Karen Memory

Epilogue

Mostly, I guess you know how it ended.

It was pneumonia. And it was a separated hip. And I still hear ringing in my ears when I’m in a quiet room, and I suspect I always will.

But it turns out the Federal Government actually takes a very kind view of folk who foil foreign plots against their sovereign territory. After the Os’minog, unable to submerge with her damaged hull, was tracked, rammed, and sunk off the Oregon coast by the USS Amphitrite we had a pretty nice reward paid in double eagles to divvy up.

Miss Francina took her share and what she’d had in the bank and rebuilt the parlor house better than it had been. Except Miss Francina listened to Bea and named the place the Hôtel Ma Cherie, even though Madame insisted that “mon” was better because “those fucking men think everything belongs to them anyway.” Crispin’s the manager now, and Miss Bethel runs the bar. The other girls all went back to work with her. I bet Bea’s still sneaking Signor into her bedroom after closing.

It ain’t all roses. Remember my old friend Bill? He runs Bantle’s cribhouse now, and Merry’s still in business busting girls out, more’s the pity. But we got some legislation planned about that.

We gave Connie a New Orleans funeral, at Beatrice’s insistence. Since Connie always kept her opinions on God to herself, we had to take our best guess.

The food wasn’t as good as she would have managed.

Marshal Reeves and Tomoatooah had to sneak out of town to get his prisoner away from Sergeant Waterson, since our local constables wanted Horaz Standish, too. The Marshal and his posseman took Horaz back to Oklahoma in shackles, by way of the train. I read in the paper that he charmed Judge Parker so that Parker apologized when he sentenced Standish to swing.

Either way, Standish didn’t live long enough to be extradited back to the Washington Territory. But the Marshal did ship Sergeant Waterson his remains, in a nice pine box.

* * *

Me and Priya paid for Miss Lizzie’s inventor’s license in return for her taking Priya on as a formal apprentice.

That’s going well. So long as they don’t blow themselves up.

I send the Marshal a letter once in a while. His Jennie reads ’em to him, and she writes me back. She says she’ll ask Tomoatooah about a filly for me, when he gets around to getting Scout in foal. I just about think he might sell me one. Maybe I’ll even take the train down there to get her when she’s old enough to travel, and meet all the little Reeveses, too.

The house me and Priya bought together with our share of the reward has a nice bit of land attached, and Molly’s going to need a stablemate once we’re done teaching Priya to ride.

Mr. Colony took my manuscript to Chicago, and now you hold my book in your hand.

* * *

Madame ran for mayor.

Unopposed.