Oregonal Sin

Alita had been coming in to town much more often since the flood. She wanted to help out where she could and she wanted to escape the memories that the still-sodden pastures brought to mind.

After finishing some more building work down by the docks, she headed to the saloon. She took her normal seat at the bar and glanced around the room to see who else was about.

Ten days after the flood, John was still in the boarding house and still very much not going anywhere, any time soon.

The cut on his face had healed and the bruises there had faded significantly. The ribs were still painful as hell, but as long as he kept them wrapped and was careful he could deal. Even the nasty break to his collarbone, as long as he kept his arm in a sling, didn't result in more pain than he could ignore.

The headache, nausea and dizziness, on the other hand, were rapidly making his life really miserable, and the alternating hot and cold flashes weren't helping him love the world, either. Actually, the fever was starting to make him wonder just how much longer he was going to be in the world.

He did manage to get downstairs, outside and onto the porch. Not that he'd be there for long or he didn't look like shit, but he wanted fresh air, dammit. What he wanted more, honestly, was just to see people and not be locked up in an upstairs room away from it all.

Even if he wasn't loving the world, he wanted to be part of it.

It felt as though it had been nonstop since the thaws. The school house was mostly cleaned up, though, though the tables and benches still needed to be taken out and cleaned. There were still other buildings that needed attention, though, so Doyle turned his focus to them and helping out as much as he could.

Today, though, he was spending the afternoon indoors. There really wasn't anything more that he could do out there, so he was in the front room of his home and thinking. The doors were open and his boots were on the porch, pretty much signaling to anybody that he was home.

John was half-drunk, half-conscious, naked to the waist (with a blanket) and in Liz's boarding house. One of the girls had run to find Benjamin while they waited. John was fine with Liz's company until Benjamin got there, but at that point really, really wanted her out.

The bruise on his temple and cheek was becoming more apparent as he warmed up. So were the bigger, darker, bruises along his side. The cut on his cheek wasn't much of an issue. That his collarbone was messily broken, with a fractured end showing through skin, though, was one hell of one.

He was shivering, still filthy, and really just didn't give a shit about much at that point. Except, of course, Not having anyone aroundbto witness anything potentially embarrassing (or humiliating or that would make Benjamin's life (more) miserable forever.

Horses and floods didn't - never have, never would - mix.

That the water wasn't higher, didn't hit harder, was a good thing of course, but it didn't stop the horses from being horses. High strung, spirited, intuitive prey animals that didn't take kindly to being locked in boxes with water coming in and rising around their feet.

To make a long story short the horses, screaming and kicking and panicking, did more damage inside the stable than the water did.

The horses, screaming, kicking and panicking, sure as hell did more damage to John than the water did.

The guest rooms were fine, of course. They were all upstairs, safe and dry. The first floor though... Liz sighed and pushed back her hair. She knew they hadn't taken as much damage as stores and homes closer to the river. They hadn't lost anyone from the house, thank god; she spared a moment to utter a prayer for those who had been taken.

No, it was more as if the flooding had gently crept into the house like a thief in the night. The waters had seeped into corners and curled around furniture legs, sought out the softness of fabric, made itself comfortable wherever it found a low spot, stayed for awhile and then left again, leaving a trail of muck and mud behind it.

Food stores on the floor of the pantry were a complete loss. The rugs... the rugs might be saved if she could get them off the floor and hang them someplace. The problem was that the backyard was more swamp than yard. She tried to go out and sank practically to her ankles in some spots.

Still, she was determined. Liz moved furniture, rolled the sopping fabric as best she could and began to tug and pull the rug from the main parlor toward the front porch. She paused in the doorway to catch her breath before bending and heaving with all her strength.

Harry hadn't slept since the flooding had started. He'd been frantically moving anything and everything he could. Tossing lighter things onto higher shelves, trying to move full barrels of flour and sugar and wheat and oats onto the counter or the stairs. Ignoring his prized trinkets and toys as he tried to save as much food stuff as he could.

Now he sat morosely halfway up the stairs to his flat, dirty, exhausted and trying not to cry as he stared at the remains of his tattered kingdom.

The stream that crossed her land had looked more like the river it fed into for a few brief hours. Alita counted her blessings that they hadn't moved the herd down to pasture yet -- that meadow wouldn't be usable for a long while now. She'd gotten off easy; no loss of life, no buildings maged, the herd was safe. Still, she'd constantly fought off memories of the last flash flood, of Hector, of finding his body.

Once she'd seen the ranch was secure, she'd rounded up as many hands as she could spare and led them into town. They arrived wet, muddy, and in Alita's case, with lips tightly pressed together.

There was work to be down. Memories would have to wait.

The flooding, thankfully, hadn't touched Doyle's home. It was built just enough above the flood plain that the bottom steps to his porch got washed and that was it.

The schoolhouse, though, hadn't fared so well. It was connected to the church, after all.

The day after the waters receded enough for him to go over, Doyle pulled on some old work clothes, high boots and gloves. For the moment, he stood in the doorway of the school and stared at the damaged tables and benches, not to mention the inch of silt the water had left behind. "Well," he said aloud, not really noticing someone nearby behind him. "I suppose it's not as though I would be having students for a while now, anyway."

Spring rains combined with snow-melt and run off from higher in the mountains to saturate the ground and, in very short order, send a massive wave down river to the town. The river broke her banks, and down by the supply docks the damage was at it's worst.

The ships there were damaged beyond repair, people on board and working at loading and unloading were killed. The docks themselves were just gone, as were the board walks around the area. In town the damage was less extensive - further from the river and slightly higher ground keeping the worst at bay. Still, the church and warehouses were flooded, and the stables, boarding house and general store didn't escape unscathed.

The fields that had been prepared for planting were muddy, with pools of water standing in them. Planting wasn't going to happen anymore than supply boats were going to be coming down the swollen river any time soon. Especially not with damaged warehouses compromising the town's seed supply - along with anything else stored in there.

Frankly, they were lucky the loss of life wasn't higher.

And it might be before the time it was over. Starvation was the immediate concern, yeah, but after that came concern about disease being spread by bugs and stagnant water.

Liz was having a very good day. She smiled at everyone as she went about her errands, stopped to chat with various shopkeepers and impulsively bought a length of fabric that she didn't really need but would make a lovely new dress for spring.

She stepped out of the shop with a cheery wave and almost ran into someone. "Oh! I am so sorry!" she said with a startled laugh.

Another damn week starting. At least the square was half clear of ice as Gemma crossed it, her boot heels sinking into mud rather than sliding across it, until she reached the shadow of the buildings and pushed open the door to the store. "Harry? You got that new stock of flour in yet?"

He knocked firmly on Benjamin's door. No apologize, no muss, no fuss. He just showed up and knocked.

Charlie watched them walk away with an inward satisfied smile. Thank you for the coin, boys, he thought, and put away the deck of cards. Poker was such an amusing way to make money.

He used his foot to push out a chair on the other side of the table when someone walked by. "Take a seat, I'm buyin'."

He was going to make it into the saloon tonight, he promised himself, no more hiding in the cathouse. He took a deep breath and stepped through, ignoring the eyes he felt on him (whether they were real or imaginary), and made it to the counter, sitting on a stool next to someone who'd never been mean to him. He liked Alita.

"Hey beautiful," he grinned at her, his custom smile.

It wasn't unusual to see Adelaide in the saloon, sitting at the bar and nursing a drink. It was unusual to see her there so early in the day. She looked up when someone new entered, nodded and subtly tried to keep track of where they headed.

Harry was happily playing with a new experiment that had just arrived with the latest post when he heard the bell above his door ring. He looked up with a smile. "Good afternoon," he said, "How may I help you ... oh dear." Green foam was starting to ooze from the small bowl on the counter.

Noah was sitting in an alley, her back to a grimy wall, munching on an apple and keeping a casual, discreet eye on what was going on in the house on the other side of the street, opposite the alley. Sure, it was pretty damn cold outside, but she'd put enough layers on and was wearing warm, thick fingerless gloves. She was doing pretty well.

Well, unless someone decided to notice she was there and turned from the street into the alley. She did not particularly want company right now, thanks.

Jax had been trying to give Beth and Ryan space. All things considered, he hadn't wanted to crowd them or fuss or anything like that more than usual. Mostly, he was a little worried about how he would react, seeing them bruised and battered like that, and he was trying to keep Gemma's words in mind.

He didn't want to bring anything else down on the place.

Then again, he couldn't believe they were getting away without being punished. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to take Noah up on her suggestion and... Sure, his mom would probably kill him, but at least justice would win.

He was a little surprised to walk into the kitchen to find Beth, and he offered her a warm, genuine smile. "Hey Bethy."

He'd been lucky enough to get himself and the horses into the barn before they'd gotten lost in the storm. He'd been there long enough to get both horses that he'd had with him (the one he was riding and the one he was delivering) into stalls before he heard something thunk against the door. Figuring it was another person looking for shelter he opened the door.

It was Ben.

"Fantastic."