Posted May 8, 2022 / Micah McGregor
Arabella could see from the look on old McGregor's face that she had maybe pitched a little high. She quickly took remedial action. "I mean, just think, a shave and a haircut costs two bits, so that's six days worth of shaves: why if you just grow a beard, that'll pay fer it!"
Micah smiled wide. The girl was a caution.
"Oh, and who can put a price anyway, on the wonderful memories that hearing dear little Ruth playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on her dear departed mother's ivories will bring to one and all!?" she further bleated.
Departed? Micah stirred. "He needs must think of her once more, how in the grave she lies, and with his hard, rough hand, he wiped a tear from his eyes."
He nodded slowly and said, "All right. And you'll pay your page turner out of your proceeds?
"Oh, we won't need to pay her anything, she don't even know what day of the week it is. Dumb as a stump, our Bridget." Arabella assured him breezily. "She will be requiring of the cookies, though, and plenty of 'em."
"Ohhh!" Micah chided. He never spoke ill of anyone. That was the way he'd been raised.
"I can have Senora Alvarez, bake up a batch of cookies for you. She's a good cook who we keep on here. She was first hired to help my ailing Missus, but she's stayed on."
Ah! The old 'hired housekeeper' routine, eh? Arabella immediately imagined the dark eyed Spanish beauty slipping strychnine into old Mrs McGregor's 'strengthening broth' and then seducing the poor old devil until he became the wreck they saw today, and then getting herself written into his will while the names of dear little Ruth and her brothers were struck out!! Ooh, she liked a bit of melodrama!
Of course, it wouldn't be one of Arabella's fantasies if she didn't feature in it strongly herself: yes, that was it, she was the beautiful and clever piano teacher who uncovered Señora Alvarez's evil plan. The Señora would try and poison her with arsenic coated cookies, but luckily Bridget would eat them all first, thus uncovering the plot. Arabella would go to watch Señora Alvarez hang, then... then the fantasy started going a little strange with the dark eyed Spanish beauty for some reason giving her nemesis a passionate kiss on the scaffold and the pair of them shooting their way out of there and escaping in Bridget's pony and trap.
"Hey!" Where'd you go to?" asked McGregor after some time had passed. Arabella seemed catatonic.
Arabella shook her head and was suddenly back in the room.
"She sounds nice, I can practice my Spanish on her!" she beamed.
"You are not only a wonderful piano player," Micah began. "... but also one smart cookie. My little Ruth is going to take a shine to you." He reached across the table with his big paw and asked, "Shake on it?"
The Clinch Mountain girl jumped to her feet, spat generously onto her palm and smacked her hand into Micah's. "It's a deal!" she grinned.
Micah returned the gesture and the two had become good friends.
Then, suddenly, the doors to the Star Dust burst open and Leland Bowerchek came running in all a'stumble.
"Is the Sheriff around here? Anywhere? He needs to come out to the Potee place, right away!!"
Posted May 8, 2022 / Franklin Fortner
Caroline remained as icy as before. So, Frank just shrugged and then abandoned any hope of coming to terms with her. It really didn't matter; He owned the saloon, and she worked at the saloon. He was convinced that she'd keep her mouth shut about the card game and the coffee.
He brought up one more point.
"I would think that a good singer and entertainer such as yourself ought to have a better dressing table. Tell you what. The next time my people head to Cheyenne for supplies, I'll have them look for a new table and mirror for you. How's that? It's just a capital investment -- nothing more."
"That mirror was only recently busted....my fault too. Maybe that means I'll have seven years bad luck. Buy what you want.............just remember this - I never asked for it," she pointed out.
"Duly noted," Frank agreed.
He opened the door to leave and, as he did, a current of noise rushed through it and into the room. Then,..
""Is the Sheriff around here? Anywhere? He needs to come out to the Potee place, right away!!"
"What the Hell?" uttered Frank. "What now? God damn it!"
Frank stood on the catwalk, high above the saloon floor and watched as some man was ringing his hands.
'We need the Sheriff! It's his missus. She done hanged herself"
Posted May 10, 2022 / Caroline Mundee
Fortner was finally leaving her be, his every desperate attempt to buy her favor by bribery having utterly failed. He didn't know Caroline Mundee, she was far from a saint but saloon trash (as many in town thought) or not, she had a moral compass about some things and she would stubbornly follow it come what may.
But there was some shouting outside....Caroline followed up to see what was going on now.
"Is the Sheriff around here? Anywhere? He needs to come out to the Potee place, right away!!"
"What the Hell?" uttered Frank. "What now? God damn it!"
Frank stood on the catwalk, high above the saloon floor and watched as some man was wringing his hands. Caroline stood at an angle behind him.
'We need the Sheriff! It's his missus. She done hanged herself"
"Oh shit!" Caroline snapped, "Well, at least she won't be homeless, now it's just a drunk and a little girl. Thanks to us."
With a fierce glare directed at Frank, she spun about and went back to her room, slamming the door behind her.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Posted May 10, 2022 / Caroline Mundee
Arabella gulped when she heard the news and, of course, stopped playing the piano. But she didn't move from the piano stool, she was frozen to the spot. And when anyone had flown out of the swing doors who was going to fly out: whether from concern, duty or just plain old curiosity, she started right back in playing. It was a happy, jangling tune that jangled along with her nerves, and every beat of the tempo hammered in heavily her inner resolve to get out of there and out of the entanglements of working along side Mister Franklin and his geriatric henchman 'Judge' Hiram Priest.
Posted May 10, 2022 / Franklin Fortner
"Is the Sheriff around here? Anywhere? He needs to come out to the Potee place, right away!!"
"What the Hell?" uttered Frank. "What now? God damn it!"
Frank stood on the catwalk, high above the saloon floor and watched as some man was wringing his hands. Caroline stood at an angle behind him.
'We need the Sheriff! It's his missus. She done hanged herself"
"Oh shit!" Caroline snapped, "Well, at least she won't be homeless, now it's just a drunk and a little girl. Thanks to us."
"Enough!" snapped Fortner. "Let's wait and see what really happened before jumping to conclusions."
With a fierce glare directed at Frank, she spun about and went back to her room, slamming the door behind her.
Frank walked down the stairs without rushing. When he got to the bottom, the man with the tragic news rushed up to him.
"Where's the Sheriff?" asked the distraught man, Lukas Hannaberry. "Potee's missus done hanged herself. Horace was sitting on the front steps, head in his hands. She was that way when he got back home, he said. She left a note saying she couldn't live with a drunken gambler who cursed at his wife in a public place, especially in the Devil's playground. I guess that's what she called the Star Dust."
A very light smile creased Franklin's lips, and he turned his vision upward to where Caroline's door remained shut. So, It had nothing to do with the card game or the deed, he thought with some satisfaction.
"What were YOU doing out there?" asked Fortner.
Hannaberry instantly felt liked he'd been named some kind of accomplice. "I was just comin' over to lend Horace some smithy tools. THAT'S ALL!"
"Ah, don't get your back up," Fortner cautioned. Anyway, these are questions the Sheriff will probably ask anyway."
Hannaberry rubbed his face with frustration. "And there she was, still hanging .. all in her black dress. Horrible. Just horrible!"
Franklin raised his voice, "Maybe some of you men will want to head out the homestead and cut her down if she's still hanging."
There was a grumble and some of the men stood up. "Figure you're right," one of them said as a spokesman.
As the men headed out, Fortner put his hand on Hannaberry's shoulder and said, "Can I get you a drink on the house?"
It sounded good to Lukas. He darted a smile, and Franklin walked him over the bar.
"Set 'em up, Ralph! Two whiskies."
Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
Posted May 10, 2022 / Hiram Priest
Arabella gulped when she heard the news and, of course, stopped playing the piano. But she didn't move from the piano stool, she was frozen to the spot. And when anyone had flown out of the swing doors who was going to fly out: whether from concern, duty or just plain old curiosity, she started right back in playing. It was a happy, jangling tune that jangled along with her nerves, and every beat of the tempo hammered in heavily her inner resolve to get out of there and out of the entanglements of working along side Mister Franklin and his geriatric henchman 'Judge' Hiram Priest.
As if the good Lord could read her thoughts, the venerable, old, Judge, made his way over to the piano. This, after he stopped by where Lukas had blathered the fate of Maude Potee to every cowpoke and gambler in Kalispell. He nodded sagely as Franklin suggested some men go out and help with the undertaking, and moved his wad of chaw from one cheek to the other. "Sounds right," he gurgled through tobacco.
Once Hiram got over to Arabella, he bent down to her moving head (she sometimes swayed whilst playing tunes, especially those played allegro). "Why don't you play Amazing Grace? Wouldn't it be more fittin'?"
The Judge and mayor had officiated many funerals, weddings, and civic events.
"I spect' no one knew anything like this woulda happened today," he ruminated sadly.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Posted May 11, 2022 / Arabella Mudd
Once Hiram got over to Arabella, he bent down to her moving head (she sometimes swayed whilst playing tunes, especially those played allegro). "Why don't you play Amazing Grace? Wouldn't it be more fittin'?"
If Arabella's face wasn't already naturally as pale as the spring snow, Priest would have seen it blanch with anger and, although she had determined to keep her council, she couldn't help blurt out "Fittin' for a place like this? I don't think so, Mister Priest!" and carried on playing the happy, gaudy tune with a passion that bordered on the aggressive.
"I spect' no one knew anything like this woulda happened today," he ruminated sadly.
"Oh, do you think?" she spat, not even turning to look at the man. If Fortner was despicable, at least he was openly so, for all he tried cover it up with smarmy smooth words and heavy handed bribery: he was like an enormous boa constrictor, oozing itself around a body and slowly and lovingly squeezing the life out of it: Priest, in her mind's eye, was more like a small, hard to notice, but extremely poisonous little side-winder, that would strike out unexpectedly and fatally when you least expected it.
She didn't actually know of anything he had done wrong: but that made her more uneasy in his presence rather than less so. He was sneaky. And Mr Reece had chilled her to the bone when he had prognosticated that 'On the face of it, Wentworth should win the mayor race, but don't discount Priest: he's the dark horse of the race' Arabella could believe it: a dark horse with a black heart.
Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
Posted May 14, 2022 / Hiram Priest
Mayor Hiram Priest was a politician and he could read people with exacting accuracy.
"I spect' no one knew anything like this woulda happened today," he ruminated sadly.
"Oh, do you think?" she spat, not even turning to look at the man.
"Sorry you're takin' it all so bad," he said with a certain Grandfatherly sincerity. "All of us show sadness in different ways. And if you'd ever like to talk about it, maybe I can help."
He tugged at his chin sagely.
"You know, some men are just not suited for being married. Now take this Potee fella. Look how he lashed out as his poor, upright, religious wife he had. You saw how she came in here and begged him to leave the Star Dust and come home with her. It was a pitiful sight. Why I had to wipe a tear off my cheek. He chased her out of here with harsh words, evil words, and you know what they say; Idle hands are the devil's workshop and his first tool is a vicious tongue."
He sighed.
"And what did that poor woman do? She went back to their place, a place she'd dreamed of making a life in, and hung herself straight away." He bent a little closer to her and spoke confidentially. "Seems to me, there's only one person responsible for that tragedy, and it ain't him," he pointed to Fortner at the bar, and it ain't you, and it ain't me. It's that man sittin' on his porch with his head in his hands and trying to squeeze the liquor out of his brain. --- that's who."
He got even more confidential. "And I'd be careful who you start makin' accusations about. Be real careful. Real careful."
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Posted May 14, 2022 / Arabella Mudd
"Sorry you're takin' it all so bad," he said with a certain Grandfatherly sincerity. "All of us show sadness in different ways. And if you'd ever like to talk about it, maybe I can help."
"I'll talk about it to Jesus, thank you very much, Mr Priest. You may have heard of him." Arabella replied, feeling pretty clever at that remark.
If she knew what thin ice she was skating on, she might have been a little more circumspect in her comments. But Priest gave her one more chance to see reason, or at least, his version of reason.
"You know, some men are just not suited for being married. Now take this Potee fella. Look how he lashed out as his poor, upright, religious wife he had. You saw how she came in here and begged him to leave the Star Dust and come home with her. It was a pitiful sight. Why I had to wipe a tear off my cheek. He chased her out of here with harsh words, evil words, and you know what they say; Idle hands are the devil's workshop and his first tool is a vicious tongue."
"I don't believe you know how to cry, Mr Priest." she replied primly "Though I grant you probably know all about the Devil!" Oh, she thought she was pretty smart with that answer.
He sighed.
"And what did that poor woman do? She went back to their place, a place she'd dreamed of making a life in, and hung herself straight away." He bent a little closer to her and spoke confidentially. "Seems to me, there's only one person responsible for that tragedy, and it ain't him," he pointed to Fortner at the bar, and it ain't you, and it ain't me. It's that man sittin' on his porch with his head in his hands and trying to squeeze the liquor out of his brain. --- that's who."
He wasn't trying to persuade her now, he was telling her. there was something in his voice: a cold confidence, that made her own self confidence slip a little. She carried on playing the jolly tune, but she could feel a cold grip of fear start to close around her heart.
He got even more confidential. "And I'd be careful who you start makin' accusations about. Be real careful. Real careful."
She actually gasped, and that wasn't the only thing that escaped her, as she realised that the nasty old snake was actually threatening her. She immediately wanted to jump up and run and hide behind the bar where Mr Flandry would protect her, or run upstairs and get Caroline to fight her corner or go fetch Mammy Cookie from the kitchen; but she realised now that she couldn't do that to them: Priest was Fortner's friend, more than that, she had always suspected: they were in cahoots. She couldn't put any of her three protectors in that position, of having to choose between their employer and her.
Coward that she was, she immediately backed down: and a pathetic sight it was too, she was nearly grovelling on her knees to the mean old man. "Oh! A...A...I wasn't saying nothin' about no-one, honest I wasn't ... and I won't, I mean, I... I'm never ever gonna talk about this to anyone else ever again, mister Priest. You don't have to worry about that! And, 'sides, I 'm just a silly little girl, no one cares what I say anyway." she assured him, eyes saucer wide and brimming with fear.
She was weak, she knew it, she was nothing but a big scardy-cat coward: and she'd just added a new item to the long list of things she was scared of: guns, cows, horses, spiders, stinging nettles and Hiram Priest.
Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
Posted May 15, 2022 / Hiram Priest
Coward that she was, she immediately backed down: and a pathetic sight it was too, she was nearly grovelling on her knees to the mean old man. "Oh! A...A...I wasn't saying nothin' about no-one, honest I wasn't ... and I won't, I mean, I... I'm never ever gonna talk about this to anyone else ever again, mister Priest. You don't have to worry about that! And, 'sides, I 'm just a silly little girl, no one cares what I say anyway." she assured him, eyes saucer wide and brimming with fear.
"That's a better attitude," Priest said with a smile. "Much better."
He rummaged in his vest pocket, and as he was rummaging, he said, "I know how this tragedy hurt you, Miss. You are too young and innocent to worry 'bout such things." Out came a shiny, newly minted Silver Dollar which he set on the piano, on the wooden edge just to the right of the 8th octave of "C" -- the last key of the keyboard. "This is for you. And every time you see it, and hold it, think of that sweet Mrs. Potee and how you loved her. And also think of our friendly chat about her."
With that, he ambled over to the bar where Fortner and Hannaberry were drinking.
"Watch out for that one," he whispered as he walked by.
Fortner nodded.