Well Down the Alley
"I wouldn't do it if I were you," Buck Wilmington warned his young friend.
"Why's that?" J.D. Dunne asked as he kicked some dirt out of the way so that he could push off properly in order to quickly gain speed, speed that he would need to manage enough velocity, as Ezra called it, so that when he jumped he would gain enough momentum to lift himself into the air to both clear the high trough and land safely in the soft landing area of straw on the far side.
The gambler Ezra Standish, along with the town's famous ladies' man Wilmington, the town's preacher Josiah Sanchez, all members along with the healer Nathan Jackson and the town's sheriff Dunne, the tracker Vin Tanner and their leader, the former gunslinger Chris Larabee, the group of peacekeepers in the town of Four Corners known as The Magnificent Seven, had all joined together for a project in their town. It had been strange, indeed, to see the triumvirate of Standish, Wilmington and Sanchez walking in-step about town, or huddled together, Buck and Josiah leaning in on either side of Ezra as they drew out their plans.
And what a plan it was. Games of physical and mental skill, divided into three separate age ranges, for all of the children of the town and its outskirts. "The Four Corners Games", as they were dubbed so cleverly by none other than Chris Larabee, took place the day before. Every child participated, parents were enlisted as monitors and judges. The restaurant, the saloons and other merchants who desired to were encouraged to close for the day. The accomplished cooks and bakers of the town kept all participants fed and hydrated for breakfast, provided snacks and beverages throughout the day, and prepared a scrumptious early supper. Getting the last meal of the day into energized, excited and hungry children was necessary in preparation for all those children crashing into happy, exhausted sleep well before their normal bedtimes.
The plan also conveniently allowed for the saloons and the restaurants to open for evening business.
"Because you know damn well the only reason Ezra cleared that was because he cheated."
"Then I guess if he did, Buck, that's a damn shame 'cause I know I can make it without cheating."
"Ezra don't cheat," Vin said as he approached the two men who squabbled, and in most ways, appeared as brothers, somewhat with the looks but more so in how they acted, both in fun times, as now, but in dangerous and desperate times, too. In these last years, J.D. learned a lot from his mentor, his friend … his brother. In most every circumstance these days, J.D mimicked Buck's actions. When things got serious in town, everyone knew they could count on Buck, so long as it didn't take too long to figure out which of his ladies he was bedded down with. J.D. was just as reliable only much easier to find around town.
"I know, Vin," J.D. said. "I'm still gonna best him at this," he added, full of bravado.
Vin shook his head and said seriously, "Ya probably shouldn't try. You know he bounces 'round like he's got springs in his legs." The former bounty hunter only just contained his envy at how easily Ezra moved about. Vin knew he was lucky to still be walking and riding a horse; participating in this unsanctioned activity was out of the question. He knew he had a lot to thank their healer for in helping him find a good pain relief that didn't drag him down and some exercises that kept him relatively loose and active. All those years in the saddle hunting buffalo and hunting men had made a bad back from his youth much worse.
"Vin's got a point," the deep, familiar voice of Nathan Jackson said as he arrived from the same direction as the Texan. "Chris ain't gonna take too kindly to you getting hurt because of Ezra."
Vin's glare at the healer was hard enough to make most men turn and head for the hills, but all seven of these men were made of sterner stuff. Each, in their lives, suffered such that their skin was thicker than any threat. There was no doubt, though, that the former slave was in for a dressing down by the long-haired man before him. Unless the former preacher who was fixing up the church and building a congregation got to it first.
"Ezra ain't even here, Brother Nathan. Seems unfair to blame him for the actions of grown men," Josiah said as he joined his fellow lawmen. His brothers. Brothers in arms, at first, but after three years of working together, living together, fighting wanted men in sometimes life-threatening situations, as well as playing, drinking and relaxing together, their familial bond could not be denied.
"He's the one who set this up," Nathan said, defending his position. "He's the one who cleared it in front of adults and kids. His example, his responsibility if someone tries it and gets hurt."
"That ain't fair, Nate," J.D. challenged. "Ezra told everyone that it wasn't supposed to be one of the events in the Four Corners Games. He talked to the kids about it, brought 'em all together and told 'em why it wasn't something anyone should try, that he was only doing it as entertainment."
"Well, kid, guess all those words didn't sink in with you," Buck said.
"I ain't just anyone, Buck," J.D. retorted. The two men started punching each other lightly in the chest, and then J.D. started explaining his youthful life in Boston. "When I was a kid, we would all try to find out how far me and the other kids of 'the help' of the family my mom worked for could jump. We'd show up late for our turn helping the fishermen and let the trawler get as far away from the dock as possible before taking a running leap onto it." He was unable to finish his story as Chris Larabee showed up. He'd obviously overheard J.D.'s story.
"Ezra said what he said for a reason, J.D. I know he likes to talk … "
"And a lot of what he has to say is 'hooey'," Buck said with a smile as he winked at his young friend, knowing that he'd remember that time at the Chinese labor camp. It was a serious thing, the murder of workers, the poor working conditions, and those people not being paid the full amount for their backbreaking work. Still, Buck and J.D. had grown even closer during that time. Buck eventually admitted that the joke J.D. played on him, with Inez Rocios his accomplished accomplice, was damned good.
"Some of it ain't," Vin said. "Think this time he might be right."
"Should never have done it. Now everyone will be up in my clinic after hurting themselves …." Nathan was unable to finish his thought as Chris interrupted the healer.
"Knock it off, Nathan. You were there. He made it more than clear that he had lots of experience and that nobody should try it."
Josiah added, "He also said that he would put together a special course so that the kids could have fun doing similar things. I'm gonna help him build it," the preacher added with a wide smile. The older man cherished any time he could spend with the former con man. He'd managed to tamp down his fatherly feelings toward Ezra. The Southerner made it more than clear well more than once that those feelings were not wanted, were not welcome. Josiah settled into an older brother role, which Ezra found easier to accept.
Buck burst out with laughter. "You're gonna help him build it." Buck howled, "Hoooeee! I haven't had such a good laugh in a long time, Josiah."
"I can certainly see the humor, brother." Josiah did not care a whit that he would build most of the course himself.
"I think Ezra meant that warning for the kids," J.D. insisted. He knew from his time chasing trawlers that he could do it.
"Think yer wrong," Vin warned, seriously annoyed with the youngest of their group. He was going to do something that could end badly and get Ezra the blame. It wasn't right.
"I'm doin' it." And before any of them could get a good look up and down the rarely-used alley, J.D. was off like a shot.
"Shit!" Buck, Vin and Nathan said as one as they moved in the direction J.D. had charged.
"Damn!" Josiah shouted, far louder than he would normally say the word.
"Mary!" Chris called.
"Ezra!" Josiah yelled just behind their leader.
Farther Up the Alley
"I don't understand what the problem is. Four Corners has changed so much. We have been successful in recruiting some very qualified people in other areas." They looked at each other and laughed, Mary adding, "The assistant bank manager notwithstanding."
"Indeed," Ezra agreed.
"I was sure this last teacher was going to work out."
Ezra sympathized with the newspaper publisher. As one of the leaders of the town and the chairperson of the committee that for two years worked to get a permanent teacher for their town, Mary Travis and the others, including Ezra Standish in an occasional role, were successful in luring three people to the town, but failed to retain any one of them for longer than a couple of months. The sophisticated Southerner knew the reason, but it was not something that the pretty lady on his arm would want to hear.
"Ah am afraid, Mary, that despite our town's forward movement these last years, once these excellent selections finally make their way to our dusty burg, it may well fail to live up to, well … "
"You think that I am overselling the town," she said as she stopped to challenge him with those piercing eyes, her arms now crossed across her chest. There was anger in that beautiful face, and he was lucky that he was completely smitten with his own voluptuous woman, because Mary's current body language made it hard for a man to ignore what was before him. For the sake of his sanity, with he and Inez currently on the outs, and the sake of his life, with Mary the significant other to one Chris Larabee, he kept his eyes focused on hers. She quickly calmed and sighed in frustration.
"Mary … "
"No, no. You told me. And I know what you did, or rather, didn't do, the last time."
"Ah felt no need to waste … "
"Please, Ezra. Stop. You don't need to explain. I wouldn't make the changes you suggested to the verbiage in the contract the first two times," she said as she took his arm and started walking down the alley again. "Why would you suggest any changes the third time when your advice was ignored twice before?"
Ezra patted the pretty woman's hand as she held his arm while they walked. "It is hard to fault these women when they have thoughts of some glorious Eden in the desert and arrive to find … "
"A dusty backwater," Mary finished for the gambler.
"Though less dusty than it used to be before the trees planted in town and the windbreak."
Mary smiled at her friend. Yes, the improvements they made to the town over the years were good ones. The newswoman had to admit that she found herself swiping dust from her sleeves far less frequently. The boardwalk overhangs, now in front of every business in town, helped everyone's boots and skirts remain clean even in the worst rainstorm, so long as you chose to use them. And the color in the spring, summer and autumn from the flowering trees, shrubs and flowers, the scent of lavender and rosemary in the heat of a hot summer day, and the roses, some soon to be in bloom … it was all wonderful.
But it wasn't enough.
"Do you think if we were honest … "
Ezra interrupted her thought. "Do Ah believe that a more direct approach might be more fruitful?" Mary smiled and nodded. "Ah would say, as Ah have said before," he said with a satisfied grin. Mary slapped his arm as he finished, "It is worth a try."
Mary lowered her head in thought, allowing Ezra to guide their way. "There is no guarantee," Ezra said, "that once our next hire makes her way this far that she still won't be lured to Denver or San Francisco."
"That is true … "
"Shit!"
"Damn!"
"Mary!"
"Ezra!"
The cacophony of warnings had the former con man and current lawman immediately on alert. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a brown blur flying right at them.
"Mah apologies," Ezra said as he threw Mary into the pile of straw at the end of the horse trough. He had no time to move himself out of the way. Ezra wrapped his arms around his middle and hoped for the best. The sound of a bone breaking, a sharp pain in his left arm and his body flying over top of the water trough and into the thick pile of straw on the far side told him that 'the best' was not on today's menu.
Ezra was sure that if he lost consciousness that it had been a momentary thing. Above the grinding of his teeth from the intense pain in his arm and his head, he heard voices.
"Kid, are ya all right?" That would be Buck Wilmington. So the brown blur flying at him was J.D.
'That's just great,' Ezra thought, though he had little time to contemplate that any further before he heard the next voice.
"Mary, stay down until Nate gets a look at ya."
Vin Tanner talking to Mary Travis. Mary?
"Mary?" he asked softly. He tried to move, but there was trouble there.
"Stay put, son. Nate's checkin' your … "
"Aaaaaah!" Ezra cried as he felt the bones move in his arm. "Christ!" he said next with what little air he had left. He took a fortifying breath and, because he simply could not help himself, added, "Mah apologies, Josiah."
"Don't worry, son," Josiah said as he kept his arm around Ezra's back.
The gambler continued to hear the rumble of Josiah and Nathan's voices but understood very little as a strange buzzing took up residence in his head, blocking any hope of understanding what was said. He heard Mary, Buck again, too, as his hearing almost immediately resolved to something more familiar.
"Sorry." That was J.D. Ezra wasn't going to be able to keep up with this voice identification very long. Before welcome oblivion hit, Ezra sensed another presence, a comforting one, despite the words that flowed from the familiar Midwestern voice.
"What the hell, Ezra!"
Around the Back Alley, Up the Stairs
"But he was on his way to dismantle it." Mary blinked her eyes tiredly, a small bandage on her head, concentrated between her nose and her left ear, covering a small cut just above her eye.
"She's got a point," Josiah said. Ezra came to briefly when the preacher helped Nathan to stabilize the broken arm. The hurt man's head shot up and he screamed an obscenity he would be embarrassed to learn was said in the presence of a lady. Chris saw the blood on the pillow and that's when Nathan found the oozing cut that his patient must have sustained after he got knocked over. None of them remembered hearing any noise at the time that would have indicated a head injury.
The door to Nathan's clinic opened and Buck walked in.
"How ya feelin', Mary?" he asked as he removed his hat.
"Oh, my head hurts," the pretty blonde admitted, fingering the soft cloth that covered her wound. "But I'm fine, Buck." She looked over to the man on the bed. "Ezra definitely got the worst of it today."
Buck looked at his friend, arm splinted, head being examined, several bloodied cloths piled beside the bed. Nathan continued to clean the wound on the back of Ezra's head, an injury apparently from hitting a rock mixed in with the straw he and several of his compatriots piled up on the back side of the trough. Buck knew that the area had been clear of rocks when he, Ezra and J.D. put down the thick layer of straw. Probably kids throwing rocks down the alley. Nathan wrapped the Southerner's head several times in order to keep the wound clean and dry and mostly to stop the continued slow movement of blood out of Ezra's hard head.
As Nathan cleaned up his supplies and Josiah gathered up the bloody cloths, Mary asked, "How is J.D.?"
"He's fine. Feelin' a little bruised. Said runnin' into ol' Ez was like hitting the broadside of a caboose," Buck, the renowned ladies' man said with a smile.
"He's a solid son-of-a-bitch," Chris said, agreeing with J.D.'s assessment. "Sorry, Mary," he added. Ezra might not be the tallest among The Seven, or the bulkiest, but he hid considerable muscle and surprising strength under all those layers of fancy clothes.
"It's quite crowded in here. I believe I will go home," Mary said.
"I'll walk you," Josiah offered. The newspaper publisher smiled at the big preacher, grateful for the steadying arm.
"I'm gonna go back and check in with J.D.," Buck said. All three left the clinic.
"Mistah Larabee," Ezra said as he awoke to his boss disparaging Maude Standish. "Mah mothah possesses many flaws, but Ah would appreciate it if you would r'frain from usin' such a pejorative in regard to her." A brief pause was followed by, "Please afford me that pleasure."
"So, yer feelin' better," Vin said, not phrasing it in a questioning manner.
"Not 'specially." Ezra looked around to determine where he was. Finding himself in Nathan's clinic, and in his old feather bed that he bequeathed to the healer upon the purchase of a new one for his room. Ezra decided he was feeling better after all.
"Ah do feel well enough to retire to mah own room." The former con man struggled to a sitting position, his legs dangling to the side, with stockings on his feet but no boots in sight. He wouldn't actually have been able to see his boots with the room spinning as it was.
"Good lord," the card sharp said as he grabbed the edge of the mattress with his not broken arm.
Vin walked over to his friend as the poker player wrestled with the blanket on the bed. He saw how sickly pale Ezra was. He grabbed the nearest container, a small crock, and handed it to the Southerner, who held it against his chest with his one good arm.
Ezra, who fought the nausea up until that point, brought the container close, drooled into it as he gave in to the inevitable, and vomited into the crock.
"Ugh," he said as his face quickly glistened with sweat.
"You done?" Nathan asked irritably as Ezra sat cradling the vessel, a pathetic sight if ever there was one. Another round of vomiting, and Nathan hovering, finally brought an answer.
"Yes," Ezra said shakily. He kept the vessel close as he breathed through his mouth. He really didn't look like he was finished, but Nathan decided that he was as he took the crock and stormed to the door, opened it, and placed the container outside, banging it hard on the wooden deck. He went back to his patient.
"Are you going to lay back down now?" the former slave and stretcher bearer during the war asked.
"Ah believe that might be prudent," the Southerner said as he sat in place, not making any move to do so, though he rocked slowly in place as his body still suffered from a lack of balance.
"Get him over there, would ya, Vin?"
"Sher."
Chris looked at his ailing friend. Something seemed off about the way Ezra appeared.
"What's going on?" he asked. Ezra moaned from the bed as Nathan prepared his mixture for the healing tea.
"He's got two breaks in that arm and it hurts like hell is what's going on. He refused the tea, and between the hit to his head and the pain, he's feeling sick. He don't have the brains left that God gave him."
Vin frowned at the big black man. They were lucky to have such a fine healer, and fine man, in their town and counted as a friend. But he seemed to be inordinately tough on the hurt and sick man.
"Yer bein' a little hard on him, ain't ya Nate?" Buck and J.D. walked in just as the question was asked.
"Whose fault is it that he's in here?" Nathan heatedly asked.
"J.D.'s," Chris, Buck and Vin said just as J.D. spoke with conviction, "Mine."
Ezra moaned with pain as Nathan replied, "No, it's his fault. He set up that … 'trick'; it was just a matter of time before someone got hurt."
"Now, Nathan, you were there. He told everyone to stay away from it," Buck said, reiterating something that they'd all been over more than once already.
"He was on his way to take it apart. Didn't even ask any of us to help doin' it," Vin added.
"So he says," Nathan responded as he placed the final measure of the herbs into the already steeping base mixture that he used.
"He was. He told Mary that's where he was headed. You callin' her a liar, too?" Chris asked.
"No. I am saying that just because he said it don't mean he was going to do it," Nathan said as he continued to fix the medicinal tea.
"Please," Ezra said, but he wasn't heard by the men whose voices were raised in argument.
"Yeah, Nathan, I'm sure he was just there so I could kick him in the arm and break it. It's not like he ain't had enough hurt and sick this year already," J.D. said, his tone equally challenging to that of the healer.
"Whoo-ee, boy. You sure got a tongue on you when you want to," Buck commented wryly.
"I'm just sayin' what's true. I don't know what Nathan's tryin' to say. Maybe he should make himself more clear," the young easterner said as he stared at the former slave, waiting for him to make himself 'more clear'.
Ezra moaned behind them, louder, saying, "Stop." Nobody seemed to think twice on his words, sure that he was asking for the pain to stop and completely missing that what he wanted was for the argument to cease. Chris had apparently had enough of the argument independently of the gambler's thinking.
"All right, that's enough," the leader of the lawmen said.
"Don't even seem like ya like him sometimes," J.D. said as he looked sadly to Ezra. Ezra closed his eyes, not wanting to participate in these discussions, in any way.
"I said that's enough, J.D.," Chris warned.
"But … " J.D. started, but this time Vin cut him off.
"You made your point, J.D." Vin nodded. He clearly agreed with his young friend's point. Buck smiled, a proud older brother watching and waiting to see if his little brother needed help. He didn't, but he could tell by the look on the healer's face that the last comment stung. Badly.
"But … " J.D. tried again. Ezra moaned.
"Nathan, can we get that damned tea in him?" Chris demanded, growing more irritable with every moan from the injured lawman. "You fellas head on out. Ezra's gonna sleep for a while. He don't need an audience for that."
The healer took the chair beside the bed, mug in hand. "Can one of you … "
Chris started for the other side of the bed, but Vin stepped in front of him. "I got it," he said, though they all seemed to move as one behind Chris and Vin. Everyone stopped in their tracks once the tracker made his intentions known.
"You boys head on out," Chris said to Buck and J.D. They both looked sadly to their friend in the bed and left the clinic.
"Ezra." No response to his name was given by the poker player. He moaned as he mistakenly started to lean on his broken arm, away from the healer. Vin grasped the arm gently and insinuated his body behind his hurt friend. "Come on, Ezra. Wake up," Nathan cajoled.
"Not sleeping. Just … " Ezra decided not to explain himself. He wanted everyone gone. He wanted to be in his own room. He would like his arm to stop hurting and his head to stop spinning. He wished he didn't feel like he could throw up any second.
"We're gonna sit ya up fer a minute so we can get some of Nate's tea in ya. It'll make ya feel better," the Texan added.
"Ah … don't … " the Southerner said as Vin lifted him up just a little higher to make drinking the tea easier.
"You're takin' it," Nathan insisted.
"Nathan!" Vin warned.
"But," Ezra tried, but the healer put the mug to the card sharp's mouth.
"It will help, you know it, now drink it."
"Nathan," Chris warned.
"Hold it," Vin said, anger in his voice, blue eyes glaring with it.
"No, Vin. This will help with the pain and help him sleep."
"Nate," Chris said. The two men, the former gunslinger and the former bounty hunter, who had become instant friends upon their first meeting, noticed a distinct change in the shade of Ezra's already pale face.
"Nathan, I think he's … " Chris and Vin were too late as Ezra threw up on Nathan's hand, his chest and into the medicinal tea. Chris reached a bowl in near the healer's unoccupied hand. Nathan switched the bowl for the mug as Ezra heaved some more.
"Leave it to Ezra to have a big breakfast today," Chris said. He wouldn't say what he was thinking out loud, that Nathan, even if only a little, deserved what just happened. Dry heaves harkened the end of the sickness, for now.
"Nate, step away, clean up, while Chris and me get Ezra taken care of," Vin said. It wasn't a request. Vin immediately started cleaning up the former con man as he took his own kerchief and removed the spittle from the listless man's mouth and chin. Chris handed the tracker a wet cloth. "Thanks."
"No problem." Chris walked over to Nathan's table, picked up a clean mug and put some of the base mixture in it and poured water from the kettle on the small stove over it. "Nate, I got this started. How much of that other stuff do you need in it?" The healer stood, shirtless, as he cleaned his chest of the wetness caused by Ezra's digested breakfast.
"About a third of what's there." Chris moved over to the pile of herbs. "Hey," the former slave said, "Thank you. And I want to apologize. I do care about Ezra. I don't know why … I wasn't behaving well."
"I'm not the one you need to tell that. You'll have a time convincing J.D. of it. And I'm not the one you need to apologize to." They looked over to Ezra, who was nearly asleep. Now was no time to admit any guilt, not when the man who deserved the apology could hardly be expected to remember it.
"I know." The two men separated, Chris to the tea, Nathan to the dresser at the back of the room. He opened a drawer, pulled out a shirt, and dressed.
Once Chris had the other herbs in the mug and steeping, he walked over to the healer and asked softly, "Is something wrong? Did Ezra do something to anger you?"
As quietly as he could, Nathan answered, "Can we talk about it later?"
"So he did do something," Chris surmised as he turned to look at the recumbent gambler, and saw Vin still holding his friend, now donning a clean night shirt, but the man in buckskins held his eyes away from his injured friend; the vivid blue was wholly-focused on the conversation Chris was having with the former slave.
"We'll talk later," Nathan said as he stepped over to check on the tea.
In the Saloon
"So, what's goin' on?" Chris asked. Nathan was waiting for him. He had a mug of beer, mostly empty, his hand fondling the handle nervously.
"Remember, a while back, we talked about me getting in touch with that doctor from Chama? Thought maybe he could find out if there was a seminar or something that I could attend."
"This is the doc who helped with Ezra, the one who lives in Durango?"
"Dr. Wharton."
Chris thanked the barkeep for bringing him his preferred drink, a bottle of whiskey and a glass to go with it. He poured himself a healthy shot then asked, "You heard from him?"
"Got a telegram the day of the Games." Nathan took a long pull on his beer, draining the glass. "He said there's a three-day conference in Denver, in August."
"You don't have to ask for time off, Nathan. You should go, and the town will fund it, I'm sure." Chris tossed back his shot of whiskey and added, "I'm not real sure what this has to do with Ezra."
Nathan looked at his empty glass, suddenly not interested in looking Chris in the eye. He took his glass and started to lift it to his mouth, but put it down when he remembered he'd already finished its contents. He still watched the glass, careful not to glance at the man with whom he sat. He reached anxiously for the pitcher of beer, filled his mug, took another large swallow, and finally responded to what Chris said.
"I want Ezra to come with me to Denver."
Chris quizzically eyed his companion. "You want Ezra to go with you? To Denver? For three days plus travel?"
"Yeah." Nathan finally raised his head to look at Chris.
"Alone? Just the two of you?"
"No. I thought Vin could come along."
Chris Larabee would never have a problem with this request. The rest of them, along with Robert, Marty and Dave, would all be sure to remain in town while Nathan, Ezra and Vin were away. The town would be safe, but that wasn't what worried the leader of The Magnificent Seven. There was more to this sudden interest in the healer wanting Ezra to accompany him. Chris understood having Vin along; he doubted he was the only person who didn't think Nathan and Ezra, alone, would both make it back from Denver alive.
"Why?" Chris asked.
"First, to have Doc Wharton, and maybe some others, do an examination on Ezra, see if I should be doing anything more for his sick headaches and the nosebleeds. He had a nosebleed not long before I left him to come over here."
"He won't like being looked at by a bunch of doctors," Chris said.
Nathan shook his head and looked with fascination once more at his beer. "I know. Might need to figure that one out." He took a lesser swig of his drink, placed the glass down and said, "I can feel … it ain't Ezra's fault. Just want you to know, it's nothin' he did." Nathan looked up and saw Chris waiting patiently to understand whatever this was. "I'm feelin' … resentment towards him."
Chris furrowed his brow. "Resentment? Why?"
"I don't know!" the kind healer shouted. Most of the crowd in the saloon looked their way, but the patented Larabee glare had them back to at least pretending to mind their own business.
"This the same old thing?" Chris asked. Ezra's initial reaction to the black man when they sought out the at-the-time still-active con man to add to their number to help the Seminole village periodically seemed something that Nathan would never forget. The last year, though, had been virtually clear of that resentment.
"I don't know, Chris."
"I don't believe you. You're too smart not to know, and you're too honest not to admit it." Chris' eyes remained fixed on Nathan, though Nathan's remained fixed on his mug. He wasn't ready to face the disappointment that he knew Chris must feel about him.
But Nathan was brave, like all seven of these disparate men brought together in common cause. He looked up and said, "You know he made money on these games?"
Chris let out a snort. "When does Ezra not make money on things that go on around this town?"
"You think it's all right that he made a profit wagering on how kids perform? I thought these games were supposed to be more about keeping fit and active and sharp."
"That is what they were about, and I'm sure you've heard from more than one parent that they achieved, even exceeded that goal."
"That don't mean he should be taking advantage … "
"Nathan, how exactly did he take advantage of the kids? They just did their thing, had fun …"
"But the people who lost their money to him, they can't really afford to lose what little they got."
Chris sat back in his chair and shook his head. "Did you hear how much he won?"
"No, but everyone I talked to said they made a wager and they lost." Nathan became indignant. "You can't think this is all right."
Chris shook his head. How could these two make such good progress but still have so little trust between them? To be fair to the gambler, it always seemed to be Nathan who fell off this wagon with the periodic lack of trust in his fellow native of the South. Ezra stopped stacking the deck when playing poker with citizens of Four Corners long ago, though Chris was fairly certain he still did it with his friends on occasion, to 'stay sharp' as Maude Standish would say. These other wagers? They still happened, and Ezra won far more than he lost, but that was due more to his familiarity with the townsfolk and his ability to read people, expertise that would forever give him a leg up on the other bettors, talent well-instilled in him as a young man, proficiency that had helped them all to stay alive more than once. He certainly remained shameless in taking money from men who could afford to lose it, and still took all visiting gamblers for everything they had.
"He capped the betting at a nickel. After he paid out to the winners – and there were nineteen of them, including me – he had J.D. run over with Gloria and open her store, then Ezra led the kids over and let them pick out anything they wanted."
"What? When did that … and why didn't he … ?"
"Why didn't he tell you? If you were him, dealing with your attitude, would you bother? You and Ezra have been down that road before. I know he has fault in this, too, but certain things about him won't ever change. If you don't try with him, he will shut down, shut down that path. That's all about Maude, but he is his mother's son."
Nathan looked out the window. Forlorn was the best description of the look on his face. "Everyone was telling me about the bets because … ." The black man paused as he realized what it meant.
"They figured you were in on it, the seven of us. It was their way of thanking you, or him," Chris added, nodding his head in the direction of the clinic.
"Yeah, I can see that now."
"You should know he paid a lot more for that stuff at Gloria's than he earned from the betting." Nathan sighed, and Chris continued, "It wasn't just Ezra who funded that. Gloria gave him a discount, and a few of the more well off citizens helped, too."
"I … I jumped to conclusions, and I treated him badly … awful. I'm a healer, Chris," he said as he looked the tall blond in the eyes. Tears shown in Nathan's. He knew he had acted in a way that he should never have. He really did treat Ezra like he didn't care about him. It was as far from the truth as it could possibly be. Of all of the men he worked with, and the citizens of Four Corners that he treated over the years, Nathan had come to know Ezra best. They weren't best friends by any means. But as the former slave's number one patient, they spent long hours during various periods of convalescence for the gambler talking about so many things, some important, their pasts, their regrets, and some more mundane, like how quickly Buck would excuse himself from their presence once they returned from time on the trail.
"You're a healer, and you're a good one."
"I need to … I don't know how I get to the point where this doesn't happen. I want to try, but I think it has to be away from here."
"You've got to make it happen. Maybe now's the time, once Ezra's better."
"All right. I'll contact Dr. Wharton."
The Next Day, At the Clinic
"Why on earth would Ah wish to do that?" Ezra asked as he reluctantly ate his breakfast. He felt better, but forcing a man to eat at the ungodly hour of eight in the morning when his arm still ached and his head was only nominally better seemed most unkind.
"It's Denver, Ezra."
"Yes, Mistah Tanner, Ah had gathered that when Mistah Jackson said that he wished for we two to accompany him to … Denver," the former con man said dryly.
Chris looked on as the conversation took place. Ezra was unhappy. Not just unwell and miffed at being awake so early and being forced to eat so early, but really angry. The biting retorts, back to using the more formal form of address with his friends, a conscious decision to try to keep them all from getting too close, despite the fact that all these years together had already placed them precisely so. The leader of The Seven looked at Nathan, who shrugged as Vin tried to convince Ezra that a trip to Denver would be a good idea. Chris knew that the tracker was less than enthusiastic about going to the big city, but to assure the safety of his friends, he agreed to do it without complaint.
"Nate, can I talk to you outside for a minute?" Chris asked as he headed for the door. Nathan followed. Ezra and Vin each sent a quick look to the backs of the men leaving the room. Ezra put his fork down and leaned back into his pillow.
"He feels bad for what he did, Ezra."
"Mistah … Vin. Ah apologize. Ah should not take mah dissatisfaction with how things have inevitably turned out with Nath … Mistah Jackson, out on you."
"There ain't nothin' inevitable about it. It was a mistake. He made a mistake."
"Vin, how Mistah Jackson feels towards me is understandable. If there is one thing that is fair upon which to continue to hold a grudge it is that his people were oppressed for hundreds of years by mah … kind. For him to see in me the type of person who would take advantage of a former slave or little children, or families with barely a quarter … " Ezra stifled what Vin was sure was a sob before he finished, "to rub between their fingers is, indeed, inevitable."
Vin felt great anger at this entire situation. Ezra was reading this all wrong. He had reason as he concentrated on bearing the pain in his arm and his generally unwell state. But more than anger, he felt terrible regret that the man before him was willing to accept all of the ills of the people of the South who truly were at fault when he had never himself owned slaves, his family never did, and as only Vin knew among their friends, had, in the end, deserted the Confederate Army and helped to move runaway slaves out through the Underground Railroad. It was hard work with limited success as Ezra noted when he opened up to Vin and imparted that part of his life's story many months ago as they shared a half bottle of good Kentucky bourbon, only a half of a bottle because that was all that remained of the Southerner's stash.
"Ezra … "
"Vin, Ah am tired. Would you please remove this tray? It is makin' me ill just lookin' at it." The card sharp closed his eyes.
The tracker moved the tray to Nathan's work table. "Ezra," he tried again, but once more, Ezra cut him off.
"Ah will go to Denver," the reluctant lawman said, though the sentence ended in a choked sound as Ezra covered his eyes with his good hand. Vin saw him wiping tears away. "Ah must be very tired. There is nothing in this situation that demands tears. Ah shall blame it on all of you for forcing me awake when Ah clearly require more rest." And that was the last Vin or anyone else would hear from Ezra Standish until well later in the day.
The Next Morning
"He's been sleeping since yesterday?" asked Josiah worriedly.
"Can I say something?" J.D. asked, his voice carrying both worry and frustration.
"It's a free country, kid," Buck noted. "Just try not to make things worse."
"Nathan," the young man started harshly.
"How about we let Nathan tell us how Ezra is this morning," Chris said. He noticed before J.D. even started that the conversation might grow heated.
"Fine," J.D. said. "I can wait my turn." He sat back in his chair. He finished his breakfast earlier and took a walk around town. He'd had plenty of time to stew about how Nathan had treated Ezra.
"It's best you cool down, son," Josiah said. He took a swig of his coffee as J.D. offered a quick reply.
"What I got to say won't change because I had to wait five minutes."
"You'll get your say, J.D.," Chris assured the angry young man. The handsome blond looked around. "Where's Vin?"
"He's with Ezra," Nathan answered. "I told Ez if he finished his breakfast and kept it down, he could go back to his room. Vin offered to stay with him and make sure he does."
"You left Vin to do that?" Josiah asked.
"Yes I left Vin to do that," Nathan retorted, both angry and defensive in his reply.
Josiah sat back and said, "Not sure I would have … "
"You know what," Nathan interrupted, "if you all think that Vin ain't mature enough, ain't adult enough to do what's right, I would suggest all of you look in the mirror, 'cause every one of you has been unreliable that way. If you're saying that I have to stay in that clinic room the entire time any one of you is healing, I can do that. I got some experience being under the thumb of … "
"Nathan," Chris said quietly but firmly into the din of Nathan's tirade.
"What?"
"You have legitimate complaints about how hard it is to doctor all of us."
"You know I do," the healer interjected, not quite ready to let go of his anger as he normally was.
"We, and I am speaking for all of us when I say this," Chris said as he looked from Nathan and then to each of the men at the table, "will be better about listening to you. I'll have a talk with those two over there."
"Who's gonna have that talk with you, old pard?" Buck asked, unable to hide his grin.
Chris wasn't ready to be amused and with more heat than planned, replied, "I'm saying it applies to all of us, Buck." The leader of the lawmen turned to the youngest of their group. "J.D.?"
The sheriff seemed less anxious to speak. The anger that he heard from the former slave hung in the room, making criticism of a man who had suffered so much and turned any hate he might have felt for his plight into a life of good: decent beyond measure. J.D. wondered what it was that had him act with Ezra the way he did, but he decided that today was not the day to bring it up. Before he could say so, Chris, his attention still on the man who earlier had so much he wanted to say, spoke once more.
"J.D.?"
His eyes wide, J.D. said, "I, um, I, uh." He put his head down, watching his boot move dirt around on the floor, then looked up at Nathan. "I'm sorry, Nate. I know how much you do for us, but I just don't understand why you get so mad … so mean with Ezra. Just when I think you and him have it all worked out, ya blame him for somethin' that ain't his fault. Ya blamed him for me doin' somethin' stupid. It's not right," J.D. ended.
It wasn't a pistol whipping, but it was criticism of his friend that Josiah felt the need to set right.
"J.D., Nathan only says what he does to try to get Ezra to understand better any ramifications of his actions," the preacher said in his soft but commanding voice.
"No."
"No?" Josiah asked, his tone projecting to J.D. that he'd best watch what he said next.
"No, 'siah. Ezra didn't do anything that had 'ramifications'," J.D. returned, emphasizing the word to which he felt the most offense on behalf of the man whose arm he broke. "Ezra did everything right." J.D. looked around the room at his friends. "If what Ezra did was so bad, maybe one of you should have said no when you saw his plan. You didn't, Nathan."
"He changed … "
"Not enough," J.D. cut him off. "It was basically the same, just a little longer. If it was that bad, I think Mrs. Travis would have demanded it go away, or Mrs. Potter, Mrs. Merton or so many others. And the reason nobody did is because he checked with so many people to see if they would object. He got input from a lot of people."
"Just putting it up, it was bound to encourage people … "
"The only one who tried was J.D.," Buck said, interrupting the healer.
"You don't know that," Nathan challenged.
"I think we do know that because no one else has come to you with an injury they can't explain," Chris suggested. "And it was only up for twenty-four hours, and a lot of those hours, the kids were still sleeping off all that activity."
"Vin, it appears that we missed an important discussion," Ezra said as he walked slowly to their table, the tracker obviously shadowing his friend. Ezra remained headachy with occasional brief moments of dizziness. Walking around with his arm bound and dizzy spells meant the Southerner would need to get used to the Texan hanging around for a while.
"Reckon," Vin replied.
"As Chris just said, the watering trough is back to being only that."
"You put ideas into peoples' heads, Erza," Nathan said accusingly.
"Ah take umbrage in your characterization, Mistah Jackson." Chris shook his head; it was never a good thing, and often meant weeks of renewed animosity between Ezra and Nathan when the former con man reverted to addressing the healer in the more formal manner. There had been so little of these feelings making themselves known this last year, they were all certain that the men were beyond acting this way with one another forever. It wasn't to be so.
"Ezra," Buck started, but Ezra was by no means finished with what he had to say.
"As you, indeed, as all of our brethren know, as every child and parent will tell you, Ah provided an explanation of the trick and a firm warning that no one should try to mimic mah feat, children and adults included," the gambler added, giving a side eye to J.D. Ezra teetered left but was caught by the long-haired man who was right there, ready to do just that. Ezra felt the touch and tried to right himself, over-estimating the need and bumping into Vin's shoulder. He closed his eyes, an obvious attempt to settle his equilibrium.
"You plannin' to sit, or entertain us with a 'pratfall'?" Buck asked, emphasizing the word with quotes that he wrote in the air. "'Cause I'm thinkin' it's the second one."
"I'm takin' 'im ta bed."
Buck gave up a huge smile. "Well, that's different."
Ezra opened his eyes, looked to Vin with disdain and followed immediately with, "Good lord. Vin, you must think before you speak."
"Maybe he did," Buck kidded their resident professional poker player. "Reckon you'd be Vin's type if you swung … "
"Ah don't," Ezra quickly replied before the man could continue, the man with the moustache and the wicked thoughts sparking in his eyes.
"Me, neither," Vin offered. "Ya know what I meant." He grasped Ezra's good arm and said, "Let's go."
"Sleep tight," Chris said with an evil grin.
"Don't let the bed bugs bite," Buck added.
"Insufferable oafs," Ezra grumbled loud enough for all of his friends to hear as he headed with Vin for the stairs. "Mistah Jackson … "
"Worry on it later, Ez," Vin said as he forced Ezra to move away from any further confrontation with Nathan.
As the two men reached the room Ezra kept above the saloon, Vin said, "And yes, I'm stayin' with ya while ya get some rest. Know ya didn't sleep good last night."
Ezra turned to his friend, his key held in his good hand and said, "That is not necessary."
"Well, I disagree, Ezra. You think I don't know yer still seein' double? And you'd o' slammed into a wall more 'n once if you tried to get up here all on yer own."
"Ah am fine. Please do not … "
"Go ahead. Unlock yer door. If you can do it without droppin' yer key, I'll leave."
Ezra stared his friend down, then turned and determinedly tried to unlock the door he had unlocked hundreds of times over the last few years. His equilibrium way off, seeing double, 'that damned tracker', and one arm pained and sensitive to any activity, his first, and as it turned out his last attempt was an abject failure as the key missed its mark and fell from unsteady, less-than-usually tactically sensitive fingers. Ezra pressed his aching head against the door as Vin picked up the key.
"Yer a stubborn cuss, Ezra," Vin said as he unlocked the door to the gambler's room. "Come on, let's get ya settled."
"You are a good … ." Ezra hesitated, then said, "Thank you, Vin."
Vin watched as Ezra slowly made his way to the bed, a nearly uncontrolled drop to the feather bed jarring his arm. The card sharp sat where he landed; the tracker was certain his friend could fall asleep in his current position. Vin leaned down as he began to remove the layers of clothes from his exhausted, hurting friend.
"Ezra, I am a good friend. You and me, we're friends. Ain't no reason not ta say it."
"Ah know," the Southerner said as he raised the hand on his good arm to help undo some of the many fasteners that kept all of his haberdashery just so. Vin gently swatted the hand away, it would only slow him down.
"Hard ta tell," Vin countered.
"Ah know." Ezra yawned and continued to sit, listless.
"We'll talk 'bout it later," Vin said, forcing his fellow lawman to look him in the eyes. "I mean it, Ez."
"Yes."
"Aint gonna let ya renege on it."
"Ah do not wish to, Vin." Another yawn hit just as Vin had Ezra's third layer, up top, removed.
The man in the buckskins stood, retrieved a nightshirt from the second drawer of the dresser, shaking his head in wonder that he knew where to look, and returned to the frustrating man on the bed. They needed to talk about other things, too, about this thing with Nathan, but one step at a time. Vin removed Ezra's fancy boots, then said, "Let's get them drawers off o' ya and this gown on."
"It is a nightshirt, suh."
"Whatever ya say Ez." A slight snore was the comeback from the town's resident poker player. Vin snorted a laugh and carefully manipulated the man into his 'nightshirt'. He eased his friend into position on the bed, careful of the splinted arm. Nathan would be putting some plaster on it in the morning. He undid the buttons on Ezra's pants, removed them and tossed them over a nearby chair. He covered the man up, placed a couple of folded towels under the injured arm, making sure it nested comfortably, and lowered the wick on both oil lamps. He took a seat in the rocking chair, a comfortable spot to watch over his friend, the word coming easily to the former bounty hunter. It was something he had none of during that time in his life when he hunted men, and the easy feeling of friendship with these six men, his fellow lawmen in Four Corners, meant the world to him. He wondered when the word might ever come as effortlessly to Ezra. Maybe they could work on that on their trip to Denver. Heaven knew Ezra and Nathan needed more work on their friendship.
About a half an hour later, the door opened. Vin lowered his gun, having heard the familiar jangle of spurs but needing to be ready for anything.
"He all right?" Chris asked.
"Yeah. Worn out," Vin replied.
"The ladies all came by. They wanted to make sure he was going to be all right. Nate told 'em he would. Then they said that there should be no 'recriminations' against him because of what happened. They said Ezra did everything right and that the proof of that was that none of the kids tried his stunt. They think Ezra taught another good lesson to 'the town's children'."
"Them Mary's words?"
"Yeah."
"She's right. He did. He's earned their trust and respect. Says a lot about a man when kids feel that way."
"They'd do anything he asked," Chris noted. "I'm not so sure that's a good thing."
"With the Ezra we first met? I would agree with ya. He ain't that feller anymore," Vin explained. "Can't figure why Nate can't get that."
"Yeah." Chris shook his head as he watched Ezra sleep. "Nathan needs to get his issues resolved." He smiled and said, "There won't be any 'recriminations'."
"Good."
"Why do you suppose he does it?"
Vin shook his head slightly. "Maybe 'cause he's bored? Or maybe, knowin' how busy their mas and pas are, and knowin' how hard it can be to unlearn the wrong way o' doin' things, he figgers he's the right one to instill those kind o' lessons. Maude taught 'im a lot, not all of it good."
Chris looked at his friend in the dim light. Ezra Standish wasn't the only one who had changed over the course of these last years.
"You've turned into quite the philosopher." Vin shrugged his shoulder as he slowly rocked in Ezra's nice rocking chair. "You sound more like him every day."
Vin cocked his head, smiled, then said, "Been told worse."
The End.