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Mature Content: No

With: Matilda, Ralph, and Arabella
Location: Stardust Saloon
When: January, 1876
Time of Day: Late afternoon

 

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When Whitefish met it's fate, a lot of folks suffered. Refugees poured into Kalispell, being the closest town to the disaster. It was sad and most folks in Kalispell felt compelled to do their part to help out. Matilda was no different, neither she nor Ralph had left town to go on the rescue but that didn't mean they were indifferent to the fate of so many of those poor souls. For the first few days, the saloon became a shelter for some of the homeless and they provided food supplies out of their own storehouse. Finally as things began to settle down some, Matilda was approached by one of the town council members who asked if they might be willing to take in an orphan temporarily or - if all worked out - maybe permanently. She agreed but, as was her nature, stressed nothing was guaranteed. If this new person was going to live under their roof, she was going to do it under Matilda's rules. Or else.

 

The girl was supposed to be fourteen but didn't look it. Originally a southerner and quite the chatterbox. Skinny as a rail,  hopefully the rest of her health was reasonable enough though. Decent regular meals and hard work should hopefully build her up some. Matilda assigned the girl, Arabella by name,  to the kitchen where their regular cook, a most capable professional, could use the help in there. Then it was wait and see how the girl did.  Though it might not be always apparent, Matilda also kept an eye on the young miss.

 

Christian charity was fine but as far as Matilda was concerned, the saloon was her world, her life, and thus her rules. She had set the girl down their very first meeting and explained what she expected.  Now it was just a matter of wait and see.  Matilda really wanted the child to succeed but she was not going to tolerate the waif running wild either.

 

Speaking of Arabella, Matilda now entered the kitchen to check on how things were going.

 

 

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Messalina McMahon, the Stardust Saloon’s cook, whose girth attested to the quality of her own productions, looked round quickly as the owner walked into the kitchen, and then went back to stirring the contents of the saucepan she was attending to. She had known the woman long enough not to stand on ceremony: she knew that she valued hard work more than showy sycophancy and had impressed that fact upon Arabella when she saw how prone the new pot-girl was to fantastical displays of ‘Southern Courtesy’.

 

Thus, when Ms Deveraux entered Arabella contented herself with quickly standing up from the table where she was peeling spuds, bobbing a quick curtsey, and standing to hear any instructions with head bowed. She imagined that’s what Cinderella would have done when the wicked stepmother visited her dungeon of a kitchen in the story. ‘Modest and hard-working’, that’s what she was going for in this performance, with a heavy dollop of ‘children should be seen and not heard’ thrown in for good measure.

 

“Can we do anything for you, Ms. Tildy” the Cook asked as she continued stirring: she didn’t want this to curdle.

 

“Oh, Arabella, didn’t you have something you wanted to ask Ms. Deveraux?” she reminded, genially.

 

Arabella gave another bob and still head down in due deference, squeaked “Please Ms. Deveraux, would I be permitted time off to attend church on Sunday morning?”

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All seemed to be in proper order in the kitchen, as usual really, her cook was conscientious and made good food, Matilda was pleased to employ the woman who spoke up.

 

"Can we do anything for you, Ms. Tildy” the Cook asked as she continued stirring: she didn’t want this to curdle.

 

"No, seems like things are well in hand here - as usual might I add," the woman replied.

 

Then the cook gently prodded her newest and definitely youngest employee, the orphan girl, about some question she apparently wish to ask. Fair enough.

 

"Oh what is it then, girl?" Matilda was not hard to approach.

 

Arabella gave another bob and still head down in due deference, squeaked “Please Ms. Deveraux, would I be permitted time off to attend church on Sunday morning?”

 

Matilda blinked, "Why certainly, child.  Who am I to get between you and your God. You may go. Besides we are not even open on Sundays."

 

 

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Matilda blinked, "Why certainly, child.  Who am I to get between you and your God. You may go. Besides we are not even open on Sundays."

 

“Oh, He’s not just my God, Ms. Devereau, He’s everybody’s God.” She immediately kicked herself for saying that, she was trying her best to keep her big trap shut in these early days at the saloon, but she’d heard a preacher say that at a Camp Meeting once and it just sounded so doggone clever and important and religious that she couldn’t quite stop it from popping out. She added a quick coda of “Beggin’ your pardon, Ma’m.” to try and shore up the damage, but that somehow made it seem even more preachy.  

 

Messalina rolled her eyes, and half turning, threw Arabella a lifeline.

 

“I’m just about done with that girl ‘til this evenin’, Ms. Tildy..”

 

Arabella grabbed the save and ran with it.

 

“Oh yes, if there’s anything I could be doin’ out front, I’d be surely pleased to! I could mop the floors or polish Mr. Flandry's knobs” (the barman did have an impressive array of shiny golden colored brass beer pulls and other paraphernalia about the bar) “or if I can do any sewing or ladies maid work for you Ms Devereau, oh you do wear such beautiful clothes and things, I would so dearly love to help you with those sorts of things!” Arabella gushed. To her, the owner of the Saloon was impressive not so much because she managed to run and keep order in such an establishment, but because she looked so gosh darn stylish and beautiful and fashionable and .. and… Why, she almost had as big a crush on Ms. Devereau as she did on The Mystery Stranger

Edited by Javia (see edit history)

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“Oh, He’s not just my God, Ms. Devereau, He’s everybody’s God.”

 

"In your opinion, don't think it's everyone's, child," Matilda smiled. Neither she nor Ralph were religious.

 

“Beggin’ your pardon, Ma’m.”

 

"No matter," Matilda waved it off, the girl was entitled to her opinions and beliefs, she just hoped that as Arabella grew up she would learn tolerance amongst other things. Messalina announced that the child had just about finished her kitchen duties (and no doubt, worn out the woman's patience).

 

“Oh yes, if there’s anything I could be doin’ out front, I’d be surely pleased to! I could mop the floors or polish Mr. Flandry's knobs” (the barman did have an impressive array of shiny golden colored brass beer pulls and other paraphernalia about the bar) “or if I can do any sewing or ladies maid work for you Ms Devereau, oh you do wear such beautiful clothes and things, I would so dearly love to help you with those sorts of things!” Arabella gushed

 

Matilda just about burst out laughing at the girl's turn of phrase regarding Ralph, she'd have to tell him that one later.

 

"Leave everything behind the bar alone, including Ralph, Arabella. However ...yes, if you want to mop up the floors, that sounds like a good idea. But first take a broom and sweep it then mop it," Matilda directed.

 

"And thank you for your compliments. You know...I have a couple of dresses I no longer wear and with a few alterations, we could have them fit you. That is if you would want them?"  she offered, she was quite certain she knew the answer already.

 

 

Edited by Javia (see edit history)

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"Leave everything behind the bar alone, including Ralph, Arabella. However ...yes, if you want to mop up the floors, that sounds like a good idea. But first take a broom and sweep it then mop it," Matilda directed.

 

“Oooh!” Arabella clapped her hands together in delight. Mopping up floors might not be everybody’s idea of a good time, but the girl was happy that one of her ideas had been accepted by the short but glamorous and imposing figure of Matilda Devereau and, more importantly, that she would get to go ‘out front’: the stage on which the life of the saloon actually strutted and fretted its hour, to paraphrase the Bard. She might also get to talk to the taciturn, slightly scary, but altogether fascinating Mr. Flandy.

 

"And thank you for your compliments. You know...I have a couple of dresses I no longer wear and with a few alterations, we could have them fit you. That is if you would want them?"  she offered, she was quite certain she knew the answer already.

 

Arabella gasped and her jaw dropped in disbelief. “Really?!! Oh… oh…” Unfortunately, she was still suffering from the problem that had plagued her ever since her Father had died and she herself had nearly died at Whitefish; whenever someone did something nice for her, her eyes welled up with tears and she became a soggy emotional mess. To counter this, she bit down on her lip, which stopped her crying but rendered her speechless. So, she just had to nod tearful, joyful thanks and undying gratitude to her employer for the offer.

 

Cookie waddled over and lay a calming hand on the happy, sobbing girl’s shoulder. “Lord Ms. Tildy, now you know you can’t do nice things like that for this child, she’s only happy when you gives her ornery chores to do like mop floors an’ peel taters!”

 

Arabella nodded her head. It was true. She didn’t know why. Cookie didn’t know why. She looked up at the saloon owner. There was something about the woman that made her feel that she must know just about everything in the whole wide world. Maybe not about history and God and geography and that kind of book learning, but about being a person, being a woman. “Why am I this way, Ms. Devereau? Will I get better soon?”

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The child was more than happy to do the sweeping and mopping. Matilda was a bit surprised but pleasantly so. She was coming around. Ralph had questioned taking the kid in, saying it could be a mistake and trouble in the long run. But of course when it came to final decisions, there was never a doubt. Matilda won out, as she always did. And in truth, Ralph was fine with it. They worked well together.

 

Being in a good mood now, Matilda offered the child a couple of her old dresses, saying they could do some alterations to make them fit the young miss. However she did not expect the gush of emotion by Arabella, though her cook seemed to have seen it coming. Matilda let the kid go on with all the dramatics though.

 

“Lord Ms. Tildy, now you know you can’t do nice things like that for this child, she’s only happy when you gives her ornery chores to do like mop floors an’ peel taters!”

 

"So it seems," Matilda replied calmly.

 

“Why am I this way, Ms. Devereau? Will I get better soon?”  the girl queried.

 

"Arabella, grow up. You're a young lady now, not a baby," Matilda now declared then turned about and left the pair to themselves and their chores. She had book keeping to do.

 

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 “Why am I this way, Ms. Devereau? Will I get better soon?”  the girl queried.

 

"Arabella, grow up. You're a young lady now, not a baby," Matilda now declared then turned about and left the pair to themselves and their chores. She had book keeping to do.

 

The verbal slap in the face served to snap Arabella out of her state, and she snorted the mucus away and nodded, agreeing with the woman’s assessment. A pat on the back from Cookie took away the sting of it a little. In the words of a later and equally enthusiastic young woman: she might not be a lady yet, but she was the beginnings of one.

 

She finished peeling the last potato and heaved the water filled pan in which she had been plonking the finished articles over to the stove. Then she shook a leg and, without further ado, fetched the bucket and broom and brushes and went to the pump to put some water into it. And not very long afterwards, after brushing away the movable dust and debris, got to work on her hands and knees, scrubbing and swabbing the floor in the main saloon.

 

She sang, as she worked, a popular song of the day. As she couldn’t help but scrub the floor in time to the tune she sang, she had to pick a reasonably slow one. A chorus of Camptown races and her arms would have dropped off. So, her pretty voice picked out the notes of a more maudlin air.

 

🎶 Darling, I am growing old,

Silver threads among the gold,

Shine upon my brow today,

Life is fading fast away.

But, my darling, you will be,

Always young and fair to me,

Yes, my darling, you will be

Always young and fair to me. 🎶

 

Her knee-crippling shuffle across the floor brought her inevitably to what she now knew to be a ‘pianna’ (and not an oversized harmonium with broken foot pumps, like she’d first thought). She looked around. Nobody was about. Still in a kneeling position, she creaked open the lid of the keyboard and, as quietly as possible, began one of the most delicious and most illicit-feeling pleasures of her somewhat spartan life: to pick out, with commendable accuracy, the tune that she had just been singing on the black an white ebony and ivory keys.

 

She might have gotten away with it too, if she hadn’t been unable to resist the temptation of adding a few chords and bass counter point notes in there: that increased the volume considerably, but it just sounded so pretty, and… there was a noise behind her! Arabella let out a yelp and immediately dropped to the floor to continue her scrubbing, like that’s what she’d been doing all the time. It was just that they were magic, music producing floorboards that played Silver Threads Among The Gold if ‘n you scrubbed them hard enough.

Edited by Javia (see edit history)

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Ralph ambled on in, soon enough he'd be opening the place up for the business day and he would be manning his usual behind the bar station. He had a plate in one hand and a fork in the other, wolfing down the contents of said plate.  Once his hunger was satisfied, he was pretty much ready to begin work. Though customers on the other side of the bar wouldn't see it once he got behind the big counter top, he wore a holster on his hips with a Colt  Army Single Action revolver on the right side. Also behind the bar on a shelf outside of the customers' view was a double barreled sawed off shotgun. Finally, was a less drastic form of weaponry, a hardwood chair leg which would function for Ralph as a club to batter some sense into an unruly customer. Yessir, all the tools of the trade.

 

He glanced at the girl, "Humppfff, guess we must have ghosts or somethin' in this place? I heard that piano playin' and now there ain't no one sitting there. Strange. "

 

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He glanced at the girl, "Humppfff, guess we must have ghosts or somethin' in this place? I heard that piano playin' and now there ain't no one sitting there. Strange. "

 

Arabella popped her head up and felt delighted: it was Mr. Flandry. Now, Mr. Flandry was a magnet for Arabella. Not in that way, of course. Nothing romantical. It was just something to do with him being so big and magnificent and formidable and frightening. He was like a dangerous Tiger at the zoo, that a child just can’t resist reaching out to,  through the cage bars, to try and tickle its furry chin. Why, Mr. Flandry even had the furry chin!

 

“Mr. Flandry, don’t you know that this place is haunted?” she piped up as she carried on with her work. “Ain’t you never seen the Old Lady?” she asked in as matter of fact voice as she could muster.

 

“Oh, I never see her direct, like. I just catch her out of the corner of my eye, sometimes, or see a flash of her in that big mirror behind your bar. Then I spin ‘round but she’s always gone. And sometimes…” this was the clincher, there was an old rocking chair in the place, among the more regular furniture, chairs and tables and whatnot, that some of the more old-timey gentlemen customers liked to sit on. Even the gentlest movements on the floorboards made it rock slightly, to and fro, and Ralph had just stomped right past it.

“… and sometimes I can just feel her evil presence, sitting in that old rocking chair, gently rockin’ back and forth, back and forth.” she glanced over and pointed with a gasp “Oh! It’s movin’ now!”

 

This bit of theatre over, she fessed up about the piano.

 

“Course, I cannot tell a lie, that was me tinklin’ on the pianna just then, not the Old Lady, but I hope you ain’t going to tell me off, Mr. Flandry, because I’ve already been told off once today by Miss Devereau, on account of she said she was going to give me a dress and I just cried and cried ‘cause I was so happy and folks being nice to me like that always sets me off, and she told me off for being such a big baby, an’ I suppose she’s right.”

 

She sat up from her cleaning, for this monologue had been delivered while she was hard at the scrubbing and swabbing, and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. Was he even still there?

Edited by Javia (see edit history)

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"Mr. Flandry, don’t you know that this place is haunted?” she piped up as she carried on with her work. “Ain’t you never seen the Old Lady?” she asked in as matter of fact voice as she could muster.  

 

"I missed that news in the paper," Ralph shrugged, he didn't believe in ghosts, least not that kind.

 

The girl hadn't missed a beat but went on with her outlandish story but Ralph wasn't listening. It's not that he didn't like the child, he just didn't much care. But Matilda wanted to take her in so he wasn't going to argue.

By the time the girl was done with whatever she was palavering about or taking a breath, Ralph was behind the bar and polishing a few of the glasses with a hand towel. Arabella could have told him she found a hoard of gold on the floor and he wouldn't have heard a word of it.

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Arabella carried on scrubbing the floors, disappearing from sight behind the tables and chairs. Then, suddenly, her head popped up like a jack-in-the-box at the front of the bar where Ralph was working and squeaked “Hello!”

 

For her head to be that high up, she must have been standing on the bronze colored bar that ran along the bottom of the of the bar-front and which the fellers who liked to stand there usually used to rest one foot on. These fellows were actually a problem in bars the world over (and some would say still are today) They think that they are the barman’s best friend, and stop other customers getting in to order their beer.

 

Well Arabella wasn’t just there to say hello, of course.

 

“Mr. Flandry, can I ask you a question…” she thought it wise not to leave a gap for him to say no “… Mammy Cookie says that you was a Zouave in the Late Unpleasantness Between the States…” she always called it that because some Yankees seemed a mite touchy when you mentioned the war, even though they won it, which was a mighty strange thing in her book. Still… “… I had a cousin Buford Mayer as was a Zouave, his outfit was called the Louisiana Greys, I believe, but I never did know what a Zouave was: my Mammy, not Mammy Cookie, my real Mammy, she told me that a cavalry soldier is one that rides on a horse, and an artillery man, he shoots off a cannon, and an infantry man, he mostly gets killed, but what in the Dickens is a Zouave Mr. Flandry? I figured that, you havin’ been one, you might know.”

 

Suddenly she remembered something else she wanted to ask "Oh! And also, did you have a beard when you was in the war, er, unpleasantness?"

 

Whatever the answer was, she was enjoying just talking to the big scary Mr Flandry, and she was really, really enjoying standing on the shiny bronze bar thing!

 

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Edited by Javia (see edit history)

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Well, ignoring the girl didn't work for long as soon she was up by the bar.

 

“Mr. Flandry, can I ask you a question…”

 

She didn't give Ralph a chance to answer but went right into it - a nice long question. About the war or at least pertaining to the war. The veteran paused to let her finish.

 

"A  Zouave is a kind of uniform, in New York the firemen who volunteered to serve wore it. But from what I heard the French made that uniform for special units in their army.  It was quite fancy I will give it that but once it wore out and fell apart, our replacement uniforms looked like the rest of the army - lots of Union blue. But we kept the name anyhow," he did his best to answer, it was a reasonable question to him.

 

"Oh! And also, did you have a beard when you was in the war, er, unpleasantness?"  

 

"Yes I did, I grew it during the war as when we were on campaign, it wasn't always easy to shave. Most of the men grew 'em, cept for the drummer boys," he chuckled, "Either that or mustaches were popular too. "

 

 

 

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Arabella rested her chin on her hands and listened to Mr. Flandry in wide eyed wonderment, like he was some ancient Greek oracle talking to her through a marble statue. Well, that explained what a Zouave was, but she did wonder how the railroads in New York had carried on running without any firemen to shovel in the coal. But that question would have to wait, she had more pressing queries.

 

"Oh! And also, did you have a beard when you was in the war, er, unpleasantness?" 

 

"Yes I did, I grew it during the war as when we were on campaign, it wasn't always easy to shave. Most of the men grew 'em, cept for the drummer boys," he chuckled

 

The girl closed her eyes and laughed out loud at the thought of that, she imagined a boy like Wyatt Redmond with a big long beard and twirly mustache marching around in uniform.

 

"Either that or mustaches were popular too."

 

“Oh, my Mammy always said not to trust man with a mustache! I reckon a beard suits you best, Mr. Flandry; an’ I bet all them New York ladies was in love with all you Zouaves in your fine uniforms and beards and such. I bet they was all pitchin’ flowers at you when you marched out of there and came down South.”

 

Then something struck her.

 

“Oooh, Mr. Flandry, I just thought – was you ever marchin’ around down by Marion, Virginia during that unpleasantness? We had the Lincoln sojers march by near our house one time, and Mammy and Pappy and Uncle Albert all went and hid in the barn and sent me and Auntie Rosie to the end of the lane and wave little Yankee flags so we wouldn’t get our house burnt down. And, well, they never came by our house because it was up a mountain, but I saw a balloon in the sky a long way off, and there was a tiny man in the basket under it and he waved some little flags at me and … I don’t suppose that was you was it?”

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"Actually there was quite a lot of cheering and enthusiasm when we marched on out of New York in a big parade, off to save the nation for the Union. I was excited, younger and too stupid to realize what I was in for. But looking back on it, yeah, it was grand and glorious times, the beginning," Ralph recalled.

 

"Marion? I know I was in plenty of Virginia, we fought all over that state. But it's not like they gave us ordinary soldiers maps so I had no idea half the places we went thru. Of course the big cities, we knew when we got there but nope, I can't recall no Marion," he was sure of that much.

 

Now Ralph had to chuckle a bit at her description of the balloon and the signaller in that basket.

 

"Nope, girl, that weren't me. I kept both my feet on the ground the whole time. Those men up in the balloons were experts at what they did. He wasn't waving at you, he was sending signals to some faraway unit or column by the way he waved those flags. I have no idea how those signals worked though before ya ask. Me, I just carried a rifled musket, pointed it at the enemy when it came to it, and did my job. "

 

"It weren't pleasant but I got paid and did my bit for the country. Unlike a lot of men, I stayed in too, til we won. I might not be all that good a person but I think I was a damn good soldier," he nodded.

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“Marion? I know I was in plenty of Virginia, we fought all over that state. But it's not like they gave us ordinary soldiers maps so I had no idea half the places we went thru. Of course the big cities, we knew when we got there but nope, I can't recall no Marion," he was sure of that much.

 

“Awwww” Arabella sagged on the bar and sighed in exaggerated disappointment at this news. And then he told her that he hadn’t been the tiny little man in the balloon, neither, although, to be honest, she’d guessed that that one had been a bit of a long shot.

 

"It weren't pleasant but I got paid and did my bit for the country. Unlike a lot of men, I stayed in too, til we won. I might not be all that good a person but I think I was a damn good soldier," he nodded.

 

“And at least you got through it all safe and sound and now you’re here to look after me and Cookie and Ms. Devereau. My cousin Buford, him who was a Louisiana Tiger, he weren’t so lucky: he got his head taken off by a Yankee cannon at fust Mannassas, and I believe he died shortly afterwards.” she recounted sadly.

Mr Flandry seemed to have work to do but she begged the answers to two more questions.

 

“Oooh, oooh, Mr Flandry, before I go back to scrubbing, can I just ask a couple more iddy biddy questions? I was wonderin’ if you ever saw the elephant, and if them critters is as big as everybody says they is and can they really pick things up with their noses?”

 

The second question was the more important one, as it had more personal implications for her.

“Oooh, did you ever have any doin’s with cantinières in your outfit?”

 

She was going to ask if he was ever in love with one, but that seemed to be delving a little too deep, even for her nosy ways.

 

“Because I reckon if I ever go to a fancy dress party, and I can dress up as anything I like, I’m goin’ to make myself a cantinière outfit, and I was going to do one like the Louisiana Tigers uniform, like poor ol’ Buford, but some folks round here already calls me ‘The Reb’ - maybe I could make one like your New York Zouaves, so maybe you could help me get all the colors and look of the thing right.”

Edited by Javia (see edit history)

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Though he wanted to laugh, Ralph settled for a nod, "Yeah, losing his head probably did the trick, that would kill most men."

 

She begged his indulgence to ask just a couple more questions, Ralph didn't mind. The child was just naturally curious like most children he figured. Not that he was an expert on children but he was one ...once.

 

"Sure, ask away."

 

 " I was wonderin’ if you ever saw the elephant, and if them critters is as big as everybody says they is and can they really pick things up with their noses?”

 

"Oh, that! Actually in the war seein' the elephant meant you got involved in seeing your first battle, that's all. However, I did happen to see real elephants - once - there was this circus in New York City. And yes, they can pick things up with their noses, amazin' creatures really," he fondly recalled.

 

"Oooh, did you ever have any doin’s with cantinières in your outfit?”  

 

"Ummm, well....not sure I should be talkin' about those.... ladies. We didn't call them that though. They were forbidden in the army til Fightin' Joe Hooker took over control of the Army of the Potomac. He brought in official...ladies. They became known then as hookers," he smiled.

 

“Because I reckon if I ever go to a fancy dress party, and I can dress up as anything I like, I’m goin’ to make myself a cantinière outfit, and I was going to do one like the Louisiana Tigers uniform, like poor ol’ Buford, but some folks round here already calls me ‘The Reb’ - maybe I could make one like your New York Zouaves, so maybe you could help me get all the colors and look of the thing right.” 

 

He waved off that one, "You'd have to enlist Matilda on that one. I can tell you the colors but how you make one of them outfits, way beyond me. Tildy might be able to do it though. She likes fashion and clothes and such."

 

 

 

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"Ummm, well....not sure I should be talkin' about those.... ladies. We didn't call them that though. They were forbidden in the army til Fightin' Joe Hooker took over control of the Army of the Potomac. He brought in official...ladies. They became known then as hookers," he smiled.

 

Hookers? She’d never heard that term before! She stored it in her memory to use herself when a suitable occasion presented itself.

 

“Because I reckon if I ever go to a fancy dress party, and I can dress up as anything I like, I’m goin’ to make myself a cantinière outfit, and I was going to do one like the Louisiana Tigers uniform, like poor ol’ Buford, but some folks round here already calls me ‘The Reb’ - maybe I could make one like your New York Zouaves, so maybe you could help me get all the colors and look of the thing right.”

 

He waved off that one, "You'd have to enlist Matilda on that one. I can tell you the colors but how you make one of them outfits, way beyond me. Tildy might be able to do it though. She likes fashion and clothes and such."

 

Arabella nodded, but she had doubts about how willing Ms Devereau would be to help her, she always seemed so busy and overwhelmed with the business of the saloon, even when there didn’t seem to be that much for her to actually be doing, other than walk around in nice dresses. She was the polar opposite of Mr. Flandry in her (somewhat biased) opinion: he seemed to sail through the most trying of crises with the coolest aplomb imaginable.

 

We shall not dwell too heavily upon what actually did happen when Arabella eventually built up her courage and said to Tildy “Oh, Ms. Devereau, Mr. Flandry said to ask you to help me dress up like a hooker!”

 

For now she was, not so much done asking questions, but at the point of stretching the barman’s patience, by her reckoning.

 

“Well, can’t stand here yappin’ all day!” Actually, she could. “Best get back to work. Thanks for answerin’ all my aggravatin’ questions, Mr Flandry!” she smiled happily and jumped back down off the bar.

Edited by Javia (see edit history)

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About Sagas

Sagas of the WIld West is a roleplaying game set in a fictionalized version of the town of Kalispell in Montana territory. Our stories begin in 1875 and are set against the backdrop of actual historical events.Sagas was inspired by the classic television and movie westerns. Our focus is on writing, storytelling and character development.

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Founders: Stormwolfe & Longshot

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