"Well, I can't promise a miracle," he answered her, "but I can share some of my fish if you're hungry.  I'm back from Oakdale on a fishing trip.  This is the last catch I made.  People say you can't eat salted fish without cooking it, but those people have never been on a long march, I say."

Caroline couldn't help but make a face at the the fish especially now knowin that the damn thing wasn't even cooked, not on her life!

"Umm, no thanks, I'm full," she lied.

His face fell somewhat when he was notified that there would be no bread forthcoming.

"You make stew, but not bread?"

"I don't make either, hon. You lookin' fer baked goods, try the diner, they got a fine selection of baked goods," she set him straight but in a good natured tone.

"Well... just the coffee."

"Alright..."

He paused, thinking, before adding, "and if you're not busy, I'd buy you a drink as well in exchange for the news of affairs while I've been out of town."

Now that was more like it, Caroline brightened up, "Well, I can sit for a little but you mighta noticed I got a saloonful of other customers who be wantin' my company. Now I'll be right back with yer coffee."

As she headed back, she planted a strategic elbow right across the back of the head of that blowhard who hadn't kept his opinion to himself, "Oops! Excuse clumsy ol' me!"

Heading into the back for the coffee she glanced toward Roland but Frances was keeping him occupied. Which was fine, her playing wasn't needed at the time. She couldn't be expected to just sit there like a lump.

Soon enough she was back with a tray. On it was a steaming cup of coffee, a bowl of stew and a crust of Messalina's fine baked bread she made for the folks who lived in the place for their meals.  She set it down in front of him then reached for a shot glass of whiskey she had managed to secure for herself too as he had agreed to.

"Now I know you said just coffee but I found some fresh bread from this mornin' breakfast and thought maybe he'd eat the stew then? If ya still don't want it, then I'll eat it and it'll be yer loss."

Roland paused as she removed her glasses.

It hadn’t been a story to tell her she was a pretty girl.  She was, and could have been one of the beauties in town.  But after carving her out of clay, God had apparently spitefully poked his fingers into her eyes, ruining what he’d made.  It was a double cruelty, considering what sort of life she might have enjoyed, otherwise.

But her query had accessed a part of his mind that bypassed maudlin thoughts to a large degree.  A craftsman almost had a second brain devoted to his craft, and especially for anything they had created.  It was this subordinate mind that now came to the fore for a moment.

“Oh, I can have a look.  I used captive screws with gnarled ends for the user-serviceable parts, so you can always fine-tune it to the tightness you des-”

He stopped mid-sentence as a rude comment surfaced from one of the tables.  His entire frame stiffened in indignation and anger.  He paused, clearly at war with his impulses, and did not see that Caroline had delivered some justice on his behalf. 

Unfortunately.  It might have stayed his hand from what he did next.

He said, “Excuse me,” and set the spectacles down.

Then he turned and walked over to the rude imbecile who’d blurted out the remark.

“Her blood was warm,” Roland said, “and half of its entire volume was spilt on the ground.  And if you will meet me outside, I shall demonstrate it for you.”

Then, as though to ensure he wasn’t refused, he added,   “You ugly, worthless curr of a creature.  She had twice your sense and four times your courage.”

@Open

Eric’s eyes lighted on the tray Caroline had brought, and had a smile as bright as the one on his lips.  Unfortunately, neither was particularly bright, through no fault of his own.  The creator hadn’t used much of his craft when forming Eric’s face.  Some found him passable, but few found him handsome.  

Someone once told him he looked like an undertaker, and that seemed apt enough.

“Well, that does look delicious.  I think you’ve ‘lured’ me away from the fish.”

He gave her a look that said,’Lured, get it?’

“We can share it, too, if you’re hungry.”

But there seemed to be appetite for more than stew and bread here, today.  Eric watched Mr. Smith walk over to challenge the man who’d erupted with an unkind remark.

Now it was his turn to stiffen, concerned at the part he’d played in this affair.  But he couldn’t interfere in a matter of honor.  Well… not unless asked, first.

@Open

“Well, that does look delicious.  I think you’ve ‘lured’ me away from the fish.”

He gave her a look that said,’Lured, get it?’

Caroline had to chuckle at his sincere attempt at humor, "I get it. And once you taste this stew, you won't regret your change of mind."

“We can share it, too, if you’re hungry.”

She was about to sit down and introduce herself when Roland had marched angrily right over to that big mouth and he was in a fighting mood. She glanced toward Ralph who was moving his hands under the counter, that meant either the chair leg or the sawed off. This was not good!

“Her blood was warm,” Roland said, “and half of its entire volume was spilt on the ground.  And if you will meet me outside, I shall demonstrate it for you.”

To which he added,  “You ugly, worthless curr of a creature.  She had twice your sense and four times your courage.”

It could be a risky move but Caroline felt it was part of her job, a part she truly hated too. But Roland was involved and even if he would win if it came to guns, he might be then arrested. He already had a bad enough reputation. She barged right in between the two men.

"WHOA NOW!"

"Mr. Smith, while you were wronged, I heard it as well as anyone, let's not let this turn into another grave," she started with Roland.

Then she rounded on the big mouth was by now wide eyed and visibly scared.

"And you! That was a stupid thing to do, to say! You are gonna apologize right now....and it better sound fuckin' convincing!" she snarled at him.

The man's fellow table sitters were already getting up and clearing away, not wanting any part of this. He was not just scared, he was now alone.

"Sure thing!  Look....mister, I sometimes say stuff without thinkin'. I don't even know you and I didn't know the....dead man. I just heard some things ...hell, I wasn't even there when it all went down. I apologize....I really do. I don't wanna go outside with you. I'm no good with guns."

Caroline now threw in, "Ain't you married, Floyd?" 

"Oh yes! Sure am, a wife and three kids! Please, mister, I am real sorry for my stupid words!"

The world was on fire.

Everything was burning around him, and he was the devil in the center of hell.

That's what his rage felt like, and he wanted to pour it out into this man until he was empty of it.

Empty of rage, and of sadness, and especially of his guilt.

But then there was Caroline, standing fast against the raging bull.

And then there was the man, apologizing, wanting no part of this brutal catharsis.

And the moment passed.

It was just mortal men, now.  Mortal men and mortal women, and the mortal frailty of a mortal world.

Roland un-clenched hands he hadn't realized were balled into fists.  

"All... all right, then."   

Roland stared at the offender for a long moment, looking over Caroline's interceding frame.   Then he turned and walked back to the bar.  His hands were shaking when he put them on the bar-top.  His breathing was deep and fast.  He looked like a man who'd run around the block, rather than one who'd merely crossed the expanse of a room.  The engine of the body burned hatred as hot and fast as a powerful locomotive.  But when the anger waned, so too did strength, leaving him feeling like a hollowed-out glass vessel.

"I'm sorry," he said, perhaps to Frances.  Perhaps to the barkeep.  Perhaps to himself. 

Maybe he was apologizing to Zenobia.

Even he didn't know which.

@Open

Was it her intercession? Or him mentioning he had both wife and children? Whatever, the perilous situation defused just like that. Roland hesitated then a sort of calm came over him.

Roland un-clenched his fists.

"All... all right, then." 

Caroline breathed a sigh of relief and the man just added another plaintive, "I'm so sorry, so sorry."

Caroline whispered a barely audible  "Thank ya" to Roland before he then turned his back and returned to the bar. As for the loose mouthed jasper, he proceeded to scuttle out of the place trying to maintain any possible dignity he had left. That was that then.

Now she wanted to join the desolate gun shop owner at the bar but at the same time she had promised that new customer she'd be back to spend a little time with him. Taking a second look, young Frances was now engaging Roland in some ardent conversation and Ralph was right there so he was not alone. Well, there were so many customers and just one of her. For now, she went back to the table she had just been ready to sit down at.

"Sorry about that, hon. Saloons can be excitin' places some times. Lots a men and liquor can do that. Now then...........how's that stew? And what was it you wanted me ta talk with you about?" she addressed Eric.

Oh and then she drained her shot of whiskey in one gulp and did not look phased in the slightest by it.

Roland smiled that sad, pathetic smile again, as dear Frances consoled him.  

She was a lovely girl with a true heart.  He couldn't remember the name of the slow-moving git who was hesitant to marry her, but if he ever met him, he'd be tempted to box the fellow's ears.

"You are kinder than I deserve, Miss Grimes.  I do not feel like a very strong man, today."

What a miracle or curse the heart could be.  There'd been moments, moving in rhythm with Zenobia, when he'd been a Samson.  But now his locks were cut, and it did not feel there was any God to hear him rail against his fate.  

Oh, what a self-interested bastard you are, he chastised himself.  She's lost her whole life, and you pretend to be the wounded party.  

Frances offered him some music.  Self-pitying, angry, melancholy... it was as much a call to music as gleeful celebration.  One of the magic tricks of an instrument, or a song sung.  

"Do you know... We met by chance, Sweet Jenny?"  Roland had heard it two years ago, in a circulation of music sheets that had reached London pubs.  It was a song about lovers, though with no particular pertinence to his situation.  But then... all songs about lovers were woven into the same tapestry, weren't they?

He belatedly fished into his pocket for a coin, and laid it upon the counter audibly so that she might hear it.  Requests ought to be paid for, surely?

If only all requests were as easily paid for and acquired.

Javia

Eric un-tensed as the altercation between the men had the air let out of it thanks to Caroline's intervention.

Brave girl.  Not everyone would have stepped between two men about to do battle.

Or perhaps in this case, one man about to bloody another mercilessly.

He had known the temptation of venting his spleen with his fists.  It could be cathartic, emotionally.  But it was seldom healthy for the individuals involved.  Sometimes, it could even turn tragic.  He'd known fellows who had been killed for the sake of such catharsis, which merely inflicted a new sort of wound on the psyche for the survivors.

When Caroline returned, he smiled at her.  His smile was not reputed to be a charming one, but he still shared it freely.

"You saved people from harm today," he said, "and that is a very good turn.  If no one else mentions it, I thought I should."

He nodded to his stew, "Now, we were going to share this, and you were going to tell me the news of the town while I was away this past week."

Wayfarer