CHAPTER 1
The early summer homecoming of Gina Lott, recently turned thirty-six and ostensively an international swimwear model based in Paris, was inauspicious.
It was raining.
It also was hugely disappointing for the homecoming woman. There was no crowd of doting extended family to greet her at Graytown Railway Station, only two elderly uncles who said her mother was having her hair done and her father was playing in a 24-hour poker marathon. News of her parent's indifference left Gina feeling shafted. She was limping and waiting for muscles to fully recover after she'd fractured her right thigh in a skiing accident when she ran into a solitary tree (she was drunk). She was also recovering from a virulent STD of which she had been recently pronounced 'cleared', that not having quite the same ring of confidence as 'cured'.
Always a quick and decisive thinker Gina handed the nearest attendant three twenty dollar notes as three attendants were involved in unloading her seven bags and a roll of five paintings and called, "Please reload my bags. I have decided to extend my journey."
"Yes ma'am," said the attendant, pocketing the $60 and shouting to his colleagues to return everything on the trolley to the carriage luggage bay.
"Uncle Harry, Uncle Christian. Thank you enormously for coming to see me during my brief stopover. Give me love to your families and keep well."
Astounded by the unexpected, the two men just waved at the back of the departing niece who turned before re-boarding to return their waves.
"I'll be back to show you my baby," Gina called.
Harry said, "I knew she had some sort of internal problem but didn't know she was pregnant."
Christian, always good for a joke, replied, "I understood she never had a dick in her long enough to get pregnant."
The train drew away, taking Gina with it and the brothers returned to their homes with a tale to tell about their niece's 'whistle stop'. They and all other relatives would remain unaware of the sensational story about Gina: An international swimwear model based in Paris she'd never been; Gina has worked for most of the past decade as a high-class whore based in Rome. Only here parents had found out about that and resolutely kept their mouths closed. Now a wealthy woman Gina had come home to have a baby, yet to be conceived.
For sentimental reasons Gina chose to proceed west for six hours to Palin City, named after Sergeant Boniface Palin who galloped for five miles until his horse dropped dead and then ran the last three miles to warn the Army outpost on the present day site of Palin that the Indians were coming. No Indian force arrived and the incident was reported as Palin's Hallucination. Some wag irreverently chose that name for the new settlement and before too long right-thinking settlers shortened the name to Palin.
When Gina was a girl she stayed in Palin with her maternal grandmother and grandpa, spending some of the happiest days of her life there because her grandmother ran the stables-cum motor repair center and her husband was the town's leading blacksmith/silversmith.
After successive summers at Palin, Gina at fourteen could ride a horse better than most boys her age and by 16 she could hammer out and inscribe handsome copper sports trophy plates as well. Her grandparents were long gone but she still owned their residence, now operating as a guesthouse. On the train she called to book a room for two months and ended up securing the entire loft of the original home, centerpiece of the development and available in two days' time.
Gina stood on a platform at Palin station with her luggage waiting. The crowd dispersed and finally an enterprising cabbie approached her and she engaged him.
"What is your name?" she said the cabbie.
"Saltham Brown miss," said the Afro-American, opening the door for her.
"Well, it's your lucky day Saltham. I'm at the Pioneer Hotel that is only one hundred yards from here but I needed my luggage transported and because you were so courteous I'm giving you fifty dollars."
"Ten dollars is ample miss."
"Shut up Saltham. You're getting fifty."
He grinned and Gina had her first new friend in town.
After dinner Gina walked down to the river and gasped when the Blacksmith's Retreat came into view. It was painted all white with a green roof and shutters had been added painted the same green. Double carved doors, open, also painted green were other new fixtures. She thought wouldn't granny have been pleased. The two new wings looked great. As she walked by she read on the sign, Adam & Fleur Castle, co-operators. How lovely she thought, a guy prepared to be in partnership with his wife – or were they brother and sister?
The next day Gina called some of her few friends left in the city, far fewer were left than she'd expected and reunions were arranged. At 2:00 she received a call from Palin Post Reporter Robyn someone was wanted to interview her at the hotel and to bring a photographer.
"Why me?"
"News is short," Robyn Hudson responded honestly, "and your family ties extend back to the first two years following the proclamation of Palin's Hallucination as a frontier town."
"Be sensitive if you write anything about me and make no mention about Hallucination. The poor sergeant thought he was discharging his duty heroically."
"Yes Miss Lott."
"Call me Gina dear, it doesn't worry me if you're just out of college. I'm no celebrity. Come at 3:30 for refreshments. Are you and the photographer old enough to be served wine?"
"Yes Gina. I'm forty-two and editor of the Post and the chief photographer Richard is my bedfellow."
"Oooh, how modern and Richard Bedfellow would be a great name in a novel. Don't be late. The mayor is putting on cocktails at 4:15 and inviting councilors and civic dignitaries. Are you a civic dignitary Robyn?"
"Unfortunately no. The mayor threw me out of a council meeting and I'm having to go through six months what he calls rehabilitation before I'll be permitted to enter City Hall again."
"Did you re-enter City Hall and report in your newspaper each time you were ejected?"
"Good heavens no. He'd have me arrested and my reporters banned from reporting council affairs."
"Oh, what a great story. It probably would go nationwide. What color is your hair Robyn?"
"Excuse me?"
"I asked what color is you hair?"
"Auburn."
"Oh fantastic. I can see the story on network TV: 'Fiery Redhead Editor Takes on City Hall'. However the downside is if there is a civic revolt, Tubby could be thrown out of office."
"H-how do you know Mayor Johnson's nickname? No-one dares use it."