December 25th, 1855- Tuesday

My Dearest Xena,

Today is Christmas Day, and as I’ve mentioned in journals past, it is a day of profound and widespread celebration in this land and many parts of the world. As usual, for me it is a day of painful reckoning and reflection. It wasn’t always so, the date I mean. But this time of year always sees me glum and out of sorts. The twenty-fifth of December has been recognized as the “Birth of Christ” since about the fourth century by modern time keeping, roughly four hundred years after our time. Roughly, four hundred years after I destroyed the Anvil of Hephaestus and set into motion the limits of our own pantheon, thereby creating a vacuum for other religion to manifest. I will admit to not thinking much of the Christ story beyond the storytelling the first few times I’d heard it. I believe even back then, I expressed my appreciation at such an intricately woven story even if I didn’t believe it. Still, we both died more than once, so I suppose anything is possible.

I knew of your friends the Israelites, of course, and the recovery of their ark with their tablets, but the Christ religion came much later and with a force striking in its certainty. The story was similar to a variety of Egyptian myths I’d heard over the years about a leader who defeats death; stories of people rising from the dead and other miraculous events are standard fare for any decent bard. And given that we’ve done it a time or two, I’m not surprised. I’ve watched with varying degrees of guilt as this group coalesced around their own pantheon and spread the world over. Certainly, from the time of Pope Urban II in 1096 and the beginning of the Crusades, I’ve wrestled with how much culpability to shoulder over the rise of this faith. The late 1470s was another dark period with the Spanish Inquisition. As you know from my journals of that period, one year seemed darker than the next. It was a horrible time and I am glad to be away from it. For the moment, people practice their faith in relative peace, with missionaries doing most of the foul work of wrestling people from their ancestral beliefs.

Of course, Bess has noted that I become moody and irritable around this time of year. I feel that I can only tell her so much, and certainly not the truth. What I’ve seen and what I know would make me as unknowable to her as if I’d ridden to Earth in Apollo’s chariot. The story I have provided is that I lost my family in a fire around this time of year and the anniversary of the season. I suppose there could be a price paid for borrowing a bit of Callisto’s history, but certainly, after all she did, she owes me.

I do not mean to sound as if there is no levity in my heart at all this time of year. No, there is a hopefulness and a joyousness that is quite infectious. Everywhere you go, people seem to be kinder, trying to listen to their better angels as they say. Charles Dickens wrote a wonderful ghost story in 1843 called A Christmas Carol and since then there has been a growing trend of people taking up the mantle of benevolence and charity this time of year. I can’t help but think that if Najara were around, and of even temper, there is any number of charities with which she would be involved.

Food also seems to be a spectacle of the season. Bess enjoys it when we have our friends over for a feast, and I don’t believe anyone has ever said ‘no’ when we have extended an invitation. It is hard to believe that Hoss is the father of four now. Victor, Elizabeth, Jeramiah, and now baby Emily. Even Percival has a daughter, Anne, and a son, Beaufort, who I was shocked to learn was named after Hoss. I had no idea that Beaufort was his given name!

I continue to watch the town grow and expand, and the world seemingly get smaller as I become familiar with more of it. This does not limit its majesty mind you, or make me feel as if I am taming it in any way, quite the contrary. The more I learn and discover, the more I feel as if I have my foot firmly in place, only then do I see just how much farther there is to go. For example, the idea of America – The United States of America at any rate – seemed simple enough at the outset. Spend some time in a country not even one hundred years old. Only now, I realize that “The United States of America” is little more than an idea. Yes, all these different states and territories are bound by a singular vision, but they are made up of individuals. Individual states, individual governing bodies, different regions, all with customs and dialects as varied as any far-flung countries. There is much to make sense of and the task is daunting. That is yet another reason to be grateful for the stability in my life that Bess provides, a safe and loving port in a sea that knows its share of storms.

Our connection continues to deepen and grow. I do not doubt that my love for her is real and genuine as is hers for me. A life without love leads to madness, and that mindset will never see you restored. Not that I feel that I love her just because it fortifies me for the work I must do to see you whole. No, I will say without reservation that I love her for the gifts of her character and person on her merits alone. Xena, this does not mean I have stalled my efforts on your behalf in the slightest. To the contrary, I pursue them with an energy and dedication enabled by my heart being buttressed and tended to by another. While this may be a bleak time of year for me Xena, it is lightened muchly by the loving care shown to me by my wife. Between that, and the amazing seasonal feasts, it is hard to be glum or discouraged by anything.

February 29th, 1856- Friday

My Dearest Xena,

From sunrise to sundown, my days have been filled with hard work. While rewarding, the hours are long and arduous. I have secured a majority interest in an additional mining company near San Francisco, in California. This is my third now. This is not the only business I’ve taken an interest in, but it is the largest. I shall merge the three entities into one company. There are days when I look more like a banker or businessman, but for myself, I still prefer the freedom and flexibility of my life on the trail. I attend the meetings I must, making sure contracts and such are drawn up as I see fit. But always with Hoss as his will be the face that people see most often. I keep him busy enough that he’s had to end his work with Pinkerton and Mr. Wells, something Ruth appreciates mightily. I continue the work, although truth be told, I do it more for the meetings with contacts that occur off-the-clock than any passion for the work itself. Of the people I have met in my time here, there are about two dozen that I maintain correspondence with, in part in friendship, but also to serve as my eyes and ears into more of this country than I can reasonably travel to. True to her word, Delores writes to me on occasion, and I to her. In their own way, the exchanges are as intimate as our relationship ever was. I suppose the letters from her are special and the only ones I burn upon reading. I would not give Bess any reason for to doubt my trustworthiness, and a collection of letters from a former lover would be unseemly I suppose. Most of my letters from others pertain to my search and news of the world from a variety of perspectives.

Not everything I hear is good news, however. I have not heard of anyone matching the descriptions of Ares or Aphrodite as of yet. While the odds are not in my favor, hope lingers at the back of my consciousness like a specter. Faint and fragile as gossamer thread, I fear that should hope abandon me completely my quest will take on a darker objective. There are times and places where I feel that I must be close; where I can almost see the shadow of love transform a people or a place. At other times, I feel as if Aphrodite’s presence must be thousands of miles away.

Other news I find troublesome is the treatment of the native people. Standing Bear and I have discussed this at length, but it isn’t just the Crow about which I worry. Every tribe is in danger, some already extensively so. The Americans seem to be as quick to abandon a treaty as they are to make one, and I see the phantom of all-out war growing ever larger. I would not be surprised to learn of Ares’ presence in this land. The behavior of the Americans in particular seems to be of his design. Not that the Americans of European descent are alone in this; there are native tribes just as warlike and brutal, and fierce as the Spartan army with their backs against it.

Not only do the various tribes have to contend with each other, as they have for generations, they must also now grapple with the Europeans whose foothold on this land is ever growing. The work on the rail lines progresses at a feverish pace; herds of buffalo are slaughtered by intention and accident. Starvation and disease for which they have no immunity press upon the natives as their lands are taken and their people murdered. It is as if they are being pressed from all sides and at the breaking point, some have lashed out with a cold brutality that has turned my insides. Even at their deadliest, I do not think the Pomira garnered such hatred and fear. I’ve heard tell of the massacres, scalping, and torture, and it all sickens me every bit as much as the atrocities I know are being committed on the other side by people who look like me.

As if this information weren’t bleak enough, the news from the south is no better. This young country was built on the backs of slaves kidnapped from Africa. We encountered our own share of slaves and slave owners from Rome and beyond. Sadly, people’s enthusiasm for enslaving other people has not diminished since your time, Xena. The brutal practice continues and I fear for the wedge it is rending in this country. The same document that proclaims all men equal to another has been used to justify the consideration of one man to be three fifths of another. They want to have it both ways and that simply is not sustainable. There is a movement, an abolitionist movement, whose ideals are progressive in design. There are also those who see women as equal to men and thereby deserving the same status and rights. While they are few, I heartily support their ambitions. The people who see past the present trappings of injustice to an inclusive and equitable world give me hope for the future. Still, I can’t help but fear what will be lost before people come to their senses.

I am grateful that in and amongst all I do and all I discover is a warm and loving constant who greets me with a smile and lightens my mood when it is dark. I have no doubt, Xena, that I did the same for you. There were times of course, where I knew some silly conversation was distracting you from a worry or a concern, but there were times, more numerous than I would expect, where I did not even realize that my mundane conversation was really a respite from the thoughts and memories that troubled you. Only now, can I fully appreciate how hard it must have been at the beginning, you freshly severed from your warlord ways, haunted by the memories of the things you saw and did. How unsettling it must have been back then, to have my naiveté run square into the memories that haunted your dreams. I hope you found respite in the distraction and a glimpse of the innocence that might have befallen you, had things been different.

I am gratified that Bess takes me at my word in most matters. When I told her the money in the jar belonged to her as much as it did me, she made use of it. Aside from the cows, April and June, I’ve come home to new furnishings, as well as the occasional piece of furniture. Her choices have been modest and well intentioned. My wife is neither wasteful nor boastful, but she takes with some seriousness the duty of ‘homemaking’ as she calls it. Most surprisingly, a pianola arrived for our parlor – a player piano of sorts. It was from Whiskey Pete’s saloon; Pete was going to get a new one. She’d seen me play it a time or two and it was in need of repair. I’ve no objection to Pete getting the better of the deal.

I’ve admitted to some limited musical ability, playing by ear – or by piano roll. I’ve enjoyed the place I’ve made for myself in this town and am proud of my ability to cause no undo attention to myself by exhibiting a dizzying array of skills. You, Xena, could wear that mantle; it suited you as if it were bespoke. I fare better simply fitting in. Another positive outcome of California’s gold rush is the influx of music and culture to this part of the country. The brass band is primary in folk’s musical affection and I feel a great time and distance from the symphonies of Europe. I miss the opera. I think of all the people I know at present, the only two who have ever mentioned opera to me were Delores and Ruby.

Tonight, we had a surprise which I think in the end will be a fortuitous circumstance. Not several hours ago, in the dead of night, I heard the banging on the door that woke me with a start. Someone was frantically pounding outside. I dressed quickly and urged Bess to stay in bed. I opened the door and Ruby raced past me, inside. Her dress was torn, she was barefoot and her feet bleeding, hair tousled, a black eye; she looked a mess. She’d run all the way to our place from the saloon and a man was chasing her.

Bess had joined us and before I could say anything, she took off her robe, wrapped it around Ruby’s shoulders, and urged her into the parlor. She told me to heat some water for tea and get the bucket so we could clean and dress her feet. She also instructed me to get my medical kit. I had barely said two words and was running around tending to my wife’s requests.

I believe I’ve mentioned that after being shot twice in the gut, I’d put down the sword, so to speak. I no longer wear my guns into town. I still use them for work and still have the unfortunate necessity to kill people who are trying to kill me. But in town, as we go about our business, I go unarmed, save for the derringer in my boot. The gunfighters looking to make a name leave me alone, and people that give us trouble find out that I’m skilled with a variety of other weapons, from broom handles to thrown glassware. “Shorty Stafford” remains a threat if messed with. “Dead Shorty” is a moniker I am happy to leave behind. I wasn’t worried about some man showing up at our place, but I was worried as to the why of it.

While Bess worked on the tea, I handed Ruby a whiskey, which she downed immediately. I focused on her feet, washing them and bandaging them as needed while Bess found out what was wrong. Unsurprisingly, it was a customer, drunk and out of hand who had decided he’d met his dream girl and did not want to take no for an answer. He’d already knocked out Big Jim, the so-called security for the girls. At that point, she took off running to get him away from everyone at the saloon. She had no way to know if Big Jim was alive or dead and feared the worst. Careful to avoid her usual haunts and friends, she chose to go to the least likely place that someone would expect her to show up, where she knew she’d still be welcomed.

No sooner had I begun to offer Ruby the parlor than Bess caught my eye and quite directly asked me to give the two of them some privacy to chat. Xena, I was caught completely off guard. I had no idea what on earth they were going to discuss, but I made myself busy outside because Bess had asked me to. Sass and Bourbon joined me in walking the perimeter of our place, making sure all was in order. In due time I noticed the front door ajar, my invitation to return, so I did. I entered the parlor to find Bess and Ruby both sipping tea and talking, amiably sharing the sofa.

I pulled up a chair and simply waited. I had no doubt that Bess would fill me in when she was ready. Again, to my surprise, it was Ruby who spoke up first.

“Well Sam,” she said. “If I hadn’t suspected you were a woman before, the fact that you did what Bess asked of you without argument or complaint dispels any illusion of manliness.”

I frowned and looked at Bess. She shrugged. “You were going to offer Ruby our parlor,” she said, and she was right. “Someone staying here for days on end puts your secret in danger; I couldn’t have you offer something like that unless I know she’d take part in protecting your privacy.”

I opened my mouth to speak and closed it. In the span of a heartbeat Bess had taken in the situation and calculated several steps ahead of me. Of course, I was going to offer Ruby safety and of course, it would be problematic, living in close proximity with someone unaware of my truth. Always having to be in character, never being able to let my guard down with my wife? Survivable, yes, but not preferred. I hadn’t considered this, and I also hadn’t considered that Bess would put my safety over Ruby’s, even when it was Ruby whose life was in danger.

“I take no issue with who you are or how you live your life,” Ruby continued. “I’m the last person on god’s green earth who would cast stones or aspersions at another. Yes, I suspected from…before,” she said diplomatically. “The others didn’t, but I did. No, I never spoke of it, nor will I now. I would be grateful of this safe haven, because honestly, I don’t know where else I would go. But I won’t lie and say that I’m not jeopardizing your safety; Billy Black is not a man to be trifled with and you don’t wear your guns anymore.”

“I’ll worry about Billy Black,” I said as Bess gathered up a quilt and pillow from the bedding cupboard. “You can stay here as long as you need to.” Bess nodded in agreement. “I’ll go into town tomorrow and see if I can find this fellow and talk some sense into him. For tonight, the two of you share the bed; I’ll sleep out here in case he makes his way to our doorstep. I don’t want anyone coming through that door and not meeting me before either of you.”

Ruby was about to protest but Bess put a gentle hand on her forearm. “Sam doesn’t question me when I ask him to do something, and I don’t question him either. “I find it’s just easier to stick with ‘he’ and ‘him’ as habit,” she added to Ruby’s confused expression. “She knows I know she’s a woman – when and where it matters,” she added somewhat shyly.

“She’s right on both accounts,” I added, smiling. Bourbon followed the ladies into the bedroom, Sass has stayed with me, and as soon as I put my quill down, I’ve no doubt she’ll curl up with me on the sofa.

March 17th, 1856- Monday

My Dearest Xena,

As I’ve put pen to paper in journals these many years, I sometimes wonder to myself what I would want to know if our places in life were reversed. Would I care that Franklin Pierce is the fourteenth President of this country? A Democrat from the north, who has so alienated the abolitionist movement, I fear he is setting the stage for a civil war. Would I want to hear about my work, either the work I do as a pretext for survival or what I consider my real work of developing an information network and accumulation of wealth to further the causes I believe in, and my long-term goal of your resurrection? I have no doubt that if I had died on that mountain, you’d have been as hard pressed to let me go as I you. I also suspect that if Poseidon interceded in your affairs as he did in mine, that you might have also accepted his help and the relative immortality that came with it.

One might think that in two thousand years of living, there would be some things that I’d know for sure, some of life’s mysteries that I would have solved beyond doubt. My only response to such an assertion is that as life ebbs and flows, the seasons change and the world changes with it. The other thing that is plain beyond measure is that people are endlessly complicated and mutable, always fascinating and often a mystery. I would say that yes, I understand people a bit better than when you were alive, but I’ve not mastered them. They still continue to surprise or baffle me in the most unexpected of ways.

Ruby continues to live with us. She spent the first night with Bess in the bedroom and insisted on moving to the parlor thereafter. I put up some chimes by the fences and buried some trip wires so if someone comes onto our property, the noise should get Bourbon barking, which would wake me. It worked quite well, and I caught Billy Black trying to sneak on to the property Ruby’s third night with us.

Surprisingly, the encounter was not at all what I expected. Caught in a wire trap, he was feebly trying to extricate himself. In the dark of night, I shot his hat from his head with a rifle from our porch. He was distraught, embarrassed, frightened, and humiliated. He also seemed years younger than I expected. He admitted to drinking himself into a stupor more often than he should, yet he swore that it was a lucky accident that made Big Jim trip backwards, knocking the large man unconscious. Ruby’s black eye was also explained as an accident as he drunkenly tried to keep from falling. He swore up and down that he was merely smitten with Ruby and meant her no harm; that he was there to apologize.

I’d say I half believed him. I pointed out that apologizing in the dead of night is rarely a good idea. If he was sincere, he could do it in town, in the middle of the day. I also pointedly let him know that this was his only warning and that venturing onto my land again would result in more work for the casket maker. Still though, I have changed my opinion somewhat on the man. A fool maybe, not harmless certainly, but I do believe there may have been a misunderstanding. He’s not right for Ruby though, and I’m more than happy to be a barrier between the two of them.

Billy Black is not the only person I find myself reconsidering. I find myself repeatedly having to reassess my opinion and understanding of Elizabeth Stafford. I’ll be honest to say that when I met her, I didn’t really give her much thought. She was married to a dangerous man, but separate from that, she didn’t seem to have much opinion or personality of her own. Away from the specter of Caleb Mercy, Bess has blossomed to a strong, opinionated, articulate, and clever woman. I have no way to know if her affinity for women was there all along, or if it has stemmed simply from this being the life she now lives. Certainly, she is an enthusiastic and generous lover, but there is more to it than that. Under our roof, she simply refuses to exhibit any form of apology or self-consciousness. It is something I would certainly demand from myself, and expect from you, of course, but I didn’t imagine that she would be so unabashed around someone like Ruth.

On occasion, Bess may wake me in the middle of the night if she is feeling the need, and seems to feel no embarrassment about such activities with a guest sleeping in the parlor. We do our best to keep quiet but, well, you know how it is. I’ve been greeted with a rueful wink over breakfast from our guest more than once. Quite on the other side of the spectrum was Bess’ vociferous defense of Ruby in church these past several weeks.

There is no secret in a town such as this who does what for a living. The women who work in the saloon are at once tainted by their profession and supported in it by many of the men in town. At once treated as “fallen women” or “soiled doves” as they are called and considered necessary, it is an odd dichotomy as old as time. I’ve always been one to attend Sunday services when I’m not on the trail. It keeps me in good stead with a number of people who value such displays of public conformity. Since our marriage, Bess regularly attends with me. Unlike me, she genuinely believes what she’s hears, until it conflicts with the things she feels in her own heart. While Ruby hasn’t been a church goer, since the incident with Billy Black, she has accompanied us so as not to be at the house alone.

Since that night weeks ago, Billy Black has hung around town. Sheriff Northingham gave him a talking to and seems to think that is the end of it. Both Bess and I know better, so until I can be convinced that he is no threat, or until he leaves town, Ruby is always with Bess or other folks in town we trust. I’d offered to knock some sense into him of course, but Ruby has asked me not to risk the ire of Beaumont Northingham. Because of my ruse here as a man, it would be improper to be alone with Ruby now that I am married, so unless we are at home I am only with her in the company of others.

Pastor Simms made the mistake this past Sunday of preaching about harlots and the temptation they represent. Ruby’s staying with us, and openly so, has turned some heads in town, but this sermon was the most obvious representation of any kind of formal rebuke. Ruby was embarrassed, and Bess and I were angry. After the service, as we were thanking the pastor before leaving, as is customary, Bess spoke up. “Pastor Simms. Is there not a more profound example of Jesus’ love than to open our hearts and our homes to neighbors in need?”

He smiled at her as one would a misinformed child, his eyes briefly landing on Ruby standing just behind her before dismissing our guest. “My dear, the devil himself can exploit such generosity.”

Bess shrugged “I’d rather err on the side of giving succor to the devil himself than not exercise the charity god has granted me. Didn’t Jesus provide comfort to Mary Magdalene? If Old Trick sees fit to test me, should I not trust in the guidance of the Lord?” At this point, Pastor Simms gave me a very clear ‘please control your woman’ look, so I spoke up.

“Now Bess,” I said patiently, smiling at the Pastor. “I’m sure Pastor Simms would say that we are all sinners, and that the Bible instructs us to throw no stones. I am certain that today’s sermon was not directed at any specific act of charity, and more of a theoretical parable. I have no doubt that the pastor would want us to demonstrate Christ’s compassion whenever and however we are able.”

Simms had grown red faced by this time, his embarrassment apparent. “Of course not,” he assured us. “I was speaking generally about the challenges we all face. But not specifically.” I let him suffer a moment more in the uncomfortable silence before urging my wife and our house guest out of the church.

As we walked back to our buckboard to head home, I was stopped by the Sheriff. He handed me a letter that had been hand delivered during the service. I took the sealed envelope and noting the pattern of the wax, knew it was from Delores. I thanked Beau and read it on the drive home. At once, my heart ached and sank. Bess immediately noticed my shift in mood.

“What is it love?” she asked, completely at ease with Ruby sitting next to her.

“It’s a letter from Delores. Her husband has taken ill with Consumption. She is moving to the New Mexico territory to be with him, outside Tucson. He has already relocated and she was tasked with closing up the business and putting their affairs in order in Astoria.” I paused to reread the letter to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. “She would like to stop by on her way south…to say goodbye. She will be passing through town at the end of the month.”

“I see,” my wife replied, a flatness to her voice that made the hair on the back on my neck stand on end.

“Who is Delores?” Ruby asked, unaware of what she was walking into.

“One of Sam’s other women,” Bess replied uncharitably. “Before me. I suppose, same time as you.”

Ruby looked over at me with equal parts humor and appreciation. “Scarlett, Abagail, myself, and Delores? Sam Stafford where did you find the energy?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I tried to explain, albeit weakly.

“No,” Bess cut in. “With Delores she was all…woman,” she whispered, even though it was just the three of us in the wagon.

Our guest’s eyes widened in surprise. “Now that is interesting. She is…like you?” I frowned, not at all pleased at the turn the conversation had taken.

“No,” Bess interjected on my behalf, somewhat defensively. “More like you. Delores ran quite the business, I’ve come to understand, but enjoyed the company of women, or rather a certain one, recreationally and on occasion. May I?” she asked, looking at the letter I still held in my hand. I passed it to her and watched her expression as she read it.

Delores’ missive was warm, filled with affection for me, although very tame by her usual standards. She was worried about her husband, who she loved dearly, unconventional though their relationship was. She said she’d missed me, hoped I was well, hoped Bess was well, was grateful that she’d gotten over her bout of influenza. There was nothing scandalous in her lines, just an urge for connection. There was also an acknowledgment that she very well might catch her husband’s illness, if she hadn’t already, and if this were to be her last opportunity to see my visage, she would like to take it. The New Mexico Territory was a new and frightening adventure, and life held no guarantees.

I could tell that my wife read the letter twice all the way through. When she’d finished, she’d softened a bit. “She will come for dinner, I will see to it. Ruby, if I can enlist your help?”

Ruby nodded enthusiastically. “It saves me the trouble of angling for an invite.”

We rode the rest of the way home in silence. I could tell that Bess was preparing a list in her head of the provisions I’d need to buy in town. While I couldn’t know for sure, I suspect Ruby was envisioning the entertainment value to be had by four women sitting down at a table where I’d lain with all of them. As for myself, Xena, my mind wandered to a number of our toughest escapades and how they’d failed to prepare me for what was in store.

April 7th, 1856- Monday

My Dearest Xena,

There have been moments when you no doubt have been thoroughly entertained by the predicaments I can get myself into. I know my initial scrape with the Titians amused you, as did our encounter with Pandora. And, while you feigned annoyance, my being made Amazon Queen also tickled you. My beloved, I can only fathom that you would have found my recent circumstance equally diverting indeed.

True to her word, Delores arrived to Oregon City by stagecoach on the twenty-eighth of March. We were not expecting her until Saturday or Sunday, and the three of us were in town buying provisions, accompanied by Hoss, Ruth, and their children. When we saw the stage coach approach, I felt my pulse quicken and I could see Bess watching me intently out from the corner of my eye. It was not hard to see the jealousy already set on my wife’s face. We met her at the stage, I kept my greeting warm but brief, and I made the introductions. I felt very exposed in town, and if there were going to be any sort of outburst, I wanted it to happen well away from where it could do any damage to any of my friendships. Bess was civil but decidedly cool; Ruby was the heart of graciousness, greeting Delores as if an old friend, which is the story we had all agreed we would tell anyone who asked. It took only a moment for Delores to catch on to the ruse.

We made some small talk with Hoss and Ruth then accompanied Delores to the hotel. To our collective surprise, a large wedding party had arrived, filling all available vacancies. Without skipping a beat Bess, insisted Delores come home with us. I looked at her and she shrugged; logistics could be determined later. I assisted Bess with the rest of the shopping while Ruby and Delores chatted, Hoss and his wife none the wiser. We had already planned to invite the King family over for dinner for the big feast of Delores’ visit. As my friend arrived early, the date or the dinner was set for the next night, giving Bess a day to prepare. For the first night, it would simply be the four of us.

“I envy you Shorty,” Hoss whispered to me quietly while I waited for the butcher.

“How so?” I asked, admittedly distracted by everything that was going on.

“Three women in your house, little brother!” He’d long treated me like family and I was quite charmed by it. Speaking in hushed tones as if the tableau was obvious, “What did they call it in that story you told me about that sultan…a harem!”

I had to chuckle at that. “Hoss King, you wouldn’t know what to do with three women if they were delivered to you for Christmas.”

He blushed, which I found beyond endearing. Hoss was the rare man who found no solace in proclaiming his exploits, real or invented. “I suppose not, but that wouldn’t keep me from unwrapping that gift!”

“I have to say I’d agree with you there.” I grinned. If only he knew (which I am relieved he does not).

We said our goodbyes, he took his family home, and I escorted my harem back to our homestead. Ruby had taken an instant liking to Delores and was telling her all about the town and pointing out the local landmarks on the way back, often enlisting Bess’ help in describing the places and people. Bess and I sat in the front of the buckboard, with Delores and Ruby occupying the bench behind us. A sidelong glance to Bess and I could tell that in spite of her own initial reservations, she found herself succumbing to the charms and chiasma of my friend from Astoria. As for myself, I turned around on occasion to address her. While I didn’t say much, there were several moments of eye contact between Delores and I which spoke volumes. We’ve known each other long enough and intimately enough to let the unspoken pass between us. She approved of both Bess and Ruby, was grateful for their acceptance, and she was glad of my happiness.

When we got home, I helped Bess out of the wagon. She looked down at me with a soft smile. “Why don’t you show Mrs. Banks around while Ruby and I prepare dinner? You two need to catch up.”

One of Bess’ most endearing qualities is her straightforwardness. There is no deception or duplicity. Safe from the threat of violence, she has discovered her voice and the confidence to use it. I didn’t need to wonder if she were speaking her mind, or just saying what I wanted to hear. You taught me so long ago the freedom and security that comes from a partner with whom you have that kind of connection.

I opened the door for Delores and she wasted no time in getting right to the point as soon as she had stepped out the door. “I like her, Gabrielle. Both of them.”

“Yes, well, Ruby just kind of landed in our home. We still haven’t sorted that one out yet.” We walked around the property, taking our time as the sun made its way to twilight. We strolled past the corral to the fencing beyond the barn, to the field of wildflowers behind. Delores wanted to pick a bouquet for the dinner table and I helped her. We talked of our respective lives, catching the other up on current life events. It felt good to talk to her again. Listening to her voice, watching those blue eyes look down at me as we strolled. It was so easy to put myself back centuries to Thrace, Delphi, Athens, and Thessaly… I could almost smell the ocean and hear the breeze through the trees. Sarsaparilla and Bourbon chased each other around, making us laugh with their antics. I lost track of time, it must have been an hour or two later when the sun eased down past the horizon. I watched it go, the last bit of orange remaining.

“I am sorry about your husband.” I knew not what else I should say on the matter.

She looked at me with some sadness. “I’ve missed you Gabrielle. You meant more to me than you know – more than I let on – and I’ve missed you deeply these two years past. I’d almost hoped to find you miserable, where I could whisk you off your feet and tempt you into joining me on the journey south. Cyrill is not a jealous man, you could even go back to living as a woman if you’d like.”

I listened to her words and really took a moment to gaze inward, to see if I was the least bit tempted by her offer. I was not. “We never really know how many trips around the sun we’re going to get. We never know who is going to cross our path and come into our lives or for how long. Delores, my affection for you is genuine, you reminded me of a passion I’d all but forgotten. I didn’t realize how much tinder I’d become until your spark reignited me. But you would know, better than I, how divergent our paths are to become.”

She looked down at me and smiled. Xena, I swear, it was nearly like looking up into your beautiful face with your low rumble of a voice caressing me. “You’ve chosen to put your fantasies aside and build your reality.” She spoke without judgement. I nodded in response. I swear she was about to lean forward and kiss me, and I’m sure I would have let her, but Bess stepped out on the porch to call us to dinner. To be honest, I was relieved.

We have a large dining table because we regularly accommodate Hoss and his family. We sat with me on one end, Delores to my left, Ruby next to her, and Bess on my right. While only a precursor to the next day’s feast, dinner was delicious, though Bess would have called it “simple fare.” She’d prepared a roast, fresh biscuits with a delicious peppered gravy, fresh butter, green beans with nuts, and potatoes. Delores was impressed. She’d commented that she’d stayed in some of the finest hotels in New York and hadn’t eaten as richly. Bess was flattered, and deservedly so.

It took not long at all to finish a bottle of wine and have the four of us chatting as old friends. Delores spoke of her husband, how they met and married. She was open about her love for him, the unusualness of their union, and his diagnosis of Tuberculous, commonly called Consumption. There was much Delores already knew of me and my life, but she listened with rapt attention when Bess gave her own version of our courtship.

It was perhaps the second or third bottle of wine that turned the tide against me. We had finished our meal, completed by a glorious apple pie. My wife put down her knife and fork and bluntly asked, “Sam, just how many women have you been with, biblically that is, besides the three of us?”

The unexpected query smacked me so that I choked mid-swallow on my last bite of pie. Ruby laughed uproariously as Delores came to my rescue, pounding my back to dislodge the fruit. My wife gave me no quarter. “Mrs. Banks, if you’d care to answer for yourself while my husband regains her composure?”

Delores smiled at her, warm and genuine, completely charmed by her directness. “My dear Bess, I will only have you ever call me Delores, please,” she insisted. “Truth be told, Sam was my third. I’d been with two women previously. My first, June Beecham in my sixteenth year. She married a trapper and moved away. My second, I suppose five or six years before I met your husband, there was Alethia. Never knew her family name.”

She turned to me; I shook my head, taking a sip of wine to buy myself a few seconds more. I was frantically trying to decide upon a number. Obviously, this wasn’t something about which I could be honest. The actual number would make me sound like the world’s most successful harlot, so I tried to imagine based on Sam’s’ scant twenty-eight years what would be a reasonable number. Delores instead turned to Ruby.

“Miss Monroe, what say you?”

“Just Ruby, please. I can attest that I have only ever been with the one.” She nodded at me. “At least the one I am aware of. Now I have to wonder if there could have been other imposters.” She continued to chuckle at my discomfort. “I have heard of other women in such relationships though. It is not an idea completely unknown to me.”

Three pairs of curious eyes turned to face me. Realizing I lacked further recourse, I blurted out, “Seven.” I have not the faintest idea why I chose that number. Bess raised an eyebrow, as did the other two. “Ruby, Scarlett, and Abagail at Whiskey Pete’s,” I explained, toasting Ruby. “Delores, Xena, Anna, and of course, you.” I added a toast to my wife. “Since you asked, my beloved.”

“I don’t believe you mentioned Anna before…” Bess pointedly observed.

Xena, I’m not sure why she sprang to mind. Perhaps because it was a relatively recent relationship that did not end well. I believe at the time, I’d mentioned to you that she was a woman at court in France, before I moved to Italy. Rarely these days am I taken in by someone with an ulterior motive, but there you have it. Perfect, I am not.

“Anna and I were briefly involved,” I admitted to the others. “And then she tried to use our relationship as a means of extortion. Instead of paying her the seven hundred dollars she demanded, I simply left town in the dead of night. The prospect of a wagon train to the West Coast seemed like a brighter future.” Granted Xena, I changed that narrative some. As you recall, I did not run away from Anna’s threats, rather, I stood my ground and turned the tables on her, which resulted in her leaving town in the dead of night and me solidifying my position at the French court. “Anna was a brief mistake, and I did not love her.” My conclusion appeared to reassure my wife.

“Well,” she replied with a small smile at Ruby, “I suppose I feel less awkward at my inexperience as I might, thank you Ruby. I did not realize how busy you have been, Sam Stafford.”

“Besides, Scarlett, Abagail, and I have never touched Mr. Stafford. I don’t believe we should count,” Ruby helpfully added.

“Well, yes, that would be fair,” Bess agreed, mollified.

“And you never know what life has in store for you around the corner,” Delores added cryptically. Bess looked over at her, understandably shocked at my former flame who quite coyly winked at her.

Not long thereafter the sounds of night took over. We could hear the coyotes in the distance, and Sass even answered. Night birds made themselves known; the breeze could be heard rustling the leaves and tall grasses in the distance. I could almost make out the sound of the Willamette River.

Ruby and I had cleaned up the dishes from the dinner, leaving Bess and Delores to chat in the Parlor. Both women were curious about the other, and I did not worry about my confidences being broken from either woman. “You are going to be in for a long night,” Ruby said conversationally as I dried the dishes before putting the away.

“How do you mean?”

Xena, you yourself had told me about your lustful adventures as the Conqueror of Nations, and the lengths you’d go to in order to keep slaves from your men. More than once, I’ve had similar adventures with willing groups of like-minded women. But this isn’t Greece, Egypt, or any of the other lands I’ve travelled to where such customs exist. This is a very young, very sheltered country with very puritanical ways of looking at things. But Ruby’s expression was clear. Our home was an oasis where, within the safety of our walls, women could be free to explore and experience more than they ever could hope to beyond them.

I must have blushed, because she put a gentle hand on my forearm and said kindly, “Not for you, Mr. Stafford. Mark my words, I believe you will be in the parlor, and the women are going to take over your bedroom.”

Yes, my feelings were hurt at the idea, dashed before it could properly lodge in my head, and I felt left out. But I could see her point. I looked from our kitchen, through the dining room, to the parlor where Bess and Delores sat talking softly to each other. It did not take an oracle to see the wisdom in Ruby’s words. Both women were curious about each other and Bess was already feeling on unequal footing with me. If she knew she had my blessing, she’d at least be able to decide for herself whether or not she wanted to engage in sexual activity. I had no doubt that these three women would be most respectful of each other.

I made my way back to the parlor with dog and coyote following behind me as they’d helped with the dishes. I didn’t often smoke, but I did keep some cigars on hand for special occasions. I poured myself a brandy.

“If you ladies will excuse me, I’m going to have a night cap outside, walk the fence, and make sure all is in order. I’d suggest that the lot of you take the bedroom but I will leave that to the three of you to sort out.” I took my leave and headed with my two four-legged companions outside. I was near the barn when I heard footsteps behind me. It was Bess.

“What is it love?” I asked, surprised that she’d come outside. It was dark, the only light coming from our house and the glow of my cigar, but I could feel her blushing all the same.

“What you’re suggesting. This is not like that first night that Ruby stayed. That was innocent. We did not but slept. I feel… I feel…” Bess was at a loss for words. Which for her was an unusual circumstance.

“Bess, I am not ‘suggesting’ anything. I just want you to feel free to… indulge in some…wickedness if you desire.” I said softly.

“I have no desire to be unfaithful,” she replied a trifle offended. “You are my husband and I respect our marriage vows.”

Xena, I have no doubts that were this you and I having such a conversation I’d feel differently. Had I but one life of average length I’d feel differently. But I have lived too long, I have been with too many men and women in various circumstances and combinations to not have my views of fidelity shift over time.

“Bess, I am ever much your husband and your lover and of these two things I have complete assurance,” I said, lifting my hand to her cheek. “Like Delores, in a situation such as this, I would not find such a dalliance outside our marriage bounds. If you have interest in such an exploration, I would not keep you from it, nor would I hold it against you. If having experiences of your own that are apart from me make you feel on a more equal footing with me, I would send you off with all the love in my heart.”

She was quiet a moment, considering my words and thinking. “Do you say this to angle an invitation Sam Stafford?” She asked, quite serious but with amusement threading her voice.

I had to chuckle at that. “While such a visage makes my heart race, I think it better, more proper perhaps, for you to enjoy yourself without me. I would not want you second guessing what I may be thinking or feeling.”

“Or having me be jealous at the sight of another woman’s hands on you?” she finished, completely reading my mind.

“Perhaps,” I allowed, kissing her softly. “You may choose to act, my love, or demure; I will love you ever much the same in the morning. I will never ask and you are free to tell me as much or as little as you think proper.” I sent her back into the house and busied myself outside until I felt certain they were well underway before quietly slipping indoors to sleep.

Sleep. Surely, I was kidding myself. I do believe I stayed up for several hours, both intrigued and amused at the steady stream of giggles, moans, and sighs coming from the bedroom. Finally, I grabbed a pillow and a blanket and took the dog and coyote to the barn where we were finally able to get some sleep.

My beloved, I would tell you about the rest of Delores’ visit but that will need to wait for tomorrow. It has been a long couple of days since her departure and I am being bidden to the bedroom myself. Bess is keen to fill me in on her adventures. Who am I to object?

April 8th, 1856- Tuesday

My Dearest Xena,

As I’m sure you’d expect, I woke first the following morning. I was roused by our rooster, Iolaus. As unused to sleeping in a barn as I have become, the proximity to the rooster crow woke me with quite the jolt. For a split second, I thought I was back home with you, in that barn when the day kept repeating itself. It took a moment but I got my bearings. After brushing the hay off my clothes, I went to work feeding the chickens and milking the cows. I knew there would be a full day of feast preparation ahead and wanted to get an early start. Quietly, I stole back into the house and made my way to the kitchen where I’d started making a large pot of coffee. I’ve had a soft spot for Arbuckle’s Arosia Coffee since making my way out west. Anyway, I was midway through when Ruby joined me in the kitchen, padding in quietly, wrapped in a quilt over her sleeping shift. If I were a man, this would be most inappropriate but as I’ve mentioned, Ruby has quite adjusted to life with Bess and myself.

She looked exhausted but rather pleased with herself and I politely did not mention the visible love bites on her neck. Instead, I offered salutations.

“Good morning.”

She looked at me quizzically for a moment before replying. “You aren’t the least bit jealous, are you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think jealousy is a very productive expenditure of one’s time. Especially in an instance like this. How could I begrudge Bess the opportunity to feel herself more my equal?”

I would have to admit, if I were being truthful, this response is only a function of my longevity. I well remember how my blood would boil when I’d see other women look at you. I had grown rather numb to the appreciative stares of men – those occurred often enough – but when the women would notice you, it got my dander up. I would not be inclined to share you with anyone in my bed, even if I were invited to be an active participant. At least not then. With time and perspective, if we were together now, my love, I suppose I’d consider it, depending on the other woman of course.

However, in the here and now, knowing I will long outlive anyone I may become involved with has colored my perception of relationships, and the strings and burdens they can bear. Jealously has no place or meaning for me here.

“I trust everyone had a good time?” I asked nonchalantly as I could.

Ruby nodded. “Indeed. Actually, I found the experience quite illuminating. It’s been weighing on me since my encounters with you if this spoke to an affinity for women in general or some other singularity. I mean, at the time, I did presume you to be a man, even if I might have wondered otherwise.”

“And what have you discovered?” I asked as I poured us each a cup of coffee.

“That you, my dear Sam, are indeed a singular event in one’s life. Make no mistake, I found last night pleasurable enough. But I do not think my appetites run to the feminine the way that your wife and former lover do. Still, I have no regrets and am glad of the experience. And while I would not seek out such an encounter in the future, I don’t know that I would decline one either.” The sun was coming in through the window, highlighting her hair and eyes making her look even younger than her twenty-five years.

“That is a very reasoned approach,” I agreed.

While I only had the vaguest idea of what Bess had in store for dinner, I saw no reason not to busy myself with making breakfast. There were no biscuits left over from the previous night’s dinner, so I made some scones, fixed some shirred eggs, and a rasher of bacon. As expected, the smell of food and coffee roused Bess and Delores from the bedroom.

The two of them entered the kitchen together, Bess wearing my robe over her sleeping shift and Delores wearing Bess’ robe. They stood a respectable distance apart but there was no mistaking the crackle of affection that passed between them like lightning through the night sky. I poured two more cups of coffee and checked on the readiness of breakfast.

“A husband who cooks is not a gift to take lightly,” Delores observed as we all sat down to eat.

“I do feel as if I’ve been doubly blessed,” Bess agreed with a warm smile in my direction. I returned her smile and tucked into breakfast. I suppose our meal could have been an awkward affair, not unlike the many times I’ve had to break bread with you and a former love interest, but it was pleasant enough. There was no discussion of the previous night’s wine or activities thereafter, yet at the same time, there was no sense of regret or shame. There were glances of affection exchanged between everyone at the table and there was an understanding that needed no voice.

Delores and Ruby were chatting about how she had come to join our household as it was apparent, quite plainly now, that this was not derivative of a romantic entanglement. I will admit that Ruby’s presence with us, while not objectionable, is not ideal; not just for me and Bess, but for our friend too. Billy Black continues to be a dark specter. I have done my research, while he is certainly a nuisance; an individual of bad manners and no self-control, he is not dangerous in the way that Caleb Mercy was. Big Jim even vouched for him with the Sheriff, assuring him that he did indeed trip and hit his head in a fall. Ruby has not been as supportive, nor would I expect her to be. Billy scared her and he has done nothing to make amends or convince us otherwise. Assuredly, the night that she came to us, he was out of hand and out of control with drink and obsession. But since that time, he has made his presence known but has not made a threatening step towards our companion. He never tried to come back to our property either. I’ve offered to literally knock some sense into him, but have been implored by both Bess and Ruby to find another way.

I have no doubt that you’d laugh at that, Xena: Gabrielle of Potidaea being asked not to pummel a man who would probably benefit from such an education. With a do-nothing Sheriff and a prohibition against violence, we are for this moment at an impasse.

It seems Delores has a plan on that account. As Ruby relayed her tale, I saw a familiar, calculating look on my former lover’s face. She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin and addressed me. “Sam, if dinner preparations will allow, I’d like you to take me to town today. I’d like to speak to this Mr. Black myself.” Certainly, puzzled glances were exchanged all around the table, so she explained. “I often find that the easiest way out of a problem is money. You’ve said Mr. Black can be violent but isn’t as dangerous as other men you’ve encountered.” She gave Bess a look that held such caring and sympathy that it warmed my heart. “I will hire him as a guard, an escort of sorts, to see me safely to the New Mexico territory. As I am married and very much unavailable, I do not expect the same troubles Miss Monroe experienced.” She nodded at Ruby affectionately. “That will leave dear Ruby free to take over running Whiskey Pete’s and move into the King’s house when you move the family to California to oversee your expanding mining operation.”

Xena, I will admit I was dumbfounded. The elegance of the plan and the way that it would wrap up a number of challenges did seem almost too practical. I cocked my head and looked at Ruby. “I didn’t know you had designs on Whiskey Pete’s?”

To her credit, Ruby blushed and looked at Delores. “The ladies and I had quite the conversation last night,” Delores explained.

I couldn’t help but comment. “So that’s what they’re calling it now? A chat?”

She ignored me. “Clearly, you understand better than anyone else the difficulty facing business minded women in this day and age?” Delores looked pointedly at my attire and continued. “We’ve decided that you should buy Whiskey Pete’s as a silent partner, if you will, and leave it to Ruby to manage. Your cut will be sufficient. I have long suspected that your emoluments exceed that what you let on, you have mentioned the mining operation in California, and your plans with friend Hoss and his family. If they move south, you can buy his place, at a generous price I assure you – I’ll even front as the buyer if you’d like – Ruby can live there, close enough for safety, and restoring some normalcy to your own domicile.”

I looked from Ruby, to Bess, to Delores, and back to Bess. “And this is what the three of you were discussing last night?” Was all I could think to ask.

“Among other things,” my wife assured me with a wink.

I had to admit, it made perfect sense. Ruby is quite the prodigy with numbers. She’s been doing the books for Pete for some time and I suspect will make more of a success of the place if she is allowed to make all of the decisions herself. I was a little concerned though that Delores had indeed clued in that I was far wealthier than I let on. I need not ask how she knew though. Bess reached out and took my hand. “Love, you don’t ever exhibit the same stresses or fears about finance that others do. Yes, you live simply, but there is a confidence in your bearing, a self-assuredness that comes from the resources to be beholden to no one. Your secret is safe with us.”

Ruby nodded in agreement. “If you’re a little more forthcoming with what kind of stake we have to work with, we can probably help you decide where to invest.”

This was indeed something on which to think. Obviously, there was no way I could let them know about Adele Sparrow’s company, or the extensive network of holdings I maintained, but I could reveal more about the financial resources I had at the ready to see what they came up with.

Considering that in the back of my mind, we made our plan for the day. I would take Delores into town to talk to Billy Black, while Ruby and Bess prepared for dinner. There were additional supplies that I needed to pick up as well.

We found our quarry in town near the stables. Not surprisingly, he was looking for work. I for one am surprised he had not yet moved on to California. There is plenty of work in the gold rush towns, even if one has no luck as a miner, but Billy Black persists in persisting here, moving from one failed job to the next. Not surprisingly, he looked apprehensive at my approach, even though I no longer wear my gun in town. My reputation precedes me in being plenty dangerous with anything from a broom handle to a shard of broken glass. He hasn’t said much to me since the incident with Ruby other than to apologize and say he’d had too much drink and meant her no harm. I made it clear that I was not the one deserving of the apology, but he still hasn’t spoken to Ruby. After a warning glare from me, he tipped his hat uncertainly to Delores.

“Ma’am?”

“Mr. Black, I hear that you are a man whose passions run deep, and who is good in a fight. I can see from the look of you that you’re fit; you drink too much, but that can be curtailed. What are you? Thirty? Thirty-two?” She plowed on, giving him no chance to respond. “You’re big, strong, and the kind of man I need to escort me to the New Mexico territory to meet up with my husband, Mr. Cyrill Banks, who is convalescing with Consumption. I will pay you half now, five hundred dollars, and another five hundred when we arrive. If I find you tolerable company on the journey south, you may secure a position in my husband’s business venture. If not, you have the funds to journey wherever you like in style.”

He opened his mouth to speak and I raised my hand. “Keep in mind Billy that Mrs. Banks will be writing to me from the trail, as well as when she arrives down south. If I hear anything, anything, even slightly amiss, I will come looking for you personally, and it will not be an enjoyable meeting when I find you.”

To his credit, he took a moment to think before replying to Delores. I could see the conflict on his face. His misplaced infatuation for Ruby went to battle with the prospect of a thousand dollars, more money than I’m sure he could ever conceive of at one time. It was a sum easily half of what a successful gold miner could hope to make in a year and would be for about two months’ worth of work. His heart lost. “Ma’am, when would you like to leave?” he asked, the picture of politeness.

“I believe the stage coach leaves on Friday, am I right?” Dolores looked to me for confirmation. I nodded. “Mr. Stafford here will bring me to town. I want you here, clean, freshly shaved, and sober an hour before the stage is to depart. Am I making myself clear, Mr. Black?” He nodded and her tone softened. She reached into her purse and withdrew several gold coins. “I am glad of it. Here is a deposit. Buy a new pair of boots if you need them and see that your clothing is clean and serviceable. I want you presentable; I do not travel with ruffians. You will find that I am pleasant enough company and I will give you a run for your money at cards.”

I tried to head us back to my wagon but she stopped me. Still in her bossy demeanor and ever the business woman she instructed me, “You go talk to Pete about the saloon; I’ll buy the last of the groceries. And as I suspect you’ve the funds to spare, while you’re negotiating the price for the saloon, you can give me the thousand dollars to take Billy Black off your hands.” She gave me a wink; Xena, I will admit there was still enough mischief in those blue eyes to keep me from debating the point.

I stopped into the saloon. It was as quiet as I’d expect at mid-day. There were of course the regulars, and I smiled bashfully at Scarlett and Abagail, who were playing cards with a couple of local ranch hands. I asked for Pete and was directed upstairs. It felt a bit strange, mind you, walking those stairs with a very different purpose than the usual one. There was a new girl I didn’t know and I tipped my hat to her on my way to Pete’s room. Pete was in a sorry state. It was early for him I’ll grant you, but he just seemed so forlorn and sad. Pete and I are tolerably acquainted, he’s been rather cross with me on the occasions when his saloon has been shot up by someone gunning for me. I asked him what was wrong, and he gave me his litany of troubles. I got right to the point and offered to buy his saloon, pointing out it would provide him with enough money so that he could retire, and move back to Delaware a successful entrepreneur.

Whiskey Pete is the kind of man that could find fault in a rainbow. Always depressed over some trouble or another, always down about slights, real or imagined. I’d given up not long after arriving in Oregon City to avoid any sense of responsibility for improving his mood. This occasion was no different. He grumbled that he’d need to think about it, that his establishment was clearly worth several times what I’d offered, and that he wasn’t sure he’d survive the trip back east again. I told him to think about it and that I’d need his acceptance or refusal of my offer in a day or two. As I turned to leave, I mentioned if I didn’t buy his place, I’d buy The Clementine. I know the prospect of losing out on this offer would be enough to sign the deal, but my mood was dampened by his disagreeable nature as I headed back to my wagon.

“He’ll come around,” Delores assured me as we rode back home. “He’s been running a business; he knows your offer was generous. Let him come back to you and don’t take the bait when he says that you’re trying to get the better of him. I know the type.” I did as well, and I knew she was right. But the knowing doesn’t make the wait any more pleasant.

I am happy to report though that Pete’s demeanor did not cast a pall on the rest of our day or evening. Upon our return, I was amazed at the transformation that had taken place at home. Pretty paper lanterns had been strung up along the porch. They were similar to ones we saw in China, but these were of Mexican design, quite festive and lovely. Ruby had done a wonderful job of cleaning, helping Bess with the food preparation, and organizing the various serving dishes she would need.

Upon my return home, I was sent to do the manual labor, churning butter, looking after the animals, splitting wood for the stove, moving heavy things, and the like. Delores was enlisted to help both Bess and Ruby as the two went about their tasks. Before long, the house smelled like the kitchens in the finest kingdoms in Europe. The soup she was preparing was a magnificent bouillabaisse with the freshest of local seafood. For someone without formal culinary training, watching Bess work in the kitchen was a marvel. She could transition seamlessly from laminating butter in a pastry dough, putting it in the icebox to cool, then working on something else, then going back to the pastry dough to fold and reroll it, thus laminating the butter further in the dough to make it flakey when baked. I must say, as modern inventions go, the usage of the icebox was a development so obvious I’m surprised I didn’t see it sooner. I’ve never been one to fear new ideas, and have been happy to learn and adjust to whatever new ideas come my way, one of the traits that endeared me to Galileo, without a doubt. I am grateful in that Bess is likeminded and similarly adventurous. In addition to the soup, and a salad sourced from our garden, she made an aspic of duck, and robust beef pie with a puff pastry top and vegetables. Mind you, this was in addition to roasted sweet potatoes with garlic and rosemary, several fresh baked loves infused with different herbs, and cheeses. Not content to do a simple cranberry and mince pie for dessert, she also made a tapioca pudding with a burnt sugar sauce that Hoss’ children are over the moon for.

While our preparations were joyous of their own accord, it became a ruckus festival upon the Kings arrival. There are four little ones now, although Victor is hardly little anymore. Elizabeth and Jeramiah enjoy chasing after Sassy, who is skittish around the children, and Emily has stolen my heart with her love for our piano. She can barely reach the keys but touches them with such tenderness and lack of fear. I know there is music in her heart and I enjoy any opportunity to hold her in my lap and show her some chords. As soon as she crosses the threshold, it’s “Music Uncle Shorty!” and I’m at her command. We sang ‘Seeing Nellie Home’ and ‘Waiting for the Wagon’ as well as some of her other favorite songs. Emily is still young enough not to complain about my singing – not too much, at any rate.

We ate to contentment, and shared the kind of familial camaraderie that you and I used to enjoy in the Amazon village. Hoss and I swapped embarrassing stories about each other. After the meal, we gathered in the parlor where the children clamored for adventure stories. I’ve done well over the years, reciting everything from the feats of Hercules and Autocylus, to our own adventures. This night I told the tale of Cecrops, and then of our adventure of rescuing Celesta from King Sisyphus. I will say my whole audience was riveted. Before sending them home, it was our custom for Hoss and I to have a brandy outside and on occasion, a cigar. It was one of the rare times he was allowed to smoke, which pleased me. I know that I need not worry about the ill effects of such indulgences as smoking and drinking, but my dear friend is not fortified with ambrosia.

As is our custom, Hoss and I strolled to the end of the porch and sat down, our legs overhanging. My boots didn’t touch the ground, but my friend was able to stretch out his legs quite comfortably. We enjoyed our cigars and brandy for a moment in the companionable silence, both of us watching the shooting stars above.

“I sure am going to miss this,” he lamented with a rueful grin in my direction.

I smiled back. So like Hoss to know what I was going to say before I said it. “Would you rather stay here? I can move south, just Bess and me. Less to move.”

He shook his head. “Nah, little brother. Although it’s kind of you to offer. This is a good opportunity and I know you could do it on your own, but I’d like the chance to make my mark, see what I can do with the operation. It means a lot that you’d have brought me along.”

“I see this as a partnership.” I cut in before he could get too far into his sermon of self-doubt.

“If I were Percival, and convinced my shit didn’t stink, I’d believe you.” I had to laugh at that. “For someone as young as you are, Shorty, you have a mind for business. Always two or three steps ahead of the next fellow. I’m proud to call you a friend.”

“More like family, you mean!” I protested.

“True enough, little brother.” He was quiet a moment, thoughtful. “Sam, where this country is going, it ain’t good. Gold brings opportunities in California, and things here in the west are good. But there are plenty of folks still riled up about the Fugitive Slave Act from ’50. I don’t have the head for business you do, but I suspect the way things are going, this rift between the north and south… I know you’re a man who travels, who gets involved when things ain’t right. If you get mixed up in this…”

“Firstly, I have no interests in ingratiating myself in a rift, between the states or otherwise,” I began with a frown, a shudder going down my spine. “Secondly, I have no business down south.” Frankly Xena, I was surprised he brought it up. Hoss and I don’t talk politics too much. We are of a similar mind on the news of the day of course, and both of us are registered as Republicans. His brother is a Whig, but I suspect he will come to our side, should things continue as they are. Although, Percival is rather conservative, so he might register as a Democrat, possibly even to spite us.

“Samuel Stafford,” he replied after a hearty chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a man as interested in justice and the greater good as you are. I’ve seen you kill an evil man without hesitation and let other men get the better of you for not wanting to hurt them. I know you hate slavery; all men of good conscience do. But you hate it not just for the injustice of it, but how this injustice infects the owners, a stain spreading across the land. You told me once that the bad we do and don’t make right can indeed change us, just as the good we do can bring us into the light. I’ve never forgotten that. If a conflict between the states happens, I very much would not be surprised to see you in the thick of it. Just don’t go and get your head blown off, little brother.”

There was something to his casual comment that shook me, Xena; it shook me to my core. I vividly remembered the conversation you had with Callisto when we needed her to help distract Velasca. Callisto could regrow a limb, something I am sure I cannot do, but even she said she could not survive in pieces.

There have been a few times in my long life when I’ve feared for my mortality. Most recently was about 1720. As I recounted to you at the time, I was onboard the ship that captured Calico Jack’s ship as part of the crew that captured Mary Reed and Anne Bonny. It was something. The two women and another pirate named Savan were the only crew conscious and passably sober, but were able to hold off our ship for hours. Our vessel took some extensive damage, the explosions from cannon fire and general mayhem on deck made me truly fear for my person. The crack of wood shook the deck where we stood, sending shrapnel and splinters everywhere. The smoke and fire made it impossible to see or to breathe, the air burning one’s lungs. In our ears, the deafening sound of destruction and the screams of the dying.

I remembered what you’d told me of your time on the sea, and of course, I had my own history to draw from. I suggested a new plan of attack to the captain. He had earlier been unreceptive to taking advice from a woman, but now at his wits end, he relented. After some unconventional maneuvers, we were able to get close enough to board and overcome the trio defending their ship. I came to know the women on the voyage back, hearing the stories of their lives and the motivations behind their actions. They were both sentenced to death, which unsettled me, given that the outcome had been determined before the trial. I managed to rescue Anne from prison, but not before Mary died. Anne and I had a brief affair before parting ways in 1722. Since then, I’ve felt that I can do more good in the world if I avoid cannon fire. I have no desire to be in the middle of war, should it come to that.

I shook off my concerns and focused on the here and now – Hoss, The Valkyrie Mining Company, and me. “We’ve gone as far as we can, managing the business from afar. I’ve no doubt you can grow the company with more oversight. Perhaps a companion shipping company may be in order. I think I may have some connections that will help.” He nodded, satisfied with my answer. He seemed a bit hesitant; I could tell a question was nagging at him. “Out with it,” I urged.

“Percival,” he said unhappily. “I know the two of you only tolerate each other for my sake and for that I am grateful.”

“You want to offer him a job,” I supplied. He blushed, Xena. He actually blushed. “Look, you run the company. If you want to move him down south with you, have at it. I know he’s not been completely happy with his carriage business. But he works for you. I’ll have it no other way.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “Besides, you’ll make trips south to keep an eye on things. We’ll have a drink and a smoke, talk about our days on the trail.”

I turned away as I gruffly agreed with him so he wouldn’t see my eyes mist over. He is indeed a sweet, dear man. We finished our brandy and headed back inside to round up his kin. After bidding them goodnight, we had our own logistics to attend.

I have to admit, he did give me something upon which to ruminate. I fear for the direction the country is going and I do not think I have it in me to traipse through a war. Wars are the domain of Ares, not Aphrodite. I will keep abreast of developments of course, but I feel I must consider the possibility of needing to move, should trouble find us this far out on the frontier.

“Sam, is that alright with you?” Bess asked pointedly, noting the distraction apparently evident on my face. It took a moment to reorient my thoughts and smiled.

“My back has endured far worse my love,” I replied sending her off to bed with a kiss. The decision had been made that she and Delores would bunk together again. As to what antics they might enjoy (or not), I did not ask. I pulled some extra bedding from the cedar chest and made myself a bed on the floor, intending to give the long couch in the parlor to Ruby.

“Don’t be silly,” she chided, and in moments had taken the bedding and couch cushions arranged into a comfortable spot on the floor for us both. I stripped down to my shirt and got under the quilt, Sassy curling up at my side. Bourbon had taken a post in the hallway, midway between the parlor and the bedroom. “Don’t get any ideas,” Ruby warned as she reached for me, curling up against my back. “It’s just cold.”

“Not in the least, Miss Monroe,” I assured her, knowing perfectly well that the temperature was quite comfortable.

April 9th, 1856- Wednesday

My Dearest Xena,

Delores stayed until Friday, as was her plan. There was time in the intervening days to have the talks we wanted to have. There was little doubt in my mind these were the last days I could ever expect to spend with Delores. As such, I made the time and space to lay my heart bare. To leave no utterance unsaid, lest I regret it later.

Xena, this I learned so painfully from you. Even more, after all we had endured and experienced together – there was so much we didn’t know, I didn’t know about the love we shared. If I could go back to that night before the battle and look into your eyes, to hold your hands in mine, knowing full well I could change nothing in the day that was to come – I’d tell you that you are the beating of my heart. That while it might pump blood without you in my life, it would no longer sing. That during those years in your presence, I grew from a girl naïve to the realities of life into a woman who knew her heart’s desire. In your presence, I shared my first real kiss, killed for the first time, learned to fight and depend on myself, even as I grew to trust and depend on you.

And Xena, in those years, I know you grew too. While you had always been worldlier than me, I know you learned to trust in the quiet, small moments between us. That vulnerability does not make you weak, nor does being present make you vulnerable. You learned to trust in your own humanity and to believe in the good in yourself. Together, we each learned to see each other through each other’s eyes and that vision made us stronger. That is the amazing thing about love Xena, how it beckons us to be our best self and to see the remarkable in the mundane in each other. Assuredly, all these things we knew, we felt them. But, if I could, I’d utter them so you might keep the sound of my voice in your memory, telling you over and over how very much I love you.

As I would hope you’d surmise, my last conversations with Delores, while profound, were not as intense as if I’d shared these moments with you. I loved Delores surely, but more for the memories of you that she elicited in me than necessarily on her own accord. If that sounds like I was using her, I am certain she would protest such an assertion. In me, she found a safe outlet for sensations and activities frowned upon by present culture. I suspect she loves me but as but one of a myriad of loves one encounters in life, not the love that makes your heart sing.

Our last night together was bittersweet. Bess and Ruby returned to the bedroom, leaving Delores and I comfortably curled up together on the couch to talk all night. There was no sadness as she kissed her goodbyes to Ruby and Bess in the morning. There was affection there to be sure, but the happiness and warmth expressed was to leave sweet memories without the bitter.

As promised, I took her to the stage coach in town. We stopped before town to say our goodbyes and kiss our farewells. When we arrived at the stage, we performed as the most appropriate of acquaintances. True to his word, Billy Black was sober and dressed in a new suit and resoled boots, looking as respectable as I’d ever seen him. We shook hands and he did not flinch as I gripped his hand tightly, warning him a final time. I watched the stage coach pull away, knowing that Delores was not going to turn back and look at me. That was fine, and I preferred it. I’d already mourned her loss when I’d ended our relationship. I knew she was crying and it was time for her to let go.

I had many things to think about on the ride home. Moving Hoss south, moving Ruby into Hoss’ house and installing her at Whiskey Pete’s, and how I would push my own quest forward to search the corners of this land for any trace of evidence of a missing goddess. I also considered that Bess was at home, flush with the excitement of new experiences, and eager with the heat of recent discovery. I do not deny that such thoughts had me urge Whiskey home faster.

January 10th, 1857- Saturday

My Dearest Xena,

It is indeed funny how a little thing can change one’s landscape so. The Kings have moved south to the California coastal town of San Francisco. The gold rush seems to have slowed down these last several years, although our company has done well with Hoss and me running it from afar. I believe that especially with the enticement of quick money dampening the hopes of many who flock to the mining towns, Hoss’ steady management of our company will continue our good fortune. Still the move took a toll, a very painful one.

Emily, Hoss’ youngest, picked up an illness on the journey south, Scarlet Fever. Victor was immediately dispatched on Tallulah to race home to find me and bring me south to catch up with them. We rode hard for four days, stopping only to let the horses rest and drink. We had some water on the trail but that was it, no time was spared. When we caught up with them, Emily was not in good shape. They’d made it as far as the Umpqua River, nearly to the border of California. I’d brought my medical bag with herbs, compounds, and the needles I use for acupuncture. It is not a practice that people here understand, but with the number of immigrants from China here working on the railroad, it isn’t unheard of.

Xena, for two days I did everything I possibly could for Emily. She was weak, dehydrated, scared, and confused. The fever is contagious so Hoss and Ruth knew to keep the other children away; I treated them with my needles – in addition to Emily – to bolster their defenses as I’d been taught in China. They’ve seen me use the needles in the past, and know me well enough not to be fearful, and also to trust me above someone like Doc Weatherby. I was able to keep her comfortable, but in two days, she was gone and I grieved with the family.

I know Hoss and Ruth well enough to know that they do not blame me. They do not doubt that there was anything a country doctor could do that I did not. They know not where this medical knowledge comes from, and they do not want to ask. The death of children is even more a common accordance now than in our time, Xena. So much of what we knew and practiced was lost, and is only gradually being rediscovered and shared. Historians refer to the time after the fall of Rome and the centuries of political, economic, and cultural deterioration that followed in Europe as the Dark Ages. The transition to the modern age, and the rediscovery of the science, philosophy, and other knowledge lost in the Dark Ages is known as the Renaissance. They still have much to learn to get back to where we were, but they are improving.

Hoss might not blame me. However, I do. Not because I didn’t attempt every conceivable approach, but because I know enough to know that the antidote to this killer is out there, we just don’t know what that is yet.

My long life has given me the opportunity to see people’s perceptions and knowledge shift and expand – science, engineering, and every subject you can think of. The inventions I’ve seen and the improvements wrought are impressive and encouraging, yet at the same time, with every developed boon to society, there comes a bigger risk and opportunity for harm. People live differently now, often close quartered in cities and towns where disease and infection can spread like wildfire. It seems that improvements in farming come along at the same time populations explode – as you told me about – the yin and yang all those years ago. It never changes and never stops.

I mourned with Hoss and Ruth and stayed with them as they buried their youngest. Hoss and I had a long talk; he insists on pressing south, to make his mark with the company. Ruth supports him in this. To return to Oregon City after a tragedy like this would feel like defeat to her, and she wants to see this through as well. I rode with them the rest of the way, in part to make sure none of the other children came down with symptoms. They were most fastidious about washing up, staying hydrated, and wearing clothes that were clean. They think me superstitious, but did it anyway. Everyone arrived to San Francisco healthy. We set them up in a hotel until the final touches were finished on their house, then I made my farewells to head back to Oregon City and my own family there.

Bess and Ruby were devastated at the new, of course. I found the two of them at the King’s old place. Bess was helping Ruby move in. A child dying isn’t unusual, but that doesn’t make it any less painful. We spent time together grieving until Ruby told us to go home, that she’d be fine on her own. We didn’t worry about her living on her own there. I’d set about some of the same protective traps around the perimeter of her place that I employed at our own, with the added enhancement of a gunpowder cannon of sorts, like we used in China when battling Ming Tien and his sister. It’s something we can hear from our place. Besides, the Kings insisted on leaving their three dogs behind, as they would not be suited to the city, and were familiar with their surroundings. The kids weren’t happy about it, but were promised city dogs in exchange for their support, in addition to the promise of a visit every couple of years if they should desire.

Bess and I traveled home to find a package on the table. The parcel had arrived by stagecoach while I was gone. It was about half the size of one of Argo’s saddle bags, but twice as thick. I peeled the brown paper from the smooth wooden box and slid the top panel aside. It was filled with straw packing material; inside was a beautiful conch sea shell. It had a simple note: Sounion, Winter Solstice, 1890.

“That’s strange,” remarked Bess, “Someone has written the date wrong. They’ve transposed 1809 as 1890. Is that from Delores?”

“It isn’t her script,” I replied, knowing full well what the note meant, and who authored it. “But I think you’re right on the transcription mistake.”

“Sounion,” what is that?”

“Probably where this shell came from. It’s beautiful though.” As I’ve mentioned, Poseidon has kept in touch with me over the centuries, contacting me through various means or agents to set up a meeting to catch up with each other. This was a clear signal to meet him at his temple in Sounion during the winter solstice of 1890. Fortunately, there is time aplenty to figure out how to journey back home for the meeting, or devise a way to take Bess with me. I am glad at least that it isn’t something I need to fret about at the moment; I have a few years to pondering the course of action I should pursue.

April 9th, 1857- Tuesday

My Dearest Xena,

There is no doubt in my mind that troubled times are coming for this young country, where I make my home for the time being. Indeed, my perspective of history, having lived through so much of it is unique. It is hard to see the whole of a thing when you have but a small window to experience it. Time and again, I’ve seen societies grow, flourish, make war and near destroy themselves, only to rise from the rubble and band together anew. I recall this pattern from the villages I’ve lived in the world over from Greece, to Africa, and every imaginable locale between.

March 6th the chief justice of the Supreme Court, the final legal voice in this young nation, ruled that Mr. Dred Scott, a man born into slavery, has not the standing in court to sue for freedom for himself, nor his wife and children. The ruling was delivered by the court’s chief justice, Roger B Taney. I tell you Xena, this ruling will have long-lasting and terrible effects, the likes of which Americans can scarcely imagine.

If I have learned anything in my long life, it is that it takes more energy and effort to live outside a state of grace than within in it. It takes more psychic effort to deny someone their humanity than it does to grant it. It takes a larger toll on one’s soul to do what is wrong than to do what is right. I know you understand this. You of all people stood on each side of that river, the river of righteousness; you know that crossing from one side to the other is fraught with perils, but that the rewards of doing that which is good and moral lifts our spirits, even as our hands become calloused at the work of it all.

There is evil in the subjugation of other souls, and that cancer spreads not just to those afflicted by injustice but to the perpetrators as well. I fear that war is coming, Xena. This legal decision has angered the abolitionists beyond measure, and they are a chorus whose voice is growing in volume and number. If and when war breaks out, it shall be America that loses. All the casualties will be Americans. The Americans who fight for justice, the Americans who fight for self-interest, and the Americans who were brought here against their will to serve as machinery in plantations across the land.

If I did not know better, I’d think Chief Justice Taney was Ares himself. I can see where the ripples from this decision will lead, even if those around me don’t. And Xena, I know Ares has a hand in this. While I stand by my decision not to get personally involved in a conflict between the states (should it come to that), I have made moves to send financial support to abolitionist organizations and others who share my vision of the greater good.

September 30th, 1857- Wednesday

My Dearest Xena,

I did not venture to visit the Crow this year. Quite to the contrary, the Crow visited me, unexpectedly, and in the most urgent of circumstances. It was earlier in the month, a little over three weeks ago when Bess and I had been making our preparations for our visit. Her French has progressed impressively, and she was making scores of candies. In fact, that is one of the business propositions that she and Ruby have worked out. The two of them have been working hard developing clientele in town for a variety of my wife’s confections. When she’s not at Whiskey Pete’s running the place, Ruby is often here working with Bess, or my wife is at Ruby’s, or the two of them are together somewhere in town. Anyway, in the dark of night, I was startled awake by the sound of a coyote that wasn’t quite a coyote. Bess heard it too, although the act of me bolting upright in bed was enough to dislodge her from my embrace and wake her up. Sass and Bourbon were also up and curious.

I lit a lantern and made my way onto our porch, scanning the night beyond the fencing, looking for some clue as to what made the sound. In moments, I saw Red Moon leap over the fence, deftly avoiding my various traps. Recognizing him, Sass and Bourbon were wagging tails and excited greetings. He spoke hurriedly, explaining that Standing Bear was wounded. Long Feather was with him, also wounded, but not as badly. They were just out of sight near the fence, casualties of a skirmish with the Sioux. The boys had traveled with their father most of the day; Standing Bear had requested that he be brought to me. His sons feared the worst and I found their fear valid indeed.

My mind flashed back then, Xena, back to the time I was trapped in the dreamscape, in the land of Morpheus, when you’d nearly died. How a healer fought to save you. Fevered and distraught as you were, you fought with a mental fortitude most people can’t fathom. I thought about the first time you’d died, when you’d been struck by the tree trunk. How I’d brought you to a healer only to have you leave me, your injuries beyond his healing. I thought about that fateful day in Jappa, when again you died. Never in my wildest designs would I have pictured that the girl from Potidaea would someday be the healer others brought their loved ones to for salvation. Of all the things I’ve become, and all that I have accomplished over the years, this responsibility leaves me the most unsettled. I felt a great deal kinship for my friend, and told Red Moon to bring them through the back door inside to the tub room, as quickly as he could. If it was within my power to save this gentle and wise soul, I assuredly would. I told Bess to start boiling water and making ready what we would need. Moments later there was a loud “bang” and I realized she’d set off one of the alarm rockets, a signaling system she and Ruby had worked out.

I ran after Red Moon and helped him with his kin. A moment’s glance let me know that Long Feather’s injury was not life threatening, Standing Bear’s was far more serious. His breathing was labored and shallow, his pulse weak, his skin cold to the touch. He was not a young man, he was bleeding steadily from several wounds (internal injuries were suspect), and looked as if he had also sustained a broken arm. Moving quickly, I extinguished my lantern as soon as we neared my fence. While I lived a decent ways from town, enjoying a fair bit of privacy, it was not absolute and the last thing any of us needed were the people of Oregon City realizing that a Crow chief was injured and in our midst and that I had inserted myself into tribal aggressions.

I tried to learn more about how the fight happened. The boys explained that they’d been attacked as they traveled to the retreat site. Their younger brother and sister were tasked with getting the family to safety while Red Moon, Long Feather, and their father led the scouting party away from the family. Winona, the first-born daughter of Chief Kohana was in charge of the scouting party that attacked them and was a formidable fighter. There were a dozen Sioux fighters in all, and while my friends had fought valiantly, were simply overwhelmed.

Bess met me at the porch and helped me get Standing Bear situated near the tub. The boys had dragged him by litter, which made the trip inside the fence to the house a quick one. Once inside the tub room, I was grateful that she’d laid my kit open, with all of my tools and herbs accessible. I had Long Feather hold a clean cloth on his leg, the two brothers now having nearly identical bullet wounds. I could now examine my old friend more closely. There was a bullet wound in his chest and he was having difficulty breathing, in addition to the broken arm, the work of a hatchet, I expect. I remembered the technique where you used a hollow reed to assist in breathing. I’ve used it a time or two over the centuries and keep several sturdy reeds on hand for just such a purpose. I also have opiates for pain, which I administered. From all the various places I’ve traveled, and the different medical techniques I’ve learned from the different people I’ve encountered, I knew that my chances of saving my friend were as good as he was going to find. Much would still depend on luck and his own constitution however. Infection and blood loss were my main worries.

I had nearly finished tending to the most severe of his wounds when Ruby burst in, out of breath and panicked.

“What in blazes?!” She exclaimed at the sight of the five of us crammed in the tub room. She shook off her shock and continued, “Northingham is on his way and an Indian woman is with him. They were at my place and I sent them off in the wrong direction but you don’t have much time. They were looking for someone, but now I see who.”

“How did you know not to send them here?” Bess asked, relieved that Ruby had bought us a little time.

“If there is trouble, you know Sam is always in the thick of it,” she replied. Ruby looked at the braves uncertainly, it was clear she’d never met a member of an indigenous tribe before. “Besides, I heard your signal.”

“Ruby, this is Red Moon, Long Feather, and their father, Standing Bear,” I said. “Fellows, this is Ruby, part of my tribe,” I explained to the men in French.

“We don’t have much time,” Bess urged, worried.

“You can move the father to my house,” Ruby suggested. “Sheriff has already been there, we can sneak out from the back. You come to me when you get rid of Northingham.”

“Do you speak French?” I asked hopefully. She shook her head.

“Explain to them the plan, I’m sure we’ll figure it out from there,” she suggested, gathering up extra bandages.

Quickly, I wrapped up the rest of the wounds that were bleeding, made the arm immobile, and the boys and I got him back into the litter. Bess quickly put the tub room right, trying to clean up as much of the blood as she could. Ruby and the Crow were barely out of the lamp light when I heard I loud knock at the door.

Bess gently pushed me into the house; she stayed in the tub room as I went to open the door. I had blood on my pants, but there wasn’t time to do anything about it. I’d rinsed my hands in water and was drying them as I answered the door.

Sheriff Northingham was sanding with a tall, muscular, dark haired woman with high cheekbones and dark eyes. She was beautiful, Xena, but there was a coldness to her, a ruthless efficiency and if I didn’t know better, I’d almost wonder if I were speaking to a reincarnation of your warlord self. She looked down at me, amused I suppose to see a man so much shorter than herself.

The Sheriff nodded in greeting, “Mr. Stafford, this is Winona of the Sioux tribe. She was on her way to town at the request of her father, who is Chief. They were attacked by some Crow, and she suspects that those warriors are hiding in town somewhere.”

“Have you seen any Indians this night, Mr. Stafford?” she asked in smooth but accented English.

I nodded at her respectfully. “Just you, Miss Winona.”

“Did you hear a loud noise not too long ago?” she pressed, completely ignoring Beaumont Northingham.

“No Ma’am.” I didn’t elaborate or fill the uncomfortable silence. Her eyes narrowed. I’ve used this technique myself. Talk quietly to focus people’s attention on you, or leave the silences for them to fill. It’s effective in getting people to say more than they should. I stood there, a neutral expression on my face, waiting for her next move.

“You have blood on your trousers, Mr. Stafford,” she commented.

Northingham just seemed to notice as she mentioned it. “What happened to you?” he asked suspiciously. At that moment Bess came into the house from the tub room, stark naked.

“Sam, where is that tea you promised me?” she said feigning ignorance as to our guests. “My cramps are awful…” she stopped herself and screamed in surprise. Beau Northingham quickly averted his gaze and the Crow woman’s expression hardened, annoyed at the Sheriff’s behavior.

“What is going on here?” she demanded hotly.

Bess had ducked back into the tub room, yelling something intelligible and reemerged in a robe, more suitably dressed for mixed company but still jarring to our Sheriff. “Why is there an Indian squaw in my house?” she demanded angrily of the Sheriff. “How dare you bring this savage into my home unannounced and in the dead of night no less?”

“Squaw?!” the chief’s daughter said with great offense.

Northingham looked confused, embarrassed, and completely out of his depth. “But the blood on Sam’s pants…” he sputtered.

“Beaumont Northingham!” Bess replied hotly, “I’m having my monthlies; my husband had drawn me a hot bath for the cramps and had assisted me into the tub, and was going to fix some tea because of my condition. My delicate condition.” Now the anger and frustration of my wife made its way to tears. I was torn between awe at her performance and worry that she was overdoing it.

“I need to search this house,” Winona demanded, clearly not believing Bess’ performance and making a move to enter.

“Sheriff Northingham! You will not bring that savage one more step into my home!” I took a few steps back to console Bess who cried into my shoulder.

“Tone it down a bit, my love,” I whispered into her hair then turned to the pair at our front door. I tried to strike a tone that sounded conciliatory and compromising. “Sheriff, I want to help you, I really do. I’ve encountered Indians a time or two in my work for Mr. Wells and they are fierce fighters. I don’t want that in Oregon City any more than anyone else does. But I can’t let you have my wife not feel safe in her own home. With all respect, Miss Winona, you need to stay put and Sheriff Northingham can give our homestead a look-see. Is that fair enough?” I suspected she had other members of her tribe outside the house. I also suspected my friends had gotten away or we’d have heard a commotion from resumed fighting. The longer that I kept the Sherriff and Winona here, the more distance my friends could cover to Ruby’s place. “Feel free to check the barn, I’ve got nothing to hide,” I added, knowing that would take additional time.

With a shrug, the Sheriff nodded and told our Sioux guest to stay put. She didn’t look happy but didn’t really have room to argue the point. We watched in silence as he moved from room to room. He paused only sparing the briefest of glances for the tub room. No doubt, any blood he saw he would attribute to menstruation and would leave him quite flustered. He went out to the barn and looked around.

Winona lowered her gaze and addressed me. “Standing Bear is here,” she said smoothly. “I can smell him.”

I looked at her, I’m certain a bemused expression on my face. “Miss, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We have heard rumor of the rare white man who understands us, who behaves with honor and dignity. I’ve heard he travels with a coyote.” Her accent was soothing, her voice a deep alto. I glanced over a Bourbon who was lying down near the table in the kitchen watching us. At the first sight of strangers, Sass hides; she’s quite shy.

“No one is mistaking Bourbon for a coyote,” I observed, neither denying nor confirming her accusation. Her expression was hard, calculating.

“Don’t waste your decency on the Crow,” she said, looking me up and down. “They do not deserve the loyalty…of anyone. And you,” she added addressing my wife, “I can tell by your bearing that you don’t see me as the savage you proclaim. You don’t have that empty stupid look.”

Bess’ eyes narrowed and she spoke with measured assurance, “You need to get out of our house, get off of our land, and leave us alone, or it won’t be my husband who puts a bullet through your sorry ass, it will be me. Make no mistake, you are not welcome here.”

Winona chuckled appreciatively and smiled seductively. “I was told that men were in charge of their households in the land of the pale face? Is this because you’re a small man?”

“Sam is bigger on the inside than he is on the outside,” Bess growled.

I smiled at my wife, taking no offense. “Not always,” I said. “You don’t want to mess with us Miss Winona,” I warned “and I won’t be suggesting that a second time.”

Sheriff Northingham returned, explaining that he hadn’t seen anything amiss and suggested that they try the next set of homes west of us, closer to the main street of town. Winona frowned unhappily but couldn’t really object.

When they’d left, we went about our regular business for as long as we dared. I was worried about what may be happening at Ruth’s but knew that for the moment, our house was being watched. Eventually though, we devised a scheme to provide the illusion that Bess and I were chatting in the bedroom so I could sneak out the back and make my way to Ruth’s on foot.

Xena, I was so proud of Bess. The ingenuity and decisiveness that she used to sell the charade, it almost reminded me of that time I snuck your chakram into prison when I met your friend The Black Wolf. Bess chatted amiably away to herself in the bedroom, softly lit by lamplight as I stole out the back. I did encounter two of the Sioux fighters on the way to Ruth’s and hid the bodies as best I could, once I’d dispatched them. Later, I went back to do a better job disposing of their bodies.

The scene at Ruth’s was as you would expect. They had entered through the back door and were gathered just inside the small vestibule. Standing Bear was propped up slightly, his breathing still assisted by the reed protruding from his side. He was barely conscious as I began to set his arm, but that sure woke him up. His screams were muffled by the belt we’d given him on which to bite down. He knew what was at stake and endured a hell of a lot of pain in my ministrations to save his life. I don’t think any man could have managed it better. When I’d done all I could for him, we let him drift back to sleep. I turned my attention to his son. I noticed Ruby holding Long Feather’s hand supportively as I dug out the bullet; she did not flinch at his pained grip, even when I saw her fingers had turned white. He realized what he was doing and apologized in French, which I translated and damn if I didn’t see my friend smile bashfully.

They’ve done well these past three weeks, hiding out at Ruth’s place. Red Moon is fine; he was unhurt. Under the cover of night, he has been doing all sorts of work at Ruby’s homestead. No one is going to be bothered by the banging, and at night, there is less chance of being spotted. Hoss let a few things go with the distractions of raising children and preparing for a move so Ruby has been grateful for the help. Long Feather has come along fine and ready to travel, but Standing Bear isn’t there yet. He survived thus far, though, and gets stronger each day.

There was a fear of infection early on, and additional bleeding I needed to drain, but between the herbal teas and my work with the Chinese needles, he continues to make strides. Ruby is picking up a little French and it seems she’s also trying to learn Crow in order that she might communicate better with her guests. I see the way that she and Long Feather look at each other and suspect that in time their lives will get rather complicated. When Standing Bear is strong enough, I will escort them home. I suspect an extra hand is going to be necessary to see them back to their family unhurt. I have a feeling though that Oregon City hasn’t seen the last of Long Feather.

Winona is another problem that isn’t going away either. She and her warriors have camped outside of town and she makes regular appearances at any number of places in town. Sometimes accompanied by another warrior or two, often times alone. She has charmed many of the men who are deceived by her beauty, and she’s intimidated most of the women. Surprisingly, no one has given them the grief most native people experience in white towns. I guarantee you, were she a man, her continued presence would not be tolerated, but people mistakenly think she can’t possibly be a threat, so instead she’s treated like some exotic bird that’s come to perch. But I know a bird of prey when I see one and Xena, that is Winona.

She hasn’t shown back up at my place, or at Ruth’s. She’s staying in town where there are people, witnesses. She’s smart enough to know that an “accident” could befall her or one of her men, should she venture out without the escort of the Sheriff. She has already lost two of her men, and knows it. I think she is as frustrated as I’ve been with Northingham’s do-nothing attitude. He searched the town once with her, and it appears he feels that’s all that was necessary. Thankfully, his habits work in my favor this time. Instead, I can see that she’s learning about the people here. I know she’s been searching the surrounding territories and believes Standing Bear is trapped somewhere in town. No, she is determined to figure out a way to get to him, wherever he may be. Xena, that is something I’m not going to let happen.

February 10th, 1858- Wednesday

My Dearest Xena,

I continually marvel at the never-ending supply of surprises that life provides. You might think that after two thousand years, I’d feel that I’ve seen every permutation of person and experience that would be possible, and I do not deny that I have seen a lot. I’ve lived in abject poverty and I’ve lived like royalty, I’ve felt blessed beyond measure and I’ve spent years bereft and alone. Still, with every community in which I immerse myself, when I get to know people and their ways, I will turn a corner and be surprised. In this case, pleasantly so.

The power of women is no secret to us. You knew that long before me, from your dealings with the Amazons and fearsome foes such as Alti. There are times when, like the Amazons, women wear their power proudly, proclaiming their proficiency for all to see. Other times, in other places, women do it with an unrealized subtlety that leaves the general social order none the wiser. That, Xena, is what I’m witnessing and surprised by now.

Standing Bear has made steady progress. His sons are healthy and well but I have counseled against them trying to rejoin the tribe until their father is ready to make that journey. I have made a trip to the Crow, accompanied by none but Sassy, to reassure the family that their chief lives and grows stronger. I know my place is being watched, two of Winona’s men tried to follow me, but Xena, I’ve learned so much from you and all my teachers since. As far as they’re concerned, my coyote and I disappeared into smoke.

Bess and I make frequent trips to Ruby’s, as has been our routine since she took over the homestead from the Kings. Without a “man” around the place, we are seen as simply helping out our neighbor, nothing more. I’ve been able to monitor Standing Bear’s convalesce and daily he improves. At night, the boys have been doing all manner of work around the place, fixing fences by lamplight and the like. At night, I have less to worry about regarding Winona and her men. I have dispatched four of them to the Elysian Fields; two that first night and two since. I am grateful that those disappearances seem to have impressed on the Chief’s daughter that I am not to be trifled with, although there is no way she can prove I’m responsible. Her men simply disappeared.

She and I have crossed paths a few times in town. Always cordial. She is being careful. Her presence is tolerated but only just. Her English is outstanding and she has worked hard on projecting an image that is peaceable enough. One of the local drunks, Chester McGee, was found dead in a horse trough a few days ago. The assumption is he tripped and drowned, a victim of his own vice. I know better, however. I was with the Sheriff when he was informed, and walked over with him to see the body. There were several small bruises, completely overlooked by Doc Weatherby (of course), that were the size of fingertips. Fingertips at pressure points. I’ve no doubt that Winona is a formidable fighter; Chester foolishly pressed his luck when he shouldn’t have and came up dead.

The next day, Winona damn near admitted as much to me when I chanced upon her as I left Howard, the barber. I’d stepped out onto the sidewalk and was adjusting my hat when I heard a voice behind me.

“Afternoon, Mr. Stafford.”

I turned around to see Winona sitting on a bench, seemingly enjoying the day. Waiting for me, no doubt. “Miss Winona.” I replied politely, tipping my hat in her direction.

“Shame what happened to that man yesterday,” she continued conversationally. “Grateful he’s not leaving behind a wife and children. I’ve heard that your fire-water is bad for one’s health.”

I nodded, not disagreeing with her assessment. “I’ve known Chester for a few years,” I replied. “Not well, mind you. But he had a reputation for putting his hands where they weren’t appreciated. Got himself thrown out of Whiskey Pete’s more than once for taking liberties without permission.”

“It would be a shame if more people started showing up dead,” she went on. “I’d hate for any of the family men to get hurt. This town seems keen on families.”

Chester was a warning; the threat was obvious, so I countered. “Family is important. Speaking of which, I haven’t seen much of your kin lately. Didn’t you bring six fellows with you? I’ve only counted two of late.”

That got a reaction all right. She was angry. She was not expecting a confession on the heels of her confession.

She nearly growled at me when she next spoke. “Soon as I get what I came for, I’ll be on my way and your town, the men, women, and children, will be safe. Having a wife yourself Mr. Stafford, I’d think you’d appreciate that.”

“Miss Winona,” I replied with the upmost of calm, “I fear that you and I are destined for a showdown of sorts. I don’t expect it to happen in town mind you, but I do hope you are prepared for the consequences of your actions. Generally, I try to be a fairly pleasant man, content to live and let live. But when someone threatens people I love, well, it brings out the ornery in me. I won’t tell you how many years I’ve been afflicted with this, I’m fairly certain that you wouldn’t believe me. Go back to your people. There is nothing for you here but heartache and disappointment.”

She didn’t say anything as I turned and walked away, but I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my vest. I don’t know why, but I brought my hand to the breast dagger that I keep in the vest pocket and immediately felt comforted. I don’t expect Winona to simply up and leave, which is why the ingenuity of the women in town has me grateful, proud and surprised.

Shortly after taking over at Whiskey Pete’s, changes took place. The food improved, and investments were made in the establishment, both its building and the people. The usual entertainments of sex and companionship can still be purchased upstairs, but its all new girls now, ones I don’t know. Both Scarlett and Abagail have been enlisted by Ruby in her business venture with Bess. They are starting a candy and confection company, selling not only at Whiskey Pete’s and The Clementine, but in additional shops in town as well. Bess has been teaching the other three her recipes and techniques, and they’ve been able to fetch quite a dear price for them. They make all manner of sugared treats, candies, petit fours, sweet breads, and other surprises. I almost think I’m making a mistake in the actual gold mining business with the money that this quartet is making already. But that aside, as the making of the confections has been happening at Ruby’s, she has Scarlett and Abagail nearly moved in with her. That, of course, has brought them into the proximity of our Crow friends.

I made the introductions myself, and everyone was put at ease rather quickly. Bess knows French, Ruby is learning to speak Crow and it seems and everyone has been able to communicate. I’ve explained that Standing Bear will need to be moved soon to rejoin his people, and after an evening of feasting and good will, the girls came up with a brilliant plan.

“We need a disguise,” Ruby had mentioned. “Something to hide who our friends are, so if they’re seen people will think they’re something else.”

“Women!” Bess exclaimed proudly then gave me a small smile. “If Red Moon and Long Feather are dressed like women – like us – we can dress like men and lead Winona off in the wrong direction.”

“We can’t dress like Indians,” Scarlett protested, scandalized. “They don’t wear shirts!”

Bess translated for our guests; Red Moon protested. “We wear shirts when it’s cold,” he explained. “But you will be in danger looking like us, it isn’t safe.”

“Perhaps, if Abagail dresses like Sam and rides Tequila, dragging the litter behind with Scarlett dressed as Standing Bear, they will think I’m taking him back to your people.” Ruby suggested.

“And father will be in a litter pulled by another horse, ridden by one of us looking like a woman?” Red Moon asked.

“The paint horse is distinctive,” Long Feather agreed. “The Sioux know he belongs to you.”

I considered the plan, trying to weigh the level of danger to which the women would be subjecting themselves. I will continue to marinate on it and if I can’t come up with anything better, then it may be the approach we will take.

March 1st, 1858- Monday

My Dearest Xena,

The thing is done. I daresay, I am surprised it all went as well as it did. As often happens in the course of my life, I reach back into my memory of our time spent together and I draw from you. You might think me misleading to say such a thing. That surely in two thousand years, I would have plenty of other experiences from which to draw.

I will tell you this, Xena; I think there is an undeniable intensity in the first of a thing. Just as you carried the lessons of Lao Ma with you in a special place in your heart, in such a way that it informed and colored all the lessons that came after, I think there is nothing that can compare with the momentous impact you had on my life and all I have become. The only thing I marvel at, beyond my heart’s ability to feel pain, is my heart’s capacity for joy and love. But there is naught can compare to my memories of you.

For this task, however, I did not search my memory for the sweet; my head resting against your shoulder in the campfire light, the beauty of a sunset as we chatted, or me walking alongside Argo. No, for this task, I thought back to your lessons as a warrior. The strategy you employed to best countless foes. You knew how to think like your enemies, and as such, could out-strategize them. I’ve seen time and again, you use surprise to keep the battle on your terms, in times to avoid killing someone, in other times to kill them quickly, with little to no collateral damage.

The forest is thick not too far from our homestead. This is in part by design as well as happenstance. I’ve appreciated the ability to come and go undetected by others. My privacy has always been important. In this instance, I snuck out to scout ahead the route that my Crow friends would take to head back to their people. I found a reasonable spot to have my heart-to-heart chat with the Sioux chief’s daughter. The river on one side, rushing fast and deep, and the trail narrowing as it led over rocks on the other. I’d fashioned netting with some rope, just something to make a temporary barricade to snap into place when the trip rope was cut. I found some well positioned saplings to use as my springs. Within a matter of hours, I’d fashioned a trap I think even you and The Black Wolf would have approved of. It was well concealed on the forest floor and wouldn’t release unless I threw a knife to cut the rope. My friends would be able to pass over it, leaving anyone trailing them none the wiser.

I also chose this spot because it was close enough to the house that I didn’t think that Winona’s braves would do more than follow our decoys at that point, but it was far enough that the sounds of fighting, should Winona and I get to it, would not be heard by anyone in town.

I don’t consider that you might wonder why I don’t just end it and take a rifle from this spot and shoot her dead, or dispatch her men in the same fashion. I’ve seen that look in your eye more than once. I recall vividly one winter when we were traveling from Delphi to Claydon along the coast. We had been traveling long and were hungry. We saw the deer; a beautiful doe and you raised your chakram, and then lowered it. We were both moved by the striking majesty in that animal and decided to continue on, hungry instead of dispatching the deer. Winona is like that: much more dangerous, but a magnificent creature nonetheless. Self-assured, smart, a capable leader (from what I can gather), and while I want her out of my affairs, I do not want her dead.

Oh Xena, as I sit here and write, I can near feel your blue eyes dance in the firelight, mischief bright and tempting as you ask me how I knew that Winona would follow me and her men follow our decoys. With you I could answer, “Because I have many skills,” and you’d know what I meant. We made sure to have our decoys heavily armed, with rifles in their holsters attached to the saddles, six shooters in holsters at the waist. There is something about weaponry, something about the obviousness of danger that draws men like moths to a fire. I knew damn well that Winona would be more concerned about weapons that she couldn’t see, and the danger that wasn’t obvious. I don’t say this to degrade men, or call them simple. No, far from it. There is many a man I’ve gone up against who was smart, calculating, quite the challenge, I must say. But you can’t live as long as I have and not notice patterns that repeat themselves over and over.

Time and again, I’ve seen one set of expectations and opportunities handed to men and with every obstacle thrown in their way, I’ve seen exceptional women, women like yourself, succeed and flourish by upending the way of things and make their own mark, with no help from the society at large. Winona is that kind of woman. One who succeeds; someone cunning and dangerous. Someone trifled with at one’s own peril. But like my counterpart, I too am exceptional. It is a well-earned boast, and I take no shame in making it. You and I both know that you would have had no time for the mundane. Had I not had the potential when we first met, and had the gumption and willingness to grow and expand my horizons, that we would have parted ways soon after.

I’ve had occasion these many years to puzzle that one out. What was it that made me so different from Lila? Why was I thirsty with a desire I could not quench in my home village? Lila and I had the same parents, ate the same food, raised the same way, and had many of the same formative experiences. Yet she was content to remain in her life by home and hearth, just as I was driven from it chasing something as elusive as translucent gossamer – a hunger that I could not name. I have wondered, was it as base as sex? A drive for something I could not satisfy in my home village? Was it a drive for knowledge and learning? For excitement or danger? Or was it all of these things? I can tell you that I don’t think I ever felt at home in my parent’s house for all of these reasons. I mean no slight to my kin, but I was always bigger than Potidaea. I had dreams and aspirations that the sleepy little village could not hold. If sex was any part of it back then, it was to get away from Perdicus and the inevitable child rearing that would ensue from any union with him. It was not necessarily to run into the arms of a warrior with dark hair and striking blue eyes. No, while I had an understanding that women could be together, I didn’t think about it personally one way or the other until I met you. Not too long after (of course), I could think of nothing else.

My love, aside from my attraction to you, there was my attraction to our life. The journeying, the hardship of it, and the joy of it. The feeling of helping others, learning new things, seeing new places, travel the world. My aptitude for that kind of life and my willingness to shed the contrivances of who I’d been taught I was, Xena, that is what made me different and special. You certainly taught me that there is no shame or hubris in owning the things about us that are good, just as we have the responsibility to own in us and work against the things that are bad.

So off we went that morning, my wife dressed as me, her hair tucked under my short-crown black hat, astride Tequila, with Ruby and Scarlett dressed as braves, Abagail in the litter dressed as Standing Bear. For our part, Standing Bear, dressed as Bess, rode astride Whiskey; my contrary horse knowing better than to give guff to a man as experienced and worthy as my friend. Red Moon and Long Feather, also in dresses, walked along side, communicating in whispers, picking flowers, seemingly distracted by the flora. There was no shame for any of these men in the clothes they wore. They did not feel belittled or less because in my Crow family, women are valued, and seen as equals. This had nothing to do with me, mind you, or my ability to best any of them in hand-to-hand combat. No, this was instilled in this group of people long before they ever knew me. For them, this was a ceremonial outfit worn for a specific purpose with no value judgement attached. For my part, I was dressed more or less as a brave. I didn’t bother with the muslin; I wanted to be able to move my arms freely. I wore the buckskin pants and shirt I wear when visiting the Crow. I wore no hat, a belt with no gun, and a buck knife at my back I hoped not to draw. I wanted to be able to work this out peacefully. Standing Bear had presented me with a pair of fine moccasin boots, which made climbing trees and moving silently among the branches easier.

Winona was following a fair distance behind, tracking carefully on the ground, and not making a sound. Had it not been for Sarsaparilla quickly cocking her ears in her direction from her place of concealment in the ferns, I might not have noticed her as immediately as I did. I let her get a number of paces past me and I silently dropped from the trees behind her, using a throwing knife to spring the barricade in front of her, landing lightly on the trail behind her.

She turned, knives at the ready, and studied me for a moment before speaking. Her eyes were angry and cold.

“I warned you to stay out of it, Mr. Stafford,” she said, her voice tight. I could tell she was frustrated at my getting the drop on her.

“These Crow are my family Miss Winona. Standing Bear needs to get back to his kin. I am not interested in your personal contention, which is for you to work out for yourself. But I will see him and his home safely.”

She looked thoughtful, considering her words before speaking. “I’m surprised a man like you would let his women go off and be put in harm’s way as decoys.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “My women? Flattered as I am that you think I can handle more than one, I think you yourself can attest that when a woman makes up her mind to do a thing, only a fool would dream of getting in her way.” I cocked my head to the side as if a thought just occurred to me. “What makes you think it wasn’t my wife that took out your other four men? Are you certain that I’m really the one you need to worry about? Surely you of all people know women can be just as dangerous.”

That was all it took. I don’t know if she believed me and figured I needed to be dispatched as quickly as possible to let her get to her men, or if it was just the frustration, but she charged at me, knife drawn. I was able to parry her blows well enough, although I’d have preferred to have a staff or Sai. I’d made the conscious choice not to bother with weapons, but having something to knock her back would have been nice. We grappled back and forth, trading blows, each of us looking for a weakness in the other. Xena, you would have been impressed. She was agile, strong, and quick thinking on her feet. I do believe she would have been a challenge even for you. Although in all humility, today I would have to admit that I might be a challenge for you. She fought very light on her feet, often using the force of my blow to her advantage. I realized what she was doing, I’d learned something similar myself – to fight like water – and we must have appeared, were someone to stumble upon us, as if we were engaged in a lethal dance. I have to admit that centuries of practice have served me well. Strong and skilled as she was she might be, she were no match for the combined techniques of martial arts from Greece, Egypt, China, Japan, Africa, India, New Zealand, and countless other places. My aim was to make it clear that my skill level surpassed hers, and she could not possibly win, with the only sensible course to leave me and mine alone. While I did very well in that regard Xena, I also must say that I did not escape from the fight unscathed. For some time we fought, the kicks and blows falling furiously between us and at one point, she managed a swipe with the knife that cut through the buckskin shirt I was wearing. It sliced diagonally across the front, revealing my breasts, and leaving a deep wound through my middle. She stepped back, expecting me to fall to the ground viciously injured. I stood there, watching her face as she witnessed the deep knife wound begin to knit and heal.

The color drained from her face. She dropped her buck knife, and then dropped to her knees in surrender. “Wakan Tanka,” she whispered, reverently.

I frowned. I didn’t know what she said to me, but I knew from the tone she was ascribing a mantle to me I had no intention of wearing. “I liked this shirt,” I muttered as I sat down on the forest floor across from her. “It was a gift from Standing Bear’s mother.” I whistled for Sassy, who came from her place of concealment to sit down next to me after sniffing the blood on my shirt curiously. “As you can see,” I commented dryly, “I am no more a man than you are.”

“But you are a spirit, which spirit I do not know,” she said, her voice still reverent and soft. She demurred from making eye contact with me.

At that moment, unbidden, a number of memories flashed through my mind. Unpleasant memories. The time I was burned at the steak at a witch, the time in Africa when I’d been chased from a village with rocks as an evil specter. There was that time in South America when I’d suffered countless wounds from poisoned darts from people that decided I was a malevolent apparition. So many times, I’ve had to start my life over, endure hardships and heartbreak, all because people could not accept me for what I am, because what I am is different. On occasion, such as a time like this, it may have the ability to serve me well, but usually the outcome is much bleaker.

“Miss Winona,” I said gently in a tone that brokered no argument, “whatever attributes you are about to ascribe to me, I assure you I am unworthy of it. I am a woman, a little unusual perhaps, but a woman nonetheless, who is going to remain steadfast in her desire to protect her family. You go find your braves and take them home. I assure you that Standing Bear and his kin won’t be journeying through your territory in the future. They meant no disrespect, but that is for your families to work out. You and yours are to leave me and mine alone. I will not tolerate otherwise. But if you can do that, you will have naught from me but my friendship and respect.”

I stood up and extended my hand to her, which she hesitantly accepted. I turned my back to her to retrieve the throwing dagger I’d used to sever the rope that raised the netted barrier. She stood there, a bit shocked I’d expect, and when I turned back, I handed it to her as a token of friendship. She gave me the knife that she used to slice my shirt. It is exquisitely made.

“The white women,” she asked uncertainly, “are they all like you?”

I had to chuckle at that, but I understood her concern. “No, Miss Winona,” I assured her. “There are no others like me, white or otherwise. I am forever alone in this respect. Some adversaries will be harder to best than others, but my facility in healing is mine alone. As for women who appear as men, I cannot say how many of us there are. But I am not unique in that regard.”

“I do not know why a woman would want to appear as a white man,” she said distastefully, some of her ease and bravado returning.

“Personally, I do it for expedience,” I assured her, “and I have to agree with your assessment. Among my original family, from a place far from your lands, I lived and loved as a woman and I was very happy.”

I’d say we chatted for a couple hours more. Knowing that I was from a far-off place seemed to assure her that she needn’t worry about running into any more people like me. I took no offense. I also asked her to tell me what she saw as the boarders for her people’s lands so I could make sure that the Crow didn’t venture where they were not welcome. Our accord reached, we parted ways with respect for each other and the understanding that we’d never see each other again.

After that, I made haste to catch up to Standing Bear and his sons. They’d made good progress; Sassy and I had to ride hard to catch up to them by night fall. I was able to check on his condition, which was good, my friend has a strong constitution, and I recounted my battle with Winona except for the parts that would have me explaining more than I cared to, of course. Red Moon took one look at the condition of my buckskin shirt and insisted on trading with me. He’s the smaller of the two brothers, although his shirt is still larger than my slight frame. Still, I’d never dream of refusing the kindness and the shirt fits me well enough if I roll up the sleeves.

If you are wondering as to why I went to the Crow as opposed to checking on Bess and the others, Winona assured me that she would find her men and no harm would come to them. I believe her. I expected that as dusk approached Bess and the others would turn around and head back home as we’d planned, which is exactly what came to pass.

I rode with the Crow the rest of the way to their territory and stayed for several days as planned, to make sure my friend was settled and not the worse for the journey. I insisted that I would return in a months’ time to check on him and have given some suggestions as to a regimen to aid in his recovery. I’ve left some herbs to make a healing tea, instructed the boys in how to massage several areas of injury, and requested the splint be left on his arm until I return. With the indulgence of an older brother, Standing Bear agreed to my terms and says he looks forward to my return.

Continued - part 4

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