FATHERS' NIGHT
Jantallian
'The father who would taste the essence of his fatherhood
must turn back from the plane of his experience,
take with him the fruits of his journey
and begin again beside his child, marching step by step over the same old road.'
Angelo Patri
MW – JH – SS
A choking scream tore the still air of the summer night. It was instantly followed by the soft thud of bare feet landing from the top bunk. Seconds later, warm arms encircled Mike Williams and held him in a strong hug as tears burst from behind his closed eyelids. He was rocked gently, soothingly, for as long as it took for the storm of grief to ebb and his sobs to subside into sporadic gulps and finally into exhausted silence.
Then a firm hand smoothed down his ruffled hair as he burrowed further into this blessed security. Mike still found it hard to believe that no matter how often he had nightmares or at whatever time of the night, Jess was always there, the moment Mike needed him. The little boy shifted and snuggled up against him, rubbing his wet cheeks against the soft warm material covering a chest that was lean and hard-packed with muscle. Mike was young enough to remember his mother's arms holding him - the loss of her softer touch was at the root of his nightmares. It felt strange to be held by a man, for Mike's pa had had too many calls on his physical strength to indulge very often in cuddling his son. It felt strange but so good. He knew without words that Jess would not leave him or let him go until he was secure again.
Jess never said much during these episodes. Mostly he just held Mike until he fell asleep again. But Mike could feel, in the reassuring hug, that Jess knew what it was like to be utterly alone, to have no one to turn to in the face of overwhelming grief and fear.
Gradually his frantic grip on Jess's undershirt eased and he let the gentle rocking lull him into rest once more. As he slid back down into the bed, Mike felt the rumpled blankets being straightened and tucked gently round him by another pair of hands. Slim! Mike smiled at the knowledge that Slim was close by too, silently supporting them both with his wisdom and care. It was Slim who always had the time and patience to listen and to give the absolute certainty Mike needed, that he was safe in his own home. It was a security Mike knew instinctively Jess needed too. In a sense, Slim was the father to both of them, because he had taken these two strays into his own home and family. Some day, Mike was going to be able to express his thanks in more than words. Right now he was just so glad that whenever he needed to, he could talk to Slim and be helped by a simple wisdom and compassion Mike guessed Slim must have learned from his own father.
As he drifted off into more peaceful slumber, he was vaguely aware of the rumble of deep voices, kept low to avoid disturbing him. If only they knew what a comfort those voices were to him, bringing back memories of his first awakening in this place and the assurance of safety that they gave.
Mike wriggled further into the bedclothes until only his hair was visible. He was like Jess in more ways than the deep loss at the core of his heart. Mike also preferred to burrow into the bed and pretend for as long as possible that dawn and the morning chores had not come! He grinned sleepily to himself as he recalled the first time he'd witnessed Slim routing Jess out of bed with a wet towel. It had taken him some time to appreciate that the morning tussles between the pair of them were just horseplay, not fighting. Of course they did fight for real sometimes, mainly because Slim had very definite ideas about acting on principles and Jess invariably jumped in feet first and worked out the principles afterwards. On the whole, their principles agreed, more or less, but there had been moments ...
It was all right now, though - Mike could tell from the soft tones that Slim wasn't mad at Jess and Jess's growl was warm with affection, not hot with anger. All the same, it was not quite all right. Mike reckoned Jess badly needed a hug himself. Maybe Slim ... Mike's breathing slowed and at last he was deeply sleep once more.
SS – JH – MW
Slim smoothed the quilt covering the small body with a tender hand. He straightened up from his crouching position beside the bed, feeling the cramp in his leg muscles which, after a hard day in the saddle, did not appreciate being made to squat for so long. He looked down at the man sitting on the edge of the bed, whose eyes were still on the sleeping child. Despite the warmth and relaxation Jess had been communicating to Mike, Slim could see tension in the tendons of his neck and his shoulder muscles, now that the crisis was over.
"You ok?" he asked softly.
The dark head came up sharply and blue eyes met his own. A small, crooked grin twitched Jess's lips, but in his eyes Slim could see deep shadows of an old and familiar pain. It was the same every time Mike had a nightmare – something buried long ago surfaced in Jess and the anguish wrenched his soul, but he never said a word. All he said now, inevitably, was: "I'm fine."
The temptation to dispute this was strong, but Slim was wise beyond his years. He could not force Jess to admit to his pain nor could he help by making him talk about it. He could only wait patiently. He could only be a rock in the shifting sands of grief's desert, where, it often seemed, both Jess and Mike had to find their own path to peace.
Slim moved from his side of Mike's bed and came to stand beside Jess, who was still sitting on it in the position he had held for so long with Mike in his arms. He was gazing down at his hands. Slim guessed that he was thinking about the skills which lay in those hands, the ability both to kill and to comfort. Jess didn't look as if his thoughts were pleasant, even though what he had just done was an act of pure love and empathy.
Wishing profoundly that he could convey this to him, Slim reached out a tentative hand and touched Jess's shoulder. A shudder went through the younger man, as if the touch had burned him. Slim was suddenly conscious that Jess was carrying an enormous burden of responsibility, almost too great to be born, a responsibility from which there was no escape, no matter how time passed. Yet in truth both of them had enormous responsibility now, mostly for Mike's welfare, but also for Andy, even though he was far away at school. He knew Jess shouldered this care with all the passionate loyalty which was his hallmark and Slim was deeply grateful for his utter reliability in this, however unpredictable he might be in other ways. But present commitment clearly stirred up the guilt and grief of the past and Slim longed to be able to set it to rest as effectively as Jess had rocked Mike to sleep in his arms.
He was called back from his thoughts as Jess got to his feet and stretched wearily. Leaning over the sleeping boy, he ran his fingers gently through Mike's hair and whispered softly: " 'Night, little 'un." Then he climbed back into the top bunk without a further glance and rolled himself into his own blankets. To all intents and purposes, he appeared to go to sleep instantly.
Slim lay awake for a long time, wondering.
JH – SS
It was impossible to lie still any longer. Jess felt as if his whole body was being run over by fire ants as he ruthlessly restrained his restlessness in order not to disturb his companions. At last he gave in and slid from his bunk, landing silently and softly as a cat. He pulled on his pants but did not bother with anything else – the summer night was still and there was not a breath of air in the house. That was part of the problem.
He paused for a moment, listening to see if he had disturbed the other sleepers. Mike was just a little hummock, almost completely buried under the quilt. Slim had his back turned and was breathing quietly and steadily; it was some time since he'd moved. Jess's bare feet made no sound on the wood floor. He eased the bedroom door open and slipped through, pulling it quietly closed behind him. The living room was shadowy and very little light showed at the windows. It was not long before dawn, the darkest and often the coldest of hours.
When he unlocked the front door a welcome cooler draught touched his skin. Automatically, he strapped on the gun-belt he had unhitched from the bedpost. He stepped out onto the porch. The stillness of the night surrounded him like another blanket. Jess moved over to his favourite position and leaned against the upright, thankfully accepting the support his body suddenly seemed to need.
For his limbs were shaking and he felt utterly weak and defenceless, despite the gun he was wearing. It was almost completely dark. The moon had set and the stars were beginning to wane. The buildings were just a denser black against the blackness of the night. There was no way of seeing what was concealed in that blackness.
On just such a night as this …
A sudden roar of flames assaulted the ears and the night was split apart and devoured by fire. There were no human sounds. Not yet. Only silhouettes against the demonic brightness. Only the familiar figure, lean and hard and swift – the father that the son would become – there one moment, gun blazing – tumbling into the shadows in the next – gone for ever. And then the screams began …
"No!" Jess's fist drove against the wood of the upright, regardless of the pain and the damage to his knuckles. He would not let himself think about it. Not again. Not now.
Ten years. A war. The knife-edge existence of a fast gun. Reckless gambling in every way possible. A thousand miles of restless trail.
Nothing made any difference. It was burned into him like a brand, that night of fire. He could and did stop it surfacing in his daily life, but it was always there.
He was guilty. He had defied his father for the last time. Others had paid the price.
His fist slammed into the wood again, leaving a bloody imprint. But he knew it would do no good. Pain could not erase pain. It was too deep inside, an integral part of who he was and who he always would be. His head dropped forward to rest on his outstretched arm. His shoulders were shaking.
Slim stood silent and totally still in the doorway. More than anything he wanted to put an arm round those shaking shoulders, to pass back to Jess some of the strength and warmth and peace he had given to a distraught child. But he knew full well that it was foolhardy in the extreme to approach an armed gunman from behind. Even if Jess had not been strung up almost to breaking point, his honed reflexes would react automatically to the slightest movement. The consequences might be disastrous for them both. Slim stood still, unseen, unheard, trying to radiate the support he longed to give.
Jess straightened up and pushed himself away from the upright. All those years of rootless wandering had not only made him resilient and self-sufficient, they had also imprinted in him the need for solitude and space. There were times when towns, houses, the spread of a ranch even, seemed to press down upon him, hem him in and make him a prisoner, not least when he was remembering the fate of one particular set of ranch buildings and those who …
He set off across the yard, striding briskly towards the barn. Nothing in his demeanor suggested that his memory was peopling the shadows with cruel and ruthless enemies. But it was.
Slim fought back an urge to call after him. He knew sometimes Jess preferred, needed, the company of the horses rather than of humans. He would probably bed down in Traveller's stall for the night, finding more comfort with his old companion than he did in any friend. It hurt, but Slim knew better than to interfere if he wanted Jess in any kind of approachable mood the next morning. He bit his lip, struggling to find a solution and knowing that the only one was to get Jess to share his pain. And he knew how little chance there was of this happening, when Jess's response to any kind of injury was always: "I'm fine!" Better to let him be. All the same, Slim hoped Mike would settle for the rest of the night, because if there was another nightmare, it was Jess who needed to be there.
In the middle of the yard, Jess stopped abruptly. It was almost as if he had heard what Slim was thinking. Sometimes this happened, especially in moments of danger – they each knew instinctively how the other would act and think. Slim saw Jess turn back to the house. He withdrew from the doorway and made his way swiftly back to the bedroom. When Jess hung up his gun, climbed back into his bunk and curled up in the blankets once more, it was as if Slim had never moved.
MW – SS – JH
"Slim?"
"Yeah, Mike?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah, Mike – you know you can."
They were sitting on the porch, late into the next evening. The heat of the long summer day still infused everything. There was no breeze and Slim was rocking lazily in the rocking chair, trying to generate a little movement in the air without the effort of fanning himself. Mike was squatting at his feet, his arms full of a wriggling bunch of kittens. Slim grinned to himself. One of the many benefits of having Mike living with them was his enthusiasm for looking after Andy's motley collection of rescued animals. Mike was already adding to these. The kittens were a bonus provided by one of the barn cats. Mike just had to be prepared to defend them against the relay station's feline king, the ragged ginger tom who ruled wherever he was not thrown out of.
"I'm not sure –" Mike sounded a little hesitant. "You mightn't wanna answer."
"Just try me," Slim said reassuringly.
"Even if it's none of my business?" Mike queried.
"Let's hear the question," Slim suggested. "If I know the answer and I can share it with you, I will."
Mike detached one kitten who was trying to climb up his hair. He seemed to be bracing himself for a difficult task. Slim wondered what was worrying him, although, goodness knows, the kid had had enough troubles in his young life already. "Ask away!" he encouraged firmly.
There was quite a pause. In the stillness of the evening, they could hear the clatter of pans in the kitchen and the grating rattle of the stove being banked down, as Jess finished off the night's tasks. It had been Slim's turn to cook and Jess always maintained laughingly that the results were so awful, he didn't mind throwing the remains on the fire! Slim hoped he would bring some coffee out with him when he joined them. Mike, meanwhile, had decided the noise was a cue for him to ask his question.
"Slim, why's Jess here?"
This was not at all what Slim was expecting. For a moment, he was completely at a loss to know how to answer. Because he works here. Because I asked him to stay. Because he chose to stay. Because nothing has enticed him away. Because Andy'd be heartbroken if he went.
None of this seemed adequate. Slim searched in his heart for the answer, the absolute truth he felt Mike needed. He replied: "Because he belongs here. It's his home."
"I know that!" Mike gave him a look of complete scorn. "I mean, why did he come here? How did he arrive?"
"Oh!" Slim rapidly adjusted his ideas about the question and marshalled the appropriate facts, even though maybe they were not all easy ones. His father had always treated him as if he was capable of dealing with difficult truths – it was a mark of respect and appreciation - and he had tried in his turn to treat Andy and now Mike in the same way. "Jess arrived here because he was trailing a man, someone who had been a friend, but who had injured and betrayed him."
"Bet he was mad about that!" Mike observed shrewdly, as he shed a few kittens who were clinging to his sleeves by their needle-sharp claws.
"Not so's you'd notice," Slim told him, "but yes – in his mind he was determined to find him and –" Slim stopped abruptly. What had Jess intended? To get his money back? To have Morgan slung in jail for theft? To kill him? These questions had not occurred to him at the time, because he had not known about Jess's quest, until Andy had happened to mention it some time later. Events had moved so fast and they had their hands full bringing Carlin to justice. It was then that he realized there was a lot more to Jess than he had originally supposed.
"So how did you two meet?" Mike asked, as if reading Slim's thought.
Slim grinned. "Jess was trespassing up by the lake. I tried to run him off the property and he jumped me – called me a jack-rabbit too!"
"Did not!" Jess appeared in the doorway with a mug of coffee. "I said you should look out for the fierce jack-rabbits!" He was grinning broadly at the memory as he handed the drink to Slim. "But yeah, I did take his rifle – he's got even slower since then!" He beat a hasty retreat into the house before Slim could take revenge for this insult.
Mike, however, was pursuing his own line of thought. "What was he like? I mean, how was he feeling?"
"When I first saw him? He was lying against a log, with his hat over his eyes." Slim's voice was reminiscent. "How was he feeling? He looked perfectly relaxed. But I didn't know then that he can look perfectly relaxed and still be faster on the draw or to a fight than anyone I've ever met!"
"That was up at the lake?"
"Yeah - he made off and I thought I'd seen the last of him. But when I came home, I found him teaching Andy to play poker – and how to deal off the bottom of the pack!"
Useful life skills, Jess had called them when Slim challenged him on it. And if the truth were known – and Slim had great respect for the truth – there had been times when Jess's ability to win at cards had brought in much needed cash, without which the ranch might have foundered. All the same, he knew it was not something his pa would have approved of – and neither did he, unless he had Jess's assurance that no cheating was involved.
Slim did not add that Andy had adored Jess from the very first moment and that they were in many ways closer than blood brothers. Mike needed to know he was safe and secure in both their affections and they would do all in their power to be a new family in place of the one he had lost.
"But where'd he come from? What about his family?" Mike was ruthless in pursuit of the information he wanted, just as he had captured the smallest kitten and was lavishing loving stokes on it.
"He's a Texan," Slim reminded him. "And you know, Mike – he's been most places where you can make a living with a horse and a gun. You've heard him yarn!"
"But he never says anything about being a kid," Mike pointed out. "Nothing about who he grew up with."
"There was a war," Slim explained gently. After Mike's own traumatic experience, he hesitated to bring up the suffering they had all gone through in that terrible time. But he could also recall his father's advice: A painful truth is better than the ultimate pain a lie will cause. He went on: "So many people were separated from the ones they loved, driven out of their homes, lost everything – all the familiar things were broken and destroyed, especially in the South. I know Jess was in a prison camp too, at the end of the war. I guess maybe he just doesn't want to remember what happened before."
Mike was silent for a while. The kitten lay quiet on his knee, purring like a little windmill. Then he murmured: "He must have had a ma, a father too. But he never speaks about them." He stopped and looked up at Slim. "Your pa must have been a good man."
Slim felt his throat tighten. "He was, Mike. He was wise and kind and he always tried to be just. But how do you know?"
"Guess you turned out just like him," Mike told him.
"If I did," Slim sounded not a little embarrassed, "it's because he taught by example. He never expected you to do anything just because he said so." He thought for a moment and asked gently, "You want to talk about your pa, Mike?"
Mike shook his head: "Not now." He reverted single-mindedly to his original topic: "D'you reckon Jess is like his pa?"
"I don't know, Mike," Slim responded truthfully. "Like I told you, he doesn't talk about family. And my pa taught me know better than to try to get a man to talk when he doesn't want to. Who his family were - or are - is a question I can't answer for you, Mike."
"I guess not," Mike sighed, his tone disappointed. "But he's hurting, Slim, hurting real bad inside."
"I know, but I can't –"
Mike interrupted him. "He needs a hug – just like me. A hug, Slim." He was cuddling the kitten so fiercely that it gave a protesting squeak, scratched him hard and jumped free. "Ouch!"
"Better lick it," Jess advised as he came out on to the porch and collapsed to his favourite seat on the top step. "Everything ain't got the same feelin' about bein' cuddled."
JH – MW – SS
Sparks flew upward, painting the night sky with golden stars, dancing and swirling with fierce energy. But these were not the footprints of an inferno, destroying everything in its wake. The sparks fountained up only because Jess had just tossed another log on the campfire.
The three of them had spent the day lazing about the little lake which lay high up in the western reaches of the ranch. Slim and Jess had been promising Mike a fishing trip for a while and both of them agreed that it would be good for the boy to sleep in the open, to help overcome the memory of being utterly alone in the wilderness.
Before they could even begin fishing, Slim insisted that Mike's swimming was brought up to scratch with a lesson in the chilly waters of the lake. For some reason, both he and Jess seemed to find this hilarious. Mike got quite offended and stood in the shallows, arms folded and face scowling, demanding: "What's so funny?" Slim had laughed again and said: "Jess's swimming technique!" almost at the same time as Jess grinned: "The lanky blonde currently tryin' to give you a swimmin' lesson!" These insults resulted in a vigorous aquatic wrestling match in which Mike's original question was temporarily forgotten.
Once they'd caught enough fish for supper, there were some lessons in foraging, resulting in a healthy pile of roots, berries, wild mushrooms and a whole load of tiny wild strawberries. Mike was delighted to find these, as he had nothing if not a sweet tooth. Now that they were sprawled on their bedrolls, feeling very full and even lazier, Mike thought back over the more energetic activities of the day with pleasure. Presently he enquired: "So what's so funny about a swimming lesson?"
Slim and Jess looked at each other and Slim raised an eyebrow. Jess heaved a sigh of mock resignation and admitted sheepishly: "It's like this, Mike. Not long after I first came here, Slim fished me out of a river. He thought I was drownin'. I was so grateful he didn't actually want to drown me …" - there was a pause for another long look: Jess knew how aggravating he could be at times - "I told a stupid lie – or at least, it wasn't exactly the truth. I said I'd never learnt to swim."
"And I tried to teach him."
"And I got mad and knocked him down!"
"You only managed that because you'd half-drowned me first!" Slim protested.
"Served you right," Jess told him, and it looked, for a moment, as if another ruckus was about to take place. Mike asked hastily: "And could you swim?"
Slim laughed outright. "You've seen him!" It was true. Nothing short of a otter was as at home in the water as Jess was.
"You must be a great teacher!" Mike told Slim admiringly.
"It wasn't me," Slim corrected with his usual honesty. Then a memory struck him like lightning, a memory which might just prove the key to Jess's reaction to those nightmares. He went on quickly: "When he eventually owned up, he told me that he meant he had never really been taught."
"It was the truth," Jess pointed out. "I ain't never had any real swimmin' lessons, any more'n anyone taught me to run or ride or whistle! They just assumed I could and I can't remember a time when I couldn't."
Slim had recalled Jess's exact words at the time. He told Mike: "He said 'I guess someone must have dropped me in a horse trough when I was too small to remember - some elder brother, maybe …'" He held his breath, waiting, hoping and praying that the opening would be taken.
True to his nature, Mike immediately asked: "You got big brothers, Jess?"
"Yeah. Three."
"Are they a lot older than you?"
"Yeah. I'm the middle kid. My sister Francie's closest to me – two years older. Dan beat her into the world by three years, Tom was close to him – Ma said they should have been twins - and Matt … Matthew was a full seven years older than me."
Slim was stunned at the amount of information a simple question had released, not least that he shared a name with Jess's eldest brother. Mike looked impressed. "That's a big family!"
"That's only half of it. I told you I was the middle one." A momentary look of pain crossed Jess's face and Slim observed hastily: "Your ma must have had her hands full?"
Against all expectation, Jess laughed and shook his head. "She raised us all to look after ourselves and each other. She had her hands full enough with everthin' and everyone else on the ranch."
"My ma only had me." Mike's lip quivered a little, but he went on bravely, "She looked after me and pa real good." He gulped and turned to Slim, who had stretched out a comforting hand to him. "What was your ma like, Slim?"
Slim thought for a moment and said: "I thought she was beautiful. She was always ready to mother everyone, to keep you fed and warm, to listen to you without criticising, to mend your hurts, to give you the benefit of the doubt. She was real good at understanding other people and taking in strangers. Andy's inherited that."
"But Andy's your only brother?"
"Yeah!" Slim too showed a momentary flash of pain. "There were others, but they all died when they were babies."
There was a little silence. Mike reached out and put his hand on Slim's. Presently Slim looked across the fire at Jess and said, "Your turn."
"My ma?" Jess looked surprised, but not unhappy. "OK – she was little. Little an' feisty! Pa used to say she was just knee high to the nearest mustang. That was 'cause she could ride and rope and shoot with the best of the men. She was tough, too, had to be when half her family were born on the trail in the back of a wagon. She loved us, but she never did much motherin' – said it didn't do for a man to be dependent on any woman, especially when it came to mendin' his shirts or cookin' food fit to eat."
"That explains it," Slim murmured ironically. The shirt Jess was wearing had mysteriously acquired a three-corner tear in the sleeve during the day.
"You just ate my cookin'!" Jess told him, aggrieved.
"Guess all those children must have eaten a lot," Mike observed, in the nick of time again. " 'Specially the big ones."
" 'Specially the middle one!" Slim teased and had to duck hastily as Jess tossed a saddle-blanket at him.
"Think yourself lucky it's not something harder!" Jess threatened.
Mike frowned at them both. "So if you're the middle one, Jess, who are you in the middle of?"
Slim held his breath again. He was sure that it was not the older part of his family which caused Jess such pain. But Mike was young enough and had suffered enough already to be able to ask about things no adult would dare.
Jess was looking deep into the fire. The flickering light showed that his face was an expressionless mask. In his eyes, tiny flames burned, reflecting not just the real fire but something else, something he was remembering.
It looked as if he was going to refuse to answer, but in the end he did. His voice was flat, hollow, as if all the feeling had bled out of it. "There were four of them. Johnny, next to me. He was nine when it happened. Then a big gap. Rachel was four. And the twins, just walkin'." He stopped abruptly as if the words had run out.
"When what happened?" Slim prompted softly.
"The fire."
Fire was the great dread of any ranch or settlement. When all the buildings and their contents were highly combustible, it was all too easy to lose everything in a single conflagration. Slim kept silent, respecting the enormity of such an event. Once more it was Mike who simply kept the conversation going. "Why was there a fire?" he asked innocently.
Jess was still looking into the flames. It was as if he were no longer present with them, but transported far away, both in time and place.
Greatly daring, but recalling that other time when Jess had shared something of his history in this very spot, Slim whispered: "Tell him the tale. Spin the yarn of what happened."
It was a while before Jess seemed to return to them. He lifted his gaze from the fire and looked long and thoughtfully at Slim and long and tenderly at Mike. Slim has never seen quite such an expression on anyone before. Then Jess nodded slowly, drew himself up and settled into a cross-legged sitting position on the blankets. He sat quite still for some moments, his bright gaze fixed on a distant point somewhere in the darkness of the night, in the land and the time far away. A shiver ran through him. He took a deep breath and began to yarn in the soft, deliberate and almost unaccented voice that was very different from his usual Texan drawl.
There was a ranch. Big place. Wide range. No fences. Thousands of head of cattle. Herds of wild horses. Game for trapping and hunting. Plenty of buffalo, too, in those days.
There was a family. Travelled a long way to get to that ranch. The father, he knew the place. Lived there when it was nothing but wild country, empty space, long horizons - and a challenge, an untamed adventure. Knew it and loved it. But he loved a woman too. She was willing to be there with him, wild and challenging and untamed as he was. So he went and brought her there and taught her how to live in that place and to raise a family who could survive and thrive.
There were a whole tribe, older kids and small kids, boys and girls, brothers, sisters and cousins, and every one of them as wild as any of the mustangs they used to go out huntin'. The work was hard, very hard, and the range was huge. It took a whole band of men to work the cattle and patrol the land and drive the stock to market. There were brothers, uncles, cousins and hired hands, locals, drifters, even Mexican drovers and their families.
The father was the range-boss, the leader, the one they all obeyed. Not because they were afraid of him. Because they knew him. Knew he would never expect anything of anyone that he was not prepared to do himself, never back down in the face of danger, never let someone else take a risk that he wouldn't, never fail to stand by his friends whatever it cost. But he was a hard man too, because it was a hard life. He was demanding and impatient and quick to anger, even though he never held on to a grudge. He expected obedience – from men and from children.
Jess fell silent, as if marshalling the determination and control to continue.
And the middle son was the same. Reckless and impatient and determined, with a temper as short as the father and the same need to be in the front of the action, to run the risk himself. And he wouldn't back down. Not ever. Not in the face of however many beatings.
Mike flinched at this. His pa had rarely laid a hand on him, but he could imagine what it must have felt like. Jess must have sensed the shudder, because he continued:
The beating was just the explosion of all which made them the same. It was the struggle of two spirits and two wills that were too similar to live in the same space. The father tried to control his anger often, so often! The boy challenged him and there were many times when he pushed the limits of defiance and independence too far. They struck sparks off each other, like two flints crashing together. It would have been utterly destructive if the power of shared blood, the love of kin, had not been stronger than any fire of anger. For they did love each other, perhaps most of all when the fact that they were so alike drove them into a fight.
It was like that at the end. The night of fire and fighting. The household asleep. The night still and dark as pitch. Suddenly the roar of flames and the stench of burning and the startled cries of those taken unaware by the attack. The main barn was burning. Men running to fight the flames were cut down instantly, caught in the light while the enemy was in the dark. The shadows concealed cruel and evil men, bent on destruction and powered by greed. Other outbuildings began to blaze. More people fell. The yard seemed to be full of bodies, not one of them moving.
The boy woke just like everyone else, roused by the sound of the flames. He was the eldest son now. The other three were long gone on lives and trails of their own. It was his business, his right to take action, to defend the family and the home. He ran from the house and, being smaller than the adults, he was not hit. Against the flame-light of the burning buildings, he could see the familiar lean, dark figure - reckless, undaunted, risking himself willingly to defend everyone else. It was an integrity of the heart which drove the father. But he was alone, outnumbered, surrounded by those who had plotted this destruction.
His last command to his son was simple: "Take the others and run!"
But the boy defied him once again. He was too proud to run. He was too certain he could fight. He would not let the father stand alone. So he poured out shots until he ran out of ammunition. He went on firing until the father fell.
By that time, the house was on fire. His mother had fallen on the doorstep, a rifle still in her hand. The older ones, the sister and the younger boy, they managed to get out. But the little ones – they were too small, too weak to escape. The house burned like the fires of hell. There was nothing left for the three to do but to run, to hide, to leave the looters to their harvest of their cruelty.
Mike gave a stifled sob and Slim reached out and drew him into a tight hug. He had had no idea when he hoped Jess would share his pain quite what this would involve. Jess had paused again, aware of their reactions, but remaining the storyteller:
Not long after, the boy left. Found a gun, stole a horse, rode away. Always following the trail, however cold it became. Always hunting. Never forgetting. Learnt to survive in some bad places. Fought a war. Learnt to be a fast gun. Still reckless, still determined, still angry. Killed the first one he caught up with. Helped get another two put in jail. Found the gang had split up, crossed the border, hidden themselves, ridden beyond reach maybe. He was alone. Without a family. Without a place to belong to. Then he began to learn what really matters when you have a burden to carry.
Jess stopped abruptly.
Into the silence, Mike spoke with the perception with which his own experience had gifted him: "He blamed himself, didn't he? He thought he should have been able to save them."
"Yeah."
"Oh, Jess!" Mike was across the intervening space in a second and flung his arms round Jess's neck in a desperate hug.
Jess rocked him gently, just as he had done during the nightmares. When Mike's stranglehold began to loosen a little, he said softly, "But he was wrong, Mike. Terrible things happen, even to the people we love. And it's right that we don't hide from our part in such things, from our responsibility. But no-one is totally to blame because there are lots of decisions and actions which lead up to anything that happens, good or bad. If we can't save the people we love, we feel guilty as well as grieving for them. It's natural. But all the blame, all the guilt, isn't ours alone. You understand?"
Mike nodded, rubbing his hand over his face to stem his tears.
"You aren't to blame because you couldn't save them, Mike, but you will feel you were sometimes," Jess told him. "And as you grow, you'll learn how to deal in your own way with feeling like that." His arms tightened as he gave the boy the strong, warm hug of understanding which came, as Mike had known instinctively, from shared experience.
They were all silent for a long while after that.
Suddenly Mike began to speak again, his voice blurry with sleep but no longer sounding tearful: "Slim's like his pa and you're like yours. I'm gonna grow up an' be as good as mine." He seemed to think about this and added confidently, "But I guess some of you two'll rub off on me as well."
The eyes of the two in question met across the fire. Slim simply said: "We'd both be honoured if that's so, Mike." Jess simply gave Mike an even bigger hug and then rolled him firmly into the waiting blankets: "You ain't goin' to do any growin' unless you get proper sleep. Goodnight, little 'un."
Not long after, Mike's steady breathing assured them he was resting at last. Jess stood up and stretched. He fished in his saddlebag for his tobacco pouch and slowly rolled a cigarette and lit it. He strolled away and stood on the edge of the little bluff above the lake, gazing out over the dark water and watching the light of the stars sparking from its restless surface. Presently Slim also got up, stretched and came quietly to stand beside him.
"How old were you?" he asked.
"Risin' thirteen."
"Younger than Andy."
"Yeah."
They were silent again. Slim thought about the hug Jess had needed, but he guessed Mike had taken care of that. He just laid a strong hand firmly on his friend's shoulder. This time, Jess didn't shrug off the touch as if it burnt him. Instead, he just murmured: "Thanks!"
"What for?"
"For listenin'. And for not tellin' Mike and me that it's gonna be all right."
"It isn't, is it? Not right in the sense of 'this never happened', but –" Slim almost didn't ask, but he needed to know: "Does it help to have shared it?"
Jess hesitated. "I … I don't know. Maybe. No tellin' till the next time." Then he added: "But it helps Mike to know now. To know why he's feelin' what he's feelin'."
"And you?"
"Me? I'm fine!"
The familiar response nearly made Slim throttle him instead wanting to hug him, but fortunately Jess moved away to toss the remains of his cigarette into the fire. As they settled into their bedrolls, Mike stirred once more, with one final, inevitable question:
"If you two are gonna be fathers to me, when do I get two new mothers as well?"
Slim gasped in surprise and Jess chuckled: "Sounds like Slim here might be able to oblige you, Mike, but me? No chance while I've got a horse fast enough to make a clean get-away!"
I wanted to get this posted on the appropriate day, but there will probably be an updated version once I've checked through the relevant episodes again.
There are deliberate resonances with some other stories, particularly Swimming Lesson and Answers after Sunset. The story includeS both Mike and Andy, because it seems more reasonable not to write Andy out in the way the series had to.
Acknowledgement: For all chapters: The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors.