Oregonal Sin

When Adelaide hadn't been pitching in around town, she'd be sending out almost-daily bulletins (in addition to the weekly paper) filled with information about how the town recovery was going. She'd started a barter column for the residents -- people could put a snippet in about things they needed and what they had that they were willing to trade in return. She was also, sadly, running a lot of death notices.

She'd just finished inking the next edition when she heard her bell door door jangle as someone pushed it open. She wiped her hands on her already stained apron and came out to greet her visitor. Cutter had done the initial welcome; his tail was wagging as he stood just a few feet from the door.

"Cutter, let them in!" Adelaide said firmly. The dog looked at her, woofed softly, but then padded away and flopped down behind her desk. "Sorry about that," she said.

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."

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.