To Lilith and Ficfangirl; I couldn't do this story without you both. Thank you so much. All errors are mine since I fidget with the words after edits.

This chapter brings all the characters up to present. Thank you for reading, PMing and especially those who review. I very much appreciate it very much.

~ J *+* D ~

"Labor disgraces no man; unfortunately, you occasionally find men who disgrace labor."

~ Ulysses S. Grant ~

Chapter 10

Bringing Jasper up to the present

Ace

It's been two and a half months since I started my five year sentence. You would think by this time I would have become accustomed to the constant aches and pains which plague my body. You would think I could ignore the moans and groans of the other inmates. You would think I could shrug off the knowledge that every day a man is beaten or brought down to his knees. You would think I'd be able to forget Cracker, my first of many chain mates. But you would think – wrong.

Even though Cracker was the only one I detested during my short time here, he was still a human being. I just couldn't respect a man who willing goaded the guards into abusing him. He was Crowley's favorite victim and Cracker seemed to appreciate it. Since I was chained to him day in and day out, it was no wonder I found myself on the receiving end of the whip. I quickly learned to side step their little game. Unfortunately, Tiny, Blue and I were forced to carry his sorry ass to the cage and back to the cell. We spent more time taking care of him than ourselves. I would have had sympathy for him at least, if he would have given up his taunting ways. Anyone could see he wasn't long for the world.

Crowley is a bulky man of short stature with a sadistic nature. He gets his jollies taking on the larger black men, watching them grovel, whimper and bleed, so long as he has his whip, gun and knife protecting him. He also gets a thrill out of beating the insolent, weak ones, and Cracker fit the bill. Those two were a peach of a pear.

Crowley once caught me off guard when I first arrived and I felt his whip. But only once. It hurt like a son of a bitch. When he tried a second time, I was ready. I turned, grabbing a few strands before it reached my back and wrenched it out of his hand. The look I gave him was murderous as I expertly coiled the whip with the handle in my hand. His eyes lowered from mine and steadily watched my movements, understanding immediately that I knew how to use it. I didn't deserve the punishment and I'd be damned if I would suffer a second time.

Crowley was in one of his piss poor moods. Cracker, who was too weak to even lift a shovel, was slowing down our crew. He should have been in the infirmary as anyone could tell. He was feverish and not lucid, but Crowley wanted him on the work detail. As the day wore on he was regretting it. We were already an hour longer in getting back to the prison, so he decided to have another go at me. Luckily, when I made my move there wasn't another guard in the vicinity and I could have easily retaliated. I could have been on him so fast, taken his gun and killed him before he said, boo. He knew it, too. I saw the panicked look, plain as day, in his beady little eyes. And even though the other two men were willing and able to make a run for it, we weren't out far enough to make it safely. Especially with Cracker attached to us. I threw the whip down at his feet. "Don't you ever attempt to use me as your whipping post. Because I swear, the next time, you won't be so lucky."

Crowley and I came to an understanding that day, right quick. He didn't like me nor did he like my threat, but at least he respected me and was cautious of being too close. Sure, he could waylay me while the other guards where around and seek retribution. But revenge is a double edged sword and he knows I would bide my time and strike when he least expected it. Crowley would never admit it, but I suspect he had a grudging respect for those less fortunate who stood up for themselves. Maybe I reminded him of himself. Our gentlemen's agreement was all I needed or cared about. It wasn't surprising I became the man who the other inmates wanted to be chained to. I was a safe harbor in this tumultuous abyss known as the chain gang.

Cracker, or James, passed away due to infections caused by open wounds and our filthy working and living conditions. In the short time I've been here, I've already witnessed four deaths. All of them could have been prevented. All of them had a right to live. All of them were treated as if they were a waste of humanity.

Yet, for every man who has been severely injured or died, another one or two seem to appear the next day to replace them. It makes you realize how worthless your life has become out here on the chain gang. I'm still shaking my head at our newest cellmate. He was a priest for crying out loud. Of all the insane things I've witnessed, I'd have never seen this coming.

I know when a man's lying, bluffing or speaking the truth. I know the difference between a white lie, half-truths and a tall tale. I didn't become a professional gambler on good looks alone. No! You have to watch how a man stands, leans or sits. Muscles tight or relaxed? How he cocks his head, or juts his chin. If his lip curls in frustration, or glee, or if he thinks he's being sneaky. Does his nose flare in anger, does his brow slightly furrow, or do his eyebrows almost meet in deep concentration? Does he use a hand on his face scratching his nose, wiping sweat from his forehead, or biting his nails? But it's the eyes that are the most telling. Do they meet yours when giving an answer, swerve to the side, or look over your shoulder fixed on some distant object? So many emotions can be expressed within the blink. They say the eyes don't lie, and I know this to be true. Even when you lie, the eyes will reflect the truth of the lie.

A more innocent man I have never seen than Preacher Man. When he told us what he was in for, albeit nervous, he was straightforward in his answer. When he explained his story, it was clear as day he didn't commit the crime. It made me question the type of legal system we had in place, which allowed circumstantial evidence to take precedence over a doctor who gave up his life's work for a stranger's defense. Every man here has broken the law in one fashion or another. None of us are guilt free or sinless, except for this man. There is no way on this God forsaken earth he murdered the woman. I would bet my life on it.

~ J *+* D ~

Preacher Man's first day out was a disaster waiting to happen. I'm just as determined, though, not to let him fall like Cracker did. For all I try to stay out of everyone else's business and only take care of myself, I find I can't keep myself from trying to help him. He doesn't belong here. He is completely out of his element. Thankfully, he took my advice, stayed focused, and willingly did what I asked him to do. The only time he questioned one of my comments was the incident with Bowie, and rightly so. He wasn't used to the viciousness of men, especially those of Crowley's ilk. He didn't like being the cause of another man being hit. I respect him for it. It will keep him alert when the next new arrival comes.

Preacher Man is currently lying on his bunk studying his copy of the rule book. I think my copy is somewhere underneath my mattress. Tiny and Blue are on the top bed of their bunk, playing a game of cards. I lay back on mine thinking about my trial. For the millionth time I think of Maria and wonder what she was up to. I know she is the reason for my new working and living conditions. She could have easily paid my bail and saved my ass. The only possible reason that makes sense is someone was on to her. Since I refused to become her something more, she decided I was expendable, along with Peter and Charlotte. Her way of throwing out the trash and starting with a clean slate. I'd lay odds she already has a new still up and running. I'd even wager Jared is actually running it.

I force my mind to change directions. I don't really want to think about the bitch. It's not conducive to relaxing, and Lord knows I need to get some rest before another exhausting day comes. Instead, I think about Peter and Charlotte. Hopefully, they are safe on the plantation. They are the only ones who know about my home. When they look around, they'll understand how much it means to me. My thoughts drifts to my parents. I look so much like my mom, as I'm sure they'll see from her portrait hanging above the main fireplace. I think about the rooms I used to race though when I was knee high to a grasshopper, avoiding furniture in my mad dash to escape my laughing father trying to catch me. I wonder which room they've settled in. I refuse to think they didn't make it out of the tunnel. I sigh to myself. Hopefully, there were some chickens still around for fresh meat or eggs and they're making themselves at home.

There is no doubt in my mind they are doing exactly what I asked. If I wasn't able to meet up with them at the café, they were to head to the plantation. They were to sit and wait. I told them I would eventually get word to them of my whereabouts, then I would tell them the next step. I can see Peter in my mind's eye and I know he will be trying to find me. He has too much energy, and is too impatient to lay low for an extended period of time, especially if he thinks he can help me one way or another. I just hope he covers his tracks like I taught him.

Preacher Man mentioned his lawyers said they wouldn't give up on seeking justice for him and gaining his release. If I'm lucky, they'll visit and I'll get Preacher Man to pass a letter on to them to mail to Peter and Charlotte. Preacher Man's case reeks to high heaven of him being railroaded by the judge and I can't imagine his lawyers not following through with his appeal.

He's finished with the rule book. It's a really quick read. I have all the rules memorized. We're given two hours before the lights are turned low. It's the time for talking with your cellmates or those in cells close by. Games are permitted such as chess, checkers or dominoes. Very few of the inmates have these games. The ones who do, don't like to share, unless you trade your clean pair of socks for a week's worth of playing time. Very few of the men do. It would mean going barefoot in the boots, causing blisters and more suffering. Reading is also allowed. Newspapers are usually shared. Books are materials for trade. Visitors know books, decks of cards, dice and other items can be used for barter and those who can afford it, bring them for their incarcerated relative or friend.

The main rules are in regards to theft, alcohol, lying, gambling, vulgarity and profanity which are strictly forbidden. Preacher Man asked for a more detailed explanation. After today's events, I bet he has the rules memorized and he's not taking any chances of screwing up. I appreciate and understand his apprehension, so I start with stealing, which is the most commonplace. It usually happens when one of the inmates is first to finish his supper and quickly enters the cell block before the one who has something he wants. During the day, the cell doors are left wide open so those who mop the floors or are punished by cleaning the sinks and toilets have free reign to indulge in five finger pick up. If a guard doesn't like you or wants a little sport, they will set up the inmate, claiming they were caught stealing and use him like a punching bag or practice their skills with the whip.

I haven't seen much drinking or drug use, but the others have. Usually, it's by an inmate who works directly under the Warden. They're known as a snitch, bird or stool pigeon. So you keep your eyes open for someone who looks too content for these conditions.

Next on the list is vulgarity and I asked Preacher Man to listen. Throughout the cell block you can hear the profanity and some of the men being very crude in their story telling skills. Wives and girlfriends are being discussed in the most carnal way. So many exaggerated stories of one's sex life are being told. Nothing is sacred. Sex with men, children, sisters, animals and each other. When Preacher Man was listening to one man detailing his expertise with his tongue and how well he satisfies the ladies, he gasped, and then blushed bright red. Yeah, I'm sure that was an eye opener, I chuckle to myself. I also inform him that it's wise for him to watch his backside when not in the cells. He looked questioningly at me not understanding the subtle message. I asked if he understood the act of sodomy and again his shock and embarrassment is evidenced by the reddest blush I've ever seen on a man. It was really quite humorous. "Nothing is sacred in here Preacher Man."

There is some rhyming and singing from various corners of the cells. These are informal groups who create songs for in the dormitory and on the road. Poetry is descriptive of the harsh life inside and outside the prison wall or their desires for women.

Gambling is prohibited, but it doesn't stop these men. They play for extra underwear on clothing exchange day, a sandwich smuggled from the kitchen or a box of matches and tobacco. But most guards don't seem to mind. Mostly the talk is about your sentence, your trial or how you were framed. The details are related to anyone who will listen. Hearing each man's story kills a lot of time. Most of the men are here for vagrancy. Being an unemployed black man standing around on the sidewalk is enough to get you thrown in here.

When our fellow prisoners learned a priest was in our midst, Preacher Man wasn't condemned for taking a woman's life. Instead he was asked important questions like "does God exist? Is there a heaven or hell?" What surprised me most was his answer. "I used to be able to answer your question with a resounding yes. But now, I'm here for a crime I didn't commit. The God I believed in didn't protect me. I think heaven and hell are here on earth," he inhales through his nose, looking down and shaking his head. "We're all in hell."

~ J *+* D ~

"Life is for living and working at. If you find anything or anybody a bore, the fault is in yourself."

~ Elizabeth l ~

Bringing Bella, Alice, Emmett and Seth to the present

Bella

Surprisingly enough, it didn't take long for me to lower my defenses in our new location. The house we rent is a nice sized craftsman style home with indoor plumbing. Since it's set back from the road, I'm relaxed enough to enjoy the large front porch, dressed as Billy, of course. We contacted Renee and Mr. McCarty, who kept their word and sent our bedroom furnishings. Alice, during her stay with us in Florida, had used her spare money to buy her own used bedroom set. Seth had stored his in Mr. McCarty's shed. For the first month, we all slept on the floor in our rooms until the highly anticipated delivery finally arrived. The first night of sleeping in my bed again was one of the best nights I'd had.

We didn't go all out when we bought items for the house. We did, however, pool our monies together to furnish the kitchen with the necessary pots and pans, while purchasing a large used davenport and two overstuffed chairs for the main room. While I was comfortable here, I kept my mind open to the fact I might need to pick up and run. I hate this side of myself. I hate the anxiety that sits in a corner of my mind and never rests. I can't wait for the day Riley Biers will no longer be a harbinger of death. I want to relax and just be me.

The City of Bessemer is an industrial town with steel plants being its main source of employment. It was originally named Brooklyn, but was changed in honor of Sir Henry Bessemer, a British scientist who achieved fame for his contribution to the steel making process.

Emmett's job has him working four days on and then two days off. Seth is home almost every night by 6 pm, unless there is a job that needs to be completed sooner. Then there is Alice.

It fell to Billy to drive Alice to and from work. She works for Mr. William J. Murphy, who is an embalmer and mortician. He owns several funeral parlors and Alice has been sent to work at many of them after Mr. Murphy became confident of her skills.

Originally, she had to fight tooth and nail to get the job. Mr. Murphy is a proud, hardworking black man, who services the needs of black communities. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of hiring a white woman nor was he sure his clients would accept her caring for their family members. The majority of his clients were at one point or had family member who were slaves. They didn't trust anyone who was white. Not that I could blame them. For Alice, it was a form of prejudice in reverse. To prove her worth, she spent half a morning preparing and working with one of the deceased. Mixing colors on her palette and carefully applying cosmetics with Mr. Murphy closely monitoring her. That afternoon, a service was held for the loved one and the family was overjoyed with the woman's natural beauty and peaceful expression. When Mr. Murphy introduced Alice to the family they thanked her profusely and at that point Mr. Murphy hired her.

It's been weeks since that first day and Alice thoroughly enjoys her job and the pay is very good. She was right, people do tip her for making their loved ones look serene and content. She truly doesn't mind working with a stiff body, but she does wear gloves. She said the coldness at times would catch her off guard and cause her to smear some of the makeup. I have to admit the first time I saw the body of the woman, it spooked me a little.

I, on the other hand, have a part time job working in the evenings as a dishwasher in a hotel closer to Birmingham. I don't mind scouring the pots and pans or scrubbing at the food encrusted dishes. I'm left alone and simply lock up when I'm done. But it isn't exciting. I miss the simple interactions I had with people in general as a hawker of papers or even the deliveries of documents for Mr. McCarty. I am, however, limited in the jobs I can handle as Billy. I've decided I do like my hair long. It is my way of retaining a small essence of my true self. So any job I take on has to allow me to wear a hat since I wasn't ready to be me yet.

The not so subtle hints Alice is always dropping has me thinking more and more about singing. I have to admit, Billy isn't exciting anymore. It used to be fun being out of the house and hanging around with Emmett, Seth and Alice as we'd laugh at the people I fooled. It's now second nature to walk, talk and be Billy. At home, when someone calls me Bella, I don't even answer sometimes, I've become so submerged in his persona. I'm tired of walking in Billy's shadow. The idea of becoming a female again is very intriguing and singing has always been something I enjoyed.

Alice will regularly make me up using the blonde wig and I'm amazed how liberating it is to become a young woman again. Her skilled hands reshape my eyes, heighten my cheekbones and make my lips look fuller to resemble a mysterious woman from foreign land. Alice first named the look 'Helen,' for the face that launched a thousand ships. I snorted in laughter. "Bella, you can't snort when you're a glamorous woman. It's unbecoming." This only increased my mirth. Alice rapped the back end of her brush on the top of my head. That stopped my laughter as she muttered, "You need to learn all over again how to be a female. You're going to have to learn to flirt, bat your eyes, tilt your head coquettishly and gently sway your hips."

I stared at her, as my jaw dropped. "Why?" I finally squeak out.

"Because, if you're going to be a singer, you also need to be a performer. You need to make a man think you're only singing to him. Make him feel special so that he'll want to come back and see you again. The more nights you perform, the more money you'll make. The more money men spend, the more the bar or club makes, which will mean more tips for you. You have to sell yourself."

"Alice, I don't like the idea of selling myself. It sounds licentious." I shiver at the thought.

"I'm not suggesting selling your body! I'm talking about selling the act. You have everyone convinced there is a young man named Billy. You've sold me with your acting skills and I helped you create him. So, in order for you to become, oh say...," She gazes at me in the mirror, her hands on either side of my head turning it this way and that, "Tanya, then you need to become her. You don't need an accent, but change up your voice. Instead of deep and gruff like Billy, maybe make it throaty. Don't giggle, chuckle softly. Instead of striding with purpose, be almost sedate in your walk."

I pushed myself away from the dressing table and tried to mimic the walk the way Alice suggested. Alice breaks into laughter.

"What?" I bat my eyes at her.

"You have Tanya's head, wearing Billy's clothes, and walking like a woman. It's so wrong!" And she's holding her sides laughing harder as I look down at Billy's attire. I wink at her, which does her in and she falls into the chair in hysterics.

I leave her there cackling away, as I head to the wardrobe in my room. I don't have anything stylish to wear, but I do have a few dresses. It takes time to remove the layers of clothing and unbind myself. Finally, I'm dressed again, but barefooted, as I return to Alice's room.

She still has the giggles as she's putting away her make up in its case. As I enter, she looks up, smiling widely and assesses my change of clothes. "That's better, but we're going to have to find you more appropriate evening wear and heels. We'll visit the second hand shops this weekend and see what we can find."

~ J *+* D ~

We did visit the consignment and second hand shops located in the higher end area of Birmingham. We found three dresses, three corsets, two pairs of heels and two pairs of long gloves which are perfect for Tanya. For Bella…not so much. When Alice would me dress up, I became more confident that I could pull this off.

During the day while everyone else is working, I occasionally visit a shop which sells instruments and sheet music. If I'm going to be a true performer, I've decided I need to learn a wide variety of songs. I've bought various sheets of music which caught my attention from vaudeville to Broadway musicals, including popular songs by George M. Cohen. I'm learning songs which are currently in favor from the Great War such as 'Over There,' to softer melodies such as 'I'm Always Chasing Rainbows.' Some songs are happy or tongue in cheek, while others are sultry or romantic. When I return home, I practice the new ones as they were written, while others I change, creating my own style on a cheap upright piano I purchased.

One evening, when all of us happened to be home together and after about a month's worth of practicing, I decided to put on a little show after supper. Alice helped me with my makeup and I dressed up. Alice was excited and even though it was just Emmett and Seth waiting downstairs; who hadn't yet seen Tanya, I was still a nervous wreck. What if they thought I looked foolish? Like a young girl playing in her mother's clothes. Worse yet, what if they laughed at my attempt to be alluring? Alice didn't tell the guys what I was up to and she interrupted my worries by calling up, "Billy, are you coming down or what?"

That was the motivation I needed. I wasn't Billy tonight. I was Tanya, and it was time to let her come into her own.

As I made my way down the stairs, I noticed Emmett and Seth were in a conversation regarding their jobs. I had the element of surprise on my side, so I went for it. In a practiced low, feminine voice I asked, "Whose Billy? I thought you were anxious to see me, Alice."

Both Emmett and Seth whipped their heads in my direction as I reached the final step. Gently swaying my hips as I glide towards the fireplace, I watch their expressions carefully. First is surprise, and then delight, as Tanya gracefully approaches and I tilt my head in acknowledgment of their attention. Lowering my voice, I husk out, "Hi boys, I was hoping I'd get to meet you tonight." I smile in what I hope is a sultry manner. Emmett's mouth drops open and Seth starts chuckling at my boldness. Alice is grinning and lightly clapping her hands, hopping up and down on her toes.

I smile at her encouragement and go for broke when I huskily inquire, "I'm only here for a one night. Alice suggested you might be interested in letting me entertain you with a few songs." I purr, "Was she right?" Emmett and Seth both grin broadly and nod their fool heads off.

Then I lose it. I start laughing hysterically and so do the others. "I'm sorry, that just doesn't sound like me." I'm finally able to gasp out.

"That voice did sound funny coming from you. If I didn't think of you like a sister, but a real woman, I would have been very happy to hear more of it," Seth sniggered.

"Hey, what do you mean like a real woman?" I snip at him. Suddenly I'm no longer laughing.

"What he means…Tanya, is it? Is your charming voice is believable, but outrageous to us coming from you. I don't think either of us can get Billy out of our heads. The feminine you has been away for too long." Emmett laughs again and Seth nods in agreement.

I frown for a minute and realize they speak the truth. They pretty much only think of me as Billy. I'm not the real me anymore. I make a silent vow to myself, then and there, that I will start being me more at home. I need to grow up and not let Riley control so much of my life. But, I'm not quite ready to venture outside as Bella.

"Sing some songs for us, Tanya. I've been waiting forever to hear what you chose." Alice smiles, reminding me I need to practice, and instantly snapping me out of my little hissy fit.

Alice wanted me sing as I normally would, but add a sultry flare to it, so I did. I only sang a few songs. The last one I crooned was a lovely number about missing my man. I lightly flirt with Emmett, but wind up perched on the side of Seth's chair, teasing him a little just to prove I can act like a woman. As the last note hangs in the air, the room is silent. I slowly rise from Seth's side and walk towards the stairs, glancing over my shoulder at all of them with a wink and a smile.

The room is still silent when I reach the stairs and I'm worried I made a complete and utter fool of myself. Alice is the first to react by clapping loudly and grinning widely. "That was amazing, Tanya. Simply brilliant."

Emmett is whistling, while Seth is calling for an encore, and both are clapping now. Relief instantly washes away my doubts. My three friends wouldn't be reacting this way unless they honestly felt I deserved it. Perhaps more exciting, it was me singing. It was my voice they enjoyed. It was a part of me, the real Bella, only dressed up as Tanya.

~ J *+* D ~

Seth came with me on Monday, when I answered the most promising ad for an entertainer needed Fridays through Sundays, in a nightclub called The Quake. It was aptly named, since Birmingham was hit by a 5.1 earthquake just last year. It was felt as far away as Atlanta. Prior to that, it was called Magic City in honor of Birmingham's nickname. It was only ten miles away from home, on the outskirts of Birmingham, which was perfect for my requirements.

The owner took one look at Tanya and begged her to audition right there and then. I really think he was so enamored with Tanya's looks that I could have screeched out a song and walked like a lumber jack and still been hired. After I sang, I was offered the job at twice the wage printed in the ad and in cash. I was happy that I didn't have to worry about giving my real name if I were to receive a pay check. According to the owner, they hadn't had a talented and beautiful woman of my caliber and he was sure I would bring in the crowds. I was told I could have a tip jar and keep all the money as long as I started that weekend. I couldn't turn it down. I'd be making five times what I was earning as a dishwasher. In addition to the astonishing amount of money I'd make, I was given a little room behind the stage area to change clothes. I easily accepted after I saw the dressing room and was so glad I did.

The owner introduced me to the musicians. I gave them a list of songs I would be singing, and the band members were familiar with most of the tunes. We practiced several times over the next few days in preparation.

~ J *+* D ~

The first two nights were harrowing and it took me a while to become confident in front of such a large audience. The owner had remarked several times how he would like to see more interaction between me and the crowd. For me to leave the stage and be more personable. Other than those comments, he was incredibly happy with my performances and the revenue. It was Sunday night, and when Alice finished creating Tanya, she told me I was attracting men like bees to pollen. I really didn't believe her. I should have listened. I didn't think there would be so many men crowded into the club. Word must have gotten around that there was new talent in the neighborhood. All the tables were packed and the rest of the customers were standing at the bar or lining the walls two and three deep. I was behind the thin stage curtain trying to see where Emmett and Seth were. I eventually spotted them. They were sitting at different tables. Emmett was talking and smiling with a large, dark haired, dark eyed man, while Seth sat alone waiting for Alice to join him.

When the lights dimmed, she whispered, "Break a leg," and left to join Seth. The music started from the four piece house band. The first song was a slow melody which helped quiet the crowd. All eyes were on the stage. Instead of making a grand entrance, I started singing from behind the curtain, gathering my nerves before facing the crowd. It seemed as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting to view Tanya. I needed to be bolder. I shoved down my shyness and became her. I let go with a long note as I pushed away the curtains, entering the stage with a flourish. The audience went crazy, hooting and clapping, welcoming the songstress and I began to relax as I finished the first song.

By the end of the night, I had them eating out of my hands. I flirted a little with coy smiles and winks to some of the older men and joked with some of the women. No one was ignored. I learned quickly though that there were many men who enjoyed grabbing onto my skirt or trying to hold my hands. It made me extremely uncomfortable and I had to quickly move away. My safety net was Emmett and Seth. The man sitting with Emmett had wandering hands. Emmett slid between us effectively loosening his hold and I was able to move on. He didn't appreciate the grateful smile I threw Emmett during a sassy little number, as I left their table and sashayed my way around the room. Twirling away from grabby men and paying more attention to the women.

At the start of the final song, I moved to Seth and Alice's table. I was playing a bit with the both of them and by the time the last note was sung, I was back on the stage. The appreciative noise from the crowd was impressive. The clapping, whistling and cheers gave me a sense of accomplishment and eased some of my frayed nerves. I knew I could do this and I enjoyed making the people happy.

After curtseying, thanking the band, and giving a final wave to the crowd, I left for the dressing room. Alice had left her table before the final verse and was waiting in the dressing room. My head was dizzy with excitement and I wore the biggest grin when I saw Alice waiting for me. We both squealed and laughed at how well the evening went. That was until we heard the pounding on the door and Seth's voice from the other side. "Tanya, sweetie, you have about three minutes to get out of this room and into the sedan before a brawl breaks out among the men demanding a personal audience with you."

Alice and I both froze for about five seconds until my fight or flight instinct took over. I wasn't prepared to socialize with anyone. Alice quickly unpinned the wig while I removed my heels. She stuffed the wig in a small travel bag she used for her make-up, while I pulled on Billy's overcoat and slammed his hat on my head, while pushing my feet into his shoes. Within a minute, we were out the door in the darkened hall. Seth was leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He didn't say anything, just jutted his chin towards the exit. If he was keeping quiet, so were we. We both turned and headed through the back door exit and ran for the sedan.

I hopped into the driver's seat while Alice cranked the handle. Luckily, the vehicle started right up and we were well on our way towards home within Seth's three minute deadline. The adrenaline coursing through my system was replaced with fear. I kept one eye on the rearview mirror and one on the road. When we were about five miles from home and no one was behind us, I began to relax. Letting out a loud whoosh of air, I quickly glanced at Alice. She was sitting against the door eyeing me in concern. I was about to tell her I didn't think I could sing again. I was thrilled with how well the evening went, the whole weekend in fact, but I didn't think I could handle the stress of evading the advances of unknown men. Not dressed as Tanya, at least.

"Don't say it," Alice said, breaking the quiet.

She knew exactly what I was thinking. "But Alice…," I began.

"No! Don't say it. We need to know what happened. We won't know until Seth and Emmett get home. Let's just wait to hear what they have to say. Okay? Promise me not to make your mind up until we hear what happened," she begged.

I honored her request for the rest of the drive home. Once we arrived, I immediately hung up my hat and coat, then went into the bathroom to wash away the makeup. Next, I went into my room and changed into Billy's clothes. For some reason, it made me feel safer. About 15 minutes later, Seth was home and announced. "Emmett will be arriving shortly. Right now he's trying to calm down his boss," he says, shaking his head.

"Why? What happened?" I wonder if Emmett is still employed and if his boss was his companion at the table.

"Tanya happened," is Seth's cryptic reply with a small smile.

~ J *+* D ~

"Expectation is the root of all heartache."

~ William Shakespeare ~

After Edward Masen's trial

Rose

I couldn't believe Mr. Masen was sentenced to the convict lease program. I'm still furious. Judge Banner, as far as I was concerned, had a lot of explaining to do. I noticed on two separate occasions his silent communication with one of the jury members. I know there was collusion involved, but I was still trying to work out the reasons behind it. Once again, I had pages filled with questions just waiting for an answer. Who was the juror? What was his relationship to Judge Banner? What did he gain? What did Banner gain? The questions crowding my mind took 30 minutes to write down. Once my head was cleared, I looked at my notes and devised a plan of attack.

I didn't lie to Mr. Masen. I would not give up on his case. I didn't need money. This was a matter of principle and needing to ensure justice was properly served. I would see him freed at any cost and I know Sam is of the same mind set. Unfortunately, Sam can't leave our other clients high and dry. I've already completed the factual investigation portion of our open cases and he just needs to cover the legal aspect. We have an agreement, he's not taking on any new cases that will require any investigation work on my part. Mr. Masen's case is too important to both of us. It falls to me to seek answers to my questions. A task I gladly accept.

My first order of business is to find out who the juror was. I return to the courthouse after the weekend to look up the jurors' names. The only information available is their names, ages and addresses. Seven were easily discarded as they were much too old to be the juror I'm looking for. Of the five remaining, I decide to run a circuit and visit each of them.

The first day I was able to track down two who happened to be home when I arrived. Neither were the man I was looking for. One man kindly informed me that most were in agreement that Mr. Masen did not commit first degree murder. However, one juror convinced enough of them that he should at least be convicted of the third degree charge. He didn't remember the man's name, but I did find out that one member was employed in law enforcement and it was he who was Mr. Masen's greatest benefactor in not receiving the death sentence. It seems the juror I was looking for and the law enforcement officer were at odds from the beginning.

The next day, I find the studio apartment of one of the men. No one answers to my repeated knocking. A woman down the hall informs me that the gentleman who lived there has gone. I asked his name and verify this was Charlie Swan's residence. I'm also told he's employed by the city of Houston as a constable. I'm thrilled to find the man who was Mr. Masen's biggest ally, until I reach the local precinct where Constable Swan worked, only to learn he's taken a leave of absence. I ask when he was expected to return and his supervisor just shook his head in frustration, "I can't answer that, Ma'am. He was extremely upset with the trial of the priest, the newspaper stories, and the mentality of those in and outside the courtroom. I'm not sure when he will return, if ever. He's a good man and an excellent officer. I'd hate to lose him."

Disgruntled, I leave the precinct and visit the boarding house next on my list. Again, I'm stymied when I'm told Mr. Eric Yorkie is no longer living there. The landlord has no idea where he went and he wasn't given any indication if he would return. Mr. Yorkie once mentioned he was living New Orleans, so maybe he went back home. I asked him if we were talking about a man of medium height, with a lean build, black hair and dark eyes. He confirmed my description and I knew I had found my man.

Even more interesting, Mr. Yorkie only rented the room for one month. It was as if he came here specifically for the trial, and as soon as it was over he was gone. Was he a resident of New Orleans or Houston? You can't be on a jury if you aren't a resident of the county where the trial is being held. Was there another address that wasn't given to the registrar's office, maybe his real address here in the Houston area? More questions than answers are again assailing my mind. Was his real name even Eric Yorkie? But more importantly, where was he now?

~ J *+* D ~