Hannah leaned back against Selene and sighed. "How much longer is this going to take?" she moaned.

"Hannah, you could have simply stayed home," Miriam said. "Look already the line has stopped and the drawing shall begin in no time."

"Our chance is so slender," Beatrice said. "You really should have let me enter."

"Save your money," Ladybird said as she fanned herself. "We might need it to fix up the building if we win."

"Speaking of which," Selene said. "What are we going to call it?"

"Everyone in Brickyard calls it Sweetland House," Heloise said. "That's what the paper announced too."

"But we aren't Sweetlands," Alifair said. She would rather have nothing to do with the former occupants.

"We could name it after a flower," Wysteria suggested. "Flowers have such noble names. And I've been looking through my books to see which ones would best suit the yard there."

"I think it should be painted pink," Beatrice said. "A nice soft pink."

"It would really stand out," Taitiann said.

"It would be much more proper if it were white or cream or even yellow," Miriam said.

"I was going to say lilac," Selene laughed. "Perhaps we can use the bold colors inside. I do like the idea of cream."

"We still need a name," Alifair said. "I like Wysteria's idea of using a flower. What names do you like, Wysteria?"

Wysteria smiled at her chance to make an addition to the building. "The names I like so far are mignonette, heliotrope and sweet briar. I can keep trying."

"I wouldn't mind a flower name at all," Taitiann said. "Keep trying Wysteria."

A few more minutes passed and soon the crowd of people began making their way towards the table where Mr. and Mrs. Sweetland sat. The sisters hurried to join them and found a place next to Travis Goode.

Avery Johnston was standing nearby and he turned to them. "There's no hope," he said.

"Excuse me," Travis said.

"I saw what they did," Avery said.

"What who did," asked Travis glancing at Miriam next to him.

"Charles Christenson and the rest of them," Avery said. "They burned the tickets of the colored contestants."

"Did you say anything to this?" Miriam asked.

Avery shrugged. "I don't think it really would have mattered," Avery said. "One thing I have learned in life is that people will always do what they want."

"And what about you, did you enter?" Miriam asked him.

"I have no need for that old house," Avery said. "I'm just here for the show and to be with my friends."

Miriam wanted to scoff. It amazed her that Avery Johnston thought the likes of Charles Christenson would actually consider him a true friend. Perhaps one of his many brothers but not Avery. True he was part of their little party known as the CARCAS Boys being one of the As but he was expendable.

"I'd like to start by thanking all of you ladies and gentlemen for joining us this morning," Mr. Sweetland said. "And without further delay, let us began the drawing." He picked up the bowl off the table and the crowd waited in anticipation as Mrs. Sweetland reached her hand in.

Wysteria looked over her shoulder at Charles and his friends, smoking and waiting for the winner to be announced. It was terribly an unfair thing they had done but she strongly believed that justice would be served.

Mrs. Sweetland drew out the ticket and held it in the air with a smile before holding it at reading level. "Number R38," she announced.

There was a shuffle as the participants each checked their tickets and one by one were disappointed.

"R38," Mr. Sweetland said when no one came forward. "R38, looking for R38." He stepped back and looked at the list of names and numbers. "Ladybird Winters," he announced.

Taitiann nudged Ladybird who had gone into shock. "Ladybird that's you!" she exclaimed.

Ladybird began to smile as she took out her ticket. "R38, R38 that's me!" she grabbed Alifair next to her and hugged her. "We won, we won, that's me! I don't believe it!"

"Please come up and take the key," Mr. Sweetland announced.

"Come on ya'll!" Ladybird said grabbing Alifair's hand. They all ran up to the table together where Mr. Sweetland handed them the brass key. There was shallow applause from the crowd but none of the girls cared how the people felt in that moment.

Charles Christenson stamped out his cigarette and glared at Cleve and Rothschild. "How did this happen?"

"It would appear someone let her ticket into the drawing," Sumner said.

"Don't look at me," Rothschild said and they all turned to Cleve whose eyes got big.

"Mr. Sweetland was there. What was I supposed to do?" he said. "I didn't think she'd actually win."

Rothschild crossed his arms. "What a shame," he said as he watched the girls walking off to their wagon with the key.

"We should go to my father and tell him about this," Charles said.

Rothschild laughed. "I have other things to do than feel the raft of old man Christenson," he said putting his cigarette between his teeth. "But remember, Charles there is always more than one way of winning." He slapped his friend on the back and left with Cleve.

/

Mr. Christenson was at his desk in the library when the young men came in. He was sitting calmly with his left over lunch still on his plate slowly being consumed by his seven white mice that ran free on his desk poking in and out of his sleeves.

"Idiots," he said. "I put you in charge and this is the best you could do?"

Charles sat down before his father. "It was Cleve who let the ticket in," he said.

"Those girls were the last people I wanted to win," he said. "It's not even about the building anymore it's about pride."

Sumner looked between his cousin and his uncle. He had always been glad that Solomon wasn't his father. Charles had turned out well enough. "You can always buy it from them, Uncle," he suggested.

"Those little black..." he took a deep breath. "Those girls aren't getting my money," he said.

"Fine," Charles said. "I'll buy it from them for you. It isn't the end of the world."

"Keep talking to me like that, Charles and you'll die penniless," Mr. Christenson said. "I can't believe the sons of the finest men in the county are so stupid. You let yourselves get distracted with your silly jokes and cigarettes."

Sumner looked at Charles who was looking down with pursed lips. "What would you like us to do, Uncle?"

Charles looked up at his cousin. Sometimes Sumner knew just what to say. Other times he drove his father crazy like the rest of them but he was the best at smoothing Solomon over.

"I want you to get that building back," Mr. Christenson said. "Run them off if you have to."

"Won't that be bad for you, Father?" Charles asked. "Mr. Fairchild is one of your best employees and this is his family."

"Those at our mercy do not have a choice," Mr. Christenson said and with that he picked up an old newspaper dismissing his son and nephew from the room.

/

That evening Sumner stared into the cold fireplace supporting himself on the mantel. He would have to come up with something to curb his uncle's anger. An angry Christenson was a bad Christenson.

"Sumner, why do you brood?" Charles asked from the sofa across the room where he sat with Cleve. "My father is never angry long. Come off your indignation."

Sumner turned from the mantel to his cousin. Charles clearly had a few drinks in him and Cleve was sure to follow and relieve anyone willing to play his games of poker of a few dollars. Avery was already passed out. "My indignation is righteous," he said.

Charles smiled. "My good boy, none of us like to lose. I was raised to be a winner and have become quite accustomed to it but even I know you can't win everything. Where would the joy be in that?"

"You won Bessie," Cleve pointed out. "That's better than I have done."

"But your wife is good, Cleve," Charles said. "She's humble and kind and frugal. That's a prize, no matter how far you married beneath you. Bessie is high maintenance and a pain in the hind when she wants to be."

Cleve leaned back on the sofa. "My wife is good to me," he said. "However, I have been married for six years and have not a child to show for it."

"You've got Rothschild," Sumner said and the other two men smiled.

"Rothschild is a mess, isn't he?" Charles said. "But what can be said, I do love the fellow."

"I'm touched to the heart," Rothschild said as he entered the room smiling. Drops of rain speckled his shirt as he joined his friends.

"Speaking of the devil..." Cleve said as Rothschild observed the room.

"You'll never guess who turned up on my doorstep," Rothschild said. He stepped out of the way and in stepped Andrew Addams.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" Charles said getting up to great the man and about tripping over the tea table.

"It's good to be back with the CARCAS Boys," Andrew said.

"Tell him who you saw, Addams," Rothschild said taking a seat and poring them some scotch.

Andrew took a seat himself and took the glass when Rothschild offered it. "One of our dear good ol' boys," he said. "Jessop St. Cloud."

"How is he these days?" Charles asked filling his glass to the rim.

"He still hates me," Andrew said.

"Well, my man, you did nearly cause the death of his cousin," Charles said.

Andrew shrugged, "Is this your idea of a party these days, Cleve?" he asked then sipped his drink.

Rothschild laughed "We can't get too loud with Burnstead's wife upstairs."

"Magdalene is at her sister's with the new baby," Cleve said. "But I still can't have that sort of thing here. Magdalene would smell the mess."

"Tis why I'm not married," Rothschild said downing his drink. "Addams you can come back to my place after we leave this monastery." As the conversation continued about Andrew, Sumner turned from the mantel and crossed the room. "Where are you going, Woodrow?"

"Home before the rain get's too hard," Sumner said. "I'll see ya'll later."

"Wait!" Charles called after him as he wallowed on the sofa. "I may need you to take me home; I don't think I can mount my horse." He tried to stand and fell down between the sofa and the table.

"I think you should stay here tonight," Sumner said as Cleve helped Charles up.

Rothschild chuckled and put one foot up on the table. "Woodrow, you are always so sensitive." He turned to his other companions. Charles was passed out and Cleve lighting a cigarette. "We need to take him to a real party!"

Cleve sucked his teeth. "Leave him alone, Rothschild."

"But it's true," Rothschild said. "Now listen here, Woodrow. You can either do it my way down the path of wonder or you can take the path of righteousness like Cleve Burnstead here."

Sumner turned and walked away with Andrew and Rothschild howling in laughter after him. Outside the rain was coming down harder and he quickly took his horse from the stable and saddled her up. "They're a bunch of drunks, Harlequin," he said to her. "We make a better pair without the likes of them don't we? He climbed into the saddle and rode around the house where laughter could be heard through the walls.

As he trotted up the dark street, something made him look over his shoulder. He barely made out the hunched figure on the mule in the rain below the shadows of the rows of oaks. He reined Harlequin and stared out the shadowed old man. "What do you want from me?" he shouted at him. "Huh, what do you want?"

The mule's bell rang as it turned its head but other than that no movement came from the forms. Clicking to Harlequin he turned her back up the street, leaving them in the shadows.