I OWN NOTHING BUT THE ORIGINAL CHARACTER OF ERIN

NUMBER 22

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Sometimes Buck cross wished his girl wasn't so beautiful.

Well, not "not so beautiful," as much as just not as noticed by other men, Buck clarified to himself. Going to town was always a trial of patience as it seemed every man was eager to open doors for her, give her a smile, strike up a conversation, and heaven forbid she accidentally drop something. They all clamored to pick up the last parcel that hit the ground. It didn't matter that she was on Buck's arm—they all ignored him anyway.

Usually, being involved with an Indian would be enough to make the town shun her, but Erin was an exception. She is so kind it radiates from her, Buck thought with admiration. At least, she had never complained of being shamed, Buck realized with a frown.

Erin Kelly hummed to herself as she strolled up the boardwalk to the milliner's shop. She and her Aunt Emma had run to town to visit the preacher's wife, who had finally delivered twins. They brought enough food with them to keep the young family from having to cook for themselves for a few days.

Emma was still visiting with the preacher's wife when Erin slipped out. She knew she should have stayed longer, but she was restless and needed to stretch her legs. Besides, Aunt Emma didn't seem to mind when I asked to leave. As Erin walked, she spied Cynthia Granger a few yards ahead, talking with another girl their age. Although they barely knew each other, Erin liked Cynthia. They had clicked from the moment they met, and always enjoyed visiting with each other when they ran into each other in town.

"Cynthia!"

Cynthia turned her head in Erin's direction. Then, she abruptly returned to her conversation.

She must not have seen me, Erin thought. She walked even quicker to reach her friend.

"Cynthia!"

This time Cynthia and the other girl didn't look in her direction but rather turned and walked the other way. Erin practically ran to catch up with them. Reaching Cynthia, she grasped her shoulder and turned her around.

"Cynthia! I've been calling and calling you, but you must not have heard me! How are you doing? I've missed you and I was hoping …"

Erin's voice trailed off as she saw the expression on Cynthia's face. It was one of disgust. Erin looked quickly at her companion and saw revulsion there as well.

"I heard you and I want you stay away from me. I don't associate with people like you!"

Erin was confused. Just last month she and Cynthia had strolled up and down the boardwalk, arm in arm, discussing the handsome gentlemen in town. Erin knew Cynthia had a crush on Abel Messir, and, according to Cynthia, no one else knew that.

"Wh-what do you mean? I don't understand."

Cynthia heatedly shrugged Erin's hand off of her shoulder.

"People with no decency or morals." Cynthia's face contorted into a sneer. "Girls who associate themselves with Indians."

"What? What's going on, Cynthia? Just a month ago—"

"Just a month ago I didn't know who you really are. Have you no decency? Have you no shame?"

Erin felt her temper flare. Who did Cynthia think she was?

"Look, I'm sorry that you don't like that Buck is courting me—"

Both girls drew their breath in sharply, their mouths agape and glancing at each other.

"—but he is the most honorable, wonderful, and decent person I've ever met!"

Cynthia stood staring at her in disbelief. Erin suddenly noticed the lack of movement around them and realized that bystanders stood by, staring at her with disgust on their faces.

"Erin," Cynthia whispered. "I was talking about the dance, but now you're courting? I thought you were better than that."

The girl with Cynthia shook her head. "Let's go, Cynthia, before we get dirty just talking to her."

Cynthia turned, but not before she whispered to Erin, just loud enough for only her to hear.

"Whore!"

It was Erin's turn to draw her breath. The bystanders began to walk away, giving her as wide berth as possible. Erin looked around at their faces when they left, looks of hatred now mingling with disgust. They look like they think they'll catch something if they get too close to me. Some of the men, she noticed with fear, were openly leering at her. She felt her own repugnance as their eyes roamed over her body.

Erin felt tears prick behind her eyes. These are people I thought were my friends! Suddenly Erin noticed an old woman walking toward her. The woman's lips were pursued together, as if she were about to—

Erin managed to close her eyes before the woman spit on her. Dodging to the side, she felt the liquid land on her arm.

"Injun-loving whore!" the woman grumbled as she walked past.

Erin's shoulders were hunched and she knew her mouth was open as the woman walked away. She felt her breath coming in ragged gasps. Someone spit on me! The tears that she felt threatening to fall now spilled down her cheeks. Turning, she ran back to the parsonage and tip-toed through the back door into the kitchen. All she could think about was getting the woman's spit off of her. Spying a dry cloth and a pail of water, she set to cleaning her arm.

Someone spit on me! All because I love Buck and he is Indian! I can't believe this! Erin felt a well of hurt rise in her heart as she choked on her tears.

Calm down! Crying won't solve a thing!

Erin took deep breaths to steady herself. Should I tell Aunt Emma? No, she'd go find the woman and give her a piece of her mind and that won't do. Erin felt a surge of love as she thought of her aunt and how protective she was.

Dipping another dry cloth in the water, Erin wiped her eyes. As she did, she thought about how Buck had once said the townspeople spit on him and threw mud on him. This is nothing compared to the treatment he gets, she thought. That realization sent more tears down her cheeks.

Erin knew being with Buck would be hard, and she had a decision to make. Should she continue her relationship with Buck and face this sort of treatment, or should she move on to show she was "decent"? Her answer came to her immediately—He's worth everything, and I will just have to live with people's ignorance. Words will not hurt me, and I guess spit won't either. A dry chuckle escaped her lips as Emma walked into the kitchen with Mrs. Stanton, the preacher's wife.

"Erin, are you okay?" Emma asked, concern etched upon on face. "Your eyes are awfully red. Have you been crying?"

Erin knew it was useless to deny she had been. She hastily thought up an excuse as she wiped her face.

"I was just thinking of home and my father and got a little teary."

"A little? Are you sure?"

Erin gave a good-natured sigh. "Of course, Aunt Emma. You worry too much," she affectionally chided.

Emma smiled. "I guess so. Anyway, it's time to leave so we can get home to make supper for Mr. Spoon and the boys."

Turning, she gave a goodbye hug to Mrs. Stanton. Erin waved and the two set off. As she climbed into the wagon, Erin saw Emma take out her Colt revolver and lay it across her lap.

"You know, I love having you here, but if you want to go back home it's okay," Emma ventured with a gentle voice. "I'll get you a ticket on the stage, and write your father—"

"No!" Erin quickly responded. She spoke from her heart. "I'm not going anywhere. This is my home now."

Emma smiled.