Roland's morning had been a nonstop series of appointments, one leading inexorably to the next as he knocked off every item on the 'To-Do' list which delineated his path from being an outsider to a town citizen.. 

He'd started with the bank, to secure the Deed for his property.   Then he'd been to the freight office, to arrange the delivery of his possessions.   Then the Marshal's office, to discuss matters relating to the deadly firefight of two days' past.

Now he could finally settle down to a nice meal before embarking on his difficult afternoon.   The freight office would have his things delivered in a couple of hours.  Perhaps he'd get to see Addy again.  The girl was a heroine who'd fought beside him and won their lives from highwaymen.  His growling belly wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for her.

He leaned back slightly as he gazed up at the Lickskillet restaurant's street-facing front.  It seemed like a home which had been re-purposed as a restaurant.  Not at all unusual.  Many shops in London had apartments above them, and Roland's own freshly acquired gunsmithing property was as much a home as a workshop. 

Caroline had suggested that this place was a good source for a great meal.  He intended to find out for himself.  Then, fortified by whatever meal they served him here, he could spend the rest of the day unpacking and situating his possessions and equipment.

Having taken in the sight of the eatery, he walked forward and reached out to push open its front door.  A gentle bell announced his arrival to the hostess and patrons.  As always when he stepped into a building from the outside during the day, he blinked rapidly and waited for his eyes to adjust to the different lighting conditions inside...

Wayfarer  @[Open]

Another busy day but then they usually were. Clara didn't mind it, made the time go faster, and it was money for Emeline's business. She would be mortified if the business had fallen apart under her watch but fortunately for all involved things were going well, profits most every day. Clara had hired Lucinda part time but otherwise did the lion's share of the work and all the cooking and baking. Both were things she was good at.

Clara had just set down a couple of lunch plates in front of an elderly pair of sisters, regulars there, when the small bell fixed on the top of the front door tinkled it's signal of someone else entering the place. She half turned to glance, most of the customers were locals and many regulars but this fellow was a stranger. Maybe he had arrived on the stage. No matter, a customer was a customer.

"Enjoy, ladies, I shall be back in a bit to check if you need anything else," she wished the pair then turned fully to face the gentleman.

"Good day, sir, will you be eating a meal or just come in for some of our baked goods?" she inquired, while gesturing toward a small circular table in the one corner, "Please be seated. The menu is on the wall."   There was a chalkboard with all the entree items chalked up in excellent printing, Clara was a stickler for spelling and good penmanship.

Beneath her apron it would be noticeable the young woman was pregnant unless the fellow was quite oblivious to such things.

Roland smiled and removed his hat, bowing his head slightly in greeting to the young lady.

"Good day to you, ma'am," he said cordially, and then noticed there was somewhere to hang hats and coats here.   He carefully placed his hat on a hook before addressing young Clara again.

"The second half of my day is prone to be much more trying than the first.  So I may be inclined to sit a spell for lunch and then steal away one of your pies with me to enjoy later on, as I'll find no opportunity to cook a supper."

He smiled amiably as he took the offered seat.

It was only as he settled in that he took notice of Clara's bump.  Not a feature of general plumpness, as she was a slender lady.  Part of his mind worried that she perhaps ought not to be working in her condition.  

But then, she might not have a choice in the matter if she was to provide for herself and her family.

"I would be grateful for any tea you may have in the house," he said, "and a suggestion as to which of these fine meals is the heartier treat."  

It had been hit and miss with tea as he approached the frontier.  Some towns seemed to know what tea was, and some seemed bewildered by the notion.  He didn't mind a stout cup of coffee, but he'd love a Darjeeling.  Perhaps out here, nearer now to California than New York, they might catch some fringes of Eastern trade from the Western coast.

He'd been spoiled for choice of tea in London.  This, not only due to the good trade, but also because many adventurers returning from India shared a pouch of tea as they recounted the use of their Howdahs on safari.  

Here... things were a bit different.

@[Clara Lutz]

The man seemed a decent enough sort and also well spoken, an English accent too. Clara listened to his plans.

"The second half of my day is prone to be much more trying than the first.  So I may be inclined to sit a spell for lunch and then steal away one of your pies with me to enjoy later on, as I'll find no opportunity to cook a supper."

"Well, sir, you are more than welcome to sit there all afternoon if it suits you. And without wanting to sound like bragging, our pies are the finest in town. Everyone says this is so," Clara assured him.

"I would be grateful for any tea you may have in the house," he said, "and a suggestion as to which of these fine meals is the heartier treat."

"Certainly we have tea. Would you like any milk or sugar with it or even honey?" she dealt with his first request.

"I think the fried chicken is very good, it's one of our biggest sellers. Or a beef steak cooked to your specifics, the beef comes from a local ranch so very fresh. We also serve beans and bread with the entrees. And butter of course for the bread," she continued.

Roland's mouth watered upon hearing the options available to him.

"It can hardly be bragging," he recounted, "as I received the same intelligence from a saloon I visited yesterday afternoon.  Their tale of your pies sowed a seed in me that has been growing an appetite of anticipation every hour since."

Honeyed Milk Tea was one of Roland's preferred formulations, and when he heard she could supply the beverage with milk and honey, he decided it was a good omen for his decision to move here.  "Milk and honey with the tea would be divine."

He gave some thought to the main course, "I always make a point to take the advice of the staff in such matters.  I shall try the Chicken which was first to your lips.  As for the pie I shall take with me after... I have not fully explored the American custom of pie-making.  Cornish pastys seem too much to hope for... but do you make meat pies of any description?"

If he was to take a pie for his supper, something with more weight than sugar would be best.

While he had her here, he decided to try for some light conversation.

"My name is Roland, incidentally.  Roland Smith.  I've just bought a shop in town.  I hope to make a go of it as a gunmaker and trader."  He smiled.

"I hear this restaurant's owner was recently wed.  It seems this establishment is a center of good fortune."  

He glanced at her belly, as though to imply her pregnancy was similarly fortuitous.

"Perhaps some of it will rub off on my affairs."

@[Clara Lutz]

"It can hardly be bragging," he recounted, "as I received the same intelligence from a saloon I visited yesterday afternoon.  Their tale of your pies sowed a seed in me that has been growing an appetite of anticipation every hour since."

"Oh that would probably have been Miss Mundee, she is quite the regular customer for our pies," Clara nodded.

He then requested the tea with honey and milk.  "Of course, sir," Clara scribbled that down on her note pad.

"I shall try the Chicken which was first to your lips.  As for the pie I shall take with me after... I have not fully explored the American custom of pie-making.  Cornish pastys seem too much to hope for... but do you make meat pies of any description?"

"Fried chicken, very well," was accompanied by more scribbling then with his last question, again she nodded and pointed toward the chalkboard, "Actually we do have meat pies. Beef ones today."

"My name is Roland, incidentally.  Roland Smith.  I've just bought a shop in town.  I hope to make a go of it as a gunmaker and trader."  He smiled.

"Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Smith. I am Mrs. Clara Lutz, but the regulars just call me Clara," she returned the introduction.

"I hear this restaurant's owner was recently wed.  It seems this establishment is a center of good fortune."  

"Yes indeed. The owner is Mrs. Emeline Pike and she and her husband have been gone on a long trip soon after they were wed. Traveling about the west, I get the occasional letter and telegram. They are having a wonderful time. She deserves it, she is a wonderful woman. So I am running the place in the meantime," Clara explained.

"Perhaps some of it will rub off on my affairs."

"Oh, well we do probably need a new gunshop owner in Kalispell, the previous gentleman left hurriedly. I did not really know him but most folks opinion of him was quite favorable. You know how it is though - men and their guns. I myself care nothing about such things though my father has taught me to shoot. He has a Dragoon Colt and a Sharps carbine from the war," Clara replied.

"My husband, Jacob, has a rifle from his grandmother. I believe it is a rifled musket....may well be from the war also," she shrugged.

"Oh that would probably have been Miss Mundee, she is quite the regular customer for our pies," Clara nodded.

Roland was caught up short, as he couldn't recall if he'd ever been told Caroline's surname.   But it seemed safe enough to assume it was the same person.  "Indeed," he said, "she seemed as enthusiastic over your pies as she was for her Saloon's own stew, which I can attest was also delicious."

When Clara informed him that meat pies were indeed a tradition of this establishment, he grinned.  "Excellent.  Chicken for lunch, Beef for supper.  If that doesn't power me through the unpacking of my gear, I wager nothing can."

He dipped his head, "Pleasure to know you, Clara.  It is surely a boon to Mrs. Pike to have you attending her business affairs while she is away.  When my tea arrives, I shall raise a toast to the happy couple."

As Clara touched upon the topic of guns, Roland leaned forward in his chair, as though drawing himself nearer to the topic.

She mentioned the previous gunsmith, and he nodded, "I believe it is that same gentleman's shop I've purchased from the Bank.  Hopefully he hastened away to attend to good fortune, and not bad.  In any event, it has become my good fortune, now.  A decent property to be had at a good price, allowing me to get situated in my new home."

Roland inclined his head with interest as Clara outlined her father's arsenal.  Colt Dragoon and Sharps.  Roland had little information about the American troubles in general, but in matters of weaponry he was somewhat more informed.  The guns could be found in the arsenals of both sides, but they were much more common in the North.  "Did your father fight for the Union, then?  It seems to me that the Northerners were generally better supplied and armed than those in the South."  It had also seemed to him that the South had enjoyed bolder military leaders, but he didn't want to say so for fear of offending her or someone else in earshot. "The Sharps in particular is an excellent weapon.  I had the good fortune to inspect one when my country acquired a number of the 1852 model for the misunderstandings in India." 

It was interesting that those who'd fought for the North and those who'd fought for the South might co-exist in the same town.  He wondered if each had made peace with the other, or if there were simmering tensions waiting to ignite anew.   It was ten years gone, now... but how long was that, really?  England had endured its own spats with the Irish, and he wondered if those difficulties would ever truly end.  The Scots had come into the fold much more neatly after a long spot of trouble.  It was hard to say what made some people reconcile and others to stoke their ire.

"I have had some luck converting rifled muskets to cartridge calibers, if that might interest your husband.  Nothing wrong with a cap and ball, of course.  But it can be profitable to update a tool so it may ably serve another generation."

He nodded to her, "And though guns may not interest you for sporting reasons, I have heard that some ladies in town carry a small weapon for the sake of prudence in troubled times.  If such was ever a concern, I feel confident I could provide something to suit which would not interfere with your duties."

He leaned back again, "What sort of trade does your husband work, Mrs. Lutz, if it is not impolitic to inquire?"

@[Clara Lutz]

"Oh I have never had the saloon stew, I do not set foot in a place like that," shrugged Clara, "But I have heard nothing but compliments about it."

An exchange of introductions followed with the usual pleasantries. Eventually the discussion turned to, of all things, guns. Well, he was a gunsmith after all. And Clara filled him in on the Redmond arsenal plus her husband's rifle, such as it was.

"Yes, my father was in a Union cavalry ....regiment they call it I believe. Served with gallantry as anyone who knows him would expect," her voice was obvious with a daughter's pride in her father.

"Yes, he takes very good care of his Sharps and he is a fine shot with it too. He taught me to load and fire it just in case of Indian attack. You see some years back our first farmstead was attacked by Indians. My mother was killed by the savages. She threw herself in front of me and took an arrow. I was already shot once and was down on the ground in considerable agony. The doctor told my father I would probably die from it but he replied I was too stubborn to allow that to happen. Guess it was true."

She had related that story quite calmly and it was far enough in the past that she could make it all sound  conversational but the sadness of losing her mother, that would never go away. They had been very close.

"After I recovered and we had moved to this part of Montana, he made a point of teaching me to shoot both the Sharps and the Dragoon revolver. It would be difficult for me to pick which of the two has a bigger kick to it," she was going for humor though levity was never a strong point of hers.

Then it came to Jacob's old gun, Granny Miggin's had owned it even before the war, course she was ancient. Honestly Clara was not happy about Jacob depending upon such a relic  (the gun not the granny). A single shot muzzle loader, not good.

"I have had some luck converting rifled muskets to cartridge calibers, if that might interest your husband.  Nothing wrong with a cap and ball, of course.  But it can be profitable to update a tool so it may ably serve another generation."

"A tempting offer, Mr. Smith, but to be honest we are a young couple and money is tight. Plus as you probably noticed we have a child coming in the near future and then it will be three not two to worry about financially. As it is now we live in Mrs.Pike apartment upstairs here for now, thanks to her kindness," Clara explained.

"What sort of trade does your husband work, Mrs. Lutz, if it is not impolitic to inquire?"

"Jacob rides for the telegraph, patrolling the lines to see they are up, and delivering messages to folk outside of town. I do not much like that he has to depend on a muzzle loader given he is often mounted. But he is a fine rider and he believes he can avoid hostile Indians," she answered.

"Oh I have never had the saloon stew, I do not set foot in a place like that," shrugged Clara, "But I have heard nothing but compliments about it."

Roland made a mental note.  He had not gotten a firm handle on the social mores of the frontier.  His wagoner had been a young woman.  He'd seen women in saloons at towns on the way to Oakdale- the last stop of the railroad in this corner of the country.  But he hadn't been able to politely inquire as to the sorts of women they had been.  He knew Addie was far from loose, and merely inclined to a man's career.  But now he also knew there was a standard of decency about which women should be found in a saloon.  And Clara- perhaps as a married woman- was above that bar.

"No, of course not," Roland muttered, hoping he had not offended Clara by seeming to suggest otherwise.

Fortunately, there seemed to have been no damage done.  Clara went on to discuss her father's skill with familial pride.  Roland often felt the same pride when discussing Lancaster craftsmanship... though unfortunately he could not claim his own relation.  It seemed that his father had done him some kindness in teaching him a craft, but never gave him his due as a son.  No... that had been for Thorn.  

Well, he had Thorn's whole shop in a wagon back at the freight office.  So he had his due, even if he'd been forced to take it.

Roland's attention was drawn back to the conversation as Clara described a hellish battle she'd participated in.  One in which she'd been grievously wounded, and her mother had been killed.  His eyes widened in surprise as he processed the tale.  Was this the life of people like here?  Did they absorb banditry and native arrows as casually as someone in London might absorb unpleasant weather?

The British were oft credited with a stiff upper lip, but clearly there were champion stoics of equal mettle out here on the American frontier.

Roland was still so moved by her casual recounting of these events that he had to force himself to chuckle at her mention of the Dragoon's recoil.  "Those Dragoons followed the Walkers in being made to knock over a horse in one shot if needed," he recalled aloud, "so I suppose it makes sense they'd kick like a horse, too.  I've never had the pleasure of wielding one, myself.  Though I hear a Beaumont-Adams is of similar potency."

As Clara went on to describe her husband's job, and their joint situation, Roland sobered a bit.  

A man simply could not patrol telegraph lines and deliver messages to far-flung ranches in this country with naught but a musket at his side.  He'd seen that for himself.  A two-day ride from Oakdale had turned into a life-and-death struggle against brigands.  This woman would be a widow before very long, regardless as to how clever her husband was.

"Hmm."  Roland's mood had clearly become grimmer and quieter in the wake of such revelations.  The lockworks of his mind were turning.

"Well, thank you for sharing your life with a stranger, Mrs. Lutz," he said at last.  "Such stories are as much a vital sustenance to me as the food you serve.  For I am a stranger in these lands, and knowledge is as likely to keep me alive and healthy as a good lunch.  Perhaps moreso."

 A plan was nearly fully formed.

No...  Mrs. Lutz would not be widowed for her husband's lack of a good gun.

@[Clara Lutz]

He knew about the Dragoon Colt then mentioned a 'Beaumont-Adams'? She figured it was another gun but one she had never heard mentioned before not that she had a lot of experience discussing or listening to gun talk to be honest.

"Ah, it sounds English," she ventured a guess.

He made a tempting offer to upgrade Jacob's old musket but sadly the youthful couple had to be quite frugal at this time in their marriage. And the baby, however welcome, added another complication.

"Well, thank you for sharing your life with a stranger, Mrs. Lutz," he said at last.  "Such stories are as much a vital sustenance to me as the food you serve.  For I am a stranger in these lands, and knowledge is as likely to keep me alive and healthy as a good lunch.  Perhaps moreso."

"You are quite welcome, you are a well spoken interesting man to talk with. I do not know about what knowledge I provided but if I certainly can provide you with a good lunch," she gave a ...well sort of a smile. A wide grin was pretty much not in her serious personality.

Just then the front bell gave it's familiar tinkle and another customer stepped in. Now this fellow certainly looked the role of a cowpoke and he was holstered too. The man spotted the young lady instantly and boomed out, "Well, Mrs. Lutz, you look as radiant as ever this fine afternoon."

Clara obviously knew him, "Mr. Flagg, back for your usual I take it?"

"Oh you can read me like a book, darling. My book is more like a leaflet though I'm afraid," he laughed, he seldom took himself all that seriously.

"Very well, take a seat then wherever you wish," Clara directed then glanced back to Mr. Smith, "And I need to provide that lunch for you too. I shall return as soon as possible."

"Oh, almost forgot. Caroline would kill me too. I'm supposed to bring back a pie for her. She ain't particular, whatever you got freshly baked," the man added.

"Of course, Mr. Flagg."  And with that Clara disappeared into the kitchen.

Flagg now took a closer look at Roland,  "She's quite the filly that one. And a good cook to boot. My luck, she's already happily married or I'da made my play. And no doubt been turned down."