"Oh...dear. So the man was a murderer then?" Constance assumed...oh wait, people out west hung men for cattle and horse rustling too.

He shifted and sat back a bit as he thought about Zenobia. Duncan Kerrigan had seen all manner of outlaws in his time-thieves, killers, and men who'd shoot you dead for a few dollars. But something about Zenobia Matthews sat differently with him. Zenobia had her reasons. But reason didn't always matter when the law came knocking. Justice wasn't always as simple as right and wrong though, some men deserved a bullet. 

"A job for one," she smiled.

"I came out west recently from my birthplace in Cincinnati, Ohio. My uncle lives here, his wife passed, and his daughter moved out when she became an adult. So I stay with him. I like Kalispell...mostly," she answered as best she could.

His thoughts were brought back to the present as he heard Constance's reply to his question. Giving her a warm smile as he ran his hand through his hair. “Family’s important. Good of you to be here for your uncle. Not everyone’s got someone to lean on.” He glanced toward the street, watching the dust swirl in the morning light. “Kalispell seems to have got some rough edges, but I reckon it’s got its charms, too. Guess that’s true of most places.” He met her gaze again, a warm smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Mostly liking it is better than not liking it at all.”

Oh dear, he didn't answer her question about the man about to be hanged. Maybe that was a touchy subject with him? She would not pursue it then. She at least now figured out he had to be some sort of lawman.

Constance now answered him about her life here in town for now. No big secrets there.

Giving her a warm smile as he ran his hand through his hair. “Family’s important. Good of you to be here for your uncle. Not everyone’s got someone to lean on.”

She wasn't going to touch his 'family was important' line. Not that he was wrong but she was on the outs with her father and brother which was the real reason she ended up going west. Her uncle happened to be here and provide a safe haven. The job followed.

He glanced toward the street, watching the dust swirl in the morning light. “Kalispell seems to have got some rough edges, but I reckon it’s got its charms, too. Guess that’s true of most places.” He met her gaze again, a warm smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Mostly liking it is better than not liking it at all.”

Well then, while his words were true enough, not much she had to reply to that truism. Probably a good time to stop chatting and get back on the job.

"Your order should be out soon, sir, I'll bring you out some coffee," she smiled and headed back into the kitchen.

***

It was no more than a good minute and Constance was back out with a cup of coffee on a saucer, setting it down carefully in front of him.

"Be careful, it's hot," she warned.

Then she went into the back but emerged in no time with a small tray, on it was a large bowl of chicken soup, "This is also hot."

There was a few thick slices of freshly baked bread on the tray too plus a knife and butter.

Duncan glanced up as Constance as he took his coffee. His fingers wrapping around the cup’s handle as he tested its warmth. He gave a small nod. "Hot coffee and hot soup. Sounds like you aim to keep a man warm," he remarked, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement.

As she set the tray down, he took in the sight of the meal—simple but hearty. The smell of fresh bread and chicken soup stirred up old memories of the meals he shared with Rose.

Reaching for the knife, he started to butter a slice of bread. "Much obliged, Miss Straub." After he took a bite of the bread he looked to Constance. "If you could make up a tray of soup and bread for the prisoner, I would appreciate it. I am sure she will be hungry. It was a long treck from Helena." 

"Hot coffee and hot soup. Sounds like you aim to keep a man warm," the man remarked, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement.

She smiled, "What I aim to do is provide you what you ordered."

Reaching for the knife, he started to butter a slice of bread. "Much obliged, Miss Straub." After he took a bite of the bread he looked to Constance. "If you could make up a tray of soup and bread for the prisoner, I would appreciate it. I am sure she will be hungry. It was a long trek from Helena."

"I will do that, sir. When I see you are done with your meal. No sense in her soup going cold on the poor woman," she pointed out.

"So when is this hanging supposed to take place, we haven't heard anything about it that I know of," she had to ask. Clara had never mentioned a hanging either. Nor any customers.

Duncan let out a slow breath and set his spoon down. “The Marshal just found out today,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of something unreadable. “Judge sent word that Miss Matthews is to hang here in Kalispell. Marshal wasn’t expectin’ that—thought they’d have had the hanging in Helena. Judge wanted to make a statement," Duncan shifted in his seat, his voice even. “The folks here need to see that justice isn’t just some distant idea carried out in Helena or somewhere far off. They need to know it’s real, that the law can reach out and touch anyone who breaks it. His words not mine."

"I figure whoever made the call wanted to reassure the people, plain and simple.” He reached out to take a piece of his bread dipping it in the soup he took a bite before he continued, “Problem is, there ain’t no gallows yet. Marshal has to build it before any hangin’ can take place.” His gaze flicked toward the door. “Reckon it’ll take a day or two, maybe more. But once it’s up, don’t think they’ll be wastin’ much time.”

The man gave her a much deeper explanation of the entire situation. The marshal was caught by surprise at the sudden decision to hang this poor woman in Kalispell instead of Helena. Some sort of message the judge wanted to send to the town. Really? Constance just didn't understand it all, that was probably because she was back East when this murder took place.

And then a gallows needed to built too, it's not like Kalispell had a permanent one. Quite understandable. So some work would need to be done to erect such a thing, obviously someplace in town not outside of it. The judge certainly sounded like he was sure the citizenry of Kalispell would approve, as it would send a strong signal your actions have consequences.

Constance supposed so but to her this was all just so sad.

"I hear when there are public hangings, people flock to see them. Almost like it was an entertainment. I believe I shall not go watch though," she decided aloud.

Duncan exhaled slowly, adjusting his hand through his hair as he gazed out toward the dusty street. “Aye, they do,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with something unreadable. “Some folks treat it like a spectacle—cheering, laughing, making a whole day of it. I’ve seen it enough to know I’ve no taste for it.”

He glanced at Constance, his expression thoughtful. “Justice has its place, but there’s a line between justice and cruelty. I won’t be there either.” His fingers drummed against top of the table, as if working out an unspoken thought. “A man, in this case a woman, pays for their crimes, but I don’t see the sense in watching them take thier last breath like it’s some kind of show.”

Looking to Constance, he offered a small nod. “You’ve the right of it. Let the law do what it must, but I won’t be standin’ there with the crowd.” His fingers tapped absently again against the table. “Some things are meant to be done, not celebrated.” Duncan’s gaze flickered to the street then back to her. “Best to let the dead rest and the living move on.”

ooc: Sorry, missed this!

IC:“Some folks treat it like a spectacle—cheering, laughing, making a whole day of it. I’ve seen it enough to know I’ve no taste for it," he told her.

Constance nodded, "So I've heard. Even bring picnic lunches and their families along. Last thing I would want was to bring a child of mine to see someone hang."

“Justice has its place, but there’s a line between justice and cruelty. I won’t be there either.” His fingers drummed against top of the table, as if working out an unspoken thought. “A man, in this case a woman, pays for their crimes, but I don’t see the sense in watching them take their last breath like it’s some kind of show."

"She must have thought she had her reasons, not defending her though. I don't know anything about the case," Constance shrugged. This was certainly a gloomy topic. Most customers she tried to be chipper and share pleasantries with.

The man said a little more but concluded, “Best to let the dead rest and the living move on.”

"I suppose," she nodded.

"I will go get the soup and bread for your prisoner then. You eat in peace," she went back into the kitchen.

Duncan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as if to brush away the weight of the conversation. His voice was lower, softer now. "Didn’t mean to darken the mood. Sorry about that. Some topics have a way of settling on a man like a bad storm, and I suppose I got caught in the rain." He offered a small, warm smile, an attempt to ease the heaviness lingering in the air.

He picked up his spoon again, taking another bite of the warm soup. The rich flavors settled in his stomach, bringing a small measure of comfort. "Food’s good, though. Just what I needed. The cook has a fine hand in the kitchen." There was genuine appreciation in his voice, and he inclined his head in gratitude.

As Constance turned to leave, he spoke again, his tone sincere. "I'm sure the prisoner will appreciate the food." He then finished his meal. 

"Didn’t mean to darken the mood. Sorry about that. Some topics have a way of settling on a man like a bad storm, and I suppose I got caught in the rain."

"Oh no need to apologize. You did not have an easy job, this. I sympathize," Constance then smiled, "At least your clothes aren't soaked."

Little levity wouldn't hurt she figured.

"Food’s good, though. Just what I needed. The cook has a fine hand in the kitchen."

"Ahh, well I will be sure to tell that to the cook, Mrs. Lutz. You should taste her pies," Constance beamed then turned to head into the kitchen.

"I'm sure the prisoner will appreciate the food."

Constance almost said her thoughts aloud  but refrained.  'If someone close to dying had an appetite.'  Constance figured if that was her, she certainly would not.

By the time the lawman had finished his meal, Constance now brought back to his table a small basket.

"Mrs.Lutz put the soup in covered tin and there is a bowl within too and a spoon. Oh and some bread. Baked today so nice and fresh," she explained setting it down.

"No need to bring it back when she's done with it. Either Cla...Mrs.Lutz or I will drop by the jail tomorrow to collect the basket," she added.