Cordelia smoothed her hands over her olive green afternoon dress, the seams following the shape of her corset and down to the fashionably narrow skirt with a modest bustle at the back. The cloth wasn't expensive, but she knew the style would make her conspicuous to the rest of the crowd. Lifting the netted veil over her eyes, she adjusted her hat.

What these heathens thought of her was irrelevant. She wasn't the one murdering and kidnapping or drinking herself into a state. If they thought she was uppity, then let them. Perhaps they were right.

"Dee, we are running late as it is!" Her father shouted up to her from the bottom of the stairs.

Snatching her draw string purse, she descended the steps without hurry. "Father, it is merely a country election day, hardly the event of the year."

"You sound just like your mother," he chuckled as he took her hand.

"And she would have been right."

They jostled down the rutted road to Blackberry Creek. The air was chilled and woods misty, the sun hidden behind a heavy layer of clouds. Strains of music drifted towards them through the nearly naked trees as did the raucous laughter of drunken men.

As they pulled up to a clearing where a cluster of tents and stands were pitched, Cordelia noticed the wagons with vats of moonshine. A character with a full beard and bleary eyes was dancing on a cart while a woman hollered at him to get down. As they drove by, the drunk gave Cordelia a bawdy wink. Cordelia lifted her eyebrows at the woman. The petite brunette had done her best to look respectable, except for her curls left loose. The girl lifted her nose and pursed her lips haughtily.

"How long do we have to stay here?" Cordelia hissed under her breath, already feeling her patience waning.

"Be polite, daughter," Doctor Robertson growled. "The longer we live here, the worse your pride gets."

Cordelia exhaled heavily through her nose and stared down at her gloved hands. Her father brought the horses to a stop and helped her to the ground. Ignoring the stares they received, Doctor Robertson caught sight of the McCoys and approached them. Cordelia stood dutifully beside him.

"Doctor, good to see you." Mister McCoy shook his hand, his sober expression shaded by a full brimmed hat and a graying beard.

"You as well. Missus McCoy, how is your daughter?"

"Much better, thank you."

Her father motioned to her at his arm. "My daughter, Cordelia."

"Nice to meet you." Cordelia met Missus McCoy's dark eyes and found the same even temper as her son Jim and sister Hannah. Mister McCoy nodded to her, his forehead furrowing into a frown before he looked away.

"Our son Jim has been mighty grateful for the work you've given him," Missus McCoy broke the uneasy silence. "He's spoken kindly of both of you. As has my sister."

"They have both become indispensable to us," Cordelia replied.

Mister McCoy stared down at her high button boots. "Though I can't promise Jim will be able to be with you folks for much longer. He's been workin' towards procuring a piece of his own land."

"I should think so, he'll do well for himself. But we'll be sad to lose him." Doctor Robertson smiled at Missus McCoy.

"Marry soon too, I expect. Young man that he is, needs a God fearin' woman who ain't afraid of hard work," Mister McCoy continued, looking at Cordelia, his gaze full of criticism.

Doctor Robertson chuckled. "I'm sure he won't have trouble finding such a mate. He's a credit to you both."

Missus McCoy gripped her husband's arm as though to keep him from speaking out of turn. From the way he nearly sneered at Cordelia, she could only assume his opinion of her. Spoiled and untried in their hard way of life, she would never do as a wife for his son. Cordelia cut her eyes away to the tent where platforms had been set up for dancing. Her heart dropped to her stomach as Jim strode towards them. His shy smile was only for her and in clear view of his disapproving father.

"Here is the man himself. We were just talking about you, my boy," Doctor Robertson crowed as Jim joined them and shook his hand. "I was telling your parents what a credit you are to them."

"Thank you, sir," Jim nodded.

"And I was just tellin' them you will be leavin' work with them soon. Come spring when you will start working your own acres-"

"Randall," Missus McCoy cut off her husband with a blush rising to her round cheeks.

Cordelia looked away, embarrassed as Sally McCoy by the scene. Jim rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged, his jaw loose as he tried to think of a reply.

"As it should be, of course!" Her father declared, always ready to come to the rescue in awkward social situations. He had an art for it. "I'll be happy to hear of your success."

"Thank you," Jim replied, his eyes trailing over to Cordelia. "Miss Robertson, may I ask for a dance?"

"Oh, I don't know if-"

"Jim, you need to be getting to town for business," Mister McCoy rumbled.

"Surely the two of them can have one dance, Randall," his wife corrected him with a weak grin.

Cordelia looked back at Jim and nodded hesitantly. The farmer's son offered her the crook of his arm and peered up at her father as though for permission.

"Go on then, don't worry about me." Doctor Robertson smoothed his thick mustache and motioned to the musicians.

Once away from their parents, Cordelia let out a sigh of relief. Jim glanced over his shoulder with a grimace. "I sure do apologize for that."

"Oh no, please." Cordelia forced a breathy laugh. "Your mother is lovely."

"Thank you."

The fiddle and banjo slowed from a jig to a bastardized waltz. Cordelia was thankful, she didn't know how to dance their country rounds. With a modest amount of space between them, Jim rested his hand lightly at her waist, her gloved fingers held in his as they moved between the other couples.

"I don't believe your father likes me very much," Cordelia ventured with an anxious chuckle.

Jim winced. "Don't let my pap bother you. He don't mean no harm."

"I guess I don't meet his expectations."

"You're just not anything he's used to in a woman." Jim gave a nervous half smile. "Not really what many of us are used to around these parts."

"He said you were to marry soon." Cordelia found herself saying before she could bite her togue.

Jim colored. "Both of them hope it sooner than later. Though until I can get myself settled and able to provide, I don't know many girls who would have me."

"Forgive me if I'm too bold, but any woman would be privileged to be married to a man such as you, Jim McCoy."

His gaze snapped back to her, eyes lit with hope as he studied her face intently. Cordelia glanced away, hoping he couldn't feel her pulse race through the kid leather glove covering her wrist. She happened to catch sight of a figure leaning against a tub of moonshine strapped to a wagon just beyond the canopy.

Cap Hatfield took a swig of beer from his glass, his half blind gaze honed on her as though she were a target. He swung a shot gun across his shoulders. Cordelia studied his slow paced gait as he meandered away. The music stopped.

"Cordelia-"

Cordelia pulled away as the dancing ceased. "Thank you for the dance, Mister McCoy."

"Cordelia, I told you it would be fine if you called me Jim." He reached out, fingers brushing her wrist as though he were fighting the urge to pull her back to his arms.

Cordelia nodded. "Thank you, but I'm not sure what your family would think of such familiarity between us. I really must find my father. Thank you for the dance."

She found the doctor waiting outside the tent to cast his ballot for the local elections. He was speaking with a dour looking older man and his wife. The woman was dressed fashionably for the area though not perhaps to Springfield standards.

Not willing to trap herself in another forced conversation, Cordelia meandered among the different stands selling their wares and tried to distract herself from the thought of Jim's attentions and Cap's stares. Pausing by a table with jars of pickle vegetables, she jolted at the crack of a shot gun. Hoots of excitement rose up where a shooting contest was taking place.

"Miss, would you like some okra?" the woman at the stand asked her.

Cordelia nodded without thinking, distracted by the competition. Mindlessly handing over the money, she jutted out her jaw in surprise as Cap stepped forward with his shot gun. The crowd jostled him, hooting insults concerning his one blind eye. He calmly handed over his glass of beer and took aim. Cordelia held her breath as he pulled the trigger.

The lantern next to the target shattered. The crowd roared with laughter that he had missed it entirely, but then silence fell. The judge stepped forward and pointed to the nail in the middle of the target. The bullet had hit it directly and then ricocheted, destroying the lantern.

Cordelia cradled the jar to her torso and fought back a smile. The men argued and pushed each other. Quickly the crowd was dispersed and the contest called off by the nervous judge, unwilling to take a fist to the nose. Cap Hatfield grabbed his drink from an older man with a mane of scraggly gray hair and finished the liquor, a scowl wrenching his mouth. He glanced in her direction and again they met eyes.

Swiftly turning her back to him, she strode towards a table where an eager salesman was hawking a modern contraption. He eyed the way she was dressed and smiled greedily as he removed his hat. 

"Good day, Miss. Might I take a moment of your time to tell you about this here modern miracle?"

A body moved beside her and she knew who it was without looking over. She kept her focus on the salesman. 

"Yes, thank you."

"This here is the Patented Steam Digester, make meals easier than ever-"

"Miss Robertson, can I talk to you a second?" Cap Hatfield interrupted as the man attempted to give a demonstration.

Cordelia kept her voice low. "I'm a little preoccupied at the moment."

Cap chuckled. "Don't think this will do you much good, this business is for women who actually do their own cooking."

Turning her heel towards him, she stared up at him expectantly. "What do you want?"

"Miss, if I can draw your attention-" the poor salesman tried again.

"We're talkin' here," Cap snarled at him and the man paled.

Cordelia marched past him, mortified by his conduct. Just as before, he followed her. Her father was still waiting to vote so she trotted towards the rutted trail leading around the site. 

"What do you want?"

"I wouldn't be bothering you but for somethin' important."

"And what is that?"

"It's your father."

Cordelia slowed her pace, ignoring the curious eyes on them as they talked. "My father?"

Cap ran his fingers through his yellow hair, holding his hat. "He's been frequentin' the tavern in town. Seems he's caught up with a dangerous crowd."

"What do you mean?"

"Gamblin' with some nasty characters. Not sure if he owes them money, but I pray he don't-"

"Good God," Cordelia breathed, feeling dizzy. She paused by a tree and laid a hand flat over her middle.

Cap halted, passing his hat back and forth between his hands. "I'm sorry for the shock."

Face aflame, she closed her eyes as the image of the dwindling numbers in the log book flashed in her mind. It made sense with all the empty bottles of morphine and her father's late nights coming in scented with whiskey. Cap stepped forward and sought her eyes.

"Cordelia?" he spoke quietly for only the two of them to hear.

Her eyes flashed with irritation at his unbidden use of her first name. "How do you know for sure?"

"I saw him there myself."

"Drinking and gambling alongside him, I suppose?" she scoffed cruelly. "As though father couldn't drag us any lower. I can only imagine that included the company of ruined women as well."

Cap jutted out his jaw, shaking his head as he dropped back a step. "I should have expected as much."

"Expected what?"

"For you to act all high and mighty. Your father is a good man, a little lost but good. Any can tell, but you it seems."

Stung, Cordelia tore her eyes from him. "I believe you've said what you wanted."

"Sure did," he growled, slapping his hat back on his head. "And one more thing, when Bad Frank Phillips comes to shoot your pap for owing him money, there will be nobody around these parts to help you because you put yourself so high above them."

"I know what you think of me, Mister Hatfield. You don't need to repeat it."

He shot his glare to the sky with a harsh laugh. "Do you now, Miss Robertson?"

His gaze slammed into her, dark brows falling hard over his unsettling eyes. Cordelia's feet were rooted as he stepped forward. He grasped her elbow and tugged her close enough for her to smell the gunpowder on his coat. She yielded without protest. He exhaled heavily through his nose, the sound igniting her nerves down to her fingertips. Her head spun with his closeness.

"Do you really know what I think of you?" he repeated, his gravelly voice dropping to whisper.

She wet her lips, heart thudding painfully against her breastbone. "Mister Hatfield-"

Her sentence was lost to the roars of a tussle back at the election booths. A howl of pain rose up, both of them turning to see one man being tackled by many. Cap released her and moved towards the situation, trying to gauge what was happening.

Cordelia noticed the young man with the gun, her brain numbing as he pulled the trigger. A man fell down dead in the middle of the green, the shooter's face as stunned as she felt. Cap took off running towards the incident while Cordelia tried to process what had just occurred.

"Father," she murmured. "I must find my father."