Mrs. Johnson had still not regained consciousness and the other two were becoming concerned. Stan pulled the cushions, such as they were, from the sea...s and placed them on what was now the floor of the passenger compartment. He then carefully arranged Mrs. Johnson on them to be as comfortable as possible. Fortunately, the canteens which the stagecoach management provided for the comfort of the passengers were still intact, Stan was able to dampen a cloth and gently wipe Mrs. Johnson's face.. " His voice contained a forced gaiety. "It's a deal," she said, in the same spirit,"but you'll get all soiled. Take off your coat," and she helped him remove his jacket, "and let me slip this apron around you." Then she tied a ruffled taffeta apron with huge streamers around his waist tightly and opened the bow wide. He stood rigidly still, holding his breath, while she performed this studied effect on him. Then she perched herself on a high kitchen stool, exposing a generous expanse of dark. Hell, I'll bet assigned clothing in some Russian Gulag had more style than most everything she chose to "lure" me with. "Lure", now there's a funny choice of word. "Lure or even allure" never found a way into her vocabulary or her imagination, and even when I eventually told her flat out (what you already know now), that there was more than a few women who were doing their best to "LURE" me, and that I was only human, and that she better wake up if she was serious about keeping me… well, no. The argument must have been on a show. She may not have told him. My curiosity is killing me now. What is she doing? I check each window until I see her in the one behind the house. This is the kitchen. I've peeked in these windows many times growing up hoping to catch her in the middle of changing clothes. She's chopping cucumbers on a wooden panel by the sink, very slowly and carefully with a worried look on her face. I stop watching and rest my back on the wall by the window, sliding down to.
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