The bustling town of Genoa was a whirl of early Saturday morning activity as the sun shone down upon its inhabitants and their enterprises. Miners rode past on dusty horses toward the saloons with piano music pouring from every door, housewives walked down the streets arm-and-arm past bright shops, laughing children played ball in the alleys, gentlemen in fine suits passed in carriages down the main street, fancy girls lingered outside of discreet establishments while attempting to catch the eye of gullible lads and then there was a personality who stuck out like a sore thumb among the colorful populace.
A dark figure of a young woman, dressed all in black and her face shrouded in a veil, walked briskly down the boardwalk. Passersby took no notice as she slipped into a dress-shop's business front. The bell tinkled merrily as she entered but the sweet sound could not have been more opposite to her mood. She carefully removed her veiled bonnet and stepped forward, setting the garment down on her large sewing table which was used for measuring and cutting cloth.
The shop was very small but suited to her needs and she took a moment to take stock of her entire life as a human. To the right, the large sewing table dominated that part of the larger room, a comfortable armchair sat in the far corner, next to that there being a set of drawers where all of her thread, needles and notions were kept. The left of the room was reserved for fittings and nothing else, evidenced by the thick drapes pulled back at present but easily released to flood the space with privacy. There were no windows in the space which most customers commented on for it was odd indeed. Even the door was made of solid oak and seemed devoted to the darkness that blanketed the shop.
She shook her head, a sad smile twitching the corner of her pretty mouth. Her dress rustled as she struck a match and lit the six oil lamps sitting in various locations about the room, sending eerie shadows flickering on the walls and illuminating the tiny world that she called home. Outside, the sounds of the town struck a fear into her heart that she had learned to ignore but, while in here, she felt safe. She had all that she desired for survival. Happiness didn't matter during the day, only an adequate identity to avert suspicion. To all whom it may concern, she was a widow trying to make a living and nothing more. Her life was lived backwards, looking forward to the sheltering arms of night while enduring the loneliness of day.
She sighed, resigned to another day of drudgery. It was time to work on the never-ending pile of clothes waiting to be mended on the far end of the large table. Taking a seat in the chair, she opened a drawer, withdrew a needle-and-thread and set to work on the mountain of work awaiting her nimble fingers. The only sound from inside the room was the tick-tock of the clock on the wall and the occasional snip of her scissors. Presently, the door opened and she jumped, the needle sticking her finger. She yelped but regained her composure in time to look up into the smiling face of Hop Sing.
"You alight, Missy Angelina? Did not mean to frighten you. Let me help," he said kindly, taking her small hand within his own. As discreetly as possible, she ripped free from his grasp, clasping her hands in front of herself.
"No, but thank you, Hop Sing," the beautiful young woman glanced at the bundle held under his arm. "Is that for me? Little Joe tore yet another shirt?"
Hop Sing responded in kind to the genuine smile that momentarily crossed her features. "No, Mister Adam, not younger brother this time. Tore a few shirts last week and one pair of pants. Think you can fix?"
Angelina smiled, trying to stop her heart from racing as she gingerly took the package and held it gently. Another smile was directed the Ponderosa cook's way. "You know I can, the garments will be finished by tomorrow. Ummm...do you want to come in and sit down? I would love to hear more stories of the Cartwrights. You do tell such colorful tales as to make me quite giddy with their mischief."
"I sorry but I can't. Velly busy, everybody busy today but will come back and talk tomorrow. Alight?"
"Certainly, I understand," she said softly, "Take good care, Hop Sing."
With a smile, the cook was gone and Angelina was left alone once again. Her attention turned solely to the package. Excitement made her fingers tremble as she unwrapped the brown paper and beheld the pile of black clothing. Smoothing her hands out over the top shirt, she gathered it in her hands and sank into the chair while burying her nose in the folds. The material was of very good quality, though the color was morbid. She had often wondered what made such a handsome man cover himself in darkness. What pain had dodged his days and nights to shroud his soul with such sadness? Surely, she had done such a thing for the past ten years, clothed herself in the color of mourning, but only after the sorrow of Life's betrayal had broken her heart.
Turning her attention back to the garment, she inhaled deeply. Through the clean smell of soap, she could pick up a faint scent of cologne at the collar. She latched on to that scent as if she was a dying woman in need of water. As a tear slipped down her cheek, her lips found the fabric just above the top black button, where the garment would have rested against his neck, where the vein in which his lifeblood flowed...had throbbed against the collar and warmed it through.
I* * * * *I
Once Adam had ridden by the Ponderosa sawmill to collect a freight wagon, heavily laden with fresh-cut rails and posts, he had tied Sport on the back and headed out to the first worksite. He had replaced five posts by hand and strung boards between them, nailing them tight when extra persuasion was needed.
Upon arriving at the second site, he was starting to feel poorly. His heart sank upon seeing the number of repairs needed which were many more than he had originally thought. There were miles upon miles of old fence along the Ponderosa borders that were in dire need of mending and this section that he was to tackle today was no different. Rot had took hold of dozens of posts along the stretch and had led to many of the rails lopping over every which way as the posts leaned. Adam's job was to use the team to pull the offending posts out, sink new ones into the provided holes and run new rails between them. Not as hard as having to dig new holes by hand but still challenging, as the posts usually seemed determined to break off with their ends still in the ground when someone attempted to pull them free.
Adam sighed, tying the reins down before working himself off the high seat. Without thinking to question second nature, he stepped onto the wagon wheel and jumped down, only to have his knees buckle when he hit the ground. He sprawled full-length, his head swimming as he tried to sit up. Dust rose around and threatened to choke him as he coughed and sputtered. Bile rose in his throat and he retched dryly, pulling himself to his hands and knees. Once and then once more, his diaphragm heaved though nothing came up since he hadn't been able to stomach a morsel at breakfast. Turning over, he sat in the dirt, putting his head in his hands, waiting until the nausea quelled and he could open his eyes again without seeing black spots. Growling with disdain, he pulled himself to his feet but swayed precariously, nearly falling again. He clung to the wagon side until his head cleared and he could catch his breath. Sweat was trickling down his back and a drop found its way into the corner of his mouth. He could taste the saltiness on his lips but ignored the fact that he shouldn't be perspiring this much, given that the day was cool.
He knew that he should probably go home for he didn't feel well at all but there was a job to be done and far be it for him to add to the family's workload. Fall was always more than busy while preparations were being made for winter and there couldn't be a weak link to hold up proceedings. The first snows had already been spotted up in the mountains and surely would be coming within the next few weeks. No time for such inconveniences as illness or injury.
He had to struggle to unhitch the team, fumbling with the buckles and chains and once he did succeed at last, he attached a thick chain to the first post. Stringing it up to the horses, he stood straight and removed his Stetson, wiping his stinging eyes with his forearm. A weakness passed through his legs and a shiver tore through his body, the cool breeze turning the wet patches on his shirt to icy fire. He rested up against the sturdy rump of the nearest draft horse and glanced up at the sky.
To his surprise, the day was progressing onto noon already. Taking the reins into his hands, he slapped them down on the team's hindquarters, sending the horses forward to pull the post free with a will. This one came loose without trouble and he promptly collected a new post from the wagon and dropped it in, using a shovel to pack dirt around the base.
Despite the achiness dodging his bones, he began to feel more optimistic as the afternoon progressed. He still had no appetite but his other symptoms seemed to lessen as the sun rose higher and warmed him. When the discomfort in his body decreased enough to put his attention elsewhere, he occupied his thoughts with the mystery to be uncovered. If it wasn't the fact that all he wanted was to crawl into a warm bed after finishing the fences, he would have looked forward to the liberating ride into the high mountains. His mind trickled over the disturbing facts but could not concentrate further. Taking all his resolve was the task at hand and, as another nail was pounded into a rail, he steeled himself to do that job well.