Oregonal Sin

Noah was shoveling away on the grounds the churchyard had now extended to. She didn't need a proper burial for him, she'd just damn well do it herself. She was damn sure he wouldn't have minded. She'd finally found his corpse, which was a small favor in itself. She'd almost lost hope.

It was a grim task, digging a grave, all the more so with his body wrapped up in a bedsheet right beside it. It stank, but that was the least of her concerns. She hadn't lost it yet, hands only gaining a faint tremble as she kept digging, tears falling silently down her cheeks as she determinedly went on.

She didn't hear the footsteps until the last minute, and was fairly certain that had been done on purpose. She didn't stop digging, earth in a pretty big pile beside the grave already, and didn't turn around either. "What do you want?"

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.

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 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."

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.

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."

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.

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.