Setting: Old West
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
Author's Note: This story was written for Julie's birthday. Happy Birthday Julie!
Despite his fatigue, Buck couldn't rest easily. He tossed and turned on the cot, finally giving up and heading inside to get some coffee. The sounds of the nightcreatures followed him as well as the starless sky. He paused at Chris's side, resting a hand on his throat, wincing at the feeble breathing sounds. As he looked at the scarlet slashes on the blond's face, he wondered if this would be Chris's last sunrise. He made the rounds, checking on Callie, who barely took up room in the large bed and her father, who was in worse shape that Chris. Nathan was sleeping on a chair, his head resting on folded arms in front of him on a table. Feeling frustrated as his lack of power over the situation, he poured the coffee and went back outside, walking to the edge of the property.
"Never thought it would end like this..." he murmured to the slight night wind, thinking on his years next to Chris Larabee. He smiled, sipped his brew and thought about the night Adam was born. One of the best nights of his life, he and Chris celebrated in style. He never saw the blond so relaxed and truly happy. The drunken, life-happy grin that he wore and the pride in his voice with full eyes proclaiming, 'that's my son...my boy...'. A thundering call of hooves brought him out of his memories. He pulled the gun from his belt and eyed the road. A familiar voice beckoned.
"That you, Buck?"
"Trouble?" the reply came, as the gun was tucked back. He followed the horse into the yard and then saw the anxious light in the preacher's eyes. The low light from the porch reflected hope in the smokey depths.
"Salvation, I hope!"
Buck's brows knitted, until he saw the two bottles Josiah carefully took from a large burlap bag. "Quinine!" he shouted, then whooped and slapped the preacher's back. "Damn...Goddamn! How'd he do it? Jesus, he must be exhausted...he had fly on that damn horse."
"Wouldn't know," Sanchez replied, handing Buck a bottle, "Get Chris up and get two spoonfuls in in him..." his long legs took him across the cabin. "Nathan, Nate..." he set the other bottle down and shook the slumbering healer.
"What?" Jackson replied, eyes not focused. "Callie..Ben..." he jumped up and got a steadying grip on his shoulders.
"Whoa!" Josiah shook the bleary-eyed soul, until the brown eyes popped open. "Two spoonfuls for Ben, one for Callie..." he handed the bottle, "Make it last, Nate, I can only spare two bottles. I'm taking one to the clinic and the other six have to go to Fort Preston. From there, they go to Glen Oaks, they got a lot of sick folks that need it, ten dead at last count in Hooper."
"Hooper...Glen Oaks..." Nate muttered, lifting Callie and tapping her face. "Wake up, Honey...I got medicine..." he waited for the lips to part and slid the spoon in, following with some spiked cider, she never roused, made a face and fell back on the pillow. His head shot up over the bed to where Josiah was supporting Ben Johnson. He moved around the bed, picked up a clean spoon and between the two of them, they got two spoonfuls into the unconscious man.
"He's on his way, out," Josiah noted, seeing the life ebbing away.
"Not if I can help it," Nate retorted, "This sickness spread up that way, that means it wasn't Vin..." he sighed, dropping his head and saying a silent prayer. "I'll bet that lifted a weight from his shoulders..."
"He doesn't know,"
"What!" Buck exclaimed loudly, from where he held Chris upright, the wet blond head resting on his arm. "Why didn't you tell him?"
"I didn't see him, Buck," the preacher argued, settling Ben into a clean nightshirt and helping Nathan ease him back onto the bed. "He'd come and gone before I got there, with good reason."
"What good reason?" Nate asked, seeing anger flashing in the blue-gray eyes.
"Vin hightailed outta the area, the army's got 'shoot to kill' orders..."
"Godammit!" Buck roared with such velocity, his patient roused, eyes cracking open.
"Some pissed-off stripe-holder at Badger Pass claimed Vin tried to shoot them all down." He answered Buck's furious eyes and saw the rogue's face twist up in hatred.
"He'll be okay, if that boy don't want to be found, he won't be..." Nate predicted, not wasting any time and moving quickly across the room. Carefully, he slid two spoonfuls of quinine into the semiconscious man's mouth. He tipped the cup towards the slack lips, "Come on Chris, drink some water. We got the medicine now...you gotta fight back."
"...shit...ful..." Chris managed, wrinking his face at the horrid taste.
"Never you mind about the taste, it works..." Nate answered, "Keep him awake, Buck I want him to gargle..."
"Yeah," the dark headed nodded, his arms trembling in rage, as the healer managed to get him to gargle a warm salty, throat wash.
"...s'wrong Buck..."
"Nothing Chris."
"...bad liar..." Chris panted before dissolving into a coughing fit that took both Josiah and Buck to quell. The effort left him unconscious again and after cleaning him up, Josiah rose and took the coffee Nate offered.
"They got any sick at the Fort?" the healer asked.
"No, they're holding three men there...the only strangers in town before the sickness came."
"Which way did they come? Maybe one of 'em was in San Carlos...Did Ezra recognize their names..."
"I don't know, Nate, he was really out of it when I talked to him. I didn't want to miss Vin and I had to take off," Josiah said, "I got this from Major Garrison," he pulled the wire from his pocket and sat down at the table. "Willie Soames, Dutch Schmidt and...and...Percy Packer. I'm gonna head back and drop these bottles with the guards. Then get some of it into Ezra, I'll ask him more about this Packer fella, the wire said he's the only one that was in San Carlos."
"Persimmon..."
"Callie?" Nate turned at the weak voice and the three men moved to the bed. "How ya feelin'?"
"Thirsty...Can I somethin' that's got no weeds?"
"Yeah," he replied with a chuckle, taking a mug of cold water from Buck. "Here ya go..." He paused and saw her eyeing Josiah. "Ain't you... supposed to be...lookin' afte...Mr.Standish?"
"He's asleep...he's okay. You keep takin' that medicine and listenin' to Nathan and you'll be okay too."
"His name's not Percy...it's Persimmon..." she yawned, smiling weakly at Buck. "Hiya Buck...we still gettin' married?"
"Sure thing, Darlin'" Buck squatted down, stroking her damp head. "Honey, can you tell me about Persimmon?"
"Sure," she shrugged, screwing her tiny face up, "He's got hair like smushed up carrots," she paused and took a couple breaths, "he talks real nice and he's wearin' his Sunday clothes...even though it weren't Sunday. He gimme a nickel for some water..."
"Sweet Jesus!" Josiah groaned, shaking his head.
"When was this, Darlin'?" Buck coached, having gained her full confidence. "Was it before Vin and Mr. Standish came to see you last week?"
"Uh...Uh..." she screwed her face up for a moment, then nodded, "Yeah, it was the night before." She stopped and thought hard, taking some slow breaths. "Pa was are wore out, sleepin in the rocker. I heard the horse and went to look." She eyed the three adults and then continued. "He asked for some water, but I didn't say nothin', cause he was a stranger." She paused, clutching Buck's arm and shaking a little. "I'm cold, Buck..."
"Okay, Old Buck can fix that," He scooped her and the blanket up and walked to the rocker, the others in tow. He settled in, using his long legs to move the chair. "Better?" he asked, feeling the warmth of the fire.
"Yeah," she sighed, then poked her head up. "Am I bein' an itch...I tryin' awful hard not to be..."
"You're not itch, Darlin'" Buck smiled, kissing her forehead. "Can you tell me what else happened?"
"Well," she coughed, then snuggled into the broad chest. "He said his name and then asked for some water. It was too dark to see the cup by the well," she recalled, "and I ain't allowed to climb up and hang over the edge...so I took Pa's coffee cup and let him use that."
"Damn!" Nate walked away, adding up the pieces and rubbing the pounding tension behind his eyes. "He gave it to Ben and Ezra..."
"He works on a train, I think..." Callie commented.
"An engineer with red hair," The preacher said, bending down and ruffling the damp, blond curls. "Honey, you just might have saved Vin Tanner's life. You're a brave girl..."
"What?" Buck caught Josiah's eyes.
"Ezra...when I asked him the names, he mumbled that Parker was an engineer from back east with red hair..."
"...like smushed up carrots..." Nate repeated, thinking on Callie's words. "Ya make sure them guards know about Packer bein' here...and Garrison too. It takes the army forever to wrangle out the mess they make."
"How are we gonna get word to Vin?" Buck whispered, rocking the sleeping child carefully.
"I don't know, Brother," Josiah pulled the blanket up over Chris and headed out.
"Dale...hey Dale..." Yancy approached the table in the smoke filled Saloon where the twenty-five year old Upshaw heir was holding court. Most of the coins were in front of him, while disgruntled faces holding losing hands sat around the table.
"I'm busy," he replied, tossing a shot of whiskey down. The bottle was nearly done and the three kings he held would make it another winning hand.
"Army's in town...I heard 'em talkin' to that kid Josiah left in charge. They're huntin' Tanner...claimed he tried to kill a bunch of soldiers up at Badger Pass. Stole the medicine and took off..."
"Well now," the blond grinned, tossing his cards onto the table. "I'd say it's time for us to do our duty, the government appreciates law abiding citizens. Let's go huntin'!" He hooted, slapping his dozing brother Adam. "Wake your ass up and get the Kid, we're headin' out."
"What about the barricade?" Adam yawned, draining his beer.
"They lifted it," Yancy informed, keeping the part about Tanner's innocense himself. "The clerk already wired the Judge, folk's will headin' back come morning."
"Let's ride!" Dale hooted, gathering his men and heading for the livery. "Gabe, you take Jake home," he noted of the youngest, who wasn't into blood sport. "We got business to do!" After the sleepy sixteen-year old was roused from his bed at the hotel, they took the back road out of town, which was a short cut to the massive property of the Upshaw ranch.
It was an hour closer to forever for the exhausted traveller. He'd ridden for a day and a half with little rest or sleep and now was running on empty. Larabee's horse forged onward, despite his own fatigue. Vin spotted a creek ahead and slowed down, they both needed a drink and a few minutes. As the beast sated his thirst, the lonely man thought of the road ahead for him. Would he be able to fall back into the solitary life? Or would the silence prove deafening? His debate was short lived, the thundering call of hooves set him in motion again. A mile later, with the wind slapping his face, he saw riders blocking his path, the lone path that led to the property's edge. Reining the horse in, he turned back, only to find himself surrounded.
"This here is private property!" a voice bellowed. Vin's eyes narrowed in the darkness, trying to count he bodies in the shadows ahead.
"I'm just passin' through...be gone in a few hours..." he called back, taking the rifle and raising it carefully.
"Tanner?" Adam Upshaw hollered, "The army's huntin' you...claims you tried to murder a bunch of their men and stole some medicine."
"They lied." Vin spat back.
"Well now, you won't object if we search you then?" the middle Upshaw replied, watching Yancy sneaking up behind Tanner.
"Go to hell!" Vin snarled taking aim. The shot never sounded, as the rifle was grabbed. A snapping sound erupted at the same time all his air was cut off. His fingers fumbled for the pistol, getting a shot off, before he was dragged down from the horse. A sharp tug on the whip that was bound around his neck, nearly rendered him unconscious.
"Get on your knees, you murderin' savage!" Dale barked, grinning as a torch was lit from a nearby tree branch. The flickering light revealed the defiant eyes glaring at them. Blood ran from his lip where he hit he ground. The gun at his temple prevented further movement. The eldest Upshaw moved forward, yanking the long hair savagely with one hand and kicking the captive hard in the groin. "You were warned...sign said we shoot trespassers...but me being the civil minded man I am..." he paused, yanking the drooping head again. "Pay attention!" He backhanded Vin hard, drawing blood from his nose. "I'm gonna give you a second chance...you're gonna stand trial in the court of Upshaw," he gloated, tying the tracker's hands with rough rope. "Get up!"
Vin struggled and stood, wheezing heavily through the crushed windpipe in his neck. His hands were tied in front of him and the rope was attached to Dale's horse. The whip was released and he coughed and sputtered, fighing to remain upright.
"Where we headed?" Adam asked, seeing the glint in Dale's eye. "Pa ain't gonna like this..."
"Then we won't tell him, will we?" He warned and saw the younger man back down. "Clancy's cabin's been deserted for years." He said of the old hermit who once lived on the land. "It's out of the way, real private. Max, see if you can track down Larabee's horse," He said of black steed that rode off. "Yancy, you head back to the bunkhouse, get what we need. You tell my Pa we're huntin' a trespasser who took a shot at us."
"Like the last time?" Bates grinned, remembering the last trespasser's unfortunate demise.
"Oh yeah," Dale grinned, moving the horse forward and forcing the prisoner to keep up on foot. "I sure am gonna enjoy this...let's see how good them feet are at keepin' time."
Vin's slow trot increased to a jog as the horse sped up. Angry he jerked back on the rope, causing Upshaw's horse to rear up.
Adam was behind and his well placed shot grazed the captive's left thigh, causing him to drop to his knees. "Get up before I put a crease in the other leg..."
Vin grimaced and felt the blood running down his leg. It wasn't deep, but the added pressure of putting weight on it, didn't help. Again he was forced to trot, jog, then run, the pain firing up his leg and causing him to stumble, time and time again. Hours went by and they slowed down, enjoying the game. Then they would speed up, causing him to cry out in pain. The last time he fell, he couldn't get up. He had nothing left, his swollen, numbed fingers tried to feel the area above the soaked thigh of his pants, where the wound was. His throat was so dry...his lips cracked and bleeding and his head spinning dizzily. He was on his side, eyes shut, when he heard a voice above and felt a canteen brush against his face. He reached up, his bound hands fumbling through the lack of circulation. While one brother diverted his attention with the canteen, the other laughed and moved above the dazed man.
Vin felt the warm stream of urine hit his face and he turtled up, grunting as a boot connected with his ribcage.
"Get up, you filthy savage," Adam warned, then watched as Dale's horse resumed it's journey, slowly dragging the weak, struggling man behind, even after he didn't rise. He grinned and followed, anticipating the next few days of fun.
A loud rapping on the door brought the tall man to his feet. He pulled his pants on and grabbed his gun, while moving quickly across the floor. His long strides took him in the hallway, where he met his youngest son. The sixteen-year old was coming up the steps. Behind the handsome boy, he saw Carlos, his loyal servent for twenty-five years, coming from the back of the house.
"Pa, the army's outside..."
"Jacob," He greeted his son, absent for almost two weeks, "When did you get home? Why didn't you wake me up? Are your brothers with you?"
"I was hungry, Sir, in the kitchen eating a sandwich. I didn't want to disturb you." He braced himself for the bearhug. "I'm fine, Sir, really..."
"Damn heathen...spreadin' that sickness...he could have killed you too. I heard he killed Ben Johnson's little girl...I warned Orrin Travis when he looked the other way after Claire Mosley was killed. The likes of him defending that Indian...bold as he could be...then Virginia..."
"Callie's not dead and there's no proof Vin made anybody sick," the youth defied the black eyes bearing on him. He liked Vin Tanner and J.D. Dunne, they always treated him fair, didn't look down on him or brush him off, like his own brothers did. "As for Virginia, he had witnesses...and that guy they caught in Vista City confessed..."
"Bullshit!" He saw the door open and moved in front of the boy. "Where are your brothers?"
"They're huntin' a trespasser...that's what Yancy said...he rode in a little while ago..."
"Good Evening, Senor,"
"I'm Captain Timmons," the weary soldier pushed past the half-asleep servent. He saw the large, strong body and recognized the face. Zeb Upshaw was well known in the territory and his influence and money, went far. He supported the army heavily and the Major bought most of their stock from the horses bred on the ranch. "Mr. Upshaw, I hate to disturb you, but it's important."
"That's alright Captain, the sun will be up soon enough. Please come in...coffee?"
"No thank you, Sir, we can't stay. My men and I are looking for Vin Tanner. Are you familiar with him?"
"That dirty half-breed isn't here..." he spat, "I'd sooner let a rapid wolf in here than that animal. I don't cotton to Indian lovers. That savage has the whole town fooled...the likes of him walking among descent folks." He poured himself a shot of whiskey from the bottle on the desk in the study next to the foyer. "What'd he do now?"
"Word from up north...from a unit that's clearin' the road near Badger Pass. He attacked them and stole the Quinine that they were waiting to bring to town."
"Thievin', dirty breed...nobody listens to me. I warned the Judge about him. Making him a keeper of peace is like puttin' the wolf in charge of the henhouse." He turned, eyeing the dusty soldier. "You think he's headed this way?"
"We've been tracking him all night...my men are tired and hungry. The horses need some rest..."
"Say no more, Son, you go to the bunkhouse and have McCleary put up your men. You rest up and get some grub. He'll see to the horses. You need men?"
"No sir, we figure he's headed north...that stuff brings a nice profit...We'll rest a bit then head out."
"Very well," the elder man assessed, "You know you don't have to worry about Upshaw land. If he's here, he's as good as caught. I don't take to law breakers...I believe in justice. If he's found here, I'll detain him and send a man to Major Garrison at the Fort."
"Appreciate the support, Sir, the Major said we could count on you."
Jake stayed in the shadows, his blue eyes narrowing as the words echoed in the hall. Vin wouldn't kill anybody or steal medicine. Something was wrong. He thought on the wolfish grins his brothers shared on the way home. Dale was tall like their father, but had their mother's fair eyes and coloring. Adam was Zeb's son out and out, the dark unruly hair, dark eyes, hot temper and lean body. Although at sixteen, he was already nearly as tall as his father and brothers, and had the trademark Upshaw dark hair, his blue eyes and fine features were his mother's. So was his heart, at least that is what Maria, Carlos's wife said. Dale was his brother, but there was something about the cruel streak in him that Jake didn't like. Until a year or so ago, when Adam came back from college, he thought they were close. But Adam was starting to change, to become like Dale. He padded back to the kitchen and finished his roast beef sandwich. Swallowing the last of the milk, he thought on the lifted ban. That meant J.D. would be coming back. He could spy on his brothers and find out what they were up too.
Daylight soared into the room, scorching his eyes. He ran his tongue along his dry mouth and tasted something bitter. Rolling and groaning he sat up, wincing as his sore chest, ravaged by coughing, protested. It was too painful to keep his eyes open, he shivered, then heard a deep voice.
"Mornin' Brother, open up..."
"What is that vile poison?" Ezra swallowed on command and frowned. "That is what I tasted when I woke up..."
"That's cause I plied you with earlier...when I got back. It's Quinine..."
"Chris and the others?"
"With some luck, a nod from the Lord and Nate's hands, they should pull out of this fine. Callie's doing better already." He nudged the body, "Get up so I can change your linens..."
"Quinine?" Ezra rose, staggered to table and sat down. Josiah put down a platter of eggs, biscuits and honey, apple cider and a large mug of tea. "Vin?" his jade eyes sparked for the first time in several days. "Then he knows about Callie?" He saw the large hands move quickly, stripping the bed and replacing the sheets. Then the preacher moved back towards the kitchen.
"No, he left the medicine and took off, the army's huntin' him and they're in a bad mood." His eyes lingered on the package he found with the medicine. He set is aside and turned back to the recovering patient. "Turns out that fella you were playin' cards with in San Carlos, the engineer, he stopped at Johnson's the night before you and Vin did...Callie gave him Ben's cup to get a drink out of..."
"Good Lord!" Ezra choked on the eggs, taking a liberal swig of cider. "He's the carrier?"
"She described him flat out...right down to the hair like smushed up carrots...he was Glen Oaks and Hooper too."
"There's something else," the southerner guessed, blinking as the herbal tea took effect.
"Yeah, but it can wait, I got a pile of wires to send. J.D. and the others will be back by this afternoon." he eyed the empty plate and nodded. "You get back under them covers and get some rest. Nate says that's the quickest way to beat this...sleep, take the medicine and eat. You're a pro already at two of them..."
"Keeping oneself fit and alert is a key to success. A sound mind and body..." he frowned as the door shutting ended his thought. "Plebian...I am surrounded." He moved to the cot and settled back down, thinking on the sly tracker. "...you are missed..."
He swallowed hard, drinking down the metallic taste of blood. He shifted painfully and groaned, every inch of his bruised and battered flesh protested. He couldn't move, even if he wanted to. For a brief moment, he had no idea where he was. Something hard that reeked of urine, waste and mildew was beneath him. The air was dank and cold and went right through him. What clothes were left were in tatters, giving him no relief from the cold. He moved again and the dull throb in his left thigh, that sparked his memory. Shot, then beaten and dragged behind Dale Upshaw's horse for miles. He moved again, feeling a raw and burning pain in his wrists and ankles. He was bound to something hard, lying flat on his back. He blinked against the blindfold, wondering where he was and more importantly, how he would escape. Chris? Was he even alive? His heart sank...he told Josiah he was heading north. Nobody knew...he was alone in this hell hole. He thought on the preacher's humble church and how many times he'd stolen inside, seeking solace in the dark. He turned to that now, praying for Chris...hoping he was alive. The angel appeared behind the darkness that blinded him. Her sky eyes sparkling and her golden hair dancing around her face. The pain returned, stabbing his heart and shredding his tender insides. A lone tear escaped, running under the dirty cloth and down his cheek.
"Callie..." he rasped through the bloodied lips. "God fergive me..." He prayed then, for salvation for his tortured soul. For hope was all he had left.
The fog lifted and clear thoughts actually tried to invade his brain. He coughed and rolled, tasting the bitter residue of the medicine. Images of Buck holding him, coaxing the quinine in and guiding water to his parched lips. Come to think of it, all his memories during the nightmarish week, involved Buck being at his side. He coughed again, and his chest flared. The endless hacking had given his muscles to ache.
"Shit!" he rolled over again, trying to find relief.
"You said a swear word...that's five cents I'm gonna get from Buck. He said I'd make a lot money iffen I waited for you to rouse some."
One green eye got brave and opened, only to have a harsh ray of sunlight stab his delicate head. "Dammit!" he hissed, hunching up on the bed and covering his eyes.
"That's another nickel, boy oh boy, I'm gonna be rich!" she squealed, leaning in closer, examining the tense, pale face. "Josiah said if you say swear words, you could end up dancin' to the devil's fiddle. What's that mean? I didn't know the devil had a fiddle. How can he play a fiddle? Where'd he get a fiddle? I thought he only had pitchforks..."
The endless prattle hit him like bullets...bullets with fire. He squinted up at the curious little face and grimaced, "Go away, Kid..." he growled, turning over.
She walked around the bed again, putting her hands on the frame and leaning inward. She got so close, she was only an inch from his face. Her nose wrinkled up in distaste.
"You sure do stink good. I don't think I ever smelled anything so bad. Worse than Mr. Bate's pigs or even the sheep in the middle of summer when they're smellin' awful. My Mama's got some rosewater, I know where it's hid. I could douse you real good...chase away that stink. Maybe I could give you a bath first, then douse you."
"Nathan!" Chris roared, the pesty mite's barrage of questions was causing his head to explode. He jumped back when his eyes opened and the face was right in front of his, smiling like a cherub. He glared openly, but she leaned closer, tapping the top of his head.
"Your hair is all stickin' up like a porcupine down wind of a skunk...I could slacker it for you."
"Where the Hell are you, Nathan!" His frustration went airborne.
"You cussed again!" she giggled, clapping her hands and sitting on the bunk next to him. "If you say the real bad one, Buck says I get a whole quarter. Vin says you should earn your keep. Vin says not to take charity from nobody. Vin says I gotta be a little lady...Vin says you never break cover...Vin says..."
"...walkin' on water was he?" Chris groused of the child's idolization.
"Vin don't walk on water..but I seen him swimming once. He sure swims good...and he smiles good too. He don't stink like you...you smell like you was wrestlin' with a pack of riled up skunks. Why's your hair stickin' up like that? Vin's hair always looks good...even when he's throwin' up... I seen him throwin' up once in the alley. Me and Billy was comin' back from the fishin' hole. J.D. took us and we caught lots of fish. We tried to show Vin, but he turned all green. He didn't like our fish...his eyes got all funny and he ran. Mr. Standish was smiling so hard the sun shot off his gold tooth. He said Vin was...was...embribin'..."
"Buck! Get your ass in here!" Chris growled, desperate and hurting and not caring. He saw the dark head through the window and heard the laughter before the heavy footfall.
"You said another one..." she jumped up and leapt at her mustached hero. "Buck I'm gonna be rich...you owe me...you gotta give me..." she frowned and held on hand out, looking at her fingers."Aw, hell, I lost count."
"You lost your tip, Sweetheart," Buck laughed, carrying her across the room. "Part of the deal was that you wouldn't swear anymore. Get back in that bedroom and get in that tub. I left a clean dress and...and...things...for you to dress in."
"A dress?" she wrinkled her nose. "It ain't Sunday. I ain't gotta wear no dress..."
"You don't have to wear any dress." Buck corrected, putting a tray next to Chris's cot by the fire.
"Good, I'll find something else," she decided, leaving the room.
"I owe you," Chris sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He heard the soft chuckle and took another breath, the endless prattle still ringing in his ears. "...name your price..."
"I just got my reward," the rogue said seriously, watching the head rise. "Welcome back..." he held out a hand and smiled again at the strength returning in the grip. "You scared ten years off me, Pard and I ain't got that many left."
Chris tossed the worried man a half-grin and stood up, searching for clothes. He swayed and if Buck hadn't grabbed him, he'd have fallen.
"Damn..." he gasped, "How long I been out of it?"
"I brought you in six days ago...you damn near died on me..." Buck paused, gripping Chris's shoulders and shaking off the bad feeling, "Josiah brought Quinine last night...I've been giving you doses all day. It's almost suppertime." He saw Chris trying to stand again and intervened, "You don't have your sealegs yet," he warned, "...and Nate's to busy to be stitchin' or splintin' anything."
"He made it!" the blond grinned, "Damn his stubborn hide to hell..."
Buck didn't miss the pride in the voice and a touch of sadness. The brief light left the green eyes and the body sagged.
"I'm sorry, Chris," he answered the question he saw lingering, "He was gone before Josiah got to the dropoff. The army hasn't found him yet..."
"They' won't." Chris said quietly, eyeing the mountains in the distance through the window. Where was Vin Tanner now? Would he find peace without knowing the truth? It bothered him that he couldn't find his friend and take the pain away. "Ezra?"
"Josiah said he's doing good, he helped them identify the carrier," he saw Chris look up briefly and the pain increase. "I know...it ripped my guts up too. Vin's all alone out there, hunkered down on some cold Goddamn mountain, thinkin' he killed Callie and poisoned the town..."
He helped Chris sit up in the cot, back resting against the wall. He pulled the blanket up and set the tray on his lap. A bowl of broth with some biscuits and tea waited. He took a few more minutes, filling Chris in on the rest of the news.
"You eat, then we'll get you cleaned up, then you get more medicine and go back to bed." He paused, watching the wavering hand get the spoon up without spilling a drop. "She's right you know, you do stink pretty good..." he paused and walked across the room, watching her splash in the tub. Every few seconds, she'd look over at the large bed and her smile would fade.
Chris dipped the hot biscuit into the savory broth and frowned, watching the crestfallen Wilmington return. "What?" he asked, devouring the biscuit.
"Ben...he's not respondin'...poor kid, her heart's broke..."
Something roused him from his semiconscious state. He tensed up, straining against his bonds. He felt it again, tiny feet walking on his bare chest. He sucked in his breath and felt the feet on his collarbone, whiskers brushing his cheek. He moaned and twisted his face, trying to dislodge it. A snicker nearby told him he wasn't alone. The fat belly of the beast landed on his lips and he bit it, tossing his head and hurling it across the room.
"Damn!" Adam laughed, watching the dazed rat scurry away.
"I bet he gave that rat rabies," Dale sneered, squatting over the captive who was tied to a wooden berth that was built into the wall. He eased the dagger down the filthy chest, watching the Adam's apple bobbing. "Now I'm impressed. Did you learn that trick while you were sleepin' with them savages? I'll bet you had a pretty little squaw." He punched Vin hard in the groin and smiled at the cry of pain. "Adam, get him up, it's time to play."
Vin felt the ropes cut, but was too long without circulation. Upon being raised, his legs collapsed, then suffered the pains of pins and needles. His arms were pulled painfull high above his head and tied to a beam in the ceiling. The blindfold was removed and he squinted, turning his head as the light from the lantern on the table hit him. His quick glimpse was of a cabin, old, but sturdy. Two windows on either side and one door. A single table and two chairs, a small stove and a bunk. His throat was so dry, he was choking, his limbs ached and the smell of food, hot and savory, assaulted him empty stomach. When had he eaten last? Or had a drink? Two bowls of beef stew sat just a few feet away, steam rising. He saw Adam pour a mug of water and licked his lips. A plate of hot biscuits drizzled with butter was waved under his nose, the scent nearly knocking him out.
His head was jerked back and the blade appeared at his neck. He felt Dale pressing close from behind.
"Now you listen up, breed, we got a lot of questions to ask you...you think what you been through over killing that little girl was hard...you ain't lived through my questions about Virginia and how you violated her..."
"Go...t'hell..." Vin whispered, his voice struggling against his water deprived throat. He kicked his bare foot backwards, striking out at the oppressor. A beefy fist to his lower back caused him to cry out as a severe pain ran up his spine. He blinked and saw stars, then Dale's face appeared in the center of his multicolored vision.
"You keep a civil tongue or I'll cut it right out of that mangy head of yours..." the elder Upshaw warned, punching Vin hard in the stomach and then in the wounded thigh.
The first blow took his air away, his head dropped and his sagged against the strain of bearing his weight. The second one send him into the blackpool. He heard their voices from far away...
"You rest up, Tanner, once we get done supper, the fun's gonna begin..."
Josiah sat across from Ezra, watching the trembling hands. The gambler hadn't moved an inch, not made any attempt to open the package with crude paper wrapping.
He saw the even letters of his name and realized how hard the author worked at getting them so even. But the 'from Vin' was what hurt. He traced the three letters and felt like a mule kicked him. Finally, he managed to get it open, and a small, well-worn leather book fell out. He cocked his head and images of the same book balanced on the tracker's lap in the wagon came to view. He eyed Josiah briefly, before gazing once again at the book. He opened the flap and read the new words on the inside aloud.
"Yull find me ware the Eagle calls..." He made a face and turned to Josiah "I don't understand..."
"I think he meant to finish that, Ezra, but he ran out of time. The Army was bearin' down on him..."
"But..." Ezra's words died in his throat, they were burned and set south, settling noisly in his stomach. The churning war began...sending angry spears of protests through his intestinal track. "There must...be...a...mistake...he erred grievously..."
"No, he thought that out...on the way up, I'd guess. A man thinks he might not live to see tomorrow..."
"Why?" Ezra pleaded, pushing the book away, as if it seared his fingers. "Why me? He must have meant for Chris to have this...not me...me???"
"Why not you?" The preacher knew Vin made the right choice and Ezra needed to feel it too.
"You don't understand," he rose, leaving the book behind and walking to the window. He saw the crowd on the street, the signs of life had returned. Casey and J.D. were talking to Jessie out front of the Hotel. Other citizens lingered, their anxious faces realized in the flickering torches on the street. He remembered another night, not unlike this one. A night he'd wished he could have back...now more than ever. "You weren't there..." his voice was distant and bitter, "I laughed at him...scoffed at his claim...sneered at that gifted soul..." he turned away, not wanting to see the life below. "It was a small request, it priceless value realized much later. He sought me out...entrusted me and I laughed..." He sat back down, staring at the book but not touching it. Again, he lifted his face to the wise man. "Why me?"
"You pick up that book," Josiah warned, standing and taking his hat, "You read every word and verse," he noted of the poetry Vin wrote in the book, one which even he hadn't seen. He knew Vin wrote poetry, they'd all seen him pull it own when they were out of town, around the fire or even when he was hunkered down in that damn wagon. He knew Chris read it, he'd seen Vin sharing the poems with him in the shadows of the saloon. "You listen real hard and you'll get your answer. Vin..." he paused at the door. "...saw you, the real you. That's why..."
So Ezra picked up the book, laid on the cot and flipped to the first page. As he read, his emotions were tossed like a ship in storm. Some of the poems were full of light and joy, others reflective and moving, others sad and haunting. Tears formed at the words...and rage followed. That someone so gifted, with such vision was so misunderstood. With a heavy heart, he clutched Vin Tanner's most prized possession against his chest and heard the soft drawl. Vin understood why he laughed and accepted him for it. That irony...Vin saw it where no one else could. If he lived to be a hundred and slaved for hours every day, he'd never be able to produce art as esquisite and moving as this. Vin understood the bitter laugh...and Ezra now understood, too late, how special the gentle spirit had been. For the first time in his life, he felt like someone touched his soul. The lamp flickered out, casting the room into darkness. He slid beneath the blanket and let the burning tears score his face.
The crickets played to an unappreciative audience in the dense thicket around the old cabin. The rider eyed the road behind him, carefully noting that he wasn't followed. He slid from the horse and made his way to the cabin. A cry of pain split the night, chasing the chirping insects away for a moment. He paused in the doorway, letting the slow grin form. Tired of the waiting for the unconscious man to rouse, Dale had placed the lit end of the cigar he was smoking into the open wound on Tanner's thigh. The sky eyes shot open, just before the scream. The visitor chuckled, then he strode inside, placing a bottle of whiskey on the table.
"Well now, I hope I didn't miss all the fun," Yancy spit a wad of tobacco, hitting the bruised cheek of the prisoner.
"Hell no," Dale yanked the mangy hair hard, bringing the tracker's head up. The blue eyes were alive with fury. "I was just about to ask the breed here, about the dirty, stinkin' Indian he defended...the one who raped Claire Mosley. That's his first crime, defendin' that thievin' redskinned rapist."
"...didn't rape...her...was...mar...ried..." Vin coughed, flinching as a fist was driven into his lower back. His body was thrown forward, only increased the pain in the pressure of his arms extended over his head.
"Liar!" the blond's lip curled up in fury and he moved in front of the gasping victim, whose head hung down. He backhanded him hard, splitting the cracked lip, before yanking the head up hard. He inched his face closer, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Saliva and blood ran down the tortured man's chin, leaving a long, lingering wet string down his chest. "Look at him, droolin' like an old man. You keep your head up when I talk to you, Boy!" he growled, "and don't you sass me, you lyin' sack of shit...he used her like an animal...probably did a lot worse too...I heard about what they do to christian women...twistin' their minds up. They should have cut his meat off...made him suffer awhile, then hung his heathen red ass."
Vin heard the words and his anger rose. Chanu was a friend, a good one and he wouldn't let Upshaw talk about him like that. Claire and Chanu loved each other and the time they shared was too brief, halted by her deranged father.
"Y'ell never be half the man he is..." Vin hissed, as his mouth filled with blood again. "...man needs balls...that leaves..ya out..." He lifted his face, spitting a wad right into Dale's eye. He felt the pain explode between his legs, when the hard toe of the keeper's boot hit him. A storm of color erupted in his vision, blues, reds and purples swam in a frenzy. He bit back a scream, as a burning pain tore into his leg.
"You go speakin' with 'forked tongue' again dog and I'm gonna start cuttin' off little bits and pieces of you." the elder Upshaw charged, withdrawing the glowing ember from the open wound on Tanner's bare leg. He put the cigar on the edge of the table and picked up his kinfe. He'd cut away the cloth around the open bullet score, to gain easy access. "Listen up, Tanner, this court is now in session, the honorable Dale Upshaw is presidin'..." he laughed, slapping Yancy's back.
"What are the charges, Judge?" the other man chuckled.
"Trespassin' to start off with," Upshaw paused, pressing the point of the knife he held into the damp folds of the prisoner's naval. "...takin' the side of the Indian dog Chanu against the rest of the town...the decent folks..." he increased the pressure, drawing a sharp hiss as a bead of red appeared. "...and..." he growled, yanking the head up violently and moving the knife to the pale exposed neck. "...rapin' and chokin' the life out of my sweet Ginny..."
"...she's not...dead..." Vin choked, feeling the blade press into the flesh over his collarbone.
"Breathin'?" the blond spat back, jerking the blade and causing a tiny cut, "Yeah, she's still breathin'...but she's dead inside...her mind's gone...Her folks put her in some fancy hospital in St. Louis." he moved the knife under the loose waistband of the muddy pants and pressed the blade low, making his threat clear. He pulled the gathered hair back further and pressed his lips close to the struggling man's ear. "You might have fooled the judge and them others...but not me..I know what you did to her in the woods...you fuckin' animal!"
Vin froze, his body stiffening as he prepared for the crude castration, but it didn't occur. He unclenched his eyes, when he heard the laughter. Yancy moved in, slapping Dale on the back and whooping it up. Vin closed his eyes again and his chest sagged in relief. The two moved to the table, toasted themselves with a new bottle of whiskey.
"Hey, Dale," Yancy elbowed his boss with a wink, "Don't forget about all them folks he killed with his sickness," he baited and saw the blue eyes shoot open and fill with pain. He winked again and picked up a broken piece of board, moving in front of the bound tracker. Seeing the fires of guilt clearly through the eyes dulled by pain, he sneered. "Ya know, I heard that poor little gal's Pa was so busted up about her dyin'...he give up. Hell, he's probably dead by now...Larabee too."
"Poor little Callie," Dale threw more fuel on the fire, "I can just see her face all red from the air bein' cut off...eyes buggin' out..." he moved around the table, elbowing Adam who had been observing. "Horrible way to go...and her poor Pa havin' to watch...You feel proud of that, you mangy dog, causin' all them folks to choke to death?"
Try as he might, he couldn't shut out the anguish and it shot out of his eyes. He bit his lip as the wave rose, constricting his chest. Blurred images from a long ago memory lingered in the shadows...another face...choking and gagging...then the deafening silence and the agonizing death. Her unseeing eyes staring right at him, before he was pulled away. That's the last memory he had of his mother. Callie, the sun shining from her eyes and the lyrical tinge to that wonderful laughter. Her small hugs and tiny kisses, that cranky voice when she was cross, the confidence when she led the pack of kids around town, was gone forever. Ben and Chris? God, did he kill his best friend? Bad enough that poor woman was coming home to a dead child, but a dead husband too. He was nearly drowning in a sea of remorse, the black waves crashing over him. So lost was he, that he didn't see Yancy raise the club. The sharp pain in his side forced a dull grunt from his battered lips, as wood men flesh and bone.
"That's for what ya done to Claire Mosley, by lettin' that heathen escape from jail..." Yancy spat, handing the club to Dale, who tossed it from one hand to the other, while circling the victim.
"Ginny," he whispered in Vin's ear. "You're gonna pay for what you done to her. You'll be screamin' for a bullet to end your misery you stinkin' savage..." he swung the wood hard, hitting the soft area under the exposed ribcage.
His air was stolen from him and he dropped his head, coughing hard and fighting for every breath. Through the next several minutes as the fog lifted, he heard the evil laughter. His shifted his weight, trying to stand and take some pressure off his upper arms. The burning muscles begged for release, as the strain was intensified by the pressure of bearing his weight.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Dale hollered, leveling a punch to the side of the dazed man's face. "We were gonna get married, until you soiled her..."
"Hah..." Vin grunted, knowing through Mary that Virginia had been planning to break off the courtship. The dangerous side of the hot-headed Upshaw frightened her. "...yer dreamin'...she'd a sooner wed a snake..." he rasped, blinking through the fog. He saw a flicker in Upshaw's eyes and zoned in, "...ya knew...that it?" he quizzed, his side on fire, "...she turned ya down that night, didn't she? Ya got pissed off and left...her...there...yer...fault...she...got..."
"Shut up!" the blond raged, pummeling the helpless body with both fists.
"Dale, that's enough!" Adam jumped from the window ledge where he'd been resting, fighting with his inner doubt. He pulled his brother away, wincing at the blood running down Tanner's face from a new cut above his eye, a split lip and a bloody nose. His chest was already discolored by the rough handling and dragging the night before and full of small cuts. "He's had it...he's out cold..."
"Fuck off, Adam," the elder struggled against his strong brother, who pulled him outside.
"Listen to me!" the dark-haired Upshaw commanded, zoning his eyes onto the furious face. "We're already late, if we don't hurry, we'll miss curfew. Pa'll have a fit...you want to tangle with him?"
Dale paused a moment, fisting his rage and quelling the fire inside. Adam was right. Besides, he wanted Tanne to suffer long and hard. Nodding, he caught Yancy's eye. "You and Adam get him back on that bunk, I'll get the horses."
While Bates secured the stunned man's legs, tying the naked ankles to each corner, Adam tied the hands, wincing at the battered face. Glancing backwards, he saw Yancy turn away and grabbed the canteen. He managed to wipe some blood away and dribble some moisture into the dazed man's mouth. What started as a prank, had turned sour. He thought they'd rough up Tanner a little, scare him good and set him loose on foot near the property border. But the murderous glint in the elder Upshaw's eyes, worried him. He knew now that Dale intended to kill Tanner slowly. Sighing, he eyed the battered body and tied on the blindfold.
Buck rose from the mat on the floor and stretched, eager to head out in the morning. Nathan needed supplies and suggested Buck go for them, sending the wagon back with Josiah. He told Buck to get some rest, a hot bath and a good meal. Buck eyed the lines of exhaustion on the sleeping healer's face and shook his head. He wondered how Nate found the strength to pull himself up; he hadn't had a break in almost two weeks.
Trotting to the bed, he checked on Callie and her father. The tiny child was curled up, sleeping sound. Her breathing had improved and Nate felt confident with rest, continued medicine and good food, she'd be fine. Ben wasn't better, but at least he wasn't worse. He needed to be watched at all times, too weak to expel the congestive matter clogging his throat. Coffee...the guard walked through the room and into the small living area. He poured a cup and turned back, surprised to see Chris sitting up and blinking at him.
"You hungry?" he asked, knowing Nate wanted to get some food into the weak man. The damp blond head dipped once and he headed to the stove. He ladled out some chicken stew and wrapped two biscuits in a damp towel, then put in a pot over the heat. He waited a few minutes, then pulled them out. After adding some cold cider and a mug of herbal tea, he headed for the table. "Here," he pulled out Chris's spoon and took the bottle of medicine from the mantle. Two spoonfuls and a wrinkled face later, he helped the dazed man stand. "Easy does it...you don't have your legs back yet." Finally Chris was settled at the table, wearing a clean shirt of Buck's.
"Thanks..." Chris whispered, a headache still plaguing him. His chest felt heavy and his throat was still sore. He fought against the urge to sleep, feeling the need to build his strength back. "Ben?" he asked, eyeing the concerned face across from him.
Buck sipped his coffee thoughtfully, before replying. "He's holdin' on...barely. I'll tell you what, Chris, Nate deserves a medal. He's been amazing."
"He must be exhausted," Chris noted, hearing the admiration in Buck's tone, "He hasn't yelled at me in hours." He coughed and closed his eyes as the room swung around. Then it passed and he resumed eating.
Buck watched Chris's eyes darting to the doorway and he sighed, then rose. He made his way to the peg on the wall where his jacket was. Reaching in the pocket, he drew out the watch and letter. He sat them next to Chris and saw the pale face blanch. The watch disappeared immediately, nestled tightly inside the firm fist. The green eyes regarded the letter with caution.
"My head's splittin' in half..." Chris whispered, feeling a wave of dizziness, which only grew more intense when he saw Vin's writing. He slid his finger inside the envelope and drew out a sheet of paper. The black markings tumbled together before his blurry vision. He blinked hard, narrowing his gaze to find the words. "Shit..." he dropped it, then slowly slid it across the table.
"You sure?" Buck's voice dropped in awe, knowing what Larabee was asking. His answer came when one hand gripped the watch again, the other finishing the meal. The eyes met his once and he nodded, picking up the paper.
"Hey Cowboy," he paused, grinning at the name that only Tanner could get away with. "Dont waste no time worryin on me. I gotta go away...a place I know, high above the eagle's call. Sumwares I cant kill no more folks. Im sorry Chris fer causin' ya to suffer so. Callie...God fergive me...I keep hearin' her...seein' her...takes my breath away..." Buck paused, feeling his own gut clenching and hearing the sharp hiss of pain from the tortured man across from him. The eyes were simmering and the fist gripping the watch, was now over his chest. He knew Chris Larabee well enough to know the inability to help his best friend, hurt worse that the disease that nearly killed him. He took a slow sip of coffee and continued. "Ya no this, Larabee, what ya give me...with yer hand open...I ain't never gonna ferget." He paused again, and waited, feeling Chris's pain reflected in his tormented eyes. "There's a poem..." he saw the slight nod and continued. "My fate lies ahead in a path cut and tru. My naked hearts cut open by eyes wide and blue. My hands are marked by blood that wont go away. My soul is cold and broken, I lost my brother today." He swallowed hard, feeling the utter hopelessness and desolation his younger friend was housing. He could see those emotive blue eyes and shuddered. He folded the letter and replaced it, rising as he saw Chris struggling for control. He slid the envelop across the table, under the free hand. He rested his own hand on Chris's wrist for a moment, squeezing it gently. "I'm gonna go check on Ben," he said, leaving the blond to his grief.
Breakfast at the table in the large house was somber. Jake glanced at both of his brothers, zoning in on Adam. Usually a good eater, his brother was toying with the food, glancing uneasily at Dale when their father wasn't looking. Maria, their housekeeper for years, placed a platter of sausage, eggs and fried potatoes in front of Dale, who dug in with gusto.
"Senor," a young voice called from the foyer.
"Yes, Diego," Zeb replied to the young stableboy.
"This just arrived from town," he handed the message to his employer.
Zeb scanned the note and swore, before tossing a coin to the waiting youth. He moved to the desk across the room and quickly wrote a reply. "You get that to telegraph office and hurry..." He returned to his seat and pushed his plate away. "Do you have those contracts ready?" He asked his middle son, who didn't seem to hear. "Adam...I'm talking to you."
"Huh?" the dark eyes blinked, "Oh, sorry Pa."
"Don't sorry Pa me," the silver-haired magnate replied, "That's your punishment for arriving home so late. You both know this is a working ranch. You should have been in bed by eleven."
"Yes , Sir," the dark head nodded, "I should have the figures done by this afternoon." He said of the contract with the railroad. They were selling off a parcel of their massive holdings. The railroad was paying top dollar, expanding across the northeast corner of their land.
"You'll have plenty of time to review them on the train. You and Dale will be going to Silver City to meet with Chester Kincaid. He's arrived five days early and he's anxious. That means he might pay our price." He paused and saw the color leave the middle boy's face, while he exchanged a curious look with his older brother. "Is something wrong?"
"No, Sir," Adam recovered, "I just didn't sleep well. Train...the depot is a half days ride..."
"Clem will drive you both there," the elder man said of one of their hands.
"I don't see why we both have to go," Dale argued, masking his anger. Silver City meant three days away at the minimum. His itch to pound the flesh of the tracker into minced meat was almost unbearable. "Besides, roundup is coming up and..."
"I'm sending Jake with Gabe and Max. It's about time he gets more involved in the physical side of the workings of this ranch. His nose is always buried in a book..."
"But Pa..." Jake protested, his plans suddenly dissolving. For a brief minute, his idea of finding the secret his brothers hid glimmered. With them gone for three days, he could try to find out whatever it is they were hiding. Now, that was dashed. Roundup was on the far edges of the property. Hundreds of calves had to be rounded up, branded and recorded in the tally book.
"No buts about it..." he warned his youngest, then turned to the brooding blond on his left. "As for you, Dale. You promised Mark Goodfellow that you'd look at his bull. If it's as good as he claims, we could negotiate a good price. His ranch is just outside Silver City. You better get going, the train leaves Dry Gulch Depot at noon."
By the time Adam had his bags packed and in the wagon, Dale was already conspiring with Yancy in the bunkhouse. He cornered the pair, just as Yancy laughed in a way that made him uncomfortable.
"I'll take care of it, Dale," he noted of the devious heir's plans. "I'll go out this afternoon, see to it that boy gets fed and watered."
"Just enough to keep him going..." Dale warned, "I don't want him dying before I get a chance to teach some manners..."
"Let him go," Adam suggested, "You had your fun...hell, he ain't headed back to town. He's never gonna show his face in these parts again. Why can't Yancy take him to the border," he noted of where their property ended, far north. "...and let him loose?"
"Why don't you hike your bloomers up a little higher, so they cut your balls off altogether," Dale spat back, shoving his brother hard into the wall. "You listen to me, Little Brother, that bastard's gonna pay and so is anybody who tries to stop me...comprehende?"
Adam had seen that look before and remembered all to well the broken arm and busted head he'd suffered because of it. He didn't flinch, or give a reply. Zeb's body in the doorway saved him.
"Quit horsin' around and get moving!" He ordered, pulling the older boy hard, "I'm not talking to myself here, Dale. You keep that temper in check and get some business done. Now go..."
Callie tugged at the collar of her nightgown, eyeing the pensive blond from across the room. Nathan and Buck were working on her father, so she was waiting in the large room. She sunk down on the floor, pulling herself in a tight little ball. Buck warned her, while she ate her breakfast and took her medicine, that Chris was a little sad today, so not to pester him. She thought of her Papa and her chest hurt. She heard Nathan telling Buck he didn't think he'd live the day out. Would he Pa leave her and go do heaven? Tears filled her eyes and she wrapped her arms around her knees, holding them at bay.
Chris heard a small squeak and looked up from the table. Although barefoot, he was dressed and trying to sit up as often as possible, hoping to build his sapped strength back. He narrowed his eyes at the sight of the balled up figure. He didn't miss the second squeak, recoginizing the stiffled sob. His eyes diverted to the bedroom door and Buck's ashen face. He winced and eyed the large apple muffin on the plate in front of him. Nate made some earlier and he and Buck had each eaten one. He eyed his empty mug and the jug of cider by the door. He stood twice, but the doom flying around caused him to sit down hard. The third time a tiny hand tapped his arm.
"Here," she carefully lifted the jug with two hands. She watched him pour a mug and waited, then tapped his arm again. "I'm sorry...about yesterday and bein' a pest. You don't gotta worry, I ain't go no pest in me today. My insides are hurtin' pretty good."
"Yeah," he nodded slowly, "I know the feeling. I hate drinkin' alone..."
She waited a moment, then got her mug from the shelf. She settled in beside him at the table, sliding her mug over. She sipped the cold beverage and saw Nate bending over her father again. She looked at the sad green eyes on the man next to her, and thought about what her Mama told her. That Mr. Larabee lost his little boy. She thought for a moment and tapped his arm. "Mr. Larabee?"
Chris looked over, his wandering thoughts interrupted. He eyed the solemn blue eyes and waited.
"I wanted...I been thinkin'..." her voice wavered, then she took a deep breath. "I think...my Pa...I think...he'll take good care of your little boy. He's a real good Pa...he's listens...he only hollers 'cause I'm a itch...he's tells good stories and tickles real good. He calls me 'Sunshine'...Did you know that?" she paused, her lip trembling and her chest aching. "He's goin' to heaven...today...maybe...he'll be lonely...you think it would...be...okay...for him to...to...to...look after your...boy...he's gonna miss..."
It wasn't bad enough that the small, fragile words wounded him, he looked over just as the floodgates opened.
"Dammit," he whispered, wincing as the heart-wrenching sobs and quivering shoulders on the tiny child ripped a hole in him. He rested a hand on her back and rubbed it gently. He waited until the sobbing slowed and retracted his hand. "Here," he handed her a napkin. "Blow your nose and clean up that face. We ain't got any room for quitter's at this table."
"Huh?" she hiccuped twice and did as she was told.
"You're a quitter," he noted, "Vin sure would be disappointed in you..."
"No he wouldn't..." she defended of her absent hero. "Don't you talk about him."
"He don't take to cowards. I thought you were different."
"I ain't no coward." She stood up, her face red with anger.
"Then why are you burying your Pa?" Chris leveled at the irate face. "You got him in heaven and he's still breathin'. You gave up on him...and maybe he knows that. Maybe he's waitin' for you to call him back. Tell him how much you need him...give him He...uh...holler at him good."
She inched closer to him, glared at him good and marched off in a huff. Two minutes later, Nate and Buck appeared, each wearing a confused face.
"What got into Callie?" Nate said, pushing the swaying blond back towards the bed.
"We had a talk," he said, yawning and draining the last of his cider.
"Must have been some conversation," Buck grinned, "She's burnin' Ben's ear off...she's all fired up about somethin', chased us out of the room." He paused, seeing Chris give a half grin, before lying back on the bed. He shrugged and walked outside with Nathan, eager to get back to town.
Nate was still outside, washing his weary face under the pump, when her shrill hollering brought him dripping wet through the house. He saw Chris struggling and shoved him hard, barking at him to stay put.
Chris fell back on the large stack of pillows, waiting for the room to stop spinning. He felt a small kiss on his cheek and peeled an eye open. The small face was wearing a smug grin, the head tilted up in a cocky fashion.
"I hollered at him good, I got so mad I got to swearin'..." she bragged, then smiled, "Sometimes bein' a itch...it ain't so bad. He opened his eyes...he tried to talk...I think he said 'Sunshine'...." she paused, "he touched my face and started to cry...that's good, ain't it?"
"Damn straight!" Chris shot back, with a small grin.
"That's another nickle you owe me," she decided, skipping away to sit by her father. Later, after Nate assured her that he felt her father wasn't going to die, he asked her to warm up some water for tea. As she waited, she saw the sad look on Chris's face. Thinking on Buck's words that morning, that he was sad because Vin went away, she padded across the room.
Chris felt a tug on his sleeve and looked up.
"I got a book from my aunt, a real good book, all full of knights and princesses. I can't read a lot of the words, but I can read the pictures real good. If you want, I could read some of them to you.. It might chase your sad eyes away...maybe for a little bit..."
Chris smiled at the brave little girl and nodded, hitching himself up weakly into a sitting position. "Okay, Kid..." So she climbed up to the loft and got her book, carefully walking back to the bed. She paused a moment, then scowled.
"That ain't hardly enough room for a bird," she pouted, "You gotta move or I'll be all squooshed up..."
"Alright...alright..." Chris protested, moving over and waiting for the small body to wiggle next to him. She opened the book and paused, eyeing his face carefully.
"You get the feelin' that your gonna start hurlin' up spit wads, you warn me. This is my good nightgown and I don't want you spittin' on it."
"Don't push your luck, Kid..." he grunted, resting his aching head against the wall.
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