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[Mara=^.^=]

A rando drew Tex. Yeehaw

 

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

Hey! It's HER!

[Mara=^.^=]

On the outskirts of Retro Valley proper, there was an old, dilapidated church. The entire structure slanted sideways, and when the wind blew in from the desert, the blanched splinters creaked like an old man's bones. A graveyard huddled in its leeward shadow â€“ dozens of crosses, some wood, some stone, all weathered into anonymity. Once, it had been hallowed ground, but now it lay forsaken, disregarded even by the vultures. Such was the way of things: dust to dust, with a spate of heartbeats in between.

 

Tex tipped her hat to the forgotten dead as she and her companions cantered by. Mid-morning shadows stretched out from the party, melding horses with their riders; Mr. Neutron led the group, while she, Injun Nick, and Betty followed close behind. This unlikely combination was the product of a chance encounter earlier, and now they were all stuck with it. Nick chewed on his unlit cigar, squinting out into the brightness, as Betty regaled him with a passage from Ephesians. His restlessness was palpable.

 

In the distance, beyond the din of human voices, river water thundered. Tex longed to pay a visit to its shores â€“ to fall upon her knees in supplication to the valley's pagan god, in the hope that he might offer counsel. Had she erred too greatly yesterday? It had been a major risk to include Libby in the search for her missing murder contract, but none of the alternatives had seemed the wiser option. The barkeep was impossible to stonewall, and she had a keen eye on her; it stood to reason that she, not Tex, would be the one to find it. Better to supply an explanation in advance, and forestall any scrutiny of the document's true contents.

 

That self-same fickle god probably has the contract now, she thought, and he's unlikely to surrender it. Best to soldier on.

 

Not far from the church, the riders came upon a confluence of paths. Some were ghost-trails, petering out a stone's throw from the crossroads, while others disappeared into plots of barley, wheat and rye. The grains here formed a patchwork quilt â€“ green, then gold, then green again â€“ but it was a Lilliputian version of the one on Carl's acreage, and a row of empty furrows still awaited tilling. It was the beginnings of a farm, built atop the ruins of whatever came before.

 

"You can thank Kevin and Oleander for the newly-planted crops," narrated Mr. Neutron, pointing at a square of barley. Tex had no idea who Kevin was, but then again, an assassin could not be expected to remember every random yokel living near the town.

 

"With all due respect, Mr. Neutron," came Betty's honeyed voice, "aren't you forgetting someone? Without your irrigation system, none of this bounty would be possible."

 

"Oh, well," he chuckled bashfully, rubbing at his neck, "I do what I can."

 

The outlaw rolled her eyes, and Nick flashed her an irreverent grin. "At least she isn't quoting Bible verses anymore," he whispered.

 

Up ahead, their destination beckoned: a brand new homestead, and beside it, a timber skeleton waiting to receive its wooden flesh. A swarm of townsfolk had descended on the site in preparation for the day's events. Tex counted at least five wagons, and two canopies provided shade to tables stocked with jugs and picnic baskets, courtesy of the settlement's female residents. She caught the scent of spices on the air.

 

"I hope my pies are good enough," the preacher fretted, as they approached the throng of women gathered around the tables. "I'm a little nervous. It's been years since I attended a barn-raising bee."

 

"Technically it's a granary," corrected Mr. Neutron, because his pedantry knew no bounds. "But I wouldn't worry about your pies â€“ I'm sure they'll be appreciated. I, for one, cannot wait to try them."

 

You hate pie, thought Tex irritably, you unrepentant liar.

 

Aloud she asked him, "Whose land is this?"

 

"Well, the 'official' story is that two of Kevin's brothers will be moving in to tend it," he replied. "But everyone knows that Oleander means to marry Emily, so when the time comes, the happy couple will take up residence, and Kevin's kin will take over as grangehands for the Wheezers."

 

"What the Sheriff means to say," clarified Nick, leaning towards her, "is that he owns the land, and he decides who's allowed to live on it."

 

The resentment in the trapper's voice intrigued her. There were still so many things she didn't understand about Retro Valley's inner workings. The politics of power were insidious and subtle; they took time to puzzle out. It was time she didn't have â€“ Tex was on a collision course with Friday's morbid deadline.

 

"Nick!" came an excited voice.

 

They brought their horses to a halt, and Britney emerged from the crowd.

 

"Hi, Nick!" she piped. "Howdy ya'll! Welcome to the granny bee!"

 

"Can you please stop calling it that," groaned the Sheriff, as Britney blinked and simpered for her swain.

 

"Gran-a-ry bee is too dang hard to say," she shot back. "My nickname rolls right off the tongue. It's so catchy, the whole town fancies it."

 

Libby materialized beside her, clad in a checkered blue dress and apron. "Britney's right â€“ granny bee is head and shoulders better." She raised the volume of her voice. "Ain't that so, ladies?"

 

A round of "yes ma'am"s and "mm-hmm"s rippled through the crowd. Nissa, who was decked out in a hat so enormous that it hid her face, nodded enthusiastically, and the brim flopped up and down.

 

"You see that, Sheriff?" smirked Libby. "It seems you've been outvoted."

 

"The perils of democracy!" sang Britney, and Nick chuckled warmly.

 

"At any rate," the barkeep continued, "ya'll took your sweet time gettin' here. Butch and Mr. Wilderman are rarin' to get started."

 

"Butch is sober?" asked the Sheriff, dismounting from his horse.

 

"I should hope so," snorted Libby. "He's the carpenter in charge."

 

Mr. Neutron pulled some schematics from his saddle bag. "I'm going to inspect the staddle stones," he said. "Just in case."

 

Off he went, muttering to himself, and Tex hopped down from her saddle. Nick limped over to help Betty off of hers, and a bevy of hugs, kisses, and compliments ensued, as the entourage of women greeted the preacher. Nissa and Britney unloaded the pies from her riding basket with cheerful, ruthless efficiency, and as soon as everyone was clear, an acne-peppered teen came forward to collect the animals.

 

It took Libby all of 30 seconds to descend upon the outlaw. "Mornin' beautiful," she crooned, looping her arm through Tex's. "Glad you could make it."

 

Tex found that she was suddenly in very high spirits. "Libby?" she gasped, feigning wonderment. "Why, you look so heavenly today, I near mistook you for an angel."

 

"Oh, stop." The barkeep wiggled with delight. "You're too much."

 

"Careful," interjected Nissa. "She's been praised to the skies for two days running. Keep it up, and her head's liable to swell up like a hot air balloon."

 

"Oh, pish," dismissed the barkeep. "Nobody asked you." She beamed up at Tex. "Now â€“ my lovely pistolera â€“ since you're not otherwise engaged, might I take you for a jaunt? There's somebody I've been dyin' for you to meet."

 

Tex glanced around. "There are quite a few 'somebodies' here I haven't met."

 

"Yes, but there's one in particular who...well, it'll be easier just to show you. I swear, the two of you are gonna get on like a house on fire. C'mon!"

 

Miss Folfax tugged her into motion, and the pair of them steered around the flock of chatting, preening ladies, and made a beeline for the nascent granary. At this stage in its construction, the building resembled a gigantic four-poster bed. The foundation sat atop a row of staddle stones, which would keep the grain out of reach of vermin. The floor had already been laid, and a quartet of wooden posts stretched up from the floorboards, marking the end points of four nonexistent walls. Beside the structure, two piles of cut timber awaited the assembly crew. Carl, Ike, Wendell, Oleander, and Bolbi were among the men gathered nearby. Mr. Neutron skulked along the ground, measuring the stones.

 

"Yoo-hoo!" called Libby. "Sally Sagebrush, where're you at?"

 

One of the men turned around â€“ and Tex saw that she wasn't a man at all. She was a tall, well-built woman, with short brown hair and a dusting of freckles. She wore denim, chaps, and boots with spurs, and her ten-gallon hat had a black velvet band around the base. Even from a distance, she exuded confidence, and Tex found herself unexpectedly tongue-tied. Libby pushed her forward.

 

"Sally!" she said brightly. "I've got someone to show you. This here's Tex...you know, the one I've been tellin' you about?"

 

The rancher's eyebrows shot up. There was a strange, tense silence as she and Tex sized each other up â€“ then Sally broke into a huge grin, and it was instantly contagious.

 

"Tex!" she exclaimed, stepping forward to shake her hand. "What a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Libby tells me you're a real terror â€“ in the best possible way."

 

Sally's hand was rough, but warm. Tex gripped it with enthusiasm. "And you must be the roughrider out by Marble Orchard," she returned. "You've got one hell of a handshake."

 

Sally laughed. "I get that a lot. Strong handshake" â€“ she leaned forward and lowered her voice â€“ "and then the questions start."

 

"Ha!" grinned Tex. "I hear ya, sister. I won't bore you with the same old song and dance. I'll just ask you this: where'd you get your hat?"

 

Sally touched the brim. "This old thing? I've had it for years. It was a...parting gift of sorts, from my big brother. Two days after he gave it to me, that crazy so-and-so ran off and joined the clergy."

 

"The clergy?"

 

"Left the rest of us scramblin' to make do," she chuckled. "Bully for him, though."

 

"Sally's the eldest, after him," said Libby, offering context. "Her younger brothers are practically still babes."

 

The rancher snorted. "Not anymore they ain't. One came to me this week to brag because he found a single hair growin' on his chin. He's been swaggerin' around like a banty ever since, flirtin' with women twice his age. It's embarrassing for everyone."

 

"They're all peacocks at that age," the barkeep smiled.

 

"Enough about my brothers," said Sally. "I wanna hear about you! How's a scary-lookin' dame like you wind up running with the law, and not against it?" She looked Tex up and down. "Gosh, but you could skin me like a cat."

 

"It's true I haven't always walked a bloodless path," recited Tex, smooth as butter. "Once upon a time, I used to be a bounty hunter." Technically, it wasn't a lie.

 

"A bounty hunter?" repeated Libby, eyes glittering.

 

"I'm the one who captured Jedediah 'Deadeye' Jones," she boasted, with a smug little waggle of her head. "Got shot for my trouble, too."

 

Libby and Sally exchanged glances.

 

"You quick on the draw?" asked the rancher.

 

"I have no equal."

 

"Then maybe you can help me with my problem. Damn rustlers are a constant thorn in my side, and it ain't just horses; this spring, they tried to kidnap and ransom my kid brother. I've taken potshots at 'em, but they just keep comin' back."

 

"I've dealt with rustlers before. Kidnappers, too. Do you need me to put them in the ground?"

 

"Actually, yeah," responded Sally. "That'd be great. Or better yet, let's stack 'em up like cordwood â€“ we can use them as kindling if our supplies start runnin' low."

 

"Okay then," put in Libby. "I'm gonna go now. You two have fun talkin' shop."

 

She patted Tex on the arm, curtsied to excuse herself, and left.

 

"Ain't she just the sweetest?" commented Sally, watching the barkeep go.

 

Tex smiled fondly. "I kind of love her."

 

"Heh, yeah. Everybody does. Anyone with taste, anyhow."

 

"Have you asked Mr. Neutron to help you with the rustlers?"

 

"He's done a full sweep of the property, but the buzzards have a sixth sense about them. They wait until it's just Amber and me out there, and then they swoop in." She spit on the ground. "Being women makes us targets, no matter how much I wish it didn't."

 

Tex grinned. "So put me in a bonnet. I'll lure the bastards in."

 

Sally laughed, and a warm glow suffused the outlaw. Knowing that this charismatic woman would have valued the Tex of Yesteryear was strangely reassuring.

 

"How long will you be in town?" asked Sally.

 

"I â€“"

 

The clanging of a cowbell interrupted her, and heads all over the hillside angled toward the sound.

 

"Callin' all shitheads!" belted Butch. "Ten minute warning!"

 

"Welp," said Sally, with a swing of her arm, "that's my cue. I'm off to enlist in the shithead army. Catch you round?"

 

"Sure thing."

 

The roughrider saluted and sauntered off to join the gathering regiment.

 

"Well, Miss Vortex," said the outlaw to no one in particular, "looks like you're on your own."

 

At first, Tex looked for Libby. When she couldn't find her, she took to prowling the periphery, scoping out the property. It was a place ruled by mismatched halves. The clapboard cabin was made from two different kinds of wood; likewise, the hillside itself was cleft along the spine. The side facing the river was a lush, green Canaan, while the side facing the desert echoed the perils of the Sinai. Scrub plants choked the rocky soil, clinging tenaciously to life. Far beyond them lay the wastes, silent and eternal, and Tex imagined soaring high above the sands, unbound by earthly tethers. Who might she become if she could sprout a pair of wings?

 

It did not occur to Tex that her presence might be welcomed by anyone but Libby, so she was taken by surprise when a shrill whistle pierced the air, and a voice called out her name.

 

"Vortex!" shouted Mr. Neutron, waving his arm at her. "Come here!"

 

"Did you just whistle for me like a dog?" she gaped.

 

"Not my fault you're too deaf to hear me ask politely. Now quit your bellyaching, and get on over here."

 

She stuffed her hands into her pockets and grumble-walked his way, sidestepping some mallets and hopping over a recumbent ladder as she went. That he had the audacity to summon her while crouching on the ground like a mole cricket only worsened the insult.

 

"What do you want?" she demanded, when they were close enough to speak without shouting.

 

"You ever been to a raising bee before?" He was arranging a group of tools by size.

 

"Huh? A raising bee?" Tex considered. "Hmm...once, that I can think of. But that was back in my hometown, when I was barely more than a child."

 

"Then you know how this works," he said. "Everyone pulls their weight. You didn't bring anything to eat, and you don't have an instrument, so by default, you're on construction duty. Now hand me one of those mallets."

 

Bewildered into compliance, she did as she was told. "You sure you want me in your hair, Neutron?" she asked, while passing it his way. "I'm a woman of many talents, but I don't know the first thing about carpentry."

 

"So? I'll teach you as we go." He shuffled left to grab something, and the edge of her longcoat bumped him in the face. He swatted at it. "And take off that godforsaken duster jacket, before it snags on something."

 

Tex sighed. I should've kept the poncho, she thought, as she tossed her coat a safe distance from the fray. I could have used it to smother him.

 

The Sheriff handed her a pair of work gloves, and they fell into line together as the motley crew of workers queued up for last inspection. Butch walked up and down the column, barking out orders like a battalion commander.

 

"Ya'll know the drill," he hollered. "Frame goes up first, then we do the siding and the roof. We only got so many nails, so don't waste 'em. If you go too fast and hurt yourself, don't come cryin' to me â€“ I ain't your nursemaid, and I ain't gonna suckle ya."

 

"And no drinking on the job!" added Ike, with a sideways glance at Butch. "We don't want a repeat of the falling hammer incident."

 

"My scapula still hurts," said Carl sadly.

 

"Any questions?" belted Butch. "Anyone? No? Then get movin', ladies!"

 

After that, things unfolded in earnest. In the beginning, it was simply a question of muscle, and for this, Tex needed very little direction. She and Mr. Neutron quickly fell into a rhythm: they schlepped over to the pile, hoisted a piece of timber, carried it to the granary, and deposited it on the ground. Hoist, carry, drop, hoist, carry, drop. There was no need for conversation; a nudge here, a nod there, and they synced up seamlessly, like two gears in the same clock. Effortless. Invigorating.

 

The second stage was more opaque. Protocol dictated that the four wall-frames be assembled on the ground before being lifted into place. Expertise was required to join the vertical posts, horizontal beams, and diagonal support struts, and the Sheriff expounded on the process while they worked. He was a capable teacher â€“ a bit verbose, perhaps, but never patronizing. Tex listened attentively.

 

Most of the menfolk paid them no mind, but a few watched their interactions with amusement, and eventually, the Sheriff put his foot in his mouth.

 

"This is a Mortise and Tenon Joint," he explained, pointing to a cube-shaped protuberance jutting out from one of the posts. "The Tenon on this piece slots into the square hole â€“ the Mortise â€“ on that one. When the prong is the right size, it fits perfectly inside the hole. This obviates the need for metal fasteners. Now. Grip that wood, and give it a good whack â€“ it'll slide right in."

 

One of the men â€“ a tan-skinned fellow with a prodigious unibrow â€“ started cracking up. "Telling the little lady where you're going to put your prong, Neutron?" he sniggered.

 

The Sheriff's glare was fast and fierce. "Shut up, Kevin. Keep your wisecracks to yourself."

 

"Naw," came Nick's voice from behind her, "I'm with Kevin. Tell us more about the finer points of sliding into holes."

 

"Give us a lesson, Sheriff!" whooped someone else.

 

They all laughed, and his cheeks turned an angry shade of red. Tex didn't waste a second.

 

"Can you show me how to grip the wood?" she asked. "I need to work on my technique, and I hear you're something of an expert."

 

"Not you, too!" he groaned.

 

"Come on, Neutron," she said, tossing the mallet and catching it again. "It's funny."

 

"You heard her, padre," razzled Nick. "She wants to learn! Now go ahead and educate your pupil â€“ we're all waiting!"

 

More laughter, and Kevin threw a playful clod of dirt at Nick.

 

"If you keep this up," glowered the Sheriff, "then the woodworking lesson's over. It'll be nothing but EUCLIDEAN GEOMETRY from here on out. With proofs!" He shouted the last word.

 

The outburst was met with cries of dismay, and one particularly emphatic curse. The crowd of bawdy onlookers dispersed.

 

"Troglodytes," he grumbled, once they had resumed their tasks.

 

Tex wasn't done. She leaned over him, letting her ponytail spill onto his shoulder. "Joke's on you, Sheriff," she whispered. "Euclid puts me in the mood."

 

He swore like a sailor, chucked his mallet, and then went stalking off to get a saw, muttering angrily the whole way. Tex stood there grinning as she watched him go, pleased as punch with her handiwork. So far, it was turning out to be a very good day.

 

They continued working through the early afternoon, taking breaks as needed to obtain refreshments and enjoy a bit of fiddling. The town boasted several competent musicians, though Libby's repertoire of talents exceeded all of them. Her rendition of Silver Threads Among the Gold brought tears to Carl's eyes, and even Tex felt something stir within her when the lyrics carried on the breeze.

 

Darling, I am growing old,
Silver threads among the gold,
Shine upon my brow today,
Life is fading fast away.

 

Tex stopped to watch the Sheriff as he hammered a strut into place. He was sweating and covered in dust, and he held a spare nail in his mouth. A smile crossed her lips.

 

But, my darling, you will be, will be,
Always young and fair to me,
Yes, my darling, you will be
Always young and fair to me.

 

When it came time to raise the wall-frames, a small crowd of women gathered to cheer them on. A temporary ramp allowed the crew to drag the bottom plate onto the granary floor, and once it was properly aligned, they split into two teams. The Pull team clustered inside the nascent building, untangling their ropes, while the Push team remained outside, stretching their muscles and testing out the balance of their driving poles. Tex was antsy; it took immense self-control to refrain from head-bopping shenanigans.

 

"Push team ready!" shouted Butch. "Pull team on sta â€“ Bolbi, you dumb shit, put that hammer down! â€“ Pull team on standby. We move on three: one...two...three!"

 

Tex and the Sheriff crammed their fingers underneath the top plate, bent their knees, and lifted. Getting it off the ground was the hardest part. When it reached chest height, she wedged her shoulder underneath to get more traction. She felt him straining next to her.

 

"Pull team ready!" called Butch. "Ropes on three: one...two...three!"

 

A tug from beyond, and the weight lessened. Slowly, the whole frame began to tilt into an upright position. She, Mr. Neutron, and some of the other Push team members stepped away to grab their poles, while others continued hefting.

 

"Push team ready. Poles on three!"

 

She drove the tip of her pole into the sturdy junction between a post and beam. Beside her, others did the same, and together they advanced like lancers in a forward line. The wood creaked as it neared its vertical berth.

 

"Keep 'er steady, now!"

 

Ike and Mr. Neutron dropped their poles and moved forward to anchor the bottom plate, while Carl and Bolbi used their bodies as makeshift buttresses. Tex wiped sweat from her brow and looked up. A Red-Tailed Hawk drifted overhead; its keening cry trailed behind it like a banner.

 

"Two minute break," announced Butch. "Get some water, scratch your ass. Then we do the next one."

 

By the time they finished all four walls, the whole crew was exhausted and hungry, and they adjourned for lunch. The lush side of the hill was a lovely spot for a picnic, and the townsfolk fanned out across the grass, seated three or four to a blanket. Mr. Neutron joined Elke, Carl, and Oleander, while Tex settled beside Libby and Sally. She regretted her choice of venue a moment later when Betty appeared, carrying sarsaparilla.

 

"Here come the drinks!" caroled the preacher, passing out the cups. "Try not to spill any."

 

Betty was accompanied by a woman Tex didn't recognize. The stranger had a scholarly air, with short, dark-blond hair and tiny spectacles. There was something cold and stern about her, but she favored Sally with the barest hint of a smile when they sat.

 

"My, isn't this fortuitous!" exclaimed Betty, playing hostess. "Miss Tex â€“ have you met Amber yet?"

 

"I don't believe I have." Tex turned toward the bespectacled woman.

 

Amber's expression didn't change, and she made no move to extend a hand in greeting. Instead, she passed a sandwich to Sally.

 

"Amber is a poet and a stagecoach driver," explained Betty. "She handles the bi-weekly supply runs from Marble Orchard down to Retro Valley. She currently resides at the Sagebrush property and acts as Sally's, um..." Betty paused. "...live-in female companion," she finished.

 

Ah, thought Tex. One of those arrangements.

 

"Amber is Betty's second cousin," added Libby. "They attended school together."

 

"Pleased to meet you," nodded Tex. Amber bit into a radish.

 

"The frame is coming along," she observed.

 

Sally wiped her hands. "Yeah, well. I have a feelin' we'll hit a snag before dinner. I just saw Butch hittin' the Flurp when he thought no one was lookin'. I give it two hours before he makes a scene."

 

Betty shook her head. "Somebody needs to have a word with that poor man. He isn't well."

 

"He's a louse, is what he is," grumbled Sally. "Someone ought to whoop him."

 

Amber smiled into her glass. Betty changed the subject.

 

"Say," she remarked, glancing around, "is Señor Estevez here today? I haven't seen him."

 

"He's...occupied," mumbled Libby. "Let's talk about somethin' else." She picked up a tea cake and shoved the entire thing into her mouth.

 

After lunch, the crew tackled the roof-frames, and her carpentry lessons continued. While they assembled the beams and struts, Mr. Neutron raved excitedly about the structural integrity of triangles. Tex found another triangle to study: the one formed by his shoulders and hips.

 

For shame, chided her inner voice. You are a disgrace to your profession.

 

Don't like it? Don't look, she shot back.

 

The sun traveled west. They hoisted the completed segments into place and added in the rafters. Carl hummed, Sally chatted. Nick and Wendell sang a chanty. Eventually, Ike had to call a recess so that Dr. Bolbi could be escorted from the field. He was cradling a grotesquely bloodied, swollen thumb, and he blubbered in his native language as Ignishka hurried over with a first aid bag.

 

"What happened to him?" rubbernecked Tex.

 

"Put a nail through his thumb," replied Wendell. "Looks nasty."

 

"Guess he has two thumbnails now," quipped Sally. She stretched, then dragged her forearm across her brow. "Yeesh. I am sweatin' like a hooker in church. Who's got a towel?"

 

They moved onto the exterior siding. It was here that Tex truly began to shine: the men discovered that she could climb like a spider monkey, and suddenly, her services were greatly in demand. She scurried up and down ladders, transferring supplies between the ground crew and the roof crew. She could even scale walls to make on-the-fly adjustments to the siding planks. A perennial show-off, she took every opportunity to exhibit her athleticism. She hung backward out of a narrow gap, kicking her legs like a schoolyard urchin.

 

"Do a flip!" dared Nick.

 

"Focus," urged the Sheriff.

 

Tex caught several of the men leering at her backside as she scrambled, but they had the good sense to keep their comments to themselves...for awhile. Nick made some flirtatious remarks that approached the line, but didn't cross it â€“ that distinction, unsurprisingly, belonged to the now-intoxicated Butch. He waited until the lawman was out of earshot to wolf-whistle boorishly at her. When she looked down at him, he hooted and made a lewd motion with his crotch. Tex froze mid-climb; this was a far cry from the good-natured ribbing she'd appreciated earlier.

 

Ike â€“ who was either a gentleman, or a workaholic â€“ chucked a splinter at Butch. "Were you raised in a barn?" he admonished. "Keep your mind on the work, man. You're supposed to be a professional."

 

"It's her fault for runnin' up and down the walls, wearin' nothin' but them tight pants," he protested. "What's a fella supposed to think? If you don't like me whistlin', Wilderman, tell her to skedaddle."

 

"Butch." Carl's tone was unusually insistent. "That's no way to act around a lady."

 

"Lady? Please." He squeezed the air at chest height. "She's got the right equipment, sure, but that don't make her the marquise."

 

"That's enough," commanded Ike. "Simmer down, both of you."

 

Carl wasn't having it. "No. I will not simmer down. Is that how you treat Elke when I'm not around, Butch?"

 

Butch took a swig from his flask, then wiped his mouth. "Your woman don't shove her keister in my face, Wheezer. Jesus. Get your glasses fixed, so you can see what's right in front of you."

 

"God, you're a miserable cad when you drink," muttered Wendell.

 

"What's that?" He whirled to glare at him. "You wanna say that to my face?"

 

"Hey!" shouted Sally, setting down the plank she'd been carrying. "What's going on over there? Do I need to come kick some manners into you cretins?"

 

Butch rolled up his sleeve. "You're welcome to try, Clydesdale!"

 

"Enough!" roared Wendell, in disgust. "Save it for the dance floor, all of you!"

 

For a moment, it looked like the whole thing might come to blows, but then Mr. Neutron came strolling back, blissfully oblivious, and suddenly everyone was on their best behavior again. Tex mulled things over. Ordinarily, when a guy like Butch gave her trouble, she beat the ever-loving crap out of him to set an example. In this case, the other men had already censured him, so there was no need for a public spectacle. She could always thrash him later.

 

Pig, she thought, and let the matter drop.

 

As the shadows grew longer, Mr. Neutron assumed the role of master carpenter. There was no helping it â€“ Butch was too drunk to access his higher functions â€“ but his departure meant that Tex had to find a new work partner. The outlaw's mean-streak whispered to her, urging her to punish Butch. Now he's crossed you twice, it said. Make the drunkard pay. She fed it scraps, but kept it on a leash.

 

"Five minute break!" called Mr. Neutron, sighing heavily. "Bolbi's trapped inside the outhouse. I gotta go get the door open."

 

The men dispersed. Tex dropped to the ground.

 

"God, my back," complained Sally, one hand on her lumbar region. "I can feel the hunch comin'. I'll be Quasimodo before sunset."

 

"I'm Esmeralda now," said Tex, and stuck out her derrière. Sally laughed.

 

The two women handled tasks together for the remainder of the session. Butch's antics had put the whole enterprise behind schedule, and when it came time to stop for dinner, Ike and Mr. Neutron volunteered to stay behind and finish up the roofing. Tex enjoyed a glass of lemonade before settling down to eat. The evening meal was superb; Libby's jambalaya was to die for, and loath as she was to admit it, Tex had to concede that Betty's pies were almost good. She had two slices.

 

After clean-up, Tex grabbed her coat and left in search of solitude. The womenfolk made for pleasant company, but the shrieks of Nissa's gamboling children were getting on her nerves. For her destination, Tex chose the far side of the cabin, and this proved to be a mistake. As she wandered between the parked wagons, she stumbled across a scene straight out of a courtesan's handbook: Nick and Britney, pressed against a whitetop, kissing like the world was ending. He had one hand up her skirt, and her bustier was half-unbuttoned, revealing a ghastly burn scar on her bosom. A single frilly garter lay discarded at their feet.

 

Tex froze when she saw them. As a rule, the outlaw was accustomed to debauchery; in her time, she'd walked past dozens of couples in various states of undress, and she'd never batted an eye. But those merrymakers had been strangers â€“ these were people that she knew. She began to back away, and a twig snapped beneath her boot. Nick pulled his face out of Britney's cleavage and looked over at her. They made eye contact.

 

Tex blushed. "S-sorry," she stammered, rapidly averting her gaze.

 

Britney started giggling, and after a moment, Nick started laughing too. Tex turned tail and power-walked away.

 

Her hasty, unplanned flight took her in the opposite direction of the revelers. She wandered back along the track they'd followed earlier, past the barley and the crossroads, in the direction of the abandoned church. What called her there, the outlaw couldn't say, but she never slowed her pace. Perhaps it was the lure of desolation, or the niggling suspicion that her own fate could be read among the stones. It didn't matter. The graveyard came into view, and what Tex saw there stole her breath away.

 

In the setting sun, the crosses glowed like embers.

 

The image captivated her, haunted her; she wandered toward it. A crumbling section of rock wall was all that remained of the cemetery's rectangular boundary, and the outlaw sat upon the rim. She removed her hat and held it to her chest. She was the proverbial moth.

 

Holy Fire, she thought. Until now, I had not known the meaning.

 

For a moment, it was the only thing she knew.

 

Then a passing cloud threw up a shield, and the air around her cooled. Slowly, her awe dissipated, and she was left with a peculiar sense of loss.

 

I will never see Truth like that again, she reflected.

 

She was selling herself short. Footsteps crunched behind her on the gravel, and she did not turn to look. She recognized their rhythm.

 

"Sheriff," she said.

 

"Deputy," he replied. "I thought I might find you here."

 

 

*************************************************************************************************

 

I'm running out of classmates for these minor character cameos, lol

 

Poor Bolbi is not having a good day

 

HISTORICAL SHIT AND BULLSHIT SHIT

- "Many hands make light work" was a common refrain in frontier settlements. In a world where a pioneering family's survival depended on building their own structures, it was common to call upon neighbors, friends, and relatives to assist with construction. Customarily, preparation was overseen by a master carpenter, and all of the raw materials were assembled in advance. Once everything was ready, the participants came together for a "raising bee", complete with music, food, and dancing. These highly-gendered gatherings made quick work of tasks that would have taken an enormous amount of time and effort for a single family. This tradition still exists among the Amish and in Mennonite communities. Weird Al Yankovic dedicates a verse to it in his 1996 gangsta rap parody, Amish Paradise.
- In the 1870s, granaries were used to store grain for human consumption, whereas pit silos (the precursors to modern, vertical silos) were used to store grain meant for animal feed. I chose to describe the building of a granary instead of the prototypical barn because I wanted to make life more difficult for myself. For our purposes, I've condensed the granary frame components down into a handful of simplified terms: Post = vertical piece of timber, Beam = horizontal piece, Supporting Strut = diagonal piece, Top Plate = the topmost Beam, Bottom Plate = the foundation Beam.
- And they were roommates...oh my god, they were roommates... In 1886, the term "Boston marriage" was popularized to describe the already well-known phenomenon of two unmarried women choosing to co-habitate. Until the 1920s, these unions were seen as perfectly respectable, and they provided women with an alternative to being financially dependent on a man. Some of these relationships were lesbian romances, while others were platonic. President Grover Cleveland's sister (and de Facto First Lady) Rose Cleveland was in such a relationship; her letters to Evangeline Marrs Simpson reveal a steamy courtship and ongoing love affair. It ended when Evangeline married a bishop, then picked back up again after he died.
- Euclid is the Ancient Greek mathematician responsible for everything you learned in high school Geometry class. He wrote The Elements, a mathematical treatise that synthesized theories from prior generations and posited foundational ideas of his own. The Elements can be divided into three main parts, covering Plane Geometry, Number Theory, and Solid Geometry. Euclid is considered to be one of greatest mathematicians of antiquity, and is one of the most influential people in the history of the field. He's also my boo, because I fucking LOVE proofs.
- The song Libby sings in this chapter, Silver Threads Among the Gold, was written by Eben E. Rexford and Hart Pease Danks. When it was first published in 1873, the bittersweet lyrics catapulted the piece into the public imagination. It went on become the most popular song of the decade, and one of the most popular songs of the next 50 years. It was the most frequently recorded song of the acoustic recording era (approx. 1900-1920), and it continued getting radio play requests well into the 1930s and beyond. Nowadays, it's mostly performed by barbershop quartets, but you can find various renditions of it on youtube, including one by Bing Crosby that's quite nice.
- Literary references: The word Lilliputian, used here to mean 'miniature', comes from Gulliver's Travels, written by Jonathan Swift in 1726. In the satirical novel, the protagonist encounters a society of people around six inches in height who live on the island of Lilliput; these are the Lilliputians. Quasimodo and Esmeralda are characters in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, published by Victor Hugo in 1831. Originally in French, the novel was translated into English two years later. Legend has it that â€“ faced with a looming deadline â€“ Hugo stripped naked before locking himself inside his room, so that he couldn't leave until the work was done. Which, as a writer, yeah. I feel ya, buddy.
- I think I mentioned hot air balloons at one point? The hot air balloon is the first successful human-carrying flight technology; the first untethered flight occurred in France in 1783.

 

Vocab:
* Bee - a get-together structured around a specific activity, where neighbors pooled their labor to benefit one or more members of the community. Examples include: a quilting bee, a husking bee, a raising bee, and so forth
* Staddle Stones - mushroom-shaped foundation blocks used to elevate granaries above the ground, thereby protecting the stored grain from rodents, bugs, and water seepage
* Roughrider - a person who breaks horses
* Banty - short for "Bantum", a breed of miniature chicken (basically, Sally's calling her brother a tiny rooster)
* Canaan and the Sinai - in the Biblical book of Exodus, the Israelites spend 40 years wandering in the Sinai wilderness before making it to the promised land of Canaan
* Mole Cricket - a nocturnal, burrowing insect related to true crickets, grasshoppers, and katydids. The species native to Texas â€“ the Northern Mole Cricket â€“ has enlarged, shovel-like front legs and is quite hideous-looking
* Mortise and Tenon Joints - played for laughs, this fundamental piece of wood-working technology has been around for at least 7,000 years. Its biggest selling point is that it saves on nails
* Whitetop - a covered wagon

 

 

NEXT PART -> The Graveyard

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

Yes! Let’s do this. 

 

“On the outskirts of Retro Valley proper, there was an old, dilapidated church. The entire structure slanted sideways, and when the wind blew in from the desert, the blanched splinters creaked like an old man's bones. A graveyard huddled in its leeward shadow – dozens of crosses, some wood, some stone, all weathered into anonymity. Once, it had been hallowed ground, but now it lay forsaken, disregarded even by the vultures. Such was the way of things: dust to dust, with a spate of heartbeats in between.” MARA! This is gorgeous! Stunning! Haunting! Just MMMM.

 

“Nick chewed on his unlit cigar, squinting out into the brightness, as Betty regaled him with a passage from Ephesians. His restlessness was palpable.” Yes, I can imagine it was. 

 

“Had she erred too greatly yesterday? It had been a major risk to include Libby in the search for her missing murder contract, but none of the alternatives had seemed the wiser option. The barkeep was impossible to stonewall, and she had a keen eye on her; it stood to reason that she, not Tex, would be the one to find it. Better to supply an explanation in advance, and forestall any scrutiny of the document's true contents.” I absolutely LOVE that she asked Libby to help. It is very fitting. Private Detective Libby AU 

 

"You can thank Kevin and Oleander for the newly-planted crops," narrated Mr. Neutron, pointing at a square of barley. Tex had no idea who Kevin was, but then again, an assassin could not be expected to remember every random yokel living near the town. "With all due respect, Mr. Neutron," came Betty's honeyed voice, "aren't you forgetting someone? Without your irrigation system, none of this bounty would be possible." "Oh, well," he chuckled bashfully, rubbing at his neck, "I do what I can." The outlaw rolled her eyes, and Nick flashed her an irreverent grin. "At least she isn't quoting Bible verses anymore," he whispered.” hmmm. Why ya rollin’ your eyes there, Cindy? Hmm? 

 

“Up ahead, their destination beckoned: a brand new homestead, and beside it, a timber skeleton waiting to receive its wooden flesh.” SHUT your face, this line is genius. I truly and honestly loved this.

 

"I hope my pies are good enough," the preacher fretted, as they approached the throng of women gathered around the tables. "I'm a little nervous. It's been years since I attended a barn-raising bee." "Technically it's a granary," corrected Mr. Neutron, because his pedantry knew no bounds. "But I wouldn't worry about your pies – I'm sure they'll be appreciated. I, for one, cannot wait to try them." You hate pie, thought Tex irritably, you unrepentant liar.” I am such a sucker for these moments when Jimmy tries to be sweet to Betty, and Tex’s temper shows itself. 

 

“What the Sheriff means to say," clarified Nick, leaning towards her, "is that he owns the land, and he decides who's allowed to live on it."The resentment in the trapper's voice intrigued her. There were still so many things she didn't understand about Retro Valley's inner workings. The politics of power were insidious and subtle; they took time to puzzle out. It was time she didn't have – Tex was on a collision course with Friday's morbid deadline.” I am also intrigued. I have questions. But also the looming deadline keeping Tex from asking questions, even though she clearly is starting to WANT to ask them, is bittersweet.

 

“Libby materialized beside her, clad in a checkered blue dress and apron. "Britney's right – granny bee is head and shoulders better." She raised the volume of her voice. "Ain't that so, ladies?" A round of "yes ma'am"s and "mm-hmm"s rippled through the crowd. Nissa, who was decked out in a hat so enormous that it hid her face, nodded enthusiastically, and the brim flopped up and down.” "You see that, Sheriff?" smirked Libby. "It seems you've been outvoted." Libby has so much sway here and she deserves it. 

 

“It took Libby all of 30 seconds to descend upon the outlaw. "Mornin' beautiful," she crooned, looping her arm through Tex's. "Glad you could make it." Tex found that she was suddenly in very high spirits. "Libby?" she gasped, feigning wonderment. "Why, you look so heavenly today, I near mistook you for an angel." "Oh, stop." The barkeep wiggled with delight. "You're too much.” I adore every interaction these two have. 

 

“The rancher's eyebrows shot up. There was a strange, tense silence as she and Tex sized each other up – then Sally broke into a huge grin, and it was instantly contagious. "Tex!" she exclaimed, stepping forward to shake her hand. "What a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Libby tells me you're a real terror – in the best possible way." Sally's hand was rough, but warm. Tex gripped it with enthusiasm. "And you must be the roughrider out by Marble Orchard," she returned. "You've got one hell of a handshake." Sally laughed. "I get that a lot. Strong handshake" – she leaned forward and lowered her voice – "and then the questions start." "Ha!" grinned Tex. "I hear ya, sister. I won't bore you with the same old song and dance. I'll just ask you this: where'd you get your hat?" Sally touched the brim. "This old thing? I've had it for years. It was a...parting gift of sorts, from my big brother. Two days after he gave it to me, that crazy so-and-so ran off and joined the clergy." This introduction was so well executed. I instantly liked Sally. She seems AWESOME. I also enjoyed how natural this interaction felt. It was very endearing, but realistic at the same time. I could see how these two women would get along.

 

"They're all peacocks at that age," the barkeep smiled.” I don’t have any brothers, but I can see it.

 

"A bounty hunter?" repeated Libby, eyes glittering. "I'm the one who captured Jedediah 'Deadeye' Jones," she boasted, with a smug little waggle of her head. "Got shot for my trouble, too." Libby and Sally exchanged glances. "You quick on the draw?" asked the rancher. "I have no equal." Oh, Libby’s reaction here is perfect. I know I keep using that word, but IT IS ACCURATE. Teehhehe. I really liked how proud Tex was of herself here. Very fitting because HECK YEAH. Take credit where it’s due, girl. 

 

"Ain't she just the sweetest?" commented Sally, watching the barkeep go. Tex smiled fondly. "I kind of love her.""Heh, yeah. Everybody does. Anyone with taste, anyhow." YOU GOT THAT RIGHT. 

 

“Sally laughed, and a warm glow suffused the outlaw. Knowing that this charismatic woman would have valued the Tex of Yesteryear was strangely reassuring. "How long will you be in town?" asked Sally. "I –” The clanging of a cowbell interrupted her, and heads all over the hillside angled toward the sound. "Callin' all shitheads!" belted Butch. "Ten minute warning!" "Welp," said Sally, with a swing of her arm, "that's my cue. I'm off to enlist in the shithead  army. Catch you round?" "Sure thing." This was such a nice little exchange between these two, and yet there’s still that deadline hanging around like an unwelcome little mosquito.  Also, the shithead army LOL- that made me laugh.

 

“Far beyond them lay the wastes, silent and eternal, and Tex imagined soaring high above the sands, unbound by earthly tethers. Who might she become if she could sprout a pair of wings?” You know I’ve gotta point out that I love the imagery here of Tex sprouting wings. 

 

"Vortex!" shouted Mr. Neutron, waving his arm at her. "Come here!" "Did you just whistle for me like a dog?" she gaped. "Not my fault you're too deaf to hear me ask politely. Now quit your bellyaching, and get on over here." She stuffed her hands into her pockets and grumble-walked his way, sidestepping some mallets and hopping over a recumbent ladder as she went. That he had the audacity to summon her while crouching on the ground like a mole cricket only worsened the insult. "What do you want?" she demanded, when they were close enough to speak without shouting.” these two are hopeless and it’s so in-character and it is … guess what, PERFECT!

 

“Tex sighed. I should've kept the poncho, she thought, as she tossed her coat a safe distance from the fray. I could have used it to smother him.” Pffft. Generally, smothering someone is not a good thing to do, Tex. JK JK. I truly appreciate how quickly he gets under her skin. Wonder why that is. 

 

‘After that, things unfolded in earnest. In the beginning, it was simply a question of muscle, and for this, Tex needed very little direction. She and Mr. Neutron quickly fell into a rhythm: they schlepped over to the pile, hoisted a piece of timber, carried it to the granary, and deposited it on the ground. Hoist, carry, drop, hoist, carry, drop. There was no need for conversation; a nudge here, a nod there, and they synced up seamlessly, like two gears in the same clock. Effortless. Invigorating. The second stage was more opaque. Protocol dictated that the four wall-frames be assembled on the ground before being lifted into place. Expertise was required to join the vertical posts, horizontal beams, and diagonal support struts, and the Sheriff expounded on the process while they worked. He was a capable teacher – a bit verbose, perhaps, but never patronizing. Tex listened attentively.” I am SUCH a sap because I am a SUCKER for moments like this. Two people working together seamlessly as a team is always nice to see and in this case, it’s freaking hot.

 

"This is a Mortise and Tenon Joint," he explained, pointing to a cube-shaped protuberance jutting out from one of the posts. "The Tenon on this piece slots into the square hole – the Mortise – on that one. When the prong is the right size, it fits perfectly inside the hole. This obviates the need for metal fasteners. Now. Grip that wood, and give it a good whack – it'll slide right in." One of the men – a tan-skinned fellow with a prodigious unibrow – started cracking up. "Telling the little lady where you're going to put your prong, Neutron?" he sniggered. The Sheriff's glare was fast and fierce. "Shut up, Kevin. Keep your wisecracks to yourself." PFFFT. KEVIN. 

"Can you show me how to grip the wood?" she asked. "I need to work on my technique, and I hear you're something of an expert.""Not you, too!" he groaned. "Come on, Neutron," she said, tossing the mallet and catching it again. "It's funny." OOOOO. Poking the bear there, Tex. LOL 

 

Tex wasn't done. She leaned over him, letting her ponytail spill onto his shoulder. "Joke's on you, Sheriff," she whispered. "Euclid puts me in the mood." He swore like a sailor, chucked his mallet, and then went stalking off to get a saw, muttering angrily the whole way. Tex stood there grinning as she watched him go, pleased as punch with her handiwork. So far, it was turning out to be a very good day.” I am always deeply appreciative of Tex terriorizing him. ALWAYS. Plus, his reaction is hilarious. 

 

“Tex stopped to watch the Sheriff as he hammered a strut into place. He was sweating and covered in dust, and he held a spare nail in his mouth. A smile crossed her lips.” hmm. Why ya smiling there, Tex? I’m sure there’s NO reason whatsoever. No blooming affection or other such nonsense.

 

“A Red-Tailed Hawk drifted overhead; its keening cry trailed behind it like a banner.” BIRD.

 

"Amber is a poet and a stagecoach driver," explained Betty. "She handles the bi-weekly supply runs from Marble Orchard down to Retro Valley. She currently resides at the Sagebrush property and acts as Sally's, um..." Betty paused. "…live-in female companion," she finished.” I SHIP IT.

 

Uh-oh Butch has been drinking. That can’t possibly be good. 

 

"He's…occupied," mumbled Libby. "Let's talk about somethin' else." She picked up a tea cake and shoved the entire thing into her mouth.” I am getting the sense that someone is WORRIED.

 

“After lunch, the crew tackled the roof-frames, and her carpentry lessons continued. While they assembled the beams and struts, Mr. Neutron raved excitedly about the structural integrity of triangles. Tex found another triangle to study: the one formed by his shoulders and hips.” OPE I think Tex is OGLING. 

 

"Put a nail through his thumb," replied Wendell. "Looks nasty." OUCH.

 

Oh, I like that you put Tex’s uncanny scale to climb things to use here! It makes so much sense. Also, she can’t help showing off and I love that for her.

 

“Nick made some flirtatious remarks that approached the line, but didn't cross it – that distinction, unsurprisingly, belonged to the now-intoxicated Butch. He waited until the lawman was out of earshot to wolf-whistle boorishly at her. When she looked down at him, he hooted and made a lewd motion with his crotch. Tex froze mid-climb; this was a far cry from the good-natured ribbing she'd appreciated earlier.” I would like to punch Butch, please. Can I please punch him?

 

"Lady? Please." He squeezed the air at chest height. "She's got the right equipment, sure, but that don't make her the marquise." UGH. Gross.

 

I am such a fan of Carl calling him out. YOU GO, Carl.

 

"God, you're a miserable cad when you drink," muttered Wendell. "What's that?" He whirled to glare at him. "You wanna say that to my face?" uh-oh is there going to be a fight?

 

“For a moment, it looked like the whole thing might come to blows, but then Mr. Neutron came strolling back, blissfully oblivious, and suddenly everyone was on their best behavior again.” Of COURSE they behave when he shows up. 

 

“She could always thrash him later.” Is that a promise?

 

“Pig, she thought, and let the matter drop.” I AGREE.

 

“Tex froze when she saw them. As a rule, the outlaw was accustomed to debauchery; in her time, she'd walked past dozens of couples in various states of undress, and she'd never batted an eye. But those merrymakers had been strangers – these were people that she knew. She began to back away, and a twig snapped beneath her boot. Nick pulled his face out of Britney's cleavage and looked over at her. They made eye contact. Tex blushed. "S-sorry," she stammered, rapidly averting her gaze. Britney started giggling, and after a moment, Nick started laughing too. Tex turned tail and power-walked away.” Oh, this was so awkward on so MANY levels. Second hand embarrassment FOR SURE.

 

“In the setting sun, the crosses glowed like embers. The image captivated her, haunted her; she wandered toward it. A crumbling section of rock wall was all that remained of the cemetery's rectangular boundary, and the outlaw sat upon the rim. She removed her hat and held it to her chest. She was the proverbial moth. Holy Fire, she thought. Until now, I had not known the meaning. For a moment, it was the only thing she knew. Then a passing cloud threw up a shield, and the air around her cooled. Slowly, her awe dissipated, and she felt a peculiar sense of loss. I will never see Truth like that again, she reflected.” Oh, this was… so gorgeous and HAUNTING and WOW. I am speechless. 

 

And I am TOTALLY fine about the fact that Tex recognizes Mr. Neutron’s footsteps. TOTALLY FINE.

 

I am VERY glad I was struck by insomnia tonight because this was a FRICKING treat. I absolutely adored every single second of it. All the different ways that these characters interact with each other feels SO vibrant and real. And that song was LOVELY. This chapter peeled back another layer of this community and now I’m talking like Donkey so I should probably end this. But MARA THIS WAS SO GOOD. 

[Mara=^.^=]

“A Red-Tailed Hawk drifted overhead; its keening cry trailed behind it like a banner.” BIRD.

 

The most important part of the chapter

 

I'm definitely not going heavy on the redemption imagery or anything

 

OPE I think Tex is OGLING.

 

Ogling...and arguing with herself about it. Totally normal. 

 

I am always deeply appreciative of Tex terrorizing him. ALWAYS.

 

Same, my friend. Same.

 

Of COURSE they behave when he shows up.

 

There is a certain type of slimeball who holds his tongue until a woman is without her male 'protector', and then he lets loose. You've met him; I've met him. The only person who hasn't met him is a guy like Mr. Neutron.

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

The most important part of the chapter

 

BIRDS ARE ALWAYS IMPORTANT. 

 

Ogling...and arguing with herself about it. Totally normal. 

 

 

TOTALLY NORMAL. and totally doesn't remind me of any little wrens we may know. 

 

also, ugh. i just realized that the font in that giant wall of text that I posted is ugly AF. sorry. 

[Mara=^.^=]

also, ugh. i just realized that the font in that giant wall of text that I posted is ugly AF. sorry. 

 

I have really bad eye-strain from too many years of staring at computer screens, so I can't read big text blocks unless I tweak the font while I go.

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

there now I don't want to rip my eyes out at least. 

[Mara=^.^=]

Oh, this was so awkward on so MANY levels. Second hand embarrassment FOR SURE.

Oh, this was… so gorgeous and HAUNTING and WOW. I am speechless.

 

Transitioning from lurid hanky-panky to heavy-handed Christian symbolism, all within a couple of paragraphs. Watch me go! (.-.)

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

you are truly a jack of all trades!  

[Mara=^.^=]

A jagoff of all trades

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

more like a multitalented and amazing person.  

[Katia11]

have i mentioned that I love this fic a lot? i am literally and utterly obsessed. 

[Mara=^.^=]

have i mentioned that I love this fic a lot? i am literally and utterly obsessed. 

 

I'm glad someone is, cuz I'm almost done the next chapter. Way too much research went into 2,000 words. The historical shit section is almost as long as the actual chapter

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

Yes!!! I love with your writing, Mara. And I have said multiple times that I think this piece is pure genius.

I am so excited!!!

These two live in my head rent free. And I don’t deserve the gift that has been bestowed upon me but I devour it anyway

[Mara=^.^=]

I hope you enjoy this deliberately understated chapter.

 

************************************************************************************

 

She heard rustling as the lawman stepped over the rock wall and took a seat beside her. He heaved a drawn-out sigh.

 

"Long day, friend?" she asked dryly.

 

"Pain in the ass day," he said, resting his elbows on his knees. "There's always someone who can't be bothered to do their job, and I have to pick up the slack."

 

He sounded tired. For some reason, this worried her. "Did you get something to eat?" she checked. "Something to drink?"

 

"Yeah. Miss Folfax always puts aside extra jambalaya for me. It's our standing arrangement."

 

The Sheriff yawned, and a second later, Tex yawned too. The wind gusted, tangling the loose hairs around her face; she rubbed her eyes before returning her gaze to the firmament. She watched as the herds of cloud roamed toward bluer pastures, until the sun re-emerged, flooding the churchyard with color.

 

"Whoa," he breathed. "Would you look at that sunset."

 

She looked over at him instead. He was staring at the western sky, absentmindedly toying with an unlit cigar.

 

She nodded at it. "Did you mug Nick on your way over?"
 

"What? Oh, this. Ike gave it to me." He smiled. "It's sort of an unofficial tradition. Whenever we finish up a big project, he divvies out celebratory cigars to all the men. Nick came up with the idea after he found out that Ike's father works for a cigar manufacturer in New York."

 

"I didn't realize you smoked," she commented.

 

"I don't â€“ not really. I'm convinced that it promotes the growth of pathologies inside the lungs, so I only indulge on special occasions." He rolled it back and forth between his fingers. "What about you?"

 

She shrugged. "Same, more or less." I don't enjoy smelling like the men I kill.

 

"Ah, what the heck," he said. "This is a special occasion, right? Do you have a light?"

 

Tex dug around in her pocket until she located her campfire starter. She tossed it his way, and he deposited the cigar between his teeth, flicked the silver lid, and engaged the flint wheel. Smoke curled from the tip.

 

"Thanks," he mumbled, passing the lighter back to her. She returned it to her pocket.

 

He exhaled lazily, and the scent of tobacco filled the air, full-bodied and fraught. It was the smell of Authority. Masculinity. Exclusion. She returned her attention to the graves.

 

"Who do you suppose these people were?" she wondered aloud. She wasn't really expecting an answer.

 

"There used to be another town here," he replied. "Years ago, before I bought the land." He took a drag.

 

"Used to be? What happened to it?"

 

He exhaled. "Same thing that happened to the Comanche outpost that preceded it...and the Apache one before that. Everyone died."

 

"Jesus. Sorry I asked." Tragedy. Tragedy, and the crushing wheel of fate.

 

"It's baked into the soul of this place," he continued. "After so much misfortune, folks started claiming that the whole locality was cursed. Possessed. No one wanted to live here, even though the river makes the valley an extremely attractive place for a settlement."

 

"You don't believe in curses, I imagine."

 

"Of course not." He inhaled again, then held out the cigar. "Smoke?" he offered. Surprised, Tex took it from him.

 

"I believe in curses," she said, holding Authority in her hand. "Just...not the supernatural kind. The worst one lurks within us all â€“ what did Burns call it? Man's inhumanity to man?" She raised the cigar to her lips.

 

"This was neither man nor spirit made. The people here were felled by disease â€“ smallpox, mostly. Which is why, early on, I made it a priority to inoculate the townsfolk. Science is our best weapon against mankind's most intractable blight."

 

"Inoculations, all the way out here? How'd you manage that?"

 

He winced slightly. "Money," he admitted. "Money, and connections. Like I told you, my parents reduced my yearly stipend well before I left Boston, but I was still sitting on a small mountain of cash. When I got here, I used it to upgrade Retro Valley's existing infrastructure. I fixed run-down buildings, improved sanitation, and added in new utilities, like the mill and the irrigation system."

 

"That must have cost a fortune."

 

"It did. The copper piping was the worst. Compared to that, the smallpox inoculations were a drop in the bucket." He took the stogie from her and scratched the shrapnel cut she'd given him on Saturday. "Have you heard of vaccine farms?"

 

"Can't say I have."

 

He tapped away the cinders. "A few years back, a practitioner in Boston â€“ Dr. Henry Austin Martin â€“ introduced a reliable way to utilize livestock as viral reservoirs. It's now possible to infect calves with cowpox and use them to propagate the virus, instead of humans. I wrote to him with an offer."

 

Respect â€“ already a sapling â€“ put down deeper roots. What was it he had told her? That's what I do, Vortex. I make things happen. An understatement, clearly.

 

"You paid for someone to ship you infected livestock so that you could make vaccines? That's...very magnanimous of you. Magnanimous, and clever."

 

"Not magnanimous," he corrected. "Necessary. Allowing people to die from preventable diseases is the epitome of senseless cruelty. Medicine should be free and accessible to everyone." He coughed, then handed her the cigar again. "Here."

 

She gazed down at the smoldering tip. A question was nagging at her. "You've done so much for the people here," she observed. "So why does Nick resent you? He let it slip this morning when we were discussing the new homestead; I couldn't help but notice."

 

"A lot of reasons," he sighed. "Some valid, some not."

 

"Like?"

 

"I've been very proactive about redistributing my wealth," he explained. "Giving loans, paying off debts. But I can't just leave the spigot running; unlike Miss Folfax, Nick is terrible with money. He's always incurring new deficits. I had to cut him off, or there'd be nothing left for anyone else."

 

"There must be more to it than that. Didn't you say the Comanche used to live here?"

 

He nodded. "His mother's people. Half a century ago, they used to hunt and fish along the river during their seasonal migrations. Much has been lost. I don't know how to fix it."

 

But you would if you could, she knew.

 

The conversation lulled. The sun sank lower, and the sky became a pyre that burned the day to ash. They were not alone, here among the headstones. Crickets sang a final hymn as the church's clapboards reddened; the steeple sat and listened. It was a liminal space, where emptiness had meaning, and Tex drifted through it.

 

Smoke and shadow plumed around the outlaw's face, stinging her eyes. "That cash you torched," she began. "Was that meant for the townsfolk? Were you going to use it to make improvements?"

 

"No. That was my emergency fund. It's always been my goal to make Retro Valley self-sustaining, so that it no longer requires constant injections of capital." The Sheriff tapped her arm. "Cigar," he prompted, and she returned it to him. "This part of Texas is incredibly arid, but we have multiple water sources, meaning we can produce far more food than the surrounding towns. It gives us something valuable to trade. There's a mining outpost to the south, for example, that gives us ore in exchange for grain, and Marble Orchard furnishes us with manufactured goods."

 

God, I hate how amazing you are, she thought.

 

"I was under the impression that your goal was to keep Retro Valley isolated," she said.

 

"It's a balancing act," he conceded. "Too much contact with the outside world, and we lose what makes us special. Too little, and we wither on the vine. I wish I knew precisely where the line was. I try to err on the side of caution, but I still get it wrong sometimes."

 

Tex studied him. A subtle frown creased his brow â€“ he was second-guessing his decisions. He still had his elbows on his knees, she noted; the trials of the day had worn him down. A piece of sawdust clung to his shoulder, and his armpits and chest were stained with sweat. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and she noticed the beginnings of a bruise forming on his knuckle, though she had not seen him hurt himself. The imperfection struck her.

 

Not beauty, she reflected. Not salvation. Humanity, in all its messy glory.

 

He brought the cigar to his mouth, and in that instant, the sunlight fell upon him. Tex's breath caught. Time released its stranglehold; the sky bloomed, and the orange glow of sunset became the light of dawn.

 

I cannot kill this man, she thought.

 

The realization hit her like a thunderclap, but no attendant bolt of lightning arrived to strike her down. Tex waited to feel something â€“ horror, anger, fear â€“ but in the end, there was only a lingering sadness, and then the moment passed by like any other. The anticlimax was almost farcical: she had survived a blood-soaked battle, only to die the very next day by falling off her horse.

 

What do I do? she wondered.

 

Nothing, came the answer. You do nothing.

 

They sat in silence, smoking their shared cigar, as the sun slipped below the far horizon. Unspoken words hovered on her lips. Respect, and inclusion. Tragedy, and fate.

 

************************************************************************************

 

Jimmy says UNIVERSAL HEALTHCARE NOW 

 

(don't smoke, kids)

 

HISTORICAL SHIT AND BULLSHIT SHIT
 

- People alive today do not appreciate what a horror-show the past was, particularly when it comes to infectious disease. In the era before vaccines and antibiotics, people just...dropped dead. Literally all of the time. Smallpox, diphtheria, tuberculosis, cholera, dysentery, polio, rabies, influenza, typhus, syphilis, meningitis, hepatitis, tetanus, scarlet fever, bubonic plague...the list goes on. Infant and childhood mortality rates were insane; half of all kids died before the age of 15. It's hard to imagine what kind of trauma this inflicted on people, even in the best of times â€“ and God help those who survived The Worstâ„¢. Folks always talk about the Black Death like it's the lord of pandemics, but the bubonic plague 'only' killed 50-60% of Europe's population. That's nothing compared to what happened in the New World between 1492-1600. The European newcomers didn't just exploit and make war upon the indigenous peoples; they introduced unfamiliar zoonotic diseases that, together with the bloodshed, killed NINETY PERCENT of all human beings living on the continents. That is apocalyptic. The loss is incalculable.
- One of the main culprits? Smallpox. This monstrous ailment has been with us for at least 3,000 years; it is the second deadliest disease of all time, second only to tuberculosis (17,000+ years and counting). To get an idea of the how horrific this virus is, consider the following: smallpox killed 500 million people in the last 100 years of its existence alone. That's 10x more than the Black Death. In a population that has some level of immunity, the standard variant (Variola major) kills about 30% of the people it infects. Hemorrhagic and malignant smallpox (the BAD variants) have a 90-100% fatality rate. In immunologically-naive populations, it just kills everybody. So. How did we consign it to the dustbin of history? Allow me to condense 600 years of innovation into four paragraphs:
• Phase 1: Variolation (1400s-1796)
People realized early on that some smallpox variants were less lethal than others. Globally, numerous disparate groups attempted to prevent severe illness by intentionally exposing healthy people to weaker variants â€“ a practice known as variolation. This dangerous game of viral roulette yielded mixed results; some patients died, but others achieved lasting immunity. In 1721, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, an English aristocrat, medical pioneer, and writer, brought the practice to Europe, after observing it in Turkey. Despite the risks, it gained widespread acceptance. Decades later, in 1774, an English farmer named Benjamin Jetsy made an important observation: he realized that people who contracted cowpox â€“ a much milder disease â€“ never seemed to get sick with smallpox. Variolation's days were numbered.
• Phase 2: Arm-to-Arm Vaccination (1796-1860)
In 1796, an English physician (and mad scientist) named Edward Jenner expanded on Jetsy's observation by experimenting on a child. He took scrapings from the pustules of a milkmaid suffering from cowpox, and he intradermally-inserted them into the arm of 8-year-old James Phipps, his gardener's son. The boy fell ill, but quickly recovered. Two months later, Jenner repeated the procedure with gunk from a smallpox sore in order to test the child's resistance. Phipps remained in perfect health, proving that cowpox infection conferred immunity to smallpox (the term 'vaccine' was coined later, taken from the Latin word for cow, vacca). The Europeans weren't done torturing children just yet: enter The Balmis Expedition. Eager to combat the smallpox pandemics ravaging the New World, Spain dispatched a ship carrying 22 orphan boys (aged 3 to 10) to act as carriers for the cowpox virus. An active infection is required for arm-to-arm vaccination, so two boys were infected at the beginning of the voyage, then another two, then another two, as the ship progressed across the Atlantic and beyond. It was a daisy chain of viral transmission...and it worked. Inoculation efforts began in the New World.
• Phase 3: Animal Vaccines (1860-1959)
Arm-to-arm vaccination had a major limitation, besides the daisy chain thing: recipients ran the risk of contracting other infections (like syphilis) from donors. In 1860, a medical conference in Lyon, France spotlighted a newer, safer technique for propagating the virus: growing it inside animals. In 1870, Dr. Henry Austin Martin (the guy the Sheriff mentions) introduced this method to America, and for the next few years, if you wanted to get animal vaccines, you had to go through him. Eventually, tons of 'vaccine farms' began cropping up. Calves infected with cowpox (or vaccinia, another type of pox) functioned as viral reservoirs for vaccine production. An insidious profit motive developed, and in 1902, the Biologics Control Act was passed in the United States, regulating the industry.
• Phase 4: The WHO Campaign (1959-1977)
In 1959, the World Health Organization (WHO) announced their intent to K.O. the damn thing once and for all, but the campaign fell short due to a lack of resources, funding, and global commitment. They re-launched the initiative in 1967. By that time, labs in many countries where smallpox occurred regularly were able to produce higher-quality freeze-dried vaccine. The development of the bifurcated needle, the establishment of an outbreak tracking system, and vaccine education campaigns also played a role in the success of the intensified efforts. WHO operatives used a technique called ring vaccination, which conserved resources and prevented further spread by forming a protective "ring" of immunity around infected individuals. Within a decade, smallpox was eradicated from the face of the Earth â€“ an unprecedented victory in the history of mankind's struggle against disease.
- Phew. I'll try to cover the last three points quickly. 1) The Ancient Maya invented cigars (they also invented alcoholic enemas. A very innovative people, indeed). As far as the cigar industry is concerned, it was very much a Cuba thing until the 1860s, when Dutch, English, and German immigrants began setting up cigar shops in NYC. The city was a major port of trade, which helped things, and by 1870, cigar-making was the second-largest industry in the city. By 1890, 4 out of every 5 American men were smokers, and 1 out of every 3 American cigars was made in New York. 2) The widely-quoted phrase "man's inhumanity to man" comes from a famous poem by Robert Burns, entitled Man Was Made to Mourn, written in 1784. The expression entered the public lexicon almost immediately and persists to this day; the line was cited six times by Martin Luther King Jr. in his autobiography. 3) Copper prices spiked repeatedly during the latter half of the 19th century due to war, the growth of the railroad industry, the formation of monopolies, labor strikes, and the emergence of the telecommunications industry.

 

Now excuse me while I try to go and catch my breath

 

NEXT PART -> A Woman with A Story

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

*POUNCES ON THIS LIKE A HUNGRY TIGER* 

 

"Long day, friend?" she asked dryly.” "Pain in the ass day," he said, resting his elbows on his knees. "There's always someone who can't be bothered to do their job, and I have to pick up the slack." He sounded tired. For some reason, this worried her. "Did you get something to eat?" she checked. "Something to drink?" OPE. Someone is WORRIED me thinks. 

 

“The Sheriff yawned, and a second later, Tex yawned too. The wind gusted, tangling the loose hairs around her face; she rubbed her eyes before returning her gaze to the firmament. She watched the herd of clouds roam toward bluer pastures, until the sun re-emerged, flooding the churchyard with color.” NUM NUM. ME LIKEY pretty descriptions. 

 

"Whoa," he breathed. "Would you look at that sunset." She looked over at him instead. He was staring at the western sky, absentmindedly toying with an unlit cigar.” OH I AM SUCH A SUCKER FOR THIS KIND OF THING. He tells her to look at the sunset, and instead she looks at him. JUST. MARA. UNFAIR.

 

"I didn't realize you smoked," she commented. "I don't – not really. I'm convinced that it promotes the growth of pathologies inside the lungs, so I only indulge on special occasions." He rolled it back and forth between his fingers. "What about you?" Jimmy is always ahead of his time.

 

“He exhaled lazily, and the scent of tobacco filled the air, full-bodied and fraught. It was the smell of Authority. Masculinity. Exclusion. She returned her attention to the graves.” again, you just take my breath away in how much OOMPH you pack into little things like this. 

 

"Who do you suppose these people were?" she wondered aloud. She wasn't really expecting an answer. "There used to be another town here," he replied. "Years ago, before I bought the land." He took a drag. "Used to be? What happened to it?" He exhaled. "Same thing that happened to the Comanche outpost that preceded it…and the Apache one before that. Everyone died." Yikes.

 

"Jesus. Sorry I asked." Tragedy. Tragedy, and the crushing wheel of fate.” CRUSHING WHEEL OF FATE? THAT LINE IS A BANGER. 

 

"You don't believe in curses, I imagine." "Of course not." He inhaled again, then held out the cigar. "Smoke?" he offered. Surprised, Tex took it from him. "I believe in curses," she said, holding Authority in her hand. "Just…not the supernatural kind. The real curse lurks within us all – what did Burns call it? Man's inhumanity to man?" She raised the cigar to her lips. "This was neither man nor spirit made. The people here were felled by disease – smallpox, mostly. Which is why, early on, I made it a priority to inoculate the townsfolk. Science is our best weapon against mankind's most intractable blight." everything about this is so good. “Man’s inhumanity to man,” you got that right. Additionally, Jimmy should want to vaccinate the people. 

 

“Respect – already a sapling – put down deeper roots. What was it he had told her? That's what I do, Vortex. I make things happen. An understatement, clearly.” dang. He really does make things happen.

 

"You paid for someone to ship you infected livestock so that you could make vaccines? That's…very magnanimous of you. Magnanimous, and clever.""Not magnanimous," he corrected. "Necessary. Allowing people to die from preventable diseases is the height of senseless cruelty. Medicine should be free and accessible to everyone." He coughed, then handed her the cigar again.” PREACH IT, Jimmy. 

 

“The conversation lulled. The sun sank lower, and the sky became a pyre that burned the day to ash. They were not alone, here among the headstones. Crickets sang a final hymn as the church's clapboards reddened; the steeple sat and listened. It was a liminal space, where emptiness had meaning, and Tex drifted through it.” Ugh. GORGEOUS. STUNNING. BREATHAKING. LITERALLY ALL THE WORDS. 

 

“God, I hate how amazing you are, she thought.” Ope. There she goes again, being all sentimental and arguing with herself about it. 

 

"It's a balancing act," he conceded. "Too much contact with the outside world, and we lose what makes us special. Too little, and we wither on the vine. I wish I knew precisely where the line was. I try to err on the side of caution, but I still get it wrong sometimes." A seemingly small admission, yet so human. 

 

“Tex studied him. A subtle frown creased his brow – he was second-guessing his decisions. He still had his elbows on his knees, she noted; the trials of the day had worn him down. A piece of sawdust clung to his shoulder, and his armpits and chest were stained with sweat. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and she noticed the beginnings of a bruise forming on his knuckle, though she had not seen him hurt himself. The imperfection struck her. Not beauty, she reflected. Not salvation. Humanity, in all its messy glory. He brought the cigar to his mouth, and in that instant, the sunlight fell upon him. Tex's breath caught. Time released its stranglehold; the sky bloomed, and the orange glow of sunset became the light of dawn. I cannot kill this man, she thought. The realization hit her like a thunderclap, but no attendant bolt of lightning arrived to strike her down. Tex waited to feel something – horror, anger, fear – but in the end, there was only a lingering sadness, and then the moment passed by like any other. The anticlimax was almost farcical: she had survived a blood-soaked battle, only to die the very next day by falling off her horse. What do I do? she wondered. Nothing, came the answer. You do nothing. They sat in silence, smoking their shared cigar, as the sun slipped below the far horizon. Unspoken words hovered on her lips. Respect, and inclusion. Tragedy, and fate.” I had to include all of this last bit because IT HIT WITH A LITERAL PUNCH. Tex ruminating on his humanity, and the realization that she can not kill him, coming on the heels of those thoughts, is perfection. I wish I had better words to describe the feelings this section evoked in me, but you will have to settle for a keysmash.

 

AJHGJKAHGKJHKJGHA

 

I adore understated chapters. Truly, sincerely. To be honest, I do enjoy plot, but what sells relationships for me in fiction, in shows, and in pretty much anything are scenes where two characters are allowed to share quiet moments. And you executed that perfectly. 

[Mara=^.^=]

Tex ruminating on his humanity, and the realization that she can not kill him, coming on the heels of those thoughts, is perfection.

 

This whole chapter is like...my response to the YA genre and its obsession with using "wow, he's hot" as a plot-inciting event. When it's done carelessly, it comes across as shallow and unauthentic. You can't love someone until you see them as fully human. You can be attracted to them – but you can't care about them.

 

I adore understated chapters. Truly, sincerely. To be honest, I do enjoy plot, but what sells relationships for me in fiction, in shows, and in pretty much anything are scenes where two characters are allowed to share quiet moments.

 

Same.

Tex needs to learn some very important lessons about vulnerability, forgiveness, and trust, and sometimes those moments are dramatic. Sometimes, they're not.

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

This whole chapter is like...my response to the YA genre and its obsession with using "wow, he's hot" as a plot-inciting event. When it's done carelessly, it comes across as shallow and unauthentic. You can't love someone until you see them as fully human. You can be attracted to them – but you can't care about them. 

 

OOOO LAYING DOWN SOME SHADE. But very, very fair shade. 

 

 

 

Tex needs to learn some very important lessons about vulnerability, forgiveness, and trust, and sometimes those moments are dramatic. Sometimes, they're not.

 

 

*nods aggressively* Yeah! exactly!

 

also, i've been meaning to ask, do you like getting these reviews here? or would you prefer me to post them when you post the chapter on the appropriate sites ((like a03?)) I can still react here of course, but I was just wondering if you'd like them on that more "official" medium. I have no preference, I just want to know what would make you happy.  i'm such a people pleaser it's not even funny. 

[Mara=^.^=]

Whatever's convenient. I'll see it eventually, lol.

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =