Jane dreamed of the moon. She was standing outside her parents’ shabby house in Salt Lake City, and a huge yellow moon was rising against the skyline, so bright it hurt to look on. She felt strange, her limbs heavy, her skin hot and tingling under her clothes. She could barely resist the urge to strip naked right there in the middle of the street and run . . . somewhere.
Martha, said the moon. Come.
Yeah, the moon was talking to her. That was new.
Come on, it said, and the voice reminded her of her ma’s, actually, in those rare times that her ma had been in a sweet temper and spoke soft to her. Jane felt like she knew where the moon wanted her to go, someplace far off from where she was now, toward a thing, she thought, and not away.
Her gaze was drawn again to the window of the house. She saw her sister Lena there, a scraggly little girl in braids, feeding Silas at the table. Her throat tightened at the sight. Her eyes prickled. She hadn’t seen Lena in five years. Silas was dead. Ma was dead. Pa was—
Don’t dwell on it, Martha, advised the moon. Just come.
Jane nodded and turned away from the house. If the moon knew her real name, she supposed she should listen. She pulled her shirt over her head, let it fall to the ground, stepped out of her pants, and removed her socks and shoes. Her feet looked funny, long and oddly jointed, hairier than usual. The moon, as it beamed down on her wearing only her undershirt and drawers, filled her with strength. She was sure she could run forever, under this moon. She took a deep breath and filled her lungs with the light. Her body ached to run.
“No,” she heard from behind her, the rough-edged voice of her pa. He was dead, too, but this was a dream. His hand grabbed down on her shoulder so hard it burned into her flesh. She heard the slosh of the whiskey bottle he’d always kept.
“Get in there, girl,” he said, and pushed her toward the house.
She woke up. Someone was knocking on the hotel room door. (This happened a lot in Jane’s life, being awakened by knocking, and dang, but she never got to be the one who knocks.) Jane groaned and flopped over onto her stomach.
“Go away!” she blustered in the direction of the door. “I’m asleep.”
A pause, and then more knocking.
“Consarn it, go away!”
No such doing. If anything, the knocking got more insistent.
She threw off the sheets and lurched to her feet. Happily she discovered that she was already wearing boots. And a shirt. She wasn’t sure where her pants had gone. She grabbed the wool blanket from the bed and tried to wrap it around her waist. Then she stumbled over to the door and heaved it open.
“Oh good, you’re up.” It was the crack-shot girl from the shooting competition, the one Frank was mooning over like a lovesick puppy. What was her name, again?
“I’m Annie, the newest member of your show,” the girl said. “Good morning!”
“I don’t see what’s so gawl-darned good about it.” Jane had a taste in her mouth like she’d had supper with a coyote. Had she gotten herself sloshed last night? She didn’t think she had. She swallowed queasily. “What can I do for you, Miss—”
“Mosey,” provided Annie. She crossed over to the window and opened the curtains, flooding the room with light. “And I’ve been wondering what to call you. Is your Christian name Calamity, or Jane?”
“My Christian name?”
“Your first name. Like mine is Annie. Well, actually, my Christian name is Phoebe, but no one but my mother uses it. My sisters thought Phoebe was too fancy, and I’d walk around putting on airs with a name like that. So it’s always been Annie.”
“I don’t go by my real name, neither,” Jane murmured. Martha, come, she thought. She must have gotten drunk last night, to have such a dream as the moon talking at her.
“Oh, I see,” Annie said. “Why’d you change it?”
Jane rubbed at her eyes. “I guess there came a time when I had to leave my other name behind.” An image from that fateful day swam up in her head, Bill sitting down next to her on the street in Fort Laramie, asking her name. “I needed a fresh start, was all.”
Annie looked puzzled. “And you chose to start fresh as . . . Calamity Jane?”
“Nah, just Jane at first. I got the Calamity later, when I saved Captain Egan from certain death in a skirmish with the Sioux a few years back. I saw him fall from his horse, struck by an arrow, so I turned around real fast and rode back to him, and then lifted him up on my horse and rode him to safety. And because of that he said—later, after he’d recovered some, of course—‘I dub thee Calamity Jane, the Heroine of the Plains.’”
(Um, reader, we should mention that this entire account with Captain Egan was a fabrication—a stretcher, Jane would have called it—and it didn’t even really make sense. But that was the official explanation she’d come up with a few years back, and it was a pretty good whopper, so we’ll let it slide. For now.)
“That’s an amazing story,” Annie said.
Jane nodded. “You can call me Jane. Frank calls me Calam sometimes, but I don’t like it much.”
“All right. Jane. I bet you’re wondering why I’m here so bright and early.”
Jane had been wondering.
“Mr. Hickok says that I am to room with you from now on,” Annie continued. “So here I am, all ready to move in.” She crossed quickly back to the door where she dragged in a trunk and gun case that Jane hadn’t noticed before, then glanced a bit worriedly around the room. “Um, may I have the bottom three drawers of the dresser, and some space in the armoire to hang my dresses? I have quite a bit to unpack. I like to be prepared, you see. Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. That’s my motto.”
“Uh, sure. Go right ahead.” Jane did not have much in the way of extra clothing or lady things. It all fit in a jumble in the top drawer, in fact.
“Wonderful.” Annie slung her trunk onto the extra bed and unpacked it, hanging and smoothing her dresses, folding each item carefully into thirds and stacking them upright, so she could see all the items in the drawers. She had a lot of blue and yellow, a bit of green, and not nearly as much red or pink as Jane had expected. Wait, was that dress pink? Jane rubbed her eyes.
“Why are you putting your clothes like that?” Jane asked.
“Because it sparks joy,” Annie said.
“Huh?” said Jane.
Annie scooped a pair of pants off the floor and handed them to Jane like an offering. “Now, Jane, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like you to show me the ropes.”
Jane kicked off her boots and struggled to fit her legs into her breeches. There didn’t seem to be enough leg holes for the number of legs she had. “Ropes? I don’t often use ropes. Unless I need to tie something up.”
“I was being metaphorical.” Annie grabbed Jane’s pants from her, whipped them in the air once to straighten them out, and then returned them. “You volunteered to train me, remember? I thought we could start this morning.”
Jane considered the request as she shimmied into the pants. She still felt . . . strange, and she suspected it wasn’t from the drink. She was sweating, and her skin had that unsettling tingly feeling. “Um, sure I could. But maybe later? I think I need to get me some hair of the dog.”
Annie rubbed her nose. “That sounds unsanitary. If you’re feeling unwell, some fresh air might help. My father always said that the best way for a person to feel better is to move about out of doors, get the blood flowing.” She nodded as if she were agreeing with herself. “But perhaps if you’re too sickly to go out, we could stay here and talk.”
Jane stared at her, aghast. “Talk? You want to talk . . . more?”
“If we’re going to be working together and living together, we should get to know each other.”
“We should get a move on.” Jane put her boots back on and tied her mass of unruly dark hair into a ponytail. Then she crammed her hat down onto her head, grabbed her gun and whip from the nightstand, and headed a bit unsteadily for the door.
“A move on to where?” Annie asked eagerly.
Jane shrugged. “I guess I’ll show you the ropes.”
“This here’s Black Nell, Bill’s horse,” she said a few minutes later, pointing to the biggest stall, where Nell stood knocking her front hooves impatiently.
Annie stepped forward with her hand out, wanting to touch. “She’s a beauty.”
Jane pulled her back before the girl could get bit. “She’s wild, that one, what you’d call undomesticated. Won’t stand for nobody but me or Bill.”
Annie reached out anyway, and Black Nell pushed her big velvety nose into the girl’s small hand. Within a few minutes the horse was actually nuzzling her. It was unsettling. Jane ushered Annie down a stall, where two horses were standing, tails flicking. “This here is Charlie’s horse, and we call him, uh, Charlie’s horse, and that one there is Ed, Frank’s horse. Frank likes to call him Mister Ed. He’s a clever one.”
Ed stuck out his face and gave a cordial nod, almost like a bow.
“Oh, but aren’t you such handsome fellows,” cooed Annie to the horses. “How do you do?”
“The horses cain’t talk,” Jane said gruffly, and moved them down a stall again. “This here’s Bullseye. She’s mine. She’s gotten me out of many a scrape riding for the Pony Express.”
Annie turned to stare at her with wide eyes. “You’ve actually been a rider for the Pony Express? For real?”
“God’s own truth.” Jane nodded. “I were one of the best, if I don’t mind saying so. I used to ride some of the most dangerous stretches of road in this here America, but I never had any trouble. Any road agents thereabouts knew I never missed a shot, and they didn’t bother me.” (Again, reader, this was not exactly the truth. Or even a little bit the truth.)
“You never miss a shot?” Annie smiled. “You only used the whip in the show.”
“Charlie says the show needs variety. And I’m the best with the bullwhip, but I’m an ace with a gun, as well,” Jane bragged. “I never miss unless I mean to.”
“I don’t, either,” said the girl.
“Well . . . good,” Jane said. “I suppose we’ll get along well enough, then.”
“What was it like,” Annie asked quietly, “fighting the Sioux?”
Now this was a topic Jane was squirrelly about. “Indian fighter” had never been a label she’d been terribly comfortable with (and one we as your narrators are terribly uncomfortable with), but if you wanted to be a famous adventurer in the Wild West, you were supposed to act like you’d spent half your free time “bravely fighting off the hostile natives.” (Which is pretty awful, considering that they were fighting the land’s rightful inhabitants.) Jane scratched at her head. “You heard about that, did you?”
“Yes, from you. You said you saved Captain Egan during a skirmish with the Sioux,” Annie reminded her.
“Oh. Right. Right.” Jane nodded. “Uh-huh. That’s right.”
“So what was it like?”
(The truth is, up to this point in her life Jane had never been in a skirmish with the Sioux. She had never actually met a Native American in person, let alone in any kind of combat. In her past adventures, as a scout or a driver, if Jane ever had reason to believe that an Indian was thereabouts, she’d turn right around and go quick as she could in the opposite direction.)
Jane used her sleeve to wipe her sweaty brow. “It was like fighting anybody else, I expect. You try to stay on the living side of things.”
Annie looked thoughtful. “My family are Quakers. We believe that what’s happening to the Native people in this country is wrong. Can you imagine, folks showing up unannounced at your house, saying it’s theirs now, and you’ve got to leave? And no matter where you go, that keeps happening, you’re forced from one place after another, starved and abused and set upon everywhere you go? It’s no wonder if some of them are angry.”
Jane frowned. She happened to have some experience in being forced from her home. “I never thought about it that way.”
“Well, you should,” said Annie.
“All right. I will.” Jane scratched the back of her neck and then changed the subject by showing Annie the rest of the animals: Bill’s donkey, Silver.
“He’s a lazy ass,” Jane said. “Puffs up his belly if you try to saddle him. He’ll stop moving every five minutes if you let him. Won’t go but the slowest of walks. Sleeps most all the time. I don’t know why Bill won’t sell him.”
“He’s cute,” said Annie.
They petted him for a few minutes in uncomfortable silence. Then Annie fished a small book out of her pocket. “I also wonder if you could tell me about the garou.”
Jane straightened in alarm. “Why would I know anything about garou?”
Annie cocked her head to one side. “Because you’re a garou—”
“No, I’m not!” burst out Jane.
Annie blinked at her. “I know you’re all garou hunters, you and Mr. Butler and Mr. Hickok and Mr. Utter.”
Jane folded her arms over her chest. “And how do you know that, exactly?”
Annie folded her arms, too. “I just do.”
Jane’s heart was beating fast. Yesterday Annie had said she had “proof” that their posse was still hunting garou. She’d acted like she herself was eager to hunt them. And now, as Jane happened to look at her hand, which was up by her face on account of her folding her arms, a tuft of fur sprouted from her right knuckle. She was changing. It wouldn’t be long now, and this could be her entire body. A hairy beast. Jane thrust her hand into her pocket.
“A-choo!” said Annie. “Oh dear.”
“Bless you!” Jane said. Then (and yes, we know she should have done this a lot sooner) she finally put two and two together. “Hey! It was you!”
“Me?” Annie looked at her with round blue eyes.
“At the factory! You were there! You were the one who kept sneezing!”
“Oh, that.” Annie pressed a handkerchief to her upturned nose. “Yes, that was me.”
“You almost got me killed!” Jane exclaimed, so loudly that Silver tossed his head and brayed.
“Well, yes, that’s true, but I also saved your life multiple times,” explained Annie. “It was I who shot Mr. Badd outside the office, not Mr. Butler.”
“Which is why Mr. Badd didn’t die,” Jane figured out slowly. “Because you didn’t shoot him with a silver bullet.”
“I didn’t know you needed a silver bullet to kill a garou,” Annie confessed.
Jane snorted. “Everybody knows that.”
Annie’s chin lifted. “Even if I had known, I don’t possess any silver bullets. And even if I did possess one, I wouldn’t have known to bring it along with me when I followed you that night.”
“Aha! So you admit you followed us that night!”
“Yes! I already said that!”
“And you almost got me killed! I change my vote,” said Jane hotly. “You’re not in the posse.”
Annie’s mouth fell open. “You can’t do that! I saved your life!”
“Did not! I would have been fine if you hadn’t shot that garou,” Jane retorted. She would have been more than fine, she thought. She would have gotten clear of the wolf some other way and never been bit. To Jane’s way of seeing, this was all Annie’s fault.
“I was also the one who turned on the machines when that second garou was trying to get you, providing a distraction at the crucial moment.” Annie’s dander was clearly up now. Her face was turning pink. Maybe pink. Jane’s eyes were acting up again. “So I saved your life twice, really.”
“You did not!” screamed Jane. Then: “Wait, what do you mean, that second garou?”
“Oh, you know.” Annie tilted her head to one side.
Jane did not know. “What are you talking about?”
Annie stifled a smile, obviously pleased that she had some new knowledge to impart. “There were two garou that night in the factory. Mr. Badd, and that other one who came from downstairs and attacked you.”
Jane stared at Annie. Then she grabbed the girl by the hand and started pulling her toward the exit. “I change my vote again. You can be in the posse.”
“Why, thank you,” said Annie. “Although I’m still only counting your original vote. You can’t change your vote. Where are we going?”
They reached the barn door, and Jane flung it open, revealing Frank standing there. He was wearing his dandiest suit, Jane noticed. He was also holding a bouquet of yellow flowers, and he’d put the fine smelly stuff in his hair. His gaze passed right over Jane and landed on Annie. He smiled, and Jane caught a whiff of mint.
“Good morning, Miss Mosey,” he said. “Fine day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes it is,” agreed Annie in a softer voice than she’d been using before. “How are you this morning, Mr. Butler?”
“Very well, thank you. Would you like to—”
“Stop! There’s no time for that!” yelled Jane. “We gotta go see Charlie!”
“I told you, Jane. Charlie’s fine,” Frank said as Jane pushed past him, still with Annie by the hand. “I saw him last night. He’s banged up, of course, but he was in good spirits.”
“We gotta tell him that there were two garou that night at the factory!” Jane kept walking, towing Annie behind her.
The flowers dropped from Frank’s hand. He jogged to keep up. “Two garou? Uh, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“There were two!” It was the second wolf who’d bitten her, Jane realized. “One of them got away!”
“Charlie!” Jane called as she, Annie, and Frank burst into the doctor’s house where Charlie had been convalescing for the past few days. “Charlie, wake up! We got news!”
Charlie, it turned out, was not asleep. He was sitting up in his bed, his wrapped leg stretched before him, looking pale and peaked, but not from his injuries. He was staring tensely at the open window (or outside of it, we should say), where there was a figure peering through at him. A boy, a few years younger than Frank, who seemed familiar to Jane.
It was one of the bitten factory workers, she realized. The boy with the bushy eyebrows. He was trembling and, from the looks of things, crying, even. Which didn’t make sense.
Because he was holding a gun. And he was pointing it right at Charlie.