FIVE MONTHS LATER- March 1878

Mary looked up from behind the counter as the shop bell tinkled merrily. It had been a busy day as Little's Mercantile- customers nonstop, most friendly enough, a few grouchy and downright rude. She braced herself for the worst.

There stood Isabelle DuBois- or Mrs. Peter Castillo, now. She hadn't changed in the five months since she'd married and Mary had seen her last- her hair was still a mousy brown mess of curls, piled atop her head; her dress was still covered in frills and bows in pastel colors. The only thing different was the look on her face that was a clear statement of superiority, replacing what had before been unadulterated disgust. 

"Have you enjoyed your occupation, Miss MacEilan?" asked Isabelle airily, walking to the fabric and fingering it. "You did steal it from me, after all. I only wish to know." Her voice was far too sweet, too smooth, to mean anything good. Mary had learned that in the few most unpleasant days spent rooming with the little diva.

"Very much, ma'am," replied Mary coolly, though her eyes blazed grey fire and her soul lit in anger and vexation. She neglected the fact that there was a 'hiring' sign in the window of the store when she got the job. "Can I do anythin' to help you today?"

Isabelle's white- gloved hands lifted a bolt of plain canary fabric from the shelf. "Three yards," she said slowly, as though Mary was deaf and an idiot besides.

She won't get to me, Mary decided as she got her fabric scissors from behind the counter and measured the fabric. She hasn't got to me yet- she never will, not ever!

"Nineteen cents," she said, folding the cut cloth and handing it to Isabelle, who put it in her basket and opened a coin purse. Mary patiently waited for the gloved hands to count out the coins. They seemed to be moving at a snail's pace just to annoy her. 

Finally the coins were handed over. Mary counted them just to be sure- one dime, one nickel, three pennies...

"Mrs. Castillo, you are a cent short," Mary announced wearily. 

Isabelle gave a great sigh, as if it were Mary's fault she had handed over eighteen cents instead of nineteen, but with a white- toothed smile she handed the single copper penny over.

"Here, then," she continued sweetly. 

"Thank you." It was painfully awkward for Mary to see this, to experience it. "Have a good afternoon, ma'am."

"You wouldn't happen to have a sister, would you? Emma, works for Mrs. Lenore Remigrant on Clarkson Street?"

Mary raised an eyebrow. "I do," she ventured cautiously. "May I ask why you're needin' to know?"

Isabelle threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, I only just put it together on Friday night last. She's the very belle of Denver society, you know. Wonderful young lady, and just two years younger than me. Shame that you're not as well mannered as your sister."

Mary's jaw clenched tightly. "I'm glad to hear she's doing well."

"I gave her your address. I hope you won't mind."

Mary didn't answer. 

After a moment of pregnant silence, Isabelle turned and walked out the door without another word, her nose in the air and her eyes still locked in that view of championship.

Mary slowly scooped up the change with shaking hands and put it in the moneybox, writing out what she had just sold and how much- it made taking inventory easier for her and Ava.

Could Emma be waiting for her, at her room? Mary hadn't talked to her family in months. Oh, she was certain that Iain knew she was in Denver- he was her brother, after all, he always seemed to know everything- and she had suspicions that Anne had sent Charles O'Flaherty out to look for her. Charles was a most faithful beau, and besides, he'd known Mary just as long as Anne; the O'Flahertys had lived not far from where the MacEilans had in Galway.

The bell tinkled again and a bright golden head bounced in the door, lilac skirts fluttering. "Good afternoon, Mary," chirped Ava. "Are you alright? You look awful tired."

Mary put on a smile. "I am a bit tired," she replied, untying her apron and handing it to the chipper girl of seventeen. "How was school?"

Ava shrugged as she tied on the white pinafore. "It would have been better if Jacob Gardener wasn't flirting with Margot Rasmussen."

Mary chuckled. Ava had been heartsick over Jacob Gardener for a month. "Oh, I'm sure he'll come out of it."

Ava took her place behind the counter. "I hope so. Thanks."

"Have a good afternoon, Ava." Mary tied on her bonnet and walked out the door. It was a cloudy March day, windy and still rather snowy. Mary shivered in the gusts of cold air, miserable in that she'd forgotten her shawl (it had been so warm that morning!), but glad in the fact that she boarded just across the street. The dirt road was muddy and slick, brown speckled snow on the edges of the wagon ruts. Mary dashed across to avoid the wagons rambling down the long road.

She stepped over an icy patch of hardened white snow by the front porch. A familiar face sat in the parlor, elfin and bright, cheerily chatting with Sally. It was Emma.

Mary stopped dead in her tracks at the sight. She didn't want to see her family.

Unfortunately, the door had slammed behind her with a loud bang, making the bright eyes of her seventeen year old sister light up as her head snapped towards the sound.

"Mary!" Emma's face lifted and she stood quickly, as though she couldn't believe that Mary was there, that she had found her spunky older sister. "Oh, Mary, why didn't you tell us where you were, why didn't you write us? We've all been so terribly concerned, and Charles has been looking everywhere, but we couldn't find where you lived or worked until now. How we've all missed you!" Emma's words came out in a messy jumble. She ran to the doorway and engulfed Mary in a great embrace, stifling Mary with her black servant's attire.

Mary slowly embraced the slender, dark-clad figure without a word. She felt tears spring in her eyes, not realising how much she'd missed them all- Emma and Anne and Iain.

The sisters pulled apart, their identical grey eyes both teary- Mary's with realization, Emma's with joy.

"Come up to my room," said Mary, taking Emma's hand. "You look like you've somethin' to tell me."

They walked upstairs and Mary unlocked the door.

"Mary, I want you to come to my wedding."

Mary sat on her bed as Emma remained standing at the now- closed door. The diamond on Emma's finger was prominent now- or perhaps Mary just hadn't noticed it before- sparkling gently in the clouded light of the window.

"Won't you? We want you there- Anne, Iain, Maria, Jane, and Liza. Andrei's never met you either. Please."

"I'd forgotten you were engaged." Emma'd become engaged just a little while before Mary had left home. 

"I was bound to be by now, and Anne is likely to be engaged in a year or two."

"Should I ask about Liza?" Mary asked dryly.

"She's thirteen."

"I was joking."

Emma gave an impatient sigh. "I'm getting married on the fifteenth of June. Please come, Mary, it's been so very long."

"I never said I wouldn't." Mary truly was happy for her sister- it was just hard to see Emma engaged and Anne courting and poor unattached Mary there alone in the corner, no wedding in sight.

Emma smiled. "Thank you." Mary stood and opened the door. "I'll give you more information later. I've got to get back to work."

They descended the staircase only to see Keith coming into the parlor. Sally had gone from her spot on the couch.

"Miss MacEilan," he greeted. Both Emma and Mary looked up. "Your sister?" he asked Mary, quickly understanding.

"Mr. Little, this is my younger sister Emma." Mary made hasty introductions.

"Pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Little." Emma shook the proffered hand and curtseyed quickly. "I'll leave you now. I really do have to get back to work."

The front door closed behind Emma and Keith sat on the parlor couch. Mary sat beside him, angled so she could see him clearly. "What was the occasion for her visit?" he asked.

"She's gettin' married and wanted to tell me when so I could be there."

"How nice. Do you plan to?"

"Of course!"

*****

The two of them walked along the street towards the riverside a few days later- when it wasn't raining and the wind wasn't trying to blow you all the way to Kansas. It wasn't a particularly pretty place, but it was quiet and they were alone.

Keith turned to Mary, his expression light. "Is your brother considered the head of your family now? With your father being absent and all..."

Mary nodded. "Aye. He's got his own family now, though, so Anne is really the head. She takes care of the particulars anyways."

"Would I ask her or your brother for permission to court you?"

The question dropped on Mary like a bucket of the Platte's icy waters. "Iain, I suppose, but Anne would certainly like to be informed," she replied, shaking slightly. Was he-?

"Where can I write to him?"

"He lives on Speer Boulevard, actually." Was she hearing what she thought she was hearing? Was she saying what she thought she was saying? "His parents- in- law run a boardinghouse there."

Keith smiled, a genuine smile that made Mary smile in return. "And how would you respond if I were to ask you to formally court me?"

"I- I think I'd accept." Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. "I don't know. I don't fancy the idea of being tied down by a man."

"You know me well enough to know I'd never do that."

"After my father... he and my mother had a similar agreement. Here I am now. " Mary really had no idea what to say.

"But if I were to ask, would you? You're not a society girl from Boston or New York. You're different."

"I don't know what to think. I like you, you've been ever so kind. I just don't know if I'm ready to court."

He nodded. "I respect that. Promise you won't be hurt by this."

"I couldn't stay mad at you."

Keith gave a melancholy smile. "I'm glad."