The Emperor's New Clothes

“We've got to get the hell out of this town!” Ophelia Kendrake yanked open the hotel dresser drawer, snatched up her meager belongings and threw them into the oversized carpetbag that served as valise, catchall and home-away-from-home wrapped up in one slightly faded package.

Jenny Kendrake bolted upright in bed, and blinked in the abrupt glow of the gas lamp with the utter confusion of one roused out of a sound sleep in the middle of the night. “What is it? What on earth is going on?”

“We just have to get out of here, that's all.” Ophelia grabbed her sister's lone presentable traveling dress and tossed it at the bewildered girl. “Get dressed. Now.”

Jenny stared for a moment; then her eyes widened in understanding. She raised her arm and aimed her finger dramatically at her sister. “You've been cheating, haven't you?”

Ophelia drew herself up to her full, and somewhat impressive, height of five feet six inches, and regarded the younger girl with a lofty glare. “Well, I certainly wouldn't call it cheating.”

Jenny's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Would somebody else call it cheating?”

“Somebody already has,” Ophelia said sharply. “He's a vile, nasty and downright disgusting man and that's why we have to get out of here.” She strode across the room to a beat-up wardrobe and flung open the door, muttering all the while. “I wasn't cheating.”

“Then why do we have to leave?” Jenny said smugly.

Ophelia glared again. “Because he thinks I was cheating. I frankly don't know what happened.” She shook her head, still trying to sort out exactly what had transpired. “But it seems there were a few too many aces in the deck and several of themâthrough no fault of my own, mind youâwere in my hand.”

Jenny groaned and fell back on the bed. “You were cheating.”

“No, honestly.” Ophelia drew her brows together in puzzlement. “It wasn't me. Someone else must have done it.”

Jenny raised up on her elbows. “Who?”

“I have a rather horrible suspicion about that.” Ophelia plopped down beside her sister. “When this little discrepancy in the cards became apparent, the loathsome beast I referred to earlier gave me the choice of rotting in jail or acquiescing to his demands of a relatively personal nature.”

Jenny clapped her hands over her mouth. “Goodness.”

“Goodness had nothing to do with that proposition,” Ophelia said wryly. “Although, to give the revolting creature his due, he did offer to marry me. He said it was about time he settled down and got him a wife.
Got him a wife.” She snorted with disdain. “Like he was purchasing a pack mule.”

Jenny brightened. “But marriageâ”

“But marriage, nothing. The man had”âOphelia shuddered at the thoughtâ“hair on his knuckles.”

“Oh, my,” Jenny said faintly.

“And that's why we have to get going.” Ophelia bounded from the bed and continued collecting the various bits and pieces that comprised their few possessions and total worth on earth. Jenny had finally realized the seriousness of the situation, and was dressing with appropriate speed.

Dear, sweet Jenny. Just sixteen, the girl was a vision of purity with white-blond hair, a delicate figure and the face of an angel. Ophelia was determined to keep it that way.

Jenny was as much a legacy of Ophelia's father as Ophelia's own unruly, dark red hair, instinctive gift for gambling and diabolically clever, creative mind. Edwin Kendrake was a greatâat least according to his own personal reviewsâShakespearean actor who toured the country with various troupes of entertainers, hauling his daughters behind him like so much excess baggage. When he died six years ago, Ophelia found herself, at age seventeen, the sole support of a ten-year-old girl.

Jenny was Ophelia's sister in every way except blood. Edwin had found her abandoned at a stage door when the child was less than two years old, and taken her in as his own. Edwin Kendrake had more character flaws than any man had a right to, but in one area he was a saint: He loved children and treated them as gifts from God. Ophelia often wondered if that alone had gotten him into heaven.

“Are you ready?” Ophelia scanned the tiny hotel room, looking for any articles they might have missed.

Jenny jammed an old, tattered rag doll and a frayed, deteriorating book into her bag, a smaller version of her sister's. “I suppose so. But where can we go in the middle of the night?”

Ophelia threw up the window sash. “It's not the middle of the night, it's nearly dawn. And there's a train through here at daybreak.”

“Then you did win some money tonight?”

“Not exactly,” Ophelia hedged. “But I did manage to procure two train tickets for us.”

Jenny studied her carefully. “You won tickets?”

“Let's just say I have the tickets and leave it at that.” Ophelia glanced up and down the street below their window. All was still quiet in this dusty little frontier town.

Jenny sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. “You stole them, didn't you?”

“Stole!” Ophelia mustered her best indignant look. “I am appalled you would even think such a thing.”

Jenny planted her hands on her hips and glared. “Just tell me if you won the tickets or stole them.”

“Very well.” Ophelia shrugged. “I took the opportunity to appropriate the tickets when the chance presented itself, but I would have won them if the game hadn't broken up when it did. The previous owner of the tickets, an English gentleman, quite refined, was no doubt about to wager them.” She leaned toward her sister in a confidential manner. “The man was extremely charming in a Continental sort of way, but a lousy card player. The vouchers would have been mine if Hairy Knuckles hadn't interfered.”

“Was that really his name?” Curiosity tinged Jenny's voice.

“No, but”âOphelia sighed with a theatrical flair that would have made her father proudâ“he'll always be Hairy Knuckles to me.”

Jenny laughed, and Ophelia grinned. “Now,” Ophelia said briskly, nodding toward the window. “Let's go.”

“We have money for the room, though, don't we?” Jenny said hopefully.

“Nope.” Ophelia tossed her bag through the window, a muted thump signaling its landing below.

Jenny paled. “Not out the window again. I can't abide going out the window.”

Ophelia swung one leg over the sill. “There really isn't any other choice. Come on.”

“Can't we just sneak out through the front door?” Jenny said hopefully.

“Absolutely not.” Ophelia glanced down, estimating the drop to the ground. She pulled her brows together thoughtfully. They were on the second floor, in a room facing the back alley. A simple leap out the window could well result in a broken limb or worse. A narrow ledge, perhaps a foot in width, no more, ran around the building. If they could inch their way along the ledge to the corner of the hotel, they'd meet the porch. From there it was a simple matter to slide down the post supporting the roof. Ophelia nodded with satisfaction. “This will do quite nicely.”

Ophelia swung her other leg over the sill and stood up cautiously. She tossed her sister a reassuring smile. “It's just like a walk in the park.”

Jenny opened her mouth as if she was about to protest, then seemed to think better of it and sighed in the manner of a martyr being led to the stake. She tossed her bag out the window, then gritted her teeth and climbed out, following carefully behind her sister.

Ophelia reached the corner and shinnied down the post, landing on the dusty ground with a soft thud. “Oof.” She glanced up, speaking in her best stage whisper. “That wasn't so bad. Your turn.”

Even in the dark she could see the glimmer of fear
in Jenny's eyes, and a twinge of guilt shot through her. This was no life for an impressionable young girl. She stared at the frightened child, and a concern growing for months abruptly crystallized into a solid determination. She had to find a wayâor rather, she corrected herself, she had to find the moneyâto allow the two of them to settle down in some nice, respectable community. Jenny's budding beauty was increasingly difficult to hide, and Ophelia wasn't sure how she'd protect her from the advances of bawdy men in the free-for-all atmosphere of the booming frontier towns the girls passed through.

“Here I come,” Jenny whispered.

“Watch out.” Ophelia eyed her sister with apprehension. Jenny was not at all fond of heights. Even as a child she had never taken to climbing the rafters and catwalks above the stage the way Ophelia had. The dear girl was pretty and sweet and kind, but had simply no physical agility beyond the coordination it took to balance a parasol and walk at the same time. “Be careful. No, Jen! Climb! Don't let gâ”

Too late. Jenny landed on Ophelia with all the subtlety of a bag of bricks, knocking her breath from her lungs and her body to the ground. Both sisters lay winded in the dirt, Jenny slightly atop Ophelia.

“Are you alive?” Jenny said cautiously.

“Yes, dear,” Ophelia said, hoping she was indeed still alive. Goodness, for such a delicate little thing, Jenny certainly packed a rather impressive wallop when dropped like a stone from above. “Now, if you would just get off meâ¦”

“Sorry.” Jenny scrambled to her feet and helped her sister to her feet.

Ophelia stifled a groan and rubbed hard at her stinging posterior, which had obviously taken the brunt of Jenny's landing. Ophelia sighed in acute discomfort.
“It could be worse, I suppose. I could have broken something.” She dusted her skirt with a disgusted slap. “Still, the very idea of having to sit on a train for the next day or soâ¦”

“Day?” Surprise colored Jenny's voice. “Exactly where are we going anyway?”

“I'm really not certainâ¦exactly.” Ophelia spotted their bags and headed toward them. She grabbed her valise, handed Jenny her satchel and took off in the general direction of the train station. “Anywhere is just fine with me as long we get as far as possible as fast as possible.”

Jenny struggled to keep up with her sister's long stride. “You mean to tell me you don't you have any idea where we're heading?”

“I can't remember the name of the town.” Ophelia shrugged. “Somewhere in Wyoming, I think.”

“We've never been to Wyoming,” Jenny said wistfully. “It sounds lovely.”

“Doesn't it, though?” Ophelia forced a cheerful tone to her voice, but her heart sank. She'd meant to get to Wyoming for years, but somehow the opportunity had never presented itself. It would indeed be lovely if this little town could provide her with the means to acquire the home and life Jenny so badly wanted and needed. But it would probably be no better, and hopefully no worse, than the dozens of frontier villages the girls had seen in recent years.

The sisters trudged toward the train station. Ophelia needed to come up with a plan for Jenny's future. Maybe she could figure something out in Wyoming. No doubt it was as good a place as any.

Still, the name of the community listed on the ticket flashed through her mind and she grimaced to herself. It was unlikely they'd find any kind of future there.

After all, how much faith could one have in a place
that bore the depressingly prophetic name of Dead End, Wyoming?

“Now the first thing we have to doâ¦” Randolph Watson paused dramatically, and everyone else sitting around the conference table in the back room of his bank held their breath. “We have to change the name of the town.”

Tyler Matthews groaned to himself and rubbed his forehead. He knew as soon as what passed for the civic leaders in Dead End had asked him to attend this little meeting that something was up. He didn't really care one way or another what the town was called, but he suspected renaming the community was only the beginning. He had a bad feeling about this. A real bad feeling.

Tye looked up and found six pairs of expectant eyes trained on him.

“I see,” he said with a pleasant, if somewhat forced, smile. “What have you got in mind?”

The gathering breathed a collective sigh of relief, and he realized at once his initial suspicions were correct. There was much more going on here than a simple name change.

“At first, we thought about naming it for your uncle,” Randolph said. “Since Big Jack Matthews owns a good chunk of the land around Dead End, it seemed fitting. He's always pretty much run things in town anyway.”

Henrietta Watson nodded vigorously. “It would have been quite an honor.”

“But it sounded too damn Biblical,” Joe Simmons snorted. His wife, Anna Rose, bobbed her head in agreement.

“Not good for businesses.” Anna Rose's unnaturally raven black curls bounced up and down. “Not good at all.”

“Don't know how you'd expect me to run a proper saloon in a place called Matthew City,” Joe grumbled.

“I hardly think the word proper has any connection whatsoever with the goings-on in that so-called business of yours.” Maize Johnson cast a disdainful glance at the saloon keeper, who returned the stare of the widowed general store owner with a sneer of his own.

Tyler rolled his eyes heavenward. It apparently didn't matter how long he'd been gone; some things never changed.

“Knock it off, Joe. Maize.” Sheriff Sam Parker nodded at the widow and turned to Tyler. “The point is, son, it's 1888, and we think it's high time that we made some changes in this town.”

“Time we became respectable,” the banker said.

“Sophisticated,” his wife added.

“Civilized,” the widow chimed in.

“Yeah,” the saloon keeper said reluctantly, “civilized.”

The hair on the back of Tyler's neck bristled. His voice was cautious. “And you can do that by changing the name of the town?”

Sam shrugged. “To start with.”

“Well, I don't see anything wrong with Dead End.” Tye shook his head. “It's really rather historical when you think about it, and damned appropriate. This is the spot where construction on the railroad halted for bad winter weather back in the sixties. Dead End fits.”

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