Oregonal Sin

Early evening in the cathouse, and there was no booking for Ryan for a couple of hours. Even after all this time, ever since the church potluck, he preferred to stay in the cathouse rather than venture into the saloon. He couldn't get away with it all the time, needed to advertize and everything, but he still did it as much as possible. It felt safer here, and he was less likely to see Doyle on his booze-oriented nights. Nothing he could do against seeing him on his girl-oriented nights.

As it was, he was on a stool by the counter, feet swinging idly in the air, and checked the door each time it was pushed open, always hoping it might be somebody for him.

Nearly three weeks after the flood and Harry's shelves were still pretty bare. They would continue to be until a ferry came or a supply wagon or, well, any sort of outside source. He locked the shop at the end of the day with a sigh, leaned briefly on the door frame, then straightened out and headed across the saloon.

He stopped as he entered, getting used to the difference in light, then sought out a familiar face. A tired smile and he headed over to Ryan.

"Hello there," he said quietly.

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.

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?"

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'."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Doyle had thought he was doing quite well, in all honesty. When he'd left the tavern and Ryan last, he'd expected there only to be a few more days before he could start classes again.

Then the fever had come back, laying the school teacher flat out. It raged for a week, leaving Doyle weakened with disjointed, half remembered fever dreams of fire and loss. He knew at least one and probably several had revolved around the cathouse and Ryan in particular. He only hoped he hadn't said anything that could have been misconstrued.

Today was the first day he was well enough to be out of bed, though his housekeeper fussed and wouldn't allow him to go far. It was just as well as his porch was about as far as his legs would carry him. So there he sat, blankets bundled around his thin frame, hands folded around a steaming cup of tea and watching the town as they passed. He nodded as someone approached, smiling slightly. "Good day," he said, voice raspy.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since The Incident and Harry hadn't managed to make it over to Gemma's to check on Beth and Ryan.

Not that he hadn't tried.

One day, he'd actually made it out the door but then a customer had come in, one that needed his own personal attention, yes. And then, a couple days later, he'd made it down the block before he realized where he was headed and turned around. Then, then there was the time he'd made it the whole way into the saloon before a flash of feather had reminded him of everything and he'd bolted like a startled deer.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see them. He did, desperately. But he'd also convinced himself that it was his fault. That he wouldn't be welcome anymore because of it. He knew, logically, that it wasn't. But heart and head weren't talking so much these days and he and Ryan had had that fight at the picnic and he'd left like the coward that he was. If he'd just stayed. If he'd stood his ground. If he'd just been the sort of person he always purported to be ...

If if if.

Today, Harry was standing in the alley opposite the back of the house, staring up at the windows. Hoping to catch a glimpse. If he just saw them, saw that they were mostly OK, then it would be better. Really.

Note - please please make sure you've read all threads and checked on character locations and what you can find out from the 'crowd' before posting a thread or tag, so we can keep everyone in one place at one time without cloning! Thank you! Ryan and Beth have now gone from the scene but please feel free to keep on playing threads set before then or reactions after.

It had been a bad idea. Beth had known it was a bad idea, felt it, but the preacher had been so insistent and Gemma had just shrugged and said it wasn't her business what the girls did with their time off and Ryan had said he'd go with her, so Beth had gone to the church pot luck. And it had been a bad idea.

( And now )

The air was a little cooler than might have been ideal for an outdoor gathering, but hovering in the low 60s, it wasn't so bad.

There was a tent set up in the yard beside the church, a few tables put together, to make a long row, and chairs. Brother Dan has announced the last couple of weeks in church that there would be a pot luck today, everyone invited. No preaching, just community dinner. Now it was up to everyone else to show up. With food, if they wanted to and could.

It appeared that no one was in the general store but that wasn't true. When the door opened and the bell jangled, Harry popped up from behind the counter, wiped his hands on his apron and smiled broadly.

"Good day!" he exclaimed. "How may I help you?" He apparently didn't know there was a black smudge on his cheek.

Ryan had been sent by Beth to go get some more milk, and he didn't need to be told twice. Specially not when she needed it for baking. Beth was a goddess of baking.

He was headed to the store now, and a couple yards ahead of him somebody else clearly was as well. He jogged up a little to catch up with them. "Howdy!"

It was one of those nights. The general store was shut down, Harry had had his supper but he was feeling restless and kept pacing the length of his space. Finally, his eyes caught on the remnants of a bolt of silk. It wasn't quite enough worth selling but perhaps one of the girls could use it.

He wrapped it up and headed over to Gemma's, a spring in his step as he entered the main room. He spotted Gemma first. "Good evening, madame." He said it with the French pronunciation, making it an honorary not her job description. He held his hand behind his back so she couldn't see the package.

Opening time on another day. Didn't make much odds if it was a weekday or a Sunday, save some of the girls started shifts late on Sundays but this one was a weekday. Heavy bars lifted away from the doors to let people in, Jax behind the bar, Gemma's girls ready and willing for company or custom. Or both.

Open for business.