Setting: ATF AU
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.
NOTE: Big thanks, no HUGE thanks to Julie, for her invaluable, generous and wonderful medical assistance.
Stealing silently through the landscape, she reached the cottage in short order. Sweat covered her simple blouse, sticking to her face and light brown hair. Her heart was racing so fast, it caused her to choke. She sat the baskets down on the bench outside the window, grateful the infants were still sleeping. Her breath came in short pants, she clenched her eyes shut, still seeing the blood. She'd hidden the infants and waited, hoping to stop Isabella. But she was too late. After hearing what the bad man said to Isabella, she thought on the conversation she overheard shortly after the babies were born. That prompted her to act fast, in case they returned. No one must know about the infants, it was too dangerous. She eyed the bench and recalled a happier day, when she'd sat there.
She was outside in the garden, and they were talking inside. Isabella was worried about a bad man named Raoul finding her. She was terrified he'd take her babies away. Sara listened as they spoke of the night they fled and their plans to leave once the girls were old enough. Then she heard the handsome painter reassure his pretty wife that they'd not leave without Sara. The kind lady knew her grandmother was dying and she had no where to go. She remembered the warm hug later that day and the promise from Isabella, that she'd always have a home with them.
She opened her eyes and stopped rocking. She felt the tears on her face and quickly dried them. It was a small consolation, that he died knowing his girls were safe. She'd never forget those blue eyes locked on hers. She'd make a silent vow and intended to keep it, no matter what it took. Eyeing the two sleeping infants, she crept into the house. A large burlap satchel was on the small table. A loaf of bread, some cheese, eggs, some sausages and several pieces of fruit were inside. She went to the closet and gathered up the small pile of baby clothes. She saw two shawls on the bed, one in rose and the other in lavender. She placed one over each infant, put their clothes in the sack and looked over the room. She went to the hearth and moved the stone, taking the money Isabella's husband was saving. She put the drawstring bag inside the larger one and eyed the nearly barren room. Something caught her eye, a tiny oval frame near the bed. It was small painting of Isabella. She took that too, so the infants would know of her. Her job completed, all traces of the babes gone, she left for home.
They were cooeing and babbling in the basket, then they both started to cry. Frowning, she realized they were hungry. Milk? She left them under the large tree in the yard and stole into her home. She paused by the bed, eyeing the small, elderly woman. She was dying, each breath fought hard to come out. Sara ran to the small icebox and opened it, taking out a tiny glass bottle of milk. It wasn't very much, but it would have to do. How to feed them? She raced toher own room and rummaged through a tiny box by her bed. It had her old baby clothes and a doll given that had belonged to her mother. She used these to play with and under the pile was an old bottle. She washed the rubber nipple carefully and the glass bottle as well. They have to share and that meant one would need something to soothe her. She grabbed the small container of honey from the cupboard and went back outside. While one ate, the other sucked on her honey-coated finger. She hoped she wasn't making them sick, but she didn't know what else to do. Finally, the bottle was empty and both seemed content. She burped them and played with them a few moments, not missing them each looking around. They missed Isabella. She took the baskets inside, leaving them hidden in her room.
She crept to the small bed where her grandmother lie dying. She touched the waxen face and a single blue eye opened. The thinning, snow colored hair was pulled back and the lips were tinted blue. They parted and she bent closer, listening and holding the frail hand.
"...time has come, child. Get the...box..."
She eyed the door to the bedroom and then went to the fireplace, taking down a small brown box. She walked back to the bed, placing it on her grandmother's lap. The fragile hands were too weak to move, so she opened it for the old woman. Inside was a letter, her birth certificate and a picture. She picked up the picture and studied it closely.
"He's...your...Papa...lives in Santa Fe...address on back..."
Sara flipped the photo over and read the address. She stared at his face, recognizing her own features clearly. She picked up the letter and unfolded it, reading it carefully. She paused halfway through it, not understanding. She was bright child, advanced for her age, Isabella was amazed at how quickly she read and how well she wrote. Mama taught her so much, before she went to heaven. The letter was dated three years ago, shortly after her mother died. He wanted Sara to come live with him in Santa Fe. She always thought he was dead. Frowning, she eyed her grandmother.
"I'm sorry...child..." she wanted to stroke the pretty little girl's cheek, but couldn't move. "...selfish...didn't want...you...leave...forgive." She felt the small face press against hers and the tiny body hug her tight. Two small kisses were placed on her cheek and hand. Then she saw the tears and shook her head. "no...don't weep...give letter to Father Dominic...he'll know...what...to..do...go...now...I need ...blessing...before...go...child..." She saw the fear in the girl's eyes and frowned. "I won't die, Child...not until you return..."
Sara kissed her grandmother's cheek once more and took the box with her. She ate some bread, cheese and fruit, before taking the trip to town. She put new nappies on each baby, scrubbing the old ones. She'd have to boil them later. It was late and would be dark soon, she took the babies with her. She found the church easy enough and went inside. The cool air made her shiver, as did the stern faces on the glass pictures on the windows. All except the one of Mary, Jesus's mother. She had the kindest face Sara had ever seen. She put the baskets down in a pew and went to kneel before Mary. She prayed to the mother above, for guidance and protection. She prayed so hard, her chest hurt. A sound drew her back, one of the babies was crying. Angelique was still asleep, but her sister wasn't. Alexandra's tiny face was red and soon a wait would start. She picked up the basket and took it towards the side entryway, before lifting her out of it. She didn't want the other baby to hear her sister crying and rouse her as well. She paced in the vestibule, patting and hugging the frightened baby, until she settled down. When she looked back, her heart sank. Father Paul was walking up the aisle with a young couple. Before she could act, they spotted Angélique.
"Charles, look!" Catherine Anderson exclaimed. There before them in a basket, was the answer to their prayers. They'd been hoping to adopt a child and were consulting Father Paul Maguire. Father Paul used to administer the largest orphanage in the state before retiring to this tiny hamlet. Charles did the books for the orphanage and had known the priest for years.
"But where did she come from?" Father Maguire exclaimed, eyeing the vacant church. "I just left here five minutes ago, no one was here."
"Don't you see?" Catherine exclaimed, eyeing the stained glass image of Mary looking down on the sleeping infant. "She has answered us. Look at her face, she is looking right on the baby. It's a miracle. She's meant to be with us."
"I don't know, Catherine," Charles, her husband, scratched his dark hair and frowned. "Mabye someone left her here?"
"No, you heard what Paul said, he was just here, the church was empty."
While the middle-aged couple admired the baby, now nestled in the woman's arms, the priest did a quick inventory. There had been no births in over six months. There were no visitors in town with infants. Where did the child come from?
"I can't explain it," he said, "The last three births were boys, over six months ago. She isn't from this area."
"She is a gift from God," Catherine persisted, "She's beautiful...just beautiful." Tears fell down her face and she felt her heart singing.
Charles sighed in frustration, his wife was already attaching herself to the pretty baby. Adoptions sometimes took a few months to finalize. Maybe they could reach an agreement.
"Paul, if we kept the child, adopted her, and nobody claimed her before the finalization..."
"I don't see a problem with that," he nodded, "I could make the arrangements..."
"Thank you!" Catherine whispered, eyeing the Madonna and letting her tears fall freely. "I'll love her, cherish her and raise her as you would. She'll be well loved and cared for. By your grace we found our miracle." She turned to her husband and thought of their new life in Evangeline, a quiet little town in Louisanna. "That's it...her name, I mean. Grace...Mary Grace...yes...that's just perfect."
Sara's heart froze as they trio left, taking Angélique with them. She couldn't go after them, the priest knew her and knew she had no baby at the cottage with her grandmother. Maybe he'd take Alexandra from her too! What if her grandmother died? She couldn't follow the couple, her grandmother needed her. She began to cry, rocking the baby and feeling her heart break. She'd already broken her promise to him. Suddenly the cold church was filled with warmth. The image on the glass window seemed to breathe. She felt an inner peace and understanding, taking her tears and fears away. Maybe she hadn't failed. She thought on the woman's face as she held the baby. Angélique would be well cared for and loved. She'd be safe. Wasn't that what she promised? Her grandmother's face rose again, twisted in pain. The priest...she wanted a final blessing. Leaving Alex tucked safety in her basket, on the floor in a pew, she ran to the small room next to the altar and knocked.
"Sara! What are you doing here?" Father Dominic Auberge asked and saw the tear-streaked face. "Is it your Grandmère?" He saw the head nod and sighed, hugging her for a moment. She was too thin and never complained. Poor child, she couldn't speak. "I'll get my bag, you run along home and stay with her. Have you eaten today?" He saw the head nod again. "We have a lot to discuss. Your grandmother wanted you to enter the convent, after her death. You can study with the sisters there until you are old enough to take your vows."
Sara stared at him mutely, not giving any indication of consent. She would never give up Alex and would go to her Papa's house. She left the priest and went back to the pew, taking time to thank Mary. She would buy some more milk for the trip she planned. She took the basket and stole into the night. As she traveled home, her plan formed. She had enough money for a train ticket. She could pack a bottle and some things in the basket and walk to the train station in the next town. They didn't know her there. She could write a letter, telling the clerk about the address in New Mexico. Yes, she would take Alex to her Papa. He wanted her...she'd felt his words clearly in the letter.
By the time she got home, Alex was awake. She fed her, changed her and rocked her to sleep. Then she hid the basket in the bottom of her closet. She sat on the stool next to the bed, rising to get the door.
"It's me, Sara," Father Dominic said, entering the room. The old woman was in a coma and it wouldn't be long. He administered last rites and prayed the rosary with Sara. Finally, it was done. "I'll take care of the arrangements, Sara. We'll bury her in the morning. I'll have Mrs. Danvers come over and get her ready." He spoke of the undertaker's wife, who worked at the rectory as a cook. "Will you be alright until she gets her later?" He saw the head nod once and her hand still clinging to her grandmother's. She wasn't a child to show open emotion and he knew she wanted some time alone to grieve. "Okay, I'll be back in a short while with Mrs. Danvers."
After he left, she said goodbye to her grandmother. She thought on the many smiles the woman always had for her. The hours by the fire, telling her stories and singing to her. She kissed the still warm face again and went back to her room. Isabella's large satchel would hold food, clothes for the baby and a few other things. It would take most of the afternoon to travel to the next town, after the funeral. How to get away? She'd tell Father Dominic she wanted time by herself at the cottage. He had no reason not to trust her. The service would probably be in the morning. She could beg a few hours from him, and be gone when he arrived to pick her up. She would have Papa call him when she got there. Things would work out somehow. She took the basket to the hearth and sat next to it, lifting out Alex and rocking her. She felt a pain in her chest, thinking on the missing baby. But it was done now and she couldn't turn back. She heard Father Dominic's voice outside and quickly hid the sleeping baby back in her closet.
"Oh, Sara, I'm so sorry," Loretta Danvers stooped and hugged the somber child. The large brown eyes seemed to go right through her. "I've brought you a new dress and some shoes for the service in the morning. Aren't they nice?"
Sara eyed the dark blue dress and black boots and nodded. They'd be warm for her trip and she could use them. The night seemed to drag, Father Dominic left and Sara begged off to go to bed, the other woman seemed to sense her fatigue and didn't bother to argue. She didn't sleep, of course, she was too worried. She'd forgotten about the mass before the burial. She couldn't leave Alex. By the time dawn came, she was sick with worry. She fed and changed the baby, boiling the nappies while Mrs. Danvers slept in the rocker. She took them outside to dry and then felt herself getting sick. She was out front, when Mrs. Danvers found her.
"Oh my, you're not well. That's understandable. You look awful..." She helped the ill child back in the house and sat her near the fire. "I'll make you some tea." She watched the quiet little girl drink the tea and then bolt outside again. She followed, shaking her head. "I'll have to stay with you, you need to put in bed. I hope you're not coming down with the flu."
Sara shook her head and pointed to her grandmother.
"I know you want to go, Sara, but you look dreadful. Passing out in the church will only upset everyone. I'll put you to bed and stay..." She saw the head shake again and the hand point to her grandmother. She watched as the child scribbled on a piece of paper. She read the note handed to her. "Please say goodbye for me...Go for me?" she paused, "Oh, I understand. You want me to take your place, at the grave? Okay, but I'll return as soon as it's over. You will stay in bed, won't you? Father told me about you leaving for the convent. You can stay with Mr. Danvers and myself until that time comes." She winced as the body flew past her again, and the tiny shoulders shook as she vomited. Poor thing...she hoped it wasn't the flu.
As soon as they left, she bolted from the bed. She fed and changed the baby, before packing milk, the bottle and more nappies. She wrote a fast note, left some of the money for the burial and then prepared. She donned the new dress and boots, pulled on her cloak and picked up the basket. It was time for her to start her new life with her Papa.
The clerk looked up when the strange child appeared before her.
"Yes?" She took the note and read it carefully. "You are mute. Your father is meeting you in Santa Fe? You need a ticket? Isn't anyone with you?" She eyed the vacant area and studied the solemn face. Another note appeared. "No, your grandmother died and you're travelling alone. It was just the two of you? I'm so sorry," She paused, " Can I have you father's name and address? She eyed the address and wrote it down, before calling a clerk. "Peter, this young lady is travelling to Santa Fe to her father's home. See that she gets settled into a compartment and keep and eye on her." She handed the ticket to the girl and nodded. "Good Luck."
Finally, the train pulled out and she was alone in the compartment. She watched the landscape roll by, wary of the door. She ate some fruit and sausages, before feeding Alex. The baby seemed to sense her apprehension and was behaving very well. She thought of Angélique again and wondered about her new life.
Santa Fe was a pretty town and she watched the adobe houses and colorful tiled buildings go by as they finally arrived. She was exhausted and hungry. She took the basket from the train and got a cab. She gave him the address and waited. It was a nice house, white stucco with red tiles on the roof. A large garden surrounded it, full of flowers, fruit trees and more. She looked up as the door opened.
"Sara!" James Gavin dropped to his knees. He'd know her anywhere. She looked just like him, plus Louise, the child's grandmother, sent him a photo two years ago. My God, here she was, at last. He hugged her tight and felt the body stiffen. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, I hope you can forgive me. We have a lot to talk about. Why are you here? Where is your grandmother?"
Sara handed him the note she'd written on the train. She watched him scan it and then look up in disbelief. He looked behind her at the empty tree lined street and frowned. He ushered her inside and into the large living room. It was big house, he was a succesful architect and he designed it himself.
"Sit down, Sweetheart. You came by yourself? My God, you're a brave soul." He read the second note handed to him and frowned. "You left without telling them...they'll be worried sick. I'll call this Father Dominic now." He felt her hand on his wrist and saw the stubborn set in her jaw. "I won't mention the baby, not until we talk, okay?" He lifted the cooeing infant out and wrinkled his nose. "She's wet....My God, she's beautiful! Don't worry, Sara, we'll figure it out. My wife, she's a nurse at the medical center in town. I'll call her now...She's a wonderful woman, kind and gentle. She knows all about you." He laid the baby back down and pulled his daughter over, hugging her tight. "I'm so very proud of you. To have the courage to do what you did, alone and you never wavered. I love you very much, I always have. Your mother and me ...we were too young when we met. She didn't want to leave and I had to go to college. She never told me about you, not until she got sick. I'd have never left you, please understand that, Sara. I never knew about you..." His words were cut off when the solemn child's hand came up and place itself on his lips. He saw the tears on the smudged, exhausted face. She hugged him back then, hard and it was worth all the wait. "I love you, too, Sweetheart. You and Alexandra will have a home here. We'll be a family, the four of us."
Sara changed Alex while her father called the priest. She eyed the magnificent home and felt a peace finally. She was home, at last. He loved her, she read his eyes right away. Kind brown eyes, full of love and goodness. She listened to him explain to the priest that she was safe and here. He'd send the paperwork over, he had letters from Sara's mother and a copy of her birth records. A lawyer, not a problem. Have the lawyer visit and check on the home, he'd welcome it. She heard him answer every question carefully, never mentioning the baby. Then he made a second call, to his wife.
"Marie's on her way." He held out his hand. "How about some lunch?" While she ate, he noticed she protected the baby like a hawk, never letting her out of sight. He read the note carefully again, and looked when the door shut. He flinched when Sara shot out of the chair and grabbed the baby. "It's alright, Sara, it's just Marie."
"Hello, Darling," Marie Gavin stopped when she saw the baby. "Who's that?"
"We have a lot to talk about..." He greeted his wife with a stern stare and a hug. "It's like this..."
Two hours later, it was nearly settled. James made a call to his brother, a lawyer, who would take care of the paperwork. He'd make some 'quiet' inquiries in the area that Sara left, just to make sure. He could get a 'birth certificate' for Alex and predated adoption papers. That way, legally, she'd have been theirs from birth. Once the priest left, satsified that Sara was safe and where she belonged, they could start their new life. They would take a short trip and return with the baby, telling friends they'd adopted her. It was late nearly suppertime and they were in the living room. Marie, a pretty blue-eyed woman with black hair and an olive complexion, stared at the sleeping Sara.
"She's a remarkable child, to have thought so quickly and acted on it."
"Yes, she is," he lifted the sleepy body and smiled when she nestled into him, trustingly. He stroked her light brown hair from her face and felt tears in his eyes. "I had no idea..." he choked, "How good this would feel. My God, I love her..."
"I know," his wife smiled, kissing his forehead, "I love her too...both of our daughters."
Sara was sleeping soundly, for the first time in years. She didn't have to worry about her grandmother's heart during the night. She had her Papa at last and a new mother with kind eyes. She dreamed about the murder, waking in a sweat. She was alone in a large bedroom. She panicked, not seeing Alex, until the basket appeared in the moonlight. She crept over and peered inside, the baby was sleeping peacefully. She watched the profile at rest and made a silent vow. Taking the tiny heart shaped locket in her fingers, she promised to tell Alex the truth one day, when she was grown and could protect herself. Until then, she would be the guardian, the keeper of the dark secret. She'd keep a diary, from this day on, recording it all. Yawning, she pulled the pillow and blanket from the bed and slept next to the basket.
Josiah Sanchez yawned as the kid behind the counter counted the change again. He shook his gray head, wondering what the youth of today had come to. That without a keypad on the cash register, telling them what product was bought, they didn't know how to make change. He took back the 31 cents and nodded.
"That's okay, Son, just give me what the register says," he took the change with the large coffee and ambled back to the gate. Chris was reading his paper, studying the world's economic status. Buck was sprawled next to him, studying every female form that wandered by. The ex-minister had picked both Vin and Chris up, for their trip to New Orleans. Buck came along to torture Vin and annoy Chris, both of which he'd accomplished in the car. The three hour plus flight would be boarding soon.
"Where's Vin?" he asked, standing next to the plastic row of chairs.
"Bathroom," Buck answered, "His bladder must be the size of a peanut, he went before we pulled out and his hit that bathroom twice since we got here."
"His nerves are bad, leave him alone," Chris answered, without looking up from his paper.
"What the hell does that mean?" Josiah said somberly, pointing his cup-clenched hand beyond where they sat. He heard Buck chuckle and the paper rustle as Chris was torn away from the business section. The youngest of the quintet was approaching and stopped in the middle of the floor. His eyes twitched, his shoulders jerked and he tugged on both ears with his hands.
"I don't know," Wilmington laughed, nudged Chris and nodded, "But I think one of us is supposed to steal third base."
Josiah laughed and even Chris chuckled. Then he saw the evil light in Buck's eyes. "Leave him alone, Buck," he warned, knowing his plea would fall on deaf ears.
"Hey Vin, you didn't tell me you used to work for the Rangers," he joked of Texas's baseball team.
"Huh?" the Texan squinted, before settling down next to Chris.
"Buck was just leaving, weren't you?" The blond eyed the grinning fool, who stood up and stretched.
"Well, I guess those of us working today need to get moving. Don't call me for bail money." He shook Chris's hand and tapped Vin's knee. "You remember what I warned you about. You check south before you make a landing."
"What?" Chris squinted at the cryptic message and saw Vin blush. "Buck..."
"Hey, I'm just lookin' out for the boy's best interests," he defended, "I don't want him ending up with the wrong kind of girl, so to speak."
"Day I need ya t'pick m'women out fer me, is the day they'll be plantin' me six feet under," Vin said annoyed, "I ain't gonna get tangled up with some wolf in woman's clothes."
"You see that you don't!" Buck teased, "Pretty little fella like you is live bait on Bourbon St. I remember one time..."
"Goodbye, Buck," Chris picked up his paper, covering his face and saw Vin slide his dark glasses on and flop back in the seat.
"Nobody appreciates me," the tall man complained, shaking his head, just as Josiah clapped his shoulder.
"Come on Brother, you can fill me in on the sordid details over breakfast." He nodded to the departing pair. "Have a safe trip."
"Thanks Josiah," Chris nodded and elbowed Vin.
"Huh?" he blinked, "Oh...thanks 'siah...see ya in a couple weeks."
Ten minutes later, they flight attendant announced first boarding. People in the area in first class or with small children began to line up. Chris stood up, picked up his carryon on bag and got ready, they'd be called next. He tapped Vin's leg with his bag, and the younger man stood.
"We're next," the blond said, starting for the line. "Where are you going?" He noticed his young friend headed in the other direction.
"Bathroom," Vin said, dropping his bag at Chris's feet.
"Again!" the leader amazed, "They're gonna need to hook you up to a catheter if you ever have a baby."
"Huh?" Vin squinted.
"Your ears bothering you?" Chris asked.
"No...not really...be right back."
By the time they hit cruising level, Vin was sound asleep. Chris moved to the aisle seat, to give the ailing man more room. He scoured the overhead compartment and found two thin blue blankets, which he used to cover the slumbering sharpshooter. Then he pulled out Time Magazine and settled in for a relaxing flight. Three hours later, the pilot announced they were about to land. He nudged Vin, who was sprawled out over both seats next to him. The bank of blue blankets moved and a shaggy brown head rose, neither eye fully open.
"Wake up," he issued, watching the twin blues blinking slowly. "We're landing. Sit up and get your buckle on."
"Huh?" Vin asked hoarsly, coughing and wrinkling his face.
Chris sighed in frustration and pointed to the seat belt.
"Oh," Vin yawned, moving to look out the small window. "Hey, we're almost there."
"No kidding?" Chris replied sarcastically, which went right over Vin's head.
"Yeah, looks like a nice day. All them tiny cars carryin' folks t'work..."
Vin stumbled behind Chris through the airport, yawning and tugging on his ears. The bags weren't delayed too long, allowing them to get their rental car quickly. Chris narrowed his eyes, when Vin kept smirking. The luggage was in the back and the Texan was already buckled up. The blond slid behind the wheel and eyed his chuckling friend.
"Something funny?"
"Well, it did tickle m'funny bone, seein' ya squat in a light blue car. Makes ya seem downright friendly." He teased of Larabee's vehicles at home, all of which were black.
"Shut up, Tanner," the leader started the engine on the Ford Taurus and they headed to town. Twice the green eyes narrowed, watching the slim hand fidget with the dial. He was just feeling his way through a song, when the hand moved again.
"Leave it alone!" Larabee barked.
"It ain't got no words," Tanner protested.
"I happen to like jazz," Chris replied tersly, lifting one eyebrow and daring the wavering hand to move.
"It ain't got no words," Vin continued his stance, with a scowl.
"It doens't need them, it has feeling. If you didn't have the patience of a hopped up flea, you'd appreciate more kinds of music."
"It ain't got no words," the Texan's brows knit and his hand moved to the dial.
Chris shook his head and eyed the signs ahead. He was eyeing the path to town, when his head was split in half. "Vin!" He warned, of the deafening metal music. "Get the shit off my radio."
"Yer radio?" Vin changed the dial, leaving AC/DC behind reluctantely. He travelled the dial again, pausing as a country song came on. The grin formed and he peeked at the pensive face, spotting a single profiled glaring green eye.
"No!" Chris issued sharply, knowing Vin was fooling around.
Finally, a Van Morrison song came on and he began to hum along, until the hand moved again. "I'll break your wrist!" He barked knocking the hand away.
"Aw, hell," Vin pouted, "Goddamn, old crank." He sat up as they wove their way into the city. His spirits picked up a bit, he nearly forget how sick he felt. "Sure is pretty!"
"Yeah," Chris nodded, "but what until you see her at night!"
"Party time?"
"Oh yeah!" Chris echoed, as they entered the French Quarter."You ever been to New Orleans?"
"Not really." Vin shrugged, eyeing the homes trimmed in lacey iron work. "You?"
"Yeah, we came here all the time," he paused, eyeing the narrow streets and tourists crossing in front of him. "...but I haven't been back, since Sara...." He broke off the sentence as a wave of nostalgia hit him right in the chest. The heat of the burning dagger intensified in his chest and rose with wild abandon. His heart pounded and he felt sweat trickling down his back. She was everywhere...her image still lingered on every corner, from the balcony of the old hotel and quaint cafe table, he could still hear her laugh. Trying to shake himself free of the tormenting grip, he turned to his companion, thinking on the younger man's response. "Not really?" he navigated the small street well, "What do you mean?"
"I was in an ER here once, spent the night."
"Hunting?" Chris guessed of the Texan's former bounty hunting days.
"Yeah, chasin' a murderer through two states. Got stitched up here and caught up t'him in a hot bed. Didn't know who was more surprised," Vin recounted of bursting into the seedy hotel in Georgia, "Me, him or the hooker." He stole a sideways glance and saw the past evolving slowly on the handsome blond's features. He swallowed hard, he seldom saw his best friend so pensive. The eyes were soft and warm, the features lost in time. He remained silent, not wanting to intrude.
He didn't think it would hit him so hard. He felt his chest tighten and his eyes fill. This was their place, Sara and his. A warm, wonderful playground they romped in by day and a nearly magical place to lose each other in at night. He sighed hard, eyeing cafés they used to haunt, holding hands and stealing lingering kisses. A lone man on the street corner played a bayful tune, the notes of the sad blues song entered him hard. He saw her ahead, laughing at him as she exited a jewelry store. Next there would be a table at Café Du Monde, for beignets and coffee. They'd stroll the streets, hand in hand, visiting the neighborhood markets where artists and vendors sold their wares. Antiques, how she loved hunting for them. He found a small smile, recalling their first visit, during Mardi Gras madness. The extraordinary creole fun, charming people and unmatched spirit made it a trip to remember. After that, it had become 'their' place, revisited each year.
Vin's large eyes took in the gingerbread houses trimmed in wrought-iron grillwork. Dozens of tiny shops passed his eye, along with a horse drawn carriage. The formally dressed black man was busy telling the overweight tourists he was lugging, about the towns rich history. Vin caught bits and pieces of the lore, loaded with smugglers, pirates and the ghost of the riverdays. He was assualted with many wonderful smells. Rich pungant perfumes of the food being prepared in the restaurants they were passing. His rubbed his empty stomach, quelling the dizziness he felt. He hadn't eaten breakfast, flying made him nervous.
"Chris?" he interrupted the lost man's trip reluctantly, but the face remained blank. He tapped the black leather jacket, "Chris?" He flinched when the blond jumped in the seat, startled. "Sorry. We gonna eat soon?"
"I'm sorry, Vin," Chris thought back, realizing Vin slept through the snack on the plane. "Did you eat today?"
"No," he coughed, "'gettin' kinda shakey."
"Okay," Chris pulled to the end of Bourbon, where a large church stood over a good piece of ground. "This is Jackson square and that's the catherdral. How 'bout some beignets and coffee?" He pulled in on a side street next to a printing store. Café Du Monde was just a few blocks ahead. The world famous French Market styled coffee stand brought back vivid memories.
"Benwhos?" Vin managed to get out of the car and steady himself, stretching his legs.
"Beignets." Chris moved next to him, noticing him sway a bit. "Right up your alley. Deep fried dough, light as a feather, hot and covered in lots of sugar."
"Lead on, Cowboy!" Vin boomed, watching a large paddlewheeler in the distance. The open air eatery was already crowded. The scent of the frying confectionary gems nearly bowed the starving man over.
"Sit!" Chris ordered, spotting a vacant table. "I'll take care of it."
Vin huddled at the table, coughing and sneezing, letting his bleary eyes roam the busy square. Bohemian artists, colorful street mimes and jaunty jugglers entertained the area. Fancy carriages with horses bedecked in hats bearing flowers were parked nearby. Tourists climbed aboard and were swept away in time, escaping to the colorful past of the charming town.
"They're hot, be careful!"
Vin sat up as a large plate of hot squares of fried dough appeared before him. The mountain of sugar on top nearly made him swoon. He sipped the café au lait first, the heady mixture, half coffee and half hot milk, was perfect. He was devouring his third beignet, when he came up for air. He was about to ask Chris something, when he saw the painful expression. The pensive blond's features were tight and the coffee untouched. He followed the emotive green eyes across the square, wondering where in time his companion was lost. His mind replayed the sudden catch in the blond's voice in the car when his late wife's name came up. He got his answer and remained mute, allowing his best friend time to grieve.
The loud tourists disappeared, the mimes and locals parted and the mists of time unfurled. Her laughter filled his head, taking his breath away. The eyes were next, a color so striking, he was lost in them again. The long dark curly hair framing her beautiful face, he could nearly feel the silken tresses. Hand in hand they strode along the sidestreets, stopping in shops and browsing the open stands. She loved to hunt antiques and every table brought a new smile. Then a child's high pitched squeal of joy broke his heart. He watched as their miracle dissolved into a sea of laughter, the victim of his mother's tickles. His chin quivered as he took a deep breath; God it hurt.
Suddenly, Vin wasn't quite as hungry. He finished his meal and sipped the coffee thoughtfully. He didn't miss the light eyes filling and winced visibly when Chris inhaled sharply. He licked his lips and looked away, wondering how to conquer the newfound meloncholy. He closed his eyes, resting his chin in his hands. The penetrating sunlight only added to his headache. His throat was raw from coughing and his ears had now joined the congestion party. He stifled the first two coughing spells, but the third was too strong.
A harsh sound closed his window into the past in a hurry. He blinked, his shoulders jerked slightly and he turned to his right. Vin looked awful. He was huddled in the chair, blue-eyes rimmed red and gasping for breath. He'd been so lost in the past, he'd forgotten about his ailing friend.
"Sorry," he commented, clapping the younger man's back. It took several minutes for the Texan's breathing to even out. The blue eyes were hard and glared at him sharply.
"This is me sittin' here, Chris Larabee," Vin hissed, annoyed at the moping, apologetic tone, "Ya see ya remember that."
There, in the middle of one of the most historic spots in the Big Easy, he found his salvation. Those soulful blue eyes cut him to the quick. The ghosts from the past suddenly didn't seem as painful. The flavor of this special town would be relished and enjoyed anew. The person, perhaps the one person, who could quell those demons, was at his side. He studied the wheezing body, riddled with germs, and smiled softly. He took a deep breath, stood and released the smile that had grown over the past few minutes. That's all it took, the blue eyes warmed and he nodded, eyeing the lively square.
"Come on, Tanner," he ordered with a gleam in his eye, "You gonna sit there and wheeze like an old man?"
"Go t'hell ya onry jackass!" Vin laughed, following his best friend into the sunlight. As they walked back to the car, he thought on Chris's pensive mood in the French Market. Maybe the wounds were still too fresh. Despite how hard he was trying, he saw the blond head eyeing the small shops and vendor's stands. Maybe Chris needed some time alone, to remember and savor.
"Hotel far?"
"No, it's in the Garden District," Chris replied, waiting for Vin to buckle up. He saw the headache pounding through the squinting sky eyes and sighed.
"Garden District?" Vin sneezed, resting his aching temples against the doorjamb.
"Yeah, it's loaded with old mansions and lots of atmosphere," the leader supplied, easing the car onto St. Charles Avenue. Some of the large, antibellum mansions were over a hundred years old. Others, dressed in Victorian finery, were turn of the century.
"Damn!" Vin amazed at the ornate, huge houses. "Reckon this is the rich folks neighborhood."
"...and then some..." the blond agreed, pulling up a long driveway. "Some of these houses go back to the mid-nineteenth century. Some of them are still occupied, by family members or celebrities. Others, like the one we're staying at, were converted into hotels or bed and breakfasts. We got lucky, this one is one of the best."
"Hope they got indoor plumbin'."
"Why?" Chris teased, opening the trunk and taking out their bags, "Your royal ass too good to squat in an outhouse?" He saw the grin as the shaggy head approached the large verandah, leading through white pillars to the massive oak door. "Hey!"
"What?" Vin turned back, eyeing the annoyed blond bearing four bags.
"I look like the hired help to you?" Larabee ired, dropping Vin's bags.
"Sorry!" the Texan lumbered back and fished in his pocket. He stuck a dollar bill in Chris's pocket and tapped his face lightly. "That outta cover it Old Timer."
"Tanner!"
"Ya got no sense o'humor," Vin complained, picking his bags up and heading inside. He gave a low whistle as he eyed the large foyer. He felt as if he'd stepped through the door and back a hundred years. A large Waterford crystal chandelier hung high above. The marbled floor gleamed and antique tables housing oil lamps and vases of flowers littered the corners. He eyed the massive staircase and the floor above.
"Hello," Chris said, putting the bags down by the door of a small room off the impressive foyer.
"Welcome to Sauville House," a middle-aged black man greeted them warmly. "I'm Nigel Bates, the manager."
"Larabee and Tanner," Chris supplied, smiling at Vin's gape- mouthed wonder.
"If you'll wait a moment, I'll have someone get your bags."
"That's okay," Chris took the key, eyeing Vin rubbing his eyes. "We can manage."
"Up the stairs and to the left. It's a fine suite of rooms, I hope you'll enjoy your stay."
"Thanks," Vin nodded, realizing the man was talking to him. "It's real nice."
"Your room has a coffee service in the sitting area. The kitchen is open from six a.m. until ten p.m. Just dial 12 if you wish to place an order. This is a map of the house and grounds, it should explain everything. André's is on this floor," he spoke of the fancy, fixed price French restaurant. "Isabella's is in the rear, off the garden. It's a charming place for breakfast and lunch. The view of the gardens is quite spectacular. Downstairs, there is a billiard room and Raoul's, the lounge." He left his new guests at the foot of the stairs. Should you need anything..."
"Thanks, Nigel," Chris nodded, nudging Vin forward. They followed the large staircase and turned down the hall, following the numbers until the name appeared.
"The Sophia Suite," he nodded, unlocking the door. "Nice." He walked inside, eyeing the ornate, antique filled entryway. A deep green oriental rug, trimmed in coral script filled the sitting room. Two ivory wingchairs stood on either side of a coral and ivory sofa. An oval marble coffee table was between them, holding a large tray. An ornate silver tea and coffee service stood on squatty legs. A large basket on the floor next to it, was full of gourmet coffee, tea, biscuits, cookies and crackers.
"Chocolate!" Vin rasped, plucking a small box from the basket.
"Nice tracking!" Chris complemented the bounty hunter. They paired off, Vin disappearing through the door to the right, Chris took the one to the left. It was a large handsome bedroom, all done in tones of deep green and beige. A four poster bed was joined by a rosewood desk and endtables. A large set of French doors opened onto a balcony, overlooking the garden. He moved through the room, opening a door. The bathroom was large as well. A black and white tiled floor held a toilet, large sink and mirror and massive bathtub. He saw the twin door and went through. He laughed softly, Vin was sprawled across the large bed, both hands flung wide. The room was done in deep blues and ivory trim.
"I may never leave," the sated Texan drawled of the comfortable bed.
"You okay, Vin?" Chris frowned, eyeing the medicine already on the nightstand. The weary body sat up and met his eye.
"If we're gonna paint the town red tonight," Vin supplied, "I'm gonna need some downtime. I'm sorry, Chris, I'm wiped out."
Chris started to reply and something told him there was more to the answer than met his eye. His radar for 'Tanner logic' sounded and he thought on the quiet stop at the café. He saw Vin duck his gaze away and drop his head. He smiled then, knowing Vin understood. Somehow, the scruffy Texan had read his thoughts at the donut stop. He not only recognized the need inside, he sensed the desire to challenge those long ago memories. Just one more thing that was special about his best friend.
"I think we both need some downtime," he said quietly, watching Vin's sneakers fly across the carpet. He disappeared briefly and returned with a large glass of ice water. He waited until the amoxicillin and phenegren disappeared. He waited through two yawns and half a candy bar, then watched the body fold under the large quilt. "I'll be back, later." He got a grunt for a reply and the tangled brown locks disappeared. He paused in the doorway that led through the bathroom back to his own room. "Hey," he called out, waiting for the toussled head to rise. "Thanks, Cowboy...from Sara and me." The soft smile that returned his words was one he'd keep all day.
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