Micah imagines himself as a tiny speck in the vast American West.

Down in the dust, he lugs a leather case and a wooden box containing his entire life. It’s dark out, but just barely. The sun’s rising. He needs to get to the edge of town before that happens.

Even this meager collection of possessions weighs him down. Every time he moves he leaves something behind; sometimes it’s a person and other times it’s something like the locket his mother gave him when he was just a girl. Now he’s down to a rag doll, his clothes, a Bible, and his shaving kit.

In Genesis, Idaho, there was very little to do besides work, watch your neighbors, and spread rumors about them. They had no newspaper of their own, but the one that came in from two towns over ran an obituary on a respectable man, whose shoes always had a shine on them and who married a beautiful woman and generously looked after two children rumored not to be his own. When he died, they found breasts on his body and learned that the children were probably his.

Micah didn’t like to speak ill of the dead, but he was finding himself quite angry at his fallen compatriot. His own transformation from girl to man had involved some inspiration from a pulp story; he knew already that it was possible to disguise your sex and change your wardrobe. Now everyone else will know, too. The man’s death was proving to be very inconvenient for him.

The suspicion is worse than outright hostility; it’s the suspense it leaves him in, the fear that polite faces are hiding sinister plans. He can’t prepare for the unknown.

 

~*~

 

The air cuts right through his coat and shirt, but despite the temperature, he’s staining his clothes with sweat and it’s darkening his hair; he needs a haircut but doesn’t usually do his own and he didn’t want anyone to get too close to him, not after that article and the ensuing obsession with cross-dressing that swept through the town.

Micah’s soft voice and his lack of a beard were explained away by his overall gentleness, for a while, but this aberration, so close to home, had people asking questions. Women used to come by the shop where he worked, bringing dime store candy and gossip, but they stopped doing that soon after the article.

People see what they want to see. A suit or at least a pair of decent trousers, thick, sturdy leather shoes, a looser gait, and he became a man. No alchemy or feats of science needed.

Micah is never going to live in a small town again. It’s death, and dust, and claustrophobia, penned in under a mocking, wide open sky. No, somewhere anonymous, with lots of people coming and going, that’s the way forward. Somewhere with a shiny new railway and a lot of men in need of a trim and a shave.

 

~*~

 

By the time he arrives at the train station, the sun is up. No one is there yet, though, so he sits down on a bench, bag tucked under him, and dozes off.

By the time he wakes to a general clamber, the clerk tells him it’s too late to get a train headed straight to California. There’s limited service on Sundays. He would have to stay somewhere overnight.

Micah says that’s no good, so she tells him he could make it to Nevada before nightfall. He nods.

“Where’s a good town for a barber like me?” he asks, hoping she’ll have some kind of answer for him. He has no idea where to go from here, not this time. His stay in Genesis was shorter than expected.

“I figure there’s Reno,” she muses. “People pass through a lot, but not many stay. There could be work for you there.”

Micah’s never heard of Reno, but his options are to listen to her, or pick a town entirely blind. He chooses trust, and hopes it doesn’t come back to bite him later.

“I want the next train there,” he says.

~*~

 

This is only his second time riding a train. It’s a thrill, traveling so smoothly. He has hitched rides with wagon caravans before, and this beats it in every possible way. Here, he can relax and not worry about any strange detours. The train sticks to the railway, and they all get to their destinations on time.

Once or twice while traveling, he’s been mistaken for a prostitute; other times for a plucky girl dressed up to get away from a bad husband or else poverty. After years living as a man, he knows to feign total ignorance and lean into the bass of his voice so that they’ll move on. Each incident leaves him scrutinizing his own walk, and his clothing, and the confidence in his posture.

When the ticket taker calls out the destination, dozens of people around him rise to their feet. Micah does the same, swaying gently with the train’s movements. Men and women rush to the front of the train car, all trying to push their way to the front and be the first off the train.

Everyone in the crowd is pressed up against each other, sharp suitcase edges digging into ribs and dirty shoes scuffing polished ones.

Micah collapses back into his seat to let them fight their way out. The town isn’t going anywhere, and anyway, he has nowhere to be. He exits with the final trickle of passengers, climbing ungracefully down the steps and weighed down by his luggage. From here, he can already see the main street, crammed with buildings.

The sun is still high enough in the sky; he walks slowly down the street, looking at the cigar shop and the cobbler and the tailor. There’s even a Chinese restaurant at the far end of the street, with laborers sitting on tables out front playing cards. Micah has noticed that railroad towns tend to have Chinese restaurants, but he has never tried one before.

They have the cheapest prices he’s seen so far, and enough customers filling tables to entice him, so it’s there he eats. Ordering is awkward, but after some gesturing and pointing at other patron’s meals, someone delivers a bowl of salted fish with rice to his table. It’s the first hot meal he’s had in a few days, so he takes his time enjoying it, despite the unfamiliarity.

 

~*~

 

There is already a barber shop in town, but it’s small. That could be a good thing; maybe they aren’t doing so well. He might stand a chance against them. Every town needs a good barber. This one has more than one drinking establishment, which means it’s big.

He chooses a saloon, and starts out slow with an ale.

“So, stranger,” asks the woman behind the bar, “What do you want here? What are you looking for?”

That kind of intrusive question put him on edge, and it must show.

“I ask everyone,” she adds. “Lots of different answers. Good fodder for my poems.”

“I’ve never had a barber shop of my own. That’d be nice,” he admits.

She laughs and says, “If you start working for our old barber you won’t make enough to buy any lumber to build that shop. Check out the silver mines instead, maybe.”

Micah has absolutely no intention of doing that. He laughs a little in response.

“My name is Micah,” he says. “Are you sure you can’t put in a good word with that barber for me?”

“I’m Angie,” she says. “Show me your barber kit, then. I want to know that you’re serious about this. We get a lot of people coming through, telling lies and making up their life stories.”

Micah doesn’t doubt this. He opens the box carefully, holds out a silvery razor for Angie to admire.

“Like I said, we have a barber,” she explains. “He could probably use help, though. The boy he’s got working for him now goes on these days-long benders and during them, you can’t find him anywhere.”

“I’m good with a razor,” he says. “Just look at my face. You’d never believe that if I skip a day, it grows in as a full beard.” It’s his own private joke at his own expense.

Angie smiles at him. “Certainly keeps you looking youthful. Nice to see a man who doesn’t hide his face behind anything.”

“My missus back home likes it clean-shaven,” he says gruffly. “Never lost the habit.”

She nods at him, tact preventing her from asking about a long-lost or faraway love. It buys him a little time to nurse his drink in silence. He figures it’s her job to feel him out, and make sure he’s not a maniac.

Finally, he asks, “Do you know where I could get a room around here?”

“Sure. Right here, above the saloon. We rent rooms by the day or by the week.”

“I had no idea,” Micah said. “And there’s room for me?”

“If not tonight, then by tomorrow night.”

“What do I do if there’s none tonight?”

She shrugs. “Take a nap at the train station. I’ll save a room for you tomorrow night, for sure.”

 

~*~

 

The shaving ritual has a certain intimacy that Micah relishes.

Lathering soap onto skin, sharpening his razor over the leather strop, the smooth, rhythmic act of stroking the instrument over rough skin.

He thinks about it hard, visualizing lots of customers for himself, and generous tips.

The main hotel in town is still under construction and, though neither of them says it, he and Angie both seem to know it would be out of his price range even if it was built already. There isn’t a bed for him tonight, and it’s not the kind of friendly town where you can exchange services for a night’s hospitality in a family’s home. He doesn’t know exactly where the families live, in Reno, anyway.

He tries to get comfortable on a wooden bench by the train station and listens to the coyotes in the distance.

As he spends another night sleeping rough, he resolves to meet Henry, get hired, and turn his shop around.

 

~*~

 

“Sir,” his client nods. He’s wiping the dust off his boots on the mat by the door. Micah is unusually fastidious about keeping his shop clean—the shop, he corrects himself. Henry still owns it, even if he’s usually napping in the corner.

“I heard you give the closest shave in this town.” This stranger keeps clean-shaven, a rarity in this windswept town with few women to impress. Most men come in for a trim, or to clear off several days of stubble for a special night. His face, though, is relatively smooth, with just some sandy stubble peeking through.

Micah nods. “You heard right.”

He appraises the man before him, who’s in some ill-fitting clothes like they belonged to a distant relation before they ever reached him.

He gets a good look at the symmetrical features. There’s a trace of powder behind his ear, which is odd. Maybe he has a playful wife. A small scar mars the skin above his lip, a tiny divot in his flesh.

“Do you know who I am?”

Micah stifles a laugh. “Should I?”

“Just wondering.” He leans back in his chair. “Was wondering if you’d seen the posters.”

“I’m new in town,” he says. Internally, he’s conjuring up all the faces he can remember seeing on wanted posters over the past six months. None of them look this delicate, but what does he know?

“I’m Daniel,” the man says. “I’m new here, too, in a way. My troupe is passing through; we’ll spend a month or two here before going west again. You may have also spotted me at the bar.” He turns his head away just so, with the impression of carelessness, but he ends up giving Micah a very flattering view of his profile.

Micah lathers up the shaving cream in a bowl as he asks, “What do you do?”

“I’m a female impersonator,” Daniel says. He tilts his head, smiles, and says, “So there’s a lot riding on this. You better do a good job.”

Micah falters a little as he reaches for his brush.

“Oh,” he says. “I always do.”

He spreads the lather over Daniel’s face. Micah suspects this is the most relaxing part of the entire shaving experience, with the soft brush and lather.

He shaves Daniel in silence for a few moments. One stroke. Two. Then he asks, “What’s it like?”

Daniel laughs. “Men always want to know! It’s the best way to make a name for yourself apart from starting a railroad company or a war.”

Micah smells sour wine on his breath. It lets him know he’s leaning in too close, and so he takes a step back.

“So you really didn’t see the posters? Damn. I brought them with me all the way from Kansas City. They got tired of me there, and I heard there was lots happening down here, so here I am.”

Micah tries to superimpose femininity over his view of Daniel’s face, already round and boyish.

It doesn’t take much to see how he could play a convincing woman. Especially not with his face half-shaved.

Micah shaves five other men that day, but it’s Daniel’s face that he remembers best.

~*~

 

Later that night, Micah’s in the bar deciding what to have for dinner when a woman behind the bar waves him down excitedly. It isn’t Angie; by this point, he can recognize her easily.

Micah greets her tentatively. She looks familiar, even though he’s only been in town for about a week and most of the people he has met are men.

“Come admire your handiwork,” she says, larger than life with the paint on her cheeks and mouth. Even her lashes look longer than anyone else’s. She strikes a pose, and it’s then Micah notices the tacked-up poster behind her in the same exact pose.

He finally recognizes her as Daniel, dressed up for work. It’s the same face he spent half an hour staring at in the afternoon.

The posters definitely look like they’ve traveled several states, tattered around the edges as they are. They included some sketches of Sally in frothy dresses, with a glorious wig atop her head.

“How long have you been here?”

“Not long enough, thank god. We get new faces in the crowds all the time, and they all want to see Sweet Sally dance and sing. You did a good job on me. Baby smooth. Thank you.” She blows him a kiss, and he actually feels his face flush.

“I’m not really supposed to do this,” she says as she takes a sip from her ale.

“What, drink in a place like this?” Micah asks. He leans across to clink their glasses together, foam sloshing over the rims.

“Go out like this,” she laughs. “This girl from my troupe, she was always getting picked up by the police.”

“What for?”

“Crossdressing,” she says flatly. “The laws are different in every town, of course. We’ve left a trail of new anti-crossdressing laws behind in our wake, winding all through the West.” She rolls her eyes but offers a halfhearted smile.

Micah does notice a fair amount of attention directed at their corner of the saloon. Hopefully good attention. It makes him feel self-conscious, though. A female impersonator talking to a male impersonator—it would make a great article.

It makes him want to walk out the door and hop on the next train to San Francisco. He can’t get caught again, not so soon. The savings hidden in the lining of his coat haven’t fully recovered from his travel expenses.

Sally hasn’t caught on to his sudden tension, so she continues talking.

“I knew a girl,” she says. “Well, an impersonator. You know, I mostly knew her as a girl. She wore her stage clothes as often as she could. During the day and everything.”

Micah isn’t sure how to respond other than to raise his eyebrows and adopt a suitable shocked expression.

“That’s the face everyone made when they saw her, yes. Anyway, every so often someone would take offense, and get the sheriff, and we would have to go and bail her out.”

“So this took money,” Micah says.

“Yes, it did. She always went back to doing what she wanted to do. Some of the troupe members wanted to kick her out, because of the inconvenience, but she ended up leaving on her own. She stayed in a little town beside a river, with no sheriff to speak of.” She smiled.

“Well, good for her. And for you,” he adds. “That sounds like a mess.”

“We really liked her.” Sally’s face closed off a little.

“What should I call you, anyway? In my head, I’ve just been saying ‘Sally.’”

“Sally’s fine when I’m like this. Might be even stranger if they heard you calling me a man’s name. Otherwise, I’m just always Daniel.”

“Let me get us another round of drinks, then, Daniel.”

Daniel, as Sally, puts his hand over his heart and gasps. “You’ve just made a friend, Micah.”

Micah grins at the first real friend he’s made in Reno.

 

~*~

 

Daniel does travel with a group of performers, including two other female impersonators. After their performances, the girls always want to spend a little cash.

They go to the saloon, and nobody can stop them, riding high on their performances as they are. It’s okay to do it if it’s right after, Daniel explains. Nobody really expects them to go home and change.

All the performers, especially Gregory, take advantage as much as they can, making the most of their makeup and finery. None of them take much pride in their masculine clothing; the poverty Micah had assumed when he first met them is more of a lack of interest in staid brown men’s suits and wide-brimmed hats. No, the real investment is in their satiny dresses and long wigs.

 It’s late, so deep into the evening it might be the next day already, when Micah is laughing in the streets with the ladies. They have fresh gossip to share, letters from around the country and other impersonators they’ve met.

Not too many people live by Commercial Row, but they’re loud enough to raise ire and a few jeers, people claiming they’re going to call the sheriff. As if the sheriff would be pleased about waking up in the middle of the night to tell a rowdy performance troupe to go to bed. They all have a good laugh about that one, nice and spitefully loud.

When a stranger finally sticks his head out the window and says, “I’ll come down there, I will, and knock your fucking heads in,” they do quiet down a little.

Gregory returns to his room, and so does Peter, and the two assistants that don’t perform but always travel with them.

Micah and Daniel, though, decide to wander away from the main street. They find a large enough bolder for Daniel to lounge on without dirtying his skirts, and they watch the sky above. On a clear night like this, it’s possible to see the band of stars called the Milky Way.

“You’ve noticed the scar on my lip, by now,” Daniel says, and it’s hardly a question.

Micah nods anyway, head resting against Daniel’s shoulder. There isn’t a lot of room on the boulder, so they’re huddled together.

“Like any child, I watched my father shave in the morning. He wasn’t flush enough to visit the barber often,” he says.

“When I was about ten, I noticed some new little hairs on my upper lip. I really didn’t like them, and I wanted them gone. I tried using my father’s razor, but I didn’t know how. Obviously. I’m lucky this is all that happened, honestly. Scared my mom to death, there was so much blood. Facial wounds bleed and bleed.”

Micah is seeing not just Daniel, but Sally in her dress, the overly casual voice, the way his hands are fisted in his flouncy skirts.

“So this isn’t a passing fancy for you,” Micah says. He wants to say, me neither. It’s a connection he can’t let Daniel know they share.

“No,” Daniel says. “That’s why my male clothes look so terrible all the time. I just have less interest in those styles.”

“Do you ever want to join that girl, live in that small riverside town?”

“No,” Daniel says. “I don’t mind being a man when it means I can travel where I want, do what I want. Plus, there’s the matter of my parents back east.”

“What about them?”

Daniel shrugs. “They wire me money sometimes.” He really must be drunk, Micah thinks.

“You rich boy.”

“Damn right.”

Daniel seems ready to pass out right there, in his dress, under the stars, so Micah shakes him and says, “Let’s go home so you can put on something more sensible.”

 

~*~

 

Gregory is sitting in the barber chair in front of Micah. Tonight, he’s starring as Lizzie in the troupe’s show. He’s newer, so he doesn’t always get the spotlight.

“If you give me a haircut, too, I’ll talk about your barber shop during my act again,” Gregory says, and winks. “Need to keep it nice and short for my wigs, you know.”

Micah does know; he has helped Daniel put his on more than once.

Gregory lays it on thick, but the audience is normally half-drunk and exhilarated by the songs and skits, so by the time he gets around to saying, “My husband just looooves Micah Hall; he goes to his barber shop to get his hair trimmed and his little moustache sorted out,” they’re eating out of the palm of his hand. One of the troupe’s assistants, Sam, plays the husband, a confused and bumbling character. Micah’s not sure he wants the endorsement, honestly.

Micah has been to a few of the shows, but he hasn’t seen all the tricks they have up their sleeves. Sam beckons him frantically up to the stage one night, and Micah foolishly rushes up to help.

Instead of showing him to a technical issue or asking to use some of his hair pomade for stage purposes, like Micah had been expecting, Sam stuffs a bouquet into his hands and shoves him out from behind the curtain.

He hadn’t been paying attention, but it clicks just then that Sally is singing a love song in front of a stage set of a meadow. When she sees him, she gasps, and accepts the flowers, kissing his cheek and leaving behind a red stain. She embraces him, dwarfing him with several inches of height advantage plus the slightly heeled shoes she wears.

Micah, who wasn’t expecting this at all, blushes furiously, to the delight of everyone close enough to see his face turn crimson. The rest of the crowd loves it, too, from the hooting and hollering in the room. He stays on stage as long as necessary, then flees.

There’s something humiliating about having people stare at him in a vaudeville show, watching his friend kiss him as a joke. It takes him back to schoolyard antics and the way people would laugh when he didn’t want to play house or bake mud pies.

 

~*~

 

Daniel knows where he lives, so it’s not a surprise when he shows up later. Micah lets him in and notices he’s in male clothing. His face isn’t quite scrubbed clean, though, and it’s still overly pale, overly red at the lips.

“Let me get that for you,” he says, and uses his handkerchief to wipe away the red stain still on Micah’s cheek. “Oil is best for removing things like that.”

“Well, I’m not going to make a habit of painting my face,” Micah snaps.

Daniel sighs. “Are you sure? They loved it. We could figure out a wage for you, make it worth your while.”

“I don’t like surprises like that.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, due to my professionalism and all, but that wasn’t my idea. I really was excited to see you up there,” Daniel says.

Micah can’t help himself. “So excited you had to kiss me?”

“That’s what a girl does when she sees her long-lost lover,” Daniel says in his best Sally voice. He drops it to say, “I won’t do it again if it upsets you. It was just part of the show.”

“That’s not what upset me,” Micah says. “I just don’t like people looking at me.”

“Hmmm,” Daniel says. “What if we get you a costume?”

“I’m not dressing up like you,” Micah says. “I won’t do that.”

“Of course not, you’re far too stompy for that. What if we dress you up like a hobo, or give you some kind of crazy outfit? So you’re not just Micah Hall, falling in love with Sally. I think it would be fun to have you onstage sometimes.”

“A costume could work,” Micah says slowly. Mostly, it’s the prospect of getting to spend more time with Daniel. The kiss was almost pleasant, except for the stickiness of the lip stain.

“We could paint your face like an old, old man. That could be funny. You have such a youthful stride.”

Micah shrugs. “Work on it with your troupe. I’m no expert on this stuff.”

Daniel grins. “So you agree to do it?”

“Not every night.”

Daniel nods seriously. “We don’t want to scare you away.” He pulls Micah into a hug, though, something awfully close to the onstage embrace.

 

~*~

 

Daniel’s rented room is in a building built expressly for the purpose: to hold the men coming and going through the newly bustling town. It’s larger and nicer than Micah’s and it comes with a free breakfast on weekdays.

After making an appearance at the bar, Daniel begs off any more drinks, and says he’s going home to rest. Micah decides to follow him there, ostensibly to pick up a shaving soap he left behind.

“Well, if you’re here, help me out of this monstrosity,” Daniel says. He really does sound tired.

“Turn around.” Micah gets to work unlacing his dress, in a manner that he realizes is far too efficient. He tries to fumble it once he’s halfway through, but Daniel snaps his fingers and says, “Come on, you know better than that,” so he goes back to doing it with the full force of his familiarity.

He realizes that Daniel will probably just assume him to be a former womanizer, or something like that. No one ever makes the right assumptions.

The dress is halfway off, and Daniel’s just in his underclothes now. Micah puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I want to tell you something.” Daniel freezes under his touch.

Micah says, “I’m kind of like you, okay? Or maybe it’s that I’m less like you than you think.” Every word out of his mouth sounds terrible. He’s never done this before.

Daniel doesn’t say anything.

“You’re not allowed to get mad at me,” he says, aiming for mock stern but a tiny waver in his voice completely ruins the effect. It works to his favor, though, because Daniel relaxes slightly and goes to sit on the bed.

“Okay, then.” Daniel says. “How are you like me? Don’t tell me you’re hailing here from a rich family out East, too.”

“No.”

“Are you here to bust me, then? You’ve had plenty of time for it before, but go ahead, Sheriff,” Daniel says, holding his wrists out.

“Surely you can tell,” Micah says, with his too-soft voice, touching his small hand to his face, staring down at Daniel reclining on the bed. “I’m an impersonator, too.”

“Well, that’s the great thing about the West,” Daniel says. “We all are.” He uses an extravagant sweeping hand gesture, one normally reserved for his stage shows.

“I’m impersonating a man.”

“Did you kill him? Steal his money?” Daniel’s teasing is too much to deal with right now.

“Damn you.” Micah shifts away across the bed. “Gonna make me say it, huh? I’m a cross-dresser, okay. One of those famous male impersonators.”

Daniel falls silent at that, finally.

“I had my suspicions. I mean, you have all of us here so envious of the closeness of your shave,” he says gently.

Micah shrugs. “It’s great advertising.”

They sit silently on the bed for a while.

Daniel speaks up to say, “You’re more of a man than anyone else I know.”

“That’s because you’ve traveled around the country with a troupe like that.”

“Half of the ones I meet have wives; you know. And children.”

Micah scowls. “That has nothing to do with me.”

“I know, I know. I do like you, Micah.”

“Enough to tolerate deception?”

“I’ve never minded performance.”

Micah laughs despite himself. “Mine is one hell of an elaborate performance.”

“Yet another reason you should join up with the rest of us. We need someone to play all the men in skits and so on. No one else wants to,” he says.

He hasn’t really touched any men outside of a barber shop in several years, not since he became a man himself. It has always been too much trouble to ever justify. It’s very different looking over at Daniel, the two lying side-by-side on the narrow bed. There’s something between them that he was always afraid of.

It’s not as scary now, with nothing between them. He looks at Daniel, with his dirty blonde hair and dark eyes, and decides he likes what he sees on his face.

“Come here,” he says, and Daniel does, with more enthusiasm than he would have thought possible.

~*~

 

One of Daniel’s friends has arranged to visit them. The troupe has been there long enough for her to actually make plans and follow through. Instead of looking forward to her arrival, though, his temper is short and he seems nervous and he bums some tobacco off of Angie.

Micah is having a whiskey when Daniel says, “We have to go meet Mary at the train station soon. Before sunset.” The room is already cast in a late-afternoon gold.

“Okay,” Micah says, draining his glass. “Let’s go.”

Daniel grabs his arm, which is enough to get Micah’s full attention. “I bet she’s coming here all dressed up. I don’t want her to have a negative reception.”

“You never have,” Micah reminds him.

Daniel sighs. “I don’t walk around like that all day long. It’s different, and folks know that. Especially around here. They’ve all seen enough to know the difference from a performance and… something else.”

“Okay.”

“If we go with her, though, that will help.” Daniel pauses. “Mary’s the one I told you about.”

“Who?”

“She left us to live by the river, by herself,” he says. Micah does remember her, now, and feels a kinship to her.

Mary attracts no small amount of attention. People stare, and it’s more intense than the usual staring women get in a town like this. But when Micah and Daniel come forward and stick by her side, being as loud and friendly as they can muster, some of the tension falls away.

They take Mary to Angie’s saloon, where Micah is still living, and buy her drinks for her. They all start out with beer but move on to the famous whiskey Angie orders from a few towns over. Daniel wants to know how Mary has been, and how it is living by herself, in the middle of nowhere.

“Well, I’m always the best dressed,” she says. “Although I have made myself some cotton dresses, and such, so I don’t ruin my good ones. This isn’t a wig, by the way,” she says excitedly. “I forgot to tell you, Danny! This is my very own hair.”

“Incredible. Can I touch it?” Daniel asks. She nods. It’s up in a bun, but it’s shiny and chestnut colored.

“It’s very nice,” Micah says.

“Listen, Daniel.” Mary glances at Micah but continues. “I may as well say it: I’m here to ask for a favor.”

Daniel nods. “If I can help you at all, I will.”

“It’s going to sound silly. I want to get a distillery running,” she says. “It’s hard setting it up by myself. And the town is so small, it’s even harder finding men willing or able to help. So I’m asking you if you could stay with me for a while and get it started. I’d pay you, of course. And you can have stock in the company, if you want it.”

“That’s a ton of work,” Micah blurts.

Mary says, “I’m not afraid of work. I learned the process from my father growing up, if you can believe it. I was supposed to help him manage the company.” She laughed. “No one in town has any idea about how to distill liquor except me. So the gristmill has to be friendly to me, whether they like it or not.”

“How the hell am I supposed to help?” Daniel asks, running his hands through his hair.

Mary says, “I need you to help me build the pot still. I know how to do it, before you ask. It’s hard with only a few sets of hands. And you’re tall.”

“Are you sure this is gonna work out?”

“It’s my best option,” Mary says. “Everyone drinks whiskey. If I can meet that need, I have them by the balls, and they have to leave me alone. I’m good at it, too.”

“That, I can believe,” Daniel says. “I still dream of that mead you surprised me with after six months straight on the road.”

“I kept it in the bottom of my dress trunk while it brewed,” she says fondly. “I put rosemary and sage in it, then strained it through two layers of cheesecloth. Come on, Daniel.”

Daniel hesitates. “I’d need to tell the troupe,” he says. “I need to think about it.” Micah suspects he’s already made his decision. They spend the rest of the night talking about the war with the Paiute in Reno, and the flooding near Mary’s property, and the benefits of railway travel. Micah almost feels like Mary is his friend, too.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, they all eat breakfast together. Micah hasn’t spent many mornings with Daniel, so he takes in the awkward cowlick in his hair and tiredness of his eyes with fondness. Breakfast is savory porridge with an egg on top at the Chinese restaurant, Daniel’s treat. They have more privacy there than any other restaurant options, and Micah has developed a taste for their food, anyway.

“I need to finish this part of the tour with my troupe,” Daniel says.

Mary nods, on the edge of her seat. Her face is hopeful.

“After I’m done in Reno, though, I don’t see why I can’t help you. It might be good to stay in one place for a while. Not living out of a crowded hotel.”

Mary sags with relief, and says, “It’s so different, Daniel, you’ll see. I have a decent chunk of land. I can’t believe you’ve never visited.” She turns to look at Micah. “You could visit, too, of course. I know Daniel will miss you.”

Micah is honestly touched. He can’t hold back a smile.

“I already have a name for the brand,” she says. “Mary’s Contrary Liquor. Hmm?”

They both have to admit it’s clever. Half the brands Micah sees take the easy way out, naming their booze after themselves.

“No one will forget it,” Micah says. “You have that going for you.”

“The rest of the troupe already knows your address, so they can get in touch with me if the tour schedule changes,” Daniel says, scribbling something down in his notebook. “What the hell. I want to learn a trade. I want to pay you back for everything,” he tells Mary. “I can’t go back with you, but I can meet you there in two weeks.”

 

~*~

 

The troupe’s final show stars Sally, of course. It isn’t Daniel’s last night in Reno, but it is his last working night.

The joke, this time, is that Micah will be a little old man suitor. Instead of handing her a potted flower, he mistakenly grabs a potted cactus instead.

Sally’s reaction is supposed to be horror and irritation. Micah sweats under the stage lights with his face in an exaggerated grimace, and hands her the cactus. Instead of pricking her finger on the thorns and screaming, she accepts it gladly.

“Thank you so much,” she says, and gives Micah a lingering kiss on the mouth. The audience explodes, laughter and noises of disgust, but it’s all just sound to him. This is their goodbye to the city of Reno.

 

~*~

 

Micah takes a walk instead of seeing everybody off to the train station. He said goodbye to Daniel privately, and goodbye to the troupe publicly, and now he’s alone in his small room again.

He fidgets and looks through his few belongings for something to distract himself. He should have kept a book, any book. They’re rare in town. Instead of reading, he settles for straightening the room and folding his clothes more nicely.

Inside his leather bag he finds a bottle tucked between two linen shirts. It’s a bottle from the best distiller in this town, maybe Nevada. The label has been replaced by a piece of scratch paper reading xxo lover boy find me in Kent and a crudely drawn map with an address and two little stick figures in dresses: him and Mary.

Micah laughs at it; he already knew where they were going, and where Kent would be. The bottle makes it more real, though.

When he saves up a little more, he’ll join them in the middle of nowhere near that river. He’ll take a train part of the way and travel the rest of the path by foot.

By the time the sign for Kent comes into view, the clouds above him and the blood inside his body will both be on fire. It’ll probably be sunset, and he’ll be filthy, and he’ll have finally made it home.