Gus set the vented wooden crate on Megan’s freshly swept kitchen floor, beaming as he lifted the lid to reveal a swarming, silky, yellow mass of chirping chicks inside. She felt a deep fondness for the big man, watching as he knelt in the midst of all those tiny birds, picking them up so gently in his huge hands.
Augustus, proving himself to be of sterling character, barked once, cheerfully, came over to sniff the milling crowd, and then gave a huge huff of a sigh and went outside. No doubt rabbits would present a more interesting challenge.
Megan crouched with Gus, delighted by the baby chicks. Together, she and the storekeeper put them back into their crate by the handfuls. How, she wondered, would she ever be able to eat one of these dear creatures, even when they were big and ugly with their downy tufts turned to stubby feathers?
Gus seemed to read her expression with uncanny accuracy. “Is all right, miss,” he said in his broad German accent. “In time, more chicks come. Always more chicks.”
Megan was mildly reassured—after all, it would be a while before any of these sweet, messy little critters were real chickens.
“You give them water,” Gus went on, “and the feed I brought. Keep them warm, back of the stove, until they can be outside.”
Megan nodded, and Gus left the house to bring in a bag of finely ground corn meal. While he was doing that, Megan set the box of cheeping fuzz at a comfortable distance from the cookstove and put a shallow pan of water in with them. She had helped with the chickens at home in Virginia, she and Skye, and she knew they might drown in too much water or get themselves wet, fall sick, and die. Many of them would simply not survive, no matter what she did, but that was unavoidable. Chicks and puppies and colts perished with alarming frequency, as did human babies, and there was no changing the fact, no comprehending the mystery.
“You make garden,” Gus observed, pleased, when Megan insisted that he sit down and have a cup of coffee before heading back to town. “You grow vegetables? Flowers, maybe?”
Megan smiled. “Just pole beans and some lettuce this year, I think. A little squash, too, and some pumpkins for pie.” She sighed. “It’s late for planting,” she said, recalling Webb’s comment the day before.
“Well, is fine-looking patch,” Gus said. “Next year, you get early start. Grow everything.”
Megan allowed herself the luxury of believing that she would still be at Primrose Creek come the spring, if not in this house with Webb on this land she loved so deeply, then somewhere nearby.
“Yes,” she said, a bit belatedly. “Everything.” Meanwhile, the chicks kept up their busy chorus. “Thank you, Gus.”
His smile was the smile of a loyal friend. “You have such sorrow in your eyes, miss,” he said. “You are home now. You should not be sad.”
Home. The mere word filled Megan with such a sense of bleak yearning that, for the moment, she was tongue-tied.
“I just remember,” Gus boomed, flushed with cheerful chagrin, patting his shirt pockets and then producing a folded slip of paper. “I bring message.”
Frowning, Megan reached for the paper, unfolded it, and drew in her breath. The thin vellum stationery bore the distinctive name of Lillian Colefield—Diamond Lil.
Dear Miss McQuarry, she’d written. I have decided to go ahead with plans to build my theater. I would like to call on you and discuss the idea, at your convenience. While I realize you may never wish to accept my offer of a leading place in the troupe, I find myself in need of advice. Please respond through Gus. Best Wishes, Lil.
Megan was more than a little intrigued. While she had no desire to act again, and certainly no inclination to travel, she did love the theater itself. It would be nice just to talk about plays and sets and music with someone who shared the interest. Quickly, she found a slip of paper and a pencil and wrote her reply:
I would be delighted with a visit. Please call any afternoon this week.
Megan McQuarry
When she’d handed the note over to Gus, he said his good-byes and left the house, stopping in the dooryard to speak to Augustus and ruffle his ears.
Once he’d gone, Megan peeled potatoes for supper, to be served with boiled venison and several tins of green beans. She was setting the table when she heard a lone rider, and, expecting Webb, she hurried to the doorway before she could stop herself.
The rider was Jesse, not Webb, and he grinned and swept off his hat when he saw Megan on the threshold, shading her eyes from the glaring rays of a sun fighting its inevitable descent toward the western horizon.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
Jesse nodded. He was harmless, she knew, even sweet, but all the same, she didn’t care for the way his gaze strayed over her body before wandering back to her face. She’d seen that look too many times, in the eyes of too many different men.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Webb sent me on ahead to tell you he’s hired a couple more men. They’ll be coming to supper.”
She stepped aside to let Jesse enter the house, feeling shy. He moved past her, hat in hand, his neck glowing red.
“That dress you were wearing yesterday was really something,” he blurted out, standing with his back to the fireplace. Then he went crimson to his hairline and looked so flummoxed and so very young that Megan felt sorry for him. “Fact is, I’ve never seen a cook like you. The ones I knew had full beards and bellies like barrels.”
Megan laughed. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m obliged—I think.” She had guessed by then that Jesse was a little sweet on her, but she wasn’t bothered by the discovery. She wasn’t afraid of Jesse—she’d turned aside the wooing of bigger, stronger men, let alone boys like him, many a time—but she certainly didn’t want to lead him on, either. That would be unkind. “Would you like some dried apple pie? I baked several earlier in the day.”
He’d heard the chirping and was staring toward the crate of chicks, frowning. “Chickens?” he asked.
If Megan had known Jesse better, she would have pointed out the obvious nature of such a question, but she still viewed him as a relative stranger, and she needed more time to size him up. “Yes,” she said. “They’re too small to be outside just yet.”
Jesse had been raised on a ranch, Megan knew that much about him, but he must not have been in charge of chickens. He acted as if he’d never seen one before, except breaded and fried and served up on Sunday china. Approaching the crate, he crouched to look inside. He chuckled, watching the birds scramble about.
Megan felt protective, like a mother hen. If she’d had wings and a beak, she would have clucked and flapped until Jesse Stratton had backed off a little. “They’re very fragile, you know.”
Jesse withdrew his hand, turned his head, and grinned at Megan, still sitting on his haunches. He did look like Webb, she found that appealing, and there was something else about him, some quality strictly his own, that inspired trust. “Sounds to me like you’re already getting attached to the little beggars,” he said. “I reckon you ought to get a kitten, if you want something to fuss over.”
Megan felt as though she’d been accused of something, which, of course, was silly. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and watched as Jesse’s grin broadened.
At the sound of approaching horses, he rose to his full height. Megan patted her hair and smoothed her skirts, without being conscious of doing so until she saw the worried look in Jesse’s eyes. Caught, she blushed.
“My brother loves a woman named Ellie,” he said quietly. “Think twice, Megan, before you go giving your heart away to the wrong man. You might never get it back again.” With that, he went out, and Augustus scrabbled after him to greet the coming riders with a symphony of joyous barks.
She heard Webb’s voice in the dooryard, caught herself smoothing her hair and skirts again. He came in just then, and the two of them stood there, squared off like a couple of gunfighters ready to draw on each other, or a pair of old friends on the verge of embracing. Megan wasn’t sure which.
“Feels like a storm brewing,” he said, and Megan didn’t know whether he was talking about a real spate of bad weather or the crackling charge arcing back and forth between them.
Jesse came back inside then, and Megan turned her back on both of them without a word and went on with her work. She heard Webb speak to his brother in an even but firm voice.
“Go look after your horse. You left him saddled, and you know better.”
She felt Jesse’s reluctance to obey, rather than saw it, but he respected his elder brother and did as he was told, spurs clinking with irritation as he strode out of the house.
“Something happen that I should know about?” Webb asked when he and Megan were alone.
She didn’t turn to face him but stood at the stove, trying to look busy. As it happened, the meal was ready to serve. “No,” she said, and as far as she was concerned, that was the truth.
“Megan,” he persisted.
She made herself meet his gaze and smile. “For some reason,” she said, “Jesse’s worried that you’re going to break my heart.”
Webb wasn’t smiling. “Why would I want to do that?”
She sighed. He wasn’t going to let this drop, she could see that. “He didn’t say you’d want to, and neither did I. He did feel called upon to remind me that it’s Ellie you really care about, though.”
He scowled, flung his hat onto a chair. “Damn it,” he muttered.
“It’s all right,” Megan said, though it wasn’t, of course.
“It isn’t all right,” Webb argued. “And you know it.”
“Webb—”
“I can’t seem to stop thinking about you.”
Megan sank into a chair. “What?”
Webb thrust a hand through his hair, then strode over to the wash stand to roll up his sleeves, douse water into the basin, and soap up his hands. He looked back at her over one shoulder, his countenance as sober as that of a hellfire preacher. “Don’t pretend you don’t know how I feel, Megan.”
She stared at him. “How do you feel?” she asked. Her heart was racing so fast, she thought it might leave itself behind, and she couldn’t quite catch her breath, either.
“I’m—well—” He rinsed his hands industriously, dried them on the towel above the wash stand. “Attracted to you.”
Attracted? Did that mean he cared for her as a woman, as herself and no one else, or did it mean that he simply wanted to lie down with her? She sank her teeth into her upper lip and waited.
He faced her. “I’m not saying I love you, Megan, because I’m not sure what that means anymore. Maybe that’s what I feel, and maybe it isn’t, but I sure as hell feel something, and it’s driving me out of my mind.” He crossed the room, and by then he was standing so close that she could smell the piney wind in his clothes, along with trail dust and horsehide. “I’ve always fancied myself a pretty fair judge of character,” he said, “but you’ve got me in a tangle. Sometimes you seem as delicate as a blade of new grass. At others, you’re stronger than I ever imagined any woman could be. There’s so much I don’t know about you, and I figure it might take a lifetime to find it all out.”
His speech had struck Megan to the heart. “I wish I knew what you mean by all this,” she said, somewhat lamely.
Webb’s face was still serious, though there was a mischievous light in his eyes. “I mean,” he said, “that I want you to be more than my housekeeper.”
There it was. Megan was dizzy with indignation and disappointment. “I may have been an actress, Mr. Stratton,” she said in a furious whisper. “Some people might even say I’m a fallen woman. But I assure you, I am not a prostitute.”
He blinked, then a crooked grin broke over his face. “I was never real good at declaring myself,” he said. “I guess I thought you might be looking for a husband.” He paused, cleared his throat. His eyes were twinkling. “After last night.”
Megan was very conscious of the hired men shouting to each other outside, some still attending to their horses, no doubt, while others were washing at the creek. If any one of them overheard this conversation, she would perish from mortification. “That,” she snapped, referring to the bathtub incident, “was an accident. I thought you were already upstairs asleep.”
He chuckled, but there was something in his manner that both thrilled and alarmed Megan. Made her want to run, to him and from him, both at once. “It’s not such a bad idea, you know,” he said. “Our getting married, I mean.”
Megan gaped at him. “M-married?” she echoed, utterly confounded. She felt like the last in a long chain of skaters, whipping first in this direction, then in that, never able to catch her breath or get her bearings.
He glanced toward the door. The first men were about to come in and break the curious spell that had turned Megan’s reason topsy-turvy. “I guess we ought to discuss this later,” he said.
Damn him, bringing up a subject like that and then just leaving her dangling. Megan could have strangled him, but she wasn’t about to let him see how badly he’d rattled her. She turned away and busied herself with the task of serving supper.
Once the men were eating, she filled a plate for herself, carried it outside, and sat down on an upended crate to eat in some semblance of peace. The evening was cool, and, although the day had been a sunny one, there were clouds gathering on the eastern horizon, black and low-bellied. About to give birth to a deluge.
Presently, Webb came out with coffee and pulled up another crate. Inside, the cowboys continued to consume their suppers, talking a little, not so reticent as they’d been before. They were beginning to feel at home at Primrose Creek, she supposed, just as she was.
“Rain coming,” Webb said, nodding toward the clouds. “I reckon we’ll be up to our ankles in creek water come morning.”
Megan’s heart was skittering. He’d probably forgotten all about asking her to marry him, while she’d hardly been able to think of anything else besides matrimony, ever since he’d proposed the idea.
“It makes sense,” he said, as though the conversation had never been interrupted. “Our tying the knot, I mean. You’d have your land back, legal as church on Sunday, as a wedding present.”
Megan nearly fell off the crate she was sitting on, and she’d forgotten her supper completely. Just when she thought he couldn’t surprise her, he did it again. “You’d give me this land, when you refused to sell it outright?” she marveled. “Why?”
“Because I want something in return,” he said. He spoke quietly.
She swallowed. “What?” she dared to ask, though she was sure she knew.
Not for the first time, he surprised her. “A wife. A child. A family,” he said. “That’s the deal. You share my bed until you’ve conceived. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. After that, you can sleep in your own room again—if that’s what you want. If we decided not to go on living together as man and wife, then I’d build another house, up in the high meadow.” He nodded in that direction, toward the land bordering the tract Megan’s granddaddy had left to her.
“You cannot possibly think,” she said, “that I would let you or anyone else take my child.”
“I feel pretty much the same way about the matter, as it happens,” he replied reasonably. “Guess we’d just have to try to get along, wouldn’t we? Either way, the land would be yours, not just on paper but in reality.”
“Why—why me?” Megan asked, after a long and awkward silence.
He grinned. “Well,” he said, “you’re right here handy.” He glanced around, as though looking for a bevy of women, just waiting to marry up with a high-country rancher. “And I don’t see anybody else in line for the job.”
Megan was glad she was sitting down, because if she’d been standing up, her legs probably would have given out. She stared at Webb. “Are you insane? Getting married is not the same as hiring a cook or somebody to punch cattle!” Inside the house, a sudden lull descended, alerting Megan to the very real possibility that their conversation might be overheard, and she lowered her voice. “You shouldn’t marry anybody unless you love them, or at least think you could love them, and from what I hear, the woman you love is already married to someone else.”
The coffee mug stopped halfway to Webb’s mouth, and the grin faded away like the last light of day. He got up, took Megan lightly but inescapably by the arm, and double-stepped her toward the banks of the creek, where wildflowers bent their heads to sleep. The occasional rainbow flash of a trout shimmered beneath the surface of the water, and the grass, bruised by their passing, perfumed the air.
“What the devil are you talking about?” Webb demanded. He’d let go of her arm, but he might as well have been a barrier, standing in front of her the way he was, because she knew there was no way past him.
“We’ve already discussed this,” she reminded him tersely. “Her name is Ellie, and she’s married to your brother Tom.”
Pain flickered in Webb’s eyes, was quickly subdued. “Exactly,” he said. “She’s married to my brother.” It was neither a denial nor a declaration, but it was enough.
Megan knew what it was to watch a dream die, and she longed to put her arms around him, though she refrained. She had pain enough of her own; if she drew Webb close, she might absorb his as well, and the burden would crush her. She wanted to ask if Ellie had loved him back, but she didn’t dare.
Unexpectedly, Webb cupped his right hand under her chin, raised her face, and bent to touch his mouth to hers. At first, the kiss was not a kiss but a mere mingling of breaths. Then he kissed her without reservation, and Megan’s heart leaped into the back of her throat and swelled to twice its normal size. She rose onto her toes, and her arms found their own way around his neck, and she felt something like lightning run the full length of her body and reverberate in the ground beneath her feet.
When their mouths parted, the world around her had hidden itself in a pulsing haze, and Megan had to blink several times before things came back into proper focus. The first thing she saw was Webb’s dear, earnest, handsome face.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he confessed, his voice gruff.
Megan felt a smile land on her lips as lightly as a butterfly. “How long?”
“Since you got off the stagecoach the other day,” he said, and the grin was back.
Color climbed her neck. “There’s so much you don’t know about me.”
He brushed a tendril of hair back from her temple with the tenderest motion of his fingers. “And there’s plenty you don’t know about me. With any luck, we can spend the rest of our lives getting acquainted.”
She was tempted, so very tempted. She felt a powerful attraction to Webb Stratton, it was true, but what about love? She’d thought she loved Davy, and in the end, she’d come to despise him, as well as herself. That particular mistake had cost her dearly, and she couldn’t afford to make another one like it. “I’m scared,” she said with real despair.
He was holding her shoulders now, and behind him, the vanishing sun raised a spectacle of crimson and gold. “Don’t be,” he replied.
“It wouldn’t be right. I’m not—there was—”
Webb’s expression was so tender, so patient, that tears burned behind Megan’s eyes. “There was another man?” he asked quietly.
She tried to speak, but in the end she could only nod.
He sighed, bent his head, kissed her again. “I’ll make you forget him.”
Megan realized she was gripping the front of his shirt in both hands, clinging to him. She forced herself to let go, because she’d made a vow long ago to stand on her own two feet, always. “That’s not what worries me.”
He drew her close, held her, and she felt his breath in her hair. Felt his heart beating against her cheek. “Then what does?”
She allowed herself to be held, and the sensation was like drinking cold, clear water after a long and parching thirst. Augustus had joined them at some point, and he whimpered, perhaps sensing powerful emotions, seeking reassurance. “Trusting again,” she whispered. “Believing again.”
He kissed her forehead. “That will come with time,” he promised.
Augustus whined, still troubled.
“I’m all right, Augustus,” Megan said, her voice muffled by Webb’s chest.
Webb laughed and held her at a very slight distance. “If you won’t say yes for my sake, say yes for my dog’s,” he said.
She touched his cheek. She wanted to give a husband what her sisters gave to theirs, and receive what they received in return. They loved their men passionately, all of them. Megan did not know if she loved Webb at that moment, or if she ever would, but she wanted to take the risk. She wanted a chance to have what Bridget, Christy, and Skye had, and here it was, but the stakes were high, and she didn’t want to lose.
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“It will,” he said.
“But what if you’re wrong?”
He sighed, but his expression was gentle. Amused. “Then you’ll have your land back, and we’ll have at least one child together.”
“I’ll never give up my baby,” she reiterated.
“Good,” Webb said. “Then maybe you’ll never give me up, either. Say yes, Megan.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Louder.”
“Yes.”
“Yes!” he yelled.
“Yes!” she shouted, and then they laughed like fools, the two of them, there beside Primrose Creek. The cowboys had gathered in the yard, and when Webb lifted Megan off her feet and spun her around in celebration of their agreement, they cheered and hooted and whooped.
Megan glanced at them, noticed that Jesse stood a little to one side, neither smiling nor clapping. A sense of foreboding shadowed her hopes briefly, like a cloud passing overhead, but she’d forgotten it a moment later. She had only to look at Webb again to lift her spirits.
He took her hand. “When?” he asked.
She wanted to go out and beat the brush for a preacher right then, but she had her family to think about. She would get married properly, wearing a decent dress, with her sisters, brothers-in-law, nieces and nephews, and Caney all in attendance. The whole town—the whole world—would know that she was Webb Stratton’s wife. “Soon,” she said. “I want to do this right, make proper arrangements.”
He heaved a great and beleaguered sigh. The cowboys, except for Jesse, had lost interest in the scene and headed for the bunkhouse, where they would probably play cards, smoke tobacco, and swap tall tales. Augustus was busy chasing an invisible rabbit through the high grass, barking as though he were truly fierce. “All right,” Webb said. “I’ll bunk with the boys until you and I are legally hitched.”
Megan was touched by his chivalry, even though she would miss his presence in the house. She understood his reasoning, though: by tomorrow, everybody for miles around would know that they were engaged, and he didn’t want people assuming they were already sharing a bed. Of course, there were bound to be those who would think precisely that, no matter what precautions they might take.
Side by side, hands loosely linked, they started back toward the house. Jesse was still there, smoking and leaning against the outside wall, braced with one foot. He smiled, but she glimpsed both anger and sorrow in his eyes.
Webb stopped to speak to his brother, and Megan went on into the house, closing the door behind her. As she was clearing the table, she heard the rasp of raised voices, although she couldn’t make out any of the words.
She was washing dishes when Webb came in. He nodded to her, then went on up the stairs, presumably to gather his gear. As she was finishing up, he came down again, carrying a bedroll and some clothes. By that time, it was dark outside, and she had a lantern burning in the center of the table.
“Those chickens of yours will be moving out one day soon, I hope,” he teased, watching her from over near the door.
She laughed. The noise they made was incessant, and if she didn’t keep the straw bedding in the bottom of their crate changed, they’d begin to smell in short order. “About the time we get married,” she promised. “Provided the chicken coop is finished by then.”
Webb smiled. “I’ll see to it myself,” he said. He’d started the project before leaving for Virginia City to hire ranch hands, but it was only partly complete.
She simply nodded, and then he was gone. The house seemed vast without him, but she’d had a long day of hard work, and she was soon in bed and asleep, dreaming sweet, private dreams.
She awakened to chirping sounds the next morning, well before the sun had risen. Smiling, she threw back the covers and got up. After dressing, making a visit to the privy, and washing her face and hands, she made a huge breakfast of salt pork and hotcakes. Soon the long table was lined on either side with hungry men, but Megan was aware only of Webb as she worked, pouring coffee, serving second and third helpings.
When the meal was over and all the men had gone, including Webb, Megan put the dishes to soak and spent the next half an hour tending to the chickens. After that, she did some washing down at the creek, hanging sheets, shirts, trousers, and socks on various low tree limbs and bushes to dry. That done, she found a hook and line, dug up some worms, and she and Augustus went upstream to fish.
They returned with enough for the midday meal, and the crisply fried trout and thin-sliced potatoes disappeared in short order. Webb had brought several rabbit carcasses, already cleaned and skinned, and Megan had a supper stew simmering on the stove before she’d washed the last of the dinner dishes.
She’d just gone down to sit by the creek, with a book purloined from Webb’s fairly sizable collection, when a fancy surrey, drawn by two pure black horses, came over the rise on the other side, descended, and splashed across to stop perhaps twenty yards from where Megan sat.
She would have known her caller by her grand hat, parasol, and ruffled gown, even if Diamond Lil hadn’t trilled a cheerful greeting.
Megan was pleased to see her, and so, evidently, was Augustus, who came back from his travels to welcome the visitor. Lil laughed, spoke affectionately to the dog, and thereby assured herself of Megan’s lasting regard.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” the other woman said. She was wearing cosmetics, but they were artfully applied, and the effect was attractive. Megan, who had worn paint herself on the stage, did not miss the stuff.
She linked her arm with Lil’s and started toward the house. “Come along. I’ll brew some tea.”
Lil raised a perfect eyebrow. “Have any whiskey?” she asked. Then, at the look on Megan’s face, she laughed out loud. “Just joking,” she said.
They entered the house, and the chicks immediately let their presence be known. Lil walked over and peered down into the crate. “Cute little critters,” she observed. “ ’Course, they’ll be mud-ugly in a month.”
That was undeniable. Surely it was God’s plan for full-grown chickens to be ugly. If they stayed cute, no one would want to serve them boiled with dumplings. “I’ve decided not to name them,” Megan said, quite seriously.
Lil’s expression was wry as she swept over to the table and gracefully installed herself in Webb’s chair. “I’d say that was a wise decision,” she said. “It’s pretty hard to eat anything with a name.”
Megan put on the tea kettle. The rabbit stew was simmering nicely, and the aroma was pleasant. She’d make cornbread to serve with it at supper. “I’m interested to hear your plans for the playhouse,” she said. “Do you really think you’ll be able to make it pay? Primrose Creek is a pretty small place.”
“Sit down,” Lil commanded. “You make me nervous, fussing like that, and that water will boil on its own, without you hovering.”
Amused, Megan sat. She liked Lil for her distinctive personality and bold—the townswomen would probably have said brazen—ways.
“Now,” Lil went on when Megan was settled, “about the Primrose Playhouse. Everybody needs entertainment, and I think we’ll get a lot of trade from the men down at Fort Grant. Too, the town’s been growing ever since the fire. With more and more women coming to live here all the time, it seems to me there’s call for culture.”
Megan wondered about Lil’s past, how such an obviously intelligent woman could have ended up running not just a saloon but a thriving brothel as well. Of course, she would never ask her, though she was dying to do just that. “Where would you get the performers? You’d want a good deal of variety, to keep people coming back.”
Lil waved one elegantly gloved hand, making light of the matter even before she spoke. “Virginia City is full of singers and the like, and we can bring magicians up from San Francisco.”
There it was again, the word we. Megan decided it was time to speak up. “Mr. Stratton and I have decided to get married,” she said.
Lil’s smile was slow and thoughtful. “Well, now,” she said. “Some of my girls will be sorry to hear that.”
Megan willed herself not to blush, although she couldn’t be sure she’d succeeded without bolting for a mirror, and she wasn’t about to do that. She had no idea how to respond to Lil’s statement.
Lil, unlike Megan, was not at a loss for words. She gave a sigh worthy of the stage and said, “I suppose that means you won’t be interested in becoming my partner.”
Megan’s mouth dropped open; she promptly closed it again. “Your partner?” The kettle began to sing on the stovetop, but she paid it no mind. Listening to Diamond Lil’s proposal, she forgot all about the tea she’d been planning to brew and the laundry still hanging down by the creek.