1870, Philadelphia, USA.
Martha Whitcomb, the wild child of Philadelphia society, is now a grown woman, independent in wealth and in personality. At twenty-three, still unmarried and childless, she is exposed to constant rumors and ridicule, crushed...
Another long one, but I'm guessing it's been much-awaited. And heeeere we go!
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"Hey, Martha!"
Martha turned from her shelf stocking to see Ames hurrying into the Dragonfly, and she smiled brightly.
"I have not seen you in ages," she enthused, though it had merely been a little less than two weeks. It had certainly felt longer—she had grown accustomed to their usual morning meetings, but he had been quite busy assisting Matthew with his enterprise.
"Yeah, it's been a fair while," he agreed, coming over to the bar and leaning against one elbow, retrieving a folded-up paper from his jacket pocket. "I've got something for you—a message from Tucson."
"Oh?" she asked with a curious frown, taking the paper. "A mysterious message, it would appear."
"Mm—I can't tell you more than that on account of I don't know more than that," he agreed. "Fellow came up to me when I was helping Matty, asked if I was with Bice Drayage. I was in a surly mood, I admit, so I pointed at the sign on the side of the wagon and told him to read it for himself. Fellow handed me this paper, said I was to bring it to you only, said you'd know what it's about."
"How intriguing," Martha enthused with a touch of sarcasm, finally opening the paper. She blinked rapidly, swaying on her feet before bracing her weight against the bartop. Oh, God. The villain.
"Martha?"
Her head snapped up to meet Ames' concerned eyes. "Hmm? Oh—yes, thank for you delivering this," she said, pocketing the note. "I...yes, I do know to what it pertains."
"You alright? Looks as though you've seen a ghost."
She laughed, wishing it sounded more convincingly breezy. "No, no—nothing like that." She was not ready to admit the truth, and yet, a good lie floated beyond her grasp. "Would you please excuse me?"
She rushed away without waiting for a response, moving to where Clem sat at a poker game. She touched his shoulder, leaning down to speak privately: "Would you please captain the ship? I must go to Tucson—urgently."
He raised his eyebrows before nodding. "I hope everythin's keepin' fine," he said, and she nodded, patting his shoulder.
"Yes, quite—thank you. I will return sometime tomorrow, likely," she said before rushing out of the Dragonfly. She needed Gatling, but it was his evening off. He might be at la Luna, or perhaps—
She followed the sound of rambunctious laughter emanating from Lucky Shot, entering the establishment and finding Gatling crowing over some manner of hard-won victory over a man whose name she could not recall.
"Heya princess!" Gatling greeted, holding up a glass of beer, but she placed a hand on his arm, leading the drink away from his lips.
"Are you wallpapered?" she asked—sakes, she hoped this was not the case, and felt reassured when he smiled, shaking his head.
