This story (and any similar ones that may follow) is based on the "Eerie Saloon" captioned pictures by Christopher Leeson. I thank him for creating the world, for letting me play in it, and for his help in the birthing of this story. A lot of the specific details are mine, though, so if there's something you don't like, it's probably my fault and not his.

  

Tales of the Eerie Saloon: High Noon -- How It All Began

by Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson

© 2001

  

* * * * *

Saturday, August 12, 1871, Week 4 -- Day 2

Lunchtime. Shamus put down his sandwich. "So, Bridget, have ye decided yet about what I asked ye the other day?"

Bridget took a long swallow of lemonade. "Yes, Shamus, I have. I'm interested if the offer is still open."

"It is," Shamus said. "How soon do ye want to be starting?"

"How about right after lunch?" Bridget asked. "I might as well get started and find out if I'm any good at it."

Jessie coughed. "'cuse me, but what the Sam Hill are you two talking about?"

"Bridget's got a new job," Shamus said. "From now on, she's me new poker dealer."

"What!" Wilma said. "You mean she ain't gonna have to do all that crap we been doing, cleaning and sweeping and bringing men drinks?"

"Oh, she'll do some of it," Shamus said. "In the morning, she'll work same as the rest of ye, but most days after lunch till closing time, if there's people that want her to play poker with them, that's what she'll be doing."

"What'll she be doing for money?" Jessie asked. "You gonna stake her?"

"Och! Ye never listen, do ye, Jessie," Shamus said. "She'll be the _dealer_, not a player."

"Then what's in it for her?" Wilma asked.

"The players pay Shamus five cents from each pot I deal," Bridget said with a feeling of triumph. "I get half."

"And why the hell should they pay you and Shamus for something they can do themselves?" Wilma asked.

"'Cause they like to look at Bridget, and 'cause they think she brings 'em luck," Shamus said with a smug look on his face. "'Cause they trust her not to be cheating them, and 'cause she's neutral for when there's an argument about the rules. Is that enough of an answer for ye, Wilma?"

"I-I guess so," Wilma said.

"Then finish yuir lunch," Molly said. "Ye've got an afternoon's work to do as soon as ye're done eating."

"Señor Shamus," Maggie said. "I want to talk over the menu with you, but if you still want me to cook for you, then we can buy the equipment I will need today, and I can be ready to start on Monday."

"Now what are _you_ talking about, Maggie?" Wilma asked. "You're already cooking for us."

"Aye," Shamus said, "but now she'll be cooking for everybody else. We'll be making these four tables here by the kitchen into a restaurant -- just for supper only, o'course."

"So then, she'll be cooking and waiting tables in the evening," Laura said.

"She'll be cooking," Molly said, "but it'll be the three of ye, mostly, that'll be waiting the tables and such."

"The three of us," Jessie said. "Who ain't gonna be working?"

"It'll be the three of ye, cause Bridget'll be working at the poker table," Shamus said. "O'course, ye _do_ get to keep half yuir tips. If ye smile nice for the customers -- maybe even flirt with them a little -- that can be a good bit of money."

"Flirt!" Wilma said. "You want us to flirt with the men!"

"Ye don't have to, Wilma," Molly said. "It's just that the tips'll be bigger if ye do flirt. We told ye _that_ when ye started in here bringing the men their drinks. It's just as true for waiting tables."

"But it's yuir choice, each of ye," Shamus said. "I'll not be ordering ye to flirt or smile or anything like that. I haven't yet, and I don't plan to. Ye're yuir own women."

"What are you talking about now, Shamus?" Laura asked.

"Laura -- and the rest of ye," Shamus said. "Learning to make yuir own choices and to be responsible for what happens because of them is part of what ye're in here to be doing." He sighed. "This is getting much too serious for lunch. Maggie, do ye have a list of what ye'll be needing so we can be opening for business on Monday?"

Maggie nodded. "Si, I look all through the kitchen and the larder, and I make a list. Señora Rachel should have all the gear in her store. If she does, I can be ready on Monday. The grocery has all the food we need."

"Are ye sure of that?" Shamus asked.

"Pretty sure." She shook her head.

"Ye'll go over with Molly to Aaron' store after lunch." Shamus said. "Tell me for sure when ye get back. I want time to get some flyers printed up to let people know that...that 'Maggie's Place' will be opened for supper this Monday."

The words caught Maggie off-guard. "You name it for me?"

"Maggie," Shamus smiled, "they ain't coming to eat _my_ cooking."

* * * * *

Cap Lewis, Hans Euler, and Carl Osbourne were already at the table when Shamus and Bridget cane over. "Hey, Bridget," Carl said. "We're ready to start up the game. You come here and sit next to me."

"No," Cap said. "She's sitting with me. You won more'n enough yesterday."

Shamus smiled. "Actually, boys, I was thinking of a little different arrangement, if ye're willing?"

"What do you mean, you shady Irishman?" Hans asked. "Ain't you gonna let her sit mit us no more?"

"Oh, she'll sit with ye," Shamus said. "In fact, she'll be the one dealing the cards to ye."

"You gonna let her play?" Hans asked.

"No, no, lad," Shamus said. "I hear ye arguing about where she's gonna sit, and once in a while ye get to fighting over this or that rule o'the game or who's dealing. What I'm saying is Bridget'll be yuir dealer just like them fancy poker clubs they got in Chicago. You boys play; she'll deal every hand, just like we talked about."

"What's in it for you, Shamus?" Carl asked.

"Well, since ye asked, there will be a _small_ fee."

"I knew it," Cap said.

"Aye, ye'll be paying her a nickel a hand out of each pot. Half o'that goes to me, o'course, but she keeps the other half." He looked at the men. "Well, now, what do ye boy-o-s think of me plan?"

"What the hell," Hans said. "This place could use some class. I'm game."

The others murmured in agreement. As Shamus walked back to the bar, he could hear Bridget shuffling the cards. "Okay, boys," she said, "this next hand is 'Texas Hold'em.' I deal two cards, and everybody bets..."

* * * * *

The saloon started to fill up about 7 PM. Natty Ryland came in about a half hour later. Shamus blew his whistle, and the women all walked over and sat down on chairs set a couple feet apart against one wall. They were wearing white blouses and long black skirts. Each had a short starched white apron tied at her waist. "Everybody ready to dance?" Shamus yelled above the crowd.

"Yeah!" the crowd roared.

"Okay, then," Shamus said. "Here's the rules. If ye want to dance with one of the ladies, ye have to buy a 50 cent ticket." He pointed over to a table near the bar where Molly was sitting. "If ye don't get a dance -- and there are only five ladies, ye can trade in a ticket for a drink."

A mass of men surged over to Molly's table. "What if we don't buy tickets?" somebody called from another part of the room.

"Then ye can dance with each other for free, same as ye've always done. Them that wants to be dancing the woman's part just tie a kerchief 'round yuir arm."

"Same as always," somebody yelled, and the crowd laughed.

Men crowded around the table, shoving their money in Molly's face. Some bought as many as ten tickets, the limit Shamus had set. Shamus warned them, too, that buying a ticket didn't guarantee a dance.

Monk Dworkin came running over to Jessie. He tore the end ticket off a string of six and handed it to her. "Me and you is gonna dance. Jessie grimaced, but Shamus' instructions gave her no choice. She put the ticket in a pocket of her apron as she stood up. Monk smiled. He took her hand and led her to the center of the open area that would serve as the dance floor.

Cap Lewis and Bridget joined them a few moments later. Natty's brother, Enoch, was with Wilma. Ramon deAguilar walked out onto the floor with Maggie.

Laura was sitting, eye closed and body braced, waiting for whoever handed her a ticket. "You can relax, Laura," a voice said, a very familiar voice. She looked up to see Arsenio standing in front of her. He had a big grin on his face and a ticket folded in half in his hand. He handed it to and led her out onto the floor.

"Gents, take your partners for a dance," Natty called. He put the fiddle to his chin and began playing a sprightly polka. The couples waited a count to catch the beat and began dancing around the floor. A number of the other men began to dance, shake, or just jump to the music. As was the custom, a few men had tied kerchieves to their upper arms and were taking the female part. Their rewards would be the drinks their partners bought them between dances.

* * * * *

"You're a right pretty woman, Wilma" Enoch Ryland said as they danced. "Do you know that?" He was almost the twin of his brother.

"Yeah, I've heard that," Wilma said. "Much too often."

"It's true, though. You should be wearing fancy silks like a princess, not that plain blouse and skirt. I could make you such a lovely dress."

"I thought you and your brother was just men's tailors."

"We can make women's clothes, too, though most women prefer to do it themselves or to go to a female dressmaker." He sighed. "We have some gold brocade back at the store. I could use that."

"Gold brocade? What the hell is brocade?"

"A rich fabric created to be made into a gown. We have yellow silk with a red gold thread." He moved his arm and ran his hand through her hair. "With your auburn hair, your olive skin, the effect would be breathtaking."

Wilma began to feel uncomfortable. "And just how would I pay for this 'breathtaking' dress?"

Enoch smiled and ran his other hand down from her waist to trace the curve of her hip. "There's a lot of ways a woman as lovely as you can pay for a dress."

Wilma remembered something Molly had suggested at the dance lesson. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around Enoch's wrist. "I don't think so." She dug her nails into his skin. Enoch pulled his hand free. Wilma grabbed it and put it back against her waist. "Leave it _there_," she said through gritted teeth.

* * * * *

"So how's it feel to be playing poker again, Bridget?" Cap Lewis asked, while they danced.

"You tell me, Cap," Bridget said. "I'm really not playing, I'm just dealing the cards."

"Yeah, but you're closer to the game than when you was just watching us play. Hell, you're even getting paid for it."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Is there something else that you'd rather get paid for?" He leered at Bridget as he said it.

Bridget pulled her hand free, balling her fingers into a fist. She didn't think that the voice would let her hit him, but she was sure going to try.

"Uncle!" Cap said. "Uncle! I'm sorry, Bridget, I was just kidding you."

"Like hell!"

"Look, Bridget, you're one damned pretty gal. I ain't gonna deny that, but I ain't gonna push you into anything you don't want to do. I don't do things like that to my friends."

"Friends?"

"Bridget, you called that SOB, Callen, for cheating us. When the Judge asked you in court why you done it, you said that you didn't like him cheating your friends. I figure that if that don't make you'n'me friends, then nothing does."

"Th-thanks, Cap." She felt almost like crying. 'If that wasn't just like a damned female,' she thought.

"'Course now, if you ever does decide that you _are_ thinking about doing that something else, you be sure and tell your old friend, Cap about it." Bridget was about to try and slap him when she saw him wink and break into a grin.

* * * * *

"I'm sorry I'm not a better dancer," Ramon said in Spanish. He wore a dark red jacket cut and trimmed in the Spanish style. "This...polka is not like our dances back home, is it?"

"No," Maggie said, also in Spanish. "But, you do it well."

"I want to do it well. A man wants to dance well when he has a beautiful woman in his arms."

"Please do not talk like that, Ramon. We both know that I am really a man."

"Maggie...Margarita, you look less like a man than anyone I ever met."

"Ramon, please, _por Dios_."

They danced a few steps, then Ramon said, "I am sorry. I know this must be hard for you."

"It is. It is in ways you can never know."

"I want to know."

"What do you mean, Ramon?"

"For now, I want to be your friend. Someone you can talk to...in our own language, like now, if you wish."

"That would be nice, I suppose, but what do you mean 'for now'?"

"Someday, it may happen that you decide that you _are_ a woman. When..._if_ that day comes, I will still be your friend, but it may be that we can be...more."

She thought about his words while they moved around the floor. "All I can promise is that, for now, I will be happy to be your friend."

"Then I am happy -- no, I am more than happy to be yours."

* * * * *

"Monk," Jessie said. "I said 'loosen up on me.' I can't breathe." Monk had one arm around her waist, pulling him up against her. He was over six feet tall. Jessie had to rest her head sideways on his chest to be able to breathe at all. The trouble was, Monk liked it.

"I don't wanna. I like dancing close like this."

"But you're -- ow! -- so close that you keep stepping on my foot. It hurts!"

"I don't want to hurt you." He stopped dancing for a moment to think about this, then started up again. "I likes you, Jessie. I likes dancing with you."

"But _I_ don't like it, Monk. Not when you keep hurting me; not when you hold me so close I can't breathe." She wanted desperately to hit him or kick him, but the voice in her head just wouldn't let her.

"I got an idea," he said happily. He lifted her so that her feet dangled a few inches above the floor. "Now I can't step on your feet, and we can keep on dancing." He held her even closer, moving her like a doll to the music. It seemed like he was rubbing her all across the front of his body.

Jessie squirmed. "Put me down!" she said. She kicked her legs and managed to get one good hit directly on his shin.

"That _hurt_," Monk whined.

"Put me down, or I'll do it again." It was a bluff, but she didn't think he'd risk calling her on it.

"You don't want to dance with me?" Monk asked.

Jessie didn't want to dance with any man, but the voice wouldn't let her say so. "I just don't want you holding me so close," she said, surprising herself. It seemed that it wouldn't let her stop dancing with Monk, either.

"Okay." Monk took her in his arms, then let her step back a few inches. Then began dancing again. Monk never tried to pull Jessie in as close as before, but he did hold her tightly. Except when his hand moved up and down her back or rubbed her butt.

Jessie shivered from the tickling sensation it caused. Monk just smiled as they danced, very pleased with himself.

* * * * *

"What are you laughing at...Squirt?" Laura asked Arsenio. She hadn't realized it before, but he was several inches shorter than she was, especially in the two-inch heels on her shoes.

"Who you calling 'Squirt'?" Arsenio said, pretending to take insult.

"You, Arsenio. Look at you. The top of your head just comes up to my nose."

"Maybe so, but the view's pretty good from down here." He gazed at her ample bosom, straining against the white cotton of her blouse.

"Enjoy it. A view from a distance is all you're ever gonna get."

"I'll settle for a view. I'll never own that champion cowpony of Abner Slocum's, either, but that don't mean that I can't enjoy looking at it."

"Nobody _owns_ me, and nobody ever will. You'd best remember that." They danced a few steps before Laura's curiosity got the better of her. "You never did tell me what you was laughing at -- why you're _still_ smiling."

"I was just thinking how much things have changed since you and the others rode into town. I don't think I'd have wanted to dance with you back then."

"So why did you want to dance with me now?"

"I keep telling you, Laura, I think you're a damned pretty woman. Why wouldn't I want to dance with you?" He paused. "Besides, I thought you might..._need_ me to dance with you."

"Now what the hell does _that_ mean?"

"This is the first time you and the other women have danced with men in public. I figured you'd probably be uncomfortable about it. I thought it'd help if your first dance was with a friend -- someone who could take your mind off what you was doing."

"And you figured you was the one to do that."

"I don't know that I'm your first choice, Laura, but I do like to think that we're friends now."

Laura smiled in spite of herself. "Yeah, I guess we are." A few steps later, she realized what she'd said -- how it might sound. "But don't you go thinking that I mean anything more than that."

"Who, me? Never."

* * * * *

Shamus looked at his watch. Ten minutes. He winked at Natty and touched the side of his nose. Seeing Shamus' signal, Natty stopped playing. The couples applauded, while the other men who'd been dancing among themselves whooped and howled. "Gents, lead your partner to the bar," he called.

"A drink _would_ be nice," Bridget said. She had been coached by Shamus, as had the other women. All five partners walked to the bar and ordered drinks for themselves and the women. So did a lot of the other men, some bringing a male partner. Shamus and R.J. were kept busy for several minutes pouring drinks. The men all got the drink they asked for, but the five women each drank light tea. The price was the same either way, and each of the women got half of the 50 cents (or an unused dance ticket) that Shamus charged her partner for each drink. He charged everyone else the same.

Molly sat at the table still selling tickets. Some men were already thinking of them as drink chits, but others still hoped to use them with one of the women.

"Now, you let them ladies weigh out and catch their breaths," Natty called. The crowd parted, and the five women walked back to their chairs by the wall. They got a couple minutes to rest before Natty called for the men to choose up again for the next dance. None of the five men who had danced with the women last time got a second dance. The crowd just seemed to block their way.

* * * * *

"Dan, will you stop looking over at Wilma?" Amy asked. They were out on the floor doing a mazurka. Wilma and Joe Kramer were just a few feet away. Joe was a teller at the Wells Fargo bank, a balding man of about forty.

"I'm sorry, Amy," Dan said. "I just can't get over how well the women are dancing. You should be proud. You taught them real good."

Amy stopped. "Maybe you'd like to go over and dance with one of them yourself."

Dan sighed. He walked over to the table where Molly was selling tickets. Amy saw him take a $5 half-eagle out of his pocket and toss it on the table. Molly tore off ten tickets. She stared in surprise when she looked up and saw who was buying, but she still handed him the tickets.

'I've lost him,' Amy thought, 'and not even to a real woman.' She was ready to cry, ready to run, when Dan walked back over to her.

He took the string of tickets and draped it around her neck. "Amy, _you_ are the only one I want to dance with, now or ever. Please believe that."

"I...but...you-you bought all those tickets for...for me." Her eyes glistened brightly with tears.

Dan took her in his arms. "That's right, woman. I paid for those dances, and I intend to have them." He put his hand under her chin and lifted it, so she was looking right into his eyes. "It's the only way that I can get to hold you so close in public." He smiled. "_That's_ worth $5 easy."

* * * * *

The women danced about twenty times that night. Only a few men got more than one dance. Late in the evening, R.J. took a break and danced with Bridget. When Natty announced "One last dance, gents," Shamus took Molly out onto the floor for a slow waltz.

The saloon was empty in five minutes after Natty ended the last song, especially when Shamus said that the bar was closed. He paid Natty and looked around the room. "We should clean up," he said, "but everyone -- including yuirs truly -- is a little too tired. I thank ye all for yuir help and wish ye all a good night's sleep. Let's go up. The work'll still be here for us in the morning."

* * * * *

"Oh, what a night," Laura said, as she stepped out of her dress. "I feel like I walked a hundred miles. My feet are killing me."

"My feet feel like somebody walked a hundred miles on them," Jessie said as she undid her corset. "I swear, someday, I'm gonna kill that Monk Dworkan."

"He wasn't the only one," Bridget said. "I think I'm going to ask Shamus to buy me steel toed shoes for the next dance." She sat on the bed in just her camisole and drawers, rubbing her foot.

"Ask him for some armor, too," Wilma said. "I lost count of how many men grabbed my ass or tried to feel my breasts tonight." She raised her arms as she wriggled into her nightgown.

"You enjoy it?" Maggie asked, buttoning her own nightgown.

"What the hell do you mean by that, Maggie?"

"You been riding us for days about acting like women, Wilma," Maggie said. "Now you spend the evening in the arms of so many men. They hold you; they...touch you. What you think of that, _Wilma_?"

"Yeah, like we had a choice, Maggie," Jessie said. "You know we got no choice when Shamus tells us we gotta do something."

"I know we have to do it," Maggie said. "What I ask Wilma is did she enjoy it?"

"What! You know -- you all know -- I didn't. I-I hated it as much as the rest of you did," Wilma said.

"You said that awful fast," Jessie said. "Sort of like you was trying to convince yourself instead of us."

"What are you saying, Jessie?" Wilma asked. "You think I liked all them men touching me?"

"I don't know," Jessie said. "I sure know we ain't the same men we was a few weeks ago."

"That's the truth," Laura said with a laugh.

Jessie continued. "I don't like men any more'n I did back then, but I don't think I like gals as much. I mean, none of you does anything for me." A couple of the women laughed.

"I hate to say it," Laura said, "but I think Jessie's right for once. Look at Bridget over there." She pointed to Bridget who was still rubbing her sore foot. "A pretty girl sits there half naked, and we don't even look at her."

"Now, wait a minute," Wilma said. "If we was all men, and that was Brian sitting there in his union suit, none of us would look at him, either."

"That ain't the point," Laura said. "If we was all men -- and Bridget was still Bridget -- we'd sure as hell be looking at her. Hellfire, we'd probably be trying to do a lot more than just _look_ at her."

"So what _is_ your point?" Jessie asked. "That's the way men look at women, and that women..."

"Yeah, and _women_ look at men," Bridget said, finishing the thought. "And we all remember how we felt -- what we were thinking -- after them damned baths we took last week." She shivered at the memory of what it had been like.

"So what we do about it?" Maggie asked.

"I'll tell you what we do," Wilma said, holding up her index finger. "First, we watch ourselves and we watch each other to see that we don't get any more girly, no matter what Shamus tells us to do. We agreed on that?"

The other women all nodded. "What's the other thing?" Jessie asked.

Wilma held up a second finger. "We keep trying to find out more about that damned potion. See if we can get a-hold of some kind of antidote so we can get changed back."

"We been looking," Jessie said. "Every time I sweep out a room or go behind the bar I look for it. How about the rest of you?"

The women all nodded. "I ask Señora Molly about it the other day. She says she do not know; that Señor Shamus do not tell her nothing. I am starting to think maybe there is no potion, no nothing to change us back."

"Then you're thinking that we're gonna be women forever," Wilma said. "I ain't ready to go along with that. I don't think any of us are." The others nodded again. "Then, like I said, the other thing is we gotta keep looking." He looked straight at Maggie, then at Laura. "Maybe the ones who don't keep on looking for it, maybe they don't get any of it, when we do find the stuff to change us back."

"Hold on," Bridget said. "They didn't say that they wasn't gonna stop looking. They just aren't sure that anything's there to find."

"All right, all right," Wilma said. "I was just funning about not sharing the potion. I ain't gonna forget my friends." She smiled at the others. 'But,' she said to herself, 'I ain't sure just who all _is_ my friend.'

Laura yawned. "I think the first thing we do right now is go to bed. Like Shamus said, all that work we didn't do tonight is going to be waiting for us in the morning."

* * * * *

Monday, August 14, 1871, Week 4 -- Day 4

On Sunday, Shamus had some handbills printed and paid a few boys to put them up all over town. He kept some for the Saloon as well. By Monday noon, the whole town had read the news.

___ooo0000ooo___

Grand Opening

Monday, August 14, 1871

"Maggie's Place"

Shamus O'Toole is proud to announce the opening

of Maggie's Place, a site for fine dinning, in

the main room of the Eerie Saloon.

Steak and Roast

Chili Hash

Chicken

Side Dishes

Dessert

Coffee and Tea

Maggie's Place will be open for Dinner, every day,

Sunday through Saturday from 5 PM to 8 PM.

___ooo0000ooo___

Shamus closed down the "Free Lunch" about 3:30 so he could use the table it was normally laid out on. If the idea that it wouldn't be profitable to have free food and a paying restaurant working out of the same kitchen at the same time occurred to him, he never mentioned it to anyone else.

Shamus and R.J. moved a few tables around and set up chairs around the four tables for the diners. Then Jessie laid out plates, cups, and silverware, and a small vase of flowers on each. Molly was working the bar and Bridget was in the middle of the afternoon poker game. Maggie had Wilma and Laura helping her in the kitchen. About 4:30, Laura ran upstairs to change. She was to be waitress the first night.

"Welcome to Maggie's Place," Shamus said to the crowd that was lined up near the tables. He was wearing his brown waistcoat with some kind of red flower pinned to a lapel. "As ye can see, we've only four tables. If I don't seat ye right off, ye can make a reservation for later or for tomorrow night."

"After all that, have you got a table for us, Shamus?" Whit Whitney asked.

""Whit...Aaron...and yuir lovely ladies. Of course, I do," Shamus said. "And Arsenio, too. Is this social, or has the Town Council come to check up on me?"

"A little of both," Whit said. "It's the council's policy to encourage new businesses here in town."

"And it's always good policy to take your wife out for dinner once in a while," Aaron said.

"That's the truth," Shamus said. "Is anyone joining ye, Arsenio?"

"I...ah...was hoping...Laura...might," Arsenio said, "but I see you've got her...ummm...working here tonight waiting tables."

"Aye, she, Wilma, and Jessie will be taking turns," Shamus said. "Ye can come back tomorrow, if ye want."

"He can come back as often as he wants," Laura said, walking over to join them. "That doesn't mean that I'll sit and have dinner with him."

"Laura," Arsenio said, "are you mad at me?"

"No more than usual, Arsenio," Laura said. "I told you, I'm not interested in dating anybody -- including you."

"Well, now, truth to tell," Arsenio said. "I'd like to be dating you, Laura, but that ain't what I'm asking."

"Then what _are_ ye asking?" Shamus asked.

"You let Laura and the other ladies sit with a man, if he buys her drinks. I figured the same would work -- that you'd let Laura join me for dinner here, if I bought her a dinner, too."

"Sure, and maybe...maybe he'll let me sleep with you if you pay for the bed." Laura glared at Arsenio and stormed off.

"No, Laura," Asenio pleaded. "I-I didn't mean it like that, honest I didn't."

He looked down in embarrassment. "Maybe I should leave."

"And do me out of the profit from yuir meal?" Shamus said. "I should say not. Ye'll sit, ye'll eat, and ye'll enjoy it."

"Yes, _sir_!" Arsenio saluted and sat down with Whit, Aaron, and their wives.

Doc Upshaw and Judge Humphreys came in about the same time and decided to sit at one table. Dwight Albertson, the bank manager, and Milo Nash, the head teller, came in with their wives. "Checking up on the bank's investment," Dwight said. "If her suppers are as good as what she made for the 'Free Lunch,' you should make a nice bit of money."

The final table was taken by three drummers, traveling salesmen. They were old friends who had happened to be in Eerie at the same time and were delighted to have a place for a good meal.

Shamus handed everyone menus. "Yuir waitress'll be here in a few minutes to take yuir orders. Enjoy yuir meals." He turned and walked over to the bar, where Laura was still standing. "Ye'll have to go back over there to take thuir orders, ye know."

"Like hell," Laura said. "You heard what he said to me."

Shamus scratched his head. "Ye're awful touchy tonight, Laura. Is something the matter?"

"Shamus, you heard what he said to me -- what he meant." Laura looked angrily at Shamus.

"He meant that he wanted to spend time with ye," Shamus said. "Something he's said more than once."

"I-I don't know, Shamus," Laura said. "I just -- I don't know, it just seemed to bother me more tonight; maybe it was the way he said it."

Ye know, Laura, I take a meal with Doc Upshaw every once in a while, but that don't mean we're 'keeping company,' as they say, -- let alone that we're sleeping together."

"That's different, Shamus, you're both men," Laura said.

"And aren't ye and the others always saying ye're really men?" Shamus asked.

"Yes, but...but, that's not fair, Shamus."

"What is? Look, I'll not be letting ye -- or any of the other ladies -- have dinner with someone just because he pays for the meal. To tell the truth, ye were right about what it would look like, and I'll not be having anything even _that_ close to prostitution in me bar."

"Thank you, Shamus."

"I'm not doing it for ye, Laura; I'm doing it for me. I'd rather not have such things in me Saloon."

"Well, thank you anyway, Shamus."

"Now that we've settled that, I want to say one other thing before ye go over to take thuir orders. I give ye and the other women a half hour break for dinner every night. As a rule, ye all take it together, but if, some night, ye want to have yuir dinner with a friend, well, that'd be all right, too."

"That's all you think it is, two friends having a meal together?"

"I think that Arsenio may want more, but I think that he knows that ye aren't ready to let it be anything more." He paused. "Or am I wrong about that?"

"No, no, you're right. I'm not ready to let it be more. I don't want to be ready, and I truly hope that I never _am_ ready."

"But ye _have_ gotten t'be friends, haven't ye?"

"I guess. He's a good guy." She shrugged. "I think we could've been friends when we were both -- before I drank that potion of yours."

"Then go over and take thuir orders like nothing happened. We'll just chalk it up to opening night jitters."

"I'm willing if he is."

"I haven't asked him, but I think he will be."

* * * * *

About 7 o'clock, Shamus stormed into the kitchen. "Maggie, they're asking for ye outside."

"Señor Shamus," Maggie said, "is something wrong?"

"Ye'll find out in a minute," Shamus said, "just get out there."

"But the food," Maggie said. "Someone has to watch that it does not burn."

Shamus looked around. Wilma was rinsing dishes. "Wilma, ye can watch the food until we get back. I'm telling ye not to let nothing burn or scorch." He took Maggie by the arm and led her through the door.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the heroine of the hour." Laura called out as they came through the door. "Your chef, Maggie Lopez."

The people at the table stood, so did a number of others, who had eaten earlier in the evening. "To Maggie," somebody called.

"To Maggie," the group shouted and burst into applause.

Maggie stood for a moment, blinking in surprise, almost ready to cry. "My stew," she suddenly said and ran back into the kitchen.

Shamus rocked back and forth on his heels. "Best idea I had for weeks, letting her cook for me."

* * * * *

Wednesday, August 16, 1871, Week 4 -- Day 6

Bridget came through the door from the kitchen carrying three trays of beer steins. They seemed heavier than she remembered, and she was hoping to get them to the bar before she had to set them down.

R.J. came over. "Here. Let me give you a hand with that, Bridget." He took the trays without waiting for an answer and walked over to set them down on the bar.

"Thanks, R.J.," Bridget said. "They were getting heavy."

"That's cause you're sitting around dealing poker all day instead of doing good honest work." He raised his arms and flexed his muscles, posing like one of those bare knuckles boxers.

Bridget smiled at the foolish pose. "Since when is pouring beer honest work?"

"Well, at least a full stein of beer weighs more than a deck of cards does."

"You've got me there." She paused and looked around. "In fact, I wouldn't mind lifting one of those steins myself. I've drunk so much fake beer that I'm not sure that I remember what the real stuff tastes like."

"It's kind of early in the day, isn't it? I never figure you for much of a drinker, Bridget."

"Normally, I'm not. I've just been _hungry_ all the time the last couple of days. I've been staying away from the 'Free Lunch' because every time I go over, I start eating like somebody who hasn't been fed in a week."

"That don't sound right. You sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I guess...I mean, I th-think I'm okay. I -- is there something you know, R.J.? Something you ain't telling me." She stared at him, a very worried expression on her face.

R.J. took her hand and stroked it. She tensed. He wouldn't have been surprised if she had pulled away, but she didn't. Even so, he could feel a nervous tremble in her fingers.

"I don't think it's anything to be concerned about, Bridget," he told her. "You've been working hard lately, and Maggie's food always smells real good. You just worked yourself up more of an appetite than you realized, that's all."

"You think so?" she asked, but her furrowed brow told him that she wasn't totally convinced.

"I'm sure of it. Say, you haven't told me how you like being a dealer. You enjoying it?"

Bridget sighed, relieved at having something else to think about. "It's better than laundry and sweeping. I'd rather be playing than just dealing, but Shamus was right. The players wouldn't trust me as much."

He thought he heard a strain in her voice and thought her eyes were looking watery, but continued the pleasant tone of his conversation. "I'm just glad to see you -- all you gals -- relaxing some, having a good time, and not just moping around like you used to."

"You don't think we've got a reason to mope?" Her voice was definitely wavering. She swiftly turned her face away from him as tears began to run down her cheeks.

"Bridget, what's the matter?"

"I-I don't know." Without looking back at him, she started walking toward the stairs, but the walk almost immediately became a run, which took her to the women's rooms upstairs.

Laura looked up at the sound of the slamming door. "Bridget, what's wrong? You look like you're about to bawl your head off."

"I am," Bridget said. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I think I'm sick or something. Just then, she noticed that Laura was sitting on her bed, her shoes and stocking off, rubbing the toes of her left foot. "What...what's the matter with your foot?"

"Darned if I know," Laura said. "My shoes have been pinching all day. It finally got so bad that I had to come up here and take them off for a bit."

"Is anybody else...Wilma, Jessie, or Maggie, having any problems?"

"I don't know. I think Jessie said something about her feet hurting, too, and Maggie said she's had a headache all day. She and Wilma got into a real screaming match a little bit ago over spoons or something. I couldn't figure out how come they got so upset over something silly like that."

Bridget started to cry again. "La-Laura, I'm g-getting scared. Wh-what's happening t-to us?"

"I don't know. When my feet feel better, we'll go down and ask Shamus if he knows anything."

"Shamus? You think th-this has something to do with...with that potion of his?"

"I don't know, but I'm damned well going to find out."

* * * * *

They went downstairs about twenty minutes later. Bridget still felt skittish, but was making an effort to hold her emotions in check. Laura had to re-lace her shoes. Her feet _were_ a bit bigger. She got them into the shoes, but she was walking with a slight limp.

Shamus and Molly were behind the bar. Shamus was calling off inventory of bottled goods, while Molly checked it against a list.

"Can we talk to you, Shamus?" Laura asked.

"I'm kind of busy right now, Laura...Bridget," Shamus said. "Can ye wait a bit?"

"No," Bridget snapped. "We can't." Her eyes began to burn again, as if they were ready to start tearing again.

Shamus looked at the pair closely, neither looked entirely well. "All right, then, what's the matter?"

"Something's happening to us, Shamus," Laura said. "Your damned potion is making us crazy?"

"Crazy, is it now," Shamus said. "What do ye mean? Can either of ye be a bit more specific?"

Laura ticked off the list. "Bridget here keeps starting to cry over the least little thing. My feet hurt -- they're all swelled up -- so are Jessie's, I think, Maggie's had a headache all day, and she and Wilma got into a fight over...nothing."

Molly looked at the two women and did some calculations on her fingers. "It ain't the potion, Laura. Ye and Bridget and the others are...well, it's a lady's thing, something men don't know much about."

"You mean all wo-women get like...like this?" Suddenly, Bridget felt so frustrated and indignant that she lost control and her eyes filled with tears.

"Some do," Molly said. "I think ye're feeling it so hard because ye're not used to it."

"Used to it," Bridget said. "You mean this happens to women all the time?"

"Not all the time," Molly said, "but often enough. It'll be going away in a few days, though."

"Then we'll be-be back to normal by the w-weekend?" Bridget asked.

"Ye _are_ normal," Molly said. "This is something a lot of women goes through."

"We're not women," Bridget screamed. "We're not; we're not!"

"Maybe in yuir minds ye're still men," Shamus said, "but yuir bodies seem to be thinking otherwise."

"Mind, body, I don't care," Laura said. "Just so we get it over with."

"Don't ye be worrying," Molly said. "_This_ should be over by the weekend."

* * * * *

Thursday, August 17, 1871, Week 4 -- Day 7

Arsenio watched Laura limp over towards his table. "Are you all right, Laura?"

Laura frowned. "Not that it's any business of yours, my feet hurt. They're swoll up, so my shoes pinch me?"

"Are you sick or something? Did you see the Doc?"

"No, Molly said -- hell, never mind what Molly said. What do you want?"

"I...I'd like to talk to you about what happened...what I said the other night. Why don't you bring me a beer -- bring one for yourself, too. It'll give you an excuse to sit for a bit and rest your feet."

Laura looked at the chair. It would be nice to sit down, but _something_, whatever it was that was happening to her body, just made her feel too upset to want to talk to anybody about anything; and especially not to _him_. "You still trying to buy my time with food and drink, Arsenio?" Damn, that wasn't what she wanted to say.

"Laura...I'm sorry, truly sorry for what I said. I'd just like a chance to apologize to you."

"I...I have to get your beer, but that's _all_ I'm getting. You come back in a few days, and maybe..._maybe_ I'll feel like talking then." She limped away as fast as she could. She came back with the beer in just a few minutes, but the table was empty.

* * * * *

Friday, August 18, 1871, Week 5 -- Day 1

"Ouch," Wilma said as she sat up in bed. "My side hurts, hurts right down near my hip."

"Yeah," Jessie said, "now that you mention it, I'm feeling a little achy, too. Only mine's more in my stomach."

Laura stretched. "Ooh, don't say stomach. Mine feels like I swallowed a bucking bronco. Hey, Maggie, what'd you put in that meat you cooked for us last night."

"Nothing," Maggie said, "nothing I did not put in the last time anyway." She thought for a minute, rubbing the ache in her own stomach. "Ai! I served that meat at the restaurant. If anybody else gets sick, I am ruined."

"You better go talk to Shamus," Bridget said. "See if he and Molly are okay and find out what you two should do about it." She winced. "Ask if they got anything for this pain, too."

"I'm too old for castor oil," Jessie whined. "That's what my mamma used to give me when I was a kid."

Maggie walked down the hall to Shamus and Molly's room, groaning a little with each step. "Shamus," she said, knocking on their door, "Molly, are you two all right?" She knocked again.

Shamus opened the door. "And why wouldn't we be all right?" He looked closely at Maggie. "Well, I can see ye're not. Come in and tell me what's the matter?"

Maggie hurried in and sat down in an overstuffed chair near the door. Shamus and Molly actually had a small suite, a furnished sitting room and a smaller bedroom behind.

"We...all of us woke up this morning with bellyaches," Maggie said, feeling near tears. "I -- I am afraid there was something the matter with the food I served last night."

Molly came in. "It's all right, Maggie. Shamus and I ate the same food ye all did, and we're fine."

Maggie looked at her. "Then, why do I...do all of us hurt so much?"

"Shamus, would ye hand me that bag over there." She pointed to a large cloth bag near another chair. Shamus walked over and brought it to her. "Thanks, Love. I'm afraid this'll be a while. After ye get dressed, maybe R.J. and ye had better start the breakfast. Don't fix too much. I don't think the ladies'll be too hungry -- oh, but do put on some hot water for tea."

"Is this what ye told me about t'other day?" Shamus asked.

"It is," Molly said, "and it'll probably be taking me a while to explain --"

"That's certainly all _I_ need to know, Molly," Shamus said. "I'll see ye later. And good luck to ye." He kissed her on the forehead and hurried out.

"I do not understand," Maggie said. "What's going on?"

Molly helped her to her feet. "I'll tell the lot of ye together. It'll save some time." She took Maggie's hand and walked back with her to the women's room. She was still carrying the bag.

The women were all sitting on their beds, still in their nightgowns. Wilma and Laura were rubbing their stomachs, and they all looked like they were in pain. Maggie went and sat on her own bed, while Molly turned the chair around and sat down facing the others.

"Ye've all been wondering why ye were so out of sorts the last few days," Molly began. "Crying, and having headaches, and yuir feet so swoll up that ye had trouble getting yuir shoes on."

"Other stuff, too," Jessie said. She looked down, feeling embarrassed. "I -- my camisole felt tight, like my...tits got bigger."

"Ye should call them 'breasts', Jessie," Molly said. "Ye're a lady now."

"No, I ain't," Jessie said.

"Today ye are, more than ever," Molly said. "The reason ye was acting so odd, the reason yuir bellies hurt is cause ye're having yuir first 'monthlies'."

"Monthlies," Wilma said. "What the hell are those?"

Maggie went white. "Señora Molly, you do not mean..."

Molly smiled. "That's right, Maggie. Ye was married. Ye probably know a little about them from when yuir wife had them."

"A little," Maggie said. "She never talked much about it. She said it was something every woman had. It was...it hurt, and she said it was...messy, but it was the price she had to pay to be a woman, to able to...have children."

"Children," Laura said. "Now wait a minute. I ain't having no kid."

"Aye," Molly said. "That's why ye're _having_ the monthlies. A woman that's expecting, she don't have them. Mrs. Kilkenny what lived near us in the Old Country had twelve kids. She used to call it her 'blessing' cause it meant she wasn't in the family way."

"So women get these pains in their belly every month?" Bridget asked.

"That and more," Molly said. "Does any of ye feel anything...wet like down by yuir privates?"

"No, at least I don't," Wilma said, nervously. "Should we?"

"If not now, soon enough," Molly said.

"Soon enough what?" Laura asked. "Hey, wait a minute. Maggie, what do mean when you say it was messy?"

"My Lupe never said," Maggie said, "and I never really wanted to ask." She shuddered at a memory. "She say something one time about...blood."

"Blood?" Jessie said. "You mean we's gonna bleed?" She looked down at her crotch. "Down _there_?"

"Aye," Molly said. "That's exactly what I mean. The cramps ye're feeling mean yuir body's getting ready for the blood to be coming out."

"Is...is there a lot of it?" Bridget asked.

"Not that much," Molly said, "but it may take three or four days -- maybe even more -- before ye're done."

"We're gonna...gonna bleed for five days," Jessie said. "Wilma, we's gonna die!"

Molly laughed. "No, ye're not, Jessie, or if ye do, ye'll be the first woman since Mother Eve to die from her monthlies."

"Is there anything we can do to stop it -- or plug it up -- or something?" Laura asked.

"Heavens, Laura," Molly said. "ye can't be plugging yuirself up. It'll make ye sick. The best ye can do is to wear...this." She reached into the bag and pulled out a long thin rectangle of cloth with a string at each corner.

"What the hell is that?" Wilma said.

"I don't know that it has a name," Molly said. "All I know is that it works. Here, Maggie, ye'll demonstrate. Are ye wearing anything under yuir nightgown?"

"No," Maggie said.

"Fine," Molly said. "Then just lift it up past yuir hips and hold it there." When Maggie did as she was told, Molly held the cloth so one thin end was just below her navel. Molly reached around Maggie's leg and grabbed a string from the bottom. She lifted it, so the cloth went between Maggie's legs. She tied the string to one from the top, pulling it tight, so that the loop rested on Maggie's hip. Then she quickly repeated the maneuver. Maggie was now wearing a slightly loose loincloth.

"Doesn't seem like much," Wilma said. "How's that gonna stop all the bleeding?"

"It won't," Molly said. "It's just to hold the bandage." She reached into her bag again and pulled out a small cylindrical roll of soft cotton. She pulled the loincloth out and slipped the cotton inside moving it down against Maggie's groin. Maggie shuddered as she felt the material slide against her privates.

"All right, I'm done with ye," Molly said. "Ye can drop yuir nightgown back down." She turned to the others. "I've got one of those strips for each of ye. Once the 'flowing' starts, ye should change the cotton in them every few hours 'cause it'll only hold so much." She handed each of the other women a long strip and a tube of cotton. "Don't be worrying, though. I've got a lot of the cotton, more than enough, I'm thinking."

"We're gonna have to wear these things for five days?" Wilma asked. "No way." She tossed her strip down on the bed.

"Likewise," Jessie said, and tossed hers down as well.

"It's a lot better than dripping for five days," Molly said. "And a lot cleaner, too."

"And we're going to have to do it every month for the rest of our lives?" Bridget asked.

"Every month -- unless ye're pregnant -- which none of ye'll ever be, of course," Molly said with a wink. "But only till ye're in ye're forties or fifties, maybe. Then comes 'the change.' Ye can't get pregnant no more, and ye don't have monthlies either."

"I've had more than enough changes in my life," Bridget said, "But I think, I'll look forward to that one." She had her strip on and was getting dressed.

"Yeah," Laura said. She was dressed and had put her strip and the cotton material in the pocket of her apron. "But what happens to us in the meantime? We'll be out of here in a few weeks. Where do we go, what do we do then?"

Molly smiled gently at her. "Then, Laura, ye do what everyone does in this world, ye try to make a life for yuirself, a new life in yuir cases."

"What do you mean a _new_ life," Wilma said. "What's the matter with our old lives?"

"First off," Molly said. "What ye was doing was against the law. That was how ye wound up here t'begin with, remember. Next time, ye could get sent to a women's prison now. I hear thuir worse than what they send men to, _or_ ye could be killed." She waited a moment to let that sink in. "More to the point, do ye think ye could do now what ye did as men? Ye're smaller, weaker -- a lot weaker in Jessie's case. Can ye fight as hard, ride as hard, the way ye are now?"

"I don't know," Jessie said. She looked straight at Molly, "but I reckon that I can shoot as straight as I ever did." She grinned, showing all her teeth. "And I can't wait to find out."

Molly didn't flinch. "Maybe ye can, but then what? Ye won't have yuir guns all the time."

Bridget interrupted. "So what do we do then? Work here forever?"

"If ye want," Molly said. She was relieved to have the conversation shift. "There's jobs open for ye if ye want them, the cards for ye, Bridget, and the restaurant for Maggie and waitressing jobs for the others. It's good, honest work, even if it don't pay a lot."

"Somehow, I never saw the rest of my life serving men drinks," Laura said.

"And who said ye had to?" Molly asked. "Thuir ain't a lot of honest jobs for women out these ways, but thuir are some. Ye can sweep and clean house. Ye all been helping Maggie, so ye know a bit about cooking. Ye could do that. Ye know how to talk to people, treat them nice -- at least, Shamus and me ain't had any complaints about ye in a while -- so ye could work in a store."

"Yeah, we got great futures, bar girl, housekeeper, or clerk," Wilma said sarcastically.

"Ye're women now -- ladies _if_ ye work at it," Molly said. "There's other things ye can be if ye set yuir minds to it; if ye want to do it. That's part of what we've been trying to get into yuir heads the last few weeks, that ye're ladies, and that ye can get on with yuir own lives with a little dignity."

She looked at the pocket watch pinned to her own apron. "Now it's time ye were down stairs for breakfast and a morning's work. Ye've still got four weeks time here as prisoners. That's more than enough to be thinking about what I've just said." She turned to leave, then remembered something. "Oh, yes. Those of ye who didn't want to wear yuir strip should be taking it with ye in yuir apron pockets like Laura done. Ye'll need it soon enough."

* * * * *

About two hours later, Jessie had to go to the "necessary." She walked out to it, a few yards behind the Saloon, entered and latched the door. She hiked up her skirt, as she'd learned to do and pulled down her drawers. There was a noticeable red stain at the crotch of the drawers, and her fingers felt something sticky when she touched herself at the same spot.

Jessie screamed, then swore as she made her way back to the Saloon. It was hard to run as fast as she wanted with her drawers still down around her knees under her skirt.

Molly knew at once what had happened. She bit her lip to keep from laughing and took the frightened Jessie upstairs to clean herself and to change. All five women were wearing their strips, cotton rolls in place, within a few minutes.

* * * * *

"Good afternoon, Shamus," Doc Humphreys said. "How's everything going?"

Shanus poured a beer without waiting to be asked. "Fine with me, Doc, but I'm afraid it's a different story with the ladies."

What's the problem?" The Doc asked.

Shamus fidgeted uncomfortably. "Ye know how I told ye that they was acting weird the last few days?" Doc nodded. "Well, this morning, it happened. They all got thuir...monthlies. Thuir scared to high heaven 'cause they got no idea what they should do about it."

The Doc took a drink and nodded again. "Yes, I expect they would be. The first time can scare a girl who's been warned by her mother what to expect. For a girl who was a man up until a few weeks..." He let his comment trail off.

"That's why I asked ye to come over. Here comes Laura," Shamus said. "Ye can ask her about it." He smiled. "I'll just be moving down the bar, out of hearing range, ye might say."

"I understand," Doc said. He turned to Laura, who had just come over. "Good afternoon, Laura. How are you? You look like you want to talk to me about something. Am I right?"

"Yeah, Doc." She looked around. "Could we go sit down someplace where we'll have a little more privacy?"

"I suppose this is in the nature of a medical question, then?"

"Yeah...yeah, it is."

Doc picked up his beer. "Will that table do?" He pointed to one near the wall, away from anyone in the Saloon.

"Yeah, that'll be fine." Laura followed Doc to the table, but when they got there, she hurried to sit down with her back to the wall.

Doc sat down a couple of chairs away, so she had a fairly clear view of the room. "I expect that you wanted to ask me about what's happening to you and the others. Am I right?" Laura nodded. "As somebody -- Molly, I expect -- has probably already told you, it's a natural condition of being female."

"She told us. I just don't understand _why_ it has to happen, and why every damned month."

"To tell the truth, Laura, we -- doctors -- still aren't completely certain ourselves. We know that it has to do with the female reproduction cycle. Your body is getting rid of tissue that it would have used somehow if you had gotten pregnant during the past month."

"Then, this means that -- that we _can_ -- we really can get pregnant." She shivered at the idea.

"I don't see why not. That examination I did of you -- of all of you -- a few weeks ago showed me that you had the same...arrangement as someone who was born female. Your menses -- what you're going through right now -- would seem to confirm it."

"Is there any way to stop it?"

"Well, you could get pregnant." He saw her grim expression and smiled. "But I don't think that solution interests you. I've heard that there's a surgical procedure, but it's a lot more complicated than anything I care to try."

"Surgery? What would they do?"

"They take out _everything_; just like fixing a female dog so it can't have any puppies. There are side effects, and -- if you ever did find an antidote, and I know you've been looking for one. If you did, well, I don't think your male parts would be there after you took it."

Laura shivered again, the natural reaction of a man thinking of castration. "Is there anything...anyway else?"

"If you can live with it for another 20 years or so, you'll go through what they call 'the change of life.' Old women don't menstra...don't go through what you're going through now."

"That certainly ain't encouraging. Can you, at least, do something about the pain. It's like a king-sized bellyache going on inside."

"For that I brew up a little something I call 'Old Doc Humphrey's Female Elixir. I'll send some by later. Each of you take a spoonful every few hours."

"How much?"

"Don't worry; I'll bill Shamus as part of my medical care of you ladies. Oh, you might also try some chamomile tea. A long soak in a hot bath is supposed to help, too."

"Molly's been giving us tea. As far as bath's concerned, we ain't over the last ones we took, if you know what I mean." She closed her eyes and shuddered at what was still an unpleasant memory.

"I do. Oh, don't look so surprised. I've been talking to Shamus and Molly from time to time about the five of you. I _am_ your doctor, after all."

"I guess so, but it's kind of embarrassing."

"Don't worry. You'll feel better after you drink a bit of the elixir." Doc paused and ran through the list of ingredients in his mind: some medicinal herbs and strawberry flavoring mixed in, 45 percent alcohol by weight -- and, oh, a bit of laudanum to help with the cramping. How could he give it to the five of them, as undisciplined as they still were? "I'll have Shamus keep the bottle so you ladies don't...accidentally overdose."

* * * * *

Saturday, August 19, 1871, Week 5 -- Day 2

"Hey, Shamus," R.J. said, "Natty Ryland dropped to talk to you, while you were out."

Shamus looked up from his lunch. "Did he say what it was about?"

"He just said that he might be a little bit late for the dance tonight," R.J. said, "but he promised that he'd definitely be here by 8. Will that be a problem?"

"They'll be no problem, I'm thinking" Shamus said. "We just run the dance a bit later to make up for it."

Bridget came over to get Shamus' dirty dishes. "Run what late?"

"Tonight's dance," T.J. said.

"Dance?" Bridget almost dropped the dishes. "You didn't say anything about there being a dance tonight, Shamus."

"Didn't I?" Shamus asked. "Well, they'll be one. I expect that we'll be having a dance here every Saturday night for as long as ye ladies are...working here."

"But...but what about our...you know...our, um, oh hell, our 'monthlies'? We can't dance while we're like this."

"Are ye doing yuir chores, Bridget? Did Maggie cook me lunch? A woman don't take a vacation because it's her 'time of month.' I expect ye all to work just like ye been doing since ye got here. I expect it of the lot of ye."

"But we _hurt_...down here." She pointed to her stomach."

"I'm sure ye do, Bridget, and I'm sorry ye're uncomfortable. Me Molly always said that if she worked hard, it made her hurt less. I don't know if the work really helps the pain, or if it just takes yuir mind off it, but Molly says that it really does help."

"I don't know." Bridget was willing to try almost anything to get rid of the cramping.

Shamus smiled. "I've heard that a nice warm bath can help. Would ye all like another trip back to Whit's bathhouse to see if that helps?"

Almost anything -- but not that. "No, uhh, no thanks, Shamus. I think we'll pass on another bath."

"Actually...now that I think of it, a bath is a good idea. It'll relax ye ladies, help ye with that cramping, and...well, to tell the truth, ye are a bit...ripe."

"But...aw, please, no, Shamus." Bridget panicked at the memory of what had happened in -- and after that last bath.

"Bweee!" Shamus' whistle echoes through the Saloon. The women were scattered through the building doing chores. Still, Shamus had told them that they _had_ to answer the whistle. And in a very short time, they were all standing in front of him near the bar.

"What's going on?" Wilma asked.

"I wanted to talk to ye about yuir...monthlies."

"What about them?" Laura asked.

"Well," Shamus said, feeling a little uncomfortable, "Bridget's just been saying how uncomfortable she felt. Since we'll be having another dance tonight --"

"A dance!" Wilma snorted. "While we're feeling like this?"

"Aye," Shamus said. "Why would ye be thinking that I wouldn't have another dance tonight?"

"Because...because of what is...happening to us," Maggie said.

"No, Maggie," Molly said, coming in from the kitchen. "We'll have the dance, and ye'll all be there just like last week."

"I thought you was our friend, Molly," Jessie said. "You know what we're going through right now."

"I am yuir friend, Jessie," Molly said, "and I do know what ye're going through. Ye'll be going through it from now on -- just like I told ye -- so I want to help ye all learn how to deal with it." She looked at Shamus. "Is that what ye blew that whistle to tell them -- that there was going to be a dance?"

"No, me Love. I got something else for them seeing as things are quiet right now." Shamus turned to face the women. "Ye all run upstairs and get yuirselves a towel and yuir brushes. We're taking ye for another bath."

"What!" Jessie remembered the last bath, the way she had felt that afternoon and for a day or so after. They were memories that she didn't like. "There's no way, I'm --"

Shamus looked at Jessie, then at the others. "I'm thinking that none of ye want to take another bath. Well, too bad." He curled his hands into fists and planted them on his hips. "Because I'm _telling_ ye go upstairs get yuir towels and hairbrushes, so we can be going over to Whit's for thuir baths." He smiled. The women were already walking up the stairs to their room.

"I'd better go over to Whit's and make sure that the bathhouse is freed up for them." R.J. started towards the door.

"Oh, it's freed up. That's where I went this morning, t'talk to Whit about using the place again this afternoon." He tapped his forehead. "This wasn't quite the spur of the moment idea that I told Bridget it was."

* * * * *

"Hurry it up, ladies," Molly said. "I know a stall when I see one." She looked at the five women standing there in their camisoles, corsets, stockings, and drawers. They were fidgeting, trying to figure out ways to keep out of those tubs for as long as they possibly could.

"We ain't stalling," Wilma said. She began to very slowly undo her corset.

"I say that ye are," Molly said, "so I'm telling ye -- just like Shamus would -- I want ye to all undress and get into them tubs. And be quick about it."

There was no escape now. Shamus had told the women to obey. They tried to fight it, but their hands moved almost of their own free will, undressing them. In a matter of moments, five naked women were slowly lowering themselves into the tubs of hot water.

Molly looked at the women as they sat in the tubs, their eyes closed, their bodies tensed, braced for something they didn't want to happen. "Ye can relax, ladies, just lay back and soak yuirselves for a bit."

"What's that smell?" Bridget asked.

"Lilac bath oil," Molly said, same as we used last time. We poured some of it into yuir tubs before we added the water. Do ye like it?"

"Smells nice, I guess," Bridget said.

"Feels good, too," Laura added. "This water just soaks all the soreness out of me." She laid back, scrunching down so that only her neck and head were above the water.

"That's the whole idea," Molly said. "Ye all just soak for a while, like I said. We'll tell ye when it's time to rinse off and get out."

Wilma snorted. "What about soap and how we got to wash ourselves _all over_, like we had to do last time?"

"I'll be glad to get soap -- washcloths, too -- for anybody who wants them," Carmen said. Whit's wife ran the bathhouse for its female customers.

"No!" Jessie said, sitting up quickly and spilling some water. "Th-that's all right."

"Get them each a bar and a cloth, Carmen," Molly said.

Carmen walked over to a small cabinet and took out soap and washcloths. She handed a set to each of the women. She came to Jessie last. She gave Jessie the soap and washcloth, then she turned a handle at the base of the tub. Hot water flowed. When it was full again, she turned the handle again, shutting off the flow of water from the boiler in a corner of the room.

Molly waited until Carmen was done. "Ladies, after ye're done soaking, ye can use that soap to wash whatever ye think needs it. Ye may want to think about washing yuir 'privates,' considering what's happening to ye right now." She smiled. "Be careful, though. Thuir like to be a little sensitive."

"Tell me about it," Jessie laughed.

"How come no orders like last time?" Laura asked.

"'Cause last time, we wanted to make sure ye knew ye were women," Molly said. "Today, yuir own bodies is pretty much rubbing yuir noses in that fact."

"That is for sure," Maggie said.

"Of course," Molly said with a bit of a smile, "if ye wanted to scrub a few places -- just for the _fun_ of it, go on ahead. I'd be telling a lie if I didn't say that a lot of ladies do it -- from time to time."

"Do _you_ do it?" Wilma looked Molly in the eye.

"That, Wilma, is me business and not yuirs," Molly said. She frowned for a moment; then winked. "Of course, I've got me Shamus to help with such things."

* * * * *

  

  

  

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