TITLE: An Irish Lady
CHALLENGE: You must include ONE of the following items. You can include more, but you don't need to: Las Vegas, showgirls (or dance hall girls ...whatever works in your universe), gambling, a casino and/or Elvis Presley. You do need to include all FIVE of the following words: Exciting, Midnight, Bright, Jackpot and Illegal. Got it? Oh yeah, and I'm sticking to the 5000 word limit.
UNIVERSE: OW
MAJOR CHARACTERS: Ezra, Buck
RATING: PG
ARCHIVE: Yes
SPOILERS: None
NOTES: This story was not in the book passed out at the meeting in Vegas.  It was finished in time, but I wanted to expand upon it, make it better.  I simply was not happy with it. Also, this is the first in my new series that will be entitled Roots- I know the title has been taken but it's the best thing I could come up with and it seemed very fitting.  This is Ezra's first tale.  Any suggestions for future ideas for this series are completely welcome. I feel I am obliged to tell you that this series is going to deal with issues of prejudice and race.  Not all of them will be dramatic, but the concept lends itself to such issues.  My whole point is to present a cross section of the American people of that period and unfortunately prejudice is a part of that.  Also, I presenting characters, not the epitome of what I think that group is like.  I'm not at all politically correct, but I felt I had to say this.  I hope that these stories inspire discussions and questions.  I do hope you enjoy this little peice.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own em.
AUTHOR: Lady Catherine Dunbar (Kelly)
EMAIL: kellyg49@hotmail.com

"Plan on hitting the tables, Ez?" Buck asked as they left the Eagle Bend jail.

"I do not know about the phrase 'hitting' Mr. Wilmington, but I do intend to take advantage of the games this town has to offer."

Buck chuckled as they entered the cool saloon, glad to have shelter from the mid afternoon sun.  "A simple yes would have been fine."

Ezra simply ignored the comment as he took in the games in progress.  "Are you going to pursue the company of a fine lady?" he asked absent-mindedly.

Buck's gaze traveled to the ladies sitting about the piano.  "That's my plan."

"Well, I'm sure Mr. Larabee would not disapprove if we pursued our hobbies for a few hours."

Buck nodded.  "Gotta agree with you there, Ez."  They had done their work for the day, delivered a prisoner to the Eagle Bend sheriff and had not gotten into any trouble in the process, and that warranted a relaxing evening. 

Buck winked at one particularly pretty little blond.  Well perhaps relaxing was not the right word.  Exciting might fit better.  "Catch yeah later Ez."

"Likewise, Mr. Wilmington."  With that the two men split, each off to enjoy their favorite past times.



Ezra had been gambling for about an hour and he was doing remarkably well, easily besting the three cowboys, who luckily did not seem to mind losing their weekly paychecks. 

Buck had gone off with the little blond nearly half an hour ago, so Ezra could focus completely on his game, did not have to worry about watching some else's back.  Having friends certainly got annoying and troublesome.

As Ezra began to gather up his last jackpot the room suddenly became silent.  Standish looked up to see what had stilled the noise and saw instantly the cause. A young woman in her early twenties had stepped up to the piano and was about to sing.  She was dressed in a dark green dress of a dance hall girl, which entailed that much too much of her legs were showing through her fishnet stockings.   The woman had a bawdy hour glass figure that was highlighted by the tight bodice and figure shaping skirts.  Dark chocolate hair fell into curls down to her waist, framing her round face.  Large emerald eyes complemented freckled cheeks and a small slightly upturned nose.  

Like every one else in the room, Ezra found himself watching the lovely woman, but for a very different reason.  Even though there was a lovely smile on her face, a roguish had on her hip and a soft flutter to her eyelashes, Ezra could see something else.  There was a falseness to her eyes, a dead quality, as if she had seen the Devil himself and had survived, at least in body.  Yet her eyes were not vacant and lost, simply hard and, well, dead for the lack of a better word.  They reminded him of Chris's eyes.

After a moment of poising, the girl became to sing, a playful Southern song in which a coy sweetheart denied the advances of her beau.  She sang it in a lively Southern voice that lilted through the air, capturing the heart of every man there.  Except Ezra.  To him the accent sounded a bit false.  He could not pinpoint why, it was just that something about it was off. 

She sang her lovely sang, moving about the tables with a lovely grace, swaying her hips in an enticing manner, batting her eyelashes.  Man hooted and howled at the woman, who batted them away playfully.  Though the song was a playful tune he had grown up with, Ezra could not enjoy the performance, could not help but watch her eyes, eyes that were not at all as bright as they should have been. When the song had ended, men applauded wildly, all save Ezra.  The girl curtsied coyly, a bright smile lighting up her face. The piano stood up and held out a hand toward the young woman.

"Virginia Cunningham, gentlemen." 

The men continued to applauded as the pianist passed around a cup for her tips.  After a few more bows Virginia moved across the saloon, heading up the back stairs.

"Whooee," said one of the cowboys at Ezra's table.  "What a woman."

"Indeed," Ezra mused to himself.



Ezra existed the saloon around midnight, happily sipping from his flask, counting the money he had earned in his head.  It had been a marvelous evening. Knowing that Buck could be anywhere at all, Ezra made his way to the hotel, where the two had secured a room, quite pleased that he would have the whole bed to himself.  Sharing a bed with Mr. Wilmington was not on his to do list.

As he crossed the quiet street, he heard arguing coming from the alley behind the saloon.  Ignoring his better judgment, Ezra went around silently to the side of the building to see what was happening.  An argument at midnight in a back alley was never good. Standing behind the saloon was the singer, Virginia, and the man Ezra thought to be the owner.  Even though it was night and the area was light by a single lantern, he could see that both faces were red with anger.

"What do you think you're doing by leaving?" the owner yelled.

"Exactly that, leaving," Virginia spat. 

Ezra was beginning to doubt the validity of that accent more and more.

"We have a contract."

"Not anymore," the woman said, a wicked smile on her face.  "Did you know fire's bad for paper?"

"Why you little Bitch!"  The owner slapped the girl hard, causing blood to trickle down her nose.  But she held her ground, not making a sound.  She looked as if she was about to hit him back when a smartly dressed gambler interfered.

Ezra hit the owner on the head with the butt of his pistol, sending him easily to the ground.  Ezra nudged him with his boot, satisfied to  hear steady breathing.  He then looked up at the girl, who was staring at him in slight shock, and somewhere in her dead eyes was fear.

"Are you all right my Dear?"

The girl just looked at him as if he had spoken another language.

"What did you say?"

"I asked if you were all right."

The dead eyes became icy.  "What do you care?" she spat as she turned on her heels.

Ezra grabbed her by her wrist, holding her hard.  "I care enough to assault another, Mary."

The woman ceased her struggles and whirled on him.  "What did you call me!?"

Ezra looked at her calmly.  "Mary, or is it Shannon?  Mary Kate? Lolly?  Bridget?  Catty?  Any of these sound familiar?"

The girl flipped her hair nervously, her hard eyes displaying doubt for the first time.  "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"I think you do.  I may not know your given name, but I know it is certainly not Virginia.  And you are no Southern girl, no more than I from Boston."

The woman's eyes flashed with first surprise and then scorn.

"What do you care what my name is or where I'm from?"  The Southern accent was completely gone, replaced by a rich brogue.

"I don't," Ezra answered briskly.  "I would simply like to know the name of the woman I just assisted."

"I didn't need your help," she snapped.

"Oh really," Ezra said, one eyebrow raised in doubt.  He pulled out one of his silk handkerchiefs and dabbed at the blood dripping from her nose.

The girl pulled away quickly before he could make much headway. "Leave me be!"

At the sudden yell, the owner moaned.  Ezra stepped around him, grabbed her elbow with one hand and her suitcase in the other.

"I suggest we relocate my dear," he said, moving her quickly away from the back of the saloon. 

The girl kept silent and allowed herself to be pulled to the hotel. Ezra led her up the stairs and opened the door to the room he and Buck had rented.  When he started to push her gently inside, the girl balked, pulling away sharply.

"I knew it," she spat.  "Dirty Englishman!  I should have known better!"  She turned around sharply, wild hair flying. 

"Now wait a moment," Ezra said, grabbing her by the waist. 

"Let me go, Damn Yankee!" 

"Not that was uncalled for," Ezra calmly remarked as he pulled the kicking biting woman back into the room.  Oddly enough she did not scream, only fought him tooth and claw.  "Come on now," he said between his teeth, becoming frustrated.  "I am not trying to hurt you my dear." 

When he finally got her into the room and the door closed, she redoubled her attack, punching him in the gut.

Ezra grunted and doubled over.  Damn, my good heart, he thought.  He leapt forward and grabbed her around the waist, dragging her away, holding the clawing Irish devil tightly.

"I promise I will not harm you." 

She continued to fight.

"I promise," he whispered in Gaelic. 

She suddenly ceased struggling and stood completely still.  She pulled away from Ezra, who let her go, sensing she was not going to run.  She turned around to look at him, her green eyes studying him hard.

"How do you know my language?" 

"I will tell you, if you tell me your real name and why you and the saloon owner were arguing."

"That is two things for your one.  Tell me your name Englishman and you've got a deal."

Ezra inclined his head.  "Very well.  I am Ezra P. Standish."  He gestured towards her, waiting for a reply.

"Marcella Sullivan, Marcy for short."

"It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Sullivan," Ezra greeted, bowing. "Now why did that man accost you?"

"You first," she ordered.

"Very well."  His voice lowered.  "I learned Gaelic from my grandmother."

The woman seemed to take this news in for a moment, before nodding, as if she completely understood the brightly attired gambler.

"Fair enough.  I've been working for Will for awhile but I finally got tired of having to parade around like a doll or a prize or something singing for men, and . . . ," her voice trailed away, her eyes growing distant.  She blinked and her eyes hardened again.  "I want to work somewhere that people stop looking at me like I am nothing, or worse, meat."

Ezra nodded, heard the bitterness in her voice.  On a certain level he understood.

Her hard eyes analyzed him carefully.  "You really want to help me?" 
"It seems that I do."

"Why?"

"Let us simply say that I have a conscience that will not remain silent." 

For the first time the girl laughed, just a slight chuckle, but it did break the hard lines of her face.  "That's enough for me."

"Excellent."  Ezra turned away from her and lighted a lamp.  "Now come over and let me see to your face, my dear Miss Sullivan."


"Mr. Wilmington!"

Buck popped his out from under the covers, a pretty blonde head popping up beside him.

"Who's that Buck?" the young woman asked, looking quickly at the door.  "That's just Ezra darling," he said.  He kissed her one the cheek, "Nothing to worry about," he said as he started to pull her back down onto the bed.

"Mr. Wilmington, do hurry, there is no time to waste."

"Do you mind, Ezra?" he asked, kissing the little blond.

There was mumbling heard on the other side of the door, along with a jingling sound.  In moments the door swung open, revealing a slightly irritated gambler.  

The woman let out a little shriek as he entered, pulling the covers around herself.  Buck looked up at Ezra, a disappointed look on his face.

Ezra tipped his hat at the blonde.  "My apologies, my dear, but Mr. Wilmington and I need to leave, this instant."

Even in his distraction, Buck heard the cold steel in Ezra's voice in that last statement.  Whatever was going on it, it was serious.  Ezra had the same tone Chris used when he meant business.

Buck sighed heavily and started to climb out of bed.  "Coming Ez."

"Meet me in the livery," Ezra ordered.  "Miss," he said, inclining his head to the girl.  He then turned and disappeared out the door.

"Do you really have to go Buck?" She asked, pouting.

"Fraid so, Darling," he said as he quickly got dressed.  He bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.  "Bye bye Darling."  Before she could say anything he hurried out of the room.

Buck hurried into the stables, where Clyde was already saddled and waiting beside the mounted Ezra.

"Come along, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra said. 

Buck jumped on Clyde and followed the gambler out of town at a trot. "What the hell was that about Ez?!  You interrupted quite a nice time."

"I am sure I did, Mr. Wilmington.  But it was of the utmost importance that we leave post haste."

Buck gave Ezra a sharp look.  "What illegal thing did you do now?  You know you're just giving Nathan fuel for his fire when you pull crap like this."

A smile lit up Ezra's features.  "Actually, Mr. Wilmington, I think Mr. Jackson would be proud of this one."

Buck was about to ask more when Ezra turned Chaucer around and headed to a rocky outcropping.

They rode into the outcropping and Ezra dismounted, Buck following his lead, still not sure what the hell was going on.

"All is well Miss Sullivan!" Ezra called.

To Buck's surprise, a young woman with dark hair and dressed like a saloon girl popped up from behind a rock.  Buck whistled in appreciation.

"Been busy huh Ez?"

Ezra rolled his eyes.  "In a manner of speaking Mr. Wilmington.  May I introduce you to Miss Marcella Sullivan.  Miss Sullivan, my friend and associate Mr. Wilmington."

Marcella, who had climbed down the rocks, nodded to the blue-eyed cowboy. 

Buck smiled widely at the pretty girl, tipping his hat politely. "Pleasure to meet yeah Miss.  What yeah doin' with an old sly dog like Ez here?"

Marcella eyed the man for a moment, seemed to decide that he could be trusted and told him in plain terms how she had met Standish.

"So you were afraid that the trail would lead to you somehow?" Buck asked of Ezra when she was done. 

"Exactly," Ezra said.  "That is why I had your horse saddled and waiting."

"How nice of yeah," Buck muttered, still not happy that his night with Miss Laura had been interrupted.  He looked over at the pretty Irish girl.  Well, at least there was lovely company present. 

"Well, what now?"

"Well, I am betting on the fact that the local authorities will not care enough about a slightly wounded saloon owner and a missing singer."  He tipped his hat to Marcella.  "No offense my dear."

A slight smile appeared on her face.  "Non taken."

Ezra nodded and turned back to Buck.  "I thought that we could simply ride onto town, considering we seem to have lost the majority of the search party.  We should have no more trouble."

Buck nodded, thinking the plan over.  Sounded fine to him.  He looked over at the girl, and gave her a little wink.  She simply stared back at him with her hard dead eyes.  Buck's smile faltered.  Perhaps winning this girl over would be harder than he thought. 

"We best be going," Ezra said, mounting Chaucer.  "Miss Sullivan," he said, holding out his hand. 

Marcella took the hand and easily jumped onto the horse's back, settling herself behind the gambler. 

Buck mounted and kneed Clyde in the direction of Four Corners, Ezra right behind him.


Around mid-afternoon the small group stopped near a creek for lunch. Ezra helped Marcella dismount as Buck did the same.  "I'll fix lunch Ez, if you water the horses."

Ezra rolled his eyes.  "Ah, lunch by Mr. Wilmington, my day has been brightened."  He looked over at Marcella.  "I do hope you have strong stomach my dear."

"Whatever he cooks, I've had worse," she assured him.  Ezra did not doubt her in that.

"Then you have a deal Mr. Wilmington."  He took hold of the two horses' reins and turned back to Marcella.  "I leave you in Mr. Wilmington's capable hands, my dear."  He turned and towards the creek, leading Clyde and Chaucer.  "Behave yourself," he said as he passed Buck.

Buck looked at him in shock, a bit of hurt on his face.  "Now Ez, when have you ever known me to harm a lady, in any way?"

"True, but," he looked back Sullivan, "that is not what I meant."

"Huh?"

"Miss Sullivan is not a woman to be trifled with.  She will take any word or gesture the wrong way.  I would hate to return to find you with a bloody nose."

Buck smiled cockily.  "I'll be fine, Ez.  I think I can handle Miss Marcy."

Ezra eyed him doubtfully and moved down to the creek.

Buck turned back to Marcella, the grin still on his face.  "Well, let's see what we can fix up Miss Marcy." 

The young woman just stood there holding her suitcase as he began looking through his saddlebag.  "Hate to ask anything of you Miss Marcy, but could you start a fire?"

Marcella nodded and began gathering wood.  In no time at all the girl had a small fire going.

Buck joined her, carrying jerky and a can of beans.  "Hope yeah don't mind beans Miss Marcy."

"It's food."

Buck looked up at her sharply at the simply statement.  The idea of a woman going hungry cut Buck deeply, especially since the look in her eyes said that she had known the pain of hunger often.

"Yeah, it is," Buck agreed.  He went back to his beans, but could not take his eyes of Marcella.  Something about the woman reminded him of Chris, as if there was an aura of bitterness and sadness around her.

"Never heard the name Marcella before.  What's it mean?"

She cocked her head at the sudden turn of the conversation.  What was this man after?  Englishmen were always after something. 

"It means warlike," came a drawl from behind. 

Buck turned around to see Ezra standing a few feet away holding the horses, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"If I remember correctly," Ezra added.  "My Gaelic is a bit rusty."

"You are correct Patrick," the woman said with a slight smile.

Buck turned to look at Marcella and then Ezra again.  This was just getting stranger by the moment.

"Patrick?"

Ezra nodded.  "What did you think the P in Ezra P. Standish stood for?"

"Pain-in-the-ass?"

"Ha ha, very witty Mr. Wilmington.  Are you done with those beans yet? I would like to get Miss Sullivan as far away from Eagle Bend as possible."

"Almost.  How the hell did you learn Gal-lic," Buck said it oddly, the word rolling unnaturally out of his mouth.

"It is Gaelic, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra corrected.  "And I picked it up here and there."

"How on earth did you do that?  I ain't never heard of that language before."

"That is because of Englishmen who think their way is the only way," Marcella spat, standing up and moving away from Buck.  She walked past Ezra, but stopped and turned back to look at him.  "I am going to the creek for a drink."

Ezra nodded before looking back at Buck.  "I told you Mr. Wilmington."

"Well, I admit she's a challenge Ez, but I'll win her over, just like I did Inez."

"If I remember correctly, you have never won Miss Inez over, unless you call getting beer dumped on your head yesterday, winning someone over."

"She was just being feisty, that's all, just like Miss Marcy."

Ezra shook his head.  "I am afraid you will never win Miss Sullivan over."

"And why not?" Buck asked indignantly.

"Because you will always have one thing going against you."

"And what's that?"

"You are English."

"Hell, Ez!  I'm no limey.  I'm one hundred percent American."

"True, but you are not Irish nor are you a fellow immigrant.  Many of the Irish consider the English and the Americans as one people."

"Now that's just stupid."

"Perhaps, but you have never been starving searching for work and been faced with a sign that reads 'Help wanted- no Irish need apply'."

"Hell, Ez!  Neither have you!"

"That is quite true Mr. Wilmington."

"Then why doesn't she act like that with you?"

Ezra thought for a moment, looked over at his shoulder at the woman kneeling by the creek.  "Let us say that we have an understanding."



Buck spent the rest of the day trying to win over the young Irish woman, with less than stellar results.  Every time Buck would say something to her, a mischievous grin on his face, the girl would either roll her eyes or laugh slightly at him.  This was then followed by some comment to Ezra in her strange language.  Ezra would laugh and respond in the same tongue that Buck could not make hide nor hair of. By the time they reached Four Corners, it had really gotten on his nerves.  Not only did he not like people talking around him in a language he did not understand, particularly when they were obviously talking about him, but the fact that Marcella would not even give him a second glance because he was not Irish.  Not being liked for something he did was one thing, but not being liked for happening to be born in America was something different entirely.  He had not even had the chance to make a bad impression.

When the trio finally arrived in Four Corners it was early evening and Buck was more than happy that the trip had finally come to a close.

"Mr. Wilmington, could you see to Chaucer, I would like to take Miss Sullivan to the saloon to get something decent to eat?" Ezra asked after he dismounted.

"I'm perfectly all right," Marcella said, as she let Ezra help her dismount.

"That may be true my dear Miss Sullivan, but I am absolutely famished and am sure you could at least use something to drink."

Marcella eyed him for a moment, before nodding.

"Sure, Ez," Buck said.  "You two enjoy your meal, and order me a bowl of Inez's fine stew."

"It will be my pleasure Mr. Wilmington."  He turned to Marcella. "Shall we Miss Sullivan?"

Marcella smiled at him and walked with him out of the livery. 

Buck shook his head as they left.  Maybe he could not capture every feminine heart after all.



Ezra escorted Marcella to the livery the next morning to see the girl off.

Sullivan had enjoyed her dinner with Ezra, and then spent the night at the hotel, in a room Ezra had paid for, much to Marcella's protests. Now, with her suitcase in hand, she was ready to head for Bransville, a small town only a day's ride away, to look for work.  Ezra had offered to ride with her, but the woman had insisted that she would be fine on her own and that he had already helped her enough.

As they entered the livery, Marcella started towards where her rented horse was waiting, but Ezra gently took her by the arm and led her past the stall.

"What are yeah doing?" She asked, trying to see his face.

"I simply thought that a lady should travel on a fine horse of her own."

Marcella's brow crinkled in confusion.  Ezra simply gestured toward the stall in front of them with his head.  Marcella turned to see a beautiful gray dappled mare already saddled and ready standing patiently in her stall.

Marcella's eyes grew wide as she gazed at the beast and then back at Ezra.

"You don't mean Patrick. . ."

"She is yours.  As is her saddle tack."

"I can't accept such gifts."

"And why not?"

"A Sullivan does not take charity."

"It is not charity.  You said it yourself, they are gifts.  As is this," he said as he pulled a small purse from his jacket, dropping it in her hand. 

Marcella stared at the purse, feeling its wait in her hand.  She opened her mouth to speak but Ezra stopped her.

"There is a small saloon in Bransville that recently went up for sale and I happen to be of the opinion that a strong spirited Irish woman would be just the person to run such an establishment.  Besides, my companions often find ourselves in that town, and it would be most delightful is a friend ran one of the saloons."

Marcella simply stared at Ezra.  She couldn't believe what was happening.  This man was handing her small fortune without asking anything in return.

"There is only one condition."

Marcella's eyes narrowed.  Of course there was, what a fool she was.

"What is that?"

"That next time we see you, you at least give Buck and the others a chance.  They are truly the best men I have ever known, do not miss judge them."

Marcella continued to stare at the gambler.  Good lord, was she really such a horrible judge of character?  First of all she continued to miss judge this man who had so greatly helped her, and then she had refused to even get to know his friends before she condemned them. I'm always so upset when others judge me right off because I'm Irish, but here I've done the same thing.

She nodded, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth.  "Deal."

Ezra grinned.  "Marvelous."

Before he could say anything else, Marcella reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek.  "Thank you, Patrick."

Ezra simply stood there a moment, a bit taken aback, before saying, with a grin, "Did Marcella Sullivan just swallow her pride?"

Marcella smiled, a true smile that reached her eyes.  "You'll never know will you."  She took a deep breath and looked down at the ground and then back at Ezra, her eyes soft.

"But really, Mr. Standish , for helping me, not many men would've cared."

"It was the least I could do for a lady of your spirit."

At that Marcella chuckled.  The way he treated her with such respect made her laugh, but at the same time she found she truly liked being called a lady.

"Can I ask you one question?"

"Go ahead my dear."

"Why'd yeah help me?"

Ezra smiled widely at that, his gold tooth flashing.  "Let us say that I have a weakness for Irish girls."

THE END