Love was in the air the day Lady Becky, a struggling widow, drove her buggy to Centerville to buy some new fabric for a dress, and more ingredients for her locally famous sour dough bread. Her golden touch with a rolling pin earned her several blue ribbons at the Appanoose County Fair, but one could not say the same about her prowess with a horse and buggy.

Constable Howington, well aware of both her strengths and weaknesses, kept an eye out for her weekly arrival, just in case she needed a hand with carrying her groceries, or holding the horse steady while she climbed in and out of the buggy. Many of the townsfolk accused him of being sweet on her. Constable Howington boldly proclaimed, “Lady Becky is without a doubt destined to bake my pies.”

When he saw her turn onto the street near the mercantile, the old bay mare fighting the harness, dodging right to left, the buggy fishtailing, the constable braced himself for impact. A normally routine pull of the reins turned into a panicking gallop with Lady Becky screaming in horror and the constable running after her.

“I’ll save you Lady Becky!” He yelled.

“A little late for that, tin star!”

Luckily for both of them, the town livery was just ahead, and a fresh stack of hay had just been delivered. The old mare decided a meal was better than lathering up, but the abrupt stop sent lady Becky flying over the mare into the haystack.

The constable rushed to her aid. “My Lord, are you all right?”

Lady Becky rose up on her elbows, spitting hay and glaring at the mare. “I outta make soap outta you!”

But her anger was short-lived, as she looked up at the constable, acknowledging his extended hand and affectionate smile. “Allow me, Lady Becky.”

* * * * *

Baron Anderson was not pleased when B. Harrington, the railroad tycoon, walked into the Numa Tavern. Though their meetings were often cordial and gentlemanly, the mood changed when an attractive woman was near. A wagon train with several Swedish immigrants had camped outside of town, and Baron Anderson could not help but notice Lady Cathrine sitting at the bar. Though she had already vehemently refused his many advances and offers to buy her a drink, Anderson’s greatest fear was that Harrington would succeed.

Baron Anderson, already on bad terms with the bartender, turned his angst toward Harrington, trying to distract him from Lady Cathrine. But Harrington was already ahead of the game, and unlike Anderson, sober.

Anderson, not liking being ignored, grabbed Harrington’s shoulder and pulled him around. “I have a beef with you!”

“Yeah, everything is beef with you, Mr. Cattle Baron. If you don’t mind, I want to introduce myself to this lovely lady here.”

“I do mind,” Anderson said before a hiccup. “We have business to discuss.”

The arguing and finger pointing commenced and heads in the tavern turned hoping to see a round of fisticuffs.

Lady Cathrine rolled her eyes and shook her head and turned back toward the bartender. “Is there anywhere someone can have a peaceful drink around here?”

The bartender grabbed her half empty beer mug.

“What are you doing?” She said. “You think I finish?”

“No, no, madam.” The bartender said. “I know you’re Swedish.”

In the next episode of CENTERVILLE 1884, B. Harrington faces legal trouble that only B. Bushell Esquire can fix, and Baron Anderson once again runs into trouble with the Baptist Women’s League and Maddam Lorrie.