"Ah, I thought, that good old, working-class, Deep South accent. Where "might" sounds like "matt", and "alright" sounds like "awlratt." Now, don't say...okay," I said gently, "If you don't mean okay."She gave me the dry version of her smile again. "I usually say what I mean." She looked down. "I do now, anyway. Not that I say it so well. Yew'd prob'ly get bored with me directly."Smiling, I shook my head no.She said, "Y'know, I'm still a little surprised, seein' you 'round here." Until a few. We rode away with some sadness for John Archer, but Mary was happier than she would normally have been because she had found a caring family already. It was obvious that we were glad to have her and her kids to join us, and Mary was basking in our love and concern. She was after the kids to call me Pa, but that might take a while.That night, Mary joined me in one wagon, while my three wives cared for the kids in the other wagon. From the way she acted the next morning, I dare say that Mary. More

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