This was our concept: To put the cast of CSI back into the Old West. Specifically, to Las Vegas before it *was* Las Vegas. VR and I thought that it would be fun and a good challenge to see if we could get our favorite geeks into a setting where their natural characteristics would be showcased, but would be just different enough to be fun.
This was all set along the time of Season Five, when Mia Dickerson was in the DNA lab, so neither Wendy nor Mandy appear in this story, although Hodges does.
This is the start of what VR and I came up with; right now the story looks to run for about eleven chapters, and at the end of posting those, we will give a rough outline of what we had intended to happen. Thank you for wanting to read Green Meadows even if it's not finished—I feel sad about that, but at the same time, there is a lot of good storytelling here that I'm glad we'll get to share with you the readers and fans of CSI.
On with the story!
Green Meadows
Chapter one
Spring, 1870
The town of Green Meadows, Nevada, was a bit of a misnomer all around. In fact it was really more of a village if the homesteaders and founders had been honest; a small settlement a few miles from the railroad line with the saloon at one end and the Methodist church at the other to set the scale of balance to the place. It was not green—at least not often enough to warrant the name-but nobody wanted to call it Dusty Meadows, or Dry Meadows, or in plain-faced honesty, Scrubby Desert. Everyone clung to the optimistic tone of the name Green Meadows in hopes of better things to come.
Not much came to Green Meadows though. Mostly it was a passing point for travelers going west, a stopover with more entertainment and better beds than most. The Willow Branch Saloon run by Miss Catherine boasted six rooms upstairs, four of which were free for sleeping most of the time. It was at the west end of the main street, and had more than enough customers to keep Sheriff Jim Brass busy. Not that Miss Catherine couldn't handle most of the local johnnies on her own just fine, but Brass was wise enough to the ways of Green Meadows to know when to step in, and when to step back.
The sheriff had his office midway up the main street, between Brown's livery and the Mayor's bank. His view of the street helped him keep order in Green Meadows, and most folks respected his laid-back way of handling things. Across the main road from the sheriff's office stood Hodges' Fine Goods and Sundries Emporium, a two-story enterprise consisting of hundreds of items laid out along maze-like aisles both upstairs and down. Next to Hodges' stood Doc Robbins' office, with the funeral parlor in the back. And keeping an eye on the citizens from the eastern end of the main street stood the First Methodist Church under the benign watch of Reverend David Phillips.
Beyond the main street lay the outer structures, and beyond them in various directions the farms and homesteads and ranches of the citizens of Green Meadows. There were town dwellers and home dwellers; a few, like Doc Robbins and Mayor Ecklie came to town to conduct their affairs, but by and large most folk only made it to Green Meadow proper for Sunday services and mail day.
The last person to come to Green Meadows and stay on as a resident had been young Sanders. He'd arrived two years back; dusty, haunted, with one shabby satchel to his name and so thin that Miz Willows claimed he didn't even cast a shadow. The saloon owner had taken pity on him, and hired him on a trial basis—young Gregory quickly found his niche tending bar at the Willow Branch, sharing conversation and medium-grade liquor with any number of locals and transients passing through. Most of the patrons took a shine to him; he gave fair measure to the drinks, rarely took sides in arguments and always had a grin for whoever tipped well.
Most people tipped him well—the Willow Branch was a sociable haven, and even the mayor was seen coming in for a quick hand of poker on Friday nights. He and Doc Robbins usually made short work of unwary visitors at the tables, but not in a malicious way. Both of them had been around since Green Meadows' earliest days, and both shared a professional if somewhat mutually stodgy respect. Ecklie had given Doc enough of a loan to build his offices, and in return Doc had nursed Becky Ecklie through an uneasy pregnancy that resulted in the twins, Jonathon and Josiah. Both were nearly ten now, and blessed with their mother's straw blonde hair and freckles.
On any given day after school, the twins could be found hanging around Brown's Livery, running errands and doing whatever odd chores Warrick Brown chose to mete out. Jonathon was the more outspoken and livelier of the two, but it was Josiah who had a gifted touch with horses. A shy boy by nature, Josiah instinctively knew how to handle all of the livery stable from Mr. Hodge's matched black quarter horses Belle and Beau to the day rides and hires, to Miz Jacquie's ornery burro Pete.
Both Jonathon and Josiah ran errands for anybody with a spare nickel and a message to send; thus when Reverend Phillip's hen stopped laying he was able to buy a new broody from Miz Catherine's run out behind the Willow Branch by the same afternoon. Josiah came out of it five cents richer and the Reverend was able to send the recalcitrant layer to the Ecklie's housekeeper Miss Judy. Within hours she'd become a warm and tasty lunch for the reverend—the hen that is, not the housekeeper.
Although given some of the shy looks that passed between Miss Judy and Pastor David, the possibility wasn't out of reach.
It was late in the spring of 1871 when Miss Sara Sidle came to Green Meadows. She arrived by train at around a little after ten in the morning of a glorious day, and despite the long trip, she felt enough relief to be at the end of her journey to look on the small town with a kindly eye. She stepped down into the mostly empty platform and checked about for the stationmaster. He was a large man with pale blonde hair and smoked lens spectacles, overseeing the unloading of crates at the far end.
"Ma'am. Welcome to Green Meadows. Are you waiting to meet someone?" he asked courteously while the engineer carried her luggage down from the freight car. Sara looked around and sighed.
"Not really. I have a note of introduction for Mr. Ecklie, but he wasn't expecting me for another month." She smoothed the front of her grey polonaise traveling dress, wishing it wasn't so wrinkled, but that couldn't be helped. The stationmaster nodded.
"Ah. Well he's in probably at the bank at this hour of the morning, Miss. I can have Archie run you over there if you like." He hesitated and added, "And you didn't hear it from me, but if you need a place to stay, word is that Mr. Hodges is looking to rent a room or two above his Emporium. Cheaper than the Willow Branch, and a bit more fitting for a lady like yourself." The stationmaster shyly trailed off.
Sara looked at him and smiled; she'd found on this trip that most of the men working for the railroads were honest, hard-working and straightforward. "Ah, thank you Mr-?"
"Ronald Harper, Ma'am. Most folks in Green Meadows just call me Ronnie."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sara Sidle lately of the St. Louis Post Dispatch." She gave a polite bob. Ronnie brightened.
"A writer! Oh won't that be grand! Are you here to do a story about Green Meadows? Something for the folks back East?"
"I'm here for my health. Lungs mostly," she admitted with a wince. It still galled her to admit the truth, even though Franklin was right.
Already the warm prairie air was much easier to breathe and the tightness in her chest had faded a little. She made a mental note to add that in a postscript on her first letter.
Ronnie gave a nod. "Taking the cure. Well you've come to a good place for it. We've got dry air a plenty, along with tumbleweeds, jackrabbits, cactus and sky."
He helped load her bags into the wagon headed into town and watched for a moment as it rolled along the dusty road to town, then turned back to the station, wondering what Green Meadows would make of Miss Sara Sidle.
The boy was watching her from the loft of the livery; Sara spotted him up there, hanging on the tackle of the pulley, swinging like a monkey. The minute he saw her though, he scrambled back to the loft door and got his footing, keeping his eye on her. She looked up at him. Impulsively, Sara reached into her handbag and pulled out a dime, tossing it high to him. The boy reached out and caught it, barely, then grinned in delight at her.
"I need an errand. Think you can do it?"
"Yes Ma'am!" he chortled, swinging out onto the dangling rope of the tackle and sliding down it. Sara noted he was far too good at it not to have done it before. From out of the livery door came a tall dark man, looking exasperated.
"Josiah Ecklie, I've warned you and your brother about swinging on my block and tackle," the man commented, but in a resigned tone. The boy hung his head a moment, then nodded at Sara.
"Sorry Warrick—the lady there needed me. For an errand."
Sara looked into unexpectedly green eyes, and the fierce intelligence warmed her for a moment. This was a proud man, and nobody's fool. She cleared her throat and spoke up, "Good afternoon, Mr. Brown. I was wondering if you had a shay or phaeton for hire?"
He stared at her a moment. A small smile crossed his mouth as he dropped his hands to his hips.
"Ma'am, in all my years here, I've never had a request for a shay, to be honest. Most of my hire is for hauling and travel—the only show set of horses I stable belongs to Mr. Hodges and even HE doesn't take them out nearly often enough. I DO have a buckboard and a big roan I can set you up with if you've got anything to haul."
Sara considered his offer, and in the pause, the boy moved closer to her, still patiently waiting for his errand. She gave a nod. "All right then. I'd like to hire them for tomorrow afternoon, after noon or so. What's the temperament of the roan?"
"Willie's a good draft," Warrick replied, impressed the woman would ask. Clearly, she knew something about horseflesh and from the confident look in her eyes he suspected she'd know exactly how to handle whatever hitch he gave her.
"Willie's the best. I like him almost as much as Pete." The boy, Josiah, broke in. Sara nodded, taking his words seriously; she undid the drawstring of her purse once more.
"Fair enough. Let me put down a deposit on the wagon, then. Josiah, I need you to take a note to Mr. Hodges for me while I stop in at the bank. Can you do that?"
"Sure. You already paid me!" the boy pointed out. Warrick blinked, amused at the speed with which the woman worked. He shook his head slowly.
"Not one to let grass grow under your feet I see. A deposit isn't necessary, Mrs.-?"
"-Miss. Miss Sara Sidle. And I appreciate your faith in me, but your receipt will help me show Mr. Hodges that I intend to take up residence in Green Meadows, so you would be doing ME a considerable favor by allowing me to collect one," she pointed out in her husky tones.
Warrick arched an eyebrow. "You sound as if you've met Mr. Hodges before."
"No, but I know shopkeepers," she admitted, and he could hear a little exasperation in her voice. That made his own smile widen and in that single moment Warrick Brown decided he liked Miss Sara Sidle. With a lift of his chin, he motioned for her to follow him to the livery office.
"Sounds like you surely do. Step right this way and I'd be happy to write you a receipt, Miss Sidle. Delighted to."
As soon as she stepped inside the Emporium, Sara knew that Josiah had done his work well. Heads turned as she entered-she'd expected that, in a town this small any new face had to stand out-but the graying man with the sleeve garters and the pencil behind his ear was the only one who didn't look surprised. He straightened from where he was leaning against the counter. "Welcome to Green Meadows. Miss Sara Sidle, I presume?"
She nodded politely as she advanced into the big room and set down her bags. "I am. And you're Mr. Hodges?"
He nodded back in a businesslike fashion, giving her a look down his nose that made him seem slightly supercilious. "Yes indeed. These are the Arkin brothers." He waved a hand at the two elderly, white-bearded men who flanked the counter, and they both hastily pulled off dusty hats and gave her shy smiles. "They're hoping to find gold in the hills to the north-a fool's hope, I keep telling them."
His statement was casual, and the two grizzled miners seemed to take no offense at it. Sara nodded to them as well. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."
The Emporium took up easily half the ground floor of its building, Sara judged, and smelled of leather and wood and cloth; it held a bewildering array of items, from saddles to ploughs to ladies' hats, with bolts of fabric and anonymous barrels in between. But for the moment she focused on its owner. "I understand from young Josiah that you're looking to rent a room," he said.
At his words the two miners clapped their hats back on and slid past Sara and out the front door, mumbling apologetically as they went. Mr. Hodges didn't seem to notice and after a moment's confusion, Sara decided to not comment. "Yes, I am."
The man seemed to tense a bit, though she could see a mercenary gleam in his eyes. "Well, I must mention that I'm looking for tenants a little more refined than those who room at the Willow Branch. Long-term tenants."
Sara didn't permit her amusement to reach her face. Shopkeepers! With a smooth motion, she pulled the livery receipt from her handbag and held it out. "A bona fide. I'm here for my health, Mr. Hodges; I intend to stay quite some time."
He took the paper and scanned it quickly, then looked up again, and Sara could see him calculating the cost of her dress and her hat, judging the way she stood. It didn't offend her. . . much. She was, after all, a stranger. They were both going on a certain amount of faith.
"I can pay the first week's rent in advance," she added, and watched his brows go up.
"That would be most satisfactory, Miss Sidle," he said, and looked her up and down once more. "Very well. Come into the back, and I...I'll make you out a receipt."
He picked up her larger case, but as soon as he turned, Sara frowned. The shopkeeper was still tense, and she didn't know why, though there was no aura of threat about him. She followed him past the long counter and through a split door, the top half open, to find herself in a big kitchen where an elegant dark-skinned woman stood at the stove, looking up coolly as they entered. Sara assumed she was the cook, until Mr. Hodges turned to look at her, his face even more supercilious. "This is my wife, Mrs. Mia Hodges."
Sara blinked. Seeing a black man in charge of the livery stable had surprised her only slightly; attitudes were easier in the West. But this was definitely out of the ordinary.
And, she realized, it explained Mr. Hodges' tension. There were many women, Sara knew, who would turn on their heels and stride out, offended at the mere idea of a white man marrying a black woman. However, she knew the clattering vivid mix of cultures that was St. Louis' streets, and she wasn't one of those women.
Extending a hand, she stepped forward. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hodges. I'm Miss Sidle."
The shopkeeper's shoulders relaxed. Mrs. Hodges gave her a long look, then gravely reached out and shook hands, her grip firm. "Welcome to Green Meadows."
Mr. Hodges was almost effusive as he accepted Sara's money and wrote out her receipt in careful angular script. His wife returned to her cooking, not sparing them a glance, but before Sara could wonder too much the shopkeeper bustled her up the stairs, chattering on about the "amenities" as though the place were a four-star hotel. He swung the door open for her and put her case just inside.
"Well, I'll leave you to get settled," he said, almost unctuous. "If you need anything . . ."
He clearly didn't expect an answer, but Sara swung around all the same. "Yes, actually, there is one thing, Mr. Hodges. I do not eat meat." Breakfast and supper were included in their agreement, though for the noon dinner she would have to fend for herself.
He looked taken aback, his chin going up in surprise. "No. . . meat?"
Sara looked down, not willing to explain why. "Fish, but not red meat. Nothing . . . warm-blooded." She suppressed a shudder.
"Uh . . . very well." Mr. Hodges gave an awkward little bow. "I'll . . . I hope you'll be comfortable here." He backed out and closed the door with alacrity.
Finally alone, for the first time in days, Sara set down her bag with a sigh and looked around. Well . . . it's not bad.
Not bad at all, she realized, as she took in the details. The room was not large, but it was still bigger than her boarding house space back home; the window's curtains were limp, but the view was of endless plains extending out to a limitless horizon, not the bricks of the next building over. The rug on the wooden floor was worn, and a faint film of the ever-present dust lay over everything, but . . .
But it's quiet. That in itself was a tremendous relief. Certainly she could hear the muffled voices of people below, or the rumble of a cart passing on the street, but there was no endless racket of people, vehicles, voices.
And the air smelled clean. Sara unpinned her hat and set it on the small battered chest of drawers, smiling faintly at her reflection in the tarnished mirror. It didn't reek of stale moisture, or too many people packed into a building, or even of garbage and horse manure. Her chest felt better now than it had all year.
Sara sat down tentatively on the wood-framed bed. It crackled, startling her, and she rose again to pull back the coverlet and sheets.
Well. It must be a straw tick. I've never seen one before- She pressed a hand on the thick cloth, and a sweet scent rose up to her nose, sun and dried grass. Bemused, she put the bedclothes back in order and sat down again, suddenly very tired.
It was one thing, after all, to agree to travel out West to write about life in Nevada Territory; it was quite another to actually do it, to endure days of travel on filthy trains and endless waits in seedy depots. It had been far too long since her last bath, and almost as long since she'd had a proper meal.
A light tap sounded at the door, and Sara looked up. "Come in."
It was Mrs. Hodges, carrying a large kettle. She gave Sara a smile, a little less reserved than before, and still elegant. "I've brought you some hot water, Miss Sidle. We usually eat at eight, so if you want to rest before supper . . ."
"Oh, that would be lovely." Sara rose as Mrs. Hodges poured still-steaming water into the bowl on the washstand and set the kettle next to it, leaving the potholder on the handle. "Um…did Mr. Hodges tell you about my diet?"
Mrs. Hodges gave her a slightly dubious glance. "He said you won't eat meat, except for fish."
Sara let out a breath. "Yes, unfortunately eating meat makes me ill."
The tall woman shrugged. "As long as you don't mind if we're eating it, that's fine. We've a flock of good layers and there's fresh fish in the warmer months."
"That's fine-it won't bother me." She felt a wave of relief. In truth, the scent of meat cooking did nauseate her slightly, but it was something she'd learned to live with.
Mrs. Hodges nodded. "I'll leave you to rest, then." With that, she swept back out the door, closing it behind her.
Sara was almost tired enough to simply stretch out and sleep as she was, but the thought of getting out of her grimy garments was too tempting. She rose and pulled the curtains to, only to find that they did not quite overlap.
Sara eyed them dubiously. True, she was on the second floor and at the moment there was nothing bigger than a bird in view outside the window, but that didn't mean that someone wouldn't pass by. Finally, she took her hatpin and pinned the edges together, making the room a little dimmer. That'll do.
Off came her gloves, her polonaise, her petticoats, and finally her corset; Sara breathed out in relief. Being naturally slender was both a boon and a fault-she hadn't had to lace her corset so tightly as plumper women, but no matter how tightly she wore it she had few of the coveted curves. With her condition, she had an excuse to wear it a bit looser, but even so, it was easing to get it off.
She unbuttoned her boots and finally emerged from stockings, drawers, and chemise, hanging up her dress in the little wardrobe but draping the rest over the rickety chair to deal with later. Adding a little cold water to the bowl, Sara sponged off days of dirt in a sort of catlike ecstasy.
A clean chemise pulled from her bag was crumpled and a bit musty, but Sara didn't care. She slipped it on, unpinned the coils of her hair without bothering to comb them out, and lay down.
The sheets smelled of fresh air. The straw tick crackled underneath her, which was distracting, but Sara was too tired to move much. Within a few moments, she was asleep.
