"Tragic," Clara fairly dripped with sarcasm, "Not the you dying part but if he has a woman in his life. By that age they usually do. Trust me."

“Hmmmmm” Arabella had a think about this. “Ooh! Maybe his wife died, though. Sure, folks die all the time. He married this lady, oooh, a long time ago, and she died and he was sad for a while, and said he’d never forget her, and now he needs a bright new candle to enter his darkened room of mourning and give him hope for the future again.” Suddenly realizing that this description could perhaps be applied to Clara’s Father, whom she had yet to meet, she coughed and rapidly changed the subject.

“Kin I get out now? This here baths gettin’ cold.”

"Most certainly, you have been in there long enough and spilled enough of it to wet my entire bedroom floor. Stand up then, let me get a towel," Clara informed her.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” chanted Arabella formulaically as she got out of the bath and added to the puddles on the floor. She shivered and allowed her teeth to chatter and made a sort of juh-juh-juh-juh noise with her mouth to exaggerate the effect. She liked that feeling.

"Here, I trust you can dry yourself off?" She almost added 'without drama' but that would setting expectations way too high!

“Oh, I … I’m real cold, might be best if you rub me some!” she shivered, quickly wrapping the towel around her. Her foot touched something under the bed, and she remembered.

“Clara! I forgot. I went pee-pee in the potty. Where should I empty it?” she looked round and met Clara’s brown eyes with her own blue, and then slowly turned her eyes to the water in the bath and then returned them to Clara’s, giving her a cheeky grin. Well, it’d save an extra journey.

As she got dry, the stranger under the Redmond roof started to wonder what lay beyond this small room where she had been coaxed from death’s gaping maw, and back into the land of the snug, logwall-bound living. What was the rest of the house like? And the Farm? And the area beyond? And what of the rest of the family? Would she meet some more folks soon?

“Clara, what’s your Pappy like? I mean, when I meet him, how should I act? Would he like it best if I was all sad and upset about what’s happened to me, or would he like it best if I was all brave and kinda sad inside but pretending to be all right on the outside; or how about angry that I was in that dead people place or, ooh, I know, how about vivacious? I’m right good at vivacious.”

She was like a spinning top, one minute she was up and whizzing round at a hundred miles and hour, the next she collapsed and toppled. Like now, she suddenly teared up, and her head bowed.

“Clara” she whimpered, looking up at the slightly taller girl, her lips trembling and her blue eyes starting to well. “I’m sorry what I said before about hoping that feller’s wife had died, cause that’s like what happened to your Pappy. That might have made you sad, and you seem plenty sad already. My Aunt Rosie says I need to think more before I speak, but them words they just sort of bubble up inside me and sorta spurt out before I can stop ‘em, she says I, … I ‘wear my heart on my sleeve’. So, I’m sorry if I … made you sad.” She finished, blinking away the tears and looking about the room confusedly, like she was just looking at it for the first time.

"I myself do not dwell on all the possibles and maybes in life. It is best to concentrate on the here and now and how you might positively affect the future," Clara sagely pointed out. Actually that last part she read somewhere but it did make sense.

Sure enough Arabella was now freezing and chattering so much she SAID she was incapable of drying herself, it figured. She wrapped the towel about her emaciated frame.

"You are not helpless, child. Especially since you seem to be old enough to have love affairs and like," Clare was not going to turn into a maid servant for this girl.

“Clara! I forgot. I went pee-pee in the potty. Where should I empty it?” she looked round and met Clara’s brown eyes with her own blue, and then slowly turned her eyes to the water in the bath and then returned them to Clara’s, giving her a cheeky grin.

"Not in the bathwater. I intend on using the bathwater so Wyatt can have a bath. We usually share the same bath water, many families do," Clara pointed out then added with a hint of disdain, "I will empty out your pot."

The girl started drying herself off then but wanted to keep chatting - unfortunately. This time Arabella was curious about Clara's father and what was he like and how should she act around the man.

"He does not like people who are too chatty," Clara answered, her assessment not really true but it might prove helpful. If she was being optimistic.

“Clara” she whimpered, looking up at the slightly taller girl, her lips trembling and her blue eyes starting to well. “I’m sorry what I said before about hoping that feller’s wife had died, cause that’s like what happened to your Pappy. That might have made you sad, and you seem plenty sad already. My Aunt Rosie says I need to think more before I speak, but them words they just sort of bubble up inside me and sorta spurt out before I can stop ‘em, she says I, … I ‘wear my heart on my sleeve’. So, I’m sorry if I … made you sad.”

Clara sighed, "You did not make me sad, again you were referring to something in the realm of possibility not facts. I have enough other things in my life to be concerned about. And for your information I am not sad right now, merely serious. It is how I am"

"On the the other hand, your Aunt Rosie has a good point, you might wish to heed it more often," Clara decided to use the ammunition provided.

Clara put Arabella straight about the vagaries of prognostication and about how far she would go in physically aiding the skinny girl to get dry. But there was still the question of the brimming potty. Arabella’s rather clever idea, she thought, of merely adding to the tepid bath water didn’t seem to go down as well as she expected.

"Not in the bathwater. I intend on using the bathwater so Wyatt can have a bath. We usually share the same bath water, many families do," Clara pointed out then added with a hint of disdain, "I will empty out your pot."

The Virginian girl decided it was best not to mention that she might have already made a little ‘contribution’ to the bathwater already, but she positively balked at the idea of Clara emptying the china.

“Oh no! You can’t do that fer me!” she gasped “I mean, that ain’t rosewater in there, it’s what you might term ‘unpleasantly fragrant in an early mornin’ sort of way!’ You just show me where it goes, and I’ll tote it there: I’m gonna have to start pulling my weight around here!” she declared, secretly hoping that, as her weight was negligible, the tasks might be equally light.

As for the fact that Clara and Wyatt shared the same bathwater, she did wonder how the two of them would fit in there together: it’d been a pretty tight fit just for her slight frame but, again, decided to ask about that when Clara might be in a more talkative mood.

The girl started drying herself off then but wanted to keep chatting - unfortunately. This time Arabella was curious about Clara's father and what was he like and how should she act around the man.

"He does not like people who are too chatty," Clara answered, her assessment not really true but it might prove helpful. If she was being optimistic.

Arabella took this to mean that the older girl thought that she was too chatty, and that brought on a crying fit and a babbling apology. Crying fits and babbling apologies came naturally to Miss Mudd, and always seemed to have a salutary effect on their audience. However, the redoubtable Miss Redmond bunted this pitch with ease.

Clara sighed, "You did not make me sad, again you were referring to something in the realm of possibility not facts. I have enough other things in my life to be concerned about. And for your information I am not sad right now, merely serious. It is how I am"

The crying girl stopped crying and looked at the other with a mixture of curiosity and admiration: she was about the funniest little body the southern girl had ever met, but she had an awesome sort of dignity about her that could not fail to impress.

"On the other hand, your Aunt Rosie has a good point, you might wish to heed it more often," Clara decided to use the ammunition provided.

Arabella, ever wiling to trim her sails to suit the direction of the breeze, wiped the snot from her nose with the back of her wrist and pulled as serious a face as she could muster, and nodded. “Miss Redmond, you are right. I too should emulate you, and try to keep my emotions in check and act with more dignity and restraint.” To her amazement, trying to act more like Clara actually improved her grammar! Then again, she always had been a good mimic, a trait that had landed her in trouble enough in times past.

An idea struck her “Say, Clara, when I meet your Pappy, maybe I should try and act all serious and miserable like you, he might like that. Or do you think I should be more charmin’ and divertin’, like I usually am? Hmmm. Oh!!! And what in the Dickens am I gonna wear? Do you still have my clothes? Why, after all them months on the wagon train, and all my a’ventures afterwards, they was just as dirty and full o’ grey-backs as you can’t imagine!”

“Oh no! You can’t do that fer me!” Arabella gasped “I mean, that ain’t rosewater in there, it’s what you might term ‘unpleasantly fragrant in an early mornin’ sort of way!’ You just show me where it goes, and I’ll tote it there: I’m gonna have to start pulling my weight around here!”

"No, I will not bandy words with you. I will empty it. The last thing I want is for you to spill it all over the place, remember you are still early in your recovery from that travail in Whitefish," Clara was a person who liked being in charge. Well, maybe not always liked but preferred it to the incompetence she feared in so many others. Arabella inspired zero confidence in her.

The conversation moved on then, the emptying could wait. Besides, the child flitted from one drama to another like a bee in a field of flowers.

“Miss Redmond, you are right. I too should emulate you, and try to keep my emotions in check and act with more dignity and restraint.”

"Well, it would not hurt to at least give it an honest effort. I have found it to work for me," Clara nodded though she did not mention the downside, a lot of folk did not particularly like her much. So be it.

“Say, Clara, when I meet your Pappy, maybe I should try and act all serious and miserable like you, he might like that. Or do you think I should be more charmin’ and divertin’, like I usually am? "

Clara glared, "Miserable? I do NOT act miserable. The nerve!"

"Hmmm. Oh!!! And what in the Dickens am I gonna wear? Do you still have my clothes? Why, after all them months on the wagon train, and all my a’ventures afterwards, they was just as dirty and full o’ grey-backs as you can’t imagine!”

"I will wash them when I do the laundry and also try and patch them where they need it. Just be patient, waiting on you hand and foot is hardly the only task I have to handle around here," Clara was still more than a bit flustered at being told she was ... 'miserable'. Ignorant child!

"No, I will not bandy words with you. I will empty it. The last thing I want is for you to spill it all over the place, remember you are still early in your recovery from that travail in Whitefish,"

A physical tug of war involving a potty full of pungent piddle could not possibly end well, so Arabella acquiesced, but it did seem an odd thing to insist upon. Also, she hadn’t really traveled that much in Whitefish, just stumbled in on foot, and been carried out flat on her back a few hours later. Still, she kept her peace. Clara seemed to take exception to everything she said.

“Miss Redmond, you are right. I too should emulate you, and try to keep my emotions in check and act with more dignity and restraint.”

"Well, it would not hurt to at least give it an honest effort. I have found it to work for me," Clara nodded though she did not mention the downside, a lot of folk did not particularly like her much. So be it.

“Say, Clara, when I meet your Pappy, maybe I should try and act all serious and miserable like you, he might like that. Or do you think I should be more charmin’ and divertin’, like I usually am? "

Clara glared, "Miserable? I do NOT act miserable. The nerve!"

“Of, that’s all right, I know you ain’t actin’” smiled Arabella, she got the impression that Clara really was miserable. Still, with her Mammy dying like that, she didn’t really blame her. What was more confusing, and somewhat guilt inducing, was the fact that the death of her own beloved Father, only a month ago and in the most miserable of circumstances, wasn’t making her as grief-stricken as it rightfully should. Sure, she would burst out crying at the drop of a hat, but she was always like that. Rather than ponder that painful subject, she turned her mind to more practical matters.

"Hmmm. Oh!!! And what in the Dickens am I gonna wear? Do you still have my clothes? Why, after all them months on the wagon train, and all my a’ventures afterwards, they was just as dirty and full o’ grey-backs as you can’t imagine!”

"I will wash them when I do the laundry and also try and patch them where they need it. Just be patient, waiting on you hand and foot is hardly the only task I have to handle around here," Clara was still more than a bit flustered at being told she was ... 'miserable'. Ignorant child!

“Awwww, I thought I was getting up and dressed now, an’ I could have breakfast with you and ol’ Wyatt and meet your Pappy and all your pets! Do I have to go back to bed?” she pouted. That was no fun, she’d already been to bed, she wanted new sights and new sensations. “Clara, I’m powerful curious to meet your Pappy, what’s he like?”

“Awwww, I thought I was getting up and dressed now, an’ I could have breakfast with you and ol’ Wyatt and meet your Pappy and all your pets! Do I have to go back to bed?” she pouted. That was no fun, she’d already been to bed, she wanted new sights and new sensations. “Clara, I’m powerful curious to meet your Pappy, what’s he like?”

"I did not say you had to go back to bed. In fact I think it capital if you do get up, it seems to me you are quite well on your way to complete recovery," Clara assured her.

"And as for my father, he is a wonderful man. I could ask for no better father than him," Clara thought that summarized it all.

"Get dressed then...in your nightshirt will do for now and then come out and you can meet him. But....Arabella....tamp down the enthusiasm a little, please? Father likes a calm reasoned conversation."

"And as for my father, he is a wonderful man. I could ask for no better father than him," Clara thought that summarized it all.

“Ain’t they all?” Smiled Arabella, it was somehow comforting that Clara seemed to feel the same high regard for her father that she felt for her own. He wasn’t perfect, she knew that, and his pipe-dreams had, throughout thier lives, led them into a lot of trouble and care, but she loved him with all her heart, buried as he was, out there in some unknown grave on the open prairie.

"Get dressed then...in your nightshirt will do for now and then come out and you can meet him. But....Arabella....tamp down the enthusiasm a little, please? Father likes a calm reasoned conversation."

“Meet him in my nightie!” Arabella balked “That’s kinda embarrassing!” she squeaked. Odd that she didn’t seem to mind Wyatt seeing her in the altogether in the bath but was particular about meeting a grown man in the thick nightshirt donated by Clara’s brother.

“Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers” she shrugged “…and I’ll try an’ make sure he thinks I ain’t enthusiastic about meeting him, if you think that’s best!” she acquiesced.

"Oh hardly, I am quite confident there are a lot of bad fathers out there, I consider myself blessed," Clara disagreed.

The girl wanted to meet her father, fine then. Clara told her to put on the nightie once more as her other clothes weren't washed yet.

"Meet him in my nightie!” Arabella balked “That’s kinda embarrassing!”

"Nonsense. May I point out that my father raised two children from tiny babies. I think he's seen children in nighties before, would you not agree?" Clara was unsympathetic, it was another case of the girl being over dramatic, though to be expected it seemed.

But she conceded. Clara nodded then said,"Come out when you are done then. I need to attend to the breakfast."

***

Once their guest left the bedroom, it was but a few steps to the wooden table where Wyatt was sitting already. The boy smiled at her. Clara was slicing some bread by the stove. And next to her was Aurelian, he was minding the frying pan where eggs were sizzling in melted butter. He glanced Arabella's way.

"Good morning, young lady. Clara said you are feeling much better, good to know. Have a seat," he smiled.

"Nonsense. May I point out that my father raised two children from tiny babies. I think he's seen children in nighties before, would you not agree?" Clara was unsympathetic, it was another case of the girl being over dramatic, though to be expected it seemed.

Arabella wasn’t convinced; she put aside the towel now that she was dry and commented that “I might not have the bumps like you got, but I don’t reckon I’m a tiny baby no more!”

But she conceded. Clara nodded then said, "Come out when you are done then. I need to attend to the breakfast."

“Yes Ma’m!” agreed the Southern girl from somewhere inside the voluminous nightshirt.

***

Once their guest left the bedroom, it was but a few steps to the wooden table where Wyatt was sitting already. The boy smiled at her. Clara was slicing some bread by the stove. And next to her was Aurelian, he was minding the frying pan where eggs were sizzling in melted butter. He glanced Arabella's way.

The newcomer entered the room looking around in wonder and curiosity, it was such a neat and homely place: homely, that was the word: it was a home not just a house.

She immediately caught Wyatt’s eye and gave him an enormous grin and a wave, then she pointed at him and then herself, and started to shake the front of the nightie, all accompanied by the loudest stage whisper in history. “Howdy Wyatt! Look, I got your nightshirt on!” She had decided that whispering loudly was near enough to ‘not appearing too enthusiastic’ as advised by Clara to impress her Pa.

The master of the house was actually cooking breakfast, along with Clara’s help, and seemed friendly enough as he greeted her.

"Good morning, young lady. Clara said you are feeling much better, good to know. Have a seat," he smiled.

“Thank you Mr. Redmond” she replied politely, giving a neat curtsey, and only adding “Please forgive me for appearing at your table in my dishevel-y.” She meant déshabillé, but it was ‘near enough for Marion’, as they used to say back home.

She sat opposite Wyatt and gave him another excited smile. “Does your Pappy always cook the breakfast?” she asked him in a loud whisper, leaning over the table somewhat on her elbows, the better to whisper, even though she was loud enough already.

“Smells good! Do you know what, Wy ol’ chum, the best cooks in the world are men, even though women usually do the cookin’. There was even this man cook, chefs they call ‘em, who cooked rats fer all the people in Paris a couple o’ years ago, that’s in France, and when they found out they’d been eatin’ rats they was all right disgusted, but he was such a good chef and he made them varmints so tasty and delicious that the next day they went back and said ‘oh Mister John Pierre,’ that was his name see, oh, we all got a hankerin’ for your Rat a l’Orange please, please cook it some more. And since them, them Frenchies over there, they eats nuthin’ but rats”

She nodded at him, in open mouthed shock at her own tale, to prove that it was true.

“Howdy Wyatt! Look, I got your nightshirt on!”

"You can have it," Wyatt was fine with the revelation. Left unsaid was he didn't want it anymore if a girl had slept in it...yuck!

Aurelian greeted her then.

“Thank you Mr. Redmond” she replied politely, giving a neat curtsey, and only adding “Please forgive me for appearing at your table in my dishevel-y.”

He didn't even turn to look, "Oh, that's quite alright. Think I have seen a few folks in their nighties before."

Clara glanced at Arabella as if to say 'told you', then returned to her duties.

Arabella sat opposite Wyatt and gave him another excited smile. “Does your Pappy always cook the breakfast?"

"Nah, Clara does almost all the cooking. It's for the best, believe me," Wyatt liked his sister's cooking, his father was....alright.... at it.

Then their house guest launched into this long story about rats and cooking rats in France and how this chef was the best rat cooker ...... Wyatt listened wide eyed.

"I don't think I wanna try a rat, thank ya," was his assessment.

Clara now added her two cents, "Sounds like a story to me. French cooking is famous in Europe. Doubt they cook up vermin unless it would be a dire emergency like a siege."

Now Wyatt did a little whispering, "My sister likes the French cuz they had this girl called Joan of Arc. She's Clara's favorite history person. She won a really long war and wore a suit of armor."

The boy paused as if to think on his last part then amended, "Joan... not Clara."

Now Aurelian moved up to the table and using a spatula plopped two sizzling eggs onto the plate in front of Arabella then two more for Wyatt, "Eat up while they're hot. We got salt and pepper too if you want it, child."