James’ appearance was heralded by the bloom of dark smoke through the open front door of the little wooden cottage he’d so proudly dubbed Rosehaven.  Of course, the little dwelling he was making into his new home was a far cry from the kind of home he was used to back in England.  

The young British man burst through the door, his hands protected by the dish towels, a smoking pan holding the blackened remains of his very first attempt at cooking for himself.  He rushed over to the nearby rain barrel, setting down the pan at his feet then scooped up water pouring it over the hot remains of his dinner.

He grimaced at the hissing sound and the steam that rose when the cold water hit the hot pan, then let out a sigh, shaking his head and muttering to himself, “I followed the instructions.  Why did it go so wrong so quickly?”  Kicking at the ground, James turned, realizing that he’d been watched, and blushed hotly, shoving his hand through his toused brown mop of hair.  

Offering his unexpected observer a sheepish smile James gave a shrug of his shoulders, wiping his hands with one of the two dish towels he still held, “Cooking is not as easy as it looks.”  He said ruefully then let out another faint sigh, gaze drifting back to the ruined remains of the baked chicken he had tried to make for supper.  “Guess I will be eating my supper at the diner instead.”

It had been a long day and Addy was exhausted as she trudged home from the barn where the stage horses were stabled, along with her own team and saddle horses.  Weedy had taken care of some of the stock, but she still had to brush down and feed the team she'd driven in from Oakdale, then scrape mud off the wheels and undercarriage of the stage before she could call it a day and head home.

She brushed dirt from her wool skirt, then reached to push a lock of auburn hair behind her ear that had escaped the confines of her braid and hat, leaving a smudge across her forehead.  Right now, all she wanted was to clean up, eat and drop into bed, after spending a little time with Weedy.  The lad was doing well in school, for the most part, and she was applying herself to her own studies when she could so that one of these days she could help him with his lessons.

A whiff of something burning caught her attention, and Addy stopped, looking around for the source.  This wasn't just smoke from a cooking or warming fire, those were odors that were so common no one even thought about them any more.  No, this had the acrid bite of something burning that wasn't meant to be burning, and she changed course to find where it was coming from.

Black smoke, the sizzling of fire being quenched by water, frustrated mumbling drew her to the catastrophe -- well, former catastrophe -- and she nodded to the young man, grinning.  "Cookin' ain't easy at all," she declared, "I ain't no good at it, but I do know yer not supposed ta put it on th' ground like that!"

The main reason James had tried to cook for himself was in an effort to save some more of his dwindling funds. His home took the bulk of his income and he was doing his best to make the small dwelling feel like he belonged there. He’d managed to hang makeshift bookshelves for the books he’d brought with him on the long journey from England.

Fortunately, it was still warm enough that he hadn’t needed to chop firewood yet. That was not something he was looking forward to in the slightest. He would likely end up having to pay someone who was proficient in the safe use of an axe. He didn’t want to end up chopping off half his toes in a wild mishap.

James supposed that he could count himself lucky that his burned meal hadn’t drawn the attention of all his neighbors instead of just the one passerby. Not that he was thinking anything of the sort just then, his entire focus had been on extinguishing the burning meat. Another sign of just how ill-suited he was to life here on the American frontier.

James’s head shot up at the words and he turned, embarrassment showing plan on his face even as he managed a rueful smile for the young redheaded woman standing nearby watching him. “Indeed it is not.” He agreed with a grimace, nudging the charred remains of what was supposed to have been his evening meal. “I followed the directions with great care but…” He trailed off, letting out a sigh, poking again at the ruined meat with the toe of his boot.

Addy's nose wrinkled up as she looked down at the charred mess on the ground, still smouldering a bit.  "So, um, a recipe that tells ya ta burn it, then douse it in dirt?  Must be French!"

Grinning, she looked at the distraught man.  If you couldn't laugh, you wouldn't survive long out here! 

"Yer new 'round here, ain't ya?  Didn't see ya before, but then, what with drivin' freight, an' bandits an' Injuns an' all, I ain't been around town much myself!"  She stuck out her hand.  "I'm Addy Chappel, live right over there."  She pointed to a house about half-way up the block.  "Work outta that big barn by th' hotel, drive stage fer th' Millegan Company, an' run freight when I'm not doin' that."

It was always good to have new folks in town, and from the little she'd heard, he was maybe from England?

James’s gaze followed her down to the blackened, smoking mass that had been the chicken he’d been trying to make for his dinner, his expression crestfallen. At her quip his gaze shot up to her face again, a ready protest nearly falling from his lips until he caught the grin spreading across her face.

“Not French. It’s an Italian recipe, not a French one.” James replied then gave a dry chuckle.

“Is it that obvious?” James took her offered hand in his own, shaking it gently, listening rather intently to what she was telling him. He glanced to where she pointed, giving a brisk nod of his head. His thick brown hair fell into his eyes before he tossed his head, flipping the offending locks back out of his way. He blinked, a bit surprised by the idea of a woman driver, but had to admit that there were many things here that were vastly different from where he’d been raised.

“Have you been here your whole life? Or did you move here from somewhere else?” James asked, his voice quiet, his hands clasped together behind his back.

"Nah, I was born in Pigeon Forge, in Tennessee.  Pa's a muleskinner there, so I grew up around all manner'a critters," she explained, "an' eight big brothers ta show me th' ropes after Mama died."  That surely had shaped her path, although she was certain that, even with the influence of another female, she would have been a tomboy, and not a girly-girl, it just wasn't in her nature.  Working with horses and mules was far more fun than sewing and baking!

"After th' War, I didn't really have a mind ta go home, so I came west, Kansas, Dakota, drivin' freight until I got hired by th' Millegan Stage Line out here...was...seventy, settled in town here, got me a team an' wagon, an' here I am!"

The scenery here was beautiful, the folks were good, and even after the railroad came through, there would be a need for freight and people to be shuttled out from the station, so she wasn't worried about her business, and besides, she had a good 'nest-egg' set aside for Weedy's education.

"So, now, yer talkin' sounds like a fella I knew come from...England, I think it was.  That where ya from?  How'd ya end up in this rut on th' trail?"

James listened, his head cocked ever so slightly to the side, part of his mind wondering what on earth a muleskinner was. He knew, rather vaguely that Tennessee was another of the American territories, but hadn’t the slightest idea where Tennessee was. “Eight?” He choked, suppressing a shudder at the notion of that many Henrys making his life miserable. Having one had been bad enough, he couldn’t fathom the misery he’d have endured under that many. Though if he were fair it wasn’t likely that all eight would hate him as much as Henry had.

“And you like it here?” James asked Addy with the air of someone determined to carry his end of the conversation. James was reserved by nature and compared to the open curiosity of most of the townsfolk here he seemed even more so.

Flushing slightly before answering her most recent question, “I was studying law when my father died. The estate passed to my older brother and circumstances being what they were I wasn’t able to finish.” James told her not wishing to say that Henry flatly refused to give James his fair share of their inheritance. “I tried big cities at first but couldn’t compete against men who actually had law degrees. Came out here in hopes that what learning I did have would serve me better.” He shrugged sheepishly.

"Well, now, sometimes it's best ta get out from under yer family," Addy philosophized, not that that was her forte, "make yer own way, find new things."  She shrugged, smiling.  "An' yer right that there's them that might need help but can't afford no high-falutin' lawyer," -- she among them -- "they'd be grateful fer any advice."

Then she glanced toward town with a shrug.  "Place is nice enough, civilized enough that it ain't too wild, but not so civilized that ya can't live yer life without some fancy socialite beratin' ya fer wearin' britches an' lookin' after yer fellow fellers!"

While she generally was able to ignore taunts sent her way by refined 'ladies', Addy did get annoyed on occasion, especially when Weedy was within earshot, and most folks around here knew better than to mess with her.

"Looks like yer supper is ruined, yer welcome ta have supper with me an' Weedy.  Won't be grand nor fancy, but," she grinned and waved her hand at the ground, "be better'n that!"

“I can certainly attest to that.” James agreed with a rueful little smile for the friendly talkative young red head. “That is my hope.” He replied, mentally adding the word eventually since he didn’t want to jinx himself by admitting that bit aloud. “I found work in the surveyers office which is certainly finding something new for me.” He said managing a little laugh. Nothing in his entire life had prepared him for this that was certain.

James, who found life in the American west, a far cry from what he was used to didn’t venture an option to her most recent comment, simply offered her one of his shy, awkward smile, nodding his head.

“That’s most kind of you.” James murmured, gratitude shining from his warm hazel eyes. His gaze followed the wave of her hand at the blackened remains of his attempt to roast a chicken. While his life here was very different from what he’d known in England, he couldn’t fault the kindness of the people he’d met since his arrival in the quiet little hamlet.  He just hoped that it would remain quiet.  There were so many stories of indian attacks and James hoped it would never happen here.

"House is that one there."  She pointed to the modest house with a newly white-washed picket fence.  The yard was sparse but trimmed, but the outside of the building was in need of paint.

"Just got th' porch mended, so we'll be able ta get th' rest'a th' paintin' done before Winter sets in."  She shrugged, then explained, almost apologetically, "Ain't much ta look at, but up ta last Winter, when Whitefish got destroyed in that blizzard an' Weedy came ta be mine, I was livin' in th' back of th' stage barn.  Oh, it was a proper apartment, nice cot, stove, table an' all, but Weedy deserves better."

He was getting older, too, so both he and Addy needed their own rooms, and a family seemed more a family in a house.  "Could get somethin' bigger, maybe nicer, now I go th' reward off them bandits, but I want ta save fer his education, give him a chance ta do whatever he wants when he grows up."

She'd stopped putting it as 'better' than she had, because, in all honesty, she liked what she was doing, and had no shame over it, but Weedy was a bright boy, with many interests, and she wanted him to have every chance to embrace that.