Dear Readers: This is 13th of my vignettes. They go in sequential order, but each one has a different unique theme. I hope you have fun reading all of them.

"Jack and Elizabeth Vignette One"

"Vignette Two – The Cold Winter" (Jack and Elizabeth cope with the rough winter),

"Vignette Three – The Test: Don't Fail Me Now" – (It's fun and romantic),

"Vignette Four – Gypsy Woes" (The most light-hearted in my mind)

"Vignette Five - Blind Faith" (Drama, Suspense, New Friends, and powerful love.)

"Vignette Six - Wedding Dust" –(The romance of getting married and the hours afterwards)

"Vignette Seven - The Rules of being a Wife." (Jack and Elizabeth's first weeks as husband and wife)

"Vignette Eight – Changes" (Elizabeth's in danger . . . and so is Jack. Lots of drama)

"Vignette Nine – The Lingering Scent of Lavender (A ghost story)

"Vignette Ten – Snowfall" (The newest member of the Thornton family arrival)

"Vignette Eleven – Wishes and the Necessary Vessel" (Elizabeth's innocent wishes take a strange turn)

"Vignette Twelve – Time" (A injured Jack tries to make it home to his family)

VIGNETTE THIRTEEN

"Poetic Justice"

Chapter 1 – The Transaction

After the last of the town's eating and drinking establishments had closed for the night, the rain began falling in a drizzle; soaking the pavement and the grass in the small front yards of the few houses that lined the street.

The man, grateful that he was wearing his felt bowler hat, pulled his grey coat collar up around his neck. He walked quietly, not wanting to draw attention to himself in case anyone was still awake and happened to be looking out a window or hurrying home.

When he reached the intersection of the town's main street, he turned to the right. As he walked down the sidewalk, he didn't scan the store windows with the hats and gloves on display, the butcher shop with the meat hanging from hooks, or the post office with the bars on the windows. He continued walking and passed a wood-sided building, glancing briefly at the sign which announced to anyone concerned that it was the Mountie Headquarters for Bear Creek.

He crossed the street. Not bothering to look in both directions. Knowing that most everyone would be home in their beds.

His glasses became covered in drops of rain and for the umpteenth time in the last thirty years, he was irritated that he had poor eyesight and needed the spectacles.

Puddles of water shimmered in the light from his lantern. If the weather had been better, the man would have worried about being seen. But nobody with good intentions would be outside in this weather. If he was in a city, which he overwhelming preferred, there would be taxis and horse drawn wagons, delivery trucks, factory workers going home after their shifts and late night drinking. But this was Bear Creek.

Bear Creek. It was larger than many frontier towns, but nowhere near the size of a bustling city. It had one school. One school teacher. One bank. One doctor. One Mountie.

The fact that it only had the one Mountie was the part the man liked best.

He turned the corner and entered the thin alley. Walked twenty feet. And waited.

There was a tin awning above the back door near him, and although it would have protected him from the rain, he stayed away. Getting too close might arouse a dog sleeping inside, or perhaps someone having a sleepless night. It was best to stay away.

The man stood near the trash can as he had been instructed. He had been waiting just five minutes when he saw a figure approaching him. It wasn't until the figure was just a foot away that his face, wrinkled from age and too much sun, became more discernible in the lantern's glow.

The man with the glasses spoke first.

"Do you have it?"

"Do you have what I want?"

The weathered man reached into the pocket of his long leather coat and pulled out the package. The brown paper quickly became wet from the rain as he handed it to the spectacled man, who took it with one hand and held out his own package with his other.

"How lethal is it?"

"There aren't varying degrees of lethal. Dead is dead."

Without another word, the unemotional man turned and walked away into the darkness.

The transaction had been quick and easy. The man, who felt annoyance at the cold rain which had soaked the bottom fifth of his pants legs, grinned slightly as the felt the new contents of his pocket. When he got back to his room, he would unwrap the thick paper and cradle the small bottle in his hands before holding it up to the light and examining the color of the liquid. Deciding when and how best to use it.

It had been a good exchange.

Elizabeth, her sleep disturbed by something, turned over onto her side, hovering for a moment between slumber and awakening. Not sensing anything wrong in the house, she never fully awoke and instead returned to her dream as she reached out her hand and touched her sleeping husband.

Jack murmured slightly at her touch but remained asleep. After a long day on rounds - rounds which had taken longer than usual due to his healing injuries -, he had eaten a dinner of chicken and potatoes and then spent an hour walking around the mercantile-house with his colicky son against his chest. The little boy's quivering chin resting on Jack's tired shoulder.

As Jack had walked back and forth across the wooden planks of the front room, he was thankful that he and Elizabeth had moved into the former mercantile when they had first come to Bear Creek. The building's long main room, meant to house rows of barrels and shelves of supplies and still have room for customers, was a good length for pacing while gently patting the crying infant's back.

Elizabeth had been just as exhausted as Jack. Beginning her day at sun up, she had managed to wash a basketful of laundry before heading to the schoolhouse, pushing little Jack Thatcher Thornton in his buggy. After schoolwork and juggling the baby during class and recess, she had hurried home to peel the potatoes, season the chicken, and get the meal in the oven.

By 8:30 that night, all three Thorntons were asleep.

Elizabeth, only a few months pregnant with their second child and not yet feeling discomfort, moved in her sleep one more time, smooshing her feet under Jack for added warmth and familiar security.

The rain beating on the backdoor's tin awing made a pleasant sound that muffled out other noises, and Rip, hearing no more voices in the alley outside, circled around as dogs do before laying back down on the floor.

As he made his way out of the alley behind the old mercantile, the man with the glasses thought about the other man's words.

Dead is dead.

Up next: Chapter 2