In reply to Clementine McQueen (msg # 36):


Temperance returned Clementine's smile with one of  gratitude. It did her heart good to see someone else loving her girls as openly as the doctor's wife did.

"Time to get to work everyone. I see you gathered up all the ingredients. Once you finished the flour you add the baking powder and salt. I add just a teaspoon of sugar to my dry before I put um one last time through the sifter."

The twins both looked up at her in surprise as she gave away one of the family's baking secrets. But they remembered the earlier warning and remained quite.

"Now Prim's a good hand with biscuits. So she can help you cut in the butter and add the milk. Then trust her to tell when you’ve kneaded your dough enough. I think your other tries may have been a little over worked."

For once Temperance picked her words carefully. Not wanting to hurt her friends feelings.

"Emily I think you should start grinding the coffee beans. A fresh pot seems to put the men folk in a good mood, it did your Pa. I’ll slice the beacon. We’ll have this breakfast together faster than ol’ Robert E can pounce on a mouse."

"Temperance, you and your daughters are a godsend," Clementine breathed her relief as the young mother began to put order to Clementine's confusion. Hanging on Temperance every word Clementine followed her friend's direction gratefully, but there was a telltale blush of shame bright on Clementine's cheeks to have been found so lacking of talent in her own kitchen. However, for once Clementine's ineptitude did not cause calamity, and when the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon began to waft through the cookery Clementine brushed the flour dust from her hands and hoped for the best.

"Please, you will join us, won't you?" Clementine asked Temperance as she hurried to add three more places to the table. "After all your assistance I won't consider you taking your leave without first sharing a bite to eat. Say that you will stay for a little while if you are able," she implored her friend with a pleading glance. "Ramsey will so enjoy a visit with your girls."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:07, Wed 31 July 2013.

"Oh, how I wish we could stay." Temperance paused as she carefully removed the skillet of biscuits from the oven. Putting it to the side to cool.

"But I must say no thank you this time. We have some errands to run and I must be getting home to the farm. Promise we'll be back for a nice long visit soon. The girls think the world of you and the doctor. Come to think of it, so do I."

Caught of guard by her own honesty, the young mother looks away and busies herself by gathering her girls and their belongings. "Now the bacon will be just fine sitting in the warmer. Be careful the biscuits will still be hot for a while. And if anybody says they don't like their eggs scrambled. Tell to use their imagination and pretend that you cooked um sunny side up."

"For that matter, don't tell we were here at all. Let them think this is your cookin'. The good doctor believes you hung the moon. I bet he won't even notice the difference." Suddenly there's a seldom seen mischievous twinkle in Temperance's eyes.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:46, Wed 31 July 2013.

As Becky worried about her appearance, Cyrus casually waved the worries away as he said in a reassuring tone, "Now don't you fret none about such things Miss O'Dell, you look just fine and proper for a recovering patient and ain't none of us here gonna get all picky and judgmental about appearances.

Why... I didn't expect the good doctor's kind invite to breakfast either, otherwise I'd have spruced up a mite and perhaps donned my Sunday best to make myself more presentable as a guest.  But as it is, the McQueens strike me as mighty practical and acceptin' folk... the sort willin' ta "take us as they find us".

I'm sure none of us will be embarrassed by havin' you break bread with us, quite the contrary in fact."

Cyrus chuckled slightly at Ramsey's reply until he caught sight of the sly wink tossed in Cyrus's direction, which suddenly brought the Marshal up short for a moment.  Ahh hell Doc... the poor girl's gotta be practically half my age!  Wait a second... I'm 34... she's gotta be about 17... oh hell, the girl IS Half my age!

Where in the hell did my damn youth go?  Squandered on Buckwhackers, Rebels, Indians... and now Outlaws?  Not much to show for 34 years but it wouldn't be fair to this young flower just comin' into bloom to saddle her with an aging old workhorse of a bee like me.

With a brief roll of his eyes (outside Becky's line of sight and meant only for Ramsey), Cyrus lightly cleared his throat and replied in the same reassuring tone (though perhaps this a slight note of uncertainty this time), "Now don't you worry Miss O'Dell, you're no imposition even if you do require a bit o' help and, as Doc McQueen said, I would not object to lendin' you aid should you need it.

But, of course, I won't force my assistance upon ya if its not needed or wanted.

Now as to a shawl, that's probably a good idea.  I also managed to salvage a few personal items, including some clothing, from the caravan wagons and they're stashed in a salvaged chest stored back at the Marshal's office.  Perhaps when you're feelin' better and are up to it, you can drop by the office and we can sort through the items... or I could always bring the trunk here if you want to take a look at the things sooner.  But that's for another day I think."

Cyrus glanced over at Ramsey as he added, "About that shawl Doc... naturally I think retrieving it is most definitely your department.  But I'll wait here with Miss O'Dell while you go get it and we won't begin our trek to the table until you return with it."

"I shan't be a moment", he replied, wondering if he could take the opportunity to find other items while he was at liberty to be about the house.  He left them in search of his wife's shawl, and perhaps something more.

(OOC: we'll presume that Doc will go 'off stage' for a while, then reappear; do carry on for a bit...)

"You... you have some of my things?  Or something?  Oh, that is so wonderful!" she replied, completely oblivious to any visual things going on between the Doctor and the Marshal.

She sat up, swinging her bare feet and ankles to set them on the floor.  "And it is bein' no problem, sir!  I mean, you're bein' the only one I... I truly know at all, after all!"

She braced herself with her good arm, then levered herself upward, biting her lip.  She stood, swaying slightly, not daring to try to walk.  She was clearly weak... and clearly done with being in bed.  The nightgown hung long on her, clearly intended for somebody taller, outlining her thin frame.  Her freckles stood out and her hair fell in a cascade down her back as she worked to stay upright.  She giggled nervously.

"The Doctor was right... I am... a bit wobbly," she stated softly
This message was last edited by the player at 18:52, Wed 31 July 2013.

In reply to Temperance Peters (msg # 43):

The thought of deceiving Ramsey pricked Clementine’s conscience but she did not reject the notion outright. It would not be the first time that she had dissembled with him.

“Oh, now there is an unlikely scheme if ever I have heard one,” Clementine laughed merrily at her friend’s suggested mischief. “Ramsey has suffered my cooking too many months to believe such a sudden transformation. Yet I shall speak the fib to see what comes of it as I silently bless you for all the help you’ve been to me.” Clementine hugged her friend, returning in kind all the warm affection that Temperance had shared with her in the months that they had been friends. “I loathe releasing you  but I do understand,” Clementine said, gently letting go. “I shall hold you to your promise of a proper visit, but wait please.”

Upon the sideboard there was a delicate porcelain jar with a fluted cap that had captured Clementine’s fancy years before. The pretty piece was covered with fluttering birds of every hue; the first connected to the last with all the rest so artfully conjoined that there was not a speck of plain left unfilled with brilliant color. As a girl Clementine had often gazed upon the jar while fantasizing about what she would do if ever she were free to fly away. But just now her thoughts were about the hard sugar candies contained within, and before Temperance might shoo her chicks out the door Clementine took up the jar to offer a treat to Prudence and Emily Joy. ”Thank you, my sweet helpers, and now sweets for the sweet . . .” Clementine held out the jar for the girls’ choosing.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:32, Thu 01 Aug 2013.

Her eyes dancing with delight Prim gazed into the jar. Then she quickly looks over her shoulder to where her mother stood.

A nod and a smile was all Temperance gave to her daughter. Store bought candy is such an unusual treat for the girls. How can I say no?

Emily's little hand was fast on the draw. The candy draw that is. But she did take time to mind her manors before plopping the sweet into her mouth. "Thank you Ma'am!

Prudence was too happy to pay much attention to this little defeat. "Thank you Mrs. Doctor McQueen, ma'am." 

Feeling the demands of politeness had been thoroughly covered, Prim also reaches into the beautiful jar and picks out a sweet treat.

"That's was fine girls. But now truly we must be going.” Nudging them towards the door, she helps the twins gather up their things. Then smiles at her friend.

“Clementine stop worrying, smile and enjoy yourself. The others will too. Bye for now.”

---->The Streets of Escondido

Cyrus shrugged in a noncomittal way as he said in a guarded tone, "Well we managed to recover some personal items from the site of the attack, including certain articles of feminine clothing and such.  Although I can't actually say for certain which items might be yours specifically, that's while I'll appreciate you helping to identify whatever you can... when you're feelin' strong enough to do so."



Cyrus smiled in a friendly fashion as he moved closer to Rebecca without actually reaching out unbidden as he said, "Yep... doctors tend to be right about such things... and Doc McQueen tends to be righter than most I've found.

Don't you worry though Miss O'Dell, once Dr. McQueen returns with the shawl, we'll see about escortin' you to the breakfast table jus' as easy as you please.

But I am glad to see you've got your spirit back, even if the flesh isn't entirely willin'.  A body will eventually mend if the spirit is willing and one has the benefit of excellent medical care... but even with all his expert medical talent, Doc McQueen can't mend a broken spirit."

Wishing to move onto a more cheerful topic, Cyrus said in a curious tone, "So that horse of yours, "Midnight", he seems mighty loyal comin' back for you and all.

How old is he?  Have you been trainin' him?

He seemed fairly docile and easily managed once I was able to calm him down and show I meant neither you nor him any harm."

She smiled at the encouragement, then wobbled again and reached out, catching Cyrus' arm with her good hand to hold herself upright.  She looked up at him apologetically.  "Th' spirit may be willin', but I'm a wee bit unsteady still!"

Actually, she was surprised.  She remembered him being so very much taller than her.  He was still a full foot taller than her, but he had seemed so very very tall when she was a girl!

She regarded him, her eyes more green than grey this day.  "I figured you would have been rememberin' that I love horses and love training them, even when I was little!  I've had Midnight since he was a colt, and he has been my very best friend for all of his four years."  She smiled fondly.  "He is so very smart.  I can ride him with no saddle and almost never use a bit.  Papa said..."  She swallowed for a moment, but then the smile returned.  "Papa said I rode him like an Indian.  And he's the fastest horse ever.  I'd put him up against anyone!" she added, her voice taking on a moment of pride.

While his wife made the breakfast, and his patient and the Marshal talked, Ramsey went upstairs to the bedroom, where he grabbed his wife's shawl.  Looking around to make sure no one could see him, he then went to the closet and pulled out a small truck which had some of his clothes still in it: buried inside was a small, half-empty bottle of rye whiskey.  His hands trembled while he held it, and sweat poured down his forehead while inside a war waged in his heart to take a much-needed drink, or to toss the damned bottle away and be done with it and all its kind forever.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he considered.  Before he even knew he'd done it, the top was off and he had taken a long pull.  Fire raced through him from his throat down to his feet, and a feeling of intense shame made his face blush a deep crimson red.

Why the hell had he done it?  They were sure to smell it on his breath and ask questions, and his wife, well she just plain always knew.  He could not vex her with his drinking, especially with what happened out on that prairie.  His child had died in the womb, perhaps the only one he'll ever father, and he'd been as useless as tits on a goose when it happened.  Could he have done anything if he'd been sober?  Who could tell; all he knew was that when his wife needed him the most he had been useless to her.  She deserved better than a worthless drunk who couldn't control his own habit.  They had to move on twice because of him: he swore St. Louis would be the last time.

But it was so hard.  He could hear it calling out to him, it had a voice for christ's sake, a voice in his head.  He could ignore it most of the time, but sometimes, like today...

What was he going to do?  He had liquor on his breath, and there would be a cloud around him, he was sure.  He looked around the bedroom, then spied his wife's vanity.  There were several cut crystal bottle of French-style perfume that she'd brought with her from her home when they'd married.  He grabbed the nearest one and gave himself a slight puff under his chin.  After thinking about it for a moment, he gave another puff to the shawl, in case anyone wondered how he'd gotten to smell like perfume.

Then, he opened the window of his bedroom, looked around the street to make sure no one was walking past, and tossed the bottle of rye away.  He heard it break as it landed, and part of him wanted to slam his head into the door for doing that.

He left the bedroom and went back downstairs; but before he rejoined the Marshal and the O'Dell girl, he went to his storeroom.  There he found a small jar of sarsaparilla root chews that he'd bought a week or so ago: they were very strong flavored, and should hide the whiskey on his breath, provided he didn't get too close or kiss anyone soon.  He popped one into his mouth and chewed the bittersweet root quickly.

He couldn't live like this anymore.  Something had to be done, but what?  He'd seen an ad in the St. Louis paper, and he'd torn it out and taken it back with him to Texas.  Peterson's Five Star Liquor Cure, it was called, only two dollars, and it was 'guaranteed to work', which as a doctor Ramsey knew meant 'if you're lucky, and it doesn't blind you.'  Should he take a chance?  What else could he do, turn himself into an asylum?  Who even knew where such a place would be out here, he'd have to go back to St. Louis.  He was a doctor, he should be able to cure himself, if he had any skill.

But it was complicated.  No less a figure than Doctor Benjamin Rush, himself, in 1784, first considered intemperance a disease.  If it was a disease, then maybe there was a cure.  But church leaders always considered inebriety as a moral failing, a sin detestable to God.  Ramsey was no churchy-type; he'd been brought up a Presbyter, like his father and his grandfathers before him in Scotland, but nowadays he felt more like a Universalist: he blended into whatever service was to be had at the time, and was fine with it.  Ramsey tried to be a good man, he tried to be a good husband and a good doctor...but he wasn't always up to the task.  he knew no man was perfect, but...shouldn't he be better?  And shouldn't his wife, who was practically without blemish herself, deserve better too?  And his never-to-be-born child...did he have a hand in his or her death because of his failings?  What fate did he deserve in the life to come because of that failing - what fate did he deserve now?

He needed to go back; if he was gone too long his wife would suspect - and she'd be right, of course.  He'd have to think about what to do later; in the meantime, he would just have to play things along and hope for a bit of luck.

he smoothed his hair back with his hands and rubbed his eyes before returning; the alcohol had done its job, nonetheless: his hands no longer shook, and the voice that pestered him in his head was quiet for now.

But in his heart, Ramsey McQueen hated himself, and wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

Hoping, but not truly expecting nobody would notice, Ramsey turned to head back downstairs...
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:44, Mon 05 Aug 2013.

“Ramsey?” Clementine called out her husband's name, cocking her head at the sound of soft footfalls on the staircase that led to the upper floor, and when there was no answer she was immediately suspect. Setting aside the bowl of eggs that had been meant for cracking, Clementine quietly ascended the stairs, telling herself that she was not spying on her husband so much as she was following to be of assistance.

Over the course of their marriage Clementine had learned the telltale signs that warned of relapse. Many a night Ramsey would prowl the house like a wild thing trapped in a cage, taking her fiercely in the end when she would offer him what solace and comfort that she might bring. But there was no true release from what tormented him in the sound of her voice or within her giving to him in their marriage bed, although there had been interludes of contrition and resolve when Clementine had dared to hope that Ramsey might at last find the peace that eluded him.

In those intervening days and nights when Ramsey would forsake the bottle he would woo his wife as he had at the start, filling her mind and heart with hopes and desire; and Clementine would come to him with burning passion enough to still the worst sort of restlessness in any man.  In those pretty times Clementine would play her part and together they would present to the world the most enviable picture of devotion and bliss; and, in a few places where they had settled, on account of Clementine’s grace and Ramsey’s skill as doctor and surgeon they had established themselves properly for awhile.

But the darker nights and uncertain days that were too many had made Clementine wary and her pleasure in their marriage was unraveling thread by thread so that there was very little remaining that was crisp and clear in this sepia print of a marriage gone blurry. Such a grainy day was this with everything uncertain; Clementine had known so from the start. One look at Ramsey’s haggard face and a glimpse of his trembling hands had put her on her guard.

For all that Clementine had come into marriage ill prepared for the chores and drudgery required of a frontier wife, she kept a perfectly ordered home; and so it was that in settling their things into right and proper places Ramsey’s meticulous wife had discovered the bottles of drink that he had hidden in the trunks and drawers and in cabinets which he thought would remain untouched and dusty. Once and only once since their coming to Escondido had Clementine dared to pour away the drink and rid the house of the empty whiskey bottles, but Ramsey’s hurt and reaction had been so fierce and sorrowful to witness that Clementine had never done so again; coming to realize that empty bottles were not the cure for the anguish that ailed her husband.


“Ramsey,” Clementine smiled into her husband’s eyes, searching for what she suspected as she came face to face with him at the top of the stairs. “You have my shawl . . .” she remarked at what was obvious.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:13, Sun 04 Aug 2013.

"Yes...", he replied, not looking directly into his wife's eyes, "...the Marshal suggested that I retrieve it, for the O'Dell girl.  She's...worried about her state of dress.  So, I went up and found it.  I believe...she wants to join us at table, and try solid food.  I figured you wouldn't mind her taking your shawl..but, I can get my coat of you'd prefer not getting your shawl mussed up."

He tried not to sound too stiff or awkward, but he wasn't sure what his wife had seen or knew. He knew she would never be jealous of any attention paid to such a young girl; if her hackles were up it was because she suspected him of tying on a load.  He'd just had one shot, albeit a large one, not nearly enough to get him drunk: but it was the first step down a road to Perdition, and his wife knew it.  She was no fool.  There would always be suspicion; he'd earned that.  But it was better to be merely suspected than confirmed, and Ramsey did what he could to act, talk, and seem perfectly normal.

"Do you need help in the kitchen?"

Cyrus was quick to stead Becky as he gently patted her hand grasping his arm and said in a reassuring tone, "Well a willin' spirit is a good start Miss O'Dell, steadiness will come with time and rest.

Now you just take your time gettin' your feet under ya.  Don't worry none, I'll be here to catch ya and make sure you don't fall on your way to the table."


Cyrus smiled at Becky and replied in a friendly tone, "Well now Miss O'Dell... them's "fightin' words" if ever I heard 'em.  Can't say good ol' "Black Jack" would much care to hear there's a new youngster in town billed as the fasted thing on four hooves.  Now I'm humble enough to accept that possibility... but ol' "Black Jack", he's a mighty prideful fella and he takes his gallopin' very seriously.

When you're feelin' better, back to your old self and all, I might jus' have to take you up on that there challenge.  Ol' "Black Jack" and I have managed to catch up to our fair share o' wild Injuns from time to time... so you riding "Midnight" like an Indian is not guarantee.

But we can worry about that "race" at some other time... jus' like a baby bird has to first learn how to walk before it can fly, I'd say Dr. McQueen would most likely insist that you be steady on your own two feet before relying on "Midnight"'s four legs for racing."

“You are a knight-in-shining-armor, my sweet man . . .  always coming to the rescue of damsels in distress as you did for me,” Clementine spoke softly, extending her hands to him so that he might once more view the ridges of scars left over from her childhood that marred the soft flesh of her palms. “You helped me, Ramsey; now let me help you,” Clementine whispered, blinking back her tears as she brushed a soft kiss to her husband’s mouth.

Clementine knew and Ramsey knew that she knew, but just then was not the moment to speak the truth aloud, and so Clementine sought a diversion that would provide them with a temporary reprieve. “Certainly the girl needs a wrap but not this one if you please, Doctor McQueen,” Clementine pretended consternation. “’Tis my  best blue silk and the very one that you say makes my eyes bright as the summer sky.” Clementine laughed a silky sound as she took the shawl from her husband’s hands, striving to make everything right between them in the beautiful way that it once was. Then, with her skirt swishing ahead of her hurried steps, Clementine quickly made her to the wardrobe which stood against the far wall and selected a more serviceable wrap for her husband’s young patient.

“This will do nicely,” Clementine said as she pressed the pretty piece into Ramsey’s hands.  “Now, you see to our guests, please, while I pray over our breakfast.” Clementine grinned, leaving him with the lighthearted remark that she hoped would make him laugh; and then she turned on her heel and descended the stairs to see that nothing was amiss in the kitchen.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:26, Mon 05 Aug 2013.

"I'm no' a baby bird, or hadn't ye noticed?" she managed, a bit flirtatiously.  Her eyes shown with challenge, though.  "I'll stand by my 'fightin' words,' as ye call them.  Papa may have said I ride like an Indian, but no Indian could catch me on Midnight.  And beggin' your pardon, you won't be able to either!"

In her expression was the heart of a true horsewoman, with love for her horse in her eyes... and more than a little pride.

Her hand tightened on his arm slightly.  She clearly was using him to stay upright.

"But I'll have to be waitin,' I suppose.  Ye... must have thought me dead when ye found me, didn't ye?" she added softly, looking up at him.  "Did ye remember me?  Did it... make ye sad?"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:53, Tue 06 Aug 2013.

Cyrus chuckled, although there was an underlying note of unease mixed in with the genuine mirth as he replied, "No I suppose you're not, you've certainly grown up since I last saw you and yes it has been noticed.

That said, I guess I'm gettin' close to an age when the line between youngsters and true "young adults" seems a mite blurred."


Cyrus shrugged his shoulders as he said in a noncommittal tone, "Well I suppose we'll see about that at some later time and place."


Cyrus's smile faltered as his face took on a grave expression and he replied in a guarded tone, "Well you certainly gave us all a bit of a fright, especially during those first few earlier days when the Doc was having a time of it gettin' your condition stable and keepin' it there.

Still, we all hoped and, more to the point, we all prayed that you would pull through... and, at the risk of countin' chicks before they hatch, it certainly looks as if our prayers were answered.

As for rememberin' you, well not at first because as I said before you've really grown up in the intervening years.  But after I spotted your locket and recognized your folks, I did remember the cute, rambunctious, whirlwind of tomboyish activity on those occasions I visited your home back in Kansas.

And of course the whole thing was sad, not just for my own loss of good friends and old comrades but also knowin' that you'd be feelin' the pain of that loss even more so than I.

That said... the fact that you were alive and that Dr. McQueen said there was hope for your recovery, well that was also a source of hope and happiness... the lone spark of light in a deep, dark cloud of misfortune."

Cyrus paused and looked down at Becky as he asked in a perplexed tone, "Why do you ask Miss O'Dell?  Don't you think I and others would be saddened by your tragedy?"

She knew; she always knew.  And that made his shame harder to bear.  She switched shawls for him, and gave him a kiss, and was very sweet to him - but he knew inside she must be disappointed and angry - but she was the type who bore her consternation within so that people would not see that she was upset, but Ramsey knew she was.

When she left to go back down he just stood there holding the shawl, feeling stupid, then wiped away a tear that had coursed down his left cheek into his stubble.  He gave himself a moment: he didn't want to worry his patient or the Marshal; then he went back downstairs to the office to join them.

"Here you go, Young Miss", he offered the shawl to her, then stepped back to allow their conversation to continue.  But Ramsey found his appetite had been quite taken away.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:24, Wed 07 Aug 2013.

Rebecca blushed and let go of Cyrus' arm very quickly.  "I... But... of course, ye would be, I don't... don't know what I was sayin'," she stammered, now unable to meet his eyes.  She realized she had been flirting outrageously... what would her mother have said?  And she wasn't a flirting kind of girl, to be sure!  She might be almost 18... quite nearly... but he was much older and how was that proper?

"I apologize... I'm not m'self..." she added, then breathed a sigh of relief as the doctor brought the shawl.  "Thank ye, Doctor.  That will be just right..."

As she spoke, she lost her balance...
This message was last edited by the player at 03:42, Wed 07 Aug 2013.

Cyrus seemed a bit concerned by Becky's reaction and perhaps additionally concerned by the girl removing her hand from his steadying arm.  With a reassuring smile, Cyrus said in a relaxed tone, "Well as you say, of course we all worried about your safe recovery to good health, but I can understand that sentiment... it can be comforting to know that there are others in the world who worry about your well being, especially when you're feeling ill or distressed.

There's not shame in wanting to be cared about, especially in times of trouble."


Since Cyrus had already been concerned when Becky removed her hand from his arm that she would be lacking the stability he had been lending to her, he was already primed in a way for "something" to happen.

This along with his naturally quick reflexes allow Cyrus to act swiftly to prevent Becky from falling to the floor.  Cyrus moved quickly to catch Becky as she lose her balance and began to fall down.

With his strong right arm around the back of her shoulders supportively lifting upwards and his left hand gently but firmly grasping Becky's left forearm, Cyrus carefully brought Becky back to her feet as he said, "Whoa now!  Easy does it Miss O'Dell.

Remember what I said about those baby birds needin' to first learn to walk before they can fly... the same applies to recoverin' young ladies recently awoken & arisen from their sickbeds.

I think ya best keep ahold of me for support for the time bein', at least until I can safely guide you a chair to sit down in.  It looks like you're not quite ready jus' yet to make it entirely upon your own two feet.

Don't worry now, I have you steady as ya please and I'll not let ya go until you're safely seated."

Cyrus glanced from Becky to Ramsey and finally towards the dining room as he added, "Speakin' of which, perhaps we ought to make our way to the table now?  I wouldn't want Mrs. McQueen's fresh, warm vittles to start growin' cold... never a wise move to offend the cook o' the house.

Come now Miss O'Dell, let's make our way to the dining room... nice and easy, one gentle step after the other."

Rebecca gasped... partially because she was falling, partially because he was forced to use her bad arm for support (thank God it actually didn't hurt!) and finally because his hand on her back was warm and supportive... and made her blush again.

She let him guide her to the table, taking careful steps.  She bit her lip, then looked up at him.  "Ye can call me Rebecca, if ye like.  Its not as if ye didn't know me.  Goodness, ye saved my life!  I think ye can call me by my given name."

She turned her head away so he could see the blush, then let him lead her to the dining table.  There was so much food (to her) and she found she had an appetite as she very carefully sat and arranged the shawl about her shoulders.  "Thank you... for the meal and everything...  I should not be here to partake, and I'm thankful."

"Careful!"

She's begun to fall, but the Marshal was there to grab her before she truly fell, thankfully.

"I did say, Young Miss, that you would be woozy and should not be long off your feet, did I not?  Please...let's be cautious..."

The last thing he wanted was for her to re-injure that arm, and have the infection come back.

She managed a wane smile.  "I can't be a girl that lays about, Doctor.  Your potion makes me woozy, but I will ride.  And walk.  And shoot.  And... and..."  She looked at Cyrus.  "And be back t' my sassy self before I'm eighteen, in two weeks!  I promise ye!"

She looked at the Doctor's wife, taking a deep breath.  "I apologize for making your day so hectic!  Thank ye for the wonderful meal.  Mama would have approved."

By hook, crook, and a bit of luck Clementine succeeded in presenting an elegantly set breakfast table laid with a generously proportioned omelet that was golden brown around the edges but which Clementine prayed would prove cooked through the middle. Alongside she set a plate of crispy bacon and a second plate piled high with fluffy buttermilk biscuits. Freshly churned butter and berry preserves were at hand, along with a pitcher of cold milk and a pot of piping hot coffee. All was made pretty because Clementine had bothered to fuss, using the embroidered linens that had been part of her trousseau and the few precious wedding gifts that had survived the journey West.

"Please, won't you all help yourselves," Clementine said as she circled the table pouring coffee into china cups after Ramsey and Cyrus had succeeded in seating Becky and then had settled themselves."You are quite welcome at our table, Miss Rebecca. It seems that my husband has brought about a miraculous recovery for you are full of sugar and spice this morning which makes me very happy, indeed," Clementine smiled into the young woman's eyes. "You mind now so that you don't undo the care he's taken of you," Clementine chided gently even as she bothered to tuck a wayward hank of hair behind the girl's ear.

"Eighteen in two weeks, why that makes you a woman grown," Clementine laughed sweetly, sharing a secret look and a wink with Ramsey when Rebecca's pale grey-green eyes were lit and full to the brim with the sight of Cyrus Jericho.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:56, Thu 08 Aug 2013.

"Oh, not grown yet, as Mama would say," she protested.  "If I'm bein' alone, I'll have t'... have t' be growin' up fast, I fear."

She shook her head, giving Clementine a warm smile.  "I'll be careful.  I wouldn't want th' two of you t' worry more than ye need.  Ye've done so much already!"

She helped herself, shakily pouring a glass of milk, then helping herself to what was not too very much but seemed much for a young girl so recently awakened from illness.  Still, she began to eat carefully, clearly enjoying the breakfast.