"So you decided to talk to me and Ike after all, did ya? This mean we ain't on yer hit list anymore?"

Rolling my eyes I give an exasperated sigh. "You never were on my list! I've told ya, I'm not mad at either of ya!"

Ike comes around from tying the horses to the hitching post, his hands moving and his perpetual grin in place.

"Ike says yer just mad at Teaspoon and Rachel then, right?"

"Okay, so maybe I am. But I'm not a little kid! I didn't need you two to come babysit me here in town!"

"Ah, come on. You know Teaspoon sent us here to pick up that load a lumber to fix the barn doors with. It was just common sense for ya to go with us, saved a trip," Buck tries to reason with me, searching for a smile.

"Common sense, eh? More like treason and blackmail if you ask me..." I growl, stubbornly refusing to give up my annoyance.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch Ike signing again and Buck chuckles as they start toward the boardwalk, leaving me baffled.

"Hey! Wait! Buck, what did he say?"

"Nothing..."

"Buck!"

"Ike just said that maybe we're both wrong. Maybe Rachel and Teaspoon sent us here ta save the town of Sweetwater from you!"

"IKE!!" I whine at the silent rider, but my own face betrays me and a smile slips on. Ike grins his own triumphant smirk and points to the corners of my lips that are turning up.

"Okay, you win, Ike. Ya made me smile. Happy now?"

He simply nods and grins.

"So now that yer not Miss Storm Cloud anymore, can I offer you a suggestion?" Buck asks and I nod, chagrined.

"You go talk to the bank manager and I promise Ike and I will stay out of yer way, but after, would ya let us treat you to lunch at the restaurant? Just as friends? No one under thirteen allowed?" His eyes twinkle and next to him Ike adds his input.

"Ike says he promises not to spill, so ya won't have to wipe anything up."

Lunch? They want to take me out to lunch? I NEVER expected this! I should say no, I mean I really should get back to the kids...and there are clothes I need to mend, and the school needs to be cleaned...and... I look at the two grinning young men before me, boys who also have much to do but are going out of their way to make a stubborn, headstrong, red-headed girl they've only known for two days smile...

"Aye, I'd be honored tae sup with two fine friends such as ye," the words slide out with a smile of my own.

"Great. We'll wait for ya outside the bank then."

Ike thumps his chest, something I've noticed him do when he wants to speak, and flashes some rapid signs with that devilish look on his face.

"What'd he say now," I sigh.

"Said maybe we should go warn the banker first that yer comin'."

"That's it!" I exclaim. "I'll go to lunch with you two on one condition: you start teaching me these signs. I want to be able to understand what he's sayin' before he has time to move outa smackin' range!"

"Deal," Buck says, and Ike's face changes from teasing to incredulous, his eyes widening with wonder.

"What?" I ask, confused by his response. Buck glances at Ike to see if he wants to explain for himself, but he just looks away, waving for Buck to speak.

"Well, most people don't care about learnin' how to talk with Ike. The other riders, and Teaspoon and Rachel are the only ones who know sign enough to understand him. If you learn, he'll have another person he can speak to without havin' to write it all down."

I've never actually thought of what it must be like for Ike in town, not being able to speak. I've always been cursed with the opposite problem, opening my mouth too quick and too often, and then having to patch up the mess later. I can't even comprehend what it must be like to never be understood, never to speak my mind. How frustrated he must get at times! Not quite sure what to say to this, I fall back to Papa's dry wit I inherited.

"I don't know, Ike, you might not like me bein' able to follow your signs. You won't be able to say stuff like you have been and get away with it," I tell him with a wicked grin of my own and then, leaving the two riders standing there, walk into the bank.

Inside the lobby, I suddenly don't feel as brave as I did on the boardwalk with Buck and Ike. Absentmindedly, I try to make myself taller than my five feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in my worn dress. I glance down at the faded blue material, a dress that used to be Mama's and I reworked for me. It's definitely seen better days, but it's the best one I've got. Oh what was I thinking? I'm just sailor's daughter in a worn-out dress with unruly red-hair and freckles! What gave me the idea that anyone would listen to me? For several seconds the urge to turn and bolt takes over my mind, but then the picture of six children waiting at the station fights its way forward. Six children who've been dragged halfway across the country, who've lost both their father and mother and the only home they've ever known. I promised them a new home and, by all the saints, I'm gonna get it for them!

Pulling on a mask of self-assurance, I stride to the front desk.

"May I help you, Miss?" the teller asks.

"Aye, I'd like to speak with Mr. Fuller, the manager."

"Um," the man stammers with a surprised look, "Okay...I'll see what I can do, Miss...Would you please take a seat over there while I go...go...see if I can find him?"

"Thank you," I tell him and moving over, sink into the seat, my stomach tying itself into knots. While I wait, I run through Teaspoon's instructions from last night. Sitting at dinner, he'd suddenly remembered that the position of school-teacher came with the promise of a house. Mr. Fuller, the bank manager, controlled that aspect of the job, and so he said I should speak with him about claiming the dwelling. The problem, Teaspoon told, was that Mr. Fuller had the reputation of being a crafty businessman. Teaspoon warned me not to let him talk me into corners, or get me to pay extravagant rent on the place, since it's a benefit promised with the position.

"Ma'am, Mr. Fuller said for you to come to his office now."

The teller is beckoning from the doorway of a room off to the side. Rising, I swallow quickly and gathering up my courage, enter the room. Instantly, I'm met with a wall of stifling heat from the stuffy office and a heavy dose of cheap cologne mixed in, enough to make my already jumpy stomach turn nauseous. A short, rather stout man, with wire-rimed glasses is sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, something that seems totally alien to the "Wild West" atmosphere of Sweetwater. He gives me a quick glance with eyes that almost make my skin crawl, and I know he's making note of my old clothes and windblown appearance. Defiantly, I tilt my head up slightly.

"Are you the manager?" I ask, forgetting my nervousness as my Irish pride kicks in.

"I am. And won't you take a seat, Miss...Miss?" He motions toward a chair, but even that small movement is meant to be condescending.

"Miss Rebekah McLaughlin," I inform him and accept the offered chair.

"Well, Miss McLaughlin, what can I do to help you? You know it's not often I get young ladies demanding to see me in person." His voice leaves no doubt about what he feels a woman's capabilities are when it comes to money issues and makes my blood start to boil ever so slightly.

"I'm the new school teacher and I want to claim the house that goes with the job. I was told to talk to you."

"Ah, the school teacher's home. I was just thinking the other day what to do with that old place. It really is in sore need of repairs and is more of a burden than an asset to me now. I was actually thinking of tearing it down and selling the land," he says in a sickly sweet voice. "I'm sure you would rather find a better place to live."

Inside, I start to feel a twinge of panic at his words, but I force myself to remain outwardly calm and controlled. "No thank you, I want that house. I will pay you the same rent the last teacher paid, and I'll do my own repairs."

"Well, you know, I really can't make any decisions with you. We have a policy about doing business with women, for their own protection of course. I really need either your husband, brother, or father to make any kind of deal."

Whatever restraint I had vanishes completely with this last statement. "Mr. Fuller, it's not my father or my brother who are here to be the school teacher, it's me. The house is promised with the job and it's my job. Now either we come to an agreement or I will take my money and go to someone who will work with me. I know my money may not be much, but it's still money, and I get the feeling you don't like to lose the opportunity to get all of it you can."

"Ah, Miss McLaughlin, you are a shrewd woman," Mr. Fuller says, still in his slimy voice. "Alright, I'll tell you what I will do. I'll rent you the three acres with the house and the shed on it, and even throw in Dolores, the milk cow. But all repairs fall to you."

"How much." I demand when he's finished and he names a price almost twice what Teaspoon told me the last teacher paid. Not about to give in, I stand up shaking my head.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fuller, but you know as well as I do that's twice what the last teacher paid for the same things. I'll pay the original price, or not at all." I start walking toward the door.

"Wait!" he cries and for the first time I see annoyance starting to ruffle his feather-smooth appearance. He might not like me only paying the real price, but he likes it a lot better than losing my money to another person. "I guess I could lower that price, considering the property really isn't worth that much to me at the moment."

"So nice of you to reconsider," I can't help the sneer that enters my voice as I sit back down.

"It's agreed then," he says hastily, but I see that wicked gleam come back into his eyes, "Let me just go get that key for you and tell you the directions to the place." He starts to rise, but I know instantly where this is heading.

"Wait, Mr. Fuller. I'd appreciate it if you'd put our agreement, including the land and buildings and cow, along with the price we agreed upon, in writing and then sign it. I'd like to have it, just incase any further...um..." I raise my eyebrows meaningfully at him as I speak the next word, "misunderstandings might arise in the future." See, two can play this game of cat and mouse. The glare he gives me is certainly unbecoming of a professional businessman and a small note of triumph chimes in my soul. Reluctantly, he sits down again and drawing paper and ink toward him, proceeds to write out a contract. He only looks up once to again let his eyes rove over me and my unsophisticated appearance.

"Didn't I see you in town the other day? You had a large group of children with you? Yours I suppose?" he asks, and the hair starts to stand up on the back of my neck at the way he's looking at me.

"Aye, they're my brothers and sisters," I answer warily.

"Must be hard taking care of all those poor children, money must get tight sometimes."

"Aye, it does. What are you drivin' at?"

"You know, I'd be willing to redraw the terms of our agreement. Let you and your siblings live in the place for free, in return for certain, um, benefits from you?" He holds the finished contract up, but slightly out of my reach and gives me an evil grin.

At his words, repulsion and panic courses through my blood. "You are a sick and twisted old man! How dare you suggest such a thing!" I shout at him and reach out and grab the paper before he can react. Reading it quickly to make sure he's not pulling anything else on me, I conclude it's all correct. Finished, I walk right up to his desk and slam the paper on it. "Now, you will sign this contract and stick by it or, heaven help me, I will go right now and get Marshal Hunter, who happens to be a friend of mine, and have him draw up a contract with you, hopefully one that lands you behind bars!"

Not expecting such a forceful response, he stares at me in shock, which I don't mind a bit. My heart's racing now, my blood boiling, and all I want to do it get out of this office before I either tear it to shreds in anger, or lose my breakfast from repulsion. Finally, with a glare that could freeze water over in July, he picks up the quill and signs the contract. As soon as the last "r" is in place, I snatch the paper back.

"Thank you. Now the key to the house please." I spit out. Reaching into a drawer of the desk, he fishes around for a moment, finally emerging with a large brass key.

"Here you go, Miss McLaughlin," he says, and he has regained his calculating smile. "And remember, if you ever change your mind..."

Swallowing the urge to spit in his face, I grab the key, shuddering as my fingers touch his. "Never!" I growl at him, and then open the door and march out, slamming it behind me.

Free of his disgusting and dominating presence, I pause for a minute leaning against the wall of the lobby. My heart's still thundering like the beating surf and I feel rather unsteady, my skin cold and clammy. A shiver runs through my body as I realize how lucky I am, how things COULD have turned out. Maybe I should stop being so headstrong and stubborn! It's going to get me into trouble sometime. Maybe I should've let one or both of the boys come in with me, Mr. Fuller would never have suggested what he did with them there. But then...they weren't there, and I still beat him. I glance down at the paper and key in my hand and a slow, triumphant smile creeps up my lips, even though I'm sure I'm still as pale as death. I beat him at his own game, and I did it all on my own, too! Shaking my head to clear it, I carefully place the precious objects in my pocket and then, lifting my head high, I stride out of the building.

The bustle of a town at mid-day meets my ears after the quiet of the bank, and I sigh in relief to have people around me. Normal, everyday people; not dirty old men with twisted minds and roaming eyes. Stop it Beka! I tell myself firmly.

I'm about to start wondering where Buck and Ike are when I feel a light tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I come face to face with Ike's concerned eyes. He points to my pale skin and shaking hands, his face worried and his eyes and hands asking what's wrong.

"Nothin', Ike, I'm fine."

He gives me a look that clearly states he doesn't believe me, but drops the subject and instead points to the bank, his hands raised at his side in a question.

I pause for a moment, making him wait and wonder, but finally I can't stand it any longer and reaching into my skirt pocket, pull out the key which I dangle like a prize in front of him. His face breaks into a broad grin and when he gives me a thumbs up sign I can't help but burst out laughing.

"Told ya I could do it!" I tease him, and he nods his head in silent appreciation while again his hands speak but this time I can't follow him. I look around for Buck to interpret, only to find he's not there.

"I'm sorry, Ike, I don't know what you just said," I apologize and he shrugs it away as not important although his eyes look disappointed. Feeling bad, I continue, "Where's Buck?"

For a moment, Ike doesn't respond as he thinks how to make me understand. Finally, he points toward the Marshal's office.

"He's at Teaspoon's office?" I guess and Ike shakes his head 'no' in frustration before trying again. This time he points at the office and then where Buck's horse had been tied earlier. I notice the animal's now missing as Ike finishes by pointing Westward, away from town. Thinking carefully, I try and piece together his answer.

"Teaspoon came and got Buck for something, and they rode out of town?"

Pleased, Ike nods 'yes.'

"Did he need you, too? You know you didn't have to stay and wait for me," I tell him, but he shakes his head again. Improvising, he raises his hand to his forehead, acting like he's looking intently for something on the ground, and then again points to where Buck's horse had been. Confused, I'm about to tell him I don't understand when a light sparks on in my mind.

"Oh, I know! Teaspoon needed Buck to track for him? Is that what you're saying?"

Ike grins at me and, rather tickled with myself, I smile back.

"Well, I guess we'd better go get that lumber you were supposed to fetch and then head back to the station," I think out loud and start walking to the lumber store, but Ike grabs my arm gently, stopping me. Turning back, I watch him as he makes a motion like bringing a spoon to his mouth and then points to the restaurant, his deep green eyes questioning.

"You still wanna take me out to lunch?" I ask, a little surprised. "Even without Buck here?" When he glances shyly away with a slightly wounded look I realize how my words sounded. "Oh no, Ike. That's not what I meant. I don't care that you can't...I mean that Buck's not..." Closing my mouth, I collect my thoughts before I dig myself into an even bigger hole with my own tongue.

"Thank you, Ike. I'd love to go."

He motions for me to walk with him to the building, and as I fall in step beside him, my stomach starts flipping like a codfish again. Why does the thought of eating lunch with just Ike start my heart jumping, while the thought of eating with Buck and Ike not bother me a bit? Must be something I ate for breakfast, I decide. Reaching the wagon, Ike suddenly stops and gestures for me to wait. He dashes over to the buckboard and retrieves something from under the seat. When he returns to my side, I see it's a small notebook and a pencil. He holds them up with a resigned look then slips the items into his vest pocket, and I vow right then and there to try my hardest to learn sign language quickly.

When we enter the restaurant, he seems to hesitate for just a moment, but then he points to a table on the far side of the room. I nod that it's fine and we walk over. Pulling out the chair, I scramble to sit down before I realize that Ike was standing behind me, waiting to help me with it.

"Oh, sorry, Ike," I mutter, blushing, "I guess I'm too used to being around sailors and fishermen. They ain't exactly the most polished when it comes to manners..."

Ike merely smiles and brushes it away with his hand as he takes his own seat across from me. A woman approaches our table, and after studying the menu on the blackboard for a second, we both order, me out loud and Ike on paper. She writes our requests down and strides back through the doors of the kitchen, releasing a brief tantalizing odor of baking bread and sizzling steak as they swing open and shut. Suddenly, Ike and I are the only ones in the room, and for once in my life I fumble with knowing what to say.

"Um...thanks again, Ike. You don't know how long it's been since I got to eat without having to help feed someone. I don't quite know what to do, not having the kids swarming around me." I know I'm rambling, but I can't help it. I hate to just sit there and not say anything, and Ike doesn't seem to mind as he listens with his trademark smile.

Thinking about my family, an idea comes. "So, Ike, what about you? Do you have any brothers an' sisters? Yer so good with Abby and Ben, I'm just curious."

I'm not prepared for the expression that flashes across Ike's face at my words, a look of anguish so deep my breath catches in my throat. He quickly looks away from me, his eyes pools of pain staring non-seeing out the window. Somehow, I've touched a nerve, one of his nightmares from the past. Swallowing, I try to patch up the damage.

"Oh, Ike... I didn't mean to bring up bad memories...I mean I guess I must have because of how you look...I mean..." I pause. Seeing the normally cheerful Ike suddenly hurting this much unnerves me, and I trip horribly over the words, cursing myself. Finally, I take a deep breath, "I mean I'm sorry, Ike."

or several long moments he doesn't move, just stares into space with that haunted look. I can't help but wonder what happened to him to cause this pain, but for once in my life I also sense that now's not the time or place to ask. Finally, he meets my eyes, and although the hurt is still there, it's controlled again. With a start, I suddenly realize that the pain has always been there, hidden in his eyes and behind his smile. It's just at this moment that I've recognized it for what it is. Oh, Ike, maybe we have more in common than I thought.

As I'm contemplating, Ike pulls out the notebook and writes a few words, then slides it across the table, indicating for me to read.

One sister. She died.

"I'm sorry," I mutter again.

He simply takes the notebook back and a rather uncomfortable silence descends while I try desperately to change the subject.

"So, is it always so hot and dusty out here?" I finally blurt out.

Ike shakes his head 'no' and starts scribbling again.

Been a dry year, not enough rain. Usually have more grass, even flowers.

"Flowers would be nice. That's something I miss about Maine, the wildflowers. But mostly the sea and the trees," I answer. "Ain't there any trees around, or rivers and lakes?"

Grinning, Ike moves his hand back and forth to indicate there are a few then finishes his words on paper.

There's a pond nearby. I could show you sometime.

"That would be great! It would be nice to see and smell water again, all this dust and sagebrush is getting to me."

Ike nods okay, and then the kitchen doors swing open and our food is brought out, saving us for a moment from conversation. I don't know if it's because of the freedom I have to eat in peace and before it gets cold, or if the cook at this restaurant is just exceptional, but the meal tastes heavenly to me. The food is so good and so welcome that for a while I don't notice the silence around us, but it doesn't last long. Silence is not something I'm used to, not in my family, and soon I find myself rattling on again, trying to fill the void.

"You know, I'm gonna have to get busy and sew the kids some new clothes. Davie and the twins have been growin' like weeds lately so that nothing fits right, and Ben an' Button an' Abby are starting to look like ragamuffins in their hand-me-downs.......And I guess I'd better go out to our new house and clean it up.......and I'm gonna need to make curtains, and find bedding...and dishes..." Suddenly, I stop short. Gazing into eyes full of hearty laughter, I realize that I've just prattled on nonstop for almost ten minutes, and about the most mundane things.

"Oh, Ike, I'm sorry," I hasten to make amends. "I'm always talking too much!"

Ike simply laughs and passes the pad of paper to me again.

I don't mind. I like to listen.

For some reason the words make my stomach jump and I turn almost shy, just returning his smile and not quite sure what to say. Then, glancing at the neat letters on the paper, and I remember my vow of earlier.

"Hey, Ike?"

He looks at me, his eyes questioning.

"Will you start teaching me sign? I want to understand what you say, so you don't have to write it all down."

Grinning, Ike nods excitedly, then a slightly wicked gleam comes to his eyes and he writes again.

Are you sure you can stay quiet long enough?

"Hey!"

Another grin.

What you want to know first?

Giving him a smug look I usually reserve for my brothers and sisters, I answer, "How about 'you're a brat?'"

Once again, his frame shakes with silent peels of laughter and I join in this time, satisfied with my small revenge. When his chuckles are under control, Ike scribbles and pushes the note to me.

Alright, you ask, I'll sign.

"Thanks again for lunch," I tell the young man at my side as we walk back to the now fully loaded wagon. "It was nice."

<You're welcome,> Ike signs and I feel a small note of triumph as I watch his hands and understand their meaning. He didn't have time to teach me much in the restaurant, but just knowing I'm starting to unravel the mystery of Ike's words is wonderful!

"Rachel's gonna wonder what happened to us, though," I add and the image of the station mother wringing her hands in the midst of six wild red-heads flashes through my brain. "She's probably imploring the saints to rain down curses on my head right now," I mutter under my breath and pick up my pace a little, almost running into a group of men exiting the Saloon.

"Well, now, what do we have here?" one of them drones and I feel Ike step up closer behind me as the men move to block my path.

"Would ya look at that," the man continues. "The Dummy went and found hisself a girl. How'd ya do it, Dummy, pay her?" The whole group erupts into cruel laughter and I feel Ike's hand on my arm, trying to steer me away. I glance at his face and know instantly that he doesn't want a confrontation, but he also can't hide the hurt the words cause him. My temper flares and I honestly can't stop it.

"I dinna ken who ye think ye be, but I'll thank ye kindly tae be gettin' out o' my way!! Ye ain't nothin' but a bunch a dirty, miserable scabs, an; I think ye ought tae be takin' a good long look at yer own self 'fore ye go callin' anyone else a dummy! Yer mouth may be movin' but ye ain't sayin' much!"

Holding back the urge to deck the man, I grab a startled Ike by the arm and plow through the equally surprised group of ruffians, marching fiercely to the buckboard. My patience has been tried one too many times today by ignorant fools and I'm at the side of the wagon before I even realize I'm dragging Ike behind me.

"Oh sorry, Ike," I spit out more harshly than I mean, still not quite over my rage, and let go of his sleeve. He looks at me somewhat awed, and then just shakes his head.

<You say sorry too much,> he motions and I actually follow what his hands say.

"I'm sor....never mind."

He starts to sign, but stops with a rather frustrated sigh and pulls the paper out again, needing to tell me something that calls for more than the basic signs he had time to teach me at lunch.

You shouldn't have done that. They could have hurt you. Just ignore them.

"I'm not gonna ignore them! They shouldn't say things like that to you!"

An almost unreadable expression crosses Ike's features before he writes the next part.

It doesn't matter. I'm used to it.