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notes and disclaimers in part 1 Auguries
of Innocence Vin broke the uncomfortable silence. "Ezra's one of us. Nate is too. They can work this out because they got us to help 'em. Don't you worry 'bout Ez. He's gonna be fine. We're here for him, no matter what. He's watched our backs plenty, don't none of us mind takin' a turn watchin' his." After having his say, Vin turned back to Ezra, talking quietly about nothing in particular, like he would if they were sitting together sharing a cup of coffee. The muted Texan twang seemed to at least calm the panicked man though his breath was still ragged and he was shivering uncontrollably. "Yeah, Vin's right. Ez is got us." JD agreed. "Now don't you worry about ol' Ezra. He's always got an ace up his sleeve. Things will work out," Buck patted Joseph's shoulder. Chris hoped his old friend was right because right now the Southerner's behavior scared the hell out of him. "Come on, JD let's go." Bending down Chris gently but firmly hauled Ezra to his feet. The Southerner pulled away, shrinking back from the gunslinger, the slightest wisp of a whimper deep in his throat. "Daddy?" Chris couldn't help the odd clench in his stomach. How could that smooth-talking, pain-in-the-ass gambler remind him so much of his own little son? Merciful heaven, he could hear echoes of Adam in that one pain-laced word. Though to be honest his boy called him papa, but still. The tough gunfighter's heart went out to his friend. "No, it's Chris. Come on, we need to get you in bed. You'll feel a lot better curling up with your down pillow." "I can't find him." Ezra said, eyes muddy with confusion. "I know," Chris sympathized, remembering how he had found himself looking for Sarah and Adam, even though he knew they were gone. Strange what the heart does to the mind. Sometimes he even saw them, standing there or walking about. At first he thought it was the drink, but soon understood that it was grief. Pulling back the bedclothes, they guided Ezra to the edge of the bed, but he began to protest. "No, I've got to find him." "Who?" The gunslinger asked, holding firmly onto the gambler's upper arms. "Daddy, I've got to find him and tell him. I didn't tell him." Ezra squirmed slightly, blinking at them through his swollen eyes. "Pard, he ain't here. He's gone." Vin said slowly. "Where did he go? He promised me…." The cut lip started bleeding again, the slow red drops welling up before spilling down his chin. Chris wanted nothing more than to drop the gambler and run, just to stay off this, this tangible reminder of such lurid pain. Gathering the shreds of his composure, he simply steered Ezra towards the bed. "Please, I have to find him, please." Sitting the gambler down on the bed, Chris debated what to tell him. Maybe I should just tell him that his father …No, no he needs to hear the truth. Closing his eyes against the wretched words he had to impart to the already traumatized man, the lean gunslinger steeled himself for the result. "Don't you remember? Your father's dead, Ezra. He died a long time ago when you were just a little boy." Ezra's face became void of all expression and he simply folded around himself with his back to them. They almost missed the low, hopeless words. "I'm so sorry." Vin asked gently, "What ya sorry for Ez?" "It should have been me." Vin's sorrow filled eyes met Larabee's. ******* The night crawled by. The gambler slept in fits and starts. Sporadically violent shivers would wrack his bruised frame. The right eye was swollen completely closed and the skin over the cheekbone started to resemble an eggplant. The ragged, hitching breathing was punctuated by small, quiet gasps of pain. Vin was catching catnaps on the floor while Chris simply gritted his molars, slumped in the Southerner's old rocking chair. Waking for the tenth time to the gambler's soft moans, the concussed tracker was about to go and get the healer when Chris rose to his feet with a curt nod at Vin. "I'm gonna drag Nathan's sorry ass over here, you stay put." Opening the door, he stepped back slightly at the sight of Nathan and Buck on the gambler's doorstep. Holding up his hand, Buck said, "Now, Chris…" "Forget it, Buck, I was just coming to get him. Ezra's not doing too good." Nathan bit his lip in shame, staring at the floor. "Chris, you got every right to lock me up. I can't hardly believe what I've done and I know I can't fix this by just saying I'm sorry. But I am sorry." "Ain't me you should be apologizing to Nathan. Damn it man, you half killed him and he was hurting already." "Josiah told me. I…" Nathan sighed and brought his eyes up resolutely, determined to face up to what he did. "I misjudged Ezra and Joseph and the whole situation. It is inexcusable." "You got that right. It was bad enough you pounded him without warning. But that stuff you said was hitting below the belt. Weren't no need for that, even if you thought you had call to bust his chops. Now, I don't know what the hell is the matter with you two, but in the future, you got a problem with Ezra, you see me first. Is that understood? Because if you ever do anything like this again, I'll drop you where you stand." Nathan
nodded meeting Chris's severe gaze. He could feel those intense glacier
green eyes peering into his soul. It disturbed the former slave to no
end that this white man who had not hesitated to save his life; who did
not hesitate once to treat him as fully equal; that this friend would
take his measure and find him wanting. "It's
the least he can do, isn't that right?" Buck added softly pushing
the healer over towards the bed. Back-handing his old friend lightly on
the chest as he moved him aside, the scoundrel whispered, "You're
going to have to stand in line, because I sure as hell ain't letting any
body beat that boy like this, ever again." Nathan's gentle long fingers probed the tender kidneys. The sharp, stabbing pain ripped Ezra from a light sleep. Flipping over, the weakly thrown right jab connected loosely with the healer's shoulder. The subsequent tenderness in the injured right hand and sharp stabs from ribs and scapula brought the gamesman to his knees panting in pain. Looking up at through his watering left eye, the gambler saw Nathan and panicked. Cradling the sore hand in his other arm, he backed off the bed, wildly searching for some kind of escape. "Don't…I'm going. I'll go, just don't…" Crimson drops splattered from the sliced lip. The healer slowly backed away, holding his hands up in the age old language of non-aggression. "Ezra, it's alright. I don't mean you no harm. Just trying to help. " Nathan stopped as what Ezra was saying sunk in. "We don't want you to go anywhere except back in your bed. No place you need to be but here." "I have to go. Now all y'all know, Cain shall be avenged sevenfold, then Lamech seventy-sevenfold." The four other men looked at each other in total confusion. Vin shrugged lightly and asked, "What you talking about, pard?" The lanky tracker eased himself over to perch at the head of the bed. The question and slow movement distracted the gambler from the stealthy approach of Buck and Chris around the foot of the bed and within grabbing distance of the edgy Southerner. "The voice of your brother's blood cries out to Me from the ground. So now you are cursed from the earth, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand. When you till the ground, it shall no longer yield its strength to you. A fugitive and a vagabond you shall be on the earth. And the Lord set a mark on Cain, lest anyone finding him should kill him." Beryl eyes grew distant as Ezra recited the passage that haunted him since he first read it, convinced that Cain's curse should be his own for his part in killing his father. Every man in that room quickly figured out exactly what Ezra meant. Though the words were spoken softly, with small gasps when a breath was taken too deeply; they were spoken with utter conviction. Chris frowned with consternation, he had no idea how to straighten out the man. This root of deceitful perception clearly had born its evil fruit in abundance. The discerning peacekeeper determined that he would take the gambler in hand and deal with this thing, once and for all, if he had his way. And if there was anything Chris Larabee was in the habit of getting, it was his way. Buck slowly slipped up beside the gambler. Wary eyes turned to meet his and the gamester whispered softly, "I'm so tired, Buck." "I bet you are. It's been a really long day, getting on to your bedtime anyway," Buck said with a weary smile. "How about you let ol' Nate here wrap up those sore ribs and tend to that lip." Ezra lifted his hand up to his mouth staring in absent fixation at the blood coating his fingers. Looking down he could see the red streaks where it ran down his bare chest. "Daddy had blood all over his chest. It bled so much that it dripped on the floor - drip, drip, drip. Ran right through the floorboards. Stopped when he died. Dead men don't bleed." He confided softly to Buck in a weird conversational tone. Shuddering, Buck couldn't help but think that the gambler had lost his mind. Simply slid over the edge into madness right in front of them. ******* Nathan took a deep breath and shouldered his part in this whole fiasco. Calmly and softly he directed, "Buck let's get him sitting here on the edge of this bed. I'm gonna stitch up that lip 'fore I do anythin' else. Vin, you want to bring me that basin? Chris, I'd sure appreciate you holding the light. " The gamester was hustled into place, with Buck's strong hands firmly grasping his shoulders. Nathan quickly prepared his things and set about healing up what he could of the physical hurts. He didn't have a cure for a splintered soul. Pulling over a chair, the healer sat down and laid his big hand on the gambler's knee. The gambler flinched and wouldn't meet his eyes. "Ezra, I didn't have no cause at all for what I did. I'm sorry. I don't expect you to want me around you right now, but you're hurt and I aim to do what I can for ya, if you'll let me." "Why?" Nathan swallowed hard and began to explain, "When I heard you spouting them words off at your friend, well I didn't know you were friends. It brought me back some pretty bad memories. Then when…" "Why…?" Ezra interrupted, but was forced to gesture at himself as the words failed him. He felt the blood from the punctured lip filling his mouth again. It lingered on his tongue, the briny iron taste made him nauseous. He was distracted by the effort of controlling the bitter bile that threatened to wash back up his esophagus. "Why fix this?" The healer felt their eyes on him and didn't know what to say. There wasn't an explanation that didn't smack of self-defense and he refused to allow any of his care to fall under the auspices of penance. After all he was responsible for these injuries. He and no one else. As the silence grew, Ezra gathered enough courage to look up. The healer was transparent, his honest eyes shone like gold. Tossing aside the torments of his twisted thoughts, the Southerner was able to discern the truth leeching between the lines. "Never mind, Mr. Jackson. Please proceed as you will." Nodding, Nathan went to work, glad for the reprieve that the steady methodical act of stitching brought him. Buck tightened his hold but it was largely unnecessary. Ezra remained immobile, his left hand wrapped around the sheet and his back rigid. Other then the hiss of air drawn sharply and the slow leakage from watering eyes clenched closed mixing with cold sweat tracing down his cheeks there was no movement from the injured man. Tying off the last strand of catgut, the healer assured, "Done with that. Mouth heals up right quick. Probably take out those on the inside in a few days, might have to wait little longer for those in the outside." Ezra wrenched open his eyes and nodded. "Can you lift your arms? I need to wrap up those ribs." Try as he might, the gambler found that he could not lift his left arm at all. Vin held it up for him, while Buck steadied the right. The Southerner was panting in pain by the end, but the ribs were at least secured and the snug wrapping helped ease the discomfort. "I'm thinking your shoulder blade must be broke. Best we strap that arm down for a couple of days." The gambler sighed. He was beginning to feel like an old hen trussed up for cooking. The thought struck him funny and he chuckled lightly. Oh, Lord. Buck thought, he's mad, utterly mad. He willed Nathan to hurry so that he could get as far away from the man as possible. He felt Vin's eyes on him as he flinched back from the gambler. "Hey, Buck," the tracker remarked, "why don't ya take the light for a spell? Reckon, Chris could use a break." The gunslinger didn't argue, he had seen Buck's reaction to that bizarre laughter and knew that this upset him more than he let on. Nathan had the sling under control, so Chris rinsed out a rag and washed the blood off Ezra's neck and chest. Ten minutes later, the healer leaned back into the straight-backed chair with a sigh. "Thinking your kidneys are gonna be right sore, bruised 'em up pretty good. Best lay off anything much more then tea 'till there's no more blood when you make water. Joseph done a real fine job with that hand. I'll make up a poultice for it so it doesn't get infected. "My hand?" "Yeah, your hand where…" Nathan trailed off seeing the confusion in those wide viridian eyes. Ezra turned his hand from side to side as it as if he'd never seen it before. "Did I strike you?" he asked a bit puzzled and concerned, looking intently at the healer. For too long the small room was quiet. Ezra grew more uncomfortable if that were possible. He tried to untwist the skein of memory, but the strands broke and he was left with only the ruined yarns. Every thread he followed parted before he could knit them together. "What have I done?" the words tumbled over the men like a bird shot from the air plummets to the ground. Nathan lied, poorly, "Nothing, you didn't do a thing." "You're lying. What have I done?" Ezra's voice rose and he pushed himself painfully to his feet. "Where's Josiah?" The gambler backed away from them, his movement's stiff and agitated. Odd images flickered in his mind. Brief and strange interludes lingering long enough to disturb him with pictures of the past and the present posing together in an improbable tableau. A cemetery, rough wooden tombstones, JD's large hazel eyes and a gunshot. "Oh dear, God." Ezra grabbed Buck's shirt with his free hand. "Where is JD? Where's the boy?" "Everybody's fine, pard. Josiah is fine. JD is fine." Vin gently untangled Ezra's hand from Buck's shirt. "What… happened…Vin?" Soft Southern tones faded as the gamester's knees buckled and his eyes rolled back in his head. The nimble tracker simply stretched out his arms and snagged the gambler as he pitched forward in a dead faint. A sigh of relief went around the room. At least they were off the hook for a while. "What are we going to do? Why doesn't he remember? What if he's gone mad?" Buck's forehead wrinkled with worry. Chris firmly grabbed Buck's arm, turning the lawman around to face him. "Ezra is not mad. He is not Charlie." "But Chris…" "No, Buck. I'm telling you. This is different." "How Chris? You were there. How is this any different? Charlie was just as sane as you or me before they put him in that Andersonville hellhole. What he saw there drove him barmy and he wound up killing himself, didn't he? You saw him after he put that gun in his mouth. The back of his head…" "Enough." Chris squeezed Buck's arm. "I remember you did everything you could to help him. I also remember that he didn't want your help and that he was drunk and drugged on laudanum most of the time. He didn't want to be saved. Ezra does. That's why he let Joseph tell us about those fricking bastards in the first place." "But then why Chris? Why did he take that gun and, and…?" Buck shook his head, voice thick with dismay. "Sometimes," Vin began in his quiet way, "when something bad, really bad happens and you start seein' it over and over again, you just want it to stop. Kind of hard to think straight and you just want it to stop." He sighed, looking off into a distant past only he could see. "Maybe that's what happened to Ez. He just wanted the pain to stop." Vin could feel Chris's penetrating gaze and brought his unashamedly frank eyes up to meet his friend's. Yes, they both knew what that was like. How it could bring the strongest man to his knees. The insidious enemy that men were impotent to battle: memory. The three men hunkered down around Ezra. Vin sank gently down on the bed, resting his arm along the top of the headboard, his lean body coiled protectively around the exhausted gambler. Buck sat on the straight-backed chair, arms dangling loosely as he watched the sleeping man; praying all the while that his friends were right. Chris reclaimed the rocking chair; he could see why Ezra had it in his room. The very first time he saw the rocker, he'd been amused. It seemed odd somehow, not like the rest of the furnishings. Certainly not what he'd expected. Now he knew it fit. The seat wide and well planed. The color rich and dark with the patina of age and use. And the motion was calming, comforting and best of all, safe. It was Ezra's retreat. More then once, through the shades of the faintly backlit window, he'd seen the Southerner sitting there rocking away the restless hours that prowled between darkness and dawn. Nathan Jackson, one-time slave, now lawman and healer sweated under the Albatross hanging about his neck. Regret is almost the worst of all emotions. Empty and futile and wrenching at best; the seed of despair at its worst. Nathan was awash in regret so deep he felt like he was drowning. It actually hurt to breathe. The gunslinger watched through slit eyes as the healer cleaned up his instruments and set about making a poultice for the gamester's sore hand. The long, muscular lines of the erstwhile physician sketched a picture of contrition. Of all his men, Nathan was the most truly self-assured. More than once, his cool confidence and calm thinking in the midst of a situation saved their lives. Chris didn't want to break him. Hell, they all made mistakes. "Nathan." The hands stilled. "Ezra's a tough son-of-a-bitch." Head nodding, the hands resumed their work. "He'll understand." Chris was certain. The gambler had a way of seeing things that the rest of them missed. He could read the tracks of a man's soul like Vin read the tracks of a wild animal. Of all the men he had ever met in his life, Ezra was the most forgiving and self-controlled. Chris would more likely hold this whole thing against Nathan longer than the Southerner. "I hurt him bad." "Even so." Nathan realized what Chris was saying. He didn't like it, but he'd never once shied away from the truth. Once he'd accused Ezra of always trying to twist an angle on somebody else's pain. At the time, he had not realized the Southerner had a lifetime of twisting his own pain. A pain that he had surely deepened. "How could I have been so wrong?" Nathan turned to face the gunslinger, hands limply at his side. "Perhaps you saw only what you looked for." "I judged him, wrongly." Chris met Nathan's eyes till he looked away, then tilted his hat over his face and leaned back into the chair to grab some sleep. Loosening the wrap around the tender hand, he ran a feather-light finger along the ridge created by Chris's life-saving shot. The healer was astounded to realize how very glad he was that the gunslinger was successful. Nathan laid the sweet-scented poultice on the creased and burned flesh and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving, meaning it with every fiber of his being. "Thank-you, sweet Jesus for keeping this man safe. Thank-you for keeping me from hurtin' him any more then I already done. Help me, Lord, help me help him. Please let him forgive me. Bless us, your wayward children." Changing his focus, he brushed a gentle hand across the flushed damp forehead. "Feeling downright maudlin over you, you damn rascal. " Buck whispered softly, "He gonna be alright?" "I hope so, Buck." "How about you, Nate?" "I ain't the one been wronged." "Maybe so, but I'm guessing you and Ez be hurting 'bout the same." "Yeah, but Ez is innocent." "You're a good man, Nathan Jackson, I'm proud to call you friend. Even the best of men can do something bad, sometimes for the best of reasons." "Sometimes for the worst of reasons, too. I'm thinking." "Yup," Buck grinned. "That too." Pushing up to his feet, the handsome scoundrel stretched his long limbs. "Come on, Nat. Let's go check on Josiah and JD. Then you can get some rest." "Guess I should head back to the jail." "Nah," Buck assured wrapping an arm around the tall man's shoulders. "Chris just stuck you in there to make sure you knew he was serious." "You think he's still angry?" "Yup." "Thought he might beat the shit out of me, before." "Still might. Of course, knowing that old war dog, he'd rather you stew thinking about what he might do then have you feel better for him having done it." Chris
heard the door shut and opened an eye. Tanner saw the grin and matched
it. Larabee was a shrewd son-of-a-bitch. In spite of his aching head and
troubled heart, the Texan couldn't help but laugh at Buck's little exchange.
Man knew Chris inside and out, no two ways about it. Looking fondly at
the battered con artist, Vin reflected on how well Ezra knew him too and
played on every one of the gunslinger's tells. What an unruly lot they
were.
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