REQUIEM - PART 2

Dr. Quinn looked in and saw the two motionless figures. She knew her patient had left this world. With respect, she let the grieving man have some time with his mother. Time enough to seek out the undertaker in the morning. Some things were better faced in the light of day.

Ezra pressed his lips to his mother’s cool ivory forehead in a final parting. The day was dawning and it was time to say farewell. Good-byes were always wrenching for him, and he had said so many. He was tired but he straightened his shoulders and walked head up, eyes dry, from the room.

The gambler was an efficient man, by the time the noon hour rolled around, he had made the arrangements with the undertaker, arranged the funeral and internment with the Reverend. Maude had given Dr. Quinn a letter that expressed her wishes. Ezra followed it precisely.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Standish?”

The doctor’s earnest face and firm hand on his arm was almost too much. Smoothly, Ezra sidestepped the sympathy and coolly addressed the question.

“No, ma’am. Thank-you very much for all of your kindnesses. Please send me the accounting for your services, I shall attend to it immediately.” Tipping his hat, Ezra made his polite, distant escape.

Dr. Quinn followed his passage across the street, resting her head against Sully’s chest.

“Maude told me he would do that. Just close himself off. She was right. I’ll miss her, I liked that incorrigible woman. Do you think I should telegraph his friends?”

“Not really your place.”

“I know. It doesn’t seem right for him to have to handle this all alone. “

“No, but there isn’t much more you can do. If his friends are half the men Maude said they were, I have a feeling they’ll show up, sooner or later.”

“Better be sooner. He’s planning to leave after the funeral.

Ezra opened the door of his mother’s room. Her body had been removed to the undertakers, and the bedding had been stripped away. There was something peculiarly forlorn about the naked mattress.

Briskly and proficiently, the son made short work of packing his mother’s personal effects. Maude was a meticulous person, so things were carefully organized. Ezra tried not to really see anything. Her familiar gardenia scent was enough to rock his shaky foundation. Tender hands folded dresses and undergarments, sorted hats and handkerchiefs.

Maude made plans for everything. Her clothing and toiletries were sold to the mercantile. There were buyer’s lined up for hats, gloves, even her French leather luggage. All though that lovely fall afternoon, Ezra disposed of a lifetime of memories and possessions. By the time, the sun was once again sinking behind the rugged mountains; Maude’s home for the last three months was bare except for a short stack of documents and a small trunk.

He could not make himself look in that trunk. He’d perused the paperwork. That was bad enough. He just could not open that Pandora’s box of memories.

Gathering the papers and a few token mementos into a satchel, Ezra turned to leave the room.

“Mr. Standish, please accept my condolences. Your mother was a remarkable woman.” The proprietor of the resort shook the gambler’s hand. “Thank-you for taking the time to clean out her room. I assure you there was no rush. Her account is quite up-to-date.”

“Thank-you, sir. I hope you did not find my haste unseemly, but I will be departing first thing Monday morning. I have business that requires my immediate attention. I should not think to find myself in this fine borough in the foreseeable future.”

“You would be welcome anytime. I must tell you, that I will miss your dear mother. She was a charming woman.”

“Yes, she was. Now sir, I’m sorry but I must take my leave.”

“Certainly, Mr. Standish. Danny here will help you with the rest of these things.”

Ezra and the earnest youth made short work of the trip to the hotel. After tipping the eager Danny, the weary man leaned against the door, sagging in relief. He smiled at the echo of the boy’s thanks. The tip was rather outrageous, but Ezra couldn’t help himself. Danny reminded him so much of a younger JD Dunne. Slipping out of his dark gray coat, Ezra sighed. What he wouldn’t give to be able to sit down with the young sheriff right now and listen to his happy prattle about anything at all.

A knock at the door startled him. For one second, he considered not answering, but that would be terribly rude.

“Yes,” Ezra opened the door to see a fresh-faced teenager standing there with a covered tray.

“Mr. Standish?”

“Yes, my dear, what can I do for you?”

“This is for you.”

“There must be some mistake, I didn’t order anything.”

“No, sir. It was Dr. Quinn, sir, she was thinking you might have been too busy to eat.”

Ezra flushed slightly, but widened the door so that the girl could sit down the tray. What is it with these healer types? Nathan would do something just like this. Damn, Ezra smacked himself mentally. Stop Ezra. You’re not there and they’re not here.

It dawned on him as a tempting aroma wafted up from the covered tray, that he could not remember his last meal. Pulling the linen napkin off, he smiled, comfort food. Yup, another Nathan. Beef stew, buttery rolls and a pot of coffee and best of all, a crumbly slice of apple pie. Ezra ate every mouthful.

With his elegant copperplate, Ezra penned a gracious thank-you for the good doctor. He left the note and tray together outside of the door, as the young waitress had directed. Even though it was just after nine, the soft bed beckoned. Exhausted by days of travel, the stress of the past few months and the numb weariness, the bereaved man was soon sleeping deeply, if not peacefully.

*******

Chris Larabee grinned at the tracker as the two men observed the breakfast efforts of the younger man. They were grateful he’d taken cooking lessons from Josiah. When they first began riding with the energetic Dunne, he’d nearly poisoned them all with his culinary efforts.

Standish was usually the brunt of their jokes about ineptitude on the trail. Most of that was nonsense. Ezra was fun to tease; he always had a pithy comeback. Trail-wise, Standish was as able as any of the older men, in some respects even more so. The wily gambler was nothing if self-sufficient, in any situation. JD on the other hand, had been a complete stranger to life in the wilderness. Time riding with the other six had honed his skills. Now, Chris and Vin could leave the morning efforts to the younger man and allow themselves the luxury of a quiet, well, restful anyway, waking.

“Should only be about four hours to Colorado Springs.” Vin commented, sipping the strong, hot coffee.

Chris nodded. “Damn gambler better be there.”

“We’ll find him, Chris.” JD assured, handing him a plate of fried elk steak and biscuits.

JD sank down and ate twice the amount of food as the other two, in half the time.

Vin chuckled at him. “Ain’t nobody gonna take it from ya.”

“I know, Vin, I was starving.”

“Kid, you are always starvin’. I ain’t never seen a body so hungry.”

JD fretted under the kid appellation, and Chris could see him bristle.

“JD, you’re gonna just have to deal with the fact that you are always gonna be the kid. Hell, you’ll be sixty and we’re still gonna be callin’ ya kid. Might as well start living with it now.”

JD thought about that for a moment. Chris never said that much to him, so when he did the young man listened. The gunslinger had a good point. Besides, there was something appealing about the idea of them still being together when he was sixty.

“Shoot, Chris, you guys can call me kid, if ya want. Just don’t call me too late for supper.”

Shouts of good humor rang across the mountains as together in the gorgeous fall morning they headed off to find their errant partner.

*******

Unfamiliar sounds drew Ezra from his bed at an uncharacteristically early hour. For a few minutes, he sat in physical and mental darkness. Remembrance gradually grew and with reluctance, he heaved his unwilling body out of the blankets.

Irrationally, he wished he could be somewhere else. Just after one o’clock, post meridian, they would put his mother under the earth. The whole thing distressed him so much that he had to sit down. Clenching his hands together, he squeezed them between his knees.

Come on, Ezra, get a grip. This can be done. Just think about something, anything else. Desperately, he began reciting the history of the United States. It helped, a little.

Dressing quickly in his trail clothes, Ezra headed out. He had a very important errand to run before bathing and dressing for the funeral.

Bells were ringing parishioners to Sunday morning services, when a dusty but satisfied Standish rode back into Colorado Springs. The morning’s business had eased at least one of the burdens he carried. A twinge of disappointment clouded his success just a bit, but with fortitude, the gambler refused to mourn that loss. So what if a Mr. Bryan Duncan now owned the one-time Standish Tavern? That spectacular piece of horseflesh that he would take back to Mr. Larabee more than made up for any regret he might feel. His debt would be settled and admirably so. He couldn’t wait to see the attractive gunslinger on the majestic beast.

Running the brush though his deep auburn hair, the gambler critically eyed his appearance. He would appear calm, cool, and collected at his mother’s funeral and he would be impeccably attired. The hand-tooled custom made boots were shined to a glossy finish. The solid black trousers were crisply creased and ironed. Both his coat and vest were expertly tailored. The satin lapels and color of the jacket matched the satin back of his vest. The front of the vest was a black on black jacquard. The only bit of color was the pristine pima cotton shirt. His shirt of devoid of any color or ornamentation save for the precisely tied black tie. Finally, he picked up his low-crowned black hat. The felt was sponged and brushed. A well-needed replacement was made to the narrow band surrounding the crown. He was ready.

Liar, you will never in a million years going to be ready for this. With dismay, he noted that it was just past eleven. Without a second thought, Ezra swung out of the door. Perhaps a very long walk would make the endless wait easier.

*******

“My apologies sir, but Mr. Standish is not in.” the hotel clerk pulled nervously on his tie.

“He is still here.”

“Oh, yes, he must have just stepped out for a while.”

“We will need some rooms for the night.”

“I’m sorry.” The clerk really did not want to tell the black-clad man anything. He knew a dangerous man when he saw him. They said they were friends of the soft-spoken Southerner, but the clerk had his doubts. These men did not seem like the type to be friends with the refined man.

“I only have one available room tonight.”

Chris shrugged, “We’ll manage. Turning to Vin he added, “Maybe one of us can bunk with Ezra.”

The three dumped their gear in the room and went to find Ezra.

“Let’s start with this Dr. Quinn, then we can split up and look for him.” Chris asked for directions from the mousy desk clerk.

Hearing the clomp of boots and tinkle of the bell on the waiting room door, Michaela slipped out of the inner office thinking to greet her next patient. The sight of the three, trail-worn men gladdened her heart. She knew exactly who they were. Maude Standish had talked a lot about her son and his friends. The observant con woman’s descriptions were so accurate; the doctor felt she knew them.

“You must be Chris Larabee and let me see, Vin Tanner and JD Dunne?” The greeting stunned the three men.

“And you are?” Chris asked, a bit tense.

“I am Dr. Quinn.”

Another stunner. Mercy.

A movement caught Vin’s eye and he turned to see a tall, bronzed mountaineer enter the room. His presence was quickly noted. Though his greeting was pleasant, not a man there missed the subtle warning.

“Dr. Quinn, we’re looking for Ezra Standish. Do you know where we might find him?” The seven’s leader wondered how the woman knew them, but first he wanted to find his absent friend.

Sully looked at the three men carefully. “He just went over to the undertakers.”

Concern and questions were written on their faces.

“I’m afraid Mr. Standish’s mother died late Friday night.” The doctor delivered the news gently but plainly.

“Mrs. Standish is dead?” JD was shocked. Dear God, Ezra must be beside himself. He worshipped the ground his ma walked on.

“Yes, I am afraid she had been quite ill for the past few months.”

Chris and Vin agreed. That’s what was bothering the reticent gambler all summer. No wonder.

The doctor continued, “Mrs. Standish’s funeral is at one o’clock this afternoon. The church is just west of town, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks, come on boys we best get cleaned up a bit.”

“Shouldn’t we find Ezra first?” JD was anxious to lay eyes on his bereaved friend.

“Nah, kid, he’s spending some time with his ma. We’ll see him over at the funeral. Time enough,” the tracker reassured the young man.

With polite thanks, the three regulators hurried back to the hotel to shave and wash up. They might not have fancy mourning clothes but at least they’d be respectable for their friend.

*******

Ezra sat on the edge of a straight back chair beside his mother’s coffin. The undertaker, a Mr. Dye, had seen to it that the fine oak coffin was carried over to the church with care. Somewhere, Ezra was sure that his mother would appreciate the irony of that name. When the man first introduced himself, he had almost laughed aloud; an action that would have mortified his mother. Mother.

The coffin was still open. Mr. Dye would nail it closed just before the burial. It seemed to Ezra that time was hurtling towards that hour like runaway horses dragging a coach full of unwilling passengers.

His mother looked beautiful. Her hair was finely coiffed as always. The watered silk dress was characteristic of her exquisite taste. The perfectly manicured hands were folded carefully. She wore Peyton Standish’s wedding band, but the engagement ring was left with Ezra.

Even now, staring at the pale, lifeless features, he found it hard to believe. In a tremendously unstable life, his mother was something consistent. Unpredictable, yes, but in many ways she was like tide of the great oceans; coming and going, yet ever-present. Ezra felt an incredible sense of abandonment. How did you stop the tide from flowing? She might have been sunk in shifting sands, but his anchor was gone and he was cast adrift.

He pressed his lips together. He would not embarrass his mother with foolish sentiment. So he sat, erect, proper and composed. Not an untoward emotion flickered across his carefully schooled expression. Meanwhile, his heart broke into a million pieces as the leaves of a tree fall bit by bit to their deaths in the autumn. By the time the service started, Ezra was nearly catatonic with control.

*******

Chris led the way to the little church. They entered quietly, amazed to note that there were perhaps two dozen people already there. Maude must have worked her charms during her stay. The subdued group seemed genuinely sad over her loss.

The trio made their way quietly to the front to pay their respects. The sight of the isolated and rigid Southerner grieved Chris. The gambler was immaculately attired. His handsome face calmly surveyed the figure in the coffin but the leader recognized the toll that sorrow was taking in the desolation in those glimmering green eyes.

The demeanor of his good friend distressed JD. Ezra barely acknowledged them. His words of thanks and welcome, even surprise were vague and distant. They could be complete strangers for all the attention given them. The young man didn’t mind that. He remembered the way he felt when his mother died. It was as if the earth tilted. In fact, JD didn’t think the world straightened up until the day he shook Ezra’s hand in the Seminole village all those years ago. Buck taught him how to walk in his new world, but it was Ezra’s hand that had pulled him level. His hand would be there when Ezra reached for it.

About forty people gathered to bid farewell to Maude Standish. The service was as lovely as the spectacular October day. That little part of Ezra that could think and feel appreciated it. His soul tucked away the warm and tender home going ceremony. Outwardly, he remained calm and sober. Inwardly was another story.

Vin knew exactly what was happening. He and Chris flanked the distant man. Both unconsciously moved close enough that their shoulders touched Ezra. Vin felt a tremendous shudder shake the grief-stricken Standish. The prescient plainsman felt him flinch with every strike of the hammer as the coffin was nailed shut.

Please, don’t put my mama in the ground. Ezra closed his eyes. The thud of dirt against the oak box nearly drove him to his knees howling. He hated the thought of his mother trapped in the cold, dark ground. Terror almost broke through to the surface. Only Vin’s steadying hand on his elbow kept his fright from crashing in and breaking him.

One day he would have to tell his fellow peacekeepers how he clung to them during that trial. JD Dunne crying unashamedly over his mother was more comforting then anything anyone struggled to say. Vin literally held him up and Chris’ imposing and solid presence protected him from old childhood fears. Ezra believed that it would never be over. Like all sad times, this one came too fast and passed too slowly.

Somehow, he accepted condolences with great poise, leaving the good townspeople of Colorado Springs impressed with the gracious and soft-spoken man. No one saw his desperation and desolation, but his friends. No one else heard the ache in the honeyed Southern tones or saw the sudden tightening of his jaw or the quiver of his smooth fine-boned hands.

Chris knew Ezra was at the end of his strength. More than once in the past few minutes he saw the glistening of tears in those bottle-green eyes. The man would be humiliated were he to lose control in front of these people.

“It’s time to go,” the voice of authority left no room for argument.

There was none and Ezra allowed JD to loop a guiding arm over his shoulders and take him back to the refuge of his hotel room. Vin stopped to order some dinner to be delivered.

JD chatted about their trip to Colorado Springs. Without waiting for Ezra to ask, he told how they discovered his whereabouts. How the Judge kept his confidence. How they brought Chaucer. The Yankee twang filled the room and gave Ezra a chance to just be still.

He couldn’t eat. Coffee would have to suffice. No one pushed the issue. Finally, as the hour grew late, the three left for their room. Ezra shook himself enough out of his numb stupor to realize that their quarters would be uncomfortably cramped.

“Why don’t you stay here, Mr. Dunne?” he asked. “No need for anyone to be inconvenienced when there is ample space available here.”

JD was honored. Ezra wanted him to stay. He smiled. “That’d be great, Ez. I’ll just get my stuff.”

The gambler nodded.

Vin squeezed his arm. “Night, pard.”

“Mr. Tanner, I am in your debt. I appreciate your thoughtfulness this afternoon.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry about your ma.”

Aw hell, Ezra fought back the sudden rush of water to his eyes. He opened his mouth to thank Vin but nothing could be forced past his tight throat. Dropping his head, he stared transfixed at the wooden floor between his feet.

Sharing a glance with Chris, Vin patted his arm again and left.

“Ezra, there isn’t anything wrong with being upset over your mother.”

“She’d be appalled.”

“She’s not here.”

“I am well aware of that fact. Nevertheless…” Ezra choked out, finding a new patch of wood grain to examine, the first one had grown dark with dampness.

“Well, we’re not appalled. Hell, Ezra, you made out of something different then the rest of us? Not a man alive whose lost his mother and didn’t feel like shit.”

The lanky gunslinger shook his head. Stubborn, hardheaded Southerner. Reaching out his hand, he clasped the silently crying man around the back of his neck and pulled him into a rough embrace. Chris stood for a long moment tightly holding his friend against his chest.

“Ezra, there is no shame in mourning your dead. None at all, you hear me?”

The gamester tried to rein in his tears; it was like trying to hold back a river with his bare hands. There was an empty hollow space in his center that seemed as if it was sucking all the life from his soul. The hurt grew till it became his whole world.

Chris just stood there, an island of calm in a raging ocean of grief. He knew this hurt and his aqua eyes filled with sympathy. No words were necessary. Silence works best before a broken heart.

Hearing JD’s approach in the hallway, the gamesman turned to face the window. Chris simply opened the door for JD and left. The young man was wise for his years and called no attention to the fact that the gunslinger’s black shirtfront was sodden. Nor did he acknowledge the gambler’s shuddering shoulders. Instead, he just settled his belongings.

"I’m gonna go to the privy. Back in a bit,” with that he slipped out of the room and left the card sharp to his grief.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Ezra gradually got the tears to stop. Taking out a pristine handkerchief, he tended to the damage wrought by his grief. He couldn’t honestly say it had helped to let the tears he’d fought for two days fall. Right now, he felt as if he could cry for a lifetime and never be at peace. Experience taught him that the tears would stop someday, but there would always be an aching sore place where Maude was concerned. He knew just where it where it would be; he had other sad little corners already tucked away in the attic of his heart.

By the time JD returned, Ezra was his normally composed self. JD thought as he looked at the gambler, that had you not seen those shadowed green eyes standing out against the slender, pale face, you would not know the man just buried his mother.

“Which side you want?”

“I prefer to face the door, please, Mr. Dunne. Thank-you.”

JD settled his tired bones into the soft mattress. “Oh, Ez. I almost forgot, Josiah sent you something. If you hand me my saddle bags, I’ll get it.”

Moving smoothly, the Southerner did as requested. While JD routed about in his haphazardly packed bags, Ezra hung up his clothing.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I realize that Mr. Dunne, however, if you want your apparel to be fit to wear in the morning, it would be prudent to do so.”

JD laughed. “You always so neat?”

“Naturally, Mother…” he pushed hard around the constriction in his throat. “ never tolerated anything less. One must be a good steward of one’s belongings.”

“What did she mean by that?” JD ignored the hesitation and plunged on.

“If you take care of things they last longer. She meant you need to take care of what you have, lest you are deprived of them.”

“Oh, I would have thought that she’d be like the people my ma worked for, if something got ruined they just bought more.”

Ezra sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “I realize y’all think that I was raised in the lap of luxury, but that, I assure you, is not the case. We were somewhat at the mercy of more financially stable relatives after my father died. I would wager, sir, that your mother was more adept at earning a living then was mine.”

“So she started running cons and playing cards so you could live?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she did real good then Ez. You play cards better then anybody I’ve ever seen and the two of you made it.”

Ezra allowed a slight smile over his shoulder at the sincere Dunne. “There you are right, sir. Perhaps a bit unconventional, but we did survive.”

Both of them grew quiet for a time, while the gamesman prepared to retire for the evening. Leaning against the headboard, JD watched his friend. There was a grace to Ezra’s motions that made everything he did have a touch of the elegant. The Standish’s may have been penniless at times, but JD had no doubt his friend would be comfortable at the most exclusive affair hosted in the Boston mansion where he grew up.

“Mr. Dunne did you locate the article you were searching for?”

“Oh, yeah, here Josiah said to give you this and that you’d understand. I don’t know what it is, but it weighs a ton.”

The gambler regarded the brown-paper covered parcel with some suspicion. It was heavy. With a sigh, he undid the string and peeled back the paper. It was a beautifully bound copy of Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield. Ezra bought the book himself from a circular that Mary Travis shared with him. Mary was a bit tentative about him at times, but they discovered that they both shared a love of books. Josiah was not at all shy in his admiration of the fine volume. Unexpectedly, the preacher found it in his possession after Ezra wagered it in one of their regular poker games.

Fingering the creased back, the gamester realized that the preacher had read the book, many times it appeared. Opening the flyleaf, he was surprised to see an inscription. A smile creased his features as he read the words written there in Josiah’s large clear handwriting.

“What is it Ez?”

“A peace offering, Mr. Dunne.”

“Isn’t that the book Josiah won off you a while back?”

“Yes,” he peered at JD over the edge of the book. “Here, I am well aware that you are privy to the recent altercation between Misters Jackson and Sanchez and myself.”

The sheriff took the book and read the flyleaf. “This book is property of Josiah Sanchez, given in kindness and generosity by Ezra P. Standish.”

Handing it back to the bemused gambler, a bit of paper floated to the bed covers. JD was curious, but simply picked it up and handed to the gambler. It had his name blazoned across the front.

The gamester knew he should read the note, but his emotions were too tender just then. So, he tucked it back into the book and climbed in beside JD.

“Have you read the story of young David, Mr. Dunne?”

“Nah, never read that one.”

“I would read some of Mr. Copperfield’s tale, if that would be agreeable?”

JD smiled and nodded, scrunching himself down under the covers.

Ezra began, “Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show….”

The younger man was soon captured by the intriguing prose of Charles Dickens flowing through the melodious Southern voice.

Thank-you Mr. Sanchez, thought the older man as he lost himself in the pages of the tome, glad to have a place to hide from the hurt, if only for a time.

*******

Vin was stretched out across the bed when Chris blew into the room. “He okay?”

The gunslinger shrugged, unbuckling his gun belt. “Course that man could be dead and buried three days before anybody would know.”

“Ornery son of a gun.”

“You got that right. Got to tell you Vin, it was really strange, man stood there crying as if there was no tomorrow and didn’t make a single sound .”

“Reckon Maude taught him that too. ‘Spect he thinks we think he’s weak or somethin’. Suppose that’s why he never said nothin’ about his ma.”

“Leastways, we know why he was jumpier than a jackrabbit in a prairie fire all summer. Can’t figure him out. Why not tell us his mother was sick? He could have been here the whole time.”

“You know, Chris, I bet she didn’t want him here. It’s a mercy somebody sent for him at all.”

“She was harder to figure out than Ezra. The man could not have been a better son. Not to speak ill of the dead, but she always acted as though he owed her. To tell you the truth, I wanted to strangle her.”

“She trampled him just like a herd of buffalo runs over wildflowers, that’s for sure. Great company though and a fine lookin’ woman but sure as hell didn’t want to play cards with her.”

“Damn, Vin you sound like Josiah.”

“Nope, just sayin’ what’s so.”

“What’s so is that Ezra is hurting bad. Best thing, get him home and away from all this.”

“He might not be ready to leave right off.”

“I think he was planning on heading back first-thing, well sometime, tomorrow anyway. Told Dr. Quinn that he couldn’t and I quote, desert his compatriots to the mutlifarousness of the criminal element beyond the time allotted.”

“Shit, Chris, I’m just glad to hear that he’s plannin’ on comin’ back at all.”

“I wish I could be sure he’d stay.”

“You still thinkin’ he still might leave?”

“I don’t know, he’s more unpredictable then a funnel cloud in a thunderstorm and as hard to pin down.”

“Maybe ya should let him know he belongs with us.”

“He knows that.”

“Nope.”

“Tanner, what in the hell are you talkin’ about? Standish is just as much a part of us as anybody.”

Vin was unfazed by the penetrating glare and just stared back. Larabee would figure it out.

*******

Nathan read the telegram again and handed it over to Buck.

“Wish we could have been there. I remember how bad I felt when Daddy died.”

“I just can’t believe Maude Standish is dead.” Josiah drank his shot and poured another. “She was a fine woman.”

Buck smoothed down his mustache, “Damn Southerner probably just interested in his inheritance.”

“Ezra loved his mother. He always was a loving and devoted son,” Nathan bristled.

Leaning forward, the preacher added, “I believe that was a bit judgmental, Brother. After all, this is the man’s mother we’re talking about.

“Now boys, this is Ezra Standish, money grubbing gambler we’re talking about. The same man that bilked those Indians out of that money. The same one who’s mistakes always leaves somebody high and dry.”

“You got something to say?” Nathan fixed hard brown eyes on Buck.

“Nope,” the easy-going gunslinger said with a smile, heading off to visit Miss Dolly.

“Nathan, I believe we have just been told off.” Josiah couldn’t help but laugh at Buck’s approach.

“Yup, I believe you’re right.” Nathan sipped his coffee. “Hope they remember to get him to eat somethin’. You know he don’t finish half the meals he starts.”

“JD’s along. You know that boy won’t miss a meal.”

“Yeah, but do you think they’ll get Ezra to eat? I should have gone. Hell, Vin and JD will eat everything.”

“Chris won’t let that happen.”

“What if he gets sick? He’s gonna be mighty upset, probably get all cold and wet. Catch his death, you know it.”

“Sounds like you’re a mite worried about him.” Josiah leaned back in his chair, head cocked speculatively at his old friend.

“I ain’t worried about that Southern fool. I’m just thinkin’ about all the work I’ll have to be doin’ when they bring him home sick.”

“Can’t rightly remember last time Ezra got sick,” the preacher baited.

“Always a first time for everything.”

“Maybe he’s not coming back.” Josiah couldn’t help but give voice to the fear gnawing at his insides.

Nathan was surprised. “He’ll come home,” he said with certainty.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Where else would he go?” The healer shrugged his shoulders. “We’re the only ones that would put up with his shenanigans.” Nathan squirmed slightly under the preacher’s appraising stare.

“Don’t be lookin’ at me like that.”

Josiah couldn’t help but laugh. “Brother, you aren’t foolin’ me none. You’re just as fond of that Southern son-of-a-bitch as I am.”

“He belongs with us. He might be an unprincipled rogue who couldn’t walk a straight line if his life depended on it, but he’s our unprincipled rogue.”  Nathan suddenly found his coffee very interesting.

“That he is.” They smiled together in agreement. “Hope JD doesn’t forget to give him that book.”

Nat nodded, “Hope he reads that note.”

*******

Another gorgeous fall day dawned. Ezra looked down warmly at the sleeping man curled beside him. Sleep for him was elusive this night. So, he sought solace in Copperfield’s tale. The pages flew by, keeping the active mind thoroughly occupied. The steady soft breathing of JD Dunne successfully fought off any lingering ghosts. He wondered idly if Casey was the young man’s Agnes. Copperfield might have a tough road to haul, but he had one thing that Ezra envied: the love of a devoted and tender woman.

Realizing his thoughts were about to take him in a direction he didn’t want to go, Ezra slipped quietly out of the bed. Flipping the blankets back to prevent any chill air from creeping in, a slip of paper floated to the floor. Ezra viewed it with some uncertainty. He recognized the narrow and precise handwriting as that of the resident healer.

Well, no time like the present. It was short and to the point.

Ezra, Please forgive me. It is not for me to say what you do with your money. Nathan

He was astounded. Nathan apologized! He stood there staring at the paper. It was true, it was not for Nathan to say what he did with his money. Not that he had any, but nonetheless. No one ever asked him to forgive them, ever. He was the sorry one. Who was he to go bestowing forgiveness on the likes of the upright Nathan Jackson? He felt rather strange. Hot and cold and odd. Suddenly, it occurred to him that someone was saying his name.

“Ezra?”

“Good morning, Mr. Dunne.”

“You okay?”

“Of course,” he gave his best alligator grin and began bustling around with shaving mugs and clean shirts.

“Awfully early for you to be up, ain’t it?” The sheriff examined him more closely. “You sleep any?”

Instead of answering, the gambler simply lathered his face. JD frowned but said nothing as he dressed.

“Mr. Dunne, would you care to avail yourself of my razor?”

“Shaved yesterday.”

“Your point being?”

“Nobody cares, it’ll keep.”

“A gentleman is always conscious of his appearance.”

“I ain’t no gentleman.”

“Of course you are. I would not associate with anyone less. I am certain that your mother raised a gentleman, aren’t you?”

JD raised rueful eyes to the expectant Southern gentleman. “I guess I better borrow your razor, thanks.”

*******

Chris grinned at the sight of the two when they entered the dining room. Vin followed the direction of his eyes and shook his head slightly. Ezra seemed to have that effect on them. He and Chris both took a little more effort in their morning routine also. Both donned clean shirts and shaved before coming down to breakfast.

“Hey fellas,” JD greeted, swooping down on the plate of biscuits in the center of the table.

The shy serving girl appeared at his elbow with the coffee pot. Carefully pouring fresh cups, she smiled at Ezra.

“Good morning, Mr. Standish, gentlemen, may I take your order?”

He returned the smile, recognizing the young waitress from the other evening. “Just coffee, my dear.”

Chris frowned, but JD was ordering before he could say anything. So after Vin competed with the sheriff in setting a record for breakfast food volume, Chris placed a more modest order. Pointing at the Southerner, he added, “Bring him the same.”

Any protest Standish might raise was cut-off by the gunslingers raised eyebrows.

“I assume you are offering to fund this repast.”

Larabee grinned, “Don’t want you falling off your horse later.” Sobering somewhat, he asked, “You be ready to go home later this morning?”

It was as if a bucket of ice water hit him in the face. He was dismayed. It was such a simple question, why should that awful feeling strike him just then? For what felt like the hundredth time in the past few days, Ezra was speechless. He settled for a nod while trying to force a mouthful of coffee down his throat.

Vin had not missed the sudden darkening of his friend’s countenance. So, he encouraged JD to chatter throughout the meal. The gambler was grateful for the distraction. He met Vin’s eyes and saw that the perceptive tracker read his thanks.

Nate would be proud, Vin thought, watching as Larabee coerced the resistant gamester into eating every bite of food on his plate.

Leaning against the porch rail, JD and Chris waited for Ezra to bring down the trunk they were taking over to the freight office to ship to Four Corners. Vin had offered to round up supplies for the trip home. Larabee knew the tracker was adept at provisioning; he’d make sure that there were no loose ends.

“Wow, Chris check out that horse!”

*******

Chris narrowed his eyes. A beautiful pure-black gelding was being ponied down the center of the street. About 16 hands, long flowing mane flying in the breeze, tail held high. He couldn’t help the low whistle of appreciation that slipped through his teeth.

A low Southern drawl sounded in his ear. “Lovely creature. Wonder who the fortunate owner of that horse might be? Appears to be a cross between a thoroughbred and Arabian, I would presume. Observe the refined head and wide-set eyes. Indeed, no other horse holds its tail quite like that. Definitely hot Arabian blood.”

“Think you’re right.” Chris couldn’t take his eyes from the beast as it pranced haughtily in the street. He could never hope to own a horse like that. There was no doubt in his mind that a steed of that kind of breeding would cost more than he could ever afford.

JD had made his way to the men holding the horse and was running appreciative hands over the sleek, glossy coat, feeling the well-formed and taut musculature. Superior horseflesh. His mother’s employer back in Boston didn’t even have a horse this fine. His fellow stable boys would have given their back teeth to work with a horse like this.

The gunslinger just stood and stared. Ezra hid his delight. The man’s reaction was everything he could want. Moving smoothly over to the attractive blond holding the black’s bridle, he smiled, shaking the man’s hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Duncan. Thank you for your promptness. I am thinking my friend there desires to ride this excellent steed.”

The warm brown eyes of the horse’s owner smiled back. Sotto voce, he asked. “He the one?”

“Indeed, Mr. Duncan. Although, he is yet unaware of his good fortune.”

The two conspirators grinned. The gambler was pleased. He knew when he first met the gentle Scotsman that he was a fine person as well as an excellent breeder. Any lingering doubts he might have regarding the ownership of the saloon evaporated in the bright white gleam.

“Mr. Larabee, perhaps you would like to ride this animal? The owner is most willing that you would do so.”

Chris didn’t pause. “Hell, yes.”

With no hesitation he strode over to the horse. Something clicked. Liquid brown equine eyes met those of glittering aqua and a bond began to grow. Cupping his hands softly, Chris blew gently in the horse’s muzzle, greeting him the way horses greet each other. He grinned as the black snorted and shook his head slightly. The silky nose rubbed roughly on his cheek.

With a swift move, Larabee swung his lean frame over the strong back. Instantly, the horse began to dance about. The rider tightened his knees somewhat but recognized the movement for a show of playful temperament and let it go. After a few moments, he tightened his legs and the two of them trotted proudly down the street. At the end, Chris let loose with a whoop and the two went flying like the wind across the grassy meadows outside of town.

Chris lost track of time while he rode that glorious beast, almost a full hour passed before he came cantering into town. Hopping down gracefully, he mounted the stairs to the hotel porch. Four men were lounging on the shaded veranda. Various expressions of amusement were flickering on each face as they watch the shamefaced gunslinger make his way over to them.

“Hey, cowboy,” Vin drawled, a wicked light in his turquoise eyes. “Have a nice ride?”

Larabee was embarrassed. What the hell was he thinking? Damn, he could have been arrested for horse thievery, the length of time he was gone. The usually controlled man was so flustered that he didn’t notice the grins flashing on the men’s faces.

“Bryan Duncan, this is Chris Larabee.” Schooling his expression, Ezra stood and introduced the two men.

Bryan reached out his hand to the stammering man. “Mr. Larabee it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he greeted with his pleasant burr.

The firm grip on his hand helped Chris recover his manners. Mrs. Larabee had raised a gentleman also.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Duncan. I must apologize for my thoughtlessness. I had no intention of making off with your horse.”

Well, mused Ezra. This is worth it. First that look of undisguised greed, now Larabee is apologizing and making a pretty job of it, if I say so myself. Now to deliver the coup de grace.

“Ah, but Mr. Larabee, that horse does not belong to Mr. Duncan here. In fact, he was bringing the creature to his new owner. I don’t know what that man is going to think.” Ezra shook his head, eyeing the dusty and sweaty horse, with some dismay.

“But…” good heavens, this was getting worse. Larabee was flushing now.

Ezra couldn’t help it. The expression on Chris’ face was priceless. He began to laugh. The frown he received from the man just made it worse. His chuckles were contagious and the other three men joined him.

“What in the hell is so funny?”

Ezra recovered first, gesturing towards the black, he asked. “What do you think the owner is going to think?”

“How in the hell should I know.” Larabee replied, voice laced with irritation.

“But Mr. Larabee, who else would know?”

“That’s it, Standish. Wipe that grin off your face and tell me what’s going on.”

Laying his hand gently on Chris’ arm, Ezra spoke softly. “Chris that’s your new horse, if you would like him?”

Little seen emotion played across the gunslingers visage. That damn gambler was saying that this spectacular piece of horseflesh was his…

“If I would like him?”

He was staring right into those gregarious green gems, so there was no way to miss the flash of uneasiness there. He might not be the world’s most sensitive man, but Chris Larabee knew that look. Sarah had it when she told him she was pregnant. Adam had it when showing him his first carving. Oh yes, he knew that apprehension and he knew just how to dispel it.

Clasping Ezra’s forearm, he let his smile brighten his face and flow up to his eyes.

“I can’t begin to tell you how very much I would like him.” Turning to again admire the black, he added, “He’s magnificent. Absolutely magnificent.”

Ezra’s face lit up with that grin of  pure pleasure that Larabee found so engaging. It was such a long time since Chris saw that smile of unguarded boyish charm.

JD’s whoop of delight broke through and the two men listened with satisfaction as the young man regaled Chris with the pedigree he learned from Bryan.

“His sire came all the way from France. Ain’t that right Mr. Duncan?”  Bryan stepped up to discuss the horse with its new owner, he too obviously pleased with the outcome.

Vin came to stand behind Ezra on the step as they watched Chris, JD and Bryan waxing over the lovely gelding.

“Perfect choice, pard,” the tracker remarked lowly.

The Southerner’s smile deepened. “I did something right,” he spoke softly, absently to himself.

The sharp ears of the Texan heard the comment and sighed. It had taken a long time for him to realize it; although the gambler might be perfectly in control, he was terribly insecure. Years of tracking elusive woodland creatures taught the outdoorsman that camouflage was an excellent protection. Ezra hid so successfully among his surroundings that most saw exactly what the gamesman wanted them to see.

Vin had ridden with the man for almost two years before he was able to spot the true creature from the carefully painted disguise. Sometimes he felt that Ezra was just as confused as those he was trying to confound. It troubled him.

“Mr. Tanner, will you excuse me? I have a visit to make.”

The gambler slipped down the steps and took leave of the men still making over the horse.

“Mr. Larabee, I must attend to some business. I shall return in approximately one hour. We can leave then if that’s quite convenient?”

“Sure. Not a problem.” Chris smiled distractedly at the man, his mind on his new mount.

Shaking Bryan’s hand and tipping his hat, Ezra made his way down the street. Exchanging nods with the gunslinger, Vin discretely trailed along behind.

The tracker saw Ezra pass an envelope to Dr. Quinn, before bending to lightly brush her hand with his lips. The woman seemed to be telling him something and Vin was certain that it had to do with Maude. Even at a distance, he saw the cardsharp’s reserve.

Ezra’s heart was thundering as he crept into the small graveyard. Dr. Quinn’s voice ringing in his ears. How did he reconcile these two people; the Maude everyone else knew and the one that was his mother? The fresh dirt mound burned like salt on a raw wound. The sight stopped him in his tracks. Dropping to his knees, he pressed his palms into the earth moist with the morning dew.

“Mama.” Tears dripped off his face to form little mud puddles that ran together before seeping into the thirsty ground. Through the silently flowing tears, he began to speak.

Vin heard the words pouring from the Southerner from the secreted corner where he stood. He guessed it was eavesdropping, yet he found himself unable to move.

“I’m going back to Four Corners today. Do you know Mr. Larabee and Mr. Tanner and young Mr. Dunne made that long sojourn just on my behalf? I don’t for the life of me know why. They are exceptionally fine men. It is beyond my comprehension that they permit me to associate with them. Nathan Jackson told me once it was because Mr. Larabee thought a liar and a cheat would be useful. At least he thinks I’m good for something but you know that: I was always good for a con. Whatever the intent, I am gratified that they have allowed me to remain.”

Vin was disturbed. Damn that was cold: was it true? Were they just using the man for their own ends? The thought was so uncomfortable, that Vin shied away from it.

“I wanted to tell you so many things, but I never could bring myself to do so. You were correct in your observations. Your absences and frequent departures were painful. I know you found my presence distasteful. I understand. It was no more than I warranted. Do you know I really was not clumsy as a child? Those accidents were complements of some of those dubious relatives you paid to raise me. A futile effort to make me tolerable, I suppose.”

Vin bit his lip. There was no self-pity in these words, just acceptance. He knew exactly what those so-called accidents were. He had a few during his own tumultuous childhood and had always depended on the memory of his mother’s words to ring purely against the false notes of  misuse. Thank you, ma, Vin breathed softly.

“Do you know how hard I tried to be good so you would want me? I’m sorry I disappointed you. I always hoped one day…”

The tortured voice broke off, as years of unspoken misery rose to the surface threatening to pull him under. He was gasping for air when a shadow fell across the grave and a pair of buckskinned arms pulled him to his feet.

“Come on, pard. It’s time to go home.” Vin was heartsick. He heard the cruel, ugly truth. The pain in the voice hadn’t troubled him: the expression that accompanied it, did.

Once high in the Sangre de Cristo mountains Vin tracked a lynx. He partially wounded it and felt a responsibility to put an end to its suffering. He finally confronted it on the edge of a promontory. Catching sight of him, the beast had jumped to its death. He never forgot the look in those tortured cat’s green eyes.  He saw that look in another set of cat’s eyes on more than one occasion. Now was just such a time.

“Ezra?” With one hand he reached into the gambler’s jacket for the handkerchief he knew would be there; with the other he led the man to the pump outside of the church. Pushing the square of linen into the gamester’s hand, he directed, “Wash up, so we can go.”

The Southerner looked at it blankly then did as he was told. He was too drained to even care about someone seeing him in such a state. His mind was whirling with unhappy memories and there was a strange roaring in his ears.

Vin saw the pale face turn absolutely bloodless and pushed Ezra to sit on a nearby tree stump. Reaching into another pocket, he pulled out the silver flask, uncapped it and made sure that the gambler drank a fair amount. Satisfied the man wouldn’t faint, Vin snatched a sip before replacing the flask.

Hunkering down in front of the gamester, he laid a hand on the man’s knee. “Ezra, you okay?”

Opening his mouth to lie, Ezra just closed it again. No, he wasn’t alright. Not at all. His equanimity was gone, sucked up into the vacuum of loss. He was taking a thrashing as effectively as any beating he had ever received and was left battered and crushed in its wake. Desperately, he fought to regain his composure.

Vin sighed. Maybe Chris was right, maybe if they got him away from here….

“Let’s get JD and Chris and go home.”

“Go…?”

“Yeah, pard, go home.”

“Perhaps that would be advisable. I find myself most disconcerted by these events.” The soft voice grew softer. “Mr. Tanner, do you think you will see your mother again?”

Vin shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe you should talk to Josiah.”

“No, Vin, I’m asking you.” Those compelling eyes fixed him into place.

“I hope so.”

The gambler drew in a shuddering sigh, absently rubbing his chest. “I am finding hope a precious commodity, just now.”

“I know, Ez. Maybe ya just need to give it some time.”

“Yes, you are most perceptive as always. I believe Mr. Larabee will be expecting my return, so that we can embark on the journey…home.”

Vin grinned. In all the time he’d ever known Ezra the man never referred to Four Corners as home. Never. His smile faded a bit at the patent resignation on the Southerner’s face. Well, whatever the reason, he was inclined to view that development with favor. From what he just heard, the man had been more homeless than a certain scruffy Texan orphan.

This time Ezra had company to the graveside. He simply stood there for a moment, looking at the rich dirt mound still imprinted with his handprints.

“I must say our last farewell. I suppose…,” eyes stared into the brilliant foliage of the hillside. He would not loose control. “Good-bye, Mother, take care of yourself.”

Ezra turned and almost ran from the gravesite, lest his courage fail him. Every step deepened the hurt until they reached the hotel where JD and Chris were waiting. Chris figured a quick getaway was the best plan and he and JD had the horses and gear ready to go.

“Let’s go.” Chris said shortly, after one look at the gambler’s face. JD handed the gamester his horses reins, watching as the man mounted, his movements stiff and face wooden.

As soon as he was seated, Ezra urged Chaucer into a gallop and fled the town.

“Keep an eye on him, JD.” Chris directed, knowing that the young sheriff would not fail him or the gambler. The gunslinger would follow more slowly with the tracker and the two packhorses.
 
 

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