July 19, 1869

Amiville. 

The next morning I danced in the saloon with Chels while Gramps served drinks from behind the bar. We talked about how dancing was a good way to relax and unwind. People came in and out of the saloon and we continued to provide entertainment while Gramps continued to keep them satisfied in beverages. I met some more people in town and then Mr. Blackwell came in to sit at a table. He was walking with a cane and I asked, “Sir, what have ya done to yer leg?” 

“Last thing I do remember is takin’ some bullets and waking up at the doc’s.” 

“Oh my!” I gasped. “Are ya gonna be alright?” 

“Besides, I normally shouldn’t move around too much or Doc may kick me where the sun don’t shine,” he muttered. 

I continued to serve drinks to people as a man came into the saloon that I didn’t recognize. He started swearing about yankees and I tried to ignore him. He persisted in tormenting Blackwell though since he was wearing a Yankee uniform and he looked at me yelling, “Get that no good Yankee scum out of the saloon!” When we continued to ignore him, he walked behind Blackwell and kicked his chair yelling, “You. Out now!” 

“Sir, I ask ya to be kind to to that man.” 

“This blue piece of trash?!” he turned and looked at me. 

“He’s a person, Sir. Just like you and me.” I said, looking up to see the sheriff walking in. 

“He’s a god darn Yankee. Get him out of here.” 

“Rebel, enough,” Zakk announced. 

“People like him is what make people get shot ‘round here,” Rebel observed. 

“All are welcome here in this town, Sir,” I stated. 

“No Rebel, people like you is what makes people get shot,” Zakk shot back. 

“Yankees, especially those in blue cause the trouble!” 

“Oi, mate!” Blackwell felt the kick. “Is that how the south treats the wounded?” The question made Rebel chuckle.

“Sir, that’s enough. This man’s done nothing to ya.” 

“Good, you awoke ya damn Yankee,” Rebel glared at Zakk and started to whistle Dixie. 

“This blue/grey crap is getting old,” Zakk complained. 

“Old like you, ol’ man.” 

“The damn war is over.” 

“Indeed,” I agreed with Zakk. “Let’s move on with our lives, shall we?” 

“But it ain’t about you,” Rebel shot at me. 

“Rebel get out now,” Zakk told him. 

“You get out.” Rebel argued. 

They argued back and forth and Rebel continued to give Blackwell a hard time. Foxie came in and yelled for Rebel to get out of the saloon. The tension grew in the saloon and it wasn’t long before Blackwell took his cane and left the saloon. Foxie was clearly still upset that so many customers had run out of the saloon because of the fight that had broken out. Zakk and Rebel continued to argue and Foxie kept trying to tell Rebel to behave. After a few more minutes I stopped dancing and went home, not wanting to get in the way of any more fighting.