Judging Cicely

by Pippa Greathouse

  Her breathing was shallow and ragged, and her mouth opened slightly, as he leaned forward and took her mouth with his, probing, possessing, with his tongue.

  "Oh, Abel," she said, in a voice that was barely audible, as he thrust into her, hard. When she came apart in his arms, he did exactly the same.

  Fight!

  "Abel?"

  "Yes, sweetheart."

  "Would it be all right if I watched you in court this morning?"

  "Under no circumstances are you to be there this morning, my beautiful girl. Remember the brawl that took place in the saloon last week? And all the men who were put in jail without bail to await a hearing?"

  She nodded.

  "The hearing is this morning. You'd be putting yourself in danger just by being there. Promise me you'll stay away this time."

  She sighed. "I promise."

  "Good girl. I'll see you at noon."

  Cicely raised her mouth to receive his kiss and watched as he left. When he reached the door and looked back over his shoulder, he winked. "And stay away from Phebe and Mrs. Baxter. You don't need to be in the middle of their squabbles. Hear me?"

  She frowned and gave a sigh. "I hear."

  She looked forlornly after him as he left and bit her lip. Mrs. Morgan entered the kitchen a moment later.

  "Coffee, darlin'?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

  Mrs. Morgan was in a talkative mood, however, and Cicely sat and enjoyed coffee with her. By the time she was ready to go to see her mother and Polly, it was almost ten-thirty. She wouldn't be able to stay long.

  When she turned the block onto the main street, she froze, looking out into the street in horror. She could see what was about to happen. Mrs. Baxter was on one side of the street, Phebe on the other. They were staring at each other with pure, unadulterated hatred gleaming in their eyes.

  Mrs. Baxter took a step off the walk. Phebe did the same. Inch by inch, they began to make progress out toward the center. Horses and wagons halted, watching from both sides. One woman looked as determined as the other.

  Cicely drew in a sharp breath. Someone needed to stop it. But could they? She started out. "Phebe! Run back toward the dormitory!"

  They kept progressing toward each other as if neither heard her. Cicely ran toward the street, getting around Mrs. Baxter and facing Phebe. "Phebe! Stop it! Run—listen to me!" She turned toward Mrs. Baxter, who had her bag raised in the air.

  "Get out of my way, Cicely Carter. She has this coming, and I'm going to see that she gets it."

  "No, Mrs. Baxter. I can't let you. She's my—" The breath suddenly whooshed out of her as Mrs. Baxter hit her in the face with her bag. Phebe ran forward.

  "Cissy! Are you all right?" But Phebe was now seated on her bottom in the middle of the street, in total shock. Cicely was up on her feet, but only for a half-second, before she was shoved forward by the older woman.

  "This isn't your fight, Cicely Carter. Get."

  "No! You can't be serious about this. My father will arrest you!"

  A fist plowed into her cheek, shoving her backward several steps, and she put her hand to it. "Ow."

  "I told you," barely escaped the woman's lips.

  Phebe was leaning into Mrs. Baxter's well-upholstered bosom, planting first one fist, then another, into her ample belly. Mrs. Baxter glared down at her as if she were a kitten attacking a bear. "She's been a pain in my craw ever since she's been here and it's my business. You need not be protecting this one."

  "Phebe—" Cicely ran forward, to try to pull the girl back, but was suddenly flat on her back. Mrs. Baxter packed a wallop.

  "Stop it!" Polly's voice came from the walk outside the sheriff's office. She was running out into the street. Mrs. Baxter turned to her, raising the bag, and Cicely jumped upward, trying to grab onto it before the woman turned and quite unintentionally smacked her in the face with it. It was her other cheek this time.

  Bodies began to enter her field of vision, and she heard the voices that accompanied them. A young boy's voice was shouting, "Fight!" over and over again before she realized what was happening. Now, she was still lying flat on her back in the street with Mrs. Baxter on top of her. Phebe was seated on top of Mrs. Baxter, and Polly, who was trying to pull her off without success, suddenly found herself elbowed in the belly and thrown backward.

  Cicely heard a shriek and looked up to see Natalie Green in the fray. Louisa Graham was next, trying to get to Mrs. Baxter, who waved her arms wildly about, trying to hit Phebe behind her back. Louisa's daughter was trying to get her to abandon the attempt, but gave up a few seconds later and attempted to find her way out of the circle of bedlam. Among the voices, Cicely wasn't surprised to hear Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Harper. One after the other, ladies joined in the furor. Those who didn't were drawn in, despite their efforts to keep out of it. Zeke's wife, Jennifer, was next to Cicely, trying to pull Mrs. Baxter off her. Older men stood on the sidelines and watched, with their mouths gaping open, as if they had never seen such a thing before.

  It had been a long morning. Sheriff Andrews had been in the back, releasing the jailed prisoners after the hearings that morning and returning their possessions to them. He had gotten the last man from the long list of prisoners out of his cell as the noise began building outside. Just as he heaved a sigh, someone pounded on the window.

  "Sheriff! Fight!"

  Henson moved into the next room and threw the cell keys to Zeke. "Here, Zeke. Finish up with the last prisoner and let him go. Apparently, all hell has broken loose outside. I may need you." He tried to look out the window, but the men he had just released were lined up outside it, huddled together and pointing. He could see nothing.

  "What the Sam Hill?" he muttered, opening the door and trying to weave his way outward. When he broke through, finally, he moved toward the noise. And froze.

  It was hard to see where the fight ended and where the bystanders began. The street was full of ladies, going at it like the drunken cowboys in the saloon had, a few days ago. Skirts and petticoats and bustles were everywhere, along with hats and hatpins, canes and bags raised in the air.

  "Zeke?"

  "Right behind you, Sheriff."

  "Good Lord, where do we start?" The sheriff could barely hear the sound of his own voice for the shrill voices, shrieks and wails coming from the street. It had to be the largest brawl in the history of Strasburg.

  "Ladies." He shouted. "Ladies!" He began to take hold of the ones nearest him in the fracas and pull them aside. First, was the elderly little Amelia Martin from outside the town, attempting to beat Emma Harper over the head with her cane. He pulled her slight frame backward and set her gently down on the walk, removing her cane from her grasp. He handed it to Zeke, who set it inside.

  "Sit!" Henson growled at her. "And don't move!"

  "Hmph." Beady eyes met his, full of contempt.

  Emma Harper was next. He set her down next to Mrs. Martin and dared them to look at each other.

  The next woman, he'd never seen before. Pulling her out of the crowd, he pulled a long hatpin from her grasp and passed it along to Zeke. Six more ladies came next, all Strasburg citizens. Bags and purses were added to the stash of weapons. When he looked back, Amelia was missing again. She wouldn't get far without her cane. He began looking for her.

  "Need help, Sheriff?"

  Henson looked up to see Geoffrey and Nick pulling ladies from the ruckus.

  "Much obliged," he mouthed. He turned to see a small woman with curly chestnut hair planting a fist in the face of another woman. Before he could grab her and pull her backwards, she was sent flying back against him.

  He caught her and turned her to face him. But before she knew who he was, she had doubled up her fist and sent it flying toward his face. He caught her wrist just before it reached his mouth, and she gasped in dismay.

  "Oh! Henson!! I'm so sorry—"

  "Trust me, Cinderella Andrews, you will be." Pulling her toward the walk, he set her firmly down on he
r bottom. "Don't you dare move, young lady."

  For the third time, Amelia Martin was extricated from the group and set down. Henson was furious now. "Zeke? Put her in jail if she moves an inch."

  The crowd of released prisoners in front of the jail had thinned out, and he saw them, on the outskirts, shouting encouragement to the brawlers. Josh Killian had come forward to help.

  "The fairer sex," he grumbled. "Whoever called them that hadn't a clue." Glancing back at the walkway, the line of ladies now went almost all the way St. Mary's. "Looks like Father Michael needs to present Mass on—" He stopped, just as a fist smacked him in the jaw. He looked down to see Louisa Graham.

  "Sheriff!" Her eyes were wide with horror at what she'd done. "I didn't mean…" She stopped, closing her eyes. He took her upper arm and pulled her back, setting her down less than gently with a warning.

  When he turned back, trying to make a decision what to do next, he spotted the Wellingtons and his deputies. Each had a lady in hand, pulling her to the side. He was glad. He was getting tired.

  Abel, in the back office, had grown disturbed by the commotion he'd heard. Finishing up and shoving his desk drawer shut, he locked it and deposited the key into his pocket, striding through the aisle of the courtroom and opening the door.

  The sight that met his eyes left him speechless. His blue eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what was going on. His eyes lit on the sheriff's office, where a group of men he recognized as prisoners he had released this morning stood. Some of them were out in the street, shouting. Several ladies were seated in a row down the sidewalk, some angry, some subdued. The line went all the way to St. Mary's.

  A figure caught his eye in front of the church. Father Michael had just stepped out the front door and stopped, staring. His eyes appeared to light on first one of his parishioners, then another, his brow deepening in disbelief. Thirty seconds later, the priest threw up his hands and retreated back into the church, shaking his head.

  Abel's eyes stopped when they lit on Cinderella Andrews and his brow rose. The sheriff's wife was involved in this? A growing sensation punched him in the belly. If Cinderella was in the middle of it, her daughters might be, too. The line of ladies was increasing; the warring crowd decreasing. Sheriff Andrews was pulling Mrs. Green firmly over to the walkway now and pointing to it. She sat.

  It had taken Abel less than ten seconds to assess the situation. He turned and ran toward the crowd now, scanning the ladies still involved. His friend, Geoff, had Polly by the arm and was marching her toward the side, as he smacked her bottom with his free hand. Phebe was in the hands of Nick now, and he was growling into her ear as he brought her over to the line of ladies and sat her down hard.

  There were two figures left. Mrs. Baxter was lying on top of someone; with utter dismay, he saw that it was Cicely. He ran, as fast as he could. The sheriff tugged Mrs. Baxter up to her feet and pointed to the sidelines, and she heaved a sigh and went. But as Henson turned back to his daughter, Abel held up a hand, and he moved away.

  Kneeling down over the last little figure in the street, now, he put his hands on her.

  "Tell me, sweetheart. Are you all right?" He reached down and touched the developing bruise on her face gently, and she winced.

  Her voice was subdued. "Yes, sir. I think so."

  His hands moved down to her shoulders, then her ribs, checking to see if she was hurt.

  "Move your legs and wiggle your toes."

  She obeyed. "I'm sure I'm all right, Abel." But she had difficulty meeting his gaze.

  He heaved a sigh. "That's good. Because you, young lady, have no idea just how much trouble you'll be in when I get you home."

  She looked away. "Yes, sir," she whispered.

  Abel lifted her and stood her to her feet, as the crowd looked on. With a firm hand to the small of her back, he guided her over to the side with the others, where her father stood, waiting.

  Cicely brought her beautiful sea-green eyes up over her shoulder to meet his gaze. But he was determined to keep his expression stern.

  "Here you are, Sheriff. Your last little miscreant."

  Both Abel and her father stood, for a moment, looking down at her. Her eyes had pooled with tears.

  An eternity elapsed before her father spoke. "Thank you, Judge." Henson turned and looked up and down the street at the long line of ladies, his gaze pausing for a moment, on his wife. He motioned Abel toward the street a bit and spoke under his breath. "The thing is, Judge," he said, looking back toward the office. "We don't have room enough in the office to process all these…" He swallowed, saying through clenched teeth, "Ladies."

  Abel ran his fingers through his curly hair, leaving it with an unruly look. "I suppose we could use the courthouse, Sheriff."

  Henson nodded. "I think we'll have to."

  Abel observed him as he looked back from one to the other of his daughters. Cinderella had joined them now, her face smudged with dirt and grime. The three of them were huddled together. Polly was looking down at the ground, while Geoff stood several feet from her, his jaw pulsing and his arms crossed. Cicely's sad eyes looked up at her husband, as if she was trying not to cry.

  "Well," Henson's voice brought Abel back to the present. "I suppose we have to do what we have to do."

  Abel watched as the sheriff and his deputies herded the ladies into the courthouse, one by one, to seat them. He wasn't sure there would be enough room for them, even there. The last thing he saw was his little wife, with her tearful eyes raised toward him over her shoulder. The protective wave that washed over him screamed for him to go and get her.

  But this was the law, and she had broken it.

  "I suppose you'll want to stand by and be present for this." Henson's voice.

  Abel took a deep breath. "Yes," he said, as he followed the sheriff inside.

  There was nowhere to sit. It was packed with ladies. Their husbands stood in the aisles, arms folded. It was unclear at whom they were the angriest, the sheriff for arresting them, or their wives who caused the row. Zeke took the witness chair, spreading out papers, but was staring out among the group of ladies being seated. Josh and William were bringing in armfuls of bags and purses, hatpins, and other things the ladies had used as weapons. William made two more trips before all of them were brought in and put at Zeke's feet.

  Continuing to look around, Abel realized his swivel chair was the only vacant seat in the house.

  "Might as well use it, Judge." Henson sighed. "This'll take a while."

  The Proceedings

  Abel looked down at his wife, who stared at him with wide eyes as he took his seat.

  She'd been seated first. Polly was next to her, and her mother sat on the other side. Mrs. Baxter was next, followed by Phebe, and Jennifer Gregory. Abel caught a glance at the look Henson directed at his wife. It was the same look he was giving Cicely now.

  His eyes rested on Zeke next. He was watching Jennifer, and the pencil in his hand suddenly snapped with undue force. He took out his pocket knife to sharpen it to a point again.

  Henson, standing, looked toward the group and tried to get their attention. When they refused to quiet down, he nodded toward Abel, who picked up his gavel and pounded it on the bench.

  Abel looked toward them. "Silence!"

  They responded within seconds, and he turned to Zeke. "The primary purpose here is to take brief statements. Ready?"

  The deputy nodded. "The ladies are written down in the order they were pulled from the fight." His eyes moved toward the back row. "Mrs. Amelia Martin. Using a cane as a weapon."

  There was some shuffling among the people in the back and everyone turned to look. The tiny little lady was standing up and staring at the sheriff.

  "Approach, Mrs. Martin," Henson said.

  She put a hand up to cup her ear. "What'd you say, Sheriff?"

  "Come up here," he said, louder this time.

  "Can't. You took my cane away."

  A sigh escaped. "So I did. Zeke?"
/>
  Zeke produced the cane and tapped the end of it on the bench toward Abel, who took it and handed it over to Henson. He started to take it to her but halted suddenly.

  "Before I return this to you, Mrs. Martin? I want you to promise you won't hit anyone with it."

  Her little beady eyes narrowed at him. "Mebbe."

  "No. Promise. You're holding up proceedings."

  She finally agreed, and he began weaving his way toward the back of the courtroom. He was stopped, when he could no longer get further, and had to end up handing it over to a lady sitting in the crowd to pass back. It eventually reached Mrs. Martin, and she shuffled up toward the front through the crowd, pausing only long enough to turn back and shake it at Mrs. Harper, who made a fist back at her.

  Henson's face became furious.

  "The first person to throw a punch in this room," he bellowed. "Will be a prisoner in my jail for a week. Understood, Mrs. Martin? Mrs. Harper?"

  Both ladies were muttering under their breath, but nodded. Amelia moved up to the front to stand before him.

  He sighed. "Full name.

  "Amelia Permelia Lane Martin."

  "Age?"

  She raised her head. "A gentleman never asks a lady her age."

  Giggles tittered through the courthouse, and he stiffened, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration and muttering, "A lady does not beat another lady over the head with a cane, either." Finally, he repeated loudly," Your age, Mrs. Martin?"

  A male voice spoke up. "Eighty-seven."

  Abel glanced back to see Amelia's husband standing in the back.

  Henson answered. "Thank you, Jacob. Mrs. Martin, what happened today?"

  She raised her chin. "You don't know, Sheriff?"

  "For the record, Mrs. Martin." His voice was deep.

  "I whacked Emma Harper with my cane, for letting her dog run loose. He ate another one of my chickens."

  Another voice rang out from the back, this time a female voice, "'Twas not my dog that got your chickens, Amelia. I told you it was a fox."