Riding back into town after dark, West reflected on luck; specifically, the running out of it. The day had been productive right up to the moment when he left The Queen's Arms. Everything since had been a waste of time. The 'gentlemen's club' was shabby, genteel and sparsely occupied. No one had seen Sanderson for days, and no one particularly wanted to talk about him. They had no problem discussing Maggie - no problem, no insights and no useful information. He got directions to Sanderson's spread and rode up to check it out. It had a large house and several outbuildings, next to an abandoned mining operation. The few workers he saw were hard men, but gave him no trouble; just told him that the boss was in Sacramento on business, no idea when he'd be back. West saw nothing to disprove it.
The weather had changed again. The unseasonable snow was going fast, melted by an unpleasant near-freezing drizzle. The deep sticky mud needed careful riding, and if anything, the chill was even worse because of the rain. At the livery, West rubbed down the tired horse himself, paying special attention to its legs. They were likely sore, but they seemed sound. "No trips tomorrow, boy." he promised with a pat. "I'll see if I can scare up an apple or two. You deserve it." The horse swung its head against him and kept eating.
Walking back down to Grady's, he almost missed seeing the small figure. She was in pants and coat again, hunched and hurrying through the rain. He ducked into a shadow until she was well past, and trailed her to an unlit alley. Chinatown.
He ducked again to avoid the sudden shaft of light that told him which door she entered. He waited to see if his eyes would adjust to the darkness, but finally gave up and shuffled forward. A little more light came out of a cracked shutter and he pried off a piece of broken wood to give himself a limited view of the room.
She was talking to a Chinese man, near her own age. Thomas stood nearby, as did several young Chinese boys. Mock fights erupted whenever the adults seemed inattentive, replaced by respectful listening if Maggie or the man gave them a look. Both adults were well aware of this; the man tried several times, not too hard, to catch them out and once Maggie winked at him. Class is over.
West wasn't prepared for what happened next. The boys, except for Thomas, were called into the back of the house. The man's sons. Dinnertime. Thomas went to get his coat from somewhere out of sight. Suddenly the man lashed out at Maggie. She blocked and kicked, trying to land one of her own. He blocked in turn, and the battle was on.
West nearly burst into the room, but something held him back. Then he saw it. The man executed a neat maneuver, knocking Maggie off balance, and grabbed a handful of coat so that she fell against him instead of the floor. She's laughing. She thumped him, pushed off and delivered a flurry of kicks and strikes that raised dust, but did no injury. He backed away and bowed slightly, then came on again. They went out of sight and Thomas came racing hell-bent for the other side of the room to get out of the way, like a scared cat. Finally, Maggie came barely back into view. She crouched as the man sailed over her; then straightened to knock his legs out from under him. She got a handful of jacket in turn, but his landing was undignified at best. She hit the floor hard in an only slightly more controlled fashion and rolled up into a seated position, shaking with laughter. The man turned over onto his back and just lay there, laughing as well. Finally, she recovered enough to stand and give him a hand up. He thumped her shoulder with his free hand, before they separated and bowed for a final time. A few more teasing words; then Maggie collected Thomas and they headed for the door.
West backed away, wanting to remain unseen. After a step or two, he became aware he was not alone in the darkness. He twisted, fumbling in the dark. Before he could find anything, the door opened.
The light revealed an old man in a strange mixture of traditional and western clothing, staring at him. It revealed West, as well. Maggie stopped dead in her tracks, pushing Thomas back into the room behind her. She's afraid. Really afraid.
"Jian!" Her friend appeared in the doorway, quietly moving Thomas even further out of harm's way. Maggie addressed him in rapid-fire Cantonese. He spoke to the old man and a three-way discussion ensued. West understood none of it, but it was clear enough when the old man pointed out the new hole in the shutter.
"I'm sorry." They all turned to look at him. "I saw Miss …Grady in the street alone, and I was worried. I didn't know she was among friends."
"Now you know." Jian was angry, but controlled. American born. No accent. The old man spoke briefly. Jian responded, and he melted away into the darkness.
Maggie spoke with Jian in Cantonese for a minute longer. Then, tight-lipped, she turned to West. "If you're quite through here, I have to get Thomas back to his dinner. His mother will worry."
"May I escort you?"
"Can I stop you?" They walked out of the alley into the dimly lit street. "What are you going to do?"
"About what?"
"About anything." She wheeled to face him dead-on. "You want to mess with me, you mess with me. My friends are off limits."
She's afraid for her friends. Why? Then he remembered the gentlemen's club. He had learned nothing new about Maggie, but a lot about the men's view of her and her associates. That's why she stopped training. The owl-eyed boy beside her obviously didn't understand. I can't speak freely. Neither can she. He exhaled and tried to find the right words. "I haven't seen anything tonight that the city fathers need to know about. You have my word."
"Is it good?"
"As good as yours."
"Then it's good." They walked on. Maggie put her arm around Thomas' shoulder and pulled him against her reassuringly for a moment. He relaxed and began to chatter.
"Miz Grady?"
"Yes, Thomas?"
"What does 'pigu' mean?"
"What?" Now Maggie was owl-eyed.
"You told Si-fu something about giving his pigu…I couldn't get it all."
"I wouldn't have said it if I'd known you were going to get that much." She looked down at him with exasperation.
He persisted. "But what does it mean?"
A grin started to spread across West's face. She glared at him. "Oh…kay. It's not a word for polite company. It's going to be a long time before you'll know when you can use it, so don't! It means your…gluteus maximus."
"Hunh?"
"You sit on it." West provided helpfully, earning another glare.
"Oh. Oh!" Thomas looked shocked and delighted at the same time.
She sighed. "It's an expression. I was kidding him about his last move. I said it was a 'give your…pigu…to God' maneuver."
"What does that mean?" West asked.
"It's a move that has to work. If it doesn't, God help you; nothing else will. You're just out there. Completely vulnerable."
"Why would you do that?" Thomas wondered.
"For fun." She stopped the boy with her hand. "You understand, that wasn't fighting. That was play. That was two very old friends pretending they were eight years old again." She looked at West. "And that's all it was." The next statement was for Thomas. "Try that in a real fight, and you could end up very dead."
"Okay." Thomas looked and sounded very small. It didn't last. "But I can do it for fun?"
She cocked an eyebrow down at him. "How about you learn how to fight first? Seems to me, you already know how to play pretty good."
"Yes, ma'am." They resumed trudging through the drizzle. "What's for supper?"
"Eye of newt." She stepped over a small mound in the mud. "Toe of frog on the side. And for pudding…."
"Ewwww." Thomas staggered sideways, clutching his throat.
Maggie laughed at him. "Okay, how about pot roast with a side of schoolwork?"
"What's for dessert?"
"Canned peach cobbler." Sounds good. West realized the hotel restaurant would be closed by the time he got back. Oh well. Not the first time I've had to drink on an empty stomach. Just take it easy.
Grady's came into view and Maggie clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Go on with you. Get into dry clothes and bring the wet ones down to the kitchen." Thomas squelched off at a trot.
"You're good with kids." Maggie shrugged and said nothing. With Thomas gone, she was closed off and wary again. "Where's Thomas' father?"
"Probably working on the house. They had a chimney fire before Christmas. Had to move into town."
"Merry Christmas."
"Yeah. Bart got a job, works til dark. Then he goes out to the place for a few hours. Works on it all day Sunday, too. Thomas helps."
"Even in the rain?"
"He got the roof on last week. They'll be back, ready to plant by spring. I think they'd be gone already, except this is better for Mira. She's not really in any condition for camping."
"You're going to miss them, aren't you?" She didn't respond. Not my business, I guess. "Do you think Thomas will keep training? Why is he training?"
An ironic laugh. "It's not easy being a kid who lives at Grady's. He started getting teased at school right away. Then a couple of the bigger boys decided he was a good target for roughing up." She smiled. "Jian's a good teacher, just like his grandfather. Thomas is learning how to handle bullies without becoming one. He's all right."
"I can tell."
She pushed wet hair out of her face. "If he wants to keep training, and it's okay with his folks, we'll find a way to make it work. Otherwise…he says his dad's a good boxer. If Bart ever gets a minute's spare time again."
"Sounds like quite a man."
"Yep. And Mira's quite a woman." Her eyes gleamed in the light. "We've got a lot of good people down here. The way things are, it's 'all hands on deck' all the time. Nobody sits back and waits to be taken care of, but we help each other."
"There are good people everywhere."
"Good and bad." She has a wicked chuckle. "I can handle the bad ones down here. They're broke. It's when they get some money that all bets are off."
West laughed, too. Good lead-in to ask about Sanderson. Before he got the chance, they heard a commotion. A small mob rounded a corner, carrying a broad plank, and moving as fast as they could in the muck. As they neared, West could see a still body lying on the board.
Maggie spat out a pungent word. West had the distinct feeling that he'd ceased to exist, as she ran full-out for Grady's. We've got to do something about her vocabulary. She barely beat them to the door, West close on her heels. Everyone was shouting at once, but he made out the Spanish for 'mud', 'collapse' and 'dig'.
"Calla!" They quieted enough for her to direct them through the busy saloon into the back, to place the board and man on a bed in a room just off the kitchen. Her room.
"Mira, I need hot water, Thomas, go get every spare blanket you can find; Mira, bring one in here right away and put the rest in the warming oven." One man stood in front of the group as a spokesman. "Qué pasó?" She got the gist of it quickly and put a hand up to stop the details. "Familia?"
"Esposa" A wife.
"Ir tras ella." Go get her.
The man left, taking the others with him. Mira brought a basin and a blanket and Maggie put them to one side. "Can you see to dinner?" Mira nodded and left. Maggie felt the man's pulse at his wrist and jaw, scowling, then moved a black bag from the bureau to a nearby chair. She opened it, took out a pair of shears and efficiently began cutting the man's clothes away.
"What are you doing?" It came out sharper than West intended.
"Grow up or get out." She continued until the man was completely exposed and washed mud away until everything was clearly visible. A thin piece of splintered wood projected ominously from his neck. One leg was badly broken. She pressed deeply on his bruised abdomen and tapped at it, listening with a stethoscope until she was satisfied; then moved up to his chest. "You're not leaving, are you?"
"No."
"Then stop acting like a tourist and get in here. Hand me that lamp." She studied both eyes, moving the light close to each, then away, several times. Handing it back to West, she cleaned and inspected the man's bloody head as best she could, careful not to move it.
Finally she stood and covered the man with the blanket from the chest down. "Thomas!" The boy appeared at the door instantly. "Another basin and a bottle of whisky, please. Jonah knows which." She took the dirty water out of the room, coming back with clean water and a warmed blanket, which she substituted for the cool one. Thomas returned and she emptied a cloth packet of surgical instruments into the new basin, dumping the whisky over them. Thomas stayed by the door, but didn't leave.
She studied West. "I have to take care of his neck first. That wood's at a bad angle and if it's long enough, it's got to be right up against the jugular and the carotid. If he wakes up and starts thrashing, he could lacerate them both."
And then it's all over. "What do you need me to do?"
"Get up there and make sure he holds still."
He obeyed, pushing the board to make room. Maggie washed her hands and sat on the side of the bed, placing the lamp and the whisky basin on the nightstand within easy reach. She fished out a dripping scalpel and made the first cut.
"Do you know what you're doing?" West was suddenly reminded of battlefields, with smoke and screaming men. It wasn't a pleasant memory. And no battlefield surgeon ever looked like this.
"Yes." She didn't look up, but stayed focused on her task. "Of course, that's no guarantee I'm not going to kill him anyway." Another incision along the top of the splinter. "I have to see how far this goes. If I just yank it, I could abrade a vessel wall."
"He's not bleeding much now."
"He's shocky. Hypothermic. No blood pressure." She continued to separate tissue from wood until a thin blood vessel came into view. West felt slightly ill. The splinter rested on it, and the far end was still not visible. She reached under the splinter and lifted it slightly. No blood appeared on the vein. She gently let it down again. "Thomas."
"Yes, Miz Grady?"
"I need some butter knives. Clean." The boy disappeared around the door jamb and returned almost instantly. "In the basin, please."
"What are you going to do?" West asked.
"I think I can pull it, but I want a space between the wood and the vein. I've got enough room now; I can lift the splinter and push the vein back a bit."
"That's the jugular?" It was thinner and darker than he expected.
"Yeah. It looks different when it's not constricted." She glanced up. "Blood pressure, hypothermic, likely dehydrated. Don't complain, it might be the best thing he's got going for him right now."
"Where's the carotid?"
"Medial." Maggie rinsed her hands again. "Other side, away from the wood. It's in no danger." It had been long enough; she pulled a blunt silver knife from the basin.
Just at that moment, the patient groaned and stirred, trying to roll his head. He became increasingly conscious and panicked when he couldn't. West pinned the man's shoulders with his knees and used his hands to keep the head clamped motionless, but the man began to buck, screaming in pain and striking out. Maggie threw herself on him to control his arms. He's going to kill himself. Suddenly, Maggie raised her own arm and brought her fist down sharply on the broken leg. The patient stiffened with an agonized cry and went limp again.
She pushed herself off the injured man. West thought for a second that she would be sick, or that he would. Her eyes were wet and her jaw tight, but she just sat on the side of the bed and retrieved a new knife from the basin. Once again, she lifted the splinter slightly, inserting the smooth metal underneath it and pushed the vein gently away. A steady pull brought the jagged wood out. She inspected the end of it, then looked back into the wound.
"Thomas, bring the lamp close." She peered in, using the dull knife to keep it open. "The tip broke off. I can see it." She fished a forceps out of the basin and probed deeply, coming out with a half inch piece. "Got it." She delicately lifted and slid out the knife, never taking her eyes off the blood vessel.
When no blood appeared after a full minute, West felt as lightheaded as if they had just defused a bomb. Maggie quickly patted the flesh back together over the vein and sewed the skin with heavy black thread. She placed a flimsy pad over the sutures. "Can you lift his head, please?" She wrapped a bandage around his neck to hold the pad with a light pressure.
"Not too tight." West put in.
"Yeah, throttling him would be counterproductive." She checked pulse and eyes, and listened to the heart again. "He's still out, but he's warmer. Better set that leg while he can't feel it. I can stitch up the head while he's awake. Thomas, will you ask Proinsias to come in?"
Proinsias was the whistle player. He traded places with West to hold the upper body. West pulled the leg and Maggie manipulated the bone back into place. It took several efforts before she was satisfied with its position, but finally she wrapped and splinted it. "That'll do for now." Two more blankets came out of the kitchen; Thomas handed the cold ones off to his mother.
"Dónde está?" A woman's voice in the kitchen. Thomas opened the door farther and she entered, followed by the spokesman. She was stocky and middle-aged. Calm, until you look closely. She's been more used to trouble than she should be.
West stepped back to allow her to reach the bed. Maggie cleared the chair. She succinctly explained the injuries and what they had done so far. The man's eyelids were beginning to flutter and the woman bent over him, speaking softly. Maggie reminded her that he needed to remain calm and still, then led West to the door. Proinsias followed.
"Thanks. Go tell Jonah I said to give each of you one from the second-to-top shelf." The beatific smile reappeared on Proinsias' face. What do you have to do to get one from the top shelf?, West wondered.
In the saloon, he passed Jonah the message. The barman brought down a bottle and poured two generous glasses. Proinsias raised his to Jonah, to West and to the heavens, then disappeared with it back into the kitchen, where a half-full plate was still on the otherwise empty table. West inspected his glass, inhaling the aroma, and took in a generous sample. It was smooth as ice, followed quickly by warmth which grew to liquid fire and faded slowly.
"Irish." Jonah wiped and re-shelved the bottle. "Ten or twenty years old, somethin' like that. Single malt."
"The lady knows her whiskey." West wanted to finish it and order more, but his empty stomach reminded him that he'd better make this one last.
It was over an hour later before Maggie finally reappeared. She had crossed the doorway many times, carrying basins, changing blankets and fetching hot tea. Once, her burden included a large wad of cloth stuffed under one arm and he heard the cellar door; she returned in a dry skirt and shirtwaist, both somewhat wrinkled. The spokesman had departed long since. The priest arrived a half hour later with a bundle of men's clothes. He was obviously very at home in Grady's and stopped at several tables for leisurely debates before disappearing into the back bedroom.
She leaned on the bar, facing the crowded room. A few men with instrument cases were starting to stake out a corner near the piano. Several drinkers called out greetings, and she acknowledged them with a smile and wave. "Jonah, do you need a break?"
"Nah, get your dinner." the barman growled.
She looks all in. West felt just as tired. His stomach turned over at the thought of food. An amber beer sat on the bar in front of him, but he could hardly touch it. A shame, really. His rancid lunch was gone completely and still present, at the same time.
Her eyes were on him, seeing too much. She walked to the kitchen door, then came back. "I know I'm going to regret this. Have you eaten?"
"No."
"And you're not leaving. Are you?"
It wasn't really a question, but he answered anyway. "No."
"Jaysus." Those eyes flashed…exasperation? Temper? "Okay." She held up a finger. "It's pot luck. No games. Just two people eating supper. You want to investigate something, go find your own meal."
West tried not to smile. "I'll put my trowel away." He picked up his beer and followed her into the kitchen.
Thomas bent over a schoolbook at one end of the long table. Mira supervised, while knitting an amorphous woolen – something - which had formed itself into a large heap in her lap. That's not all wool. Some of it's her., he realized. His hat and coat were still in Maggie's bedroom, but he bent his head and brought up his hand to signal a hat tip.
She gave Maggie an incredulous look. Maggie spread her hands slightly with an sheepish grimace. "Mira, this is…" She stopped. "What do you want to be called?"
"Jim." It was less that she didn't believe him, than that she didn't care. "Jim will do fine. It happens to be my name."
She ignored the lack of a surname. "Okay. Sit yourself down. I'll see what I can dig up." The range was still warm; in short order, she divided a brace of hot beef sandwiches and reheated potatoes. Pickles and slaw came out of mason jars from the cellar steps. West addressed himself to his plate gratefully. Maggie sat opposite him and dug into her own food.
They ate in silence with few interruptions. The priest came out of the bedroom, exchanged a few friendly words and left. Bart arrived by the back door. A silent tow-headed man, he only nodded, hung his sodden coat on a hook by the range and went directly upstairs. Mira collected her knitting, her son and a plate from the warming oven, and followed, Thomas filching a slice of buttered bread along the way. Proinsias, whistle in hand, came downstairs and rounded the corner into the saloon. The tuning of instruments and random fragments of melody were beginning to filter in.
Maggie stood to scoop cobbler into soup plates, motioning West to remain seated. A lift of her eyebrows asked if he was interested. "Please." He accepted the plate and the pitcher of cream that went with it. "Where did you learn to be a doctor?"
"From Ma. She learned from her father." She poured cream over her plate. "I'd like to make a better job of it, but that son of a…doctor up the hill won't sell me any supplies, especially anesthetic. The vet's some help, but he doesn't have everything I need. Humans aren't horses."
"I heard your grandfather was a field surgeon. Which theater?"
"They were east. So was the old man."
"They?" This is new. "Your mother was a nurse?"
"Not exactly. Not official. They encouraged surgeons to bring their staff and that was always Ma. She couldn't sign up, but she came along. Shared his tent, worked right next to him. They didn't like it, but if she hadn't, he couldn't have gone."
"I hadn't heard that." There must be someone around who remembers her.
It was as if she could read his mind. "Once in a while, somebody'd stop by who recognized her. After she'd got over the embarrassment, they'd get to talking. The way they all do, kind of in code." West cocked his head at her. "You hear some of the boyos out front sometimes. They'll say 'Remember' and it'll just be a place or a name, and that's all you get, even if you ask. If you were there, you know; if you weren't, it isn't any of your business. The old man did it, too."
"Yeah. It is a code, isn't it?" And those conversations are getting fewer and farther between. "What happened to your grandfather?"
"I'm not sure that's any of your business." A pause. "Well, ancient history. They went home to New York and started getting established again. There was a factory fire. I guess those places are like tinderboxes." Maggie stared into the middle distance. "I don't know much. She'd only tell enough to explain the nightmares. She and Grandpa were getting people out. A lot of people were, they weren't the only ones. Grandpa told her to stay with somebody, and went back in himself. A few seconds later, the place was gone. So was he."
"I'm sorry."
"Me too. I'd have liked to meet him." She returned from the middle distance. "I'd better get back to work."
"When do you sleep?"
"Ah, tonight won't be bad. As long as the boiler holds up." She started to clear plates to the sink and West rose to help. "I've got to check on my patient. Tell Jonah I'll be out in a minute.
West enjoyed the rest of the evening. Grady's was chaotic, but oddly peaceful. Maggie was good at noticing any sign of trouble and defusing it with a joke or distraction. The musicians played jigs and reels, largely for themselves, but occasionally the call went up for someone in the crowd to provide a song or recitation. During a break, Brian swung into Old Dan Tucker. He could sing as well as he played and the room, including West, joined in. Maggie, lugging a full tray of glasses to the far corner, danced a few careful steps. On the way back with an empty tray, she broke into a full loose-limbed clog. She reached the bar before the last verse, sang along with the chorus and cheered the guitar player wildly when it ended. Even Jonah smiled.
"Fear rialtais!" West didn't hear who shouted it first, but others took up the call. "Fear rialtais!" They were looking at him.
"Lig do!" Maggie quieted them, except for a few catcalls. She turned to West. "They're asking for your party piece. You don't have to."
That phrase again. "What does 'fear rialtais' mean?"
"Government man. They're just slagging you. You don't have to."
"Party piece, huh? Let's see." This was always Artie's line. West ransacked his memory for any scrap that might help him. He got one and held up his hand for silence.
"There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold.
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee."
The poem came back to him, at least most of it, and West told it like a ghost story. Except for his voice, the room was dead still; when a chair creaked loudly, the closest man jumped nearly out of his skin and socked the occupant in the arm. Maggie leaned in like a kid at a campfire. Artie was on to something. I could get to like this.
"Since I left Plumtree down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm." He finished with a bow. Maggie clapped her hands together and fell back, laughing. The men roared with approval.
Maggie leaned in again. "Say, 'Seo dhuit'." she prompted.
He repeated the phrase, and the noise redoubled. He bowed again and turned back to the bar. "What did I just say?"
"There you are, there you go. There it is, that's it." She was still laughing. "It literally means 'Here to you'."
"Oh." The musicians were starting up and the hum of conversation resumed. West was being ignored again, but he knew he'd become a little less of an outsider. "They all know I'm a 'fear rialtais'?"
"Hey, you show up two hours before breakfast to stare at me, what else are you gonna be? I'm not that fascinating."
"You sure?"
She snorted. "You people have way too much time on your hands."
"You're used to it."
"Yep." She grinned and went on working.
West went on watching her. He felt a pang of sympathy for the men who had come here, fresh out of training, to investigate a girl who was not the least bit impressed by them. Despite the rumors, none had found anything of note, and frustration saturated the reports. Few questioned whether there was anything to find. West wasn't ruling anything out yet, but it was becoming a struggle.
'She slightly resembles the man who may be her father, chiefly about the eyes. Mr. Gordon was a handsome man, but he would not have made a beautiful woman. Her face is remarkable for its malleability – from one moment to the next, she can look six years old or forty.' It had been written about Maggie when she was approximately nineteen, by a young man who had gone on to success as a field agent. The statement was true now as it was then.
Finally, the crowd began to thin out. Maggie checked on her patient again and came back carrying West's coat and hat. He placed them on the bar beside him. She closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. "You gotta to be kidding me. Unless you're leaving in the morning, get out of here. Come back at ten."
"Where are you going to sleep?"
"Bedroll in the kitchen. It won't be the first time."
"I believe it." She moved around the room, turning up lights and cleaning tables. Jonah traveled between the cellar and the bar, restocking and making a list of the empties. "What's on the top shelf?"
Jonah didn't even look up. "Same as the bottom shelf."
Maggie finished with the saloon room and headed back to the kitchen. West followed her as far as the doorway. She pulled out a large bowl and opened a bin of flour. "Don't you have to go talk to somebody or investigate something? I'll bet there are some really good rumors up at the hotel."
"I have to talk to you."
"No, you don't." She was fussing with water and yeast. "You really don't. Just do your job and go home. And I don't want to hear how the report's going to read, either."
"Why not?"
"Well, they can all be summarized in six words. Sometimes three." Smiling, she held up floury fingers and counted them off. "No. Better. Than. She Should. Be." She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and went back to work.
"What's the three words?"
"Two. Bit." She stopped when she saw his face. "The third word isn't 'Grifter'." She smiled brightly. "I think it was one time, though. That was a nice change."
"It isn't funny."
"Well, it is. And what are you getting so upset for, anyway?"
"What makes you think I'm upset?"
"Ri-ght." She drawled it out. "Well, thanks for caring. Or not. But I'm doing just fine."
"All except your reputation."
"My reputation?" A lump of dough hit a pile of flour harder than it should have, dusting them both. "Let me explain to you about reputations. It's the one thing I was born without and, never having had one, I don't miss it. The people that know me, know me. As far as the others go, I could enter a bleeding convent and it wouldn't change their opinion one iota. I can fret about that, or I can get something done; I've got a place to run."
"Maggie..." He stopped. It's too soon. I don't know enough yet.
"Maggie." It was Jonah. "I'm finished. Are you all right if I go?" He looked at West as he said it.
"Sure, see you tomorrow." Jonah looked uncertain, but left. Maggie went back to kneading. "Look, I'm going to set this bread rising and then I'm going to hit the hay. If you think you're going to be here for that, I've got a broom that says otherwise."
"You wouldn't dare."
"You wanna bet?"
He knew when he was beaten. "Okay, I'll see you in the morning. Do me a favor and lock up, will you? And tell your friends not to let in strangers. I could have been anybody." He crossed to bolt the back door.
"You could have…You still could be!" She shook her head bemusedly. "Good night."
"Good night."