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...
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"Is Ackley joining us?" Burrows asked, drinking his beer, and Keller shrugged.
"I went up to her room to remind her that it's the big night and she said she was busy, but she would come later," he explained, and Jack chuckled.
"What's she busy with?" he asked. It seemed like everyone in town had been looking forward to La Luna's grand opening for months, and Ackley had loaned a good deal of money to the Castillos—she had a decent business interest in seeing the place succeed. What could be more important or more appealing than this?
"Thinking," Keller said, shrugging again.
"Thinkin'," Jack repeated, incredulous.
Keller nodded. "Thinking," he repeated, propping his chin in his palm and watching María Castillo perform her saucy little flamenco for the excited saloon patrons. It was sure to be a real draw to the place, Jack thought. She was good fun to watch. No touching, though—not unless one wanted to get on the wrong side of Ale in a less friendly mood.
"She's been queer ever since that business with Young," Burrows explained to Jack, who nodded absently. He wouldn't have any way of knowing—he hadn't spoken to the woman since their falling out that night.
"Well, I don't imagine pullin' a shotgun on a man and watchin' your friend beat half-to-death is a regular thing in Ackleyland," he said. "Probably rattled still."
"Mhm," said Keller, whose eyes were locked on María. Jack had to laugh—he was enchanted, ready to crawl on his hands and knees across burning coals if she were to ask him.
"Do you think there will be trouble?" Ames asked, and Jack drank his beer, considering the question.
"Maybe—Young was real wrathy and I don't see him lettin' this go. But I suppose Rick'll call him off, and maybe Young'll listen. Maybe not."
"Maybe we should be more worried then, hm?" Burrows asked. "It wasn't no small thing she did."
"What wasn't?" Keller asked, heroically managing to tear his attention away from María.
Jack laughed again. "Threatenin' to blow off Young's head."
"Oh," Keller said, his face darkening. "I wish she'd a done it. Not like anyone's gonna retaliate against her—she might be the only one who could get away with something like that."
Jack nodded—that was a fair point. "Still—maybe Burrows is right. We should stick a little closer to her for a while, until we know it's safe."
"Says the man who's been hiding in a hole and licking his wounds since she snapped at him," Keller commented dryly, a faint smirk on his lips.
Jack set his beer on the table, sighing. "Yeah, shut it—I still give a damn 'bout her," he said. "If she's in trouble, I ain't leavin' her to the wolves."
