The Found Letter

Universe: OW
Characters: Ezra, Inez and Buck. Maude is mentioned.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but The Found Letter. Not making a dime.
Comments: This was inspired by a real "Found Letter" from the early 1900s.

Warnings: Language and No Beta.

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This was just like Maude Standish. If something was not related to a con or a hand of poker, she dumped it on someone else as quickly as possible.

Ezra Standish sat in the saloon and contemplated the three-foot-by-three-foot wooden box that came on the morning stage and the enclosed letter from Chicago.

His right elbow was on the arm of his chair, his hand near his face as he absently rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. His left hand flipped the envelope over to read the printed letterhead again.

Simmons & Sons Valuables graced the envelope and the letter. From what Ezra could glean from the letter, it was a storage facility of some sort based in Chicago.

He picked up the letter and once again read the precise words.

". . . as to the contents of this box, we are uncertain. The only certainty known is that a Maude Clyde Penderham listed you as a co-holder of the box. As we have not heard from Mrs. Penderham in six months and seeing as the bill is ten months overdue, we are expecting payment in full before releasing the other articles stored in our building . . ."

Ezra sighed and looked at the enclosed bill. The total amount for storage and upkeep came to $70.00 to be paid in gold coin. 'Good Lord, if I had that much, I would be in Ridge City trying the more active tables,' thought Ezra with contempt.

Since Ezra was a young boy, Maude had been a fiercely private woman. This sudden appearance of some of her personal items both repelled him and called to him. He was getting the distinct feeling of a naughty boy about to be caught in his parents' underwear drawer.

Suddenly sitting forward and moving the letter and bill out of the way Ezra readied his borrowed knife and cut the twine that held the box together on its wandering trip West.

It made him flush when he realized that he was sneaking looks at the doorway as if expecting Maude to stroll in and curse him for his snooping into her past. He shrugged the feeling away and pulled away the insulating hand towels.

The first item revealed was a mahogany hair comb with inlaid silver. Ezra picked it up and ran an appreciative finger over the detail work. It must have cost a fortune. He angled it so that the light from outside could sparkle across the metal and imagined the dark comb in his mother's fair hair. With the right color dress and silver earring, he could imagine her as a grand sight.

He allowed a small smile and then laid the comb carefully on the table then reached into the box again.

The next item was a beaded leather pouch. He opened it and was shocked to his core.

Inside were his metal tags that he wore in the War Between the States.

Ezra dropped them as if they were being heated by the fires of Hell and pushed his chair violently back from the table. He once again cast his jade eyes around the saloon to see if anyone had noticed.

The few midday drinkers were quiet as they stayed to their glasses of refreshment. The only men even talking were two farmers from the north end of the Seven's territory. Faint murmurs of rainfall amounts and crop damage reached the Southern gambler and he forced himself to relax.

He turned reluctant eyes back to the metals tags that were the size of his thumb pad. They were forged from melted down nails in a rustic camp in Northern Virginia. Some soldiers used the small things as identification in the event of death on the battlefield. Many did not want their families to suffer the uncertainty of never knowing what happened.

The tags were diamond in shape with the crude engraving of 'E. Standish, CSA, Cav.Art.'

Faint sounds of artillery and screaming horses floated in his head.

With a viciousness usually reserved for those that tried to cheat him at poker, Ezra grabbed up the tags and pouch and pushed them both down to the bottom of the box and covered them.

How in the Hell did Maude get her hands on them? He was sure he had thrown them into the Mississippi River on the first riverboat he stepped foot on at the end of the War.

It was some time before he was able to look at the box again. The sun tracked across the cloudless sky as he downed two whiskeys from Inez. Her dark eyes were curious as she brought him the drinks and saw the solid box of wood.

"Senor?" She could see a tightness around Ezra's eyes and mouth that usually was not there.

"Much obliged," he muttered as he put the whiskey to his lips and allowed the taste and warmth fill his mouth and slide down his throat. He was halfway through his shot when he noticed that she was still by his table.

"Senorita?"

Inez's dark hair flowed around her shoulders and she inclined her head. "Is all well, Senor?"

Ezra forced a smile. "All is well."

She looked uncertain but nodded and went back to work. Since his outburst at his mother when Maude pulled his saloon out from under him, she recognized the dark mood that came over him occasionally. Inez did not want another shattered glass on the saloon floor, so she left him be.

'Damn her, how did she find them? She was on shore when I threw them in.' Ezra puzzled over the subject of the tags a few minutes more before shaking his head and letting the matter go. It was never easy on him to guess the what and why of his mother's actions or abilities.

She would remain a mystery to him until the day he died.

He went back to poking around in the box and found small items that seemed to be picked out at random and packed in this box: a fake wedding ring, a cross made of pearl, two knitting needles and various other feminine things. He was about to close the box up when he came to a corner of cream paper wedged between the packing towels and the rough wood of the box.

He picked at the corner of paper with his nails until he could get a grip on it with his fingers.

When he got the item into the light, he realized it was a very old letter address to Maude and dated from August 1845.

He carefully parted the envelope and drew the letter out, careful to not tear the old paper.

August 19, 1845

New York, New York

Maude, my dearest girl,

I just received you letter of June 14 and was glad to hear from you. I am glad you are well.

Please, dearest, reconsider your decision. I am working every day and putting money in the bank in the hopes that you will change your mind and join me.

You will never be happy where you are and never make anyone a fine wife if you stay in Georgia because of your nerves. If you see anything in your life, you must see my city and your nerves over our future will be put to rest.

Please come and see for yourself, my dearest Maude.

If you wish me for a husband, I will immediately go and get a home and land. There will be plenty of room for your mother and us. I hope you both of you will think the matter over and let me know in your next letter.

Please address the next letter to General Delivery as well and I will pick it up when I can. I look forward to seeing word from you.

Our last kiss lingers in my mind, dearest girl. The thought of it keeps me warm and sane in this lonely place.

Your loving suitor,

Janson T. Lee

Ezra did not remember much from his early childhood about his mother and father. His memories were faint where a man should be, but he knew that his mother had been married to Kimball Standish in 1843 and stayed married to him until his death in 1846.

'She . . . she had an affair,' stuttered his mind. Her way with men was never something she hid from her son as they traveled the country running their cons and clearing the tables. It was a big part of her persona during the games she played. Over the years, she had been married several times, as many as three times in one year back in the 1860s.

Ezra knew his mother was a conniver, a cheat and a colorful storyteller. However, he never considered that she had been unfaithful to his father during their marriage.

He jammed the letter back into the box and slammed the wooden lid back on. As soon as humanly possible, this was going to Maude Standish.

Let her deal with her sordid past.

He put the box under his left arm and picked up the letter from Simmons & Sons Valuables and hurried down to the Stage Company to pack the hateful box and its contents off to Richmond, Virginia.

Maude's latest letter had assured him of good pickings from the upper echelons of society in that city and estimated her stay there to be a long one. He would send a telegraph telling her to retrieve her box. She could either get the box or leave it. Either way, the damned box would be gone from his sight and that was all that mattered to him now.

Ezra gave Bart Clovis the money for the shipment and watched with cold eyes as the box was re-secured with heavy twine and the address attached to the wood side along with the letter and bill.

"This will go out on the next stage, Mr. Standish."

Ezra nodded his head. "Thank you, Mr. Clovis." Ezra turned away and paused at the door before turned back to the aging man behind the counter. "Mr. Clovis, in the future please return all items and packages from Simmons & Sons Valuables and Maude Standish to their place or origin."

"I'll need payment for the shipment—"

Ezra nodded, his green eyes narrowed. "Just present me with a bill as needed. Everything will be taken care of."

"Sure thing, Mr. Standish."

Ezra touched the brim of his black hat and continued out the door with a cold expression on his face.

In minutes, he was back at his table in the saloon with another shot of whiskey. He sipped the drink slowly and deliberately, not wanted to muddle his mind for the poker game that would come later in the afternoon.

Buck Wilmington emerged from the upstairs rooms and escorted an older woman to the main floor of the saloon. He whispered in her ear and she tried to pull off a girlish giggle, but the sound came out more like the bray of a mule.

Ezra winced as the noise and finished his drink as Buck patted the woman's backside and ambled over buckling his gunbelt around his waist.

"How you doing there, Hoss?"

The gambler raised an eyebrow and nodded to his empty glass. "Tryin' to stay sober for the evening activities."

Buck nodded and slopped his body loosely into the chair across from Ezra. "How 'bout I try with you?"

"You buyin'?"

Buck scratched his moustache and then grinned. "I guess I could lay down a coin for a drink." His right eye winked at the conman. "But only one. It's still three days 'til payday and I got other . . . purchases to make before then."

Ezra snorted as he tried not to imagine the 'purchases' that Buck was referring to. "Fine, fine. One drink should be my limit anyway considering that I've already had three this morning."

Buck dropped his smile and studied Ezra's pale indoor complexion. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing new, Buck. An old matter troubles me today. I'll be on to something new by tomorrow. Especially since I was thinking of goin' over to Watsonville to do a little betting on the horse race they're settin' up." His gold tooth made an appearance as Ezra smiled in pleasure at the thought of betting with some unsuspecting marks.

Buck let his concern drop as he gave Inez a wave and indicated two drinks. The lovely woman nodded and poured the drinks at the bar.

"Gonna make a bundle, huh?"

Ezra continued to grin. "You have no idea, Mr. Wilmington."

"Chris gonna let you go?"

Ezra cocked his head to the side and stuck out his tongue.

Buck laughed. "At least let the Ol' Dog know that you're going. He'll be mighty pissed if you don't."

"Not to worry, I'll leave a letter with Mr. Dunne at the jail before I go."

Buck happily took his drink from Inez when she swished over to their table. Inez sat Ezra's in front of him and smiled. He still had that dark look about his eyes that proclaimed deep thoughts of trouble.

The gambler didn't blink as he tossed his drink back and then stood. His hands resettled his guns and clothing. "If you will excuse me, I think I'll look in on my horse before the evening game." He nodded at Buck and smiled at Inez before pushing through the batwings.

"That boy is gonna get Chris so pissed," smirked Buck as he pushed his hat back on his forehead to show his dark bangs. He ran his tongue around the rim of his glass before taking another sip of whiskey.

Inez was torn between minding her own business and trying to do something about the foreboding feeling that shot prickles across her skin.

"Senor?" she asked quietly, her dark eyes still on the batwings as they swung from Ezra's passing.

"Yes, my lovely little rosa?"

She snorted in contempt at the pet name. "Senor Standish, he is not acting himself."

"Oh?" murmured Buck as he leaned back in his chair in a loose posture and contemplated which lady of evening would need his services tonight.

"Ever since he opened that box . . . something is not right."

"I'm sure everything is just fine, my little desert cactus."

Inez put her hands on her hips as Buck's mind drifted away from the conversation again.

Men.

She tried to put her concerns away about Ezra and his wooden box. She finally decided to say a little prayer for him with her nightly conversations with her god. A little prayer never hurt a thing.

Feeling slightly better, she went back to work, leaving Buck half-asleep in the chair.

End