"I'm fine Aunt Kate, truly I am. How did you get here?" She looked over Kate's shoulder as if expecting someone else.

"I... brought the wagon partway, then rode the horses when it broke down-"

"You came alone?" Garner approached with a solemn look on his face, aware he was intruding and yet unwilling to stop himself. "All the way from Rapture, alone?"

Kate startled at the sound of his voice and hastily wiped her wet cheeks with her travel-roughened hands. She straightened and returned his assessment defensively. "I did. If you'll recall, Major, I am alone now. I came to see if Whitney was all right."

Garner watched the slight trembling of her chin, and read the cost of her journey in her care-thinned face and the fine lines exhaustion had etched about her striking eyes. For some reason the pained joy, the love that had shone in her face moments before, returned to engulf him. They had something in common, this woman and he; they both loved Whitney. The realization melted some of his reserve and his rigid posture.

"Welcome, Mrs. Morrison."

Kate watched the subtle change in his face and the marked easing in his powerful frame and wondered at it. "Thank you, Major."

"Well, don't just stand there, Edgewater," Whitney turned a beaming smile on the outraged houseman, "take her coat. Then fetch us some hot tea. She's positively frozen!"

After a tense moment in which Garner's gaze narrowed dangerously at him above Whitney's head, the butler stalked to assist Kate with her "wrap." The others stared with incredulity as a very womanly form was uncovered beneath the woolly barn of a coat. A sturdy, slightly outmoded wool dress with quilted bodice was revealed, fitted perfectly over a well-proportioned frame... small waist, slender arms, a very feminine aspect. Kate felt their shocked eyes on her and her hands jittered over her clothing.

"I... I apologize for my unkempt state," she lifted her chin and spoke only to Whitney and Garner. "I went straight to a respectable inn, but as a woman traveling alone, was denied lodging until I could produce an endorsement or reference." She drew herself up to address Garner. "I'm afraid I must impose upon you, sir,for such sponsorship, if you are willing."

Whitney put her arm around Kate's waist, her face glowing. "Of course he'll sponsor..." She looked lip into Garner's handsome face, seeing the seriousness of his expression and only now realizing that he might not be as pleased to see her aunt as she was. The uncertainty in her thoughts was easy to read in her eyes.

"There is no reason for it," Garner said with a calm and deliberate glance at his tight-eyed family and butler. "We have plenty of room here. You must accept our hospitality, Mrs. Morrison."

"Oh," Kate blinked and flushed, trying not to show how much that "foul beast of a man" had surprised her. "Oh, but I couldn't. It would be far too much of an imposition-"

"Indeed," Bryon stalked into their line of sight, his face bronzed, his gloved hands still clenched on the brim of his hat. "I'm sure your wife's frontier relations would be far more comfortable elsewhere. And there's the unfortunate matter of accommodations." He turned a scathing look on Garner. "I believe your forty percent of the bedchambers are already in use."

Garner twitched with the stifled urge to trounce his irascible father. "We have several unused guest chambers. However, she will probably find my own chambers more comfortable. You no doubt realize, I have not used them for some time now."

"This is intolerable-unthinkable!" Byron reddened further. Parading his unthinkable lusts like a banner and now importing yet another flagrant frontier female! He stared heatedly at Kate, meeting the fiery lights in her striking eyes and fighting the way his gaze drifted determinedly down her shapley form. "You surely can't intend to lodge this creature under-"

Kate stared back with shocking defiance, daring him to tangle with her again. And her eyes inescapably collected the details of a face strikingly like the handsome major's... older, graying at the temples, but with the same full, sensual mouth, the same aquiline nose and arrogantly sculptured bones.

"I accept," Kate announced without taking her eyes from Byron's flaming displeasure. "I'll be pleased to stay until I am settled."

Whitney gasped with delight and gave Kate a squeeze before she caught the second half of it. "Settled?"

"There's naught for me now in Rapture with both you and your father gone. I've decided to re-establish residence in a city... and it might as well be Boston as any other." She flicked an uncertain glance at Garner, who surprised her with a stiff smile.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like, Mrs. Morrison."

"Dammit! In my own house-" Byron quivered as if lashed, and ripped his coat from his shoulders to pile it atop Edgewater. He stood with his booted feet spread and his hands on his waist... a posture Kate recognized from Garner's repertoire of impotent fury. Like father, like son, she thought, returning his glare tit for tat. He peeled away and stalked off through the house to the sanctity of his study with a pronounced "Dammit!"

Garner and Whitney bundled Kate straight into the parlor. She was soon ensconced in a stuffed chair near the fire, with a blanket wrapped about her knees. Her face was dewy and flushed like a young girl's from the unaccustomed heat both inside and outside her.

"And Pa?" Whitney knelt on the floor by her chair and took her hands while Garner leaned his shoulder against the mantel nearby, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I've been so worried. You promised to write."

"I did go to see him in Pittsburgh," Kate squeezed her hands, "a week after you left. I managed to talk with him for a few minutes and give him some food and extra clothes. Then I heard two weeks later that they were marching the prisoners east... probably all the way to Philadelphia for trial."

"Philadelphia?" Garner frowned uncomfortably.

Kate nodded. "He's alright, Whitney, I'm sure. If anyone can get along in such circumstances, Blackstone can. His spirits were good when I saw him, and that's what it takes." She didn't want to worry Whitney with mention of the scars of a recent beating that had been healing on his face. "But he hadn't come to trial yet and there didn't seem to be a time set for it."

Whitney turned a wide-eyed look on Garner and he assured her tightly, "If he's being held in Philadelphia, we'll soon know it." She nodded with a wan little smile, then forced a brighter expression as she turned back to Kate.

"And Rapture. How is everyone?"

"The same. Well, not exactly the same," Kate's delicate features were suddenly animated by the news she bore. Her brown-flecked eyes danced. "It seems some of your men found Rapture Valley quite to their liking, Major. After they were released from duty, several returned. The big Wallace fellow came back with his mustering-out pay to buy a few acres and hop over a broom with May Donner. They're waiting for the circuit preacher. In fact, there were two broom hoppings. Frieda Delbarton and that Kingery fellow, too. Her boys were outraged-they nearly strung him up! But Harvey Dedham intervened and made them put him down and listen to their mother." Kate smiled and shook her head. "It was a sight, the four of them hulking over him."

"And Aunt Sarah?" Whitney prompted. "Is she alright?"

Kate laughed. "She's pining for her Charlie, as you might expect. But she's being comforted in her trials by that sergeant fellow. Laxault, wasn't it? Well, he arrived not long before I left. He said he couldn't bear the thought of Sarah alone all winter without a man's protection, doing for all her young ones by herself." Kate laughed a low, musical sound. "I expect there'll be another knot to tie when the preacher comes this spring. And Harvey's adding two more sleeping rooms to his inn with the money from..." She bit her lip and darted a glance at Garner.

"With the 'wretched paper money' he got from me and my men," he finished for her with an exaggerated glare that was slowly transformed into wry acceptance. "Why, the little hypocrite." He turned a challenging look on Whitney. "If he can overcome his reluctance to cash money... anyone can."

Whitney blushed and Kate caught the intimate exchange of their eyes. Whitney's riposte was lost in Kate's absorption in the warmth flowing between her and her husband. The arrogant, gentlemanly major seemed to have softened since his days in Rapture.

Edgewater arrived with a tea tray and cakes and Whitney rose to a seat on the settee opposite Kate. Kate watched her pour, a bit dumbfounded by her ladylike demeanor and her comfort with the task. Kate's eyes misted as she accepted a delicate china cup and realized how often, in years past, she'd dreamed of this very thing: Whitney in a fine parlor, pouring tea, dressed like a fine lady... glowing like a beloved wife. Whitney blushed under Kate's loving scrutiny, grateful that now she at last had a chance to thank Kate for all she'd been taught.

As they talked eagerly about the events of the past weeks, Garner watched, sipping his tea and tossing in a cogent quip from time to time. In his mind's eye, he saw Rapture's vivid characters brought to life again and relived his compelling impressions of his time there. An odd warmth built inside him. He was genuinely glad to hear Uncle Ballard had survived a bout of the influenza and that Uncle Julius and Uncle Ferrell Dobson were helping Uncle Harvey with his construction project. And he accepted Robbie Dedham's greetings to his "Uncle Townsend" with a strange constriction in his throat.

Chapter Twenty-One.

It was past sunset when a housemaid ventured into the parlor to close the shutters and draw the brocades at the windows. Whitney startled up. "Oh-supper! Come, Aunt Kate, let me show you to..." She turned to Garner with a slight frown. "Did you mean what you said? Your room?"

"Put her in any room you like, Whitney," Garner laughed and raised a meaningful eyebrow, "except yours."

Whitney blushed like a bride and dragged Kate with her from the parlor and up the grand stairs, explaining breathlessly about the house as they went. She installed Kate in a guest chamber done in fine green and golden brocades and sent Mercy to arrange for a hot fire and a hot bath. Then she hurried to her room and selected one of her own new dresses and a full change of small clothing for Kate to wear for dinner.

"How lovely," Kate touched the elegant lilac velvet and Cluny laces with hesitant fingers. "He bought you new clothes?"

Whitney nodded, chewing the inner corner of her mouth. "You don't think it was wrong... me taking them... do you? I honestly don't do much to earn my keep and everybody gets so upset when I try to bargain anything."

"I expect they do." Kate bit her lip to keep from laughing at the images that were conjured in her mind. Daniels trading precocity meeting staid Boston money.

"Honestly, he had to lock me up to make me take them."

"I expect he did." Kate put her hand over her mouth and squelched a twitch of her shoulders.

"But we struck a bargain, finally." Whitney's fetching half-smile suggested plainly the nature of that bargain. "And I'm trying to be a proper wife to him. He's a good man, Aunt Kate."

Kate watched the womanly wistfulness about her niece and had to ask, "Is he... gentle with you, Whitney?"

"He is," Whitney nodded, lowering her eyes as she added with a naughty twinkle, "when I want him to be."

It was Kate's turn to blush. But just then, Mercy ushered in servants with firewood and fresh linen and kettles of hot water and there was no further time for talk. Kate was soon submerged in a tub of deliciously hot, scented water, soaking away the aches and strain of travel. Whitney perched on a nearby chair, watching Kate's rapturous expression and grinning.

"Isn't it wonderful? I had a bath the very first morning I was here, and at least every other day since. I remembered you talking about it and it is every bit as good as you said it was. In fact, everything is as good as you said it was. Everything except Garner's Iron Family."

When Kate raised her head to look, Whitney had a tart gleam in her eye. "Aunt Kate, you'll just have to ignore Garner's father, Byron. Ezra-that's Garner's grandpa - he says Byron just doesn't have any urges himself, so he doesn't understand them in other people. And Madeline, she's spoiled and contrary in the extreme. But old Ezra is quite a fellow. He's a distiller, or he was one. Now he's confined to a chair on wheels and he pinches the housemaids when he can, to keep life interesting... and sneaks rum to drink whenever he can."

Kate chuckled at Whitney's irreverent summary of her wealthy in-laws.

"Oh, you'd better hurry," Whitney pointed to the rose-scented soap and stood, smoothing her dress. "They'll be holding supper for us and we mustn't be too late." She turned to go and then turned back with a thought. "Oh, and please don't be too put off if Madeline has them serve lobster tonight... she did that to me once, hoping to put me off my feed. But I realized; it's just like a big red crawfish, only there's a lot more meat on it." Her quixotic grin brought a bubble of a laugh to Kate's lips.

"Lobster." Kate recalled her own first encounter with the formidable delicacy and savored Whitney's unshrinking pragmatism. "I'll be sure to remember."

Whitney and Kate entered the dining hall only a few minutes late, pausing in the doorway to brace for what would undoubtedly be a taxing encounter. Every eye in the room fell on Kate's womanly form, searching the blatant curves beneath the pale lilac velvet, the luxuriant fullness of her dark, upswept hair, and the exposed satin of her breast. Whitney felt Kate's hand tighten on hers and sent her a reassuring smile as they moved forward into the half-tamed pride of Townsends.

Garner formally introduced Kate to Madeline, then to Ezra, who took her hand eagerly and sat noticeably straighter in his chair. Bryon acknowledged her with an inhospitable grunt and waved them all to the table, with what seemed an ill-placed comment on the exact number of forks set at each place. Whitney missed the meaningful look he turned to Kate as he said it... and missed the spark it struck in Kate's eyes as it hit.

Conversation was brisk during the meal, with two predictable abstentions; Madeline and Byron. Kate savored the delicious food visibly and, to Whitney's surprise, guessed correctly the region of origin, if not quite the proper vintage of each wine served. As each bit of Kate's refinement was revealed, Byron huddled a bit deeper in his chair at the head of the table and glowered at Kate a bit more blatantly. When Ezra recalled there was something familiar about the name "Morrison," Kate was coaxed to reveal that her late husband's family had engaged in commerce in Allentown and had sat in the first state legislature in Pennsylvania. Byron harrumphed wordless disbelief and shifted arrogantly in his chair, motioning for the final course.

Whitney bristled again at Byron's open disdain for her ladylike aunt, and took it upon herself to boldly explain to Kate Byron's view on the criminal background and slovenly habits of frontier folk. By the time she got to lice infestations, muck, and immorality, Kate's eyes were flashing and her bosom was aflame with indignation.

Kate took a final, calm sip of her wine and laid her napkin gently beside her plate, complimenting in a restrained manner the choice of menu. Then she rose with great flair, and blatantly collected the five forks she'd refused to allow the servants to remove with the courses. She carried them to the head of the table with her eyes blazing.

"Your forks, sir," she held them before Byron's surprised face. "I know you were concerned about them in my care. But I assure you, they're all here. One ..." She began to drop them one by one, sharp tines downward, into Byron's unsuspecting lap.

"Ow!" He jolted protectively as the points jabbed through the broadcloth of his snug breeches and bounced off, clattering onto the floor around him. "Dammit- oww-what-"

"three... four..."

"Stop it! This instan-"

"... and five!" She finished with a flourish and a vengeful smile. She backed discreetly away as Byron gained his feet, cursing and blustering, and she turned with towering insouciance to Whitney and Garner. "And will coffee and sherry be served in the parlor?"

Ezra was wheeled from the dining hall in such fits of laughter that Whitney was afraid he'd do himself damage. But by the time coffee and sherry were served in the west parlor, things were outwardly calm again, if a bit strained. As Madeline poured and served, Byron stubbornly reappeared, looking and moving like Townsend granite. Townsends didn't quit, Garner intoned mentally, even when it made good sense to. He swallowed back a smile that was some part empathy. In the excruciating moment when Byron had sat there in shock, with forks dropping-stabbing-into his lap, Garner had experienced a shocking oneness of feeling with his pompous, hard-nosed father. He knew exactly what it felt like to be whittled down to human size by a brazen, outrageous female. And having experienced it himself, he felt entitled to enjoy it when it happened to his unimpeachable sire.

He was still grinning as he unbuttoned his shirt that night in Whitney's bedchamber. "Your Aunt Kate," he murmured as he felt her impatient fingers sliding underneath his shirt from behind, "she's quite a woman."

"She is, isn't she?" Her laugh was wickedness itself. "I'll never forget the shock of your father's face, not as long as I live. He deserved every bit of it." When he just laughed, her fingers took a wicked turn as well, sliding around his waist, beneath the band of his breeches, caressing his waist and belly. "You know, I never realized how much Aunt Kate gave up to come to Rapture to take care of us. I don't think she ever quite got used to the way we did things there. To this day she can't bargain worth diddle."

"Can't bargain? You mean she uses money?" Garner managed to salvage that bit of reason as her tantalizing fingers slid down his taut belly beneath his breeches, seeking and rousing his pliant, silky shaft.

"I'm afraid so," she whispered, rubbing her bare breasts in erotic patterns against his back. "But don't let it get around. We Daniels's do have our pride. Are you going to wear these clothes all night? Not that I mind, actually. I'm really rather fond of breeches."

"I've come to see if you've had any word from your agent concerning Blackstone Daniels," Garner seated himself in Lawyer Parker's office the very next morning. Kate Morrison's fear that the prisoners had been marched to the capital for trial weighed heavily on his mind and he was determined to have some news soon.

"No word at all, sir," the distinguished Parker stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Is it just possible that he's been taken to Philadelphia with the rest of the whiskey prisoners?

"With the rest?" Garner leaned forward sharply. "Then some have been taken to the capital for trial? If so, why have we heard nothing of it?"

"Boston newspapers are so parochial concerning news from the nation's capital- or anywhere else," Parker lamented. "We hear none of this stuff for weeks-" He went to rifle piles of papers on a nearby worktable, looking for something. "Aha!" he pulled a worn newspaper from a stack and pinned his monocle in his eye to scan it. "My associate just returned from a stay in Philadelphia and brought me several papers." He quickly read two articles that pieced together a rather grim picture.

The "whiskey rebels" had been marched from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia and had arrived in the city on Christmas Day, to a great public celebration of their defeat. Speeches were made, President Washington made an appearance; it was quite an affair. And according to a later paper, charges were being vigorously pressed against the "heinous criminals and traitors" who had "threatened the nation's order and sovereignty."

"What do you think? Shall I send an inquiry to my friend Mister Bartholomew Hayes in Philadelphia?" Parker asked.

Garner took a deep, unsettled breath. "Blackstone Daniels is a distiller, arrested for non-payment of the Tax, not treason. Why would they have taken him all the way to Philadelphia?" He saw Parker's shrug and felt his questioning look. "Still... if you have someone to spare... or could write your friend..."

Over the next two weeks Kate's controversial presence in the Townsend household was grudgingly tolerated, though it was made clear that she was considered a serious strain on the boundaries of Garner's forty percent of things. Whitney tried to explain to Kate the Townsend's odd synthesis of business and family that alloted privilege and position based on ownership; forty percent belonged to Garner, forty to Byron, and ten percent each to Ezra and Madeline. Kate recoiled and declared it the most bizarre way of structuring a family she'd ever heard in her life. Whitney shrugged ruefully and remarked that Garner had found Rapture's expanded concept of family-relationship by alphabet-to be rather strange too.

Each day some new pique or insult was added to the enmity between Byron and Kate. He referred to her as "that female," and she had early on dubbed him "that beast." He refused to ever hear a single word she said and in so doing, ignored her warning that his teacup was sliding and about to upset. He jumped up with a scalded lap and ruined breeches and exited the parlor with Kate's laughter rasping his raw male pride. For her part, she bristled each time he appeared, and became absurdly independent, insisting on carrying her own bags, all at once, upstairs when they arrived. She watched in horror as one aged satchel bounced down the main stairs and ruptured, spilling her undergarments practically at Byron's feet in the center hall. He nudged the pile of worn muslin with an elegant shoe toe and turned a gentlemanly sneer up at her flaming face.

Not long after she arrived, Byron came home unexpectedly one afternoon and caught her in his study, surveying his books and wondering about him. He steamed at the invasion of his private sanctum and accused her of pilfering. Abashed by the unthinkable stray of her thoughts, she hotly denied it. Her face was flushed and his was bronzed as he advanced on her, backing her toward the door. He called her an opportunist; she labeled him a pettifogging tyrant. And by the time they reached the door they were inches apart, staring into each other's eyes and confused by each other's heat. Kate turned on her heel and flew down the hall on weakened knees. Byron slammed the door and wobbled to his desk with an unnerved snarl.

Despite Garner and Whitney's urgings to the contrary, Kate insisted on making inquiries with agents concerning more permanent accommodations: something modest to match the remnants of her inheritance and yet with a bit of flair to match her tastes. Whitney realized that Byron's everpresent resentment and pointed barbs were probably responsible, but was unable to think of a way to counter or alleviate them. The most she could do was insist on helping Kate review potential lodgings, and pray nothing suitable would be uncovered too soon.

But daily forays house-hunting would provide a perfect opportunity to implement her "deal" with Ezra, Whitney realized with true trader's instinct. She spoke with Ezra about it and he enthusiastically agreed. They combined forces to insist that he accompany Whitney and Kate on their first outing to look at properties, and Kate's sensible arguments were no match for Whitney's ebullience and Ezra's crusty charm. They waited until Garner and Bryon had gone off to their offices and Madeline was safely tucked in the morning room with her stitchery, then secretively bundled Ezra into the carriage and had Benson and Nolan tie his wheeled chair on the back.

Inevitably, they found themselves in the south end of the warehouse district on a narrow, smelly street. A large darkened brick building with rags stuffed into broken windows loomed outside the windows. Whitney and Ezra exchanged wide-eyed looks of surprise. Imagine finding themselves passing the Townsend Distillery? It would be unthinkable not to stop, since they were practically on the doorstep...

They stood inside the street door of the distillery, staring at the sloughing whitewash on the walls, the frost-crusted windows, and the dank brick of the floor. Whitney noted that the rotting straw and wooden crates were gone and the unpleasant soured smell had diminished. But there was still an unmistakable air of decay about the place.

"I warned you it was in a state," Whitney reminded Ezra as she and Kate pushed him along the dim passage past the stacking rooms and toward the offices. His growls and mutters of indignation were mercifully unintelligible. Rounding the corner near the distilling room, they came face to face with the master distiller in heated debate with... Garner.

Whitney smiled sweetly, swallowed hard, and tried valiantly to explain their presence as: "just passing by" and thought they'd "stop in." His tightened features and narrowed eyes said he didn't believe a word of it.

"Oh, I know exactly what you're doing here," he charged, stalking closer and lowering his voice to a furious whisper before the master and workers. "You're meddling, interfering again. I'll not have it, Whitney-"

"But Garner, you're not a rum man," Whitney brazened quietly, "you don't even drink the stuff. If you're really going to change things around here, you have to taste." Her liquid green gaze tugged at him over Ezra's huddled, petulant form. "And your grandpa's got the senses for it. He could teach you."

Garner stiffened. His eyes dropped to his grandfather's stubborn, nutlike face. Faded gray eyes met sharp gray-blue ones for the first time in many years. Ezra wouldn't ask, wouldn't even offer, but the desire was so clearly there.

Despite the fact that she wasn't permitted to stay as well, Whitney wore a decidedly pleased expression when she and Kate reached the carriage. "We'll have to get home early this afternoon in order to send the carriage back for Ezra and Garner.

And we'll have to be sure to tell Madeline there'll be only four for supper." She smiled and explained cryptically: "Ezra's going to teach him about rum."

But Garner and Ezra arrived home in time for supper, eyes bright, faces ruddy and obviously pleased. Apparently Ezra's instructional technique had moderated since his last bout of educational fervor. Both made it through supper, then managed a gentlemanly withdrawal to toddle quickly off to bed afterward. Whitney watched Garner strip his coat and shirt and fall face down on the bed and she ruffled his hair with a tingle of warmth in her chest and a rueful expression.

He awakened, hours later, to a room lit only by the golden glow of a fire and the awareness of his breeches inching downward over his buttocks. Soon he felt her warm presence at his side, then sliding onto his back like a heavy satin comforter. His mouth curled lazily as he imagined just which parts of her created which delicious sensations. She wriggled seductively over his back and buttocks, wakening, summoning him, and he suddenly recalled what had happened the last time she'd wakened him in such a manner.

He arched and turned forcefully, trying to dump her onto the bed as he went, but she braced above him and in the brief, sensual struggle, she managed to slide between his legs, claiming instant victory. He lay on his back, her curvy body wedged between his legs, feeling her palms rising up his belly, swirling over his chest. Her hair was a glowing, tousled mane, her eyes glistened in the semi-dark.

He drew her up slowly, letting her slide purposefully against his roused and aching parts. Spreading and wrapping her about him, he made love to her like a man possessed, caressing and commanding every part of her.

She sighed some time later, and snuggled against his damp body, relishing the sated splendor of his features, the dark crescents of his closed lashes. "It worked out well, didn't it, Ezra at the distillery?"

"Just like a woman." He sighed with a forced bit of exasperation. "Demanding homage to her intuitions."

"Distiller's intuitions, thank you. It did, didn't it?" she insisted, tracing his side with insistent fingers. His resultant shiver ran through her breasts as they pressed against him.