Cassandra: A Short Story

Hello, my lovelies!

I realized I haven't shared much of my fiction writing lately so I thought today I would share with you a short story I wrote this summer.

A friend of mine was hosting a short story contest based on a number of different photo prompts. I forgot until the last minute and in a panic I looked through the prompts until I came to the one I based this story on. I didn't know what I was doing when I started writing, I just knew that was the one I wanted to write. So for the next hour I just typed and let the story roll off my fingers.

Here are the results (which I'm pretty proud of even though I didn't win):

They called her the Keeper.

            It’s a cliché name, I know. I laughed the first time I heard it, somewhere in the midst of all my travels, scoffing at the idea of one with a name so obviously pretentious.

            And yet even I, ever the skeptic, found myself in need of her wisdom.

            I didn’t want to go to her. After all, I had already made up my mind about her and the legends that were told of her abilities. They were nothing more than fanciful tales told to pass the time on those long dirigible voyages, sailing through the skies where hot tempers and boredom reigned. Fantastical tales about gorgeous blondes were a way of keeping the peace and nothing more.

            So I didn’t know why I was there, standing on the steps of her library, that evening in October. The wind blew the fallen leaves about, tossing them all around me as I drew my coat closer to keep the chill from setting in. There I stood on the steps wondering whether I ought to go in after all.

            I had exhausted all my other options up until this point and if this failed me- which it was sure to- I would have nothing left. My hesitation made little sense, given this fact, and so with a resolute breath I stepped inside the building.

            It looked much as I would have expected, but felt so much different. I know, I know, I’m not a man to talk much about feelings and atmosphere and ambiance and what have you. But I’m telling you, there was something about this place, a presence, that one could not deny when they stepped inside.

            There were floor to ceiling bookshelves crowded together, so many of them, each filled with volumes upon volumes of old books with worn and weathered spines. Each book looked well-read, as if it had been pulled from the shelf time and again for use. None of that was a surprise.

            No, I expected that. What I did not expect was to feel like each and every book was looking at me, judging me, as if my very soul had been pulled from my body and was now sitting there in plain sight for all to read.

            I could turn back now, I reminded myself. I could turn and leave this place forever and forget that I even came. I did not need to stay.

            And yet something kept me there. I found myself drawn further in, my boots giving a muffled thud with each step I took on the carpeted floors. Moving through the narrow aisles of books, I listened to their whispers as I walked past. I could not make out what they were saying, the sound so faint it was surely all in my head. Books did not talk, after all. Books did not whisper or judge. They were inanimate objects read by rational and illogical people alike. They were tools and their use was determined by the user; they had no life outside of us.

            This I told myself as I walked, weaving through the shelves, finding the place deserted. It never crossed my mind to pull books from the shelves and look for the information I sought, not on my own. I was here in search of the Keeper, and so it was she who I continued to seek.

            After wandering the library a good many minutes only to discover it just continued on and on, larger than the building outside seem to reasonably be able to contain, I finally worked up the courage to break the carnal rules of libraries. Opening my mouth, I called out, “Hello? Is there anyone here?”

            I was met with those faint whispers again along with the hollow echo of my own voice- which seemed odd, given how packed the room was. Surely my voice should not have echoed.

            “Hello?” I called again.

            Still I was met with nothing but the whispers and the echoes and the dull thud of my boots that rang out with each step.

            I ought to have turned back, ought to have left. But at this point I was unsure whether I would even be able to find my way out of here, I had taken so many twists and turns to get to the place I was now.

            Still, I considered it, thinking surely if I could navigate the skies on a stormy summer night, I could find my way out of a library. And I had just made up my mind to turn and leave when I heard it.

            The humming.

            It was not the musical humming that one makes when they do not know the words to a song or else do not wish to sing it. No, this was a humming of energy, an electrical hum of some sort. It was loud though and with each step I took toward it the sound grew louder until it was almost deafening.

            “Hello?” I called again, rounding a corner. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw it- when I saw her.

            The Keeper.

            It was she who was the source of the energy, crouched on the ground, a large volume in her hands that hide a good deal of her. But there was a good deal left to see, all illuminated by a glow that seemed to come from her and around her all at once. Her skin was pale and translucent, much like the strings of pearls that draped cross her forehead and twisted into her platinum blonde hair, swept into an elegant updo. A little red flower was tucked into its folds.

            She wore boots that were weathered and aged, well-loved and well-worn. Her legs were covered in crocheted stockings that might have been from a yarn not of this world, the way it shimmered and glowed in the low light. Her arms were covered in fingerless gloves that went to her elbows and beyond, of a gossamer fabric, sheer and lacy. Her skirt floofed out around her legs, spilling over them with all their layers and flounces as she crouched there beside the bookshelves.

            I stood there for a little while- a minute or more, perhaps?- not daring to speak before she looked up at me, her eyes meeting mine. I believed then that the books could in fact whisper, that they could in fact judge. Just as I knew for a fact in that moment that she could see into my very soul.

            Perhaps the tales of her were true after all. And somewhere deep inside me swelled with hope, though that hope was covered by a good deal of awe that kept me frozen there in my place, unable to do anything but stare.

            She frowned at me, closing the book and setting it on her lap as her lips pursed tightly. She drummed her long, elegant fingers on the cover a moment before she said, “You’ve come for advice.”

            Her voice broke the spell, quite simply because there was nothing magical about it. It was so unassuming, so normal, that I found myself disconcerted by it. It was as if it made me disenchanted and yet all the more enchanted with her at the same time.

            “I have,” I said and her frown deepened.

            “That wasn’t a question,” she said. “I know why you’ve come.”

            She rose then, lifting the book and slipping it onto the shelf. Her skirt fell into place, the skirt and many underskirts bouncing as she moved. With the book gone I could see the rest of her outfit- a shirt with short ruffled sleeves over which she wore a vest that buckled up the front. It wasn’t a tight shirt or vest but it fit her well and I wasn’t able to quite ignore how nicely it accentuated her curves.

            “I can’t help you,” she said, turning away, as if she was going to just walk away from me then, as if the conversation were over before it had even begun.

            “You can’t walk away!” I cried out, taking a step toward her but then drawing back as the fear struck. She was glowing, after all. I am a man who takes many risks in life but touching a glowing, otherworldly human just seemed like not a wise option.

            She whirled around, a glare on her pale face. There was rage and fury in those translucent blue eyes of hers and she fairly spat as she spoke to me. “I can do whatever I please. And what I please is to no longer give advice to fools like you who seek a bandage when it is surgery that is required.”

            She spoke in riddles, in metaphors and the like. I was in excellent condition, after all, and it was not a bandage I had come here to seek.

            “I need a-”

            “I know what you need!” she interrupted, not letting me get the words out. “And I know what you think you need. But trust me, finding him won’t do any good. And no map I give you will change what has happened. I want no part of your mission of revenge. Now, if you turn around and keep going straight you will find the door. Good day.”

            She turned again, started to walk away. My mind was reeling with so many thoughts- about the revenge she spoke of, of the map I did in fact need and the person I hoped it would lead me to, of the fact that I had taken so many twists and turns that it seemed unlikely that turning around and going straight would in fact bring me to the door, that she was actually walking away and did not plan to help me.

            All this went through my mind in a matter of seconds before I came back to this world and that around me. She had already made it a good way, cruising faster than I would have thought her short legs capable.

            “Wait, please!” I called out. She did not stop. I broke into a jog, chasing after her. I reached her but she did not turn around. I did not think this time, my rationality gone in the face of the panic that was settling in. She was my last hope, my last breath of a chance in finding the man who took so much from me.

            I touched her, reached out on put my hand on her shoulder. And the moment we made contact my whole world shifted.

            My head began to spin and it was as if time stood still. The energy that surrounded her, that illuminated her and filled her, I could feel it entering me, coursing through my veins and filling me as well. I saw flashes of things, memories that were not my own, that were shady at best, more shadows than anything else. But they left me with feelings I could not deny- of loneliness and hopelessness and despair so great it filled me like none has ever filled me before.

            My life has not been an easy one. I have seen things, experienced things, been exposed to things that are not to be shared. I have never thought myself lucky with the life I have been given, have always known it to be a hard one. But never have I felt pain on this level. Never in my life have I ever thought that perhaps, just perhaps, my life is not so bad after all, not if there are emotions like this in the world.

            The connection was broken almost as soon as it was made but I could not shake the feelings that filled me a moment before.

            The Keeper had stepped back, for it was she who broke our connection. She looked as one wounded, as if in touching her I did something wrong.

            And it was then that I knew.

            I knew those feelings, those flashes of memories, those shadows, they all belonged to her. For all the wisdom and energy and light she contained, she was broken. She was alone.

            And I knew what she meant when she had snapped at me. How it must feel to spend one’s life giving advice, to be sought out for your wisdom only to be left once more, alone. How it must feel to know everything about a person just by looking into their eyes and knowing that you yourself will never truly be known.

            “Please leave,” she said, her voice shaking a bit as she spoke. She cowered just a bit, her light fading, less bright, less luminescent.

            I stood there, not moving toward her but not moving away either. She looked scared and I wondered if she was scared I would stay or scared that I would listen to her and leave.

            I couldn’t shake the feelings. I couldn’t walk away. So I looked into her eyes, deep into her eyes, though I knew she could see more about me from the looking than I could about her.

            Her defiance faltered a bit, her mask of anger and hardness slipping slightly out of place. Her voice was a whisper as she said, “What do you want from me?”

            She knew what I wanted. Or did she? In those moments what I wanted had changed. I still wanted the answers she could give me, but I had also realized I could spare her some time. After all, why should she give me what I wanted if I did not give her what she wanted in return?

            So drawing in a breath to gather my courage I ventured to ask, “What is your name? Surely the Keeper is but your title.”

            Her brow furrowed and I thought a moment that perhaps I had perceived wrongly, for my judgement in divining desires and the like was not what hers was, after all. But then she offered me the faintest hint of a smile, shy and delicate.

            “My name is Cassandra,” she said. “Do you have time for a cup of tea?”

            I had a man to find, a man most vile and evil who needed to be stopped. But this was the woman who could help me, this was the woman who could give me the answers I needed. And she was asking for but an evening of my life. That I could give her, that I could afford.

            “I do,” I told her.

            Her shyness fell away and she smiled at me then, full and bright. And as I followed the Keeper- Cassandra- to where she was surely to make that cup of tea she had promised me, I thought perhaps this evening would pass far too quickly.

~Jennifer Sauer, the Ivory Palace Princess

Cloaked in Red: A Review

Hello, my lovelies!

Between the holidays and traveling I know I’ve missed a few posts in the last few weeks but no more!

I am back to stay. I promised you last week that I would be sharing a review of this book with you and here it is:

Cloaked in Red by Vivian Vande Velde

3 Stars

So you think know the story of Little Red Riding Hood, the girl with the unfortunate name and the inability to tell the difference between her grandmother and a member of a different species? Well, then, try your hand at answering these questions:

-Which character (not including Little Red herself) is the most fashion challenged?

-Who (not including the wolf) is the scariest?

-Who (not including Granny) is the most easily scared?

-Who is the strangest? (Notice we're not "not including" anyone, because they're all a little off.)

-Who (no fair saying "the author") has stuffing for brains?

Vivian Vande Velde has taken eight new looks at one of the world's most beloved (and mixed-up) stories. You may never look at fairy tales in quite the same way again.

-From Goodreads

This book was broken up into short stories, each one a retelling of the same tale. Some of the stories I adored, other I absolutely hated. So today I thought I’d do something a little different and talk about each story individually. I’ll try to keep each one short and spoiler free.

Author’s Note:

3 Stars

This comes before the stories begin and sort of sets the tone for the rest of the book. The author is discussing the classic tale of Little Red Riding Hood and why it was she chose that story. She also raises a lot of really great questions about the time while doing so in a very hilarious way.

I didn’t know what to make of this. On the one hand it offered some great commentary into the tale and as I said it asked some valid questions about it. On the other hand it had a very judgmental air about the whole thing. It was as if the author didn’t even like the tale and that was why she was writing this book- to make a not great thing good.

I much prefer to read books written by someone who clearly loves a tale, though they can definitely see its flaws and aren’t afraid to acknowledge them. I don’t like authors who look at fairy tales and come across as snooty and better than that writer.

Also, as someone who loves fairy tales very much it makes me angry when people who don’t like them use them in ways like this. If the story is so terrible don’t write a book based on it and make money off of it. Find other things to write your book about.

The Red Cloak

2 Stars

Right out of the gate running I knew I didn’t like this story.

The main character in this tale is Red Riding Hood- a girl named Meg in this tale- who is clearly better than everyone else she meets. This story sets the precedent for several other stories- as in this one we will later see parents who are idiots and evil woodcutters. We’ll also continue to see main characters who think they are better than everyone else.

Meg makes it pretty clear that she thinks herself the mature one in her relationship with her mom, though the thing we’re told is most immature about the woman is that she met her husband and fell in love with him at first sight. There’s a pretty clear knock on fairy tale romance in the tale, but it’s weird because the dad isn’t really in it but you get the impression he’s still around. So their knock on fairy tale romance makes little sense since the couple who fell into it is still together.

The Red Riding Hood Doll

2.5 Stars

This tale was a lot more interesting than the last but still had a very judgmental air. It’s told from the perspective of the Mother, though there is an interesting added twist on the original.

This story seems to send the message that everyone secretly hates everyone else and wants to be mean to them and you know the person is a good person if they only think the rude thing and don’t actually say it. I wanted so badly to smack the main character on several occasions.

I did, on the other hand, understand where she was coming from. She’s lonely and sad and the author does a good job of bringing that across. I felt her loneliness as I read and it tugged at my heart in probably the strongest bit of emotion I felt in this whole book.

But then the author took it too far and the story got downright weird. Georgette- the main character in the story- is a seamstress and she makes Red Riding Hood out of cloth. She then proceeds to insist this doll is her daughter and we’re supposed to side with her when her mother is weirded out and refuses to accept the cloth creation as her child.

And that’s not even the weirdest bit. That comes at the end, which I won’t discuss so as to avoid spoilers. But it bugged me. A lot.

Red Riding Hood’s Family

1 Star

I this was downright weird from beginning to end. I just- I can’t even make words for how much I didn’t like it. It mostly just made no sense and I kept reading because what else was I supposed to do?

There was another knock on parents being in love, like it was some horrible, horrible thing. Which I just don’t get. Parents being in love is a good thing. It’s a healthy thing in a marriage. We really need to stop knocking it in stories.

Also Roselle- the Red Riding Hood character in the story- was so judgmental and thought herself so much better than everyone else. And it just grated on me.

And then there were others weird, random elements that there was zero precedent for and the whole just confused me.

Granny and the Wolf

4 Stars

Why is the woodcutter always underdeveloped and evil in these stories so far?

Okay, that’s out so now I can get to the good bits. I actually really loved this story. Maybe it was because the others leading up to this point were so bad? Whatever the case, I liked this one a lot.

The story is told from the perspective of the Grandmother. It’s cleverly told, keeping mostly with the original tale but adding some really fun twists and the like. Nelda- the Grandmother- is spunky but also weirdly kind for a character in this book? She has a little bit of judgmentalness but even that actually seems justified in this one?

I don’t know. I just really liked this one.

Deems the Wood Gatherer

5 Stars

This one was my favorite story. This one was clever and well told and the judgement in the tale was from a loveable old man who more shook his head at the youths today than anything else. And Deems is a cinnamon roll.

What’s really fun about this one too is that several other fairy tales make an appearance and that’s fun. The Three Little Pigs, Hansel and Gretel, and the Gingerbread Man. They all work surprisingly well for such a short story and it’s just a really great story.

I don’t know what else to day about it. I just really, really loved it.

Why Willy and His Brothers Won’t Ever Amount to Anything

4.5 Stars

This story was beyond clever. The hints of the original tale mixed with a lot of fun twists and it was just really cool.

I do love Willy a lot and it made me sad that there was some slight judgement about him. He was earnest and good and even though he was a little quick to jump to conclusions and or let his imagination run wild I didn’t see those as reasons to hate him.

But overall it was a good story. And the ending was perfect and I loved it so incredibly much.

The Little Red Headache

4 Stars

I was so happy to find three stories in a row in this book that I liked that I was almost certain it couldn’t last.

But then it did.

This story is told from the perspective of the Wolf and it’s just so fun. He’s not this evil creature that the stories make him out to be. He’s actually rather polite and civilized and the whole story is one big misunderstanding.

It’s super great.

It only gets 4 stars though because when I was writing this review I forgot about it until I reread a little snippet and then I remembered. So it gets a star knocked off for being slightly forgettable. But it’s still really good.

Little Red Riding Hood’s Little Red Riding Hood

1 Star

And of course the love couldn’t last. I hated this story.

This one is told from the perspective of the hood and that is so clever. But that was all the story had going for it.

The cloak is accidentally blessed with intelligence by a fairy and the story goes downhill from there. Apparently if you’re smart that also makes you a little snot who judges everyone else. So fun.

In fact, going back over my notes, the last thing I wrote while reading this story was “What the heck? Another dumb one…”

It was just a very judgmental story, which as sad because I got four good ones in a row so I was lulled into a false sense of security before I read this one.

Overview:

All in all this book had an air of judgment about it that was too hard to shake while reading it. The idea was clever but in the end too poorly executed for me to really enjoy.

I didn’t like the messages it sent- love is something to roll your eyes at/something for stupid people; it’s okay to be judgmental to literally everyone you meet as long as you don’t actually say what you’re thinking out loud; if you’re smarter than everyone else it also means you look down on everyone else because they’re all idiots.

There were some good stories, which I would recommend reading. If you can get your hands on the book I would recommend reading those stories but skipping the rest. And I wouldn’t bother actually wasting money on it at all. I paid $4 for this between the ebook and the audio and I’m really grateful I didn’t spend any more than that.

I hope to see you on Monday! Until the next time we meet don’t forget to live happily ever after <3

~Jennifer Sauer, the Ivory Palace Princess

P.S. Let’s Chat! What is your favorite thing about Little Red Riding Hood? What is your favorite retelling of that tale?

A Short Story...

My poor blog!

It must feel so unloved...

I don't have a post, but I haven't posted anything lately, so y'all get a short story. I don't have a title for it, so I originally called this post the first thing I could think of that applied, which was "The Goodbye Letter"

Then I pictured that popping up in your inbox and all of you freaking out. Super misleading!!

So, I went with the simple "Short Story." Because that's what it is. It's just something I wrote off a writing prompt, so I hope you enjoy it!

I wrote you a letter you’ll never read. If you look closely at the pages you’ll find the stains where my tears fell as I wrote. The handwriting gets sloppier with each sentence as I became so caught up in the words I forgot to keep my mind on writing legibly. By the end, you probably wouldn’t be able to read what I wrote anyway.

                Not that it matters anymore.

                I baked a cake you’ll never eat. I set it out and the guests all helped themselves, talking in hushed tones as they ate the thin slices. Pineapple pound cake. Your favorite. I jumped every time the door opened, but you never came through it. The cake is gone and the guests left but you never came home.

                I drove past your work every day for a month, but your car was never there. I looked every time I drove by but your blue impala was never in the parking lot, in its usual space. I suppose you don’t drive it anymore, so I don’t know why I would expect to see it.

                I saw you every time I went out, saw you in every crowd, saw you in the face of every stranger I past. But they were never really you. I kept an eye out. I really did. I always thought I would see you, always expected to run into you. But it never happened.

                I still have your voicemail, but it’s not enough. I wanted to see you one last time, wanted a chance to talk, wanted a chance to say goodbye. Why didn’t you give me that chance? You really think leaving a phone message is good enough? You’d really do that to the woman you claimed to love?

                I didn’t get out of bed for days after I got your message. I didn’t eat and my sleep was fitful and full of dreams. More like nightmares. When I did start eating again, I ate my way through six pizzas, three jars of pickles, and nine pints of ice cream. I threw up three times.

                I cried for months. I cried on the way to work and on the way home, and in the shower, and while I sat alone on the couch every night. I blamed you. And then I blamed me. And then I blamed them. I missed you and I hated you. I wanted you back and never wanted to see you again.

                I had to explain it to my friends and family. Only, what was I supposed to tell them? I dreaded facing them and avoided it whenever possible. How could I explain to them when I didn’t even understand it myself?

                You left me. And, I couldn’t even call you. You left me and I didn’t know why. Was it me? Did I do something? Was I not good enough for you? If I had done something differently would we be together today? If I had done things differently would you have stayed?

                I got rid of everything that reminded me of you. I went through the house and did a complete overhaul, throwing everything away, cleaning it all out. I felt so good about myself, actually getting something done. I removed all traces of you, fueled by my anger.

                And then I regretted it and collapsed on the kitchen floor, sobbing, pleading with you to come back to me.

                I waited for you. All those parties I skipped out on, all the people I kept at arms’ length. You were coming back. And I wanted to be available when you did. I waited. I waited so long, put my life on hold, hoping, praying, begging you to come back.

                But, you never did.

                I’ve moved on now. Just like you asked me to. I don’t know when it happened, but it did. One day I realized I could laugh without forcing myself. I could walk past a couple holding hands without wanting to hurt one of them. I actually wanted to go out with my friends.

                I still miss you. There are some days when it hits me all at once and I am struck with the overwhelming urge to cry. But, it doesn’t last. I’m doing better. I can live without you.

                I met someone. He’s so different than you, it’s almost funny. But we fit so perfectly together. I felt guilty at first, like I was cheating on you. I felt like I was doing something wrong, like I was being unfaithful.

                But, you’re not coming back. I’ve accepted that now. And, I’ve forgiven you. I understand now. You didn’t choose to leave me. You chose to fight for something bigger than us, chose to stand up for what you believed in.

                It wasn’t your fault you had to leave me.

                I’m not angry anymore. My life is good, just as you hoped it would be. Just as you asked me to make it. Robert’s a wonderful guy. You would like him. And, you would be proud of me. Proud of the things I’m doing, proud of me for doing so well. But, it’s time for me to let you go. To truly say goodbye. So, here it is:

                Good bye, Ethan.

                Rest in peace.

And, there you have it!! Let me know what you thought in comments below!!! :D

No Defense- A Short Story from the Past

I am still incredibly proud of this one. I wrote it in church one Sunday as the Lord was speaking it to me that week. I don't mean the story was divinely written, but the inspiration certainly came from God.

It's just this one short story, though I always wanted to write more. But, it never happened so, I guess it wasn't meant to be?

Anyway, not really much to say about it, except that I hope you enjoy!

I have no defense.

I know I’m guilty and there is no hope for mercy so I don’t even bother asking for it as I stand before the stern-faced judge. My legs are wobbly and my stomach is all aflutter, so I grip the podium before me to support myself.

My accuser stands to my left, a smug expression on his cruel face. I close my eyes to shut that look out but it does no good. That face is branded in my mind. I’ve seen it so many times. The same expression he always wears when he brings someone down.

I’ve been here so many times. I should have known he’d bring me down with him again. They don’t call him the Destroyer for nothing. He’s known for deceiving people, conning them into trusting him and then exposing their innermost thoughts and using them against them. He’s done it to me a million times.

And yet I chose to trust him.

I have no defense.

I open my eyes because the judge is taking a long time passing my sentence. I dare to look up into his face and find it isn’t stern, as I assumed.

It’s warm, filled with compassion and deep sorrow. He regards me with an expression that stirs hope in me. The judge doesn’t want to pass this sentence on me.

And yet, there’s an unwavering resolve in his eyes that causes me to push that hope down. I know what I deserve. Even a compassionate judge must be just.

I deserve death and so that’s what I must get.

“May I speak?” a voice behind me asks.

Gripping the podium, my knuckles are white and my fingers lock as my knees buckle under me. I can barely manage to remain standing. I know that voice even without turning to see the speaker.

Joshua.

My mind floods with all the things I’ve done to him. All the times I’ve betrayed him. All the times I’ve denied him, been unfaithful to him, and used him to further my own selfishness.

My stomach churns as I turn to face him coming through the crowd. I want to shrink away in his presence. He’s so perfect, so pure, so righteous.

I feel so dirty, so unclean, so unworthy as his eyes meet mine. I avert my gaze, knowing full well what he’s here for. I want to hide from his accusations because I know they are all true. And they have all been committed against him.

I don’t care how my accuser sees me because anything he says against me, I can say the same and worse against him. But Joshua’s different.

I can’t say the same about him because he’s not like that. He’s Joshua.

I know he’s still looking at me and I long to sink into the floor. I don’t want his eyes on me. Don’t want him to see the sin-filled person I am. I want him to speak words of love, of hope, of acceptance. I want to defend myself to him, tell him I’m sorry, ask him to forgive me.

But I push those thoughts aside. I know why he’s here. I’ve betrayed him and his love and he’s going to condemn me.

And, I have no defense.

I deserve death.

And, he’s here to make sure I get that.

I close my eyes again, breathing deeply. The judge gives him permission to speak and I brace myself for his convicting words.

I have no defense.

Joshua clears his throat. I wonder how I could have dared to sin against him. My accuser’s smug expression burns in my mind. How could I have ever wanted any part of him? How could I have ever wanted more than Joshua offered?

I have no defense.

And then Joshua finally speaks.

“This one’s mine, Dad,” he says. “I’ve got her covered.”

I open my eyes to stare at him, not believing or understanding what I’m hearing. I see he’s holding a book, open to a certain page. Written there in blood red ink, along with many others, is my name.

“Her debt is paid.”

The judge nods solemnly and says, “You’re free to go.”

I shake my head, knowing they’re teasing me, knowing Joshua is making me pay for what I’ve done to him.

My accuser protests vehemently, screaming forth a list of all the things I have done wrong. I want to cover my ears against them, want to melt into the floor to avoid them, want to run and hide from them. But, I can’t.

I have no defense.

Joshua turns to my accuser and fixes him with a glare. “I have paid her debt. You have no claims to her.”

My accuser shrinks under his gaze and slinks away. Joshua turns to me.

I open my mouth to tell him I’m sorry. He puts a finger to my lips to keep me silent. “You’re free,” he whispers. “You’re forgiven.”

Free? Forgiven? It can’t be. I want to tell him all the things I’ve done, all the horrible crimes I’ve committed, even though he already knows. I want to remind him, remind him of what I’ve done and what I deserve.

But, his hand is still on my lips. I look down at it and see the little scar in the middle, the little hole, a mirror of the one on his other hand.

“You’re clean now,” he says quietly. “Washed clean and free of all that.”

Tears well in me and I choke back a sob. He takes me in his arms and holds me tight. I have no right to enjoy his embrace but it makes me feel protected, makes me feel safe. It makes me feel clean.

“But-”

“No buts,” he says. “You’re clean, my precious one. I paid your debt to make you free. I love you.”

I know he does. He’s told me this a thousand times. But, still, I’ve sinned. I’ve-

“I’ve washed it away,” he whispers gently in my ear. “I was forsaken so you might be forgiven. I was condemned so you might be accepted into my kingdom. I died so you might live.”

His words sink it, understanding slowly dawning on me.

I’m clean. I’m forgiven. I’m accepted. I’m loved.

And, I have a defense.

And that's that!

Next week will be another except. I hope you'll return for that! :D

Train Ride- The First Western I Ever Wrote

I almost didn't include this one.

Not because I don't like it, or because I was scared to share or anything stupid like that. I just plain forgot about it.

But then I was reminded of it and it turns out I was missing a story to get me through the summer, so I thought I'd toss it into the mix.

It's the longest one yet, but, as the title says, it's the first western I ever wrote. And, so, I thought it needed to be included. For better or for worse, here it is:

At four-thirty Friday morning the train pulled into the Denton station. It was a short stop; just long enough to take on water, passengers, and a very important shipment. Most of the train’s passengers were still asleep; other than the guards, train employees, and those of the Denton Mining Company, only five people saw the gold being loaded.

Marshal Luke Gordon and his prisoner, Jude Henson, were traveling from Denton to Connellsville, where Jude was to stand trial for bank robbery and murder. The lawman knew, with the gold shipment and prisoner on board, there was bound to be trouble.

Sydney McDowell saw the loading as she boarded the train. She hoped- but doubted- it would be a peaceful trip.

Fancy Younger hurried up the train steps as quickly as she could, barely glancing at the twelve armed guards. She had decided it was time to leave town; it was so much better than being run out.

Trent Dailey was in no hurry. In fact, he stopped to watch the loading before boarding himself.

Then the train pulled out of the station at four- forty-five, exactly on schedule.

=============

Sydney McDowell took a deep breath before approaching the lawman. He was slouched in his seat with his hat in his eyes. His prisoner was staring out the window. Neither man noticed her approach. She coughed delicately.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” she asked, indicating the seat across from them.

The lawman sat up, pushed his hat back, and smiled at her. “It is now.”

Sydney batted her eye lashes as she sat down. “Thank you.” She acted as though she were just seeing the shackles Jude Henson wore for the first time. “Oh,” she breathed, her eyes widening, “is it quite safe to sit here?”

“It’s safe,” Marshal Gordon assured her. “He’s shackled.”

“Are you sure he can’t come loose?”

“I’m sure, Miss…?”

“McDowell, Sydney McDowell. And you are…?”

“U. S. Marshal Luke Gordon.”

Sydney’s eyes widened and she gasped. “A marshal? I shall feel quite safe knowing you’re on board. I fear we may be robbed. Why, with all that gold on board someone’s sure to try, don’t you think?”

“More than likely but the robbers will only be after the gold so you should be safe.”

“I hope so,” Sydney said. “How far are you going, Marshal Gordon?”

“To Connellsville, Henson here has to stand trial.”

“Henson? You don’t mean he’s Jude Henson?”

“Why, yes, he is.”

Sydney’s eyes grew wider. “Why, he’s a member of the Hall Younger gang.”

“That’s right but you needn’t worry, I haven’t lost a prisoner yet.”

“That’s good because between him and the gold there’s bound to be some excitement. You can look out for me if there’s any trouble.”

“No offense, ma’am, but if there’s trouble, I’ll be looking out for my prisoner.”

Sydney batted her eyelashes. “Then I’ll just have to stay close to your prisoner, won’t I?”

=============

Fancy Younger wished the man next to her would stop talking. From the moment he sat down she hadn’t had a bit of quiet and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t block him out.

“Please, Mr…”

“Baxter’s the name, ma’am, Horatio T. Baxter.”

“Mr. Baxter, if you don’t mind, I need to think…”

“Oh, you go right ahead and think, ma’am, go right ahead. Don’t let my talking bother you. It really doesn’t matter if anyone’s listening, I can talk to myself just as well as to someone else. Why, one time…”

Fancy groaned. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take of this.

“Excuse me, sir,” a man said, interrupting Mr. Baxter’s monologue midsentence, “do you mind if I sit next to my sister?”

Fancy’s head shot up. She didn’t have a brother and she knew what kind of man claimed to be a girl’s brother. Her protest died on her lips, however, at the sight of him.

He was a tall cowboy, with sandy blonde hair and bright hazel eyes. He wasn’t rough looking nor was he a dandy. He seemed to fall somewhere in between the two kinds of men; a nice medium.

“Of course, my boy,” Horatio T. Baxter answered the cowboy. “You may sit where ever you like. You paid for your ticket. Do you need help finding her?” he added when the cowboy didn’t move on.

“No, sir,” the man replied, “you’re sitting next to her. What I was trying to ask is, may I have your seat?”

“Oh, of course,” Horatio T. Baxter laughed as he rose from his seat. “Of course you may. I’ll just find someone else to sit next to. Nice meeting you, ma’am.” And with a tip of his hat to Fancy he went in search of another victim. The cowboy took the seat next to Fancy.

“Sorry, if I seemed forward, ma’am,” he said. “It just seemed as though you could use rescuing.”

Fancy eyed him warily. She had fallen prey to the easy charm of many a man before and she had no intention of making that mistake again. “I’ll withhold my thanks until you tell me what you want.”

The cowboy laughed. “Can’t say as I blame you for mistrusting me, ma’am, but I honestly have no hidden motive for sitting next to you. I just wanted to help you. You looked about ready to lose your sanity and from the way that fella’s tongue wagged I can’t say as I blame you. ”

“He was getting on my nerves,” Fancy admitted. “I was seriously considering knocking him out.” She and the cowboy laughed.

“I’m Trent Dailey, by the way.”

“Fancy Younger.”

“You going far?”

“Is that any of your business?”

Trent laughed. “No, Miss Younger, it isn’t. I assume it is Miss Younger and not Mrs.”

“It’s ‘miss’,” Fancy said. “Not that that is any of your business either.”

“I’m sorry if you think I’m being nosy. Just so you know I’m not asking any questions I wouldn’t answer myself.”

“All right,” Fancy said. “Where are you headed?”

“Connellsville. A fella promised me a job there.”

“Doing what?”

“That’s not one of the questions I asked you,” Trent said shortly.

Fancy took that as his way of saying it was none of her business. “Are you married?”

“No, I almost was but then the lady changed her mind.”

“I’m sorry.”

Trent shrugged. “It was years ago. Now, do I get to know where you’re going?”

Fancy smiled. “Sure, I’m going to Connellsville to stay with my aunt Louisa.” It wasn’t true but she was used to lying. In truth, she had no clue what she was going to do. Her only plan was to get away from Denton just as fast as the train would take her.

=============

The girl in the seat across from Luke Gordon was flirting and that was just fine with him; she was a lot better company than his prisoner, who had fallen asleep. She kept batting her long eyelashes at him, her long eyelashes that framed her beautiful blue eyes. A fellow could get lost in those eyes.

“Is it true Hall Younger is in the territory?” she asked in her soft, sweet voice.

“That’s what they say,” Luke answered, “but, to tell you the truth, I think it’s nothing more than a rumor.”

“They just ran his daughter out of Kingsley. She was the school teacher there until they found out who she was.”

Luke sat up straighter. “His daughter? Really? I hadn’t heard that. Do you know where she went?”

“She’s on this train,” Sydney said. “She got on at Denton. Why are you so interested?”

“A lawman is always interested in the relatives of wanted criminals.”

“Oh,” Sydney said. “In that case, I’ll see who I can dig up.”

“You’re already interesting enough for me,” Luke said, sliding out of his seat and moving to sit next to her. He slipped his arm around her waist.

She batted her eyelashes. “Aren’t you being a little forward, Marshal?”

“You started it,” he murmured. She smiled at him, batting her eyelashes again. She groped blindly in her reticule. Her fingers brushed against the cold steel of her gun and she was just about to close her fingers around it when there was a thump in the back of the car.

The marshal was on his feet in an instant, gun in hand.

“Sorry,” a young man apologized to the now silent and watching passengers. “I dropped my bag.”

Everyone was quick to return to what they had been doing before but the lawman was now alert and fingering his gun. Sydney knew she had missed her chance.

“Marshal, isn’t your deputy Aaron Kirby?” she asked. She might have missed her chance to move but she could at least gain some more information. She wanted to know if he’d ever heard of her.

“That’s right. Do you know him?”

“Know him?” Sydney laughed. “Why, Marshal, we go way back. My parents practically raised him.”

Luke fidgeted in his seat. “Is that so?” he asked nervously. Sydney smiled; she was getting just the reaction she wanted.

“That’s right. When I heard your name I thought it was familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. Then I remembered Aaron talking about you. Hasn’t he ever mentioned me before?”

“No… I mean… I don’t think so. What did he tell you about me?”

“He told me all about how you saved his life.”

“I did? I mean… well… it was nothing.”

Sydney smiled. “He said you were modest but I didn’t think you’d be this modest though.”

Luke laughed nervously. “Like I said, it was nothing.”

“Will you excuse me?” Sydney asked suddenly as she rose from her seat.

“Of course,” Luke said and Sydney noted a hint of relief in his voice.

=============

Sydney helped herself to some water from the cooler in the back of the car. She didn’t so much as glance at the man in the seat right in front of it.

“I saw you with him,” Trent said quietly without looking at her. “You let him put his arm around you. Wasn’t that overdoing it just a little?”

“There wasn’t much I could do,” Sydney told him, keeping her eyes on the water cooler.

“I didn’t see you objecting.”

“I was trying to distract him while I got my gun,” Sydney explained.

“What did you want to use a gun for? All I want is his name.”

“He’s Marshal Luke Gordon.”

It was all Trent could do to not look at her. “That’s impossible.”

“I’m not lying,”

“This changes everything. Are you sure that’s what he said, Syd?”

“I’m sure,” Sydney said, “and that’s not all…”

=============

“Who was that girl you were talking to?” Fancy asked when Trent sat back down next to her.

“What girl?” Trent asked easily.

“The girl at the water cooler.”

“Oh, her? I wasn’t talking to her at all. Why, I’ve never even seen her before.”

“Then why did you move to that seat right before she went to get a drink?” Fancy asked pointedly.

“It was purely a coincidence. You see, I was going to get a drink myself when I felt a dizzy spell coming on-”

“A dizzy spell?” Skepticism dripped from her voice.

“Yes, I get them from time to time. So, anyway, I felt this spell coming on so I sat down until it passed. Then the girl walked up to get a drink and I had to wait until she was done to get one myself. It’s as simple as that.”

Fancy didn’t look convinced. “I still say you were talking to her.”

“Does that make you jealous?”

Fancy snorted. “And why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know,” Trent said. “You seem very interested and I am rather good-looking.”

Fancy snorted again. “You’re rather humble as well.”

“I know,” Trent said causing Fancy laughed. “I love your laugh,” he told her. “It’s so sweet.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you think… I mean…well, I was wondering if maybe you’d let me come calling on you sometime.”

Fancy’s smile faded. “I don’t think you had better. Aunt Louisa wouldn’t like it.”

“And what would her niece like?”

“I’ll probably be teaching school and schoolteachers aren’t supposed to have gentleman callers.”

“Miss Younger, if you don’t want me to call on you I wish you would just say so.”

“It’s not that,” Fancy said. “It’s just that I’m trouble, Mr. Dailey and I bring trouble to those around me.”

“Maybe I like trouble.”

“Mr. Dailey, do you know who I am?"

Trent’s heart began to race. “No,” he said though, in truth, he did.

“Fancy Younger, Hall Younger’s daughter.

Trent was speechless. He had been fishing for a confession but now that he’d gotten one he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Of course,” Fancy continued, “I haven’t seen him since I was twelve but that never makes a difference to people. The moment they find out who my pa is they run me out of town.”

“You could change your name,” Trent suggested.

“That would make it harder for them to find out who I was but not stop them completely. Folks can be mighty persistent.”

“And you’re sure you haven’t seen him since you were twelve?”

“As sure as I’m sitting here. The last time I saw him I was lying on the steps of the Longville Bank with a bullet wound in my arm. I had been the lookout and I got myself shot. Pa decided I’d just slow them down too much and since I didn’t know I couldn’t tell them where the hideout was.”

“You mean he just left you?” Trent wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth. He wanted to believe her but he had met many convincing liars in his time.

“That’s right.”

“What happened?

“While the town was in an uproar about the bank being robbed I managed to stumble, unnoticed, to the doctor’s office.”

“With a bullet wound?” Trent asked skeptically. “You were only twelve.”

“I didn’t say it was easy.”

“And why the doctor’s office? Shouldn’t you have been trying to get out of town?”

“I suppose,” Fancy said, “but I wasn’t thinking straight. All I could think about was getting the bullet out of me so I went to the one person I knew could do that.”

“And what happened?”

“The doctor took one look at me and said ‘how does a pretty little thing like you get shot?’ And, like I told you, I wasn’t thinking straight, so I told him.”

“What did he do?”

“He looked kind of shocked. Then he removed the bullet, bandaged it, and took me to the sheriff’s. He asked me a lot of questions but, like I said before, I didn’t know much. Pa never told me any of his plans and I was usually blindfolded going to and from the hideout so I didn’t know where it was. The doctor and the sheriff agreed that since I had been forced against my will to help in the holdup, and since I was so young, there was no need for them to lock me up. So the doctor took me home and he and his wife adopted me.”

“Even though you were Hall Younger’s daughter?”

“I think he and the sheriff thought if I was lying I’d eventually try to contact Pa and they figured this way they could keep an eye on me. So I lived with Dr. Harmon and his wife until they died in a buggy crash three years ago. Since then I’ve just been drifting, trying to find somewhere that will accept me in spite of my past.” Fancy stood up suddenly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” she said, her voice choked up. She tried to slip past Trent, into the aisle. Trent grabbed her wrist.

“Miss Younger, please, if you’re telling the truth, I want to help you.”

“‘If I’m telling the truth’? Then you don’t believe me.”

Trent chose his words carefully. “Let’s just say I’ll believe you unless I’m given reason not to.”

=============

Sydney had a message for the young redhead sitting with her partner. “Excuse me,” she said, careful not to look at Trent. “The man sitting in the first seat wants to talk with you.”

Fancy’s heart began to race. Who would want to talk to her? And why? “Did he say who he was and why he wanted to talk to me?”

Sydney shrugged. “His name’s Luke Gordon,” she said, purposefully leaving off the marshal part. If she knew the man she’d know he was a marshal and if she didn’t know him she probably wouldn't want to talk to a marshal. “He didn’t say what he wanted.” That was true and Sydney was just dying to find the answer.

“I don’t know a Luke Gordon,” Fancy said.

“Well, he wants to talk to you.”

Fancy looked to Trent for help. “What do you think I should do?”

Trent shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt to hear what the man has to say.”

“All right.” Fancy rose from her seat. “I’ll be right back.”

“You’d better go with her,” Sydney said quietly. “This could be interesting.”

Trent nodded and followed Fancy down the aisle. He slipped unnoticed into the seat behind her.

“What are you doing here?” Fancy demanded sharply. Trent’s heart jumped, thinking she was talking to him, but then the marshal responded.

“Is that anyway to greet your father, Fancy, honey?”

“You stopped being my father the day you dragged me along on that holdup. I wanted nothing to do with you then and I want nothing to do with you now.”

“That’s just too bad, Fancy, honey, because I’m look for new gang members. The lawmen keep shooting up my men.”

“I’m not interested,” Fancy stated firmly, “and, furthermore, if you don’t leave me alone I’ll find a real lawman and turn you in.”

Hall Younger laughed. “You can’t prove anything. It’s been thirteen years and you were just a little girl last time we saw each other.”

“I’ll find a way to prove who you are.”

Hall Younger shook his head. “I don’t think so, Fancy, honey, not if you value your life.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Call it what you want,” her father said. “If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone you won’t be able to get far enough away from me. I’ll track you down and kill you.”

“I won’t say a word,” Fancy said, her voice shaking, “if you promise to just leave me alone.”

“I make the deals, Fancy, honey, not you.”

“Don’t call me that!” She stood and started to step into the aisle. Hall Younger grabbed her wrist. When Trent had grabbed her like that early that morning it had warmed her, made her feel safe. Now, being grabbed the same way by her father, it didn’t feel good at all. His grip was like iron, encasing her wrist until she felt as if it would snap. Her pulse was beating rapidly and her heart racing.

“Let me go,” she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice, “or I’ll call the conductor.”

“And tell him what?” Hall asked. “That I’m a wanted outlaw? He won’t believe you, not with me wearing a badge. All I have to do is tell him who you are and he’ll be on my side.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Just for you to understand I’m serious. If you breathe a word of this I will kill you.”

“I understand,” Fancy said quietly.

“Good,” Hall said. He released her wrist. “You can go back to your seat now.”

Trent jumped up and hurried back to his seat. If Fancy hadn’t had her head down she would have seen him. But she did have her head down so she didn’t know Trent had been eavesdropping. When she returned to her seat she was pale and crying.

“What did he want?” Trent asked.

“Nothing,” Fancy said, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Please, Miss, Younger, I want to help you.”

“It was nothing. Mr. Gordon’s a marshal and he heard I was Hall Younger’s daughter. He just had a few questions.”

She seemed genuinely upset and if she hadn’t known Trent was listening to their conversation then that wasn’t an act she was putting on. He decided to take a chance and assume she was telling the truth. One way or another he’d get to the bottom of this.

“I eavesdropped, Miss Younger.”

“W-what do you mean?” If possible she seemed to go paler.

“I mean when you went to talk to that man I followed you.”

“You had no right to do that,” Fancy said. “You can’t tell anyone what he said. If you really listened then you heard what he said. He’ll kill me if I tell.”

“Not if he gets arrested.”

Fancy laughed humorlessly. “Do you know how many times he’s escaped from the law before this? And it’s like he said, we can’t prove it. He’s the one with the badge.”

Trent so wanted to trust her but knew he couldn’t be entirely honest yet. He had to see if it really was all an act. “Miss Younger-”

He never finished his sentence. As soon as he started speaking the door burst open and three masked men entered the car.

=============

Sydney had retaken her place across from the “marshal” as soon as Fancy had left. She wanted desperately to know what the man had said but hadn’t had a chance to talk with Trent. Right now he was talking with the girl. He seemed to like her and Sydney hoped, for his sake, it was just an act.

The door to the car flew open just then and three armed men entered the car. They were masked so even though she was close enough to get a good look at them Sydney didn’t think she’d be able to identify them.

“All right!” one of them said. “Nobody move!” He waved his gun in the air for emphasis. “Everyone put your hands in the air and don’t try anything. We’ve got you covered and we don’t care how many of you we have to shoot. My partners here are going to come around and collect your valuables and if they so much as think you’re holding something back they’ll shoot.” He turned to the villain incognito and his prisoner. “You there, put up your hands.”

“Make me,” Jude Henson said.

“I said, reach!”

“He can’t,” the “marshal” supplied. “He’s shackled.”

“Get the key,” the outlaw said, pointing his gun directly at the man’s heart. Sydney saw her chance. Two of the outlaws were collecting the loot and the other was occupied with the “lawman”. She had her gun out in a flash, aiming it at the outlaw.

“Drop your gun.”

“Change of plan, boys,” Hall Younger said. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at Sydney. “You should have minded your own business.”

“Oh, no,” Sydney said, pointing her gun right at Hall Younger’s heart. “This is my gold shipment and you’re not getting it. You can shoot me if you like but I’ll take you down with me. Do you hear that?” she said, glancing at the other outlaws but not moving her gun an inch. “If any of you shoots I’ll shoot your boss.”

Hall Younger’s eyes were wide with alarm. “You be careful with that thing.”

“You be careful,” she said, “or you may find yourself dead.”

“All right,” Hall said, “we’ll give you a ten percent cut.”

Sydney laughed. “There’s five of us. That’d be a twenty percent cut.”

“All right, whatever you say, just lower your gun.”

“I’m not that stupid. As soon as I drop this thing either you or one of your boys’ll plug me.”

“You’re very smart,” Hall said, “but we can’t just stand here or the train will reach the station and we’ll all be busted. You’d better come up with something quick.”

“Turn around, Younger,” Trent said. While the outlaws were distracted with the others he had pulled his gun. “Now if one of you shoots it’ll be two of you going down.”

Sydney smiled. She knew Trent would come through for her. “There you have it,” she told the outlaw. “Now are we getting that shipment or not?”

“No,” Fancy said. She grabbed Trent’s arm, forcing him to point the gun toward the floor. A shot fired but it lodged itself into the floor and no one was hurt.

In the commotion Sydney turned her attention from the outlaws and they seized their chance. Hall Younger rammed into her knocking the gun from her hand and forcing her to the ground. The train whistle blew.

The passengers on the train also seized their chance. They grabbed for their guns.

“Let’s get out of here,” one of the outlaws said.

“Not without my gold,” Hall stated.

“It’s no use,” the outlaw told him, almost out the door. “We’re coming to the station. We have to go.”

Hall Younger and his men moved toward the door, guns firing. As the door closed behind them Sydney couldn’t help smiling, in spite of the fact that a wanted outlaw had just gotten away. The gold was safe; she’d done a good day’s work.

=============

Chad Reilly, sheriff of Connellsville, and three of the sheriff’s deputies met the train at the Connellsville station. They took Sydney, Trent, and Jude Henson- who the outlaws had left shackled in their rush to get off the train- to the sheriff’s office. Fancy went along to testify and she refused to meet Trent’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her on the way there.

Fancy snorted. “Don’t talk to me.”

As soon as they got to the office the sheriff turned to Trent. “What’s going on?”

Trent gave a small laugh. “There was a little trouble on the train and these good people think we’re robbers.”

Sheriff Reilly laughed. “You? Train robbers? That’s good. What happened?”

“Well,” Trent began slowly, “Hall Younger was on the train-”

“Hall Younger!” the lawman exclaimed. “Are you sure? Did you catch him?”

“No, we didn’t. You see, he was purporting to be Marshal Gordon and everyone assumed that’s who he was, except for us, of course.” He used his thumb to point to himself and Sydney.

“When Hall tried to hold up the train we pretended to be other train robbers to stall them. These people think we were serious so they brought us here. Unfortunately, Hall and his gang got away.”

“And who is this man?” Sheriff Reilly asked.

“This is Jude Henson,” Sydney explained. It was her adventure too and she wasn’t going to let Trent do all the telling. “Marshal Gordon was supposed to be bringing him here for trial. When we saw Hall with the prisoner, and not Luke, we knew something had to be wrong. Hall somehow got a hold of Jude and the marshal’s badge as well.” Tears welled in the girl’s eyes. “He must have killed Luke.”

“Couldn’t have,” Sheriff Reilly said, “he sent me a wire this morning, warning me there might be trouble. That’s why my boys and I met the train.”

A smile grew across Sydney’s face. ”If he sent you a wire this morning then he must be alive!”

“That’s right,” the sheriff said.

“I’m confused,” Fancy said. “You mean you’re not going to lock these two up?”

The lawman laughed. “Lock up David and Erin? That’s a good one.”

“What does he mean, ‘David and Erin’? You said your name was Trent Dailey.”

“I lied.”

“I should have known,” Fancy said. “You lied about everything else.”

Trent knew he had to address things one at a time so he said, “I’m really Deputy Marshal David Conroy.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his badge. “Marshal Gordon wanted Sydney- I mean Erin- and I on the train to help him in case there was trouble. We were all supposed to board separately so people wouldn’t know Syd- I mean Erin- and I were deputies.”

“But then Marshal Gordon wasn’t on the train and Hall Younger was claiming to be him,” Sydney- really Deputy Marshal Erin Kirby put in. “So we knew there had to be trouble.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you,” David told Fancy. “I needed to know you weren’t on your father’s side.”

Fancy’s eyes grew wide. “If you’re really deputies and you weren’t robbing the train then I messed up your capture. You would have arrested Pa if I hadn’t stopped you.” Tears flooded to her eyes. “It’s all my fault.”

David put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Under the circumstances I can’t really say I blame you. I’m actually very proud. You thought you were stopping a train robbery.”

“Who’s she?” Sheriff Reilly asked.

“This, Sheriff, is Miss Fancy Younger,” David said.

“Hall Younger’s daughter?” one of the deputies asked.

“Yes.” David felt Fancy’s muscles stiffen as she spoke. “And I don’t know where he is if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“We can’t be sure,” another deputy said.

“We’ll have to hold you for questioning,” Sheriff Reilly told her.

“No you won’t,” David said. “I can vouch for her, she’s innocent and she doesn’t need you questioning her.”

“If you say so, David,” Sheriff Reilly said.

“I say so.”

“All right, but we can keep this one, can’t we?” The lawman motioned to Jude Henson.

“That’s the plan, Sheriff,” Erin said. “We need you to hold him here until the trial.”

The sheriff smiled. “Lock him up, boys.”

“With pleasure,” one of the deputies said.

While everyone was distracted with the locking-up of the outlaw David pulled Fancy aside. “Miss Younger,” he said, “I know I lied to you but I knew who you were and I had to make sure you weren’t on your father’s side. You don’t have to worry about his threats anymore. I’ll take care of you.”

“And why would you do that?” Fancy asked with tears in her eyes. It had been a long time since someone had wanted to help her.

“Because it’s my job to protect honest citizens from outlaws like Hall Younger.”

Still moist eyed, Fancy smiled. David had called her an honest citizen; it was the best compliment she had ever been paid.

=============

David, Erin, and Fancy returned to Denton the next morning. They went straight to the marshal’s office and moment she saw the real Luke Gordon Erin ran and threw her arms around him.

“Oh, Luke, I thought they’d killed you,” she cried.

“No, Erin,” Marshal Gordon laughed, “I’m very much alive. That outlaw just knocked me over the head. When I came to Jude Henson and my badge were gone. The train had already left so I wired Sheriff Reilly to watch out for trouble.”

“There was trouble all right,” Fancy said.

“And who are you, little lady?”

David smiled and put his arm around her shoulder. “This, Marshal, is Miss Fancy Younger.”

“Hall Younger’s daughter?”

“Yes, Marshal,” Fancy admitted, “but I’m not an outlaw like he is.”

“Then why keep his name?” Marshal Gordon asked.

David nudged her with his elbow. “See, I’m not the only one who thinks like that.”

Fancy just smiled. “I thought it wouldn’t make any difference, that people would still find out who I was, but David convinced me otherwise.”

“That’s right,” David said, “I even picked out her new name.”

“You did?” Erin asked.

“I did. Fancy here had agreed to become Mrs. David Conroy.”

Erin gasped. “When did this happen?”

Fancy’s smile grew wider. “This morning on the train. David proposed and I said yes.”

“Isn’t this a little sudden?” Marshal Gordon asked.

David winked at his bride-to-be. “I thought if I married her I’d be able to keep an eye on her. You know, in case she turns out to be an outlaw.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Marshal Gordon said with a shake of his head. “My best deputy getting hitched.”

“Excuse me?”

Marshal Gordon coughed. “Well, naturally, I meant my best deputy besides you, Erin.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, seriously, what happened yesterday? Did Hall Younger try to take the gold?”

“He tried,” David said. Taking turns, he and Erin told the whole story.

“So then he got away,” Erin finished, “but without the gold.”

“Nice work,” the marshal said. He turned to Fancy. “And, in light of all I’ve just been told about you, I give my consent for you to marry my deputy.”

Fancy blushed. “Thank you, Marshal.”

David swung Fancy up into his arms. “This calls for a celebration. Luke’s safe, the gold got to Connellsville, Erin, here, didn’t get us all killed, and I’m getting married.”

“We’re getting married,” Fancy corrected.

“And Hall Younger’s still out there,” Erin said.

“Don’t worry about him,” David said. “We’ll catch him one of these days.”

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it Fancy, honey. I can feel it.”

And there you have it! My very first western. I hope you enjoyed it!!

More about self-publishing on Monday and then another excerpt next Friday. Hope you'll be back!