Firelands-The Beginning

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-12-08

 

Charlie and Miz Fannie were in conference at the bar and I was not of a mind to trouble them: I labored up the stairs, and again knocked before I entered.
Esther stood, looking strong and proud and as beautiful as she always has been. Whether it was time, imagination or her sheer will, the bruise on her face was steadily fading, her beauty impatiently shoving it aside.
I opened my mouth, and swallowed, and tried again.
"Duzy," I said. "She is found."
I handed Esther the telegram.
She read it and closed her eyes.
I gathered her into my arms. "I'm headed out now."
Esther raised up on her tip-toes and kissed me, her arms warm and firm around me: then she patted my chest the way she always did and whispered, "Do what you must, my dear. I will be here upon your return."
I nodded.
I don't even recall going down the spotless staircase, but I do recall Miz Fannie waiting on me.
She reached up into that magnificent head of hair of hers, and did some woman's magic, and withdrew a ribbon: a single long curl of hair fell free, down behind her left shoulder blade, and she handed me the ribbon.
"She'll need something to make her pretty," she said.
I nodded. "Thank you, Miz Fannie," I said, and looked over at Charlie.
I shoved out my hand, and he took it.
"Obliged," I said.
Charlie nodded. "Jacob?"
"He'll stay."
"He knows, then."
I nodded.
I turned.
"Mr. Baxter."
Mr. Baxter came to the end of the bar.
I slid a coin across the shining mahogany. "Could I trouble you for a bottle of your best tequila, and one glass."
Mr. Baxter raised one eyebrow, but said nothing: he turned and picked up a glass and the bottle of golden fire, and slid them across the mahogany.
I tucked the bottle under an arm, worked the glass into a coat pocket, and shoved out the Jewel's double doors.
I was in the saddle and trying to get used to that slippery pillow between me and the saddle, and was half way to the depot, when Miss Messman hailed me.
She came skipping up to my stirrup and held out her hand. "She'll need this," she said, her expression serious.
There were two blocks of linotype in her hand.
Puzzled, I cocked my head, studying them.
"Here. They go like this." She turned them so the print surface was up.
"Oh-Three?" I read.
She turned them over, pressed the print surface into the back of her hand, hard.
She removed the linotype and blanched into her flesh was the number 30.
"She'll know. She's a newspaperwoman. She'll need this."
I nodded and dropped them in my vest pocket. "Thank you," I said, and Miss Messman snatched her skirts and turned abruptly and nearly ran back to the shelter of the library.
I squinted up at the sky.
"Might rain, fella," I murmured, and Hijo danced a little under me.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-12-08

 

"Look, Mama! Uncle Linn!"
Bonnie stopped in mid-note at her daughter's delighted exclamation.
"Sarah!" she called, for Sarah had followed her own pointing finger and was running, pell-mell, for the great golden stallion trotting smoothly toward the depot.
The Sheriff was out of the saddle and snatching Sarah up under the arms, whirling her high in the air with that broad grin of his. Sarah shreiked with delight, laughing as she always did, and he set her back down on the ground, a quick look of pain crossing his face.
Sarah never noticed the grimace. She patted the stallion's foreleg and looked waaay up at its arched neck and magnificent head. "Hi, horsie!" she greeted, and Hijo del Sol reached down and sniffed her in greeting.
Bonnie wheeled the perambulator up to the happy pair, smiling at their mutual delight.
The Sheriff removed his Stetson and grinned at the sleeping babies, warm in their blankets. "Good Lord, Bonnie, what are you feedin' those two? They've grown a foot since I've seen 'em last!"
"They have not!" Sarah scolded. "They've only grown half an inch since yesterday! I know! I measured them!"
"Sarah!" Bonnie exclaimed, not sure whether to be surprised, or to scold her impetuous child.
The Sheriff laughed, going carefully to one knee and hugging the bouncing little girl. "I always did admire precision," he said. "Sarah, is it going to rain today?"
"Yes!" Sarah exclaimed, her long curls bobbing with her emphatic nod, and sure enough, the first fat drops started to patter down around them.
"Come along, Sarah," Bonnie said briskly, drawing the top up on the perambulator, "let's get inside before it really starts coming down!"
"Yes, Mama!" Sarah sing-songed, skipping happily back to her Mama.
"Can you make it from here all right?" the Sheriff asked, clapping his Stetson back on his head.
"If you could just help me up the steps," Bonnie said, gratitude in her eyes.
The Sheriff looked at the depot. "I've got time," he murmured. "Always time to be kind!"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-12-08

 

Sarah scampered up the steps humming the ditty she and her Mother were just singing. Linn and Bonnie moved Pram and girls up the steps. Bonnie notised the face expression. Linn took note of Bonnie looking at him, "I do hope you are here to visit with Esther, Bonnie?"

"Is that what 'you' would like me to do?"

Linn could sense she was reading into his underlying tone. He couldn't help but think Duzy should be standing here in front of him. Duzy should be a woman glowing with Motherhood. Duzy ....

"Hell and damnation" Linn thought to himself.

"Uncle Linn? Here!" Sarah was reaching into her small pocket and pulled something out, held within a tight grasp. Linn reached with an open palm, and Sarah opened her hand and deposited ..... "Nothing ...." Linn thought once again. Then looked to Sarah questioningly.

"Oh gracious, Uncle Linn!" Sarah took up the treasured gift, waggled her index finger for Linn to bend down. Then Sarah took the other hand, picked up ... what ever it was ... and touched her Uncle Linns mouth and pulled a smile onto his face. "There!" She animately said, "Now you have a smile! I have a whole pocket full of them Uncle Linn!"

Smile still on his face, he wrapped his bear like arms aroung the prized child and embraced her in one of Linn's infamous bear hugs. When he released Sarah, she saw a tear in his eye, "Oh dear! I must have put to big of a smile on your face, Uncle Linn! I think it stretched things out to much and is making your eyes water!" She went back into her pocket in search of a smaller smile. Linn saw this, "This smile will do just fine, Sarah .... I thank you for it!" He looked toward Bonnie, "I thank the both of you! Please Bonnie, if your would keep Esther comany for a time? I have some urgent business to conduct in Carbondale."

"Duzy?" Bonnie asked

Linn simply nodded his head.

"Damn the horrible feeling" Bonnie whispered out loud.

Linn reached over to give Bonnie a small peck on her forehead, smiled broadly at Sarah, who was pleased as punch, and strode away ...

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-12-08

 

If all the Wales women are like her, I thought, it's a wonder we won the war!
In spite of the dread she felt, in spite of her knowledge that something terrible was wrong, Esther had still arranged for our comfort.
Hijo del Sol and I were in the new stable car Jacob had ridden home in from his sojourn back East, on my behalf. Bless her, I thought, she knew I'd not be in a mood for company!
My pillow was muddy on one side where I'd come quickly out of the saddle, but it would dry and I could knock off the excess and brush the rest: it was more important to greet that happy little girl with the pocketful of smiles.
There was a padded sittin' bench in the stable car, but I wanted to get Hijo del Sol settled, and used to this funny smelling stable that rocked a little. It would not do for him to get panicky and kick the thing apart.
The rain had started again, the fat, cold drops that presage a storm; a rattle settled into a heavy tattoo on the roof overhead.
The car was tight and free of drafts; I'd folded my saddle blanket, tossed the damp pillow on it, and had found a comfortable seat, finally.
I tried to relax, and looked across at the great golden stallion.
I think Hijo del Sol was enjoying the ride better than I was.
At least he didn't have to sit on a pillow.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 6-12-08

 

When Linn had gone, Charlie sighed and looked at Fannie. "I reckon I'd better go talk to Miz Esther," he said quietly.

"Do you want some company?" Fannie asked.

"I don't think so," he answered. "I think this time I'd better do this by myself." He kissed her cheek and turned to walk up the stairs.

Charlie knocked on Esther's door and heard her lilting "Come in". He turned the knob and stepped inside with his hat in his hand. "Miz Esther, I..."

"I know, Charlie," she said kindly. "If I need anything, I'll be sure and let you know."

"Fannie and I would like you to know how sorry we are about..." Again she stopped him in mid-sentence.

"Thank you. Both of you." Esther paused thoughtfully. "Have you spoken to Jacob?"

"Not yet, ma'am, but I intend to," he told her.

"It is possible that he may need your help," Esther said. "He is well seasoned for one of his age, but it never hurts for a young man to have the advice of someone he looks up to."

Charlie was startled by her words. "Jacob looks up to me?" He chuckled ruefully. "I surely have no idea why he would, with his Pa right in front of him for a role model," he said.

"You might be surprised," Esther said with a smile. "You and Linn are alike in many ways, but in many ways you are much different. And variety, as they say, is the spice of life. A young man looks for variety in his life."

"While I'll admit that I've been a lot places and done a lot of things, not all of which I'm proud of, I'm not sure I'm much of an example," Charlie said. "I can be a tad bit rough around the edges at times."

"Still, you make Jacob think," Esther said. "He plans to wed Miss Messman, but it wouldn't surprise me if he takes a sudden notion to travel and see more of the world than what he's seen before he settles down." She looked at him with a level gaze. "If that notion should take hold, I would appreciate it if you could perhaps "guide" him in his travels?" That last came out as a question.

"I would be proud to help both you and Jacob in any way that I can," Charlie said. "And speaking of Jacob, I think I'd best find him and see what his plans are from now until Linn gets back. If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course, Charlie," she said. "And rest assured that I'll let you know if I need anything. Thank you for everything."

"You are most welcome, ma'am," Charlie said and went out, closing the door softly behind him.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-12-08

 

Eric Knight, tall, being several inches over 6 feet, broad shouldered and muscular, as well as olive complected, but not because he inherited the skin coloring from his Mother, Beverly, but because he was constantly outside. Eric was also consumed by his own thoughts during the train ride to Firelands. He was a brilliant 20 year old, and a recent graduate from Yale University as a Botanist who felt privileged to have studied under the capable tutelage of William H. Brewer.

Eric did not think he would ever forget the man. The notes taken during the classes taught at the Agricultural Department at Sheffield Scientific School at Yale were extensively derived from William Brewers extended stay in California from 1860 to 1864, and two of Eric’s prized books in his collection were Volume 1 of the Geological Surveys of California and the newest, Volume 2, just released.

“No,” he thought, “Colorado is not California, but there is an abundance for me to obtain.” He was anxious to begin work in the fascinating Rocky Mountains that lay before them.

Before leaving Chicago, Eric received a letter from a past classmate of his telling of Charles Parry, noted as the ‘King of Colorado Botany’, would be in Colorado during the course of the summer, as he was most summers exploring the Colorado Rockies, climbing and determining the altitudes of many peaks and catagorizing flora. But mostly during this particular summer, Parry was going to be on scene at several mining areas to determine the destructive nature caused by the mining industry and the burgeoning population to several areas in the Rockies.

He, like Lavender, was also gazing out the trains windows with his thoughts wondering on the days and adventures to come.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-12-08

 

Jacob was restless.
He stood looking out the library's front window, watching the rain splash on the thirsty street, listening to its damp fingers drumming on the overhang sheltering the board walk.
His thoughts were not for the rain, or the street; he was deciding whether to feel hurt, or rejected, or unworthy.
He chose to feel none of these.
Data, data, data, his father had quoted him: I cannot build bricks without straw! and then he'd raise one eyebrow and they would both laugh, and they would begin again, searching for facts to support their theory: whether an investigation, a mathematical theorem or a political speech.
He has to go alone, Jacob thought, and he was not entirely content with the fact. Yes, he must go alone -- it is his duty! -- but have I not proven myself?
Jacob blinked slowly, like a sleepy cat, and his thoughts rolled over like a restless ocean.
I have proven myself, he concluded. I have stood with him when it counted, and he has praised my good work.
Still ... his thoughts were restless, hungry.
He looked toward the front door.
Wonder if Charlie is still over at the Jewel?
"Annette?" Jacob asked the patient young woman who pretended to read.
She looked up, silently closing the book and placing it on the reading-table.
"I'm needing coffee. How's your appetite?"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 6-12-08

 

Charlie was reaching for the doorknob when he heard hurried footsteps on the boardwalk and the door swung open apparently of its own accord and Jacob and Miss Messman hurried inside. Miss Messman was shaking water from her parasol and water drops fell from the brim of Jacob's hat.

"I was just coming to look for you," the two men said in unison, then laughed.

"What can I do for you?" Charlie asked.

"I've got some things weighing on my mind, sir," Jacob began.

"Sir was my father," Charlie said. "I believe we know each other well enough for you to call me Charlie."

"Can we go into the dining room, Charlie?" Jacob asked.

Charlie bowed slightly and held out a hand. "After you. Miss Messman? Would you lead the way?" Annette blushed prettily and went toward the doorway into the dining room. Once inside she hesitated, waiting for the men to pick their table and knowing which one it would be. Jacob turned towards Linn's customary table at the rear of the room.

Jacob seated Annette then took a chair himself. Fannie joined them and Charlie seated her then sat down. "What's on your mind, Jacob?" he asked without preamble.

Jacob was equally as abrupt. "Doesn't Pa trust me?"

"Oh boy," Charlie thought to himself. "I guess we're in it now."

"What makes you think he doesn't trust you?" Charlie asked carefully.

"He went to find Miss Duzy alone," Jacob said in a bitter tone. "And he's not well." Jacob paused but before Charlie could say anything he burst out, "I could have taken care of things!"

"It's not that Linn doesn't trust you," Charlie said carefully. "After all, he left you in charge here, didn't he?" He went on without waiting for an answer. "I don't know if he showed you Kid's telegram?" Jacob nodded. "Then you know that Kid requested that Linn come alone. But what I don't think he told you is that your mother had a premonition." He stopped and looked at Jacob levelly. "Do you take my meaning?" Charlie heard Miss Messman draw in a breath.

Jacob nodded slowly. "Miss Duzy's dead, isn't she?"

"That's what we believe," Fannie put in. "Your father feels like he has a mistake to correct. He feels that it is his fault that your mother was hurt..."

"But it was.." Jacob began.

"He feels that he should have done more," Fannie went on. "And now that something has happened, he feels the need for closure."

"It's got nothing to do with trusting or not trusting you," Charlie said, "And everything to do with seeing that the ending is at least as good as the beginning. And that is why he had to go alone."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-13-08

 

Levi was walking in the old part of Chicago with left hand in pocket and right hand tipping his hat methodically as he walked by people, not even really paying attention as to who they were. He wondered at how Chicago would look a 100 years from now. This part of Chicago was already old ... at least by American standards. In one form or another, Chicago had been around since the French Indian War and before the United States even existed. He walked on streets and sidewalks that were already multi levels deep. Old wooden streets topped with new ones, each layer covered by the new, as Chicago was built on nothing more than swampy ground and everything seemed to sink and settle into the earth. Where there wasn’t swamp land, there was solid rock. He had heard there were tunnels and cave systems, a labyrinth of passages riddling underneath were he probably walked.

His mind was on other things, too. It was long past due in getting to Firelands. One thing after another was keeping him in Chicago. Rossenthal and McKenna Textiles was going through changes that required his Father Abram and brother David’s time and experience. Monty Knight was sent to Firelands to help Caleb oversee the newest addition to the business, but Levi needed to get there, too. Not just for the business sake, but for a personal one as well.

With David’s wife, Hannah now expecting again, it looked like his family would be staying put; therefore, Levi was making arrangements to head to Firelands on his own. The time was now to get himself headed into an area he was not wanting to tread on. He wondered how he would explain the past years to Bonnie .... and to Caleb. Wondered if they would understand the reasoning.

He thought of James .... a man he loved like a brother. How to explain James’s governmental involvement to Bonnie. Surely she would understand? Surely he was making this more difficult than need be? ..... “This is going to be pure hell!” he thought. There was not going to be an easy way around this.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-13-08

 

The next morning dawned sunny. "Typical", Bonnie thought. Yesterday was actually a horrible day to venture into town weather wise, but it was good Bonnie went for Esther's sake.

The time spent was an emotional one with the girls breaking up potential mental chaos. Enough tea was cunsumed that Bonnie was sure a months worth of wages was met to those who grew the tea.

Upon leaving, Esther put some of Sarah's smiles into her own pocket, which was kind of Esther to do for the sake of an ethusiastic Sarah.

Bonnie looked at her husband. Caleb was a fine man. A wonderful man. SHe was blessed to have him in her life! "The Knights will be here on the afernoon train, Bonnie," Caleb said interrupting her thoughts. "Shall I stop by and pick you and the girls up to meet them, or will you venture into town earlier on your own?"

"No, I'll stay put. Please stop to pick us up. I'm excited to have them here, Caleb! Lavender is special to me ... her company alone will be cherished."

Caleb nodded in agreement. "Glad we have this house finished so they can stay in the little house. I don't think there is one anywhere in town for rent, and even if the Silver Jewel is comfortable, there is no place like a home to be in."

"You think they will be building soon, too?"

"Yes .... Monty Knight is someone I want to keep here! Seeing to his and his family's comforts will be a top priority."

Caleb stood up from the dining table and crossed the room to pick up his hat and ready himself to leave for the office. Bonnie rose and followed. Sarah came bounding down the stairs to help her Mama wish her Papa a 'Happy' day. Kissing two of his favorite gals he stode down the steps with a smile on his face, and he, too, thought he was the most blessed man alive.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-13-08

 

The conductor passed through while I was catching up my journal. He lifted his shiny-billed cap and said, "The management sends their complements, Sheriff, and you may enjoy this."
He opened what I'd thought was a feed bin and withdrew a picnic basket, neatly covered with the same checkered material as I'd seen Daisy use in the Silver Jewel for everyday use.
My belly reminded me we'd been some hours since breakfast.
"My thanks to the management," I said. "I'll have to give her a kiss when I get home."
The conductor went on through and I removed the cloth from the basket.
Daisy's good beef was sliced up and stacked on a plate, she had slices of bread slabbed off and spread thick with butter, and the butter sides together; a simple meal, but most welcome, and by the time the conductor came back through I'd finished it and wrapped the dishes in the checkered cloth to keep them from rattling.
We were a full day getting to Carbondale, most of it in the rain. Hijo del Sol and I both grew drowsy with the steady movement and the gentle roof-patter; Hijo napped standing, and I spread the saddle blanket on a layer of loose hay and laid down, curled up on my left side, gun belt coiled by my head and my good right hand wrapped around a Colt's handle.
We both woke to the sound of air brakes under us, and the train's slowing; by the time we were stopped and the stable car opened for us, I'd shaken out the saddle blanket, saddled Hijo and got us both ready to go.
It was late afternoon and clearing. Blue sky showed between lightening clouds, and the sun was trying to crowd its shoulders through the gray overhead.
I led Hijo out of the car, his hooves loud on the white-oak floor.
"Come on, fella," I said. "Work to be done."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Kid Sopris 6-13-08

 

When Sheriff Keller, finally arrived his horse was first heard some half mile away, Sopris eased back the hammers on the Colt Side by Side and waited; Sheriff Keller found Sopris sitting on the make shift bench, from a downed Aspen, split to make a flat sitting surface.

Sopris never said a word nor looked up, but remained in thoughtful trance upon the marble marker. Sheriff Keller, joined Sopris, neither a word said between the two Law Dawgs.

It was Change who noticed Sheriff Keller arriving, Chang's horse and pack mule were tied to the hitching post outside the cabin ready to head out back home. Sopris made sure his final pay from the Government would arrive just before he arrived back home for his faithful and dedicated service and assistance.

Chang brought both men a fresh cup of vanilla flavored coffee, and actually spoke the first words; "Is it not the fire that turns raw ore to steel". Both men looked at Change and were grateful for his ancestry ways and thoughts.

Sopris bid Chang Godspeed and a safe journey. Sheriff Keller also with words and thoughts remembering the escapades of Firelands.

Sopris and Sheriff Keller once again sat upon the bench, Sopris finally releasing the hammers on the Colt Shotgun; It was Sheriff Keller who spoke first.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-13-08

 

 Leaves shivered and whispered in the breeze; a bird sang, up the draw, its liquid melody echoing and running down and over the two.
"How'd it happen?" the Sheriff asked quietly.
Kid considered his words carefully.
"Chang said she fought a superior enemy, and prevailed."
Sunlight dappled the earth, drew warm fingers across the carved stone.
They listened to the stream chuckling its way to the distant ocean.
"She died in battle."
Sopris was quiet for several minutes; then, finally, he told the Sheriff in plain words, unvarnished and unadorned, of her brief time there; he spoke of two voices, one Duzy's, one Josie's, eerily from the same throat: how, after the lethal stroke was delivered, she looked at the Kid and gasped, "She meant to kill my family."
The Sheriff nodded, swallowed.
They sat for an hour thus, together, two men united in companionable silence, soaking up the peace of the spot.
The great golden stallion grazed contentedly, switching at the infrequent fly.
Finally the Sheriff stood and walked over to his mount.
He unbuckled a saddlebag, reached within, and drew out a bottle, and a glass, a length of ribbon, his pen.
Sopris watched as the Sheriff walked to the grave, removed his Stetson.
He went to one knee.
He first laid gentle fingers on the flat, water-smoothed stones covering the grave, then with quick, thrusting fingers, dislodged one from the very center.
Drawing his boot knife, he cut a slit in the soil beneath, digging viciously but carefully.
Satisfied with the tiny excavation, he took the pen he'd used since arriving in Firelands, and laid it carefully in the little void: rolling Fannie's ribbon around one finger, he worked this in, too, above the pen.
He reached into his vest pocket and drew out two small blocks of linotype.
He placed these so the reversed 30 was up.
He reached into the other vest pocket and removed something invisible, something carefully cupped in his long-fingered hand. He looked at it for a long time, then carefully put this invisible something in with the pen, and the ribbon, and the printer's signature.
Finally, drawing the cork from the tequila, he poured the glass near to full, and carefully, slowly, drizzled it into the excavation.
He replaced the cork and set glass and bottle aside.
Replacing the stone, he worked it firmly back into its former recess.
Finally, wiping his hands on his pants leg, then trailed his fingers over the carved head stone.
The Sheriff replaced bottle and glass in the saddlebag, and rejoined the Kid on the bench.
"She was my niece, you know."
"I know."
The passing breeze whispered secrets to the aspens overhead.
"How you holdin' up?"
"Doin' okay."
A golden eagle sailed overhead, tiling its wings in an unseen thermal.
"Thank you for this."
The Kid nodded, slowly.
"Did she leave any effects?"
The Kid shifted. "She was riding her paint mare. There's saddle bags. I didn't go through 'em."
A bluejay scolded from the other side of the draw, brave in its hiding place.
"How's Esther?"
It was the Sheriff's turn to consider his words.
"To be honest, Kid, she's better than I am."
The Kid sighed. "She is a strong woman."
"She is that."
The Sheriff hesitated, then added, "Esther believes getting kicked by that jack mule is what took her baby."
The Kid frowned, tilted his head.
The Sheriff started talking, and as he spoke, the Kid saw the story unfold: Esther, smiling and crossing the street, a respectful distance above the tethered jack; the Sheriff, astride an unproven mount; the desperate ride, the collision, the turn, the glimpse of a still figure and a pale face crumpled against the board walk: then the confrontation, the glorious moment when Duzy looked out of her own eyes, and then the fight, the pain, and waking to his wife's bloodied head against his: the surgery, the solemn words of preparation, in case the surgery was not enough to save her life.
The Sheriff's voice tapered off and Nature again claimed the conversation.
The Kid spoke first.
"Jacob?"
The Sheriff sighed, looked at the ground. "He wanted to come along."
The Kid considered the lack of warning sounds to indicate the approach on horseback, or on foot.
"Charlie wanted to come too, but they both stayed."
The Kid nodded.
The Sheriff stood, thrust out his hand. "I am obliged to you, my friend."
The Kid stood and grasped the Sheriff's hand. "Let's get Edi saddled."
The Sheriff nodded; together, the walked back to the Kid's cabin.
Edi stood placidly while the Kid situated her saddle and secured the saddle bags.
The Sheriff looked at the gun rig hanging on its peg, and the placard over it.
The Kid turned back to Edi and paid unnecessary attention to the cinch for several long minutes.
He'd seen the Sheriff start to wipe his eyes, and wanted to give the man a moment.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-13-08

 

I had a little luck running my way, I thought.
The Kid and I checked Edi, Duzy's mare, and were mutually relieved: she was not fresh.
It was hard enough on my poor old carcass to ride a smooth-gaited mount; to try and control a frisky stallion with a belly full of good old fashioned lust would have been unpleasant, to put it mildly.
I had Edi on a long lead rope. Kid patted her flank and raised his hand to me, and I to him; Hijo del Sol stepped out, butter smooth, and we rode out, the three of us.
I drew up where I could just see Duzy's grave.
Duzy's grave, I thought. Not Josie's.
No, Josie was gone, for good.
So was part of me.
Maybe it's because I've known too much grief and lost too many people from close to me.
I looked long at that peaceful spot.
"Goodbye, Duzy," I whispered.
Rey del Sol tossed his head, impatient.
I gave him a knee, and we pointed our noses toward Carbondale, and home.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-16-08

 

Twain Dawg, like his sire, had a broad independent streak.
Sarah and her Mama and the babies were perambulating toward town.
Sarah, involved in the moment, chattering and singing and squinting up at the lowering clouds, gave no thought to her faithful, furry friend, and so did not notice the fact that, when she went one way, he went another.
Twain Dawg trotted happily to the pasture and sniffed noses with Butter and Jelly, chased futilely after a fleet-footed rabbit, played hide-and-seek with a prairie dog who seemed to take a perverse delight in popping out of one hole and whistling, then disappearing, only to come up from another, and whistle again: Twain Dawg thought this was a wonderful game, and chased from one hole to another, shoving his blunt, pwoerful muzzle into the hole and sniffing the hot, fresh scent of prairie dog, until he realized -- when two of the creatures emerged and whistled at the same moment -- that he'd been chasing more than one rodent.
Offended, Twain Dawg sneezed, hoisted his nose in the air, and trotted away as if utterly unconcerned with the whistling laughter behind him.
He followed Bonnie and Sarah and the babies, at least in principle; he trailed them a little distance, nose to the ground, then bounded happily up the railroad tracks, chasing the wind, bouncing across the shining rails, then ducked between two buildings, paced like a trotting-horse across the main street, ducked down an alley and up a familiar set of back steps, and scratched at the door.
He could smell hot biscuits from Daisy's kitchen, and like any of his ilk, he was perpetually of a notion to eat: it wasn't necessarily that he was hungry, it's just that eating seemed like an excellent idea, and besides, Daisy knew just where to scratch behind and beside his ears.
For no particular reason, Twain Dawg turned and trotted toward the nearby livery. Mr. Baxter's Nellie was just coming out into the big corral as Twain Dawg slipped under the bottom rail and jumped, tucking his forelegs in under his square chest and thrusting powerfully against the packed earth with his muscular hind legs.
Twain Dawg made a delightfully ungraceful splash into the horse trough.
Nellie did not seem at all surprised to find a Dawg in her drink.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-16-08

 

"Had we stayed longer, he'd have offered a bunk, you know that."
Hijo del Sol swung his ears back toward my voice, then forward.
We rode on for a bit.
"Had he offered I'd'a bin obliged to stay."
Hijo del Sol withheld comment.
We rode on through the gathering dark: it was cooling off, the clouds thickening again, promising more rain. We were making good time and I figured we could make the railhead ahead of any storm.
"I don't believe I could have slept a wink there, knowing she'd spent her last breath..."
My muttered voice faded to a whisper, and the loss hit me again like a chinook off the mountain.
Rey del Sol's smooth pace never faltered, though my strength surely did.
We came within rock's throw of the first outlying buildings of Carbondale and I took a long, deep breath, and straightened my back, and eased my weight in the saddle, trying to minimize the ache in my backside.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-16-08

 

Hijo del Sol snorted and stamped, startled by the screaming whistle of the passing ore train, headed in the opposite direction.
Passenger service this late at night was rare, but Esther saw a need, and it was actually profitable: the number of passengers was low, but mail and dispatches and the occasional payroll made it worthwhile.
This night I didn’t really care about the wherefores.
I wanted to get home so I could hold my beautiful bride.
I got up from my little pallet of straw and saddle blankets, and soothed Hijo, whispering to him and brushing his mane. He calmed down quickly; Edi, jealous, nickered a little and I had to spend some time brushing her, too.
All three of us got back to sleep in an hour or so.
It felt like I’d just gotten to sleep when the conductor came in and I realized my hand was tight on my Colt’s handle, though I hadn’t moved: not because of the conductor’s opening the door, but because the air brakes had set, and I am not used to hearing such an odd sound under my pillow.
I rolled upright and my backside reminded me this was not a wise thing to do.
Struggling upright like an arthritic old man, I slung the gun belt around my middle and ran the tie-downs around each leg. We swayed a bit as the train slowed and stopped.
I might have risked riding a lesser horse out of the livery car.
There was no way in the world I would risk decapitation, riding Hijo del Sol out of the livery car.
I had Hijo saddled, I had Edi saddled and on a lead, and I led them out of the traveling stable and onto the platform, down the ramp and onto level ground.
Two strangers came swaggering up out of the dark. “Nice horses, mister,” one said, and right away I was wide awake and ready for a fight.
“Yep,” I said shortly, and made as if to pass.
The one stepped in front of me, blocking my way.
“Mister,” I said, “I just buried my favorite niece. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and right now I could kill you and not lose my appetite. You can step aside peacefully or otherwise and I don’t care which.” My voice was as flat as my heart. There was no kindness in me, nor was there meanness: I was tired and I just plainly didn’t give a good damn one way or the other.
Hijo jerked the reins out of my hand and there was a yell.
The fellow in front of me looked past me, startled, and that’s all the time I needed for a good old-fashioned two-hit fight.
I hit him, and he hit the ground.
I started my punch belt high and stepped into him, my fist driving him half way between wish bone and belt buckle and I hit him with full intent of sticking my fist out between his shoulder blades.
It didn’t go quite that far but it went far enough.
When you hit a man hard enough his feet come off the ground you know you’ve managed to acquire his undivided attention.
I grabbed a good hand full of his shirt and twisted and grabbed him at the crotch and got a good hand full and I picked him up off the ground and dunked him head first into a nearly full rain barrel and left him a-kickin while I turned to look for the other fellow.
I spotted him some distance away, running bent over and kinda funny, like a man clutching a crushed hand to his belly.
Hijo del Sol was looking smugly pleased with himself.
Edi was standing hip-shot and looking bored.
Lightning came strolling out the platform and looked at the legs kicking out of the rain barrel.
“Sheriff,” he offered, “don’t let him drink too much of that, now. We keep that water handy in case we get another fire.”
It was harder hauling him out than it was tossing him in, but I managed, and I ran my arm across his belly and bent him over, breaking him like a shotgun.
He coughed and heaved up a gallon of water anyway.
I let him clear his lungs some and when he was able to straighten up I grabbed him just ahead of his shoulders and spun him around, hard, and slammed him into the building.
The white oak timbers shivered at the impact.
“Mister,” I said, “you picked on the wrong man tonight. I’m the Sheriff. I’m also in a really unhappy mood. Your friend probably lost a few fingers. This-here stallion” -- I hooked my thumb over my shoulder -- “eats drummers and Congressmen every day or two. Your buddy was just a little snack. Now if you want a fight you just say so and I’ll accommodate you right here and right now.”
“Might not want to do that, Sheriff,” Lightning said. “We’re plumb out of coffins.”
I sighed. “Here I was hopin’ to make an easy night of it.” I looked at the fellow. “Hand over your gun belt, nice and easy, and do like I say.”
The fellow’s hands went for his belt buckle, but one drifted back just a little, at least until a quiet click, click, punctuated the dark.
“This Greener will cut you in two at this distance,” Lightning warned, and the fellow’s hands returned to his belt buckle.
He handed over the gun rig.
“Now turn around and walk ahead of me. We’re goin’ to the jail.”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-16-08

 

Esther had set up, waiting on me, bless her heart.
She looked at Edi, following docilely behind Hijo, and I never saw her eyes sadder.
Esther ran an arm around me and I around her, and we just stood there in the dark, listening to the night sounds, holding each other.
There was a soft nudge in the middle of my back, and I had to take a quick step to keep Esther and I from falling over: Hijo, impatient, had nosed me, and was looking at us as if to prompt our action.
"Let me get 'em in the corral," I said. "I'll be right in."
Esther patted my chest, like she was fond of doing, and nodded. "I drew your bath water, it's still hot."
I caressed her cheek with my palm, and Esther leaned her face into it, eyes closed. "Dear heart, you hadn't ought to be carrying water."
She opened her eyes and looked at me, amused. "I'm not that fragile, my dear."
I drew her close and kissed her, carefully, delicately. "Thank you, dear heart. I had a good ride out and a good ride back."
"Especially for you," she whispered, and gave me a good hug; then she turned, and walked back to the house, and mounted the several steps to the back porch.
The tub steamed in the cool night air.
"Come on, fella," I told Hijo. "Let's get you two taken care of so I can get cleaned up."
We turned and walked toward the corral.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-16-08

 

While the Sheriff sipped a glass of Kentucky spirits and soaked his aches in a copper tub of steaming water, his guest in the jail was spending a less comfortable time.
While Esther kneaded the knots out of the Sheriff's neck and shoulders, the prisoner squirmed on the narrow, hard bunk, trying to find something that wasn't outrightly uncomfortable.
Esther's voice was quiet, gentle, soothing.
Voices in the jail were ... well, they were quiet.
"Clem?"
The prisoner stood up and looked out the barred window.
"Pearl! Get me outta here!" Clem grasped the bars and pulled hard.
"Get you out?" Pearl coughed, spat. "You sheep herder, I got no thumb!"
"What? Quit foolin' around an' get me outta here! You gotta spring me, ol' pard!"
"I gotta do nothin' but let you rot!" Pearl hissed. "Old man, you said. Easy pickin's you said. I shoulda knowed you didn't know nothin' when I seed Tom Landers in at-tair gamblin' hall! Landers!" He shook his head. "I can double deal with the best of 'em but not when he's lookin'!" Pearl held up the red ruin that used to be a right hand, sorrow in his voice and grief in his eyes.
"That soft old man's horse done bit my thumb clear off an' ruint the rest 'a' ma hand!" Pearl shook his head. "I used to double deal," he groaned.
"Never mind all that! Just get some powder or somethin' and get me outta here!"
Pearl stood up close to the window, glaring at his erstwhile partner.
"I shoulda left when I seed Landers. I shoulda jus' turned my back an' walked away. But no, sez I, I'm stickin' with ma pard, I'm stickin' with Clem, sez I, he'll take care o' me!" Pearl laughed bitterly. "You taken care 'a' me a'right! Look!" He shoved the swollen and mangled hand up in front of the bars.
Clem turned his face away.
"Pearl, can ya get me somethin' ta eat, at least?"
"Oh, sure, I can do that," Pearl said sarcastically. "Hang on just a minute."
Clem looked at the bars, the stone in which they were well anchored; he turned and looked at the bars behind him, and again at the bars in the window.
"Clem!" Pearl hissed.
"That didn't take long! Whatcha get me?"
"I got you just what you deserve, now open wide!" Pears whispered hoarsely.
Clem knew something wasn't quite right, so he didn't open wide.
It was a wise move.
Pearl tossed in a nice fresh road apple.
Clem looked out through the bars, despair in his gaze. "Pearl!" he begged.
"We're quits!" Pearl declared. "Quits, do y' hear? I don't never want to see your mangy carcass no more! Quits!"
Each successive declaration was fainter and fainter, as Pearl retreated down the alley, and finally Clem was alone with his conscience, with his realization of the consequences of his action, with his growling belly.
And with the road apple.
Clem threw it back out the window, hard: it grazed one of the bars and caromed off into the darkness.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-16-08

 

The Sheriff slept in his own bed, under his own roof, with his wife cuddled up close to him; he slept deeply, the well earned rest of an honest man with a clean conscience and fatigue.
The prisoner shifted uncomfortably on the narrow metal cot and did not rest well at all.
The Sheriff dressed in his suit: Esther had hung it the night before, and brushed it; she'd carefully applied the sad iron to his shirt, getting the wrinkles out, the creases sharp, even though it would be hidden beneath vest and coat: his trousers she did not press, but instead carefully hung, avoiding creases that were the mark of the shelf, and showing instead that the trousers were tailored.
She smiled a little as she worked, for what she was doing, she was doing for her husband, and she took pride in that.
The prisoner had not undressed for bed, and so had no need to dress the next morning.
Esther, efficient operator of her household, was up, washed and dressed before her husband; they customarily took their Sunday breakfast at the Jewel, though a fire was laid in their kitchen stove and wanted only the touch of a match; Esther was a wonderful cook, another area in which she took particular pride, and indeed she fully intended to put a prosperous man's belly on her beloved husband, but hard work and horseback kept his waist trim and tight.
Esther did not object one little bit to his trim, tight waist.
Especially since the rest of him matched.
She admired his figure as he dressed, the way he moved; a wife can do that, she thought, almost guilty in the realization that she was practically ogling the man.
The Sheriff, of course, was oblivious to this.
It was the work of but a moment to hitch up their fine buggy. Esther put the finishing touches on her hair and her hat while she waited for the Sheriff to pull up in front of their front door.
The Sheriff excused himself, after seating his wife; he walked across the street, unlocked the front door of the Sheriff's office, picked the prisoner's belt off the peg and walked back to the cells.
Clem was on his feet, looking considerably less cocksure than he had the night before.
The Sheriff unlocked the door, drew it open.
"Out," he said.
Clem came out of the cell, walking toward the front of the Sheriff's office kind of sideways, keeping an eye on the tall, slender lawman with the iron gray mustache.
"Mister, you don't make a very good outlaw," the Sheriff said without preamble. "Where you from?"
"Missouri," Clem mumbled, hanging the belt off his left shoulder.
"Well, Missouri, are you wanted back there?"
"No," Clem admitted.
"Was you to go back there do you reckon you could find work?"
Clem considered for a moment, not sure quite what to think, but finally he allowed as yes, he likely could find work.
The Sheriff handed him a ticket. "Eastbound train pulls out in a half hour. Step on over to the Silver Jewel and wait at the bar. I'll have Daisy send you out some breakfast." He smiled. "Wouldn't do to travel on an empty belly."
The Sheriff opened the office door, gestured; Clem walked out into the cool morning sun, too surprised to speak.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-16-08

 

Like most wives, Esther made a science of studying her husband's moods: being a woman, she was quick and intuitive into his feelings; she knew from his small appetite and taciturn nature that morning that he was troubled, or thinking seriously on something, or both.
Finally, after shoving his fried eggs around for a while, the Sheriff looked over at Esther.
"My dear, I know the Parson wants me to speak today, but I don't have the least idea what to say."
Esther laid a gentle hand on his, marveling at how warm his hands always were. "The words will come," she said reassuringly. "They always do. You are a marvelous public speaker."
The Sheriff frowned at his plate. "I've been studying on this for three days," he muttered, finally deciding to eat the eggs instead of flay them with his fork. "I believe I know what I want to say." He took a sip of coffee. "I'm just not sure how to say it."
He drew out his pocket watch, pressed the stem; the case flipped open and he considered the time.
Clem, at the bar, had wolfed his breakfast and was gratefully chasing it with a mug of vanilla coffee. He'd just set the empty mug down when he glanced over at the Sheriff, and saw the man consulting his watch.
Taking this as a signal, Clem nodded to the Sheriff and departed, ticket in hand.
Mr. Baxter picked up the man's plate and mug and carried them back to the kitchen. Daisy was at home with her great Irishmen, getting ready for church: Mr. Baxter's own coat hung nearby, and he too planned to attend; it was one of the few reasons he would close the bar.
The Sheriff was going to give Duzy's elegy, and Mr. Baxter had no intention of missing the man's presentation.
Neither, apparently, did most of the county, for the little whitewashed church was well filled; only a half-dozen stood, the rest having acquired seating of some kind, including a straight backed chair brought in from somewhere, a nail keg that was supposed to have been taken out the day before, and one enterprising young lad was making good use of an overturned pail.
The Sheriff and Parson Belden conferred briefly on the low stage on which the pulpit stood; the new altar was centered behind the Communion rail, a gift from a grateful German family who, passing through, had broken axle and wheel a mile from town: they'd used their extra wheel a hundred miles before, and while their wagon was being repaired, by way of payment, the husband and his eldest son made good use of some available lumber and built a simple but beautifully fitted altar, open in back to store the Communion chalice and other necessaries. It was finished, stained and slick as glass, with the joints so cleverly fitted as to defy detection: it had the appearance of being carved of a single block of wood.
The town collectively thought they'd made out like bandits on that deal, and the German and his family considered the amount of work that went into repairing the wagon axle, a cracked member in the frame, the new wheel and a replacement, and they believed they'd just skinned the town out of its eye teeth.
You could say it was a mutually satisfactory trade.
The Sheriff was looking at the altar, but his thoughts were back at a peaceful gravesite, and the afternoon sun slanting through the leaves, and a carved headstone.
"Parson," he admitted, "I still don't know quite what to say."
Parson Beldon clapped a meaty hand on the Sheriff's shoulder. "Speak in the Lord, my friend," he said confidently, and turned to the congregation.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-16-08

 

If Sarah were a boy, instead of a pretty little girl, her protruding bottom lip and crossed arms, her frown and her stiff body language might prompt the comment, "He's got a bull on."
As it was, Bonnie wasn't quite sure how to soothe her little girl's obvious distress.
She and Caleb had agreed that it was best to be honest with little Sarah, and so they told her, as gently as they could, that Aunt Duzy had died, and gone to Heaven, and was now sitting around with a bunch of angels, showing them how to run a printing-press that wrote in gold on paper made of rainbows.
At least that's what they tried to tell her.
Sarah would have no part of it.
"NO!" Sarah declared, standing abruptly, her jaw thrust forward, the very picture of childhood rebellion. "NO! SHE'S NOT DEAD! NOT MY AUNT DUZY!"
Bonnie tried to embrace her trembling little girl, but she might as well have tried wrapping her arms around a carved statue.
Finally she and Caleb decided to leave their daughter to her anger, believing it would have to dissipate in its own good time.
They'd gone to bed, after supper and bath, for the morning would bring Sunday, and Duzy was to be the subject of the Sunday sermon: word had it the Sheriff would deliver the guest sermon, and there was a great interest in what the man had to say.
Caleb had no trouble getting to sleep, and staying there; Bonnie, on the other hand, rose silently, for her mother's quick ear heard muffled sounds of grief from Sarah's room.
Slipping carefully from the warmth of their bed, so as not to disturb Caleb, Bonnie slipped barefoot across the welcome texture of hooked rugs, and drew open Sarah's bedroom door, just enough to peek in.
Sarah was just climbing out of bed, and padded quickly across to the window, and pressed her hands against the pane, looking up at the soaring multitude of stars in the cloudless night sky.
Bonnie slipped in behind her, easing down to her knees behind her little girl.
Divining her mother was behind her, Sarah leaned back into her Mama and welcomed embracing maternal arms.
Looking up at the starry-decked firmament, she asked, "Mama, is that where Aunt Duzy is now?"
"I suppose so," Bonnie whispered, then raised one hand and touched Sarah's breastbone. "She's here, too."
Sarah's little hand reached up and laid its warmth over Bonnie's.
Bonnie drew her little girl close, and looked, and saw fat tears starting to spill from Sarah's eyes.
"I don't want her here, Mama," Sarah said, her voice breaking. "I want her like she was."
"I know, sweetheart," Bonnie whispered, not trusting her voice to anything more.
Sarah had never looked away from the stars.
"Mama?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Mama, if Duzy is up there, how come she doesn't fall down?"
Bonnie smiled in the dark, in spite of her own tears.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-16-08

 

Miss Messman watched the Parson; his would be the signal to begin playing.
The hymn-board, up on the wall, listed the hymns that would be sung that day, and in what order: Miss Messman had her hymnal open, and propped in place on the piano, ready for her attention: but overlaying the hymnal was a handwritten half-dozen sheets of music, and one of the townsfolk had kindly consented to allow their daughter to turn the pages for Annette.
Annette saw the Sheriff conferring with Parson Belden, saw the Parson's hand on the Sheriff's shoulder, expressing full faith and confidence in whatever their exchange was; he turned and nodded to her, seating himself against the wall at the rear of the low stage, there in the East of the church.
The Sheriff seated himself beside the Parson, his expression thoughtful, like a man ordering his thoughts.
Annette looked to the hand-written sheets before her. She'd copied them, carefully, exactly, from music loaned her by a passing migrant family who delighted in finding two pianos in the Jewel: though they were not willing to sell the music they carried, they did allow Miss Messman to copy a waltz, and this is what she would start with.
Conversation was low-voiced this morning and there was almost an expectant air, as if anticipating -- or expecting -- a performance.
Miss Messman's soul flowed through her fingers and into the piano, and the piano began to sing: a waltz, something light but not quite lively, setting the tone for the service: had she chosen a hymn, the mood would be somber, she knew, and there would be grief enough this day.
Let there be rejoicing, she thought.
Parson Belden bade the congregation rise as she finished, and opened with prayer: his prayers were characteristically plainly worded and not excessively lengthy. He prayed as he spoke, to the point -- which endeared him to those folk who asked him to return the blessing before a meal.
"Please be seated," he concluded, and there was the rustling, shifting and occasional cough that accompanies such a multitude assuming a comfortable sitting position.
"'For all things there is a season,'" Parson Belden quoted, "' a time for every purpose under the heavens.'" He looked around, seeming to meet every eye with his own. "Our Sheriff will address us today. Sheriff?"
The Sheriff stood and nodded to the Parson, who retired to his chair: the man was pleased to let someone else do the work, and welcomed the opportunity to observe someone else's style.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-16-08

 

I dislike being unprepared.
I'd given quite a bit of thought to what I wanted to say this day, and now I stood before a full house, not entirely sure how to phrase what needed said.
At least, until I looked into the faces of my people.
My people! I thought.
Of a sudden I knew what to say, and how to say it.
"You already know," I began, pitching my voice to carry to the back wall, and reflect back to me -- "you already know that Duzy Wales is no longer with us."
I looked at Bonnie and Caleb, and at little Sarah: her arms were crossed, her bottom lip out, and I wasn't entirely sure whether there had been some disagreement that morning, or if it was something as simple as a parental admonition to sit still and not wiggle.
"Duzy is dead." The words laid a blanket of silence over the house.
Not a cough, not a scrape of shoe-sole on the floor, nothing.
"I have been to her grave. She is honorably interred, and a stone is set; the location is peaceful, and in this I am satisfied."
I looked around. "I honestly had no idea what to say until I stepped up here and looked back at Miss Emma."
Miss Emma's eyes were suddenly round and large behind her spectacles, and her hand made an abortive move as if to say, Not me, please don't ask me to speak!
"You see, I stand before you as the richest man that ever filled boot leather, and as the meanest beggar to have been impoverished, and as a child."
Caleb leaned forward a little, interested.
"Duzy was someone special to us all, but someone different to each of us." I looked at Esther. "She was your niece, and mine." I looked at Sarah. "She was your Aunt Duzy." I turned my head, regarding Miss Messman, just turning around on her piano bench so she could more comfortably see me. "She was your editor." I looked around. "Now I could stand here all day and all night and well into the next day, saying all that Duzy was, and all that Duzy did, and after a day and a night and a day again, not even have a good start." I paused, meeting row after row of eyes. "Any of you could do the same."
"I said that I am a rich man. That is because of Duzy. She gave me memories -- good memories! -- memories that no dollar can ever buy. In that, I am wealthy beyond measure!"
I paused.
"I am also beggared and impoverished, poorer than I've ever been, because Duzy is dead.
"And I am a child, and I am sad." I chewed my upper lip for a moment, considering.
"If you were to go into Miss Emma's schoolhouse you would find children learning. They carry their lessons with them wherever they go, and if you went out into the schoolyard, you would find them using their lessons.
"When Jacob supervised the rebuilding of our depot, Miss Emma brought her class down and asked if they might take some measurements." I smiled at the memory, and Jacob smiled with me. "Of course, Jacob said yes. They calculated the board feet needed to side the building, calculated the number of studs, posts and beams required; they used stakes and string and measuring sticks and put their classroom learning to use that day."
Miss Emma smiled and dropped her eyes, coloring a little, not sure how to handle praise at what she thought was going to be a solemn occasion.
"Children learn much in the schoolyard, perhaps as much as they learn in the classroom. If you look at these children, you will see their learning cleverly disguised as play. Children naturally love to learn new things and often they don't realize their play isn't just play."
I winked at Emma.
Jackson Cooper grinned broadly, holding his wife's delicate hand in both his big, callused paws.
"I am a child."
I looked around again.
"I am standing alone in the schoolyard. My friend is gone.
"She has been called in, called home by a wise and loving parent.
"I know this, but I am sad, because I want to play." I raised my arms, looked around. "Look! There's plenty of light! We can still play! I don't want her to go!" My voice was almost childlike; I let frustration color my words, as if from an impatient little boy's throat.
"Children," I continued, "understand one thing, and one thing only:
"Now! I gestured powerfully, pointing an emphatic finger down!
"Children do not understand Later, or Tomorrow, or We'll See: they understand Now, and in that perhaps they are wiser than we."
I stopped, and took a deep breath.
"My friend is only just gone, and I miss her terribly." I paused. "I know I will see her again, tomorrow morning, in the dawning of the new day."
Heads nodded at the familiar phrases, nodded with the understanding of what I wanted to illustrate.
"I know I will see her again, in that new day's dawning, but to a child, tomorrow is forever: and I am a child. I don't want to wait until tomorrow!" Again, the impatient voice, then my own: "But wait I must, and it is a hard lesson of childhood that we can't have what we want."
I swallowed.
"Duzy is dead, and I can't change that."
"NO!" Sarah's feet hit the floor, her face red, scalding tears running down her face.
I looked squarely at her and pointed my finger.
"YOU'RE RIGHT!" I shouted. "LOOK AT HER!"
Sarah looked at me, the picture of misery: the dam of rebellion had broken and grief was flooding into the void in her heart.
"Her eyes are spilling a saltwater ocean!" I shouted, my voice loud in the church. "Her bottom lip trembles, her arms are stiff at her sides! This little child speaks for me! Hers is my voice! I don't want Duzy dead, but can I say that? I am a grown man, and I have seen her grave, but here" -- I gestured, palm up -- "here is a voice who says what I cannot."
Sarah, faced with sudden attention, was utterly unsure how to react; combined with the full, overwhelming realization that her Auntie Duzy was dead, she did what any normal little girl would do.
She sat down and started to cry.
I stood there with my own saltwater dams failing, and from the sudden, surreptitious appearance of kerchiefs among the congregation, flooding seemed imminent.
"Duzy and I spoke of the hereafter," I said, after a moment to compose myself. "I myself have died twice. I have seen the Valley, and described it to her.
"Duzy died in battle." My voice was louder now, harder. "She faced an enemy that intended to harm and indeed to kill her family. Duzy knew that engaging this enemy would very likely result in her own death, and indeed it did -- but if there is a purpose to death, hers was the very best.
"We read in Scripture, 'No greater love hath any man, than he lay down his life for a friend.' Duzy did not passively lay hers down. She did not go gently into the dark." I had to stop and swallow hard. My own throat threatened to close up on me, but I had it to say, and say it I would.
"Duzy Wales was born of a good family, educated as a Suth'n lady, taught the graces necessary for a gentle upbringing, and yet she went into battle without hesitation, because her family was in danger."
I had to take a deep breath.
"We read of the Valley of the Shadow in Scripture and imagine it a dark and foreboding place." My voice was gentler now. "I have been there, and it's not. The Valley is green. The grass is soft underfoot, and it smells of springtime, of a thousand green growing things.
"I doubt me not when I finally depart this world, that she will be waiting for me, there in the Valley, with her head tilted a little to the side, hands on her hips, smiling like she did. Her arms will be strong and her embrace will be warm and she'll say, 'Uncle Linn, what took you so long?'"
I had to take another moment. My chest was starting to hurt, which it had not done for a very long time.
"Duzy's life meant something. She came here and put a brothel out of business, she liberated women put into bondage, she seized what was wrong and made it right. She shone her spotlight where it would do the most good. What she did, mattered, and what she did, she did the very best she could."
I looked over at Miss Messman and smiled.
"And that's thirty!"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Kid Sopris 6-16-08

 

On that unusually cold Sunday morning, dew held close to the mountain ground..Clouds were forming to add to the humidity already present. Yet the Marble stone had a unusual warmth. Like it was alive. Small squirrels and rabbits lingered around the stone covered ground, picking up tidbits as they took their morning stroll. A fawn with her mom leisurely soaked up rain water from a small puddle left from the nights rain. Elk were heard bugling in the distance and several eagles could be seen hovering above.

It was like they all came to deliver a spirit to the life hereafter. The nights rain was like a washing of the sins, the marble sparkled with it's speckles of white crystals embedded deep inside, as the sun shined through the Aspen and Fir trees.

Sopris was drinking his first cup of coffee standing along side of the Marble Marker...What could he possibly tell the world that they don't know? And in the long run; does it really matter?

Sopris could feel the words from Firelands, almost like a echo reverberating off the canyon and mountain walls. Rest and Relaxation awaits Duzy...No More running, hiding or pretending.

Sopris was alone on the mountain..and he let be known to those far and wide..."Let me be. If I need company, I know where to find it".

Then a thought ..."Maybe I'll heat some water and take a bath, It's a good day for it."

Then touching his hands to his lips, and then to the Marble Marker, Sopris delivered a final kiss goodbye.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-17-08

 

The afternoon before brought in the Knight Family with a joyful reunion. Not having met Eric when Bonnie and Caleb were living in Illinois, because of him being at the University working on his degree, they marveled at how they felt they knew him forever.

While Caleb was visiting with Monty and Eric, Bonnie was delighting in being reunited with Beverly and Lavender. Sarah was seen sweetly introducing her baby sisters, and with a child in each of the two friends arms, was as proud as any Mother could be at hearing the praises bestowed upon her daughters ... the three of them.

Taking the knight Family to the new Rosenthal home for dinner made a happy home indeed, and the only touch of saddness was the conversation about the next mornings Church service. The Knights insisted on being there just the same.

So .... On Sunday morning, the Rosenthal's and Knights entered the White Chapel with its wooden pews and Glorious Alter surrounded on three sides with the Communion rail and a piano off to the side. They quietly took their pew and waited for the words they all knew were coming, but the words that no one really wanted to hear .... words that signified an end.

Upon hearing Linn speak, Bonnie reprimanded herself with the prior thoughts on an end to Duzy. Death was not truly an end afterall. All they had to do is wait ... wait for the day that a reunion was rekindled. What a glorious and happy day that would be, too!

The Congregation was quiet as all departed the Sanctuary, with voices generating sound once outside. Condolences were heard, tears were shed, and an occasional laughter heard when someone would say, "I remember when Duzy ....."

The Knights were touched by the kindness of all who welcomed them, and equally touched with how they felt they knew the young woman, now gone, by the words of others speaking with such kindness, admiration, and familiarity.

Standing off in the distance were two elderly men .... looking toward the Rosenthal's and the family they were presenting.

"I recon you feel yer looking at a ghost?"

A nod of a head, "Twenty years is a long time .... the mind can play tricks ...."

"That ... or this here world is a mighty small 'un ...."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-18-08

 

The road due west of Firelands lay across a particularly level section of ground. As a matter of fact, a little more than one mile of it was flat as a file, the road was straight and smooth, and Sean and his Irishmen took a particular delight in this section of real estate.
The gold mine had produced enough crushed stone waste that the road was well graveled; as the mine hauled freight wagons through here, they kept the road in top shape: indeed, they'd fabricated a roller, and after every rain, used a scraper and the roller to mash the gravel down into the soft dirt until finally they had a good solid road bed that more resembled pavement than either dirt or gravel.
The Irish Brigade tended their steam wagon with loving kindness.
Its surrogate received no such gentle care.
They'd enlisted the assistance of craftsmen of various kinds to construct an exercise wagon -- duplicating the weight, width, length and general build of their steam wagon -- but without an actual boiler or pump: this one they could abuse with impunity, and abuse it they did.
They'd gone so far as to knock together a light frame structure, as wide and deep as their own rebuilt, stone firehouse: they timed themselves, practicing every move necessary to rig the horses and themselves for an emergency response.
They would start by warming up the horses and themselves: the men would exercise, a standard series as recommended by Dr. Baker, a learned man with enough knowledge and acumen to have a book printed up on the subject: an utter quack, as far as anyone knew, but Sean felt his printed material made sense, and so adopted the several exercises as a means of maintaining fitness among his men.
The horses, too, were exercised: after the Irish Brigade's calesthentics, they were hitched to this practice wagon and walked a little distance, then trotted.
The practice wagon would be backed into the practice structure, and at signal, practice would begin.
The three mares pranced a little, anxious to be off: the wild Irishmen, revelling in this competition, for each competed against the other to see who could most efficiently harness a horse, and how fast, had to watch his feet to avoid becoming a casualty: the mares were not small, by any means, and a steel-shod hoof is not kind to a man's booted foot.
With a shout and a whistle the Irishmen would run to their stations on the practice wagon, they would hitch on the practice ladder wagon, the practice doors would swing wide: Sean held the mares in check until his b'hoys were aboard, and ready: then with a "Ladies, be off!" the mares would lunge against their padded collars and fetch the wagon out of the practice house and onto the roadway, galloping toward the painted line across the roadway that marked the length of Fireland's main street.
Admiring little boys would often run after the Irish Brigade as they headed out for their regular practice runs; most of the time, they knew enough to stay off the roadway: in the very few instances where a lad ventured too close, either an older boy would seize them by a convenient hand-hold and jerk them roughly out of the way, or the mares would swing around the child, having avoided pedestrians back in Cincinnati.
The Irish Brigade surged out of the practice-house, making the turn onto the practice street, Sean standing upright at the helm, reins in his left hand and the blacksnake whip circling overhead, his defiant black mustache in a villainous handlebar, roaring Celtic war-songs and Irish oaths, the matched mares pounding in joyful unison against the hard-packed roadway.
The rest of the Irish Brigade grinned and laughed, holding polished brass grip-bars, knees flexed to take up the shock of the wagon's velocity.
None of them heard a distant, dull sound, nor did any see a rising cloud.

One of the deputies always stood fire watch whenever the Irish Brigade was out for exercise, a good saddle horse at hand. To date it had never been necessary to race after the wild Irishmen.
Until now.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-18-08

 

Bill reached up and gave the whistle lanyard a double pull, producing a companionable double-toot greeting to the oncoming ore train.
The oncoming Baldwin on the neighboring track gave no return whistle.
"Bill, the fireman just jumped!"
Bill shoved the throttle wide open.
The Lady Esther responded with a will.
Something was wrong, a little voice screamed, get some distance, get some distance, get some distance --
Bill leaned out of the cab window and looked back.
There was an explosion, a great boiling cloud of smoke and steam.
Something spun through the roof of their last car like a rock through a glass window, scattering boards and tin roofing in a glittering confetti.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-18-08

 

The Appaloosa's head came up, nostrils flared, looking back toward town.
Jacob vaulted into the saddle, gave the stallion his knees.
"YAAH!"
The Appaloosa's hind quarters squatted a little as he thrust against the hard packed ground, going from a dead stop to a full gallop in one jump: they pounded up the main street, spreading alarm with their sheer velocity. Curious townsfolk turned out at the sound of the deep-toned detonation, following the fast-moving deputy with their eyes.
Esther looked up from the new roundhouse's blueprints. She'd given her approval for two new tracks, conjoining the Z&W with the newly-acquired freight line, with both lines spurred to the new roundhouse and maintenance facility. She smiled at the thought that they would now be able to maintain their own rolling stock, with a full shop and foundry, a track crew, everything they would need.
The windows shivered a bit and Esther felt as much as heard the explosion.
Curious, she slid her spectacles down her nose and stood, looking out the window.
Jacob was galloping up the street just as hard as his stallion would run -- a severe breach of protocol, she knew, galloping a horse in town.
It must be serious, she thought.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

Bill brought the throttle back and began valving the air, slowing the train cautiously, carefully, not knowing exactly what or how much damage had been done and not wanting to cause a derail.
The fireman scrambled atop the tender, looking back, then began a cautious, crouched, waddling run down the back bone of each car, until he came to the last one.
"Oh dear Lord," he breathed, turning quickly and scrambling back for the locomotive.
He half-fell, half-scrambled down the coal pile and took the long step into the cab. Clapping an urgent hand on Bill's shoulder, he shouted, "She's got her running gears!"
The fireman knew, seeing damage only to the upper part of the car, the wheels were still straight and true on the rails: there was no danger of a derail, of a car falling off the tracks and willy-worm-jerking the rest of the cars off in turn.
Bill nodded, hauling back hard on the air valve.
Couplers banged as the slack ran forward, and Bill clenched his teeth: he took pride in his train, he took pride in running the Lady Esther with respect and care, and he prided himself on coasting gently into station with no visible exhaust out the stack.
He wasn't going to give a nice smooth stop today.
Bill reached for the lanyard and hauled down hard, a coded series of jerks, whistling distress.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

Twain Dawg was visiting.
Daisy, knowing opportunity when she saw it, bribed Twain Dawg with biscuits and gravy.
Twain Dawg, having a liking for bribery, partook with a glad heart and a good appetite, and as he usually did, he polished the plate clean, liked his chops and lay down beside the stove, looking quite pleased with himself.
Little Sean, as was his custom, decided Twain Dawg looked too comfortable to be left alone, and so happily ran over to his furry friend.
Twain Dawg greeted him with an enthusiastic face-washing, which brought a cloud of giggles from the wee Irishman.
Daisy smiled as she straightened, one hand to her back: it would be but a matter of moments before both were sound asleep, and she could take a little walk, just for a minute.
Sure enough, by the time she got the dough kneaded, divided and covered with clean towels, raising in the warmth of the kitchen, Little Sean was sound asleep, one arm draped over Twain Dawg.
Twain Dawg was snoring gently, content to have a full belly and a friend.
Daisy wiped her hands on her flour-sack apron and walked quietly down the hallway, smiling at Mr. Baxter.
Mr. Baxter's expression was almost unreadable.
He nodded out across the dining area.
Daisy followed his gaze.
They stood and watched for a long moment.
Now let's see what kind of a man you really are, Daisy thought.
Across the dining room, the Sheriff sat with another woman.
Daisy knew her, at least by sight: Elizabeth, her name was, and she was one of the women rescued from an unsavory profession, and now employed by the Rosenthals in their new business.
Daisy also knew human nature.
It seemed that this woman was interested in improving her lot in life.

The Sheriff looked sharply up as the woman trailed her finger tips lightly across the back of his hand.
Her look was seductive; her mouth was open a little, her tongue trailing slowly across her bottom lip: she was sitting close to him, bending a little as if to invite an improper gaze. She ran the fingertips of her other hand across her decolletage; her leg pressed against his, gently, invitingly.
"Now what will ye do," Daisy whispered, almost afraid to watch, but unable to turn away.
The Sheriff answered her question.
He stood abruptly, snatching up his Stetson with one hand, his Winchester with the other, and turning his back on the woman, strode away from her and toward the front door.
Daisy did not watch the Sheriff further: she saw the disgust on his face, and was satisfied: no, her attention was for Elizabeth.
The woman's expression was one of surprise, then of hatred. She glared daggers at the Sheriff's back.
Daisy faded back into the hallway, out of the woman's line of sight.
Just then something shivered the windows and Daisy felt the explosion.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

"Ho!" Jacob called, leaning back in the saddle and gently tautening the reins. The Appaloosa had a soft mouth and he had no wish to bruise.
Apple-horse slowed, hobby-horsing a little as Jacob regarded the cast iron on the tracks.
Whatever it was, was big, heavy and distorted: it took him a moment to realize it was the remnant of the locomotive's nose.
Jacob looked down the tracks at the smoking wreck of what used to be a locomotive.
"Yaah!" he whispered hoarsely through a tight throat, his gut shriveling to the size of a walnut, afraid of what he would find.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

Jacob had just streaked past the Jewel when the Sheriff stepped out.
Thrusting the '73 in its scabbard, he pulled the slip knot out of Hijo's reins and stepped into the saddle.
Hijo del Sol, never one to refuse a challenge, whistled loudly at the Appaloosa's retreating backside.
"Ho, boy," the Sheriff soothed, Hijo dancing under him as the Lady Esther's whistle screamed alarm.
Hijo spun at knee and rein, launching in the opposite direction, toward the depot.
The Sheriff came around the depot at a gallop, Hijo's iron-shod hooves skidding a little and throwing up puffs of dust as they slowed.
The Sheriff took in the ruin of a passenger car with a glance.
"Oh, dear God, no," he whispered, as the train groaned to a halt.
Ground-reining the big stallion, he climbed into what was left of the passenger car and made a swift assessment, war-trained eyes and war-hardened hands going from one still form to another, searching for life, pressing here, feeling there. Two were obviously beyond help; the Sheriff moved on.
A young boy lay against a seat, sitting up, pale, eyes vacant, bloody froth on his lips.
Breathing, the Sheriff thought. Move on.
A drummer still sat upright in his seat, hat on the floor, scalp bloody.
Knocked cold, the Sheriff thought, but breathing.
He stood, picked up boards, a seat, uncovered a fan of calico and a small, stockinged leg.
Savagely, teeth bared, the Sheriff picked up a hundredweight of roof and muscled it off the still form.
A little girl lay still, scared, eyes big, looking at a gray-mustached warrior throwing wreckage off her, a vengeful war-god doing battle with the horror that crushed her to the floor but a moment ago.
The Sheriff knelt, his voice soft, and laid a gentle hand on her cheek. "Are you hurt, sweetheart?" he asked.
Pale, trembling, the girl's lips quivered, and she shook her head.
"Just lay still, now, we'll take care of everything."
The girl nodded, curling her left arm up; a rag doll was in the crook of her elbow. Her sleeve was bloody.
The Sheriff held up a finger. "Hold still, now," he said, his voice gentle, his hands warm and sure.
The little girl quivered as he drew a shining, slender-bladed knife from his boot top, and flinched as its back side touched her flesh.
The honed edge parted the material, carefully splitting the seam: This can be resewn, he thought, exposing her wounded arm.
He nodded. Her soft little arm had three parallel lacerations, but the bleeding had stopped.
"Sweetheart, squeeze my fingers," the Sheriff said, putting two fingers in the little girl's palm.
She squeezed once, twice.
"Good." He slid the knife back in its boot top sheath. "Can you stand?"
The little girl stood, slowly, haltingly; pale, she swayed a little.
The Sheriff caught her under the arms and picked her up.
He squatted beside the boy: about eight or so, he thought, pressing two fingers against the lad's neck, beside the Adam's apple.
The boy had stopped breathing.
The Sheriff dropped his head, removed his hand.
He stood, his left arm around the little girl, holding her close.
"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured. "Let's get you looked at."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 6-19-08

 

Jake rode down beside the ruin of an engine, scanning the ground: there was no use looking in the cab, for the cab was gone, along with almost everything above the frame. The tender was blown apart and coal scattered like confetti, the water tank burst and laid open.
The fully-loaded ore cars were still on the track. Nothing had derailed.
Jacob turned around, crossed in front of the engine and back-trailed on the engine's left side for some distance.
His hunch paid off.
He spotted a hand, an arm; a bloodied leg lay crooked beside the face-down fireman.
Jacob cast about and found two boards -- shrapnel from the passenger car -- of about the right length for his purpose. These, some piggin strings and his bandanna, and the fireman's lower leg was splinted. The shin bone protruded the skin; Jacob knew enough to splint in place, and splint he did, tightly.
The fireman roused, plucking at Jacob's sleeve. "The engine?" he whispered, coughing a little.
Jacob shook his head.
The fireman closed his eyes. "The damn fool," he coughed.
Jacob inclined his head a little to the left, straining to hear anything the man might say.
The fireman saw the young deputy listening attentively. "She was burned through the crown sheet," he gasped. "I looked. The damned Board of Directors wouldn't let us take 'er down for repair. Then that idiot engineer run 'er out of water. I tried to tell him not to water a hot boiler but he started to open the water valve and I jumped. I knowed what would happen." He closed his eyes and ground his teeth against the pain.
"Can you stand?" Jacob asked, blading his hand in under the man's arm.
"Help me up." The fireman stood on his good leg, gasping and swaying. Only Jacob's wiry strength kept the man upright.
Jacob whistled Apple over and said, "Put your arm around my shoulders."
The fireman did.
Jacob bent down a little, caught him behind the knees and picked him up: straightening with an effort, he made a kissing sound to Apple, and Apple came sidling up to him.
He'd done this with Miss Messman a number of times, and Apple was used to it: he would sweep her up in his arms, she would slip a toe in the stirrup and then swing her leg over.
This would be difficult, Jacob realized, but not impossible.
"Put your foot in the stirrup," Jacob said.
The fireman paddled his broad work brogan at the stirrup and finally got a purchase.
"Now. Swing your bad leg over."
The fireman did, but it took all his strength.
Jacob grabbed him as he passed out.
Steadying the man with one hand, Jacob took Apple's reins.
"Slow, boy," he murmured. "Nice and easy."
They were a quarter mile from the depot.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 6-19-08

 

"What's ya thinkin, Bill?"

"Trying very hard not to. I gave my word, Mac."

Bill thought about the night a bit more than 20 years earlier .... "Oh Lord ...."