From: char@chaffin.com   
      
   ROCKY MOUNTAIN INTERLUDE, Chapter Eleven   
   By Char Chaffin and Tess   
   MSR, Casefile, AU   
   Rating:  Strong R   
   Spoilers:  FTF, Most of Season Seven   
   Feedback:  to Tnv099@aol.com; char@chaffin.com   
      
   Headers and summary, see Part 1   
      
      
   Chapter Eleven   
   Millersburg Congregational Church   
      
      
   The metal saw cut through the rough plank with surprising ease.   
   Mulder paused momentarily to adjust his grip and wipe the sweat off   
   his brow before it could drip into his eyes.  He repositioned the   
   plank on the sawhorses in front of him and worked the saw the rest of   
   the way.  The plank fell to the ground, neatly severed in half.   
   Mulder picked up both lengths of wood and tossed them into a nearby   
   wheelbarrow, then reached for another long plank and laid it across   
   the sawhorses.   
      
   He'd cut a lot of planks but was only halfway through the lot, and   
   the sun was creeping higher and higher in the sky.  It was going to   
   be another scorcher.  Mulder fished his handkerchief out of the   
   pocket of his britches and walked over to a large wooden water barrel   
   that had been thoughtfully provided by Libby Weston.  He poured a tin   
   cup of the cool liquid over the handkerchief and wiped at his face   
   and neck.  He had a feeling he'd be repeating the procedure many more   
   times before the day was over.   
      
   Thomas Weston walked slowly over as Mulder headed back to his work   
   area.  With a broken wrist and most of his arm in a makeshift sling,   
   the reverend was frustrated that he couldn't accomplish anything more   
   than overseeing Mulder and a handful of other volunteers who were all   
   assisting in the church building's restoration.  On the repair agenda   
   were warped boards in several pew seats, three broken window frames   
   and a hole in the roof of the church, compliments of the last bad   
   windstorm that had roared through Millersburg.  A damaged front door,   
   courtesy of a randy bull run amok, was also scheduled for replacement.   
      
   "How's the wrist, Tom?"  Mulder shoved the damp cloth in his back   
   pocket and reached for the saw.   
      
   Thomas shrugged and leaned against the side of the building,   
   cradling his arm.  "Hurts like the dickens.  Honest to God, I don't   
   know how on earth I could have been so dang clumsy!  Of course,   
   having to deal with a stubborn, lovesick bull didn't help matters   
   much.  Idiot animal."   
      
   Two days ago Thomas had been leading his prize bull, Lucas, into the   
   cow pen, hoping that one of his 'girls' was ready to breed.  Scenting   
   female cow, the normally placid bull had jerked hard on the chain   
   around its neck, forcing Thomas to stumble to the ground beside the   
   suddenly aroused animal.  He'd been so focused on regaining his feet   
   before Lucas could hurt itself on the chain that he'd failed to keep   
   his hands and arms out of the way of the beast's dancing hooves.   
   Lucas's back hoof had come down on Thomas's wrist, breaking it.   
   Luckily the bull was off-kilter enough that only its partial weight   
   had been behind the hoof; otherwise his wrist would have been   
   completely crushed.  Freed from Thomas's grip on the chain, the bull   
   had kicked up its heels, swung around in the opposite direction from   
   the cow pen and instead had run full-tilt through the churchyard and   
   into the front door.  The impact had dazed poor Lucas, who then   
   staggered around drunkenly; hooves churning up Libby's newly planted   
   primrose bushes.  Thomas had lain on the ground and alternately   
   laughed at the pole-axed bull and groaned from the pain in his wrist,   
   until Libby had run out of the rectory and rushed to her husband's   
   aid.   
      
   Mulder had heard the story earlier when he came into town to see if   
   Angus had anything he wanted delivered to the mine.  Angus had told   
   him what happened in clipped, expletive-laden sentences, informed him   
   that Thomas needed his help more than he did, and had sent Mulder   
   over to the church.  Halfway out the door of the livery, Angus had   
   gruffly called Mulder back and had handed him a newly sharpened saw,   
   waving away any thanks with a snarl and a frown.  Mulder had headed   
   over to the church with the new saw over his shoulder and a large   
   grin on his face.   
      
   "I wonder if that rotten-smelling liniment of Angus's would help   
   with the soreness.  I could get some for you," Mulder offered   
   innocently, then chuckled at the look of horror that crossed Thomas's   
   face at the mention of the pungent liniment.   
      
   "Will Mulder!  I thought you were my friend!  I think I'd rather be   
   in pain."  Thomas rubbed at his arm.  "I remember Angus slapping that   
   stuff on my hands the first time I ever helped him out at the livery,   
   shoeing horses for the mine hauling.  Stunk so bad my eyes about   
   crossed, and stung like a thousand bees.  Libby made me eat my lunch   
   outside that day, in the rain.  Said she wasn't gonna let me stink up   
   her clean house.  I picked up a chicken leg with my sore hand and got   
   liniment all over it; I can still taste the nasty stuff.  Put me off   
   eating chicken for quite a spell, I can tell you!"   
      
   Mulder grinned as he sawed through another plank and tossed it in   
   the wheelbarrow.  "Yeah, I went through it my first day, Tom.  Angus   
   dumped half a bottle on my hands, swearing up a storm at me.  Kinda   
   like having a mother scold you, except this mother is hairy,   
   crotchety and spits obscenities as well as tobacco juice."  Mulder   
   paused to wipe at his forehead again, adding, "Angus McLean is the   
   meanest, grouchiest man I ever met.  And has a heart as big as a   
   mountain.  You know, I introduced him to Kate the other day; she   
   stopped by on her way to the grocer.  Angus treated her like spun   
   glass.  I didn't know his wife had been a redhead with blue eyes."   
      
   Thomas nodded, remembering the young Maureen McLean vividly.   
   "You're right!  I'd almost forgotten.  Your Kate does resemble   
   Maureen.  Small and fair-skinned.  Sweet as honey, Maureen was.  And   
   loved Angus something fierce.  I've never seen a more broken man, the   
   day he lost her and the babe.  You knew about that, didn't you?"   
      
   "Yes, in fact Jack Sawyer up at the mine told me.  And so did Angus,   
   the day he met Kate.  She cried for him.  I about did, too."   
   Suddenly feeling emotion tug at him again, Mulder took a few minutes   
   to stack the cut wood in the wheelbarrow.  Each day they remained   
   here in Millersburg bound him closer to these people he now called   
   'friends.'  Knowing what was going to happen to them - all of them -   
   made it that much harder to remain composed; calm.  He wanted so   
   badly to warn them, tell them all to get the hell away from the   
   mines, move away from the town.  And he couldn't do a damned thing to   
   change their fate.  It was a hell of a thing to have to live with.   
      
   He looked around the churchyard, seeing the spurt of activity,   
   hearing the buzz of men's voices over the hammering of nails in wood.   
   Everyone pitched in, all the males who lived in town that didn't work   
   each day at the mine.  Boys that were between school and work age,   
   their narrow shoulders and thin arms just beginning to fill out with   
   muscle, bustled around importantly, their excitement at being   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)