Spoilers: this chapter is still spoiler free, unless you count episode references. :)

Disclaimer: I still don't own Emergency, but no one would mind if I kept they guys anyway, right? ;)

A/N: Health issues have still been getting in the way, along with work and just general busyness, so once again, I'm posting this last chapter much later than I wanted to, but I hope that you all enjoy it just the same. :) This fic was so much fun to work on, and I am honestly blown away by the comments I've gotten. Each of you has been so kind and so thoughtful, and so many of you have reviewed every chapter. I've said it before, but your comments mean more than I can say. I will miss playing in this Old West universe, and while I can't promise anything, in the future, I might just write a shorter fic or two that takes place in this same AU. But please know that it may take me a while, as I have a number of other projects to work on, including a WIP for another fandom, and an original novel. :)

To my anonymous reviewers (since I couldn't answer you via PM):

To Guestjh:

Thank you so much! And thank you for the well wishes! They are very much appreciated. I'm glad you enjoyed Brackett's return! I'm glad to have him back too. I wish there were more stories about Brackett as well. Thank you again! I'm so glad that you're enjoying it. :)

To Lost Username:

I'm glad you recognized Deke's name, and that you recognized Dick's as soon as Molly was mentioned. Lol, it is well-stocked in blankets! :) I imagine that the General Store has the folks in town and the surrounding areas as potential customers, plus various gold-seekers wandering through - even if they missed the gold rush - and cowboys looking for work or heading out for trail drives, all of whom might need bedding. So, Bill Bryant keeps quite a few blankets on hand. There are probably canvas pieces for wagons too, but blankets aren't as stiff as canvas, and they're easier to work with and more comfortable to lay on, so I went with those. :) My back is cringing at the thought of doing surgery on a patient who is laying on the ground too! I agree, it really is hard to imagine working under those conditions. Thank you again for the kind words! And thank you so very much for taking the time to review every chapter. I have always looked forward to reading your comments. As I mentioned in my author's note, there's a chance that another story or two might be on the way in this particular universe, though it may take me a while. But I've enjoyed playing in this universe so much that I don't want it to end either. :)

To Marbo:

Thank you so much! This was a difficult section to write, just because there are so many characters to think about, so I'm very glad that you enjoyed it! :) And I'm so glad that you liked the banter between Brackett and Dixie as well. I had quite a lot of fun writing them. I've always loved their banter in the first episode, and wanted to include a little of that if I could. And I'm so happy that you liked Chet's appearance as well. :) I wanted him to have another scene like Marco did, and sort of echo the way that the linemen sometimes help Johnny and Roy. Lol, maybe Chet will give up the ranching job. :) Harrison really is tough! Thank you so much for the kind words! It really does mean more than I can say that you have enjoyed the story. I wanted to thank you so much for every one of your reviews! I have always looked forward to reading your comments, and I so appreciate you taking the time leave such detailed feedback. I hope that your knee is healing well, or that it's healed completely now. As mentioned in my author's note, I might be writing one or two more stories in this universe eventually, though it might be a while before that happens. But I do have some ideas I would love to explore. I've had so much fun with this universe that I am honestly sad to see it finished too!

As always, I thank my Lord Jesus Christ for his incredible mercy and grace and his many blessings. I would be utterly lost without him.

I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think!

Frontier Medicine

Chapter 12: A Pound of Cure

In the end, the changing winds had given them what they needed: a chance.

The fire had consumed the saloon, the café, and the saddle and tack shop, and the flames had just begun to spread to the building that housed the town's newspaper, the Mud Springs Gazette. But the winds had shifted just in time, a steady westerly breeze pushing the fire back onto itself enough to delay its progress, and the weary bucket brigade had rallied, managing to get ahead of it at last.

Roy hadn't seen the firefight himself, but he'd watched as the red, ominous glow of the fire down the street had gradually dimmed, and he'd learned the details from the members of the bucket brigade who'd joined them over the course of the night. (A number of them were suffering from the smoke, and some were doing poorly enough that Brackett insisted they stay for observation. There were others who had strains, sprains, and raw, blistered hands from the hours of unrelenting work, and a few of those who'd gotten the closest to the flames had some minor burns.)

As soon as the fire was under control, and they were certain that there was no chance of it spreading anymore, Brackett had decided to move the patients to the clinic, since he felt that the men who were in the worst condition - Deke, Harrison, the big man who'd been disoriented, the Mexican man, and Lane - were stable enough to make the trip safely. He'd hoped that a comfortable bed, in place of a hard, wooden porch, might speed their recovery even more. The move itself had been something of a feat with so many people, but thankfully, even more help had come from a number of the women - including Miss Walters and Miss Williamson - who were continuing to offer their services as nurses, watching the patients during and after the trip, helping them get settled, and seeing to their basic needs.

Now…now, somewhere, outside of the clinic, the morning sun was shining overhead, climbing higher as the hours passed.

Just how many hours that was, Roy honestly wasn't sure. He'd lost track a while ago, between one patient and the next, and there'd been no time to look for a clock. He knew that he wasn't the only one. He'd noticed more than a few surprised looks when the first rays of the sun had peeked over the horizon, the pale light shining through the clinic's windows.

Judging by what Roy had seen - both through the windows and during the few trips he'd made outside - the sky itself had become a surprisingly brilliant blue, though a slight haze still lingered over the town from the smoldering remains of the buildings that had been lost to the fire. The blackened piles of wood and ash stood out starkly in the morning light.

There were a few volunteers - one of whom was Vince Howard - standing around the charred, crumbling shells of the ruined buildings, keeping watch for any lingering embers that had the potential to re-ignite. But the majority of the exhausted townspeople milled blearily around the streets, in search of a hard-earned breakfast.

Thankfully, there was plenty of food to be had, as still more people had arrived from the surrounding areas. They had created a sort of makeshift camp in the middle of the town, serving food they had brought with them, and offering blankets, coffee, and some extra water for washing and drinking. Roy had no doubt that back at their bunkhouse, Joanne was probably cooking as well, putting together dishes that she would bring to town as soon as there was someone else who could watch the children.

Roy hoped that he would be able to join her at home soon, since the steady stream of patients they had to treat finally seemed to have slowed down. It certainly helped that he, Johnny, and Dr. Brackett were no longer the only trained - and able-bodied - hands available. The first chance he'd had, Dr. Brackett had asked Sam Lanier, the telegraph operator, to send a wire to Dr. Joe Early in Victorville, relaying the news about the fire and asking for aid. The good doctor, his nurse, Carol, and a Negro man named Mike Morton had driven overnight to Mud Springs in a wagon, arriving shortly before dawn.

Morton, as it turned out, was training to be Early's assistant, the way that he and Johnny were training to assist Brackett. (The idea seemed too promising not to try it himself, Dr. Early had said with a smile.) Morton had been a buffalo soldier*, Dr. Early had explained, and during his time with the army, he'd been given some basic instruction to help serve the medical needs of his regiment. He'd enjoyed the work, and after he'd been honorably discharged from service, he'd made his way to California, learning from any physicians willing to teach him, until he'd met Dr. Early in Victorville. Eventually, Early said, Morton hoped to become a doctor himself.

Early, Carol, and Morton's help had certainly been a boon. With so many people to see to, trying to manage their care - and the care of those who were the worst off - had become a bigger and bigger challenge.

Thankfully, the men who'd been in the most serious condition were all showing signs of improvement. Deke was recovering from surgery, his shoulder had been set, and his burns had been cleaned. He'd even woken briefly, and been coherent enough to answer Brackett's questions about how he felt before he'd drifted off into a more natural sleep. Deke's wife, Susan, on the other hand, had been almost inconsolable when she'd learned what had happened to her husband, her fear manifesting as anger - anger that she had taken out on Roy the minute she'd set eyes on him. She'd begged his forgiveness as soon as she'd calmed down, though, and Roy had accepted the apology at once. He knew that her anger hadn't been directed at him, not really. Susan was sitting at Deke's bedside now, one of his hands clasped firmly between both of hers.

Jack Harrison, for his part, had yet to wake, but his strained breathing had slowly improved, and Brackett was hopeful that with time, he would make a full recovery. Dr. Early had said that given what he'd been through, the poor man either had terrible luck to have suffered so, or wonderful luck to have survived it all. Roy hoped that Harrison decided to focus on the latter.

There was more good news as well. The big man that they had rescued from the saloon - Seth Dobson, Roy had learned - had finally regained consciousness. His breathing was still terribly rough, but it was gradually improving, and overall, his condition seemed to be stable. He'd been horrified to learn that he'd hit Dixie, and it had taken some assurance from Dixie herself to finally ease the obvious guilt he felt.

The Mexican man - one Andres Davalos - had been disoriented himself when he'd woken, and it turned out that he understood little - if any - English. Johnny had known enough Spanish to be able to assure the man that he would be alright, but they'd been fortunate that Marco was nearby, being checked out by Dr. Early. He had finally been able to calm the agitated man down after a few minutes.

Lane also seemed to be improving steadily. His lungs were still congested, his breathing noisy enough that Roy didn't need the aid of a stethoscope to hear it, but he was conscious and alert, and his color was good. (He was obviously still uncomfortable with the idea that he owed Johnny his life, and he was doing his best to ignore Johnny whenever he was close by, but there was no malice in his expression, and Roy was willing to consider that a change for the better.)

The rest of the patients they had been treating - including Mr. Fulton with his broken ankle, and the others who'd been injured in the chaos from the saloon - were all doing as well as could be expected. The man with the broken wrist still seemed quite content under the influence of the morphine, and Roy had had a quiet word with Brackett, explaining his concerns about the man's risk of addiction. The doctor agreed that it would be best to wean him off the drug as soon as possible, though he would remain on it for now, at least until the pain reached a more manageable level.

Mr. Wallace, who'd been suffering from chest pains while working in the bucket brigade, was now resting comfortably, and Mrs. Hays, who'd been overheated, had actually recovered enough that Brackett had released her with orders to rest at home.

All things considered, Roy supposed, the outcome of the fire could have been so much worse.

But that didn't stop him from wishing that it hadn't happened at all.

It had been an accident, there was no question about that, and once the fire was out, the full story had quickly followed, with many a man offering his own first-hand account.

Roy had heard about it from the bartender himself.

The bartender - Ely - said that he'd always been in the habit of keeping an oil lamp with him so that he could see into some of the darker corners behind the bar. He usually kept the lamp away from the bar top, but it had been such a busy night that, when yet another customer had called for a beer, he'd set the lamp down on the counter without thinking. It might not have been a problem, except that Mr. Bo Ames - the same Bo Ames they had treated for a broken leg all those weeks ago - had been standing nearby, knee-deep in a whiskey bottle. When he'd finished his last drink, he'd stumbled against the bar, knocking the oil lamp off of the bar top in the process.

It wasn't clear exactly how, but Ames had apparently managed to flee the burning saloon, and then spent hours hiding behind some hay bales outside of the Livery. Deputy Stoker had been the one to find him. Ames was still mostly drunk, but he'd obviously been coherent enough to realize what he'd done, because according to Stoker, the first words out of his mouth had been a mumbled and fearful, "Didn't mean to."

Roy just hoped that this would be enough to scare Ames away from the bottle for good.

But even if it did, it was a steep price to pay, especially when Roy thought about Molly and little Jeanine who were now mourning the loss of a husband and father. When Roy had last seen them, they'd been in the middle of a hushed conversation with Reverend Matthews. (The Reverend, Roy knew, had been making his own rounds among the weary and grieving townspeople, offering comfort and aid wherever he could.) But it was hard not to worry about Molly nonetheless - Roy knew how much she'd depended on Dick. He and Johnny would have to check in on her soon, see if she needed anything.

Dick's body, he'd been assured, was now in the care of the undertaker, a man who usually had the far less grim task of furniture making.* (Though, Roy supposed wearily, the basics of making a coffin making weren't all that different, really.) The undertaker was also preparing the body of the other young man who'd died - Davy Odom, Roy had learned. He'd seen Davy's family leaving the undertaker's shop in a solemn procession, a tearful young lady bringing up the rear.

Roy sighed and tried to push those darker thoughts away. Right now, he still needed to focus, even if all he was doing was bandaging a man's hand. He was tired enough that it seemed like a monumental task. His weariness must have been obvious, because as soon as he knotted the final strip of linen around the man's injured palm, he felt someone clap him gently on the back, and he turned to find that it was Dr. Early.

"Roy, I just had a word with Johnny, and I'm going to tell you what I told him: I think it's time that you head home," the gray-haired doctor said. "We've got things in hand here - no pun intended," he added, glancing over at the man that Roy had just treated.

Roy snorted softly. He liked Dr. Early. He hadn't had much of a chance to actually speak with the man, but from what Roy had seen, he had an affable demeanor and a wry sense of humor. He looked to be at least a decade or so older than Dr. Brackett, with gray, almost white hair. He had blue eyes, thick eyebrows, and a clean-shaven face, barring the sideburns that reached just below his ears. He'd lost his frock coat somewhere along the line, leaving him in dark blue trousers, a white shirt with sleeves that were rolled up to his elbows, and a blue vest, all of which were rumpled from many hours of wear.

Roy opened his mouth to speak, but the doctor held up a hand as if to forestall any protests that he might make.

"Kel already gave his okay," the older doctor continued. "We have enough help here to get by without you and Johnny for now. You've both earned a rest."

"Alright," Roy conceded. "I won't argue with you."

Dr. Early smiled. "That'll be a change. Kel had quite a bit to say when I suggested that he get some rest too."

Roy grinned. "I can imagine. Did you talk him into it?"

"Not me, but Dixie did. She insisted that he wouldn't be any good to anybody if he fell over from exhaustion, and Kel finally agreed - as long as Dixie agreed to stop trying to manage the clinic from her bed."

Roy couldn't stifle a laugh this time. "Doesn't surprise me a bit. Thanks, Doc. And you and the others try to get some rest too. You've earned it just as much."

"Thanks, Roy. We'll do our best."

Dr. Early gave him one last clap on the back before turning around to make his way over to yet another patient.

Roy watched him go, then started forward himself, looking for Johnny in the clinic's full rooms and crowded hallways.

He finally spotted him over by the medicine cabinet, doing a quick inventory. They had restocked the cabinet upon their return to the clinic, removing the medication from the crates and replacing the bottles on the shelves. Dr. Early, Carol, and Morton had thankfully had the foresight to bring some of their own supplies in case they needed to bolster Brackett's dwindling resources. The bare shelves Roy could see now were a testament to just how needed those supplies had been.

"Am I gonna have to make a bargain with you, partner, like Brackett did with Dixie?" Roy asked.

Johnny turned around to meet his gaze, smirking tiredly. "Wouldn't work. I'm not trying to run anything from my bed - right now, give me a bed and I'd be out in minute flat."

"You and me both," Roy admitted.

Johnny ran a hand over his face and sighed. "I just want to finish this first, so the Doc'll know what he needs to order on the next stage. Then I'll head out with you."

Roy nodded in understanding. "You want to get something to eat before we go?"

One of the ladies had dropped by the clinic earlier with some food for everyone, but it had been long enough that he could certainly do with more. Besides, if he tried to wait to eat until he got home, he wasn't sure how much he'd actually be able to get down before he fell asleep, even if Joanne had a plate ready and waiting for him.

Johnny nodded as though reading his thoughts. "Yeah. I'm hungry, but I think I'd fall asleep over the pot if I tried to make something myself."

Figuring that they could save a little time if they worked together, Roy helped Johnny finish the inventory, and then they wrote out a list for the doc to look over later.

When that was done, they headed for the exit.

The moment they stepped out onto the boardwalk, Roy's nose was hit with the smell of charred wood drifting on the breeze. He did his best to ignore it, and turned down the boardwalk with Johnny, walking towards the makeshift camp in the center of town.

Roy smiled as he caught sight of a familiar figure a short distance down the street. Brackett must have had the same idea about eating, because like them, he was heading to the makeshift camp. Even from a distance, Roy could see that his black trousers were covered in a gritty brown film from kneeling in the dust while performing surgery on Deke, and his white shirt hadn't faired much better, though the stains were harder to spot on the doctor's vest. The vest's red and gold pattern reminded Roy faintly of some of the fancy rugs he'd seen back East. (Though, admittedly, Bracket might have taken offense to that comparison.) He'd had a black, ascot tie around his neck earlier, but he must have taken it off at some point, because his neck was now bare, the high collar of his shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up like Dr. Early's had been.

When Brackett paused to let a family pass him by on the street, it was easy enough to catch up with him.

"Hey, Doc."

Brackett turned to regard them with a weary but genuine smile. "Roy, Johnny. You headed home?"

"We figured we'd get something to eat first," Roy answered.

"Can't say I blame you." The doctor paused, and as his smile faded, his expression became faintly reluctant. It was a look that Roy recognized, though he hadn't seen it often. It was the look Brackett wore when he had something he wanted to say, but he wasn't quite sure how to go about it. "Listen, before you go…I wanted to thank you, both of you. Dixie might have been worse off if there wasn't someone nearby who knew what to do. And I'll be honest - I don't know how we would have managed without the two of you here." His smiled turned a little wry, and he snorted softly. "Looks like Dix's little experiment was a success after all. I'm glad it was. You did good work out there. A lot of folks owe you their lives."

"Not everyone," Johnny answered quietly, glancing towards the undertaker's.

Roy knew he was thinking about Davy Odem, and Brackett obviously realized that as well, because he gave a heavy sigh.

"That's always the toughest part of this job. You can't win every battle, no matter how hard you try. But you gave it everything you had, and at the end of the day, that's all you can do. No one else can expect any more from you, and you can't expect any more from yourself. You'll drive yourself crazy if you do."

Johnny blew out a harsh breath and nodded in agreement, though Roy knew that letting go of the inevitable guilt was easier said than done. That was another lesson the war had taught him.

"Hard as the losses are," Brackett continued, "they don't make the victories mean any less…and there were victories. You saved Harrison's life, maybe even Dixie's. And what you did means more than I can say, to me, to Harrison's family, to every single person you treated. As far as I'm concerned, this town owes you two a debt of gratitude."

"Yes," a feminine voice agreed, "it does."

Roy turned around and was more than a little surprised to find that it was Moira Perkins who had spoken. A few strands of graying, blonde hair were falling out of the bun she wore, and she had streaks of soot on her face, and more smeared on the light blue blouse and brown skirt she was dressed in. Given her appearance, Roy guessed that she must have been a part of the bucket brigade at some point, though what ever weariness she felt had done nothing to soften the sharpness of her gaze.

"Mr. DeSoto," she acknowledged, offering him a nod.

Roy tensed, wondering if Mrs. Perkins would snub Johnny like she had back at her ranch. But her piercing green gaze turned to Johnny next. She regarded him for a long moment, then gave him a brisk nod that looked almost like approval. "Mr. Gage."

She didn't say another word after that, but simply continued on her way down the street.

They stared after her in surprise, then Brackett shook his head, smiling again.

"Maybe I'm not the only one you've won over. In any case, once things start to get back to normal around here, I'd like to discuss extending your contracts. If you're willing, I want you gentlemen to serve as my assistants for the foreseeable future."

It was hard describe what Roy felt in that moment. Joy. Accomplishment. Relief. Beyond that, there was a deeper sense of something slotting into place, like a piece from a jigsaw puzzle*. He had more than a job now. True, it would put food on the table and keep a roof over his family's heads, but it felt like a duty. A calling. And now that he'd had a taste of it, he knew that no other vocation, no matter how respectable, would ever feel like quite enough.

Judging by the smile spreading across Johnny's face, he felt the same way.

"Sounds good to me, Doc," Roy offered.

"Sure does," Johnny agreed. Then he paused, giving Brackett a wryly pointed look. "As long as we'll both be allowed to do more than observe."

Brackett huffed a soft laugh. "Much more - I don't intend to waste good manpower." He gave Johnny a wry look of his own then glanced down the street, towards the makeshift camp. "Well, I don't know about you two, but my stomach's beginning to wonder if my throat's been cut. Shall we?"

The doc certainly didn't have to ask them twice. Together, the three of them started forward again, and the smell of coffee and bacon greeted them almost immediately. Roy inhaled appreciatively. It didn't take long to find the source. Several wagons and a couple prairie schooners were parked along both sides of the street, each one filled with men and women serving plates of food to those lined up outside. Roy saw biscuits and gravy, sausage, bacon, ham, eggs, potatoes, pancakes and even chili up for the asking.

Roy picked the nearest wagon, one serving ham, eggs, and potatoes, though, honestly, his choice had less to do with the meal, and more to do with the fact that it was close by, so his weary legs wouldn't need to carry him very far.

Johnny and Brackett must have felt the same way, because they followed him, and a few minutes later, he and Johnny both had large plates of food and a cup of coffee each. Brackett, for his part, stopped to talk with one of the women working from the wagon, arranging for her - and probably some of the others - to bring more food back to the clinic. When that was done, he accepted two plates, one for himself and another that was probably for Dixie.

"Mrs. Yates said they'll stop by the clinic in a few minutes," Brackett explained, "so I'm going to head back there now with these." He nodded at the plates he held, then gave them both a stern look. "Don't think about following me. I don't want to see either of you again until tomorrow morning at the earliest."

Roy snorted softly. "I doubt that'll be a problem, Doc."

"I know what you mean," Brackett returned, smirking faintly. "Take care."

"You too."

"Bye, Doc," Johnny added.

Brackett gave them one last smile, then turned and started back towards the clinic.

As soon as Brackett was gone, Roy and Johnny began looking for a place to sit. Most of the townspeople had taken to sitting along the boardwalks to eat their meals, so he and Johnny walked along for a short distance, searching for a section of the boardwalk that hadn't been claimed yet.

They drew some attention as they went. Most of the stares were friendly, grateful, even, though Roy wasn't comfortable focusing on the latter. But a few of the looks directed at Johnny were less than neighborly. It wasn't really a surprise, not after months of having to watch Johnny deal with that sort of reaction wherever he went - but it still hurt to see it. There were, Roy supposed, others like Jed Miller, people whose opinions just wouldn't be swayed, no matter what Johnny did.

But then he remembered Danny Lane's reluctant gratitude, and Mrs. Perkins's apparent change of heart, and he couldn't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, it was a beginning.

Besides, there were others who were the opposite of Jed Miller and his ilk. Others like an ash-streaked Bob Bellingham, who waved at them as they passed. (Then again, there didn't seem to be a single soul that Bob didn't like, especially considering that it was the banker, Craig Brice, who was seated next to him now. Brice offered them a stiff greeting of his own.) There was Charlie Dwyer, who was just as covered in soot as Bellingham, and Ed Marlow, who was seated beside Walter Hookrader, and Dick Hammer, and John Smith, and other men whose names Roy didn't even know.

They were good men, every single one of them.

It was another one of those good men who called out to them a moment later.

"Johnny, Roy, over here!"

It took Roy a moment to finally catch sight of Marco. He was perched on one end of an empty water trough, his plate balanced in his lap. Chet Kelly was sitting close by, leaning against a wooden post, and beside him, Roy caught sight of Sheriff Stanley and Deputy Stoker, both of whom were sitting up against the front wall of the Assayer's office.

All four men had obviously taken the opportunity to clean up a bit, but there was a tell-tale gray tinge to their skin that left no doubt about where they'd been in the fire fight. Still, their tired smiles were genuine as he and Johnny headed over to join them.

And, in spite of the long, hard night they'd faced, surrounded as he was by the men that he was now proud to call his friends, Roy couldn't help but smile back.

Fin

Historical and Content Notes

Buffalo Soldiers: "Buffalo soldiers were African American soldiers who mainly served on the Western frontier following the American Civil War." (Source: history ( d o t) com, "Buffalo Soldiers.") They were officially organized in 1866, as part of the "Army Organization Act." (Source: same as above.) It's not entirely certain why Native Americans called these men "buffalo soldiers," but "One theory claims the nickname arose because the soldiers' dark, curly hair resembled the fur of a buffalo. Another assumption is the soldiers fought so valiantly and fiercely that the Indians revered them as they did the mighty buffalo. Whatever the reason, the name stuck" (Source: same as above.) "Buffalo soldiers had the lowest military desertion and court-martial rates of their time. Many won the Congressional Medal of Honor, an award presented in recognition of combat valor which goes above and beyond the call of duty." (Source: same as above.) The oldest living buffalo solider, Mark Matthews, "died in 2005 at age 111 in Washington, D.C." (Source: same as above.)

Undertaker: Though the image of the undertaker has gained some fame in popular culture, "In the days of the Old West…many towns didn't have an undertaker." (Source: wildwesthistory (d o t) blogspot (d o t) com, "The Undertaker: Death and Dying in the Old West.") In fact, "most undertakers were furniture makers or doctors doing double duty." (Source: same as above.) The job of the undertaker did change somewhat over time, however. Initially, it was important to bury bodies quickly, since, "in the early to mid-1800s there was no known way of preserving bodies, and the human body rapidly decays." But, it was actually during the Civil War era that an increased interest in embalming arose, and "it became very common across the nation." (Wikipedia.)

Jigsaw Puzzle: Jigsaw puzzles "go back to the 1760s when European mapmakers pasted maps onto wood and cut them into small pieces." (Source: puzzle warehouse (d o t) com, "The History of Jigsaw Puzzles.") For nearly 150 years afterwards, such puzzles were seen strictly as educational tools or toys for children. However, "Puzzles for adults emerged around 1900, and by 1908 a full-blown craze was in progress in the United States." (Source: same as above.) Since that first spike in popularity, jigsaw puzzles for adults have fallen in and out of favor a number of times, largely inspired by new innovations in manufacturing or improved techniques in puzzle making. (Source: same as above.)

A/N: I have to give a final, great big shout-out to my wonderful beta, LaramieLady51. This story would absolutely have not been the same without all of her incredible help, patience, encouragement, and advice.

Thank you again to everyone who has been reading and especially to those who have reviewed. And of course, please let me know what you think!

Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)