Sorry again for the delay in updating! Please keep reading and reviewing. I'm concerned I might be making Al too mushy and not true to canon, but we'll see where things go...
June 24th 1876
"You're a fucking cocksucker Al Swearengen!"
"Shut your fucking mouth!"
"And if I refuse? What will you do to me, husband? Will you strike me again? Leave me broken and bleeding on the ground? Or will you simply torture me with your words?"
"Little can I help it if your mug is ripe for a fucking good slap, Nettie!"
"Then do your worst! Strike me! Appease the anger and frustration that burns inside you! Let everyone in this fucking hellhole know that Al Swearengen can control his wife!"
"Al...? Al!"
Al jerked awake suddenly and looked up into Johnny's face. For a moment, he couldn't remember exactly where he was, then the memories came flooding back to him and he recalled sitting down at his desk late the previous evening to do the whisky order. It had been the one thing he was sure would distract him from what else was going on. But sleep had obviously overtaken him and dreams of people and places long forgotten haunted him.
His eyes darted to the half-closed bedroom door. "What's happening?"
"You fell asleep," Johnny nodded knowingly.
Al glared at him. "That fact hadn't escaped my attention." He got to his feet and moved over to the door as Jewel appeared carrying a bundle of foul smelling sheets.
"She messed herself again," she explained. "That's the third time since last night."
"Well what the fuck do you want me to do about it? It's your job to help care for her." he peered through the door to where Catherine lay in bed, her face turned away from him towards the wall. "Where's Dolly?"
"She left."
He turned and stared at her, "She what?"
"Left," Jewel repeated. "She went to the new place. Said she couldn't handle the stink."
"Stupid, fucking whore," Al muttered. "Get those sheets cleaned and get someone over to the Jew's place to fetch Trixie here! Only damn whore I can rely on." He turned back to his desk as Jewel scurried away out of the office and, for a fleeting moment, thought he could almost see the spectre of Nettie, standing in the corner of the room, mocking him.
"One wife down, Al," she had said upon their parting. "How many more must endure the agonies of being Mrs Swearengen?"
"Anything I can do, boss?" Johnny's voice broke into his thoughts.
"Unless you know of a cure for cholera, Johnny," Al said, a note of wistful sadness in his tone, "you serve little purpose here."
XXXX
"What the fuck's going on?" Trixie demanded a half hour later as she crossed the floor of the bar towards him. "Dan muttered something about Catherine being sick and closing the Gem?" She looked around and took in the deserted saloon. "I guess he wasn't joking."
"She's got cholera," Al said bluntly. He saw Trixie visibly pale and step back slightly, but he knew there was no point in pretending or trying to dress it up as something it wasn't. He drained his coffee cup. "I need your help caring for her."
"You're asking me for help?"
"Spare me your incredulity and give me your answer."
"I'm surprised I have a choice in the matter…"
"Trixie…"
"But yes, I will help you," she replied. "Not for you, but for her. Just how the fuck did she get cholera anyways?"
"Reckon it was from that Chink washerwoman she's become so friendly with of late," Al said, glancing towards the room where said Chink remained imprisoned. "I'll deal with that matter in due course but for now…the main thing is bringing her through."
"Doc say she's got a chance?"
Al stared at her, silently communicating to her that that sort of question was not to be asked. Of course he had thought it, had, in fact, thought of little else. But to hear his own fears voiced so openly was something he was not ready for.
Trixie seemed to understand, for she merely nodded her head and then made her way to the stairs. He watched her walk across the balcony and in through the office door and was grateful for her easy acquiescence. A momentary pang of regret for past indiscretions against her hit him, but it was quickly displaced as Silas approached from the direction of the whores' room.
"What are you going to do with her?" he asked hurriedly.
"If you're referring to the Chink…"
"I am."
"Then I ain't decided yet. That she is responsible for this affliction I have little doubt and, being found guilty, will require to face my consequences whatever I decide them to be."
"Don't do anything rash," Silas warned. "Taking your grief out on the Chink ain't going to…" he trailed off suddenly as Al's face hardened.
"I ain't grieving, Adams. Catherine ain't dead."
The obvious, final, word was left hanging, unspoken, in the air, but Al was thankfully distracted from further discussion by Doc coming through the door looking troubled.
"There's talk of a breakout amongst the Chinese," he offered without prompting.
"Then my suspicions are well founded. She got this from that Chink whore." He turned back to Silas with muted vindication. "You still wish to caution me?"
The other man shook his head.
"Good, for if Catherine dies, that Chink dies too."
XXXX
Wai-Lee sat in the corner of the room, her back against the stone wall, her body trembling. Night had passed since she had been brought here and she was no nearer to finding out why. The men had approached her at the washhouse from out of the shadows and she had barely been able to understand what they were saying before one of them had clamped his hand over her mouth, lifted her up and carried her to this place. Rigid with fear, she had been unable to scream and had no idea if anyone had noticed, or cared, about her plight.
Jing-Ho...he must be wondering what had happened to her and yet, he hadn't come for her. No-one had. Why wouldn't they have come? They must have missed her by now. And her grandmother…so ill, possibly dying, from the terrible disease that had taken Ping-Lee…
Tears coursed down her cheeks. What could she have possibly done to merit being held prisoner? She had done nothing but launder the wares brought to her by the lady from the Gem and offer her water when she had been unwell. And yet she feared the lady's husband, and what he was capable of doing.
She was frightened, so terribly frightened.
XXXX
Trixie submerged a flannel in cool water, squeezed it and then rested it atop Catherine's forehead. The other woman barely stirred as rivulets of water trickled down the side of her head to pool on her pillow. Gently, Trixie wiped her forehead, face, neck and top of her chest in an effort to combat the ever increasing fever. She had been shocked when she had finally seen Catherine and horrified by Jewel's tales of uncontrollable bouts of waste that led to two and three changes of linen a night.
But the thing that had frightened Trixie most was the look of pain and helplessness that she had seen in Al's eyes when he had given her the diagnosis. Such emotions had never been associated with him before. Anger, fury, rage – yes. She had seen them all and more besides. But this was different.
The creak of a floorboard made her look up to see Silas standing in the doorway.
"Shouldn't you be over at the new place?" She asked. "Dan said you were in charge of the girls."
"Reckon they can manage without me for a while," he replied, hovering at the foot of the bed. "How is she?"
"Not good."
He shook his head, "Can't believe how quickly it took hold of her. Her with child and all...reminds me of..." he trailed off suddenly.
Trixie looked up, "Reminds you of what?"
He opened his mouth, as if to say more, then deliberately closed it again. "It don't matter. So long ago now, anyways."
Catherine stirred suddenly, her cracked lips parted and a faint noise came from between them. Trixie placed the flannel back in the bowl and bent forward to catch the words.
"What did she say?" Silas asked.
Trixie straightened back up and swallowed hard. "She said Daddy."
XXXX
Al had known it would only be a matter of time before rumours started to spread about what was really wrong with Catherine, particularly in light of Doc's revelation. No-one was quarantined so strongly for a minor ailment and he was, in fact, surprised that it took until almost sundown for Seth to venture to the Gem. He saw him approaching from his vantage point on the balcony, striding down the thoroughfare, his gaze flitting upwards as he drew nearer, transmitting an unspoken request for communication.
"I understand Mrs Swearengen ain't well," he said, when Al met him at the front door.
"You understand correctly."
"I also understand..."
"Speak plainly Bullock, without the need for adding extra frills to the content of your conversation. It only serves to fucking bore me."
"Then I'll speak plainly. I'm told she has cholera."
Even though he was well aware of it, had rolled the word around in his mouth ever since Doc had first uttered it to him, there was something about it that still had the power to wind Al.
"I won't question your sources but simply tell you that they are accurate. She does have cholera," he said. For all of Seth's apparent knowledge on the subject, he found himself gratified by the fleeting look of horror that crossed the sheriff's face. "But she's contained within and my business is closed, so you've no fear on that score."
"My concern, despite your obvious thought to the contrary, is for Mrs Swearengen," Seth replied. "But seeing as you raised the subject, do you know the source of the infection?"
"Doc says there's rumours of an outbreak in Chinamens' Alley," Al replied, carefully omitting any reference to Wai-Lee, or the fact she remained prisoner inside. "Catherine takes the linens to the washhouse there. A few days ago, she took ill and drank some water that was offered to her."
"Offered by a Chink?"
"It would appear so."
Seth paused, "But if she had taken ill prior to going to the washhouse, then how…?"
"She took ill due to a condition in which she found herself prior to being infected," Al interrupted, growing weary of the conversation. "A condition which renders a woman liable to fatigue and general malaise for approximately nine months or so. A condition I am responsible for. Need I elaborate further on this part of the tale?"
"No," Seth replied. "Though under the circumstances, I'll refrain from offering my congratulations."
Al stepped closer to him, "I would appreciate," he lowered his voice, "if as few people as possible were aware of Catherine's affliction. I ain't supposing anything but there's a number in this camp who might take the view that those struck down, be they Chink or be they white, should be sacrificed for the good of the camp. Time past, I may have been one of them but the present situation lends me to defend and protect what is mine, regardless of the cost."
Seth nodded. "No-one will hear of it from me. But there's little that can be kept secret in this camp for any prolonged period of time."
"I understand that," Al nodded.
"Then we understand each other." Seth looked up at the balcony. "If she is able to receive them, please give Mrs Swearengen my best wishes."
"I will." Al watched as he made his way back along the thoroughfare towards his own home, no doubt grateful that he had a wife untouched by sickness to greet him.
When the other man had disappeared from sight, he stepped back inside the Gem, closing and locking the door behind him, the echo reverberating around the room. At the far corner, through the door into the kitchen, he could see Jewel limping from counter to counter as she prepared the evening meal. Trixie was still upstairs with Catherine and the boys were minding the girls at their temporary place of business. There was no-one to stop him, no-one to caution him.
Al made his way across the bar and down the corridor to the whores' room where he knew the Chink was held. The key hung in the outside of the lock and he twisted it gently, feeling the mechanism turn under his fingers, and pushed the door open.
XXXX
Doc lifted Catherine's left eyelid, peered into her eye and then repeated the same action with the right. Sighing, he sat back on the bed and took his patient's hand in his own.
"Is she worse?" Trixie asked from the corner of the room.
"She ain't no better," he replied, glancing at the bucket of water sat by the bed. "She won't drink?"
"I've tried, but every time I try to get her to take any, she either spills it down the side of her face or she won't take it at all. I don't know what else to do."
"It ain't your fault."
Trixie shuffled her feet, "She's dying, ain't she?"
Doc stood up and turned to face her, "I believe so."
"Ain't there anything you can do?"
"Besides prescribing laudanum for any pain she has and encouraging her to take fluids, no. There's no cure for this and I wish to God there was." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I saw men, some younger than Catherine, die from this terrible disease during the war. It robs a person of their very being and leaves them nothing but a shell." He shook his head. "Of all the things that could have befallen her…"
"I'm worried about Al," Trixie said, picking at the corner of the quilt. "He ain't going to take any of this well."
"He already ain't taking it well. Especially if, as I suspect, he has that poor Chinese washerwoman locked up downstairs."
"He can't kill her," Trixie said, her tone betraying her lack of conviction. "I mean, I know what he is but he can't…"
"Can't he?" Doc said, looking her square in the eye. "I believe he can, Trixie, and, what's more, I believe he will."
XXXX
"Boss!"
Al turned as he was about to step inside the room, to see Dan hurrying across the bar towards him. Slowly, he stepped back, pulled the door closed and locked it again, leaving the key dangling in the keyhole.
Dan stopped beside him and glanced at the closed door, "Everything ok, boss?"
"As well as can be expected," Al replied. "State your business and then leave me to mine."
"Merrick's outside. He took hold of me on my way over here from the new place and said he urgently needed to speak with you."
"Need I even try to guess what the nature of our conversation might be?"
Dan shrugged, "I got no idea, but I reckon it might be about what's happened to Catherine."
Al shook his head at the sometimes obvious stupidity of those he kept closest to him. "Check upstairs and see how Doc's doing while I appease our resident reporter." Crossing the bar, he opened the front door and stepped outside, to observe Merrick shifting from foot to foot and glancing around nervously.
"Afraid you may have been followed?"
"I've been troubled by some rumours," Merrick said, keeping his voice low and ignoring Al's obvious sarcasm.
"And what rumours might those be?"
"That there is an outbreak of cholera in the camp."
Al kept his face impassive, "Then I suggest you direct your attention away from here and towards Chinamens' Alley."
"Then it's true."
"I don't frequent the area so I couldn't rightly say." Al made to step back inside. "Now if you don't mind…"
"The rumours also suggest that Mrs Swearengen is afflicted."
Al turned back to face the newspaper man, who at least had the good grace to look unsettled. "And who the fuck suggested that, our esteemed Sheriff? Not even ten minutes have passed since I conversed with him on the very subject!"
Merrick shifted his feet, "I don't recall Sheriff Bullock…"
"The gossip in this camp is worse than at a ladies fucking quilting circle! Whatever condition Catherine may, or may not have, should be of little importance to the fucking hoopleheads in this camp, some of them not fit enough to clean up her shit!" Al snapped.
"Then….she does have cholera?" Merrick concluded, averting his eyes.
Al stepped closer to him. "One word of such an accusation makes it into print, Merrick, and I swear to God I will hunt you down and slit your throat myself."
"I have a duty to report such things to the camp. Matters of public health…"
Al turned away before he had to listen to anything further, slamming the door closed in the other man's face.
"Her father would be most distraught!"
Al threw the door open again as Merrick's word carried though to him. "Her father has no place here! Unless your memory has deserted you, he lay down in his bed and left her to survive on her own! So I hardly think that Travis McCord's feelings on the subject are in any way pertinent!"
"He's still her father," Merrick replied.
Al paused for a moment to take in the other man's words and marvel at the fact that this was the first time he had ever seen the newspaper man challenge him.
"Then for her father's sake," he said finally, "print not one word of her affliction."
Merrick nodded. "I am most saddened," he said, as he turned back towards the newspaper office.
"So am I," Al said softly to himself. "So am I."
