like the grenade he had thrown. It was Lou . . . and when he heard her anguished scream on reaching the sergeant, he knew who the other soldier must be. Jimmy raced toward the couple, finding Lou holding a motionless Kid in her arms. Jimmy winced at the sight of the Kid’s face, bleeding and burned around the eyes. There was shrapnel sticking from the familiar blue eyes, and they stared unblinking into the morning sun overhead. Jimmy stammered out, “Lou . . . Kid, I . . . I didn’t know it was you, you have to believe me . . .” Behind Jimmy the rest of Kid’s camp came tearing into view, raising their weapons at Jimmy, who as quickly drew his Army-issued Colts. Lou sprung up from Kid’ side, screaming, “Stop! Hold your fire! Kid could get caught in the cross-fire!” as she stood between Jimmy and the gray suited onslaught. At her words, Jimmy holstered his pistols and raised his hands overhead in surrender, rather than risk a gunbattle over Kid’s prostrate body. Corporal Walters, a medic, approached. He was Kid’s best friend in the unit and the second highest-ranking enlisted man. Looking at Lou, he said softly, “You’re his wife, aren’t you ma’am? I’ve seen your picture before.” Lou nodded, breaking down in sobs. “Please help him, Corporal,” she managed. He nodded and approached Kid, who incredibly was still conscious. “Kid, it’s me, Joe,” Corporal Walters said slowly and deliberately to Kid. “Let me have a look-see.” But as he knelt and looked at Kid’s injury, he went white and shook his head sadly at Lou, who sobbed harder. “Joe, I need you to do me a favor,” Kid said, with difficulty. “And you too, Jimmy.” “What is it, Kid?” Jimmy asked, stricken, approaching his friend. “Joe, I need you to let this man go back to his unit. He’ll go back without a fight, you can trust him, right, Jimmy?” Walters looked grim. “After what he just did to you, Kid, how can you say you trust him?” “He didn’t know who I was, or he wouldn’t have, Joe. You can trust him. Jimmy, you still there?” “Yeah, Kid,” Jimmy said. “I need you to look out for Lou for me. I won’t be able to after this. Make sure she’s all right, promise me, you know I held back and didn’t fire, when I could’ve killed you. You owe me, Jimmy. See to it.” Jimmy swallowed. “Kid, you’re getting ahead of yourself, that injury looks bad I know, but it ain’t fatal. You’ll be up and around in no time and can take care of Lou.” Kid was wincing with the pain, and speaking with more difficulty now. “I know I’m not dying, Jimmy. But I can’t see nothin’ and I know I won’t see again, will I, Joe? Tell the truth, Corporal.” Joe looked grave. “No, Kid,” he answered simply. “You won’t, the injury is too extensive,” he said, looking at the burns and the oozing shrapnel wounds, and the unblinking eyes staring upwards at nothing. “Jimmy, you know as well as I do that she can’t be happy nursemaidin’ a blind man the rest of her life. She ain’t that kind of woman, she needs more, she needs a full life, you can convince her she deserves to follow her dreams. And I know you love her almost as much as I do, so don’t pretend otherwise, not now, Jimmy.” Jimmy, kneeling beside the Kid, was speechless. Kid had known all along, had known how he felt about his wife. He also understood Lou better than Jimmy realized. But one thing, Kid had forgotten. “Lou loves you, though, not me, Kid, and she loves you more than anything else. She’ll never leave your side, no matter what anybody says, you’ll find out soon enough. But I promise you two will never want for nothin’ as long as I’m alive.” Kid was drifting off under a dose of morphine Joe gave him for the pain, and even smiled a little. “Jimmy, I ain’t askin’ for any charity. I don’t blame you for this, you were doing your job. I won’t be a burden on her, no matter what I have to do to avoid it. See to it, hear me?” Kid said hoarsely, as he mercifully went under. As his men loaded Kid onto a stretcher to take him to the field hospital, Jimmy looked toward Lou. Corporal Walters told Jimmy, “Say your goodbyes and then you have five minutes to get the hell out of here, Yank. And that’s just cause Kid ordered it.” Lou was shaking, her face streaked with tears. As Jimmy tried to take her in his arms, she shoved him away. “No, Jimmy. I ain’t some … some horse that Kid can turn the reins over to you to take care of. He doesn’t know what he’s saying now, he’ll need my help and he’ll take it, damn it,” she said, fiercely. She looked at Jimmy, her eyes piercing. “What did Kid mean when he said you loved me?” Jimmy looked at her. “You never knew?” he said. “How long?” she asked, incredulous. “From the first,” he said, looking into her dark, fathomless eyes. She shut those eyes, turning her head away. “Then everything between us is a lie,” she muttered. “I thought you were my friend, my brother and Kid’s. All along you were lying.” Jimmy looked down. “What choice did I have? Would you have wanted me to tell you, when you weren’t free to love me back, when you loved someone else? What good would that have done?” “Look at me, Jimmy,” she said. He met her eyes, reluctantly. “Did you . . . did you know it was Kid before you threw that grenade at him?” Jimmy got angry then. “No, Lou, I swear it. Much as I love you, I would never hurt Kid because of you. Never. Hell, I held back from telling you partly because of him in the first place. You don’t think I wish it was me who got hurt instead?” Lou’s face crumbled with remorse, and she flung herself into his arms, weeping again. “I’m sorry Jimmy, I didn’t mean it. I should never have asked, forgive me. But why did this have to happen to us, Jimmy? Just now we were planning to go home, put all this behind us and start our life together. Now, I don’t have any idea what that’s going to mean for us. Why, Jimmy? Why did God let this happen?” As she sobbed out her grief incoherently, Jimmy wished with all his heart that Kid had pulled the trigger rather than let him do this to his two best friends. It should have been me, not him . . . he thought as he held the love of his life in his arms, at last, but for all the wrong reasons. There's a Man in There September 1864 Mrs. Lou McCloud, dressed neatly in a nurse’s uniform of black blouse and skirt with a large white apron tied around them, and a white head covering over her dark shoulder-length hair, came in to the hospital ward where her husband sat, his eyes bandaged. He had been under the hospital’s care for four months now. The wound to his eyes had been complicated by lockjaw and infection, and they had feared they would lose him from what had seemed at first a superficial, though life-shattering, injury to just his eyes. They had saved him, but the field medic had been right; there was no saving his eyesight. Lou had tended him devotedly through the ordeal, and had worked tirelessly in the hospital helping all the injured soldiers. The injured men called out to her, and she smiled and patted their hands, remembering each one’s name, asking about family and friends, as she passed down the line. She had learned a lot about nursing in a short time, and the doctor in charge of the ward smiled warmly at her as she greeted him. “How’s my husband today?” she said softly. Dr. Logan answered reluctantly. “Physically, he’s doing fine, Mrs. McCloud, and I could discharge him to your care if not for his mental state. Oh, he’s quiet, no trouble to the nurses or the other men, but still bound and determined he’s going to convince you to leave him, and send him to a poor farm. He’s very low in spirit, even lower than yesterday.” Lou sighed. She looked down the row to where Kid sat in a chair beside his bed, unmoving. When she visited him these last several days since he’d recovered from the complications of his wounds, he hadn’t said a word to her or anyone else, other than to ask the doctor for information about poor farms, where he could go to live and hopefully work somehow after his release. Lou would sooner see him dead than turn him over to a work farm while there was breath in her body, and her face grew as stubborn as his as she looked at him. Suddenly, one of the men near Kid’s bed started screaming in pain, sobbing for something to ease his agony. Most of the men in the room other than Kid had lost one or more limbs, many amputated without anesthesia, the only available treatment for gangrene in infected wounds. She was the only nurse who unfailingly could help with even the most gruesome procedures, though it broke her heart a little more each time she saw a young man endure it. She rushed to the screaming man’s side, murmuring soothingly to him as Dr. Logan pulled the blankets away. The stench that met them told the story. The leg would have to be amputated, and there was no morphine left in the little hospital. Lou and Dr. Logan looked at each other wearily. “Get the instruments and restraints,” he said softly. Reluctantly, she ran to obey, and in a few moments, the pair had the man tied to the bed for the procedure. Lou held the man’s hand, trying to comfort him as best she could, as the grisly operation commenced. Kid winced as he heard the familiar screaming. John Sullivan, the young patient in a bed near Kid’s chair commented on it. “Looks like that leg of Collier’s is coming off.” Kid didn’t answer. Sullivan looked at Kid in irritation. “What’s wrong with you, anyway?” Annoyed, Kid snapped, “None of your business, Private.” The young fellow laughed. “Come on, McCloud. That officer business was all right when the war was on. We’re all just civilians now. And I’m asking you, what’s the matter with you? You think you’re too good to talk to anybody here, even your wife?” The patient Lou was helping had mercifully passed out from the pain, and Lou was quietly handing instruments to the doctor and listening with interest to the exchange between Sullivan and her husband, who didn’t seem to be aware she was in the room as yet. “I said mind your business. You wouldn’t understand, anyway.” “Why not? Cause I ain’t blind? Well, maybe not, but you got two good arms and two good legs, ain’t you? That’s a lot more than I have, and you don’t see me whining. My arms and legs were all blown off or cut off since I been here. You could walk, get around if you wanted to, and you just sit there like a cripple letting Miss Louise wait on you.” Kid looked guilty a moment, but shot back, “She won’t have to for long, Sullivan. I’m giving her back her freedom, so she won’t be tied to the likes of me.” Sullivan was nursing a not-so-secret crush on the young woman who had taken good care of him through his own ordeal of learning to live with no arms, with legs cut off below the knee. She had patiently wiped flies off his face for him, helped him eat and drink, had written letters to his family and friends for him, and most of all had looked at him without ever flinching. Hearing the Kid’s statement, Sullivan was furious. “She don’t want her freedom, she wants her husband. Don’t play the martyr, she doesn’t want you to. How can you turn your back on a woman like her? She’s like an angel,” Sullivan stammered, thinking of how many times the sight of that angel’s face had comforted him in the last four months. “I can’t do anything for her now. I know she’s been like an angel to me, to all of us here, but she deserves better than what I can give her.” Lou finished assisting Dr. Logan, and helped clean the stump where the man’s leg had been. Picking up the basin filled with blood and tissue, she carefully walked it outside. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly, the birds twittering. She closed her eyes and stood against the wall, feeling the sun and listening to the sounds around her, imagining what it would be like to live forever in darkness like Kid. Her heart broke for him, for all the things he would never see. At the thought, her hand went to her swollen belly, softly stroking it. She was thinking of the one sight she wished above all others he could have seen, their child’s face. She hadn’t wanted to use this to convince him to come home with her. She had hoped he would come around without that. She was also afraid of his reaction to knowing that she was carrying his child, conceived the night before he was injured there on the bank of the stream where he lost his eyesight. He already felt badly enough about not being able to take care of her, without knowing there would soon be a baby in the bargain. But maybe, just maybe, finding out about the baby would make him look forward to their future together, she thought, turning her face back toward the hospital. She returned to the ward and this time approached Kid’s chair. “Kid, it’s time you got up and got some exercise. Let me take you outside for some fresh air.” Kid sat stubbornly and silently. “I spoke to you, Kid, and you may be blind but you’re not deaf, so how about a civil answer?” Lou snapped. Kid flushed a little. She nodded, satisfied. She had made a mistake being too gentle, too understanding with him. Like Sullivan’s words, her rougher language was at least getting a reaction. There’s a man in there, all right, she thought. Maybe if I prod him a little more? She grabbed his arm, and pulled the weakened man to his feet. “I said get up and walk, you should be ashamed to sit there with two good legs and not try to get around. In front of these men who have it worse than you, no less.” Kid looked furious. “Ask one of them if they’ll trade places, why don’t you? Better yet, maybe one of them is single and you can find somebody else to marry, if you don’t like how I’m handling this.” Lou saw that Kid was getting worked up, and this was the most animated she’d seen him in months. She welcomed his anger, since at least he was talking. Inspired, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the face sharply. Angrily, Kid reached out and somehow caught her arm, holding it behind her and reaching for the other. Struggling just a little, she found herself pressed against him for the first time since the injury. She looked at him as he slowly registered that something was different. One of his hands reached to her waistline, where her blouse was no longer tucked in to her skirt. He groped underneath her clothes and felt her rounded belly. She felt the now-familiar sensation of the baby moving inside her, pressed up against Kid. He gasped, shocked. “Lou?” he said, incredulously. “How . . . I mean when . . . ” She interrupted. “Come on, Kid, you know how and when. You were there after all.” “But what I mean is,” he swallowed. “When were you going to tell me this?” His hands felt so gentle on her now, his voice so soft and loving, she felt tears forming in her eyes. Her Kid was still the same inside; she could hear it in his voice now. “When I found out, you were too sick; then I didn’t want to worry you while you were still so weak.” She looked at him tenderly, thinking how very sick he had been. It was no wonder he wasn’t himself quite yet, she thought, looking at his gaunt face. “And then I guess I was hoping to tell you after we got home to our ranch. I sent a power of attorney to Teaspoon and he bought a place for us, Kid. It’ll be waiting for us as soon as we can get there. Please say you’ll come home with me and your baby.” To her dismay, Kid looked frightened. “A baby? But how can I be a father to him, Lou,” he cried. “And what made you buy a ranch right now? You can’t run it by yourself, especially if you’re pregnant.” “Teaspoon and Buck are going to be our partners, and they can help us with the work we can’t do for a while. And I know you can learn to do a lot of things if you just try, both on the ranch and with our baby.” At his still dubious face, she broke down in his arms. “Please Kid. I need you. Please be the man I know you still are inside.” His arms went around her, holding her closer, wonderingly pressing his hand against the quick, soft fluttering in her belly. She leaned against his shoulder, crying, and somehow sensed that it was important for him to be strong for her once again, comforting her. His voice, murmuring softly, reassured her; he would fight for himself, for their baby, for her, and they would survive this. Too Late for Roses June 1865, Rock Creek Teaspoon Hunter and his two deputies, Buck Cross and Billy Cody, were sitting idly outside the Marshal’s office. Time and even a brutal war hadn’t changed Cody much; he was as brash and impulsive as ever, but invaluable in a fight, Teaspoon found. Cody was at loose ends for the present and had come back to Rock Creek to work as a second deputy in the burgeoning town, until he decided what he wanted to do when he grew up, as he put it. “So Teaspoon, when are we expecting that kid sister of Sam’s to get here?” Cody asked, none too enthusiastically. “I got places to go and people to see, can’t sit around here all day waiting on some little girl, you know.” “Should be in on the noon stage, Cody,” Teaspoon drawled. “And I think it might hurt her feelings if you weren’t here to see her again.” Cody rolled his eyes. “She probably won’t remember all of us, Teaspoon, we ain’t seen her in four years.” Ordinarily the arrival of an eighteen year old girl on the stage would hold Cody’s interest, but he had gotten enough of Rose Cain when she had visited her brother in Sweetwater during the Express days. Then fourteen and all arms and legs and freckles, with bad skin and unruly hair, she had been a clumsy plain-faced little pest, following him everywhere like a puppy dog. Teaspoon had gotten word from Sam that his little sister had gotten a job in Rock Creek as a telegraph operator, and had promised his old friend that he and the old Express family would make sure she settled in fine, but Cody wasn’t too thrilled at the prospect of it. “Seems to me you’re the one she’s likeliest to remember, Cody. She had a nice little crush on you, didn’t she?” Buck teased. “Don’t remind me,” Cody muttered. “God knows what she looks like now.” He brightened. “Well I don’t reckon she could get any worse,” he reasoned, always an optimist. As the stage pulled up down the street, Teaspoon, Buck and Cody leaned forward with interest. A beanpole of a girl wearing an old-fashioned black bonnet came bounding down the stagecoach steps, tripping and falling on her face in a mud puddle. “See you fellows later,” Cody said, suddenly, taking off at a dead run down the street as the others chuckled. Teaspoon and Buck went toward the young woman, who was trying desperately to clean mud from her face with a small handkerchief. Buck and Teaspoon exchanged glances, and Buck offered her a hand and his own handkerchief. “Miss Cain? Do you remember me?” The young lady gruffly slapped Buck’s hand aside. “I don’t need help from the likes of you,” she snapped. “And my name isn’t Miss Cain. That’s Miss Cain over there,” she gestured with a filthy hand before flouncing off toward the hotel. Buck turned and saw a gracefully tall and slender young lady looking at them amused. “I can see why you would think that was me, Buck. But I’ve learned to manage my arms and legs a little better since I saw you last.” Buck was astonished at the change in the young girl, as he took her outstretched hand. She was nothing like her awkward self of four years ago, and had blossomed like her name into a true beauty. Rose looked around. “Nice to see you, Buck, Teaspoon. I guess Cody couldn’t make it to see me off the stage?” “He . . . had an appointment. But I’d be glad to show you around Rock Creek, if you’d like,” Buck said. Rose looked Buck up and down with undisguised appreciation. “That’d suit me just fine, Buck,” she said softly as she took his arm. The two walked off, past the saloon where Cody saw the pair as they went by. Cody’s eyes goggled at the pretty newcomer. Bursting headlong from the saloon, Cody happened to see that an elderly lady was selling small bouquets on the corner. That’s a lucky break, he thought. Buying one, he rushed after Buck and Rose. Reaching them, he swept his hat from his head and bowed to Rose. “Sorry I wasn’t at the stage to see you, Miss Rose, but I was buying these for you. Roses for a Rose, you might say. Buck, I could take over from here if you’re too busy to escort Miss Cain,” he said hurriedly, recalling the young girl’s earlier crush on him and hoping she still felt the same. He was disappointed, however, when her eyebrow went up and she clasped Buck’s arm a little closer. “That’s okay, Mr. Cody. I’ll catch up with you at dinner, I’m sure.” Rose’s brilliant blue eyes shone up at Buck, and Buck grinned back over his shoulder as the two proceeded on down the street. Cody offered the bouquet to his nearby horse as a snack. You might as well enjoy them, boy, he thought. Looks like it’s too late for Roses for me. No One Will Ever Know Summer 1865 Deputy Buck Cross called at the telegraph office like he did most evenings after his shift, and smiled at the pretty operator. “Ready to head home, Rose?” She brightened visibly at his voice, nodded, and ran to get her hat and gloves for the walk home. The two chatted companionably on the way toward the restaurant where they usually had some dinner before she headed up to her rented room on the second floor. Rose was hoping that after all this time, Buck would have asked her to a social or a dance, but so far the nightly walks and dinners had not led to the next step. Rose Cain was understandably confused by this. She knew that Buck was a friend of her brother’s, and that Sam had asked the deputies and Teaspoon to watch out for her, make sure she got home from work okay, and that she wasn’t too lonely in a strange town by herself. But she couldn’t help hoping that wasn’t the only reason Buck was spending time with her. There were plenty of fellows who asked her to the events in town, and she could have had her pick of many of the eligible bachelors in Rock Creek, but none of them interested her like Buck did. Yet he never so much as tried to kiss her hand in all the weeks since she had moved to the bustling town. Buck glanced at Rose fondly. She was a good friend, like a little sister, and the first platonic female friend he had since Lou. It was a pleasure to escort her home and give her some company during dinner, since Rachel was usually busy marking papers and making lesson plans, and he was often at loose ends from five to seven o’clock. And she certainly was a pleasure to look at, with an angel’s face. But sometimes he did find himself sneaking a look at the clock in the little restaurant on the bottom floor of Rose’s boarding house, waiting until he could slip over to Rachel’s under cover of night, to spend the night there with her. He and Rachel had started out as just friends, and then, very slowly, things had developed into more between them. Somehow, gradually they had become lovers as well as friends about two years ago; and she had insisted on secrecy ever since, even from their friends. “But why, Rachel? Is it because I’m half Kiowa? Because if it makes any difference to you, maybe we shouldn’t be together at all,” Buck had said, a little angrily, looking over from the bed to where she stood dressing. Rachel looked back at him sadly, fastening her blouse. “Buck, you know me better than that. It isn’t because of you, honey. It’s because of me.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Look at me, Buck.” She stood by the window with the morning sun full in her face, pulling the curtain back. “You can see it, can’t you? I’m old enough to be your mother, Buck. I don’t want us to be a laughingstock. May - December romances are one thing when it’s the man who’s winter and the woman who’s spring. But in our case, I’m winter. Folks won’t accept it.” Buck swung out of bed, stark naked, and grasped her firmly around the waist. “Come on, Rachel. You’re not winter . . . ‘Indian Summer’ at the latest,” he’d teased her, pulling her back onto the bed and kissing her again. But she had insisted. “No, Buck. You’re twenty, and, well, I’m,” she hesitated. “I’m forty-three, Buck. It just doesn’t look right.” Secretly, he’d been a little surprised at her age; she didn’t look a day over thirty-five to him. Nonetheless, he protested, “Aw, Rachel, that’s just numbers. It doesn’t matter to me, I love you and I’d never be ashamed of it.” “That’s sweet, Buck, but just the same, I’m the schoolteacher and I have enough problems with the parents because of my past reputation. If it got out I’m sleeping with a boy not much older than some of my students, I’m sure it would be the final straw. Let’s keep this to ourselves, promise?” He’d promised her, and now their secret life was a routine for them. The outside world believed he lived in the old bunkhouse, alone; but every night he crossed the yard to join Rachel in her room where they created their own little world, a secret paradise, together. One that no one will ever know about except us, he thought. Buck was forced to confront his own feelings about their long standing secret affair, though, when Cody had come home from the war and promptly taken up residence in the old bunkhouse, where Buck supposedly lived, a couple of months ago. Now he was forced into a more elaborate charade, having to wait until Cody fell asleep to slip out of the bunkhouse to Rachel. He had to stay in the bunkhouse as often as not to keep Cody from suspecting anything. Buck realized that somehow, he and Rachel had slipped into the roles of husband and wife in all but name, and he missed her as much as any husband would miss his wife under the circumstances. “Penny for your thoughts, Buck,” Rose said teasingly. “You’ve been mighty quiet all through dinner.” “They aren’t worth that much, Rose.” He looked around restlessly. “Would you mind if we called it short tonight? I’d like to get home, got some things to work on around the bunkhouse.” Rose tried to hide her disappointment. “Sure, Buck, give Cody my best when you see him.” Gathering her courage, she ventured, “Oh, by the way, did you hear about the church dance next week?” He nodded. “Are you going?” she faltered. Buck looked down. No, he wasn’t going, he didn’t go to any events like that anymore, because he couldn’t be seen in public with his woman. Not able to explain that to Rose, though, he just shook his head. “No, Rose, that kind of thing isn’t my cup of tea. Well, I’d better head out. I’ll see you home again tomorrow?” “Okay, thanks Buck,” Rose said, watching him leave the table, and thinking, mystified, What is going on here? She sighed. She was a popular girl, and lots of men seemed interested in her when they stopped in to the telegraph office to send or pick up a message. In fact, she had turned down seven other invitations to the dance, including Cody’s, in the hopes that Buck would pick up her hint and ask her. I guess I’ll have to go with someone else to the dance, but . . . why can’t I get the attention of the one man I really want? And he’s not even seeing anyone else, so why does he spend so much time with me but never take the next step? She restlessly headed upstairs to her dismal little room, where she pulled out a book her friend Rachel had recommended, the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, in its new English translation, and tried to forget the mysterious dark-haired man who had captured her heart, and who seemed all the more attractive because he was so elusive. Unlike most of the other men in town he seemed immune to her feminine charms. She opened the book to where she had left off, and the lines only served to remind her of Buck, so wild and so gentle, and so close yet so far, all at the same time: "A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness-- Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!" It was no use trying to read this to stop thinking about Buck, and the young girl, irritated, flung the volume against the wall with a slam. Then it occurred to her in a flash. He wouldn’t keep coming around if he didn’t at least like me, she reasoned. If he thinks it makes a difference to me that he’s part Kiowa, and not a Christian, he may not want to spoil our friendship by asking to court me. And I’m Sam’s sister, Emma’s sister in law in the bargain, and he probably doesn’t want it to affect their friendship either . . . That must be it! Joyfully, Rose bounced up and sat at her vanity table, taking down the braids wound in a knot at the back of her head and brushing her long glistening blonde hair. Looking at herself, she smiled at the pretty reflection that met her. A few years ago she had been an ugly duckling to say the least, but both the mirror and the eyes of every man who looked at her told her now she was a swan. Of course Buck must think I’m pretty. And we have such a good time together, I know he likes me, she thought. Buck’s just shy because he’s an Indian and he thinks I won’t have him as a suitor because of that. I’ll have to make sure somehow without being too obvious that it doesn’t matter to me. That settled in her mind, she pulled a nightgown over her head and bounded into her bed, turning in early for a peaceful night’s sleep. Idling down the street, Buck noticed that though it was late, Rachel’s light was still on in the schoolhouse. He found her sitting at her desk, and to his shock, that she was crying. “What is it, Rachel?” he said, rushing to her side. She looked pale and drawn, like she had for several weeks now. “Nothing. What are you doing over here . . . finish dinner with your little friend already?” Rachel snapped. “What?” Buck said, incredulous at her tone. “Yes, I did. But that doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re talking about. Why are you crying?” “What do you care? Why don’t you just go find Rose, Buck? I don’t know why you keep humoring me by coming around. I suppose you feel sorry for me, well I don’t need your pity, understand? If you want a younger woman who’s stopping you,” she said, weeping irrationally. “I don’t want a younger woman. Rose is just Sam’s sister, and you know I only spend time with her as a friend. You’re the woman I love,” he started. She interrupted, “Well that’s not the word in town. Word is you’re courting her and that she’s in love with you.” “That’s ridiculous, Rachel. I’m telling you she’s just a friend. And she has about a hundred beaux anyway, I don’t know where anybody could get the idea she’s in love with me or anybody.” “She is in love with you. I saw how she looked at you on Sunday in church. She sure wasn’t thinking about her prayers.” “Neither was I,” he tried to joke with her. “You know darn well I only go there because I can see you all dressed up in your finest, even if it has to be across a crowded room so no one else knows.” She stood up, a little unsteadily. “Maybe we need to make a decision, Buck. This ‘arrangement’ we have has gone on long enough. It’s time for you to move on.” Buck looked at her gravely. “You mean that Rachel? I thought you were happy with the way things are. You don’t love me anymore?” Rachel faltered at his dark, somber eyes boring into hers. “You need to be with a woman who can live with you out in the open, Buck. A young woman like Rose . . . who can give you children,” she finished. She suddenly broke down. “I’m starting the change, Buck. My cycles . . . they’re getting farther and farther apart and now it’s been nearly three months since the last one. I’ll never be able to give you children,” she sobbed. He took her into his arms and she wept into them, “You would make a wonderful father. I don’t want to rob you of that. You must want children, grandchildren someday, and if that makes any difference to you, you need to find someone else.” Buck stroked her still ungrayed, shimmering golden hair gently. He turned her face up. “Is that what all this is about?” She nodded, sadly. “I feel like I’m not even a woman anymore, Buck. I can’t give you what you deserve. I waited too long, and now it’s too late.” Buck smiled gently at her. “Rachel. Believe me, you are still all woman. And if it’s too late for you then it’s too late for both of us, and I can accept it. I still want you, for always. But you’re right, we can’t go on like this anymore, with this arrangement as you call it.” He handed her a handkerchief and gestured her toward a chair, kneeling beside her. “I got a letter from Lou from Virginia,” he said. “She wants to bring Kid home, and start a ranch with him. You know she’s pregnant, and with Kid’s injury, well running a ranch won’t be too easy for them by themselves. She has a big pile of money she and Kid saved from the Express days. She’s asked if Teaspoon and I will go in as equal partners with her and Kid in a farm and horse ranch. There’s the old Clark place outside town, you know it’s up for sale since Abner Clark got killed at Vicksburg. It’d be perfect for a ranch like that, we could probably make a real go of it. Teaspoon and Polly are willing and I’d decided if you are all right with it, we could go in with the four of them. There’s more than enough land for us to build three houses on, one for Lou and Kid and their baby, one for Teaspoon and Polly and little Josephine, and one for you and me.” Buck paused. “What I’m asking is if you’ll come out of the shadows, Rachel, and if you’ll marry me? I want everyone to know that we belong to each other. I want to shout it in the street, and I want you to be my wife. Please say yes.” Rachel’s mouth dropped open and she sat staring at him for a long moment. The thought of it was a wonderful one. She could live on the ranch with the man she loved, and with her dearest friends in the world, the McClouds and the Hunters. Buck said it was what he wanted. But was this the right thing to do, to marry a man more than twenty years younger than she? “Buck, of course I love you and want to spend my life with you. But are you sure it doesn’t matter that I can’t have children?” Buck hesitated. “Rachel, the truth is I’m not sure I really want children anyway. I’ve had a hard time of it, being a half-breed, both in the Kiowa world and in the white one. I’m thinking no matter if I marry a white woman or an Indian woman, any child of mine would face all the same prejudices and hate I have. If you can’t have children, maybe it’s a sign that it isn’t meant to be. And there will be children on the ranch, and we can help raise them with Lou and Kid and Teaspoon.” Rachel looked at him searchingly. “You’re sure, then, Buck? There’ll be no regrets later?” “As long as we’re together, there never will be.” She weakened and then caved in. “Then, I accept, Buck. I’m proud to,” she said as he leaned in and drew her to him. “Proud to have the world know about you and me,” she whispered. You Just Haven't Done It Yet July 1865 The train pulled in to the Rock Creek station, and Territorial Marshal Samuel Cain stepped off and scanned the small crowd at the station. Smiling, he spotted a waving young woman with long blonde hair, and headed toward her. Sam noticed that a number of young men were turning their heads to watch as his sister Rose strolled towards him. He’d been afraid of that when he and Emma sent the girl to Rock Creek, where she was putting her training as a telegraph operator to work at the Rock Creek train station. She’s too young to be living unchaperoned in a rough town like Rock Creek, he thought worriedly. Too young and too pretty. And too boy-crazy. He and Emma had taken the girl in when his parents died back East. He and Emma hadn’t been blessed with any children yet, and Emma lavished all the affection she would give a baby on the teenaged girl over the last few years. Emma was devoted to Rose, and had come to think of her as the daughter it didn’t look like they’d ever have. But Sam feared that little of Emma had rubbed off on flighty Rose. She grinned and hugged him warmly. “Good to see you Sam. How’s Emma doing?” she asked, linking her arm through his. “Fine, Rose, though she misses you. We still don’t quite understand why you couldn’t get a job working that telegraph back in Omaha and stayed with us. It ain’t like you need to work anyway, we don’t need the money.” She rolled her eyes and looked up at him. “I know that, Sam. But with the war over, there aren’t that many jobs for women telegraph operators. They won’t even let us join their union. I didn’t do all that training not to use it. I want to be independent, my own woman, like Emma.” Sam looked at her more closely now that they were walking down the platform toward her telegraph office. He noticed that she looked a little pale, though she was working overtime to seem happy. They opened the door and she showed him where she sat and took note of the time of arrival of each train, telegraphing it to the next station. Seemed like mighty boring work to Sam, but he kept his opinion to himself. Rose looked sideways at him. “It isn’t just looking at a clock and tapping on the machine, though. We take telegraph messages from regular folks too, and I have to transcribe them into Morse Code and transmit them over the “singing wire” as the Kiowa call it,” she explained. She stopped short as she spoke, looking awkward for a moment. “How’d you find that out?” Sam asked. She answered reluctantly for some reason. “Buck Cross told me.” She sat down, blushing, in a small chair behind the desk, at the sound of an approaching train. She noted down the time the train passed in a small book and tapped away busily on the telegraph machine for a moment. She turned to Sam, changing the subject. “So how’s Emma?” “Like I told you two minutes ago, she’s fine, Rose.” “Right,” she said, absently looking out the window and twisting a locket slung around her neck. “Something on your mind, Rose? Something about Buck Cross?” Emma had a letter or telegraph from Rose nearly every day, and had hinted to Sam that Rose might have an interest in the young man. He intended to find out just how far this had gotten, and whether Buck’s intentions were as honorable as Emma insisted they would be. He knew Emma was fond of Buck and all her boys, and he trusted her judgment and that Buck was a gentleman. But just the same, Rose was his baby sister. He thought back to the day she was born, when he was fourteen years old, to his father and his stepmother back East. He had been a little worried even at that age that things would be different around their house once his stepmother and father had a new child. His stepmother had been a second mother to him since she married his widowed father when he was seven. Soon enough he found out nothing would change with her or his pa, and he enjoyed being a big brother to little Rose, up until he came West at twenty-one. In his mind she would always be that little girl. He intended to make sure no one hurt his baby sister, even unintentionally. “Emma told you, then,” she said, not surprised. She never had asked Emma to keep anything from Sam, wouldn’t want to put her in that position. “Yes, it’s Buck.” She looked down, her pretty eyes filled with tears. “I fell in love with him, Sam, and he doesn’t feel the same. He loves somebody else. I’ve made a big fool of myself with him. When he told me, I . . . acted badly. Not like a lady at all, and now, I’ve lost him as a friend. The other woman was a friend too and now I’ve lost her as a friend.” “Who’s this other woman? How could he pick somebody over you?” Sam demanded, furiously. “That’s the most embarrassing part,” Rose admitted. “She’s Rachel Dunne, the lady who took Emma’s place as station mistress at the old express station. I thought she and I were friends, and now, I’ve made a mess of things with her too.” Sam looked at her, confused. “But I met Rachel Dunne when we came back to visit for Teaspoon’s wedding. She’s not a day under thirty-five.” “Don’t remind me, I’ve lost out to a woman more than twice my age,” Rose said glumly. Sam turned angry again. “Did that young fella lead you on, Rose? Did he take advantage? Tell the truth now,” he demanded. “No, Sam. He never meant to. He thought we were just friends. Was being nice to me as a favor to you, he said.” Her humiliation was complete now. “What bothers me most is how I acted, Sam. I’ll get over Buck, but I’m embarrassed about how stupidly I acted when he told me. I lost my temper, said some really mean things. I couldn’t be more ashamed.” She had stopped by the old station house to return a book that Rachel had lent her. It was Sunday morning, and the door to the back porch was unlocked. She wavered; Rachel had not been in church that morning, maybe she wasn’t feeling well. She hated to ring the bell and disturb her. She decided to just slip in and leave the book on the kitchen table. When she opened the door, however, she was stunned to see Buck seated at the table, with Rachel sitting on his lap. Kissing him. Both still in night clothes. Rachel had leapt up, red-faced, at Rose’s appearance, but Buck had held onto her hand, smiling. “Morning, Rose,” he said cheerfully, seemingly unconcerned. “This isn’t what it looks like, Rose,” Rachel had stammered. Buck had looked up, frowning. “It’s exactly what it looks like, Rachel.” Rachel had looked guiltily at Rose. “I’m sorry, Rose. I should have told you, but Buck and I have been seeing each other for a few years now.” Rose’s mouth had dropped. “But you’re . . . so old!” the teenaged girl had blurted. Then anger had taken over. “And I thought you were my friend!” she said, furiously. “You knew how I felt about Buck, and you let me go on thinking I could have a chance with him. You let me make a damn fool of myself in front of the whole town. I suppose the two of you had a lot of laughs back here at my expense, didn’t you?” Buck looked astonished. “Rose, that’s enough. What are you talking about? You and I are just friends, I never dreamed you felt like this.” “And Rose, I thought you might care about Buck, but I wasn’t sure. I’m sorry, I really am, honey,” Rachel started. Rose, humiliated, had snapped back, “Keep your sorries, Rachel. I hope I never speak to either of you again,” and stormed out, slamming the door with a bang behind her. Sam grinned a little. He could picture hot-tempered, vain little Rose being told she was being thrown over for an older woman, even one as attractive as Rachel. “Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you that a gal as pretty and sweet as you will have lots more chances at love, Rose. And when you meet the right fella, he’ll feel the same about you.” Rose’s china-blue eyes turned tragic, to Sam’s hidden amusement. “I’ll never love again,” she said dramatically, even as a handsome young man called at the window for a message. He smiled broadly at Rose, and she fluttered her eyes demurely up at him, smiling back as she handed him his telegraph. Spotting Sam’s ominous look, the young man tipped his hat and left quickly. Sam turned his little sister around. “You say that now, Rose, but you’ll fall in love for real someday. You just haven’t done it yet. And there’s something else you’ll have to do that you haven’t gotten to. Apologize to Buck and Rachel if you did wrong. They’ll forgive you and you can put this behind you.” She looked reluctantly back at him, nodding. Sam smiled down at his little sister, who despite looking all grown up still needed some of his guidance. He patted her on the shoulder, promising to come back when she was off duty to take her to dinner. Striding down the street, he thought how much he and Emma were missing having Rose around the house. Seemed mighty empty in that big old house, without any children like they both hoped they’d have. Month after month since they’d been married, they’d hoped and had that hope dashed so may times it broke his heart to think of it. He’d given up hope, and wanted to suggest to Emma that they make a family for themselves some other way, but he hadn’t worked up the courage to tell her. He knew she wanted to have a baby of her own, and he didn’t want to admit that it looked hopeless. But he knew just as sure that they would have that family one way or another; they just hadn’t done it yet. We Owe it All to Yesterday August 1865, Rock Creek The wagon pulled up to the gate of a ranch just outside Rock Creek, and the couple riding in it looked around the grounds. “Looks like the boys have done pretty well for themselves, Emma,” the man said, impressed. “This is quite an operation.” Sam admired the horses running in a nearby paddock and reached out to help his wife down from the wagon. “Sure is, Sam,” Emma said quietly. She had been putting off coming to visit her old friends for as long as she could. Kid’s little boy, Noah, was nearly six months old, and Emma had sensed from Louise’s recent letters that Lou was hurt at Emma’s continued excuses for not visiting. Emma sighed. She wouldn’t hurt Lou’s feelings for anything, but secretly she was not looking forward to visiting and seeing the new baby. Even Teaspoon had a new daughter, at his age, Emma thought jealously. She and Sam had been praying for children since the day they were married, and those prayers had never come true for them. Her longing for children had only intensified after Sam’s sister Rose, who had come to live with them for a few years, had left home, first for Rock Creek and then on to San Francisco with a man she’d run off with suddenly. Now Emma felt at loose ends more than ever. It had never occurred to Emma that this could happen. She had a child before, in her first marriage. It was never openly spoken between them, but she knew it wasn’t her fault they had never had a child. She glanced at Sam, standing by the corral. Who would have thought looking at him that he couldn’t give her a child, she thought, then blushed with shame at allowing that disloyal thought to occur to her again. She only prayed that Sam didn’t know how she secretly blamed him for their childless state. Her mind knew it wasn’t his fault, but her heart ached so for children, it seemed to be warping her on the inside. It had grown to the point where she resented poor Louise’s happiness in her own child, after all that poor girl had been through, Emma berated herself. She shook her head and braced herself for the visit. Louise had written that the first house on the compound was hers and Kid’s. Emma came and rapped on the door, though they were a little early. Sam excused himself and headed off toward the far paddock where he could see what looked like Kid, Cody, Buck, and Teaspoon in the distance. Through the door, Emma could hear the baby crying, but Louise did not appear at the door. Emma became a little concerned, and stuck her head in the door. “Lulabelle?” she called. Lou’s voice came back faintly. “Back here, Emma.” Emma followed the sound of the voice onto the back porch, where Lou was sitting on the floor, trying to rock a screaming Noah in his bassinet, while leaning her head on a nearby chair over a basin. Her face was ashen, and from the looks of the basin she had just gotten sick. Lou turned her embarrassed face toward her friend. “Emma, if you could pick him up a minute, I’d appreciate it. I’m a little faint, or I would,” as she turned, weakly, back over the basin, resting her head. Emma picked up the crying baby, and he immediately stopped crying as she clucked and hummed to him. “You got a stomach bug, Lulabelle?” she asked sympathetically. “Not exactly,” Lou mumbled, her head still leaning on the back of her hand. “It’s so-called morning sickness again, even though this time around it’s lasting the whole day. I wasn’t sick a day the first time I was pregnant.” Emma felt a wave of jealousy so fearsome it left her weak and ashamed. “You’re pregnant again?” she said, in a low tone. “Yes. Almost four months. I thought I couldn’t, while I was nursing baby Noah.” She turned a rueful face slightly toward Emma. “That’s apparently not foolproof.” Her face turned green again and she started retching into the basin. “I’m sorry, Emma, I meant to have everything so nice for you when you came but I feel so bad today,” the young woman said weakly. “That’s quite all right, Louise, you can’t help it. What do you say I take baby Noah here inside for a bit, and maybe put on some dinner for the menfolk?” Lou, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, shook her head. “Rachel and Polly said they’d take care of it, Emma, you’re a guest. But if you wouldn’t mind playing with him for a little bit, it would really help me,” she managed, before her nausea took over and the poor woman vomited yet again. Emma sat down with baby Noah in the kitchen, where she presented him with a small, hard teething biscuit from a cookie jar marked with his name on the shelf. He grabbed it and gummed it eagerly, looking up with dancing blue eyes at his new best friend. Emma looked back intently, tears coming into her own eyes. How she wished that she had been blessed with a beautiful healthy baby like this. The little baby frowned over his biscuit at the change in her expression, then put his hand up to her face and pulled at a strand of escaped red curls, pealing with laughter. Emma could not help but smile, but inside her heart felt like an open wound at the sight of the one thing above all else she wanted but could not have. ***************************************** Sam greeted his four old friends warmly out in the field, noting immediately Kid’s walking stick and sightless eyes. Kid was still strapping and tanned, though, and seemed contented enough. He was leading a colt he introduced as Katy’s first foal. The four men chatted amiably for a bit, about the ranch and all that had happened since the last time they had seen Sam. So much had changed, for all of them and for the country itself, but the five men felt as if they picked up where they had left off. The dinner bell clanged noisily through the air, and the five started off. “We’ll be eating at my house tonight, the little ladies have a special treat in store I understand,” Teaspoon blustered proudly. “And then you can meet our young’uns, Sam.” “Be nice to see Lou again, and meet Rachel and Polly too,” Sam said. Kid hesitated; Teaspoon and Buck already knew, and he figured Lou wouldn’t mind if he broke the news to Sam and Cody. “Well, Lou might not be feeling up to dinner, Sam.” “Everything okay?” Sam asked. Lord knows, with all the young couple had been through, he hoped there was no new trouble ahead. “Just fine,” Kid said, smiling. “But she’s expecting again, due in about five or six months.” Cody stopped short. “Lord almighty, Kid, but she just had little Noah six months ago! I didn’t figure, now that you’re, well, since you can’t see, and all, I guess I didn’t figure that you two, well,” he stumbled awkwardly over his words, realizing how silly he sounded. Kid shook his head, sighing. “For your information, Cody, I may have lost my eyesight but everything else I got is fully functioning.” He smiled again, reaching out and clapping Cody on the shoulder. “I’m hoping Lou and I have a dozen children, and plan to have a lot of fun trying to get there.” Sam was silent, dropping his gaze toward the ground as they walked, not joining in the mildly ribald men’s talk that followed. He knew the fellas didn’t mean any harm, but it hurt his pride a little to hear this kind of talk. He knew he’d disappointed Emma terribly by not giving her the children she wanted more than anything. And if a woman was ever meant to be a mother, she was. ************************************************ The group of friends sat companionably at the table after dinner, relaxing and chatting about old times, old friends, especially Ike, who had been so special to Emma. Buck still felt the loss of his friend keenly, even after so many years. Their conversation was interrupted when a knock came at the kitchen door. “Maybe Lou was feeling well enough to join us after all,” Emma said. “She wouldn’t knock on our door, though, we come and go as we please in all each other’s houses,” said Buck, as he rose and opened the door. To all their surprise, the visitor was a familiar one from the far off days of yesterday. It was their friend Ike’s only true love, Emily Metcalfe, and by her side was a little boy with enormous hazel eyes. “I’ve been looking for you, Buck. The cowhands down by the gate told me I could find you here,” she said, turning her head after the brief effort, to cough violently. “Come in, Emily, I’m sorry. Come in and sit down,” Buck said hastily. Sam jumped up and offered the frail looking girl his seat. “Sam, Emma, you never met Emily. She was . . . well, she was the girl Ike fell in love with right before he died,” Buck explained. Kid, who of course hadn’t seen the little boy, spoke up next. “Been a long time, Emily. What brings you back to Rock Creek? Just passing through or planning to stay a while?” Emily saw the stick by the chair, and Kid’s unmoving eyes. “I know it’s been a long time. Since Ike’s funeral, I guess. I been busy, moving around a lot.” She looked around at their attentive faces. “This is Ike’s son, Isaac Metcalfe,” she said finally. “And I came looking for you after all this time because,” she stopped again, strangely out of breath. Her eyes were ringed in gray circles, her face gaunt. “Because I need help. You were Ike’s best friend, Buck. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Rachel reached over and pressed the girl’s hand. “Of course we’ll all help you as much as we can, honey. What’s going on?” Emily looked hesitantly at Isaac. Teaspoon, sensing what Emily was about to say, stood up. “Isaac, my name’s Teaspoon. I knew your pa pretty well, and thought an awful lot of him. If you’re anything like him, you probably like horses a lot, don’t you?” Isaac nodded silently. Teaspoon continued. “How would you like to come out with me and my girl Jo here and play with some baby horses I got in the barnyard?” Isaac looked mutely at his mother, and she nodded. Isaac spoke up suddenly. “Sure thing, Mr. Teaspoon.” Teaspoon led the two children out the back door. Emily sighed, heavily, and started telling her story. “I have consumption. Final stages. The doctors give me a few months, at the rate I’m declining. Pretty soon I won’t be able to care for Isaac anymore, and not long after that, I’ll be gone and he’ll be an orphan.” She turned to Buck. “Please Buck. Ike would never want his child sent to an orphanage. I know it’s a lot to ask, but won’t you please take him in?” The young mother’s voice broke. “I need to know he’ll have a home where people want him, before I die,” she said, not crying but with a shaking voice. “Please, Buck,” she whispered. Buck glanced at his fiancée Rachel. If it were up to him, he would agree in a heartbeat, but this was a decision that the two of them needed to discuss, since they had never contemplated children. Before he could speak, however, Emma’s voice cut in unexpectedly. “Miss Metcalfe, I know you and I haven’t met,” Emma started. “But I knew Ike too, and he was like a son to me.” She stopped, looking hopefully at Sam. To her relief, Sam nodded, encouraging her. Emma turned back to Emily and continued, “I’d be honored if you’d come home with me and my husband, and let us help you until the time comes . . . and then let us give your boy a home afterwards. He wouldn’t want for anything, I can promise you.” Emma’s eyes were pleading with Emily’s. Emily looked unsure at first, but the look in Emma’s eyes seemed to convince her. This woman wanted children, more than anything, Emily could see at a glance. Little Isaac would be well cared for, she knew instinctively. Emma’s hand reached for Sam’s hand, resting on her shoulder, and squeezed it. Emma’s joy at being a mother was dampened by the sorrow and fear in the young mother’s face, but still, she knew, with all her being, that this was meant to be. Isaac and Emily would be the family that had eluded her until now. Fate had led her here tonight, to be here when Ike’s son needed her most. Epilogue Emma folded up the letter from Lou, who wrote that she was expecting a fourth baby any day now. Emma hoped to visit soon afterwards. She felt no vestige of jealousy anymore, and was only glad for her dear friend’s happiness. Heading upstairs, Emma knelt by her son’s bed with him to hear his prayers. Ten year old Isaac was beginning to protest certain little boy routines, but for some reason did not seem to mind this one. Each night, he knelt and blessed his mother and father in heaven. Emma had come to love the brave young woman as a daughter, and wanted always to keep her memory alive in their son’s heart. She kept a picture of Emily and Ike that Ike had drawn, in a frame by the child’s door to help him always remember them, and told him stories of his wonderful father and mother nearly every night. He next always blessed “Ma” and “Pa” as he called her and Sam. After prayers were over, Emma tucked him in and went toward the door to blow out the lamp on the table near it. She paused, looking up at the picture h