FEEDBACK: Yes Please! -- HistoryWillKnowTheSeven@hotmail.com (Don't forget to tell me which story you read - Thanks)
RATING: PG-13
UNIVERSE: Old West (The Original and Still the Best)
SERIES: History Will Know The Seven
PREVIOUS STORIES: #1 The South Wind; #2 Confidantes and Confidences; #3 Forsaken
SPOILERS: - There are numerous references to events in The South Wind' and 'Forsaken' in this story. I'm also assuming that you know about Buck's marriage proposal from 'Serpents'. If you're following the series, you're probably catching on by now. While the individual plots are mostly independent of one another, the stories are all related in some very interesting ways, after all that's why they call it a series.
ARCHIVE: Yes, but ask first please.
DISCLAIMER: If only wishes did come true... Reality is harsh.
John Watson and CBS own The Magnificent Seven and all of its characters. I seek, nor shall receive, profit from this narrative.
WRITER'S NOTES: — First, let me say thank you to everyone for their patience. Doing my PKP VS story took time, and RL is inescapable at this time of the year. I apologize for the wait, and thank everyone for their continued support and encouragement.
I'd like to take this opportunity to welcome Amy to this little support network that seems to be coming together around me. She's signing on as my second beta, and her energy and enthusiasm speak volumes. Welcome Amy!
In keeping with the theme of 'Thanks', I would like to thank Antoinette for her continued friendship. Doesn't matter if it's research, betaing or just chatting, she's always there to lend a helping hand and give me support. Thank You Antoinette!
Many thanks to Elizabeth, for her patience and care. All of the added little touches are most appreciated. She posts my stories so you can read them, and always goes that extra mile to make sure they stay looking like what I intended them to. Thank you Elizabeth.
A special thanks also, to my friend Beth. She's got a special project on the go for me, which will add a nice touch to the series, but in the meantime she's given me a few pointers to improve the flow of my words. You are best to judge the results for yourself, but I think her advice has been wonderful for the overall presentation of the stories. Thank You Beth!
I started this series alone, and seriously wondered if my work had any merit. Now, thanks to the generosity and support of some wonderful ladies and a whole group of adamant readers, I know History Will Know The Seven will succeed.
As for the story... It may seem like a nice little 'light' story, but this one has some interesting information in it about the mysteries unfolding in Four Corners and gives more clues at the things to come. I've done some research with the Series Canon (as established by the TV show), as well as historical and geographical information. I've taken the liberty of pinpointing the town on the globe. And as in this story, I'll include the occasional historical figures or events in the narrative to solidify the timeline. This marks the halfway point in the series. I hope everyone is enjoying this as much as I am.
Enough said... on with the show!
Donald Granger sat behind his desk and counted out the sizable collection of currency in front of him. Each bill had to be verified by each of the appointed representatives before he could receipt the money and begin the distribution of the funds, as it was required.
Mrs. Travis watched intently as each note was moved from one pile to the other. It had been at Joseph Langdon's request, that Mary be present at the reading of his will. His family lawyer had concluded that it was reasonable to assume that this same woman could serve as an impartial witness to this particular task. Once again, her presence had been requested, and the newspaperwoman was more than happy to give up an hour of her day. Silently, Mary wondered if she would ever see this much money again.
As the second representative, and lawfully appointed executor of the estate, Ezra stood behind Mary's chair as the money was tallied. Like Mrs. Travis, none of Joseph's family had met the gambler before, and they instinctively concluded that he was a responsible individual. Knowing this to be the case, Standish presented a façade of a trustworthy, distinguished gentleman. Inside, however, he was drooling so badly it hurt.
Karen Warner sat in the chair next to Mrs. Travis. As the elder daughter of Joseph Langdon, Mrs. Warner was the third appointee required, to release the trust account. She hadn't been surprised that their father left his ranch to her younger sibling Katrina, nor was she envious in any way. Both sisters hated the cattle ranch, but while Karen hated the whole idea of living in 'the Wild West', her little sister just disliked the beasts that their father raised.
Doctor Charles Warner stood beside Karen and patiently waited as the final bills were counted out. He had comforted the love of his life when they received word on her father's untimely death. He felt it his duty now to accompany his wife as she dealt with the last of her father's requests. What Joseph had asked seemed simple. He had strongly suggested that Karen 'take care of things' until 'Katrina was ready'. Charles secretly wondered if his sister-in-law would ever be ready for this kind of responsibility... or any kind of responsibility, for that matter.
Word from Katrina seemed to indicate that she would arrive in due time and take control of the estate, as their father had wished. In the meantime, the trust fund needed to be in place so that the ranch could continue to operate under the watchful eye of the executor. Mr. Warner was no stranger to looking after Katrina's affairs, but did hope that the added stability of running a cattle ranch might make the young lady grow up a little. Perhaps even accept the responsibility and become more stable for it. Charles Warner could only hope...
"...90, 95, 100," Mr. Granger concluded. He looked at the two ladies across the table from him and smiled. "By my count that is ten piles of one hundred dollars a piece. Do you agree, Mrs. Travis?"
"Yes, Mr. Granger that was my count."
"Mrs. Warner?"
"I agree."
Apprehensive about any possible contention, the resident banker of Four Corners looked up at the gambler and raised his eyebrows. "Mr. Standish?" he asked nervously.
The trepidation in Granger's face was undeniable to the gambler's trained eye. Ezra smiled at the thought of making this professional apprehensive but decided against prolonging any discomfort. Being entrusted with the daily operation and maintenance of the ten thousand acres and almost five hundred head of cattle was a huge responsibility. The southerner didn't wish to give Joseph's family any reason to question his character. "I concur with your calculations, Mr. Granger."
Visibly relieved that the lengthy process had passed the inspection of one Ezra Standish, Granger took a deep breath and collected the ten piles together. Completing that task, he turned to the small table beside his desk and retrieved a tray, which sat on top. "And this one thousand added to the other four gives a grand total of five thousand dollars." Placing the last set of bills beside its counterparts, he again looked at the two young women and smiled. "Are we in agreement, ladies?"
Smiling, both Mary and Karen both nodded their concurrence.
Once more, the banker turned to pose the question to Ezra, but the gambler responded before the question could be asked.
"Of course, Mr. Granger. Everything seems to be in order." Smiling his agreement, Standish shifted his position towards the window and peered out. He could see Buck and Josiah standing watch at the front door, and he knew Chris and JD were out back. "Might I suggest that you secure the funds in the safe, so that my associates can return to their numerous other duties."
"Yes, yes indeed," muttered Granger as he gathered the money and moved around the counter. Venturing inside the vault, he put the five piles of cash inside Mr. Langdon's personal safe, closed the door and turned the dial. Making his way back to his desk, he pulled a large ledger from the top drawer and proceeded to record the deposit of five thousand dollars to the Langdon Trust Fund, care of Mr. Ezra P. Standish.
He had trained as a financier, but today Granger was serving as both banker and town notary. "Mrs. Warner," he motioned for Karen to sign the deposit slip as he set it in front of her. "And the receipt for the lawyer in San Francisco," he handed her another paper.
As the former Karen Langdon signed the paperwork, she handed each document to Mary Travis for her ratification.
"Mr. Standish!" Granger beckoned the gambler's attention from the window then handed him the papers as he arrived at the desk.
Double-checking all the figures and the attending signatures, Ezra smiled at the banker before placing his own endorsement on the documents. "Well," the gambler stood up straight and smiled proudly, "That business is finally attended to."
Both ladies stood up as Ezra moved around behind them. Karen Warner offered a ladylike handshake to Mrs. Travis before turning to her husband and taking his arm.
"I believe that finalizes all of the documentation required to establish the trust and ensure that the Langdon Estate is properly taken care of," Donald Granger concluded.
"Yes... Until my sister arrives to take ownership," Karen uttered quietly.
The gambler acknowledged the lady's statement and was about to comment when Dr. Warner spoke.
"And heaven help you when that happens," he said sarcastically.
"Charles!" his wife exclaimed loudly.
"Well, I'm sorry my dear. But it is the truth and you know it."
Mary and Ezra exchanged a quick glance.
"Is there something I should be informed of, Mrs. Warner?" Standish asked after a moment.
Charles and Karen looked at each other evasively.
" ... Before you return to San Francisco, perhaps?" Ezra added, this time raising an eyebrow. He was clearly taken aback by the exchange of words and looks.
"It's obvious Joseph trusted you, Mr. Standish. He's left everything in your care until Katrina..." Charles Warner stopped in mid sentence and looked at the gambler intently.
"Did Joseph ever speak to you about Katrina, Mr. Standish?"
Ezra took a deep breath as he thought on the specific words the elderly Langdon had used to describe his younger child. They had spoken on the topic only once, and the gentleman had characterized his daughter as 'A tempest! An out-of-control wild fire!'... As he recalled the words Joseph had used, Ezra's expression changed to one of perplexity.
"Yes," Charles acknowledged as he noticed the changing face on the man before him, "I see he did."
"My father hadn't seen Katrina in eight years, Mr. Standish." Karen looked at her husband and pulled him a little closer. "She's much more ... independent ... than the last time he saw her."
An uncomfortable silence settled over the bank.
"I will see that these documents are ready for you when you leave tomorrow," Harold Granger broke the silence before dismissing himself to the rear of the establishment. He took several of the required papers as he left.
"Thank you again, Mr. Granger," Mrs. Warner called out to the banker as he disappeared. Smiling at the gambler, she nodded her goodbye to the other lady before motioning for her husband to escort her from the establishment.
Charles Warner tipped his hat to the two remaining parties before turning to leave.
"Good day, Mr. Standish," Karen called as they left.
The widow watched the door close behind the departing couple. She was more than curious about their exchange. "What's wrong with being ... independent?" Mrs. Travis questioned the gambler. Mary moved towards the door, but turned to hear the gambler's answer.
Ezra took a deep breath as his eyes widened substantially. "Well... given Joseph's rather ... flamboyant ... description of his daughter, Mrs. Travis," he shuffled his feet a little as he tried to find the right words to complete his sentence. "... I would venture to guess that... independence... in this particular young lady ... sets her apart from her peers, and is not ... necessarily... a positive thing."
Mary Travis looked at the gambler inquisitively. Tilting her head questioningly, she shook it, smirked and walked out the door. She had no real idea what Standish was talking about, but his reaction to the situation amused her to no end.
Margaret Watson stood by the door and watched Nathan as he checked the scar tissue on her son's leg. It had been more than four weeks since the wild dog had mauled James. There were no signs of gangrene, and the boy had ridden out the infection well. The healer had said the boy might be able to go home today if everything looked all right.
And right now, that's what James Watson wanted more than anything else in the whole world. 'Well, Dr. Jackson?" the boy asked impatiently.
Nathan looked at the twelve year old and smiled. "You wanna be home for your birthday, don't ya, James?"
Unable to contain his enthusiasm, the boy's face beamed.
Nathan looked over his shoulder at the boy's mother. "And I suppose that celebration in two weeks would be betta if James were home with his family."
"I can't think of a better Thanksgiving memory, Dr. Jackson," she replied expectantly. Having her son beside her would top her list, but there was something else she had in mind, for a wonderful Thanksgiving memory.
"Well, there's a real doctor in town right now," the healer explained. "He should be here any minute. I asked him ta come take a look."
"I thought you said James was better," Mrs. Watson said anxiously as she stepped closer to the bed.
"Oh, yes, ma'am..." Nathan began as a knock sounded at the door.
Three heads turned to see who was there.
Charles Warner waited a few seconds before opening the door and entering the clinic. He looked around cautiously and smiled at the dark man and his patient. Removing his hat he closed the door and stepped forward to introduce himself to the lady present. "Good morning, ma'am. I'm Doctor Warner. I understand you wanted me to examine your son."
Margaret greeted the man politely, then shook her head. "No, sir," she began, "thank you kindly for the offer, but Doctor Jackson saved James' life. He's done just fine."
"As I explained to you last night, Dr. Warner," Nathan interrupted. "I ain't no doctor, just a healer who...."
"You done saved two of my boys, Nathan," Margaret returned the interruption. "You don't need a piece a paper ta tell folks what you can do."
Charles looked at the woman strangely. He tried to picture an anxious mother with an injured child in her arms. Glancing at the Negro healer, the doctor understood that this man would be given neither the opportunity, nor the means to assist in San Francisco, but he also understood that folks did things a little differently 'out west'. Yet seeing the clear admiration in the woman's face and hearing her forceful words, Warner couldn't help but wondered how a dark man could earn such respect. Given Nathan's previous description of the wild dog attack, Warner was even more curious to see how the healer had been able to save this child's leg. "Well, since I am here anyway... shall we take a look," he said as he moved closer to the boy.
Jackson filled the doctor in, as he stepped out of the way, "I just took the splits off ta take a look. Even the drainage canal seems ta be healing nicely."
"Drainage canal?" Charles Warner glanced at Jackson. The question was clear in his words, as he examined the terrible scars on the child's leg."
"Yes, sir," Nathan replied. "I didn't have the proper equipment like the book described, so I did the best I could."
A few minutes passed as Warner continued his examination. "How long has it been since the attack?" the doctor asked curiously. He was clearly distressed by the injuries inflicted on the boy, but also impressed by the healing he saw. Especially considering the environment in which the procedures had been carried out.
"More than four long weeks," Margaret replied quietly.
Warner looked over his other shoulder and smiled at the woman. He could see in her eyes that she had suffered everyday along with her child. And he was also beginning to see why she had such high regard for the darker healer. Glancing back at Nathan, the man offered a brief smile, before refocusing on the boy. "Well, young man," he said quietly, "I can see that you're in good hands here." He gently set the child's leg back on the bed and smiled again. "The bone will take a few more weeks to set properly, but everything appears to be going well."
"So, I'm gonna be better real quick?" James asked curiously.
"We never doubted Doctor Jackson would see him through this," Mrs. Watson added with obvious pride.
Charles Warner stood up and ruffled the boy's hair. "Yes, son... I think you're going to be just fine. And you've been brave through all the pain... I can tell."
"It hurt real bad at first," James replied.
"You think the muscles will heal, Doctor?" Jackson asked seriously. "The book told me how important it was to drain and irrigate the wound, but it didn't say how the muscle would heal."
The doctor smiled one more time at the boy before walking slowly to the exit. He briefly rested his hand on the woman shoulder as he passed her and nodded his head in reassurance.
Mrs. Watson smiled at the man as he moved towards the door, then offered the same beautiful smile to her son.
Nathan followed Charles as he prepared to leave, still waiting for an answer to his question. He glanced back to the Watsons as the doctor replied.
"It'll take time ... once the boy gets back on the leg, he'll probably walk with a limp. But lots of exercise should cure that... in time." Warner looked at the healer thoughtfully and spoke after a few moments of silence. "If you don't mind, Mr. Jackson, I'd like to come back tomorrow morning, before the stage leaves, and talk with you some more."
Nathan looked pleasantly surprised at the request and acknowledged the idea. "Yes, sir, Doctor Warner. I'd like that very much."
"Good," Charles replied as he opened the door. "I'd stay longer but my wife and I have hired a buckboard to go out to her father's ranch. We'll likely be there for the rest of the day. She has a few things she would like to collect." Stepping outside the clinic he continued as the healer followed. "I'm very interested in the book you referred to in there, and the procedure you tried to follow."
"I didn't have the right equipment, Dr. Warner..." Nathan stammered. "I did the best I could..."
Charles set his hand on Jackson's arm and tried to calm the anxious tone of his voice. "From what I can see, Mr. Jackson... no doctor could have done a better job in saving that leg."
Nathan smiled cautiously.
"And the boy's life, Mr. Jackson." Offering his hand to the dark healer, Charles Warner smiled at the man he had only minutes before questioned.
Jackson took the hand and shook it vigorously.
"I'll be back," Warner repeated.
"I'll look forward to it, doctor," Nathan said happily, as he watched the man go down the stairs. He took a deep, satisfying breath before heading back inside and closing the door behind him.
Making his way back over to the bed, Nathan took the splints and replaced them on either side of the boy's leg.
Having practiced this maneuver many times over the last month, James took hold of the boards and held them in place while the healer proceeded to wrap the leg tightly. "Do I get to go home," the child asked nervously.
Jackson smiled. "The doctor seems happy with what he saw."
"I had no doubt he would," Margaret Watson announced expectantly.
"And I thank you for your trust in me, Mrs. Watson," Nathan replied, glancing at the woman over his shoulder.
"So? ...Dr. Jackson... do I get ta go home soon," James repeated again.
"Well," Nathan spoke as he continued to bandage the leg. "I'll need a couple of promises from both of ya."
Both James and his mother paid close attention to what the man had to say.
"First off," he glanced up at the boy, "You heard what Doctor Warner said. Just like I told ya, that bone ain't healed yet. I'll need your word that you'll not try and stand on it."
Although the disappointment was clearly visible of her son's face, Margaret nodded her head in compliance with Nathan's order as James looked at her questioningly. The boy nodded his head slowly in agreement.
"Second... You need to promise ta tell your Ma if somethin' starts hurtin'. I can't help ya if I don't know if somethin's wrong." The boy took a second to understand what the healer was saying before acknowledging his compliance. That one seemed a whole lot easier than the first requirement.
"And third," Jackson concluded. He finished tying off the bandages around James' splints and looked at the boy. "You gotta promise me you'll keep drinkin' my herb tea before bed each night."
Mrs. Watson looked at her son expectantly. She didn't like the smell of the herbal concoction that the healer had her fix for James every night and knew darn well, that the boy liked the taste even less. But if that's what it took to get her son home... Margaret smiled as the grimace on James' face began to waver. He nodded, signaling his intent to follow the last of the three rules laid out for him.
Jackson looked over his shoulder one more time and searched the woman's eyes. With the exception of when her husband had relieved her, Mrs. Watson had remained at her son's side and nursed him back to health along side the healer. Her heart had lifted every time James had made a little more progress. She had cried when she thought no one was around to hear. Now Jackson was letting her take her child home to his family, to be where he belonged. There wasn't a request in the world that he could ask of her, that she wouldn't willingly follow. The gentle smile and the nod of her head confirmed that fact all too clearly.
The silence in the room was broken as Claire Watson came crashing through the door and distracted the three from their agreement. "Hey, James," she called out happily. "Mrs. Benson gave you an A on your story." The girl dashed over to the bed and handed her brother his report.
The big 'A' circled at the top was clearly visible, and the boy smiled. He was very happy that the teacher had been able to design alternate assignments for him during his recuperation. And the work had taken his mind off of the fact that he had been stuck in a bed for more than a month.
"Congratulations, James," the healer commented. "That's quite an accomplishment, considering you didn't know anything about medicine a month ago."
"All your books helped so much, Doctor Jackson. I could never have done it without 'em."
Jackson cocked his head. "And you would never have had to if this hadn' a happened." Nathan commented. "Mr. Sanchez is right, James. Some good things do come along with the bad."
Margaret cleared her throat to be heard above the commotion. "And the rest of the good news, Doctor Jackson," Mrs. Watson tried to steer the conversation back to their original topic.
Nathan smiled as he stood up and ruffled Claire's hair. "I reckon I can live with the decision... if you two can keep your promises."
Margaret's smile brightened her whole face and James let out a loud holler.
"What?" his sister questioned.
"Dr. Jackson says James can come home, Claire," their mother answered the query as she slid in beside her son.
Claire let out a comparable holler to the one her brother had offered and hugged them both ecstatically. The Watson's all shared in the moment of joy.
Nathan shook his head and headed for the door. He was glad that he would be getting his clinic back, all to himself again. Yet as he opened the door and moved through it, Jackson knew without a doubt, that he was going to miss the entire Watson clan's unwavering optimism. Glancing back at the three people inside his quarters, Nathan smiled with satisfaction and gave the family a little privacy.
"Good morning, Mr. Larabee," the newspaperwoman greeted as the gunslinger came through the door of the Clarion.
Chris smiled at the lady and wondered how she could still look so beautiful with the ink smudged on her face like that. He was about to mention the streak, when he noticed the other woman behind Mary's desk. Tipping his hat, the blond acknowledged the widow's greeting. "Mrs. Travis. And good morning to you, Mrs. Thatcher," he called out.
The woman looked up from the box of old papers she was going through and smiled, "Good morning, Mr. Larabee." She waved in his directions.
The blond looked back at his favorite lady. "I can't believe you're taking advantage of an old lady like that," he teased quietly.
Mary gasped and set the easel of type down with a jolt. She was playing acting her annoyance at Larabee's comment, but several of the letters displaced in the container she had held. Her irritation grew as he stood there smiling at her.
"Sure is easy ta get your feathers ruffled sometimes," he mused.
Stepping closer to the couple, Mrs. Thatcher interrupted. "Excuse me if I come to Mary's defense, Mr. Larabee. But I'm helping out here... not being taken advantage of... and quite frankly, Mr. Larabee. I'm grateful to Mrs. Travis for letting me help. Life can be rather dull without a purpose... When you get to be my age, you'll understand."
Mary and Chris exchanged smiles before refocusing on the elderly visitor.
"Chris didn't mean any harm," Mrs. Travis announced quickly.
Larabee was about to add his apology when the elderly woman stopped him with a raised hand. "And life without laughter is just as depressing," she said happily. "Now," she turned to look around. Seeing no more boxes on the floor, Mrs. Thatcher looked back at the newspaperwoman. "Do you have the next boxes, dear?"
"Oh," Mary said quickly. Realizing that she had failed to retrieve some more containers from the storage room, she looked at the gunslinger expectantly. "Would you mind getting some more of the old issue from the store room, Mr. Larabee?"
Chris smiled at the two ladies and headed towards the back of the Clarion to collect the missing files.
Mrs. Thatcher watched the younger woman's eyes as she followed the departing form. "Your young man is certainly handsome," she whispered quietly as Larabee disappeared from view.
Mary looked at the woman and shrugged her shoulders. "Hadn't noticed," she declared as she turned back to the easel and began to re-organize the letters.
"Mary Travis," Thatcher exclaimed, "That's the worst excuse for a lie I've heard in a long time."
Both women smiled as they acknowledged the extent of their understanding.
"If he were any more of a 'man', Mrs. Thatcher, I don't believe I could restrain myself much longer."
The older lady giggled like a schoolgirl and drew closer to the widow. "If I were twenty years younger, Mary Travis, you'd be forced to restrain both of us."
"Oh, Mrs. Thatcher, you are awful," Mary joined her companion in a quiet giggle.
A sudden wave of seriousness came over the older woman as she looked at the lady before her. "It would please me greatly, Mary... if you would called me Miriam."
The smile wavered from her face as Mrs. Travis looked at the woman before her. She had been at her most vulnerable after a wild dog had almost taken her life four weeks earlier, and she took no great comfort in admitting that fact. Chris Larabee had done his best to stave her fears. But this elderly woman had seen the pain in her heart and made it her own. The widow had needed a motherly figure to see her through her tears, and Mrs. Thatcher had been an unquestioning pillar of strength. A stranger had stepped off the afternoon stage a month ago, but right now Mary Travis felt as close to this woman as she did her own flesh and blood. Mary smiled. "Thank you, Miriam," she whispered. "It would be my honor."
Casey Wells sauntered towards the livery then stopped at the end of the boardwalk. John Dunne stood before her, and the young woman couldn't help but stand still and watch. He was only checking his horse's blanket and the straps of his saddle, but Miss Wells loved the way JD cared for his animal. Dunne finished up and patted Haven's neck. Slowly he ran his hand down the horse's side.
And as the young woman observed the movement she could see his gentleness in her mind. She watched as her man reached out and brushed her own cheek, and then ran his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes as he held her and traced the outline of her naked spine to the small of her back and beyond...
"Hi, Casey," Dunne interrupted the girl's daydream.
The young woman opened her eyes with a start and immediately let out a yell. "Oh, JD. It ain't nice ta sneak up on a girl like that," she smacked him hard across the shoulders.
"What?" he yelled in return. He was taken aback by her reaction, and more than a little offended at the accusation. "I didn't sneak up of ya. You's standin' here right in the middle of the street."
"Well..." Casey stammered. She was trying to hide her embarrassment, as well as come up with a good reason for her over-reaction to his greeting. Not being able to accomplish either task, she looked at her young man angrily, turned and stormed off down the street.
"What I do?" the bewildered man called out after her.
"Oh... nothing a man can do anythin' about, John Dunne," Sanchez chuckled to himself. Stepping off the walk he joined his fellow lawman in front of the livery.
"I just don't understand that girl sometimes, Josiah. I looked up and saw her standin' there, so I came over ta say hi."
Shaking his head, the preacher let the smile slowly waver from his face. "I know what you did, JD. I saw the whole thing... Reckon I saw somethin' you didn't though."
Dunne looked at the older man and furrowed his brow. "What 'a ya mean, Josiah... Did I miss somethin'?"
Sanchez huffed at the innocence before him and set a hand on Dunne's shoulder. He leaned in close before speaking. "I'm not a man who'd stand here and try and explain what goes through the mind of a female, JD. Hell, any man who'd try is a darn fool."
The kid laughed a little to show his agreement to the statement.
"I do know one thing though," he cocked his head. "Casey is no more a girl, than you are a kid." The big man moved his hand from Dunne's shoulder and turned to face his companion. As the two looked each other in the eye, Josiah spoke quietly, "and what was goin' through that woman's mind a minute ago, proves that to be a fact... once and for all."
JD considered the cryptic words. He watched his friend straighten his stance and stretch a little. Suddenly the questioning look disappeared from the young man's face and was replaced, rather quickly, with an expression of surprise and embarrassment. "Oh," he blurted out.
Josiah smiled at Dunne, raised his eyebrows and nodded his head.
"Oh!" the young man repeated, a little louder.
Josiah smirked at the kid's reaction and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "You lucky, son-of-a-gun," he said before patting Dunne's shoulder once again and heading off towards the church.
JD followed the preacher with his eyes before glancing back at the route Casey Wells had taken. He continued to alternate the direction of his stare as he backed up to Haven. Fumbling as he collided with the horse, Dunne mounted and quickly rode out of town.
"The lunch is not ready yet, Senor Jackson," Miss Recillos called out as she noticed the healer enter the saloon. "I will send it over in ... maybe twenty minutes."
"Oh, I know, Miss Inez," Nathan responded as he leaned against the bar. "I was just passin' by and thought I'd let you know he won't be needin' any more meals after this one."
The beautiful Mexican looked at the healer with surprise. She wiped her hands on her apron as she came through the door from the kitchen. Stopping in front of him, she looked at him curiously, "You are letting James go home?"
The grin on Nathan's face grew steadily as he began to nod.
Inez returned his smile. "This is wonderful news, Senor Jackson. He is well then?"
Nathan cocked his head. "As well as he's gonna get laying around in my bed. The boy needs to be home with his family. I had Dr. Warner check him out a few hours ago. He agreed that James is lookin' good."
The lady leaned against the bar. "Dr. Warner is from San Francisco, No?"
"That's right."
"He is married to Mr. Langdon's daughter?"
"Yeah, the elder of the two girls though. Not the one who's gonna own the place."
"This is too bad, no!" Inez conceded. "It would be so nice for you to have a doctor around. Someone who could help you."
Nathan laughed out loud.
"This is funny?" the lady questioned innocently.
"Well," the healer began, "If Dr. Warner were stayin, there wouldn't be much need for me around here. And if there were, I'd be the one helpin' him... not the other way around."
"Ah," Miss Recillos raised her eyebrows. "I see.... But it would be a wonderful opportunity... No?"
Jackson nodded his head in agreement, "That it would."
"You could learn a lot from a man like that," the woman continued.
Again Nathan nodded his head, "Sure wouldn't pass up...."
"You could learn a lot from a man like me, darlin'," Wilmington said coyly as he sidled up beside the pretty senorita.
Jackson smiled at Buck's words. This was one man who could never be accused of passing up the opportunity to get into a conversation with a woman. Any way possible, it would seem. "Wasn't exactly the kind of learnin' we had in mind, Buck."
'Well, hell, Nathan. What other kinda learnin' is there?"
"There is no more room in your head for any other kind of words," Miss Recillos said forcefully. She positioned her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Is it not a wonder that he even takes the time to read and write."
Jackson laughed at the banter before returning to his thoughts. "So you'll send the lunch and remember we don't need no more."
Inez nodded her head.
"You letting James out?" Wilmington asked quickly.
"Yep. He's goin' home as soon as Margaret gets back with Andrew." Jackson couldn't help but smile again.
"You should be very proud to be sending him home, Senor"
Jackson pursed his lips together and nodded. Turning to leave, the healer tried to hide his thoughts. The feelings he had went beyond pride. They dug down to the forces within that caused him to care so much about the injured he encountered. Nathan guessed that most men felt this way when they saved another's life. He also imagined that perhaps only those who had made the same promise to heal actually carried the feeling so deep.
"I'll make sure I slide by and say hi, before he skidadles," Buck commented. The ladies man had watched James get stronger over these past four weeks, and took solace in the fact that he had had something to do with the his survival.
"Alright, Buck," Jackson called back as he left.
"Now..." Wilmington turned his attention back to the lovely lady beside him. "Can I interest you in some learnin', Miss Inez?"
Miss Recillos looked at the tall, handsome man beside her and smiled bashfully. She dipped her head and gazed at the ladies man from the tops of her eyes. "If only you were not so shy, Senor... Then perhaps we could talk about private lessons."
As the wind was sucked out of Wilmington's sails, Inez patted the ladies man on the cheek and left him standing by the bar with his mouth open and his eyebrows raised.
Hearing the door open, Mrs. Thatcher looked up from the pile of old newspapers she was sorting through. "Good afternoon, Mr. Tanner. Is there something I can help you with?" she asked graciously. This man they called Vin was still very much a mystery to Miriam. Everyone seemed to like the quiet man, yet not a lot of people knew much about him. On the three occasions that she'd had the opportunity to speak with him, she hadn't learned any more herself.
"Is Mrs. Travis around, Mrs. Thatcher?" the tracker asked quickly.
Miriam got up from Mary's desk and ventured towards the handsome young man. "She just took Billy's lunch down to the school. But I'm afraid she won't be back for a while. She's taking lunch with a gentleman today."
The tracker looked around the room before bowing his head. "Alright, thank ya, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat. The woman's words didn't set off any bells in Vin's head. If he'd thought about it, Tanner would have remembered seeing Chris ride out of town an hour ago. Any other day he might have questioned further, but today he was distracted. Truth be told, he'd been distracted all week.
Vin's disappointment didn't escape notice though. "Perhaps there is something I can help you with, Mr. Tanner," the lady asked as he turned back towards the door.
Vin glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, that's alright, ma'am. I don't mean ta bother ya none." Again he turned for the door.
"No bother at all, Mr. Tanner."
Vin's hand rested on the handle, but made no attempt to open the door.
"Really, Mr. Tanner... I'd be happy to help."
Once again the tracker glanced over his shoulder at the elderly lady. A few seconds passed before he turned to face Miriam Thatcher. "Don't suppose you know where Mrs. Travis keeps that there word book 'a hers?"
"Word book?" the woman questioned back.
"Gives her meanings and spellings and such."
A fleeting second passed before the lady understood what the tracker was looking for. Trying hard not to sound condescending, she attempted to clarify the man's query. "The dictionary, perhaps?"
"Yeah... eh, yes, ma'am. That's what she called it."
Miriam smiled and turned back towards the bookcase on the far wall. "Yes, Mr. Tanner. It's right over here."
Vin walked towards the spare desk that he and Mary used when he was learning. He waited while the woman retrieved the book and then handed it to him. "Alright if I sit fer a spell?"
Miriam offered the young man a smile. "Of course, Mr. Tanner. I'll be right over here if you need anything further."
"Thank ya, ma'am," Vin replied as the woman moved off and seemed to return to her previous chore.
The sharpshooter set the book on the desk and took up his usual chair. Taking a deep breath he opened the reference text and began to thumb through it slowly.
Mary Travis walked through the door of the sheriff's office and greeted the peacekeeper on duty. "I brought some lunch over for you, Mr. Standish. I hope you don't mind," she added as she moved towards the desk, "I brought mine too. I thought maybe we could talk while we ate."
Ezra was surprised by the lady's entrance, overwhelmed by her gesture and extremely suspicious of her request. "What, pray tell, would you care to discuss with me on such a lovely day? ... Or, any other day, for that matter?"
"Oh, really, Mr. Standish. You are a valued member of the seven and as important to this town, as the rest. Now if you will clear away those cards, I'll set down this tray."
"Oh... yes of course," the southerner scrambled to gather his solitary game together before the tray landed on top of it. As he watched, Mary gathered up a spare chair and sat herself across from him. Ezra set his cards off to the side as his companion removed the napkins from the food to reveal their meal.
"You are alright with the roast beef sandwiches the restaurant serves... aren't you, Mr. Standish?"
"Why, yes, Mrs. Travis," the gambler looked at the woman suspiciously.
There was a moment of silence while the woman fussed.
"Let me see if I can understand what is going on here, Mrs. Travis." Standish shuffled himself in his chair as the widow set a napkin down on the table. A rather large sandwich followed close behind. "Thank you," he acknowledged, before continuing his train of thought. "First you 'volunteer' to bring forth my sustenance for the afternoon. Then you 'chose' to provide your lovely company whilst I consume the offerings. Now you have 'accidentally' provided my preferred choice between the bread slices." Ezra cocked his head. "Really, Mrs. Travis... why are you here?"
Mary settled back in her chair with her sandwich in hand. Taking a large bite, she chewed slowly and swallowed. "Aren't you going to eat your favorite sandwich, Mr. Standish?" she indicated to the untouched lunch that still sat in front of him. "I will be soooooo disappointed if my efforts to gain your co-operation have failed," the widow said with a curt smile.
Ezra looked at the lady and raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said as he reached for his lunch.
The door at the Clarion opened again as Nettie Wells entered.
Replacing the teacup on its saucer, Mrs. Thatcher looked up. "Ah, Mrs. Wells," she called out happily. Getting to her feet, Miriam continued her greeting while heading over towards the new arrival. "You're a little early. Mary isn't back yet."
Mrs. Wells couldn't help but notice the tracker at the desk. She smiled in his direction as he nodded at her. "Don't suppose she'll be too much longer," Nettie replied. "I'll sit a spell, if that's alright?"
"Of course, Mrs. Wells. Can I offer you some tea? I just made some."
"Yes, thank you," Nettie replied. "I'll be right with you."
Miriam hadn't missed the eye contact between the tracker and her new companion. "I'll be right back," she offered as she departed to retrieve another cup of tea for her guest.
"Afternoon, Mr. Tanner?" Mrs. Wells greeted as she took a few steps towards the tracker. He sat hunched over the dictionary and the widow could see that he had been trying to copy words from the book to a paper beside it.
Vin looked up at the elderly lady and smiled, "Miss Nettie," he nodded again.
The lady's face scoured. She had noticed a few unusual signs in the past few weeks, but Vin Tanner with a reference text in hand wasn't something she had expected. "Ain't been yourself lately, son. Is everythin' alright?" she asked as she again looked at the paper on the table.
Nettie's attention to his scratchings made the tracker a little self-conscious. "Oh... yes, ma'am..." he stammered. "Just having a little trouble spellin' somethin' on the paper is all." He tried to hide his words as she drew a little closer.
"Somethin' I might be able to help you with, perhaps?"
"Oh, no, ma'am," he replied quickly. "I'll.... I'll figure it out."
Anyone that had the slightest knowledge of Vin Tanner knew that he was a man who pretty much kept to himself. He valued his privacy and Mrs. Wells knew that to be a fact. His body language and demeanor told Nettie that the sharpshooter wasn't in the mood to share anything today.
"Well... if you ever need anything, son."
"Thank you, ma'am," he concluded as he closed the dictionary and folded his paper. Tucking it deeply into his pocket he slid out of his chair and headed for the door. "I'll be sure ta keep that in mind, Miss Nettie," he smiled before tipping his hat.
They exchanged faint grin before the tracker departed. Nettie Wells frowned as she watched the door close behind the young man. "Good day, Mr. Tanner," she whispered quietly to herself. She had little doubt that there was something bothering the young man...
"Mr. Tanner leave?" Miriam asked as she returned carrying a cup and saucer in one hand and a small plate of biscuits in the other.
Mrs. Wells turned and smiled as Mrs. Thatcher motioned for Nettie to join her at Mary's desk. "Yes... He seemed to think he was done for now," she said as she pulled up a second chair and sat.
Miriam looked toward the closed door and back to Mrs. Wells. The look of uneasiness on Nettie's face hadn't escaped notice either. "Do you know Mr. Tanner well, Mrs. Wells? You seem a little worried."
Nettie bowed her head quickly before looking back at the lady across from her. "You're a very perceptive lady, Mrs. Thatcher. But no... I don't know the boy well... Reckon maybe there's a handful of people who might claim that distinction."
Miriam smiled in acknowledgement of a fact that she probably already knew in her heart. "But you know him well enough to be worried?"
Nettie smiled. "Vin Tanner don't need someone to worry about him none. He can take care of himself."
Again Miriam looked across the desk and into the eyes that stared back at her. "And yet you still worry."
Mrs. Wells shifted in her chair. "Concern... maybe. Them boys went through a bit of a fallin' out some months back. I thought Vin was alright when he came back... but he's been a might distant of late."
Mrs. Thatcher watched her companion carefully as the recollections came to her. She could tell that Nettie cared about the people she was speaking of. "They mean a lot to you, Mrs. Wells?'
Nettie did her best to compose herself and picked up the teacup in distraction. "Those seven men mean a whole lot to this little town, Mrs. Thatcher." She took a sip of her tea.
Wiping the last remnants of his lunch from the corners of his mouth, Buck tipped his hat to the pretty senorita behind the bar and smiled before turning to leave. As he exited the batwing door, he glanced quickly over his shoulder one more time, and in the process, ran smack into the sharpshooter as he came down the boardwalk. Wilmington grabbed to steady the tracker, as well as himself.
Fumbling through outstretched arms, Tanner caught his balance thanks to the ladies man. The tall rogue however, landed in a heap at the edge of the stair.
"You alright, Buck?" the tracker asked as he offered his fellow lawman a hand up.
Taking a hold of the outstretched limp, Wilmington got to his feet and dusted himself off. "Yeah," he laughed.
"Reckon you'd best be watchin' ahead of ya next time," Tanner miffed.
Placing his hat back on his head, the ladies man laughed again. "Yeah, but the view inside was so much more invitin' than this dusty street."
The tracker's mood changed instantly. "Havin' an eye fer the ladies, don't give ya the right ta be knockin' people down," Vin snapped.
"Whoa there, Vin. It was just an accident now. Ain't no cause ta be stirring up trouble. A pretty lady is a real pleasure ta look at now and then... You should try it some time," he raised his eyebrows. "Might release some of them there tensions you got building up inside ya."
Vin Tanner simply stood in silence and stared at the ladies man. A long, uncomfortable moment passed before he stormed off down the street.
The jovial smile that had, moments before, covered Wilmington face was no longer there. He had become used to a lot of things in his lifetime. And if he were going to receive a killer stare it would most likely be coming from his long time friend Chris Larabee. The look on Vin Tanner's face was unexpected and certainly unwelcome, but Buck had no idea what he had said or done to warrant it. He simply stood and watched after the tracker as he marched off down the street.
The gunslinger watched cautiously as the stagecoach approached his town. He sped up his pace to follow it into Four Corners. It had been more than six weeks since Judge Travis had warned them to keep an eye open for a man who looked something like 'me' he had said. A well dressed and distinguished, elderly man who wore glasses, walked with a slight limp and carried around a valise with the name 'NEW YORK HERALD' embroidered into it.
Larabee watched stealthily as the stage came to a stop in front of the ticket office and the driver began to assist the passengers to disembark. Seemingly uninterested, Chris noted that none of the five passengers resembled the man they had been warned of and continued on towards the livery.
Noticing Josiah making his way up the street, the gunslinger covertly signaled his fellow peacekeeper. To the passerby, it was a simple nod of the head. To Sanchez however, it was an all the clear sign.
Josiah smiled at his leader as they passed. Receiving the desired message, the preacher headed back towards the sheriff's office. He had a little weapons cleaning to do, and since the job at the stagecoach office had already been taken care of, he thought perhaps now would be a good time.
"Oh hey, Chris," Dunne greeted the gunslinger as he came into the livery and dismounted.
"JD," Larabee acknowledged with the nod. Handing off his mount to Yosemite, the gunslinger patted Spirit on the rump he passed. "Everything quiet out 'a town?"
"Oh, yeah," the kid replied as he let Haven go into his stall and closed the gate behind him. "Did the patrol, then took a ride out to the pond. Everythin's fine."
Chris didn't look at the younger man as they began ta walk up the street.
"Oh... and I'm gonna take Nathan's shifts while he's out visiting Rain over the next few days."
The gunslinger stopped and looked at Dunne suspiciously.
"Haven't ya heard," the kid said excitedly. "Nathan let James go home. Mr. and Mrs. Watson just left a few minutes ago. I didn't know until I saw them puttin' him in the wagon. But he's gone... so Nathan wants ta ride out and visit with Rain for a spell.... We reckoned it would be okay with you... since I'm gonna cover his shifts and all."
Larabee set his hand on the kid's shoulder in an effort to shut him up. There was no getting away from the fact. If John Dunne was excited about it, you usually couldn't get a word into the conversation, and Chris had given up trying a long time ago. Physical contact seemed to be the only way to get his attention. "JD," the gunslinger beckoned Dunne's attention.
"Ummm," the kid mumbled. "Oh..." Realizing that he had said too much, too quickly, the young man lowered his head before grinning back at his leader. "Sorry, Chris."
Larabee offered the young man a small smirk before returning to business. "Where's Nathan now?"
"He went back to his room after the Watsons left. Think he had some re-arrangin' ta do."
"Alright, thanks," he said as he turned to go back the way he had come.
"See ya later," JD smiled as he continued on his way.
"Anyone know what the heck's gotten inta Tanner these days," Buck mumbled as he came into the sheriff's office scratching the back of his neck as he customarily did when thinking too hard.
Standish looked up from the cards he had laid out on the desk and raised an eyebrow at Wilmington's remark.
From the other side of the room there came a huff of agreement. "Brother Vin has been a little distracted as of late," Josiah added. He set the gun oil on the shelf and massaged the liquid into his weapon.
The gambler nodded his head as he collected his cards and prepared to leave. "Yes, gentleman, he certainly is becoming more anxious as the months go by." Standing up, the gambler made his way to the door.
Wilmington took up the seat the southerner had just vacated and looked at the man curiously. "What ya mean by that, Ezra?" he asked, setting his feet on the desktop.
Almost at the door, Standish stopped, turned and gazed at the ladies man. Glancing at Sanchez he was greeted by raised eyebrows. "Really, gentlemen," he retorted, "Please don't tell me that... I... am the... only... one around here who actually pays attention when one of our number displays abnormal behavior."
Buck's response came in the form of his best 'Standish' imitation. "Why, no, Ezra... we're... used to your 'abnormal behavior' by now."
The southerner's forced smile flew Buck's way.
Moving towards the gambler, Sanchez wiped his weapon down with the rag he was holding. He looked at the southerner curiously. "What do you mean... as the months go by?" he asked, repeating the gambler's words.
"You mean since he's been back in town," Wilmington's comment cut into the conversation again. This time he was being serious.
Opening the door he glanced back at his fellow lawmen, "Yes..." Ezra cocked his head, "... and no." Standish smiled mischievously as he stepped through the door. He continued to grin, as the two men frowned at his comments. The gambler tipped his hat, "Good day, gentleman," he said happily as he closed the door behind him.
Josiah shook his head at the cryptic nature of the gambler's message. Much as he'd like to figure out Ezra Standish one day, the preacher had pretty much resigned himself to the fact that god didn't grant any man, that much time on earth. Turning, Sanchez shrugged his shoulders at Buck's questioning look before returned his attention back to his weapon.
Wilmington sighed as he watched Josiah move back towards the table he had been working at. "It ain't bad enough that we got 'a deal with a moody tracker, who's more edgy than normal," the ladies man huffed. "Now we got ourselves a wise-ass con man who thinks he knows more than the rest of us."
Josiah looked up as he set the gun on the table. "Ain't nothing new then?"
Buck Wilmington allowed himself a good belly laugh at the preacher's comment.
The three peacekeepers sat around their usual table in the saloon. They were in their usual jovial moods, and Nathan, in particular, was celebrating. "Buck sure seemed please when he said his good-byes," the healer commented as he twirled the glass in his hands.
"This is just another example of the great plan the lord has, my friends," Josiah piped in. He took a long drink and set the beer mug on the table. "Buck was sent to help that boy out, and he has every right to be happy about James gettin' home where he belongs."
Dunne looked thoughtfully at his two companions. "Sure is funny how things work out some times. Chris sent everyone out lookin' for the children."
"And Chris wouldn't be here at 'll, without the judge hiring us on," Jackson added.
"Oh come on now. What about all the other stuff that's gone on over the past two years?" the kid asked as he looked at Josiah. "You ain't tryin' 'a say God had it all planned when he brought us here... is ya?"
Sanchez cocked his head. He looked back and forth between his two companions as a gentle smile slowly made its way to his face. "Stranger things have happened..."
'Evenin' boys," Larabee greeted as he stood at the table. His entrance had gone unnoticed when the conversation had taken a turn.
"Chris," Nathan replied happily. He motioned for the gunslinger to occupy the empty chair, but Larabee shook his head no.
"I'm gonna go over there," he cocked his head towards the back wall, " and sit with Vin a spell.
"I'd be careful if I were you," Sanchez voiced. "If what Buck says is true, he's not exactly been in a friendly mood today."
Larabee glanced over at Tanner and then back to Josiah questioningly. "Oh?"
The preacher sat forward and leaned in to the table. "We know you been a might busy... helpin' Mary get over her brush with death and all."
"Vin's just been grouchy lately, Chris," JD added.
Larabee nodded his head acknowledging the warning. What his friends were saying was indeed true. Any other time, he would have noticed the change in behavior of his best friend, but Mary had been a priority for him in the last month. Mrs. Travis was a strong woman, but Chris had been spending a lot of time with her lately. Especially after the encounter they had with the wild dog. But Mary was steadily gaining more and more confidence. Between himself and Mrs. Thatcher, the gunslinger knew the newspaperwoman was going to be just fine.
Larabee glanced back at the tracker before turning to the table once again. "When you headin' out Nathan?"
"I'll probably ride out with the sun," came Jackson's reply. "Don't expect to be gone too long... two or three days maybe."
"Alright," Chris nodded and left the three men to their conversation. Heading to the bar, the gunslinger smiled as Inez set a shot glass before him. He held up his hand when she moved to pour the whiskey into it.
Miss Recillos looked at Larabee questioningly. "Senor?"
"I'll take the bottle, Inez. And another glass." Glancing over his shoulder at the tracker, he smiled once again.
Inez bowed her head momentarily before leaning in to talk to the blond. "There have been many times, Senor, that you have sat in that corner wanting to be by yourself. And Senor Tanner is the one that has come to sit beside you." The lovely Mexican looked at the gunslinger curiously. "Now it is he who drinks and you who will sit beside him?"
Chris furrowed his brow.
"Leave the whiskey, Senor Chris. As has been the case many times with you... Senor Tanner does not need any more."
Chris glanced at the bottle and then over at his best friend. Looking back at Inez he tipped his hat and smiled his gratitude for her words of wisdom.
Inez retrieved the glass and bottle as Larabee made his way over to the corner of the saloon.
For several long seconds the gunslinger stood in front of the tracker's table. He looked at Tanner and tried to see inside the man. His study of his friend ended when the solitary drinker finally spoke.
"You just gonna stand there blockin' the view?"
Outwardly, the gunslinger smirked, but he still wasn't clear if he was reading Tanner right. "Evening, Vin..." Larabee greeted as he took up a chair. He glanced at the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table and the full shot in the sharpshooter's hand. "What's up?" he asked quietly.
As he had been doing since Chris arrived, Tanner continued to stare at his glass.
Hoping that his friend would take the same comfort that he did, in the other's presence, Chris just sat quietly and looked about the room. Larabee's mind began to wander. He thought about how many times he'd sat alone at this table with only Vin for company. But as Inez had correctly pointed out, it was mostly him doing the drinking, and the tracker doing the talking ... and waiting.
Tanner moved the whiskey to his lips and swallowed down the liquid in one gulp. Reaching for the bottle his hand met Chris'.
"You might wanna call it a night, cowboy."
Vin's eyes moved slowly from the bottle to the face of his friend. Their exchange was brief as the gunslinger's hand moved away from the bottle and Tanner's replaced it. Pouring himself another shot, the tracker downed it straight away. "I might," he said pouring himself yet another.
Larabee removed the bottle from Vin's reach and leaned across the table. "What's up, Vin?" he asked again.
Their eyes met once more, but the tracker was not content to listen. He shot back the last drops of whiskey, quietly set the glass on the table and got to his feet. Replacing the hat on his head, the sharpshooter moved round the table.
"Vin?" Larabee made once last attempt to talk, but the tracker ignored his leader and left the saloon by the most direct route. Taking up the tracker's glass, Chris poured himself some whiskey and sat back in his chair. Looking longingly at the empty doorway, Larabee could only sit and wonder.
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