Oregonal Sin

Benjamin walked back downstairs after checking over all of Gemma's girls, and put his bag up on a stool by the bar where she was standing. He looked exhausted, leftovers from the flu, but did not cough anymore. It was gone.

"Miss Trent's rash will be gone in three to four days, she should not receive anyone until then," he informed Gemma. Not unless she wanted word to spread that her girls were spreading diseases. "And you'll be glad to know Mr. Colton has not managed to further his injury. A small miracle in and of itself."

"Coffee," he told Doyle, just like those weren't the first words he'd ever sent Doyle's way. "Before we freeze to death."

Lunchtime and Harry had closed the store for an hour. He ate quickly in his rooms, then hurried over to the saloon. Well, not exactly the saloon -- he'd been coming over to see Ryan about once a week ever since the holidays.

He knocked on the boy's door after checking that he was free, a smile on his face even if there were the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes.

A normal evening at the Saloon, if a little quiet after the holidays. Jessy was making a circuit of the Saloon until she saw a friendly-looking face. "Buy a girl a drink?" she asked, expression warm and welcoming.

Alita sat at the bar, hands wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee as she tried to warm them. She let the conversation drift around her until someone took up residence on the stool next to her. She looked up and nodded in greeting.

Cleaning day at the boarding house and Liz was just finishing sweeping the last of the dirt from the first floor out through the doorway. "Oh! Watch out!" she called as someone walked by just as the right -- or wrong -- moment.

It had been long enough, and he was fine now, really, apart from when he tried to bend back too much - yeah, he'd tried. So it was time, and Gemma was okay with it so long as he always ran clients by her before taking them up, and. He should've told Doyle, but he'd chickened out.

So he sat at the cathouse bar soon after opening, and waited to see which of his regulars would show up tonight. He was hoping for a regular, anyway.

He was decidedly feeling better. The fever had dropped, he was coughing much less, and the fact that John was in his house rubbed him every wrong way that existed. He wrapped himself up in a robe and headed out of his room, still tentative, holding out to the banister down the stairs just in case his legs went wobbly again.

He found John in the kitchen, making water boil, and suddenly was at a loss what to say, scathing remarks clear in his mind just a second ago chased well away by the simple sight of John, in his home, making water boil.

He was a bloody idiot.

It was the last orange. He sneaked into the kitchen and grabbed it, turning around and jumping when he found himself face to face with Gemma and one of her mighty arching eyebrows.

"It ain't for me!" he pleaded, immediately, very much the boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "It's for Bee, she's feelin' shitty after her last customer from last night and I thought it might do her good, it's full of vitamin they say, and it tastes like sunshine, and I thought she could use that, I swear it ain't for me."

Harry had just received a fairly sizeable shipment of supplies. Really, it was two shipments in one because the first had been delayed by weather. Sturdy wooden crates were lined up on the boardwalk next to the store waiting to be hauled, one by one, inside.

"I swear, this is going to take me all day," Harry muttered as he came outside for another crate. He paused, frowned, and counted.

The weather was making it harder to trek into town, but supplies were needed and she'd delayed the trip as long as she could. She'd decided not to try to hitch the wagon and get it through the pass, and once she'd made it into town, had bought space in the stables for her horse.

She was headed for the saloon for news when a gust of wind ripped her hat from her head. "Madre de dios!" she exclaimed as she chased it.

John walked outside the stable and to the square. There was a horse following him the entire way. Not on his heels but from a distance of about four feet. It stopped when he stopped and when John turned to look at it, it looked away.

"Why," he asked, voice extremely rough, "Do I bother getting out of bed?"

It was a bit of humor at the situation but over all extremely gentle.

Jax wiped down the bar again, before he turned his attention back to cleaning glasses, putting them away. The bar had just opened for the evening so there wasn't anyone except old George sitting in the corner, scribbling in his little notebook as usual. Jax glanced at his glass - still full - and went back to preparing to get busy.

When the doors opened again, he looked up and smiled a little. "Hey there."

The Blackwood House opened its doors -- though not literally, considering the cold -- to everyone Christmas eve. It was a tradition her father and mother had started the second year they'd been in town and something Liz looked forward to every year.

All the rooms and parlors were open except the guests' private sleeping areas and the kitchen. Even the garden had been cleared and swept, benches free of snow for the moment, if guests wanted a bit of fresh air or someplace more private to talk.

The house was decorated to the hilt with greens, candles, berries, and a large tree in main dining room. That room also featured a buffet spread with food and treats that Liz had been working on for weeks. The pianoforte had been moved into the main parlor and every guest was encouraged to take a turn if they wished.

In one of the smaller parlors there was a table with small gifts for each guest -- they could pick at random or have Liz's father, who presided over the room, suggest one for them. Her brother and sister-in-law had claimed the main parlor to hold audience while Liz herself floated quietly from room to room, making sure everyone had a good time and a full plate.

Liz presented herself nervously at the marshall's office. She didn't normally come here -- although she never turned away a chance to talk to Marshall Kane -- it was different when it could become official business.

She gave him a small smile when he came in to the room. "Good day, marshall."

Harry had been coming over almost every day, each trip about an hour long. He swore whichever girl he chose to secrecy and left with a grin on his face. Today he was bundled up in a bulky coat. He walked straight up to Beth and held out his hand.

"Your turn," he said, smiling.

It seemed that the flu had finally caught up with the Doctor. There were still patients to treat, however, flu patients he did not risk to contaminate, and he was coming back from checking on one of them, face flushed and sweaty, pulling on his necktie to try and get more air. It might be cold outside, but the fever he ran was making him feel far too hot.

He only needed to get to his house. Right after having that thought was exactly when the dizziness kicked in.

Alec had come back to the apartment and managed to get the place warmed up once the wood had been delivered. Then he'd settled on the chair, taking his hands off and started to warm them against the heat, despite the fact that his fingers were not so happy with this state of affairs. They still stung, and he glanced at the salve Harry had added, hesitating for a few minutes. He finally gave in and got about trying to apply it.

By the time Richard came home, Alec had managed to get salve onto those fingers and was trying to put the lid back on.

He'd hesitated. A lot. Thought about God, and Brother Dan, and wondered why Doyle wasn't coming anymore and nobody had news and eventually, he plucked up enough courage to venture outside while it was still day, after school should end if there was school despite the flu, and go knock on Doyle's door. He had the Poe book in his hands and was fidgeting. A lot.

This time of year, Harry was seen around town even more often than usual. Normally, he had a bundle of carefully (if plainly-wrapped) packages in hand as he made deliveries he figured the few boys who worked at the store shouldn't be trusted with.

Packages delivered, he rambled slowly back to the store, hands in his pockets and whistling a merry tune.