"Little Frank has found her. She is in Hot Springs."

"Hot Springs, Arkansas? What happened to the Indian Territory?" LaBoeuf asked, craning his neck to see the paper.

"I would hardly know," Mattie said. The telegram rustled in her hand, blown by the wind.

"No, of course not."

"He writes that I must send him four hundred and fifty dollars so they may return home." She let her wrist fall weakly to her skirts.

"May I see that?" LaBoeuf asked, and she passed it to him. He perused it. "At least he did not mention who he found, only that he found something."

"He has a bit of sense, at least. It would be all over town by now. Why would Babcock ask for four hundred and fifty dollars? He must know by now that we have more than that in the bank."

"Perhaps they are both in his power, and he is testing the waters."

"How do you mean?"

"He waits at the telegraph office with your brother, and when he receives the money Babcock demands a greater sum to allow your brother to come home. And then another, even greater, sum, until all your savings are spent."

"Knowing that we would balk at sending the greatest amount at first, I see." She began to rub absently at the stump of her arm.

"But if we go there…" LaBoeuf began.

"Yes," Mattie mused, then focused her sharp gaze on him. "Yes. We will go there. And you… you can…"

"Well, at the very least we can appeal to the law there."

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "And if they are not amenable you will have your guns to force the issue with Babcock." LaBoeuf had to stop himself from smiling at the triumphant little gesture she made with her fist. She shaded her eyes and looked at the brightest part of the sky. "I put it a little after ten o'clock, is that accurate?"

"Looks that way."

She blinked at him. "Do you not have a pocket watch with you?"

"Yes, but I guess I can read the sky as well as you can. I am surprised that you do not have one, precise as you are."

"I would, but they are difficult for me to wind, one-handed."

"I see."

"The Little Rock train leaves at 3:35 on Saturdays, so we should have plenty of time to get there. That will give me time to pack and arrange for someone to care for both Mama and the farm in my absence, and time for you to settle up at Mrs. Hayden's."

Mattie collected a fresh set of combinations, stockings, a nightgown. She rolled them together and placed them in her valise, followed by her hairbrush and comb. On a whim, she pulled one of Victoria's old work dresses and a threadbare change of underthings from the chiffonier and packed these also. Who knew what she might find in Hot Springs? She pulled a small cache of greenbacks from her father's lock box and tucked them into her pocketbook, alongside her bank book. Leaving the valise at the landing of the stairs, she knocked on her mother's door.

"Mama, may I come in?" she asked.

"Yes, dear," her mother's voice responded softly.

Mattie entered the stuffy, darkened room. "Mama, I have had word from Little Frank. He has found Victoria."

Mama put her face in her hands and sighed. "Oh, thank the Lord," she said.

"He needs my help bringing her home, so I am going to meet them."

"You are l-leaving me?" Mama's voice quavered as she looked up.

"Just for a day or two. Mr. LaBoeuf will come along with me and ensure that all is well."

Mama squinted so she could see Mattie's face in the gloom. "You are all leaving me. How can I live without you?"

"We will be home very soon," Mattie said.

"You will not do this thing. I will not allow it," Mama said. "It is bad enough, Victoria going off with some man, but you, too? No. You must send Lawyer Daggett."

"Mama—"

"No, Mattie. The last time you ran off you came home an invalid. What if you never come home this time?"

"We will all be home in a day or two, Mama. There is nothing in it to worry you so."

"I have let you have your head for long enough, and look where it has gotten us! You are a cripple, Victoria is ruined and Frank is gone."

Hurt, Mattie drew herself up straight and tall. "I have always done my very best for our family, Mama, and I am grown now. Although it pains me to disobey you, I must do this."

Mama crumpled face-down onto the bed and sobbed.

"I will return soon, and you will see that I am in the right. I promise." Mattie went to her mother's side, patting her shoulder. She kissed her wet cheek. "I will ask Mrs. Daggett to send one of her girls out to look after you."

Mama did not look up or pause in her hysterics. She continued to wail out her tears like a small child.

Mattie watched her for a moment and sighed. "I am so sorry, Mama," she said before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Mattie climbed into the gig.

"Are you all right, Mattie?" LaBoeuf asked.

"I am well enough. We should go now," Mattie said briskly.

"Very well," he said. "Lawyer Daggett's, then?"

"Mrs. Hayden's first, then the bank and the Daggetts'."

LaBoeuf watched her from the corner of his eye as he drove. Her face was flushed. She held her jaw clenched tight, but her lips trembled. Once they were well on the way to town, he turned to her and brushed a tear from her cheek with the knuckles of his first two fingers.

She flinched away. "Please do not do that," she said, not taking her eyes from the road.

"Now, sweetheart," he said, sighing.

"Or talk to me like that. I am not one of your sporting girls."

LaBoeuf exhaled through his nose and she looked down at her hand, clenched in her skirt.

"Well. This is a fine thing," LaBoeuf said.

"Please…" she said in a strangled voice. "Just… please."

"Please what?" he asked, but softly.

"I can hardly say," she said.

"Ma—Miss Ross. If you have… regrets, we… well. We will not speak of it again."

She reached over and put her hand on his forearm. He shifted the reins to one hand and covered her hand with his own and squeezed.

"Mama—she believes that I am running off with you."

He tilted his head to the side. "I suppose that it might look—" he began, but after a quick glance at her expression he stopped.

"I am not running off with you or with anyone," she said in a flinty voice. "I cannot allow you to make love to me anymore." She took a breath. "I mean… we cannot…"

"All right," he said, and cleared his throat. "I see," he said.

He released her hand, and she let it drop to her lap.

They were a glum, tight-lipped pair as they drove through town, first to LaBoeuf's boarding house to collect his things and settle accounts, then to the bank, where Mattie secured a bank draft instead of withdrawing cash. She reckoned that LaBoeuf might decide to part ways with her in Little Rock after all, rather than continue on with her to Hot Springs, and she would sooner be safe than sorry.

By the time they reached Lawyer Daggett's house, they had not spoken in some time. He pulled the gig around to the stables and handed the reins off to one of Daggett's workers, and followed Mattie toward the house before being waylaid by the children in the yard.

Mrs. Daggett welcomed them with some surprise, telling them that her husband was sequestered with a client and would not be disturbed. LaBoeuf declined to come in and instead sat outside on a bench to visit with Lydia and Jonah.

Mattie told Mrs. Daggett the news that she had gotten from Little Frank and related her plans. "I will take the train to Hot Springs tonight." Mattie said. "I have a bank draft for the money. I am sorry to ask it, but would you be so good as to send one of the girls out to the house to sit with Mama? She is very low."

"Oh, I will go to her. I have not had a visit with your dear mama in some time."

"We will not be home until tomorrow at the earliest. Perhaps not until Monday."

Mrs. Daggett patted Mattie's cheek. "Do not worry, dear. All will be well."

"Mama is not up to receiving company," Mattie said in a low voice.

"It is a good thing that I am not company, then." Mattie opened her mouth to object and Mrs. Daggett spoke over her. "Mattie, I am quite decided, and I know that Mr. Daggett will agree with me."

"Thank you," Mattie said finally. "Mama is very upset with me. Please make her understand that I am not running off and will return with Frank and Victoria as soon as I can. She thinks that Mr. LaBoeuf is leading me down the 'primrose path'."

"Is there reason for concern?"

"Hardly!" Mattie said, a little too quickly. Her face grew hot. "Just that he is a man and I am a girl," she murmured.

"That is plenty of reason for a mother to worry, dear."

"There is nothing to it. Frank will meet us there. I doubt that Mr. LaBoeuf will want to continue with me to Hot Springs now anyway. I am sure he must return to his duties."

"'Now'?" Mrs. Daggett asked. "Why not now?"

Mattie could have bitten her tongue. "We have had a disagreement."

Mrs. Daggett looked at her closely enough that Mattie wanted to squirm. "All right," she said. "I will do what I can. But be on your guard, Mattie."

"Of course I will be," Mattie said, knitting her brow with frustration. "I always am; why should I be any different today?"

"Well… today you have a handsome man showing you marked attentions. A man who has lived very much in the world. Any young lady, even one as sensible as you, could have her head turned by that."

"Not me," Mattie said, the blush returning to her cheeks. "My head is right where it has always been."

Mrs. Daggett considered her for a moment longer, but was kind enough to let the matter drop.

He opened his pocket watch, comparing and then adjusting the time to match the station clock at the Russellville depot. The train to Little Rock was due in less than three quarters of an hour.

His mother gazed up at him from a portrait opposite to the watch lens. He had borrowed a daguerreotype of his uncle's childhood family years ago and commissioned a miniature from the image of the then-teenaged Josephine Gilbert with his meager wages. The color of her eyes and hair, so like his own, and the shape of her jaw, were true to the woman, but that was all. It was sufficient that he could still picture his mother's face, if he squinted.

Mattie leaned in closer to him, and he tilted the watch so she could see it. "Is she your mother?" she asked.

"Yes. It is a poor likeness, though."

"She must have been lovely."

"She was."

Mattie rested her hand on his forearm. Their gazes met, and then she lowered her eyes and pulled her hand away.

He clicked shut the watch and clenched his jaw; what did the girl want from him? Did she want kissing or deference? She had told him that he could not act the lover with her, but then she looked at him with her wide, dark pansy eyes and touched him with her soft hand, and he was to do nothing in response? He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring out at the landscape.

A woman passes him in the aisle. She is undressed, wearing only a soft, pale green chemise with a pattern of willow leaves on it. The undergarment exposes the smooth skin of her decolletage and arms, her bare feet and slender ankles. Her hair is loose and falls to her hips. Tendrils fly about her head like a halo in the cool, freshening breeze that wafts through the passenger car.

She pauses and looks over her shoulder at him. Her expression is so alluring and mysterious that he must follow her. He rises and she extends her hand to him, leading him away, toward the end of the train.

The noise and movement of the train are dulled, as though they move under water. They drift through endless rows of passenger cars and no one takes any notice of them at all.

They finally run out of cars and stand outside on the platform. She turns to face him. Her luminous eyes beguile him, and her soft lips open to speak…

With an awful jolt, the sounds of the train come back, filling his ears with the screeches and thumps of metal on metal.

And then, as though someone unseen jerks on a rope fastened about her waist, the woman flies from the platform. She plummets over the railing in a billowing of cloth and limbs and wild, silky hair.

He tries to grab her, but his arms come back empty. He misses her and she falls down, down, down…

He screams: "Mattie!"

LaBoeuf started awake. Had he cried out loud? He looked about the car but no one seemed to be looking his way. He released a shaky breath.

Beside him, Mattie groaned a little and lifted her head from his shoulder. "Are we there?" she asked in a sleepy voice, before she gasped and sat up. "Oh! Pardon me," she said. "I did not mean to—"

"It is quite all right," he said.

The older woman sitting across from them gave Mattie a frosty look. Mattie cleared her throat and shifted in her seat, leaning away from LaBoeuf.

LaBoeuf looked out the window into the dark landscape, but he felt the woman's hard gaze on him until they reached Little Rock.

"When is the train to Hot Springs?" Mattie asked, stifling a yawn.

"At just after one in the morning," he said, and she groaned, looking at the station clock, which read a mere 11:30.

"For all that train travel is faster, it feels like harder work than traveling by horse," she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

"We are people unaccustomed to such forced idleness," LaBoeuf said.

"Yes," Mattie agreed.

"The dining room here admits ladies. Shall I see if it is open?"

"That would be nice, thank you."

Mattie stayed behind on the bench while LaBoeuf went off in that direction. He returned presently, saying, "The cook is gone for the night, but the dining attendant says he can knock up some plates of cold roast beef, cheese, and bread for us. What do you say to that?"

"It sounds wonderful," Mattie said, with a brilliant smile and more feeling than she would ordinarily express about mere sustenance. LaBoeuf smiled and carried the valises.

The train tracks to Hot Springs were of a smaller gauge, so the seats on the train were of necessity narrower and closer together, but plush and more comfortable, befitting a train to a resort town. They had their backs to the other passengers in the car, away from the gimlet glare of any would-be chaperons, so when Mattie fell asleep once more, LaBoeuf put his arm around her and pulled her close so she could rest against him without hurting her neck when the train jolted and shifted. She was so close that her heartbeat throbbed against his breast, and he could smell the faint, sweet, orange blossom scent of her hair.

He kissed the crown of her head, and when she made a small sound in her sleep and nestled closer to him he felt as though he had taken a tonic. It took all of his self-mastery then not to kiss her lips, not to flick up her skirt and petticoats to caress her stocking-clad calves and the backs of her knees with his thumb.

I am in some real trouble here, he thought. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing in, breathing out.

By the time the train stopped for water in Malvern, he had relaxed to the point that he, too, could sleep for a few minutes at a time.

When the train screeched to a halt in Hot Springs, it was a dark and desolate 4:10 in the morning. Mattie and LaBoeuf staggered, disoriented, from the car with their fellow passengers. The small depot was silent and unwelcoming despite being the only light in the foggy, chilly gloom.

"What do we do now?" she asked. "Nothing will be open for hours yet."

LaBoeuf flagged down a porter. "Is there a respectable boarding house or hotel nearby where this young lady might rent a parlor?"

"Well, sir," the porter said. "There is the Mountain Hotel. Two blocks that way, at the corner of Chapel and Central. The White Stockings checked out last week, so they are not full up any longer, and I know they have a man at the desk all night."

LaBoeuf gave him a coin and then paused. "The White Stockings?"

"Yes sir. You like baseball? The Chicago White Stockings were just here for their spring training."

"Well! That is something! Pity we had to miss it, eh?" he asked Mattie, who shrugged. "Fancy seeing those fellows play right here. They have won four pennants in the last five years!" He nodded a farewell at the porter and they walked in the direction indicated. "That is something!"

"I had no idea you were such a baseball 'fan'."

"I like to play when we can field enough fellows, which is rare enough. But I have read about those boys in the papers. Cap Anson, Al Spalding, Deacon White… they are some of the finest players in the game. Right here in Hot Springs. Imagine that."

"Does that not happen in Texas?" Mattie asked innocently.

"Very funny," LaBoeuf said, and she smirked.

The heavy-lidded desk clerk behind the counter at the Mountain Hotel agreed to let Mattie rent a parlor for a few hours. "You mean to take him with you?" he asked, jerking his thumb at LaBoeuf.

"Well, no—" she began, but he cut her off.

"Because that will cost you extra; the owner does not like girls doing business in the parlors."

"Business? What sort of—" Mattie began, only to be cut off.

"Absolutely not!" LaBoeuf huffed. "We were told that this was a respectable place!"

"The place is respectable, sure. The tenants? Not always." The clerk shrugged. "We were full up with baseball players until last week. You would not believe—"

"I think I will escort you elsewhere, Miss Ross," LaBoeuf said, scowling over his shoulder at the clerk as he hustled Mattie out of the building.

Mattie sat gracelessly on a bench outside of the telegraph office. "I would have stayed there," she grumped. "I do not care what a clerk thinks of me."

"The man insulted you," LaBoeuf said.

"Not directly; a single woman and a single man turning up at a hotel at this time would ordinarily be up to no good."

"Or they could have just emerged from that benighted train. There is no excusing it."

Mattie stretched, yawning. She pulled her shawl more closely around her. "I wish only to wash my face and my neck and hands. Hand. I am covered in smut."

"We could try another hotel."

"We could go further and fare worse. I think I will stay here until my brother arrives."

"The office does not open until seven o'clock."

She sighed. "So be it." She leaned her head against a post and closed her eyes.

LaBoeuf grimaced. "Very well, then." He made himself busy with his pipe and set to smoking.

"Oh, consarn it, Mattie!" Little Frank cried. "You just had to come!" Mattie sat bolt upright. The sun was nearly up but the telegraph office had not yet opened. Her younger brother was stomping towards her, his boots making a ruckus against the slatted walkway.

LaBoeuf examined the youth from behind a screen of smoke. He had an ill-fitting jacket, messy brown hair, dusty boots, and a dusting of whiskers on his lip and chin. He was the same height as his sister, but while Mattie's height gave her a willowy quality, the boy was a mere stringy stripling in a big hat.

"Did you think that I would send you all that money without knowing what for?" Mattie asked. A few people looked in their direction, but Mattie was working up a fine head of steam and paid no heed.

LaBoeuf came to stand next to her and cleared his throat. "You might want to lower your voice," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

The boy stuck out his chest. "You might want to mind your own business." LaBoeuf rolled his eyes.

"Frank! This is our friend Sergeant LaBoeuf."

"I figured as much. You can go on, now," he said, jerking his chin at LaBoeuf. "I have things handled here."

"Frank!" Mattie scolded.

"Son, I will 'go on' when it pleases me to do so, and not before," LaBoeuf drawled.

"Did you keep my sister out all night?" Little Frank asked.

"Only because that was when the trains were running," Mattie said. "And I do not answer to you."

"Let us take this discussion somewhere more private," LaBoeuf said; it wasn't a request.

"We will go to the Marmaduke, then. That is where Victoria is, anyhow." He turned his back on his sister and shoved his hands into his pockets. LaBoeuf offered Mattie his arm and they followed after him.

"You again," the desk clerk at the Marmaduke Hotel said when he saw Frank. He was a pudgy man of middle years with too much scalp, which he had attempted to conceal by plastering down wisps of hair with macassar oil. "You get the money yet?"

"What money, exactly?" Mattie asked.

LaBoeuf pulled back his jacket, exposing his badge and gun rig.

"Whoa, now, I do not want any trouble in my place," the man said.

"If you do not start trouble there will not be any," LaBoeuf said. "Answer the lady's question."

The clerk grumbled, but he summoned a bellman over to watch the desk while he led the three of them back into a private office, with "Manager" painted on the door.

"Why should my brother bring you money?"

The man chewed at his lip. "He means to pay off the note for some light-skirt upstairs."

"She is my sister!" Frank snarled.

"Sure she is, kid."

"She is," Mattie said, and the man looked surprised for a moment, but recovered quickly.

"Well. You sure you want her back?"

"Yes." Mattie glared at him.

"In that case, her room and board and expenses are up to about 473 dollars now."

"How on earth!" Mattie cried.

"Her husband ran up debts here in town. I am still getting notes from his creditors."

"How do you know that he is her husband?"

"She signed the register as his wife."

Mattie closed her eyes and exhaled hotly. "May I see the ledger?"

"Sure. When you pay the 473 dollars that is owed."

"May I see my sister?" she asked from between clenched teeth.

"Of course. When you pay the 473 dollars." He smirked. "How do I know that you will not escape with her and leave me on the hook for all this money?"

"How do I know that this girl upstairs is actually my sister?"

The clerk shrugged towards Little Frank. "He says she is. How much do you trust him?"

Mattie and LaBoeuf looked at Frank. He held his hands open. "What? Yes, she is Victoria! Gee!"

"Did you see her?" Mattie asked.

"Yes! I saw her in the window. And he told me that she checked in with Babcock."

"And where is Babcock?" LaBoeuf interjected.

"Skipped town on one fine chestnut and leading a second, from what I hear," the clerk said.

Mattie turned back to the clerk. "You must let me see her. I will not pay you one red cent until I see that she is here and well and secure. If you stop me, I will go to the law and the newspapers and have it put about that this place is a hotbed of white slavers."

The clerk groaned. "Fine. But I am in the room with you. And those two stay down here," he said, indicating LaBoeuf and Little Frank.

"Very well," Mattie said. "Bring your receipt book. And the ledger."

She began to follow him out of the room, but LaBoeuf pulled her aside. "I do not think this is a good idea. He could…harm you or lock you in upstairs somewhere. He seems to have no scruples at all."

"If that happens then you will go for the sheriff."

He exhaled in frustration. "You think you can bend this world to your design, and if you lose limbs in the process it is of no consequence to anyone but yourself." He held her by her shoulders and looked closely at her. "Mattie. It is of some consequence to me. I will not abide so much as a toe. Do you understand what it is that I am telling you?"

She looked him in the eyes, a little shaken by the intensity in his look and his voice. "I will be fine. You will see. He just wants money, that is all."

LaBoeuf took her hand and pressed it. "I will be waiting. Do not take long."

She nodded and picked up her valise to follow the man up the dark and shabby back stairs.

The man, wheezing a little, pulled a ring of keys from his jacket when they reached Room 23. "I will unlock it, but you will have to get her to open it."

Mattie just looked at him.

"She has had the door blocked up for days," he said, as if it were no concern of his.

"How has she eaten?"

"Search me."

"Excellent board you provide here," Mattie snarled. "I will have to recommend your hospitality to my friends back home."

"And I will have no choice but to recommend the hospitality of your sister to the same." He turned the key in the lock and then stepped back.

Mattie just glared at him and turned to the door. "Vicky-violet, it is Mattie. Open the door."

She could hear the groaning and squeaking of heavy furniture moving, and then the door opened a fraction, and Victoria's pink, puffy eye and nose were just visible through the crack. "M-mattie?" she cried.

"Yes, sugarbaby, I am here to bring you home."

Victoria opened the door wide enough for Mattie to enter and see that her little sister was covered only by a blanket wrapped around her, her hair was a mare's nest, and her pretty face was red and swollen with tears. "Mattie," she cried again, and fell onto her elder sister's shoulder sobbing.

"So? Is it her?" the clerk asked sarcastically.

"You can see that it is. Where are her clothes?"

"He took them," Victoria said, hiccuping with sobs. "Stephen."

"Why would he do that?"

"To sell, I'd wager," the clerk said. "And if he leaves her behind to pay his debt he can walk—or should I say ride?—away without any legal charges against him."

"How could she pay his debts? She has no money, no clothes—" She broke off, gasping, and her face contorted with rage. "Panderer!"

He sneered at her. "Prove it. I always need girls as maids or kitchen help. I own this establishment. I've drawn a lot of water in this town since before you were even thought of."

"You were not such a big man downstairs."

"Yes, well. Guns do have a tendency to go off. The price for securing your sister is 473 dollars. Do you have it in gold, or must we go to the bank?"

"I have a draft drawn on the Bank of Yell County for 450 dollars. The rest is in greenbacks." She let go of Victoria to get her pocket book from the valise.

"Just as good," he said, and commenced to counting the bills. He watched as she signed over the draft, her signature matching the one she had made back in Dardanelle. "A pleasure doing business with you."

"You are a villain."

"I am a businessman. I cannot operate at a loss when my hospitality is taken advantage of."

"Show me the ledger now."

The man produced the book, flipping to the page for Room 23. There she saw notations for a few fine meals, a debit for taking the waters at a bathhouse, stable fees, and several I.O.U.s, which were wedged into the spine of the clerk's math appeared accurate. Mattie sighed and closed the book.

He took back the ledger, and looked the two of them up and down, his gaze lingering over Victoria's bare leg. "I must say that you are unique; in all my years there has never been a family willing to pay any price for their soiled dove. If they get this far they realize that their little darling is just too great a liability to be borne." He sneered at Victoria. "I hope you are worth it." He turned back to Mattie. "I expect that you will all be leaving very soon. It would be a shame if the sheriff had to throw dear little Sissy into the streets just as she is. Less my blanket, of course."

"Go away, and send my friends up here," Mattie said.

The clerk pulled the door shut behind him but did not bother to lock it, and Mattie relaxed fractionally, seeing that he did not mean to lock the two of them in. The sourness of an overfull night jar, previously relegated to the periphery of her consciousness, stung at her nostrils. "How can you bear it in here?" she asked, mainly out of reflex.

"I could not open the window; he said he would have someone climb in and remove me."

"Well, we can open the window now, I suppose. How long since you last ate?"

"I think it was Thursday. Stephen left the next morning. I could not go out because he had taken my clothes, and none of the maids would help me! They said they would have to talk to that awful man first. Then he came up here and said such horrible things and that I would have to earn back my keep or he would have the sheriff put me in jail!"

"You are safe now, Vicky."

"It was so much money," Victoria cried, and began to cry again. "I could never make that much!"

"Are you married to Babcock then?"

"He suh-said we would be soon, but then he never did."

"That is a mercy. We are well shot of him."

There was a soft knock at the door, and Mattie opened it only wide enough to see out. It was LaBoeuf. His gaze flickered over her head into the room and immediately back to her face. "Is everything all right?"

Mattie nodded wearily. "As much as it can be. We need somewhere to go; the clerk has threatened to throw her out if we do not vacate the room immediately. Send Little Frank to find us a decent boarding house close by, if there is one. Have him say that one of his sisters is hurt and we need a place to stay and something to eat. We will pay, of course."

"I can do that," he said, but Mattie shook her head.

"No, I will need for you to carry Victoria since I cannot."

"She cannot walk?" LaBoeuf asked with some alarm.

"She can, but has no shoes. Surely no respectable house would take us in such a state. But if she appears injured, no one will care about her lack of shoes."

LaBoeuf wanted to balk, she could see it on his face, but he nodded his head eventually. "All right. Get her dressed. Bandage her feet with strips from a bed sheet or something, and I will wait for your brother to return. I can keep watch out here."

"Thank you," Mattie said, closing the door.

"That was not Little Frank. Who was that?" Victoria asked in a loud whisper.

"My friend, Mr. LaBoeuf."

"He sounds nice," she said halfheartedly, before wailing. "He knows about me!"

"He is here to help us."

"But he knows what I did! He will hate me!"

"Why should he hate you?"

"I will have to marry someone," Victoria said. "Someone from away."

Mattie just stared at her.

"I might have a baby!" Victoria whisper-shouted.

"Well, you will not be marrying Mr. LaBoeuf in any case, since he knows," Mattie whispered back.

"I know," Victoria said, and slumped back on the bed.

"I brought you some things," Mattie said. "Just one of the dresses you left, and some whites." She brought her valise to the bed, and pulled out a few garments. "Wash your face and under your arms, and we will brush your hair."

"I drank all of the water."

"Then get dressed as far as you are able."

"You forgot to bring stays."

"You took all of yours, and none of mine would fit you," Mattie snapped.

Victoria nodded, cowed, and began to dress. Without a corset, the dress fit strangely, pulling tightly in some spots and sagging in others, but she was at least decently covered. Mattie got her brush and comb, and sat down next to her little sister.

"Hold your hair while I brush," Mattie said, and Victoria gathered her hair in her fist. Without care for several days, her scalp was oily and the ends of her hair were tinder-dry. Mattie began to work the rats out.

"What were you thinking?" Mattie muttered, pulling hard at a snarl.

"He told me that we had done the thing that makes babies. He told me that you and Mama would kick me out because you would think I was a…a bad woman, so I might as well leave on my own terms, taking my part of Papa's estate."

"You did it in the house? When?"

"No. The barn. But we had not really done it. Not yet. He only kissed me and touched me and rubbed up against me. It was so nice I never wanted to stop. I figured I was better off as Stephen's wife than kicked out and alone."

"Vicky, we would never…" Mattie began.

"He made it seem so urgent. That you had taken a set against him, and would have your Ranger kill him, and I would have our baby alone in the gutter. It seems silly when I look back on it, but then it seemed like the only possible thing to do."

"So you ran off. Your letter said you were going to the Indian Territory."

"That is what he said, at first. But then we came here. He said that it was to confuse you." Victoria sniffled. "After we left the house, we rode until we got near to town, alongside the river. He told me to get off of the horse, and we went into some woods. He said it was to change our clothes, to put on a disguise, but then he pushed me down on the ground and he did the real thing to me. The river was so loud that no one could hear me crying. It was awful. I wanted to run home, but there was just no way. You would all hate me, and I would have given away the horses, too." She bawled then, a deep, despairing sobbing that doubled her over. All Mattie could do was rub her back and listen.

When Victoria had calmed down enough to speak again, she scrubbed away the tears on her cheeks and said, "I would just have to make the best of it. And I would have. I would have. I would have been the best wife ever. I would never say no to him and I would cook and clean for him and make his clothes and be a good mama to the babies. But when we got here, he said that I was wrong, that he never said he would marry me. He hurt me again and again, and then that night he brought a strange woman to the room. He did the thing to her and made me watch so I could learn how to do it right, he said. He said it was 'training,' that I would thank him later. For a lewd woman she was nice to me, though. After he gave her money, she whispered to me that I needed to get away from him. When I woke up the next morning he was gone, and he took everything."

Sooo... how've you been? ::gif of Homer backing into the bushes::

I haven't given up on this fic, although you've probably all given up on me, which is to be expected! My daughter has graduated from college now! My husband is well. I've been branching out into lots of hobbies, but have never forgotten this fic. My perfectionism has kept me from just submitting the damn chapter! There are more chapters to come. I'll probably have them up sometime in the 20s. ;-)

Mattie means "make love" in the old sense of being ardently romantic. As in "He's making violent love to me, mother," from "It's A Wonderful Life" (Mary didn't mean that George was having violent sex with her). No, you didn't miss any PG-13/R-rated action!

My Lawyer Daggett is basically Oscar winner J. K. Simmons, who provided the character's voice in the Coen brothers' film. I've had a crush on him for years, and if he had been on screen, he would not have been the milquetoast character from the John Wayne version; I think it's truer to the book. I've tried to give justification for why he would be so indulgent towards Mattie without being a wimp. My Mrs. Daggett, incidentally, is Rosamund Pike; quite a catch for a bald, middle-aged man, but money, influence, and his good reputation and character served him well.

The Chicago White Stockings didn't actually go to Hot Springs until 1886, but come on! This team was the ancestor to the modern Cubbies, not the modern Chi Sox.

Significance of the "dress" (slip, basically) in green with leaves on it: that's just the way I imagined it, but when I looked up the dream interpretation it fit, so it stays. A chemise would ordinarily be white, so it could be bleached/boiled, since it's the layer closest to the skin and absorbs oils and sweat, keeping one's expensive and delicate gowns from requiring frequent laundering. It also keeps the corset from chafing the wearer (I yelled at the screen during the otherwise excellent The Alienist, when Dakota Fanning's character peels her corset from her bare skin and it makes this sticky sound, like pulling apart slices of deli meat.).