SOMETIMES
by Tess

Part 3

Buck Wilmington was a happy man. Feet propped up on the rail, chair titled at a comfortable angle he waited for the Friday stage. Sporadic hammering, punctuated by an occasional outburst as a finger was mistaken for a nail could be heard coming from the church at the end of town. Creaking leather, the jangle of a passing wagon, muted heels on the boardwalk, clinking dishes and the rhythmic thump of a printing press played the cacophonic symphony of Four Corners. Nearby, he could hear the clipped tones of JD’s brisk Yankee accent playing counterpoint to Chris’ Hoosier hum as he filled the older man in on the events of the past three weeks.

The passage of night, a hot meal, warm dry bed and ample intake of Red Eye had mellowed the irascible gunslinger’s temperament. Judging from the small hesitations in the telling, Buck suspected that JD had carefully edited some parts of the story. There was no doubt in the amiable man’s mind that there was more to that jail incident than JD let on, and something definitely went on with Inez. Now that shooting business on the other hand left nothing to the imagination. The ex-ranger supposed they all were in perfect agreement concerning the demise of one Mr. Jenkins. Knowing Ezra’s fondness for children he wasn’t altogether surprised that he’d taken the lad under his wing, but the depth of the connection had taken him back a bit. It had not escaped any of them when Ezra referred to the child as ‘my boy’.

Perhaps most surprising had been Chris’ reaction. He seemed to take it all in stride, almost if he expected it. Nathan and Josiah had, along with the ladies’ man, been somewhat baffled by Ezra’s paternal proclivities. JD clearly thought, much to his delight, that Kit was here to stay. Vin, now there was a reaction that was most disquieting, he was disturbed. Oh, not that he’d say so, but he got that look. After three weeks in his company, night and day, Buck was getting a better handle on the plainsman; Vin did most of his talking with what he didn’t say.

A low rumble and clatter drew Buck’s attention back to the matter at hand. "Time for the old animal magnetism to do its work," he grinned rubbing his hands together.

"Old is right" JD retorted, dodging easily away from his friends long arm reach. "Hey, guys, look who’s coming.

Following JD’s nod, the three men watched the progress of Ezra Standish and Kit Baral along the narrow boardwalk. "Whoo-ey," Buck whistled lowly. "Think those two were poured out of the same mold?"

"Looks that way." Chris squinted his eyes at the pair, trying to grasp the thought that evaded him since he’d first seen the youngster. But once again it was like trying to catch wind in a basket.

"Guys, you don’t think there’s something Maude didn’t tell Ezra? After all, look at them. Same color eyes, same color hair, same dimples, they even walk and talk alike." JD ticked off the similarities on his fingers. "Don’t you think that’s just too much of a coincidence?"

"Could be his kid." Chris suggested idly.

JD looked askance at Chris, "You’re kidding, right?"

The cryptic shootist shrugged his shoulders and smirked at the bold young man. JD didn’t like it when Chris Larabee joked around, because he was never quite sure where the joke started and where it ended.

"No way Ezra would let that Jenkins creep anywhere near a kid of his." JD said with finality. "But Maude could be the boy’s mother, she ain’t that old. A trace of doubtfulness crept into his voice. "Course I’m not sure even she’d say some of that stuff Kit’s mother told him. Boy sure knows his way around a deck of cards, you guys remember how Maude whooped us good? Maybe the kid’s workin’ some kind of con. Could be that…"

"Drop it, JD." Vin drawled. "Don’t reckon its any of our business and all yer doin’ is spreading a mighty thick load of horse shit."

"Kid has a point" Chris met Vin’s flinty stare. "We don’t really know anything about Ezra’s past or his mother’s for that matter."

"Don’t matter none."

"What a man don’t know could get him killed."

"You knew all you needed to know ‘bout Ezra when he came back after runnin’ out on us at the Indian village."

"What are you saying, Vin?"

"I don’t know, cowboy, maybe I’m sayin' what a man don’t know could get him killed." Vin spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving a disgruntled Chris Larabee glaring at his back.

The stage pulled up. "Good timing," Buck grinned in relief and dragged JD away from the broiling Larabee. Bending over to lean in JD’s ear, he advised, "Be prepared to watch a master at work."

"Yeah, Buck. Well maybe I’ve been mastering some since you’ve been gone."

"In your dreams!" Buck reached up behind unsuspecting sheriff’s head and knocked his bowler hat to the dusty street, before strolling up to the passengers clambering off the stagecoach.

Orrin Travis was feeling down right old. Knees, back, neck, even his aged shanks ached from the endless bumping. So, he was not inclined to waste time with any foolishness. It was his goal to complete his judicial obligations with as much expedience as possible and then to soak in a tub and retire early. Hopefully, with a full belly and a pleasant buzz.

Ignoring the boisterous, albeit respectful greeting from Buck and JD, the Judge focused on the nattily dressed gambler and the miniature replica that clung to his hand. From what he knew this should be a open and close case, but there were certain proprieties that must be observed. He hadn’t bent the law in all his sixty-ought years and he wasn’t about to start now.

"Mr. Standish, I will hold the inquest in fifteen minutes. Gather the witnesses. I take it this is the child in question. Are there any prisoners in the jail?" Barely waiting for answers, the legal representative led the way to the building in question with the requested parties filing behind like ponies in a remuda.

Nathan couldn’t take another second. "Ezra, for the love of God, please stop frettin’, yo’ setting us crazy. I’m sure everythin’ is goin’ to turn out fine. Judge is probably jus tryin’ to find out some mo’ ‘bout Kit’s parents."

"Good heavens, I completely forgot about the dispatch from Mr. Wilson." The frazzled card sharp stopped pacing and slapped a hand to his forehead. "It should have arrived in the mail bag on the stage."

Nathan saw an escape from the nerve wreaking fussing of the Southerner. "I’ll go over to the post office and pick it up for you."

Pumping the healer’s hand enthusiastically, Ezra said, "Thank-you Nathan. I really appreciate this."

"Well, Ezra you gotta let go of my hand iffn ya want me to go." Nathan shook his head in amusement as the gambler realized what he was doing and hastily let go. Patting the affable rogue on the shoulder, Nathan rolled his eyes at JD and Josiah, before heading over to get Ezra’s letter. He didn’t have a clue who Mr. Wilson was but he blessed him heartedly for delivering him from a nervous Standish.

Josiah took pity on the distraught man. "Son, sit down. The Judge isn’t going to upset that boy. You’re getting yourself all worked up and its undignified." There. that ought to work.

It did. Ezra sat down quickly and began shuffling a deck of cards as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His whole body language changed into one of disinterested repose.

"Jeez, Ezra" JD was amazed. "How do you do that?"

"Do what, Mr. Dunne?" The mild question was matched by a perfectly innocent expression, which had both Josiah and JD chuckling.

Judge Travis had seen a lot in four decades of law enforcement, he was an master at reading the book of the human psyche. In all that time only one man had completely confounded him, a smooth-talking knavish enigma named Ezra Standish. That the erudite risk-taker would want to encumber himself with a young boy seemed totally out of character. Of course, when it came to Ezra, it was a puzzle just to figure what was and was not in character. It reminded the Judge of a babushka doll he had seen once up on the Platte river, every time you opened one there was another inside. He could close his eyes and see that pretty little yellow-haired Russian girl. Laughter floating in through the front windows brought him swiftly back to the cherubic child before him.

"You have no idea where your mother might be?"

"No sir, she would just show up every now and then."

"And this Mr. Jenkins, was he employed at your school?"

"Oh no, I liked everybody at school. Mr. Wilson was real strict, but he wasn’t mean. Jenkins, he was a friend of my mother’s. She said he was a bad-cheating, two-bit, riverboat gambler. I don’t know why she wanted me to stay with him." Kit shook his head sadly, he didn’t want to think about the things that man had done to him.

Orrin templed his fingers and peered over them. "Mr. Standish is a gambler also. Does that worry you?"

"Ezra abhors gambling, and as such, leaves nothing to chance."

The Judge roared in laughter. If he didn’t know better he would have bet that he was talking to the man in question. He could have sworn those two were kissing cousins or brothers even. Well, he was willing to give the con man the benefit of the doubt. At least in the short-term. Josiah and Nathan seemed to think Ezra was the only one who could manage the boy and until they found his family, the gambler would do. A wicked thought crossed his mind that this might put a damper on all-night poker games.

His laughter faded abruptly as another thought occurred to him. Great Scot! If this audacious child joined forces with the equally intrepid gamesman, the magnificent seven might be undone by the dynamic duo. Maybe he better head out sooner than he planned, otherwise he might find himself on the business end of Chris’ colt.

*******

"Spero, speras, sperat, speramus, spreatis, sperant" Kit recited.

Ezra nodded his head, sipping a cup of coffee. Motes of dust floated in the slanting early Saturday morning sunshine. He was absently leafing through the stack of papers that the headmaster from Kit’s school had sent per his request. Stifling a yawn, he muttered, "Translation please."

Dutifully Kit returned, "I hope, you hope, he hopes, we hope, you all hope, they hope."

"Excellent. A use please."

"Dum spiro, spreo."

"Translation and origin."

"While I breathe, I hope. Motto of the great state of South Carolina!"

"Precisely. Now, if would be so kind as to commence with the next chapter of Mr. Dickens’ book, we shall be able to discover how Master Pip is getting on with the whimsical Estella."

Hopefully, this tome would not inspire Kit to any more untoward adventures. Besides, Ezra thought, the story of Great Expectations was ironically fitting. The night owl suppressed another yawn. Why was it that little boys invariably rose so early? Or anybody else for that matter.

Leaving the mischievous gremlin to his own devices was not an option, so the professional gamester reluctantly dragged his semi-comatose carcass out of bed at all sorts of ungodly hours. As a smidgen of revenge he then set the lad to a vigorous course of instruction. If the truth be told, both of them enjoyed the intellectual challenge. Vaguely attending to Mr. Dickens’ prose, Ezra tried to decipher the who’s and what’s of Kit’s past in the considerable amount of correspondence that came from Mr. Wilson.

Kit had been reading for some time without intervention from his tutor. That was rather odd, usually there was a pithy comment or astute observation every so often. Glancing at Ezra, the book was forgotten to the sporadic puffs of air carried on the late morning breeze. Pages flipped aimlessly back and forth as Kit stared in apprehension at his companion.

"Ezra, Ezra!" he cried in the shrill tones of a prepubescent peering anxiously into the sightless gaze before him. "What’s the matter? Ezra, please talk to me," panic thickening his voice. The bloodless face, colorless lips and dazed expression were alarming. Grabbing lapels, Kit shook the man with all his strength.

"Mr. Baral, please cease trying to do damage to my jacket." Ezra tried with marginal success to concentrate on the distressed child. "I am fine." He lied weakly.

"What’s wrong? Are you sick? You look so strange."

"I was, ah, somewhat distracted. Listen, son, I find I must attend to some business this afternoon. Do you think you could go over to the church and lend Mr. Sanchez your assistance?"

"Sure, Ezra, I’ll go if you want."

"Kit." Ezra pulled the boy to stand in front of him. Placing his hands on either side of the youngster’s head, Ezra looked intensely into the boy’s face as if he’d never seen him before. Emerald eyes roved over each feature as if memorizing every detail. His focus stopped when he reached those milky green eyes puddling with questions. Resignation clouded his façade as he pressed his lips together in reluctant acknowledgement. Closing his eyes against the inevitable, he clasped the boy to his chest and whispered softly, "Be exceptionally well-behaved for Mr. Sanchez." It wasn’t what he intended to say, but could not force the other words past his numb lips.

Pushing back slightly Ezra pressed a warm kiss to Kit’s forehead. Regaining some equilibrium he smiled lightly and lightly swatted the boy’s bottom, "Now run along."

Grateful that Kit obeyed without question, the weary man pressed his fist against his mouth in a futile attempt to restrain the silent screams of denial that choked his throat. Stuffing emotions deep under the rock of an iron will, the con man gave every appearance of calm control as he gathered books and papers and stalked to his room. Realizing that he could not stay, he slipped unseen to the livery, saddled Chaucer and rode out of Four Corners without a backward glance.

*******

Vin was moseying along the edge of the sparsely wooded ridge, reins lax, blowing a tuneless melody into his old harmonica. He headed out for some peace and quiet after having words with Chris. He’d finally relaxed. Body melted bonelessly into the comfortable old saddle, legs dangling, stirrups slung carelessly over the pummel; only the eyes were alert endlessly scanning the desolate countryside. Years of habitual practice made it easy for him to catalogue the things he observed almost without conscious thought: the screech of a high-flying raptor, the whirring of grasshoppers in the grass, the prevailing western wind and the passage of a red-coated gambler seemingly hell bent for leather. Vin sat up slightly, frowned in consideration. Where was Ezra headed in that direction? After a few miles the grassy butte flattened out to arid desert. His eyes narrowed as he watched the ruby back until it faded into the distance.

Tanner, you better hope that’s not your fault. Damn, he knew he’d pushed Chris a bit hard yesterday. But that mindless speculation irritated him. God knew that plucky pain-in-the-ass gamester could be like a bur under your saddle. Didn’t mean they could go talkin’ about him and his ma like that. Anyway, didn’t matter whose kid he was, Kit sure was spunky. That look on Larabee’s face while he was eatin’ dirt. Reminded Vin of the look he’d gotten yesterday. Hope Chris hadn’t taken it out on Ezra, ‘specially since he was pretty ticked about the gun in the ear.

Long shadows cambered across the dusky plain like wingless angels straining to escape earthly bonds. Shaking off the languor of the day, Vin urged Peso into an effortless canter. As he neared town a small niggling of trouble began to worry his mind, like a kernel of corn stuck between two teeth. Pushing Peso into a controlled hand-gallop, the wily hunter wished he’d come back earlier. Something was really, really wrong.

Kit slumped on the steps of the church carelessly dragging a twig through the dirt. Waiting. Every now and then he’d allow his eye to roam over the town eager for a glimpse of the gambler. The little guy had been exceptionally good. Scrubbing, sweeping, and scraping inch after inch of the modest sanctuary. Untidy clothing and smudged cheeks witnessed the endeavor. Josiah had been pleased and complimented him, but now the preacher was closeted with a parishioner and he wanted nothing more than Ezra. When would he come home to Kit?

Sweat mixed with the alkaline dust of the high desert to create a bizarre amalgamation of man and beast. In the ghostly light of the milky twilight only the hazy shapes of worn and weary bodies could be distinguished. The beast was eagerly awaiting a good meal and comfortable bed following a day of hard, but gratifying exercise: the man was consumed with apprehension.

Oh God, why? He asked again as he had all afternoon, shouting in fury his desperation to the impenetrable azure sky and topaz sand till he was hoarse. Moment after moment through this hellish day his thoughts tumbled in the same endless spiral. Always coming back to the same place. It had been a foregone conclusion. He argued, begged and berated the Dealer of this hand. It all came down to one inescapable fact.

Sensing his rider’s inattention, Chaucer stopped. In the utter stillness of the moment, Ezra heard his soul declare what his heart wanted to deny. He knew what he would do, he had known all along. And he knew his resolve would carry him by the lych-gate of regret through the ruins of his beleaguered heart, past the graves of his freshly buried hopes and back into the dubious shelter of his house of cards.

His feelings were incredibly selfish and he was ashamed. Bayoneting his way out of the trenches of self-pity had taken all the energy and determination he could muster. There were no reserves he could call up, no secretly stashed stockpile of affection and commitment from his past to bolster his flagging spirit. Iron will single-handedly would win this war. He would fight it alone, because the one person that would ever truly understand was the one person that he could never, ever tell.

Gathering his shattered wits, he relied on the professional skills imparted to him by his mother. For once he was supremely thankful for the ability to hold his own needs at arms length and depend only on his glib coolness and impartial control. Love be damned, dreams be damned, Ezra be damned. He would deal himself the ultimate loosing hand.

*******

"Fire, fire, fire at the newspaper!" Cries of alarm sounded through the small wooden town. Residents streamed from every nook and cranny to fight their universal enemy.

Josiah ran through the front door of the church, nearly breaking his neck over the little boy who sat on the stoop transfixed by the shooting flames that burst from the building that housed both the Clarion and the Travis family. "Stay here." The big man ordered, his demeanor booking no argument. There wasn’t a child born who would disobey that command in that tone from that man. And Kit didn’t.

Groups of citizens were quickly organized into bucket brigades. Chris Larabee seemed to be everywhere at once, somehow organizing the effort while heaving massive amounts of water into the fire’s insatiable maul. A very relieved Nathan was bandaging a few cuts and scrapes on the Judge’s hands. Thankfully, no one else had been hurt. Mary Travis comforted son and father-in-law under the watchful eye of Mrs. Potter. "Gloria, I have no idea how this could have happened. We were just getting up from the supper table when whoosh."

Nathan soothed her, " Now Mary, best if you rest for a while, we’ll figure it all out later. We’re all jus’ real glad y’all are alright." Patting Billy’s head, Nathan left to go and aid the frantic fight to put out the fire.

Kit anxiously scanned the faces from the steps where he waited, wanting so badly to see that one familiar form. Suddenly, a familiar but totally unexpected form materialized out of the darkness.

"Mama!"

"And just what are you doing here?" she hissed. "Didn’t I tell you not to come?"

"Mama, I just wanted to be with you and Papa. I’m sorry."

"Well, darling its sooner than I planned, but you’ll get your wish soon enough." Grabbing his arm she dragged the struggling child into the black shadows cast by the building. Eyes wide with fright, Kit watched as the buckskin tracker raced by. Doubling his efforts to free himself, he was rewarded with a stunning blow to the cheek. With strength born of insane rage, the woman gagged and trussed him and draped his prone body over the pommel of her saddle. In moments they disappeared into the night.

Buck cursed quietly, "Shit, Chris take a look at this." The lawmen were combing over the smoking remains of the Clarion. The printing press sat still glowing orange-white from the heat. Chris moved stiffly over to the corner where Buck crouched. "This wasn’t an accident." He pointed to the kerosene soaked papers and rags and remnants of potassium and sulfide. Sighing, Buck pulled a partial box of lucifers from under the dirt foundation of the front window, where they’d been insulated from the fire.

Scanning the area, Vin’s sharp eyes picked out something else that didn’t belong. A child’s spinning top, its red paint sadly dull in the lamplight. He laid it gently in the palm of his friend’s callused hand.

The fire at the Clarion may have been extinguished, but the one in Chris Larabee’s heart was flaming. The presence of the toy gripped in his tight fingers only served to remind him of all that he had lost. And of all that he could have lost. Concern etched into his face as he marched into the hotel.

"You sure you can’t think of anybody who’d do this, Mary? Something you might have written, some body not liking your politics? Think Mary." Chris tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice, as Mary shook her head.

"Could it have been somebody after the Judge?" Josiah asked, nodding over to where Billy sat quietly on his Grandfather’s knee.

"Anything’s possible," Orrin commented tiredly.

"Billy, do you remember seeing anybody, anything that might help us find out who did this?"

"No, Chris, I was in the back with Mom and Grandpa all day."

Chris dragged a jittery hand through cropped sandy hair. "Oh here, Billy, I think this is yours."

Billy fingered the sad red top, "Thanks Chris. This isn’t mine, its Kit’s but I’ll give it back to him."

Chris froze. Josiah groaned. "Oh no."

"I knew that hellion would do somethin’ like this some day. I told y’all he’s headed to Yuma." Nathan shook his head in disgust as he drew the same conclusion that they all had.

"Where is he?" Chris gritted out through clenched teeth.

Josiah stood up and blocked the doorway. "He is over at the church, but I don’t think you ought to be the one talking to him right now. Let me and Ezra talk with the boy."

"You can talk to him all you want, but you better believe there will be hell to pay if that boy is responsible. Get Ezra and lets go."

Josiah hesitated, "I’m not exactly sure where Brother Standish is. Haven’t seen him all day."

Great, thought Chris, this just gets better and better. "We’re not waiting. Lets go."

Just then, Buck and JD shouldered their way in the door carrying back copies of Mary’s paper. "Hey, guys we got ‘em." The young sheriff stopped as he looked at the tableau before him. He met Buck’s eyes. His friend shrugged. "What’s going on?"

"We think we might know who started the fire." Nathan said. "None other than Kit Baral."

Everyone began talking at once, angry and increasingly hostile words that Orrin feared would spill over into action. After all, there was quite a bit of firepower in that room. Finally, the Judge had it. "Enough," he said using his best bench voice. "Speculation is useless, Chris is right. We need to speak with the boy. Mary, you and Billy stay here. Lets hear what he has to say before we jump to unwarranted conclusions ." The dagger-sharp admonition brought everyone up short.

Chris saw him first. Standing in shock in front of the burned building. Without breaking stride, the gunslinger grabbed him by the lapels and glared into his face. "Where the hell were you? Your little bastard nearly killed Mary and Billy."

"What?" Ezra ignored Chris and looked over to Josiah.

"We think Kit might know something about this," the preacher gestured towards the burnt timbers.

"No, he wouldn’t have…"

"Brother he did start a fire at the mercantile."

Ezra pulled himself loose. "No, Kit wouldn’t do something like this. You’re wrong." Ezra backed away from the wedge of men and ran toward the church calling for Kit, worry and fear tingeing his voice.

Where was he? Ezra’s mind was racing. It was not possible. Kit wouldn’t start a fire. Oh God, the fire with Mrs. Haversham in that book. No, no he wouldn’t have, would he? Ezra, you fool. You self-centered bastard, how could you leave him? Panic clawed at his throat as he ripped through the small sanctuary and tiny apartment.

"He’s not here." JD concluded.

Ezra tore by him, and ran down the steps to the center of the street. "Kit!" he called over and over again, the cries echoing down the deserted streets and empty alleyways.

"Maybe he got scared and ran off," Buck said.

"Maybe the apple didn’t fall far," Chris muttered angrily.

Ezra stared at him, dumbfounded. Then the allegation began to sink in.

Vin called out from beside the church. "Ezra, over here."

Letting his arm drop back, Ezra loped over to where Vin was kneeling in the dirt. JD stood beside him, lantern in hand. They gathered around the prescient plainsman. "See here, foot prints. Some bigger ones and them little ones. Thinkin’ they’re Kit’s. Little guy must have put up quite a struggle. You see them hoof prints, somebody rode out of here in a hurry. Ridin’ with some extra weight in the front. Probably the kid." He pressed some buttons and a round brimmed hat into Ezra’s trembling hands. "Found these layin’ back there."

Chris couldn’t shake the stab of concern he felt as he looked into Ezra’s stricken face.

Ezra stared at the objects in his hands. Sweet Lord, would this nightmare ever end? He thoughts stampeded like a herd of wild horses, leaving him battered and bleeding under the hooves of fear and betrayal.

Turning to Josiah, eyes blinking rapidly to hold back the pain, "I trusted you."

Josiah hung his head in acceptance. He had. They all knew it. He had trusted them unconditionally. Trusted them to back him, to support him, to trust him.

Chris closed his eyes at the implication behind the softly spoken words. Good going, Larabee. Glancing up he met Vin’s eyes. He saw the sorrow and regret there that matched his own. The black-clad man walked up to a man that had always been there for him. Coming up to stand behind Ezra, he gazed with him out into the murky darkness. Forging past the frayed bonds of fidelity, Chris said, "Who would make off with Kit, Ezra? Do you know where they would have gone?"

"Yes, I know who." Ezra continued to peer into the darkness as if revelation would suddenly burst forth. It did. "Ella Gaines."

"Damn it all to hell, Ezra. Why would that bitch take your son?"

"She didn’t take my son Chris, she took yours."