Photograph

by Sevenstars

There's a new trinket on the Sherman mantelpiece, but is it something Jess can live with?

Photograph

by Sevenstars

SUMMARY: Just a little scene between two pards remembering people they loved. Takes place some time after "Duel at Parkison Town."

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Jess shoved the door open with his elbow, crossed quickly to the fireplace and dumped his armload of firewood into the box in the corner alongside. Strange Slim ain't took care of that, he thought as he straightened up and dragged his sleeve across his forehead. It was the big man's turn to cook supper—a prospect not half as repellent to Jess as he sometimes made it sound; like any cowboy, he was himself a cook of sorts, and his years of drifting had almost guaranteed that he'd have gotten to be pretty good at it, if rather elemental in his repertoire, but Slim had learned by watching both his mother and Jonesy, who were better by several orders of magnitude than Jess had any hope of being—and he'd said this morning that he planned to come in early so he could take care of the last stage beforehand. Which meant he'd have noticed the condition of the kitchen woodbox, and being Slim, that would have reminded him to take a look at this one, which Jess had observed last night, in covering the fire, was badly in need of replenishment. Don't tell me my watch ain't keepin' time no more—or the sun's wrong. Jess looked up at the mantel, then fished out his old silver-plated timepiece. Quarter past six. Stage would have been and gone by now, more than an hour. So where was Slim? He ought to be clattering around in the kitchen, putting a meal together. He wasn't; there wasn't a sound from the other room.

Jess frowned uneasily. It hadn't been that long since Slim had been up and about after Old Ben Parkison's bullet laid him low; what was it, now, only five days ago that they'd found Floyd's rifle in the spring? Maybe the old man had thought on it and decided it had been a set-up. Maybe he'd—

No, Jess thought. No, Goliad— naming Slim's secondary horse, a tawny brindle about Alamo's age— was still down in the lower part of the pasture, foragin' in the feed with the last stage team, when I turned Trav out. Horses might come home on their own if they lost a rider, but they didn't take their own gear off, put it away, and let themselves through the gate—well, some could open one, but that wasn't the same thing. He's gotta be around here someplace… wasn't in the barn, he'd heard me come in, and if he'd been in the side yard I'd seen him. That leaves here as th'only place he could be… but if he is, why ain't he fixin' grub?

"Hey, Slim!" he hollered. "Where are you? What's with supper?"

There was a clattering sound from the little back bedroom, a thump, and Slim's blond head appeared around the doorframe. "Jess? Is it that late?"

"Dang well right it's that late," Jess told him. "You got forty-five minutes to get somethin' on the table or you're gonna have a real cranky ranchhand to deal with."

"How is that different from any other time?" Slim demanded, grinning, and then he sobered. "I'm sorry, pard. I was up in the attic looking for something… I was sure I remembered which trunk it was in, but I guess we looked in so many of them, I got confused." He stepped out into the main room, and Jess saw that there was something flattish tucked under his arm. Before the Texan could ask, his friend strode over to the fireplace, stood a moment studying the assortment of small items—Navajo bracelets of beaten brass, geodes Andy had picked up in his explorations, a bust of General Grant, some chunks of silver ore and pieces of petrified wood that Matt Sherman had fetched home from New Mexico twenty-odd years ago—casually arranged on either side of the cast-iron clock, then reached up and began quickly shifting several of them from the left side to the right. Only then did he take his discovery out and set it in the space he'd opened up, angling it so that when he sat in his favorite chair it would be facing toward him.

Jess caught his breath. "Your ma?"

"Yeah. I figured… it was time. After she died… I knew it wasn't fair to Andy, he loved her too, but I—I just couldn't bear to keep looking at her every night."

I know the feelin', Jess thought. And he did know, all too well, even though his own ma had been long since gone before the Bannisters ever showed up. You want to remember, you want to make 'em proud… but it hurts, it hurts to think of how—how empty your life is when they ain't around no more.

Slim looked around suddenly, as if he'd heard the thought. "It's okay with you, isn't it?"

Jess's eyebrows shot up. "What've I got to do with it? Ain't my house. Ain't my ma."

"It is your house, just as much as it's Andy's or mine. I thought we had that settled," Slim retorted. "You live here, you sleep here, you eat at our table and sit in your rocker at night, when we're not out on the porch…"

"Still don't see no connection," said Jess.

Slim stared at him for a moment, then sat down on the hearthshelf. "Put your tail in that rocker," he said. "I can see we've got some things to get straight on."

Not quite sure he liked where this seemed to be going, Jess settled somewhat uneasily on the edge of the rocking chair's seat. "Like what?" he asked guardedly.

"I'm not sure of everything that happened, after Parkison shot me," Slim replied slowly. "Maybe I'm dreaming it, but… it seems as if I woke up once, during the night. You were there, sitting with me. We talked…"

"No, that was real. I ain't brought it up since 'cause I wasn't sure you remembered it."

"I remember two things in particular," said Slim, his expression serious. "I remember I told you you were part of this family now—had been since Christmas, if not before. And I remember I told you that Pa and Ma would have liked you. They would have, Jess. They'd have both made another son of you, just the way Andy and I have made you our brother." He made an upward gesture with his thumb. "There's no reason for you to be shy of her, Jess."

Jess opened his mouth to say he wasn't, then shut it again. He'd tried not to lie to Slim since that tangle with Roney. Was pretty sure he'd made a success of it, except maybe one time, when he'd tried to explain just why young Wilkie had been able to get away with convincing a lot of people that Jess had had reason to kill his old man. Even then, he hadn't exactly spoken any untruths, but still… a lie was a lie even if all you did was think it—wasn't it?

And somebody had taught Slim that almost fanatical regard he had for the sanctity and importance of truth. Maybe his pa, maybe his ma. Maybe both.

Jess couldn't help wondering if they really would have been as welcoming toward him as all that, if they'd had any cause to suspect…

He slanted a sidewise look at the tintype. "She was right pretty," he said before he thought.

"I always thought so," Slim agreed, with a soft smile. "So did Pa. As far back as I can remember, I always saw they were as much in love as a couple of kids."

"When was that made?" Jess asked, with a nod toward the picture.

The rancher thought. "I don't really know. I don't remember it being done… it must have been before she was thirty." The same smile: "She was fifty-two when she died, but she'd hardly changed at all from the way she looks there. No hint of gray in her hair, not a wrinkle except the tiny crow's-feet around her eyes. Sadder, more stressed, because Pa was gone and we were still new at the stage-stop business, but anyone who'd known her when that was taken would have recognized her right off. Andy takes after her," he added.

"Yeah, I know. You said that, when we got back from Baxter Ridge that first day. And you favor your pa."

"How about you?" Slim inquired, almost casually. "Who do you favor?"

"Ma's side. The Coopers. They mostly had dark hair—sometimes black all their lives, sometimes tonin' into dark brown as they got older, like with her and Uncle Cam—and blue eyes, sometimes brighter like mine, sometimes real dark, near onto black. Me and Johnny and Sophie, Ben and Billy, we was all the same way. Jake and Davy, Julie, Francie, they looked more like Pa. Fairer skin, hair shades of brown or red, gray or hazel eyes, sometimes green."

"Five to four," said Slim.

Jess had to stop and do a mental count. "Yeah, that's so." Hesitantly: "Reckon that's another way me and you's opposites."

"Not in any way that counts," Slim replied. "And you haven't said… why don't you approve of my bringing her picture down?"

"Never said I did," Jess retorted, too sharply.

"When you start talking about 'yours and mine' the way you were doing a little while back… I see it differently." Slim's eyes were very serious. "Come on, Jess, talk to me."

Jess lowered his head, trying to bring some order to his whirling thoughts. It helped, not having to face that summer-sky gaze. "She—my ma—she was gone when… when it happened," he said slowly. "I told you that, didn't I?"

"You did."

"I think back to that day… and I—I'm—not glad, exactly, but… I mean, I… it's—it makes it a little easier to bear, that she wasn't there, to maybe get trapped with the littl'uns, to die like them." Jess's voice was soft and deep. "It's bad enough I got them three on my conscience, but Ma…"

"What was she like?" Slim coaxed gently.

Jess took a slow breath. "She liked music. She was the one taught us all to sing. To read and write too, and figure some… Pa could make out words on signs, write his name, tally stock, that was about all. He always hadta ask her to help with things like taxes and grocery bills. She loved critters—kinda like Andy; never said a word about all the pets we kept on fetchin' home, not even me the time it was an orphan bear cub. Taught us to put treats out for the wild things at Christmastime—same's you and Andy do. Was always real proud of the way I got with horses, even though that likely come from the Harpers. Flowers… she was fond of them too. Pa said when they first got married she wasn't much of a cook… they had a black woman for that, her family did. But she learned. Got right good at it, though after we settled in at Wind Vane and I was born, there was always a Mexican girl or two, crew's daughters, to help her out, do the sweepin' and dustin', wash the dishes, peel and chop vegetables, cut up meat, stir batter, things like that. Sew?—you never seen the like; seemed like there wasn't nothin' she couldn't do with a needle. Her folks was… well, I won't say better off exactly, though that was true too—just… plenty better thought of than his."

He didn't see the way Slim's face changed as he slowly worked his way through the litany of his mother's gifts. No wonder he's not—not sure he can live with looking at Ma's face every day, the rancher thought. They were a lot alike, our two mothers. How could that happen, I wonder? Ma's people spread out from Maryland, mostly northwestward… Jess's—now that I think of it, all I know of his folks is that they were Texian, but they had to have come from somewhere else first.

"And your pa?" was what he said.

Jess shrugged. "Just a plain workin' man. Good with a whittlin' knife—that's where I learned. Had a practical way of lookin' at life, and a way of talkin' about what it'd taught him that even a boy could understand. 'A man should be like iron, not steel,' he'd tell us. 'If steel is heated too much it gets brittle and will break. Iron has great strength, but can be shaped and changed by the proper hammerin' and the right amount of heat. A good man is like that.' And, 'Sleep when you can, eat when you can, 'cause there may be times when you can't do either.'" Slim hid a grin at that; obviously Jess had taken at least one of his father's teachings thoroughly to heart! "And, 'Always ride a good horse—and remember that he can hear better, smell better, and see better at night than you can.' And, 'Never panic when you get lost. If you think you're bein' followed, make for high country. If you keep above your enemy, he's got to shoot upwards or climb to get at you.' He had his code, he lived by it as long as I knew him, and he wanted us to do the same. 'Be brave, but not reckless. Tell the truth, as much as you can. Your word is sacred—keep it no matter the cost. Never steal or cheat unless the other man does it first. Fight fair, always. Never wantonly harm any livin' thing. Respect the beliefs of others—they may not make sense to you, but they do to the people who go by them. Stand strong for justice—which means everybody gettin' what he deserves, good or bad. Be courteous to women—and civil to men till they ain't. And never let anyone insult you, or do harm to your family or friends. Remember, if somebody hits you, even the Bible gives you license to hit him back harder: he did unto you first, which says he don't care if you do him the same way.'" It was said the way Slim's mother used to recite Bible verses—clearly something Jess had heard over and over and committed to memory. "And above all, more'n once he said, 'Be true to yourself. Decide what you mean to do, and don't let anythin' stop you. Nothin'! Except your kin, maybe, nobody in this world gives a loud horn toot in a thunderstorm whether you sink or swim, so don't let faint-heartedness betray you when the chips are down. And don't let anyone discount you—even in your own eyes. You're just as good as you make people think you are. The thing to do with your hat ain't to tip it to everybody, but to cock it over your eyes and barge right in.'" That's you, no doubt about it, Slim thought with amusement. "Done his best by us… wanted better, for himself, for us, but—it never happened. That was why Ben and Jake left; they wanted it too."

"Did you?"

"Sure. Didn't I tell you when Stuart was here, about how I was figurin' on goin' up Denver way with Johnny, maybe findin' us some gold, enough that Pa wouldn't have to foreman on shares no more, that we could start a place of our own?" He sighed. "There just wasn't no time, before—" And he shut his mouth.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you think of… of things you'd rather not." We'll both be lucky if he doesn't have one of his nightmares… how long has it been, now, since the last one? Must have been before Jonesy went East to set things up with the school… "I just… I don't mean it as criticism, I know a man's past is his own, but—living and working as closely as we do, I can't help wondering just what made you the man you are. I know what made the—the public Jess Harper, the one with the reputation, but the one Andy loves so dearly, the one I trust with my life…"

Jess looked up. "Same as you, I reckon. Good folks, a good family… a home."

"And you miss it," said Slim. "Miss it so much I can hear your heart breaking from here."

"You do too. Don't you? There was another thing you said, that night when you woke up. About your pa and that time Parkison tried to force him into a fight and he wouldn't be pushed. I got a notion that's why you kept holdin' th'old man off, till he took me. 'Cause you feel like the way your pa would do things is the right way for a man to behave."

Slim considered that for a moment. "I guess I do. It's a funny thing, you know? You grew up with yours around pretty much all the time, and I didn't—most of the warm season, about February on into October or November, he'd be off somewhere, mostly Indian-trading or soldiering or trail-bossing, and I didn't see that much of him when I was a young kid. And yet… somehow, he was always the only picture I ever had in my mind of what I wanted to be when I grew up. Not what he did for a living, exactly, not with all the travelling, the being away from home, but the man he was." He clamped down hard on the memories of the years right after the war, when so many people had thought Matt Sherman a traitor to his country. It was one of the reasons he'd never taxed Jess about keeping his own origins so much to himself till the day Trim Stuart rode up looking for a tracker. He understood how it was to have something in your past that hurt so much it was almost enough to stop your breath when you thought about it.

How is it that each of us sees the other one so clearly? he wondered. It hasn't been that long since he came here. And yet… in a way, it's as if he was always part of the place, part of us.

It made him feel just a little bit ashamed, the way he'd been that first day. Taking Jess on about trespassing, about the poker, judging him by his reputation… Not much of an excuse, but it hadn't been all that long since the Overland just about saved my life, offering me the station franchise… maybe, like he kept telling me, I was too serious for my own good, too focused—needed to learn to relax.

Well, I have, haven't I? He taught me that. And I've gotten so much closer with Andy… that time Ed Caulder put his foot in the cougar trap, and Andy said he bet me a dollar he wouldn't come down the ridge-side again… he'd have never said the like, six months earlier.

Jess did that. Jess showed me how a man should really be with a younger brother… even if he's so much younger—or maybe especially.

So much I—we—owe him… He twisted his neck around and looked up toward the mantel, though all he could see from this angle was the underside of it. "If it's too painful for you… I can put it back. She'd understand. She always did. She had this… feel for people; an instinct, I guess you'd call it. She always seemed to know, somehow, what they were thinking, whether they were lying, what kind of characters they had. Pa depended on that, all their life together, and she never led him wrong once. That's one reason she'd have welcomed you, Jess, because she'd have seen beyond that tough surface."

Jess tipped his head, eyes even brighter than normal. "Well, then," he said, "in that case, I reckon it wouldn't be fair not to… I mean, I—it ain't no place of mine to say, but if you want her picture there, it's okay with me. I reckon, maybe, it's just her havin' that colorin', so much like mine had… it kinda set me back on my heels, just a little. But I don't mind it now, honest." With the faintest hint of a grin: "She's growin' on me already, like Jonesy done, and you." Then: "What about your pa? You showed me a picture of him too…"

Slim smiled. "He won't mind. He's got her for real. He can wait a while till he gets a place on the mantel with her."

Jess sighed. "I hear you. Even makin' the decision for the one of 'em took you a while."

"Do you wish…" Slim ventured— "would it make it easier, if you had likenesses of yours? And the other kids?"

There was a long silence. "I ain't about to forget a one of 'em. I've heard folks say, lots of times, how when you lose somebody you start to forget the look of their face, the sound of their voice… I ain't done that, ever one day. Even now that Bannister's finished and they're paid for. If one of 'em walked in that door this minute—I'd know who it was."

"Too bad you can't draw," said Slim. "You could make a sketch of them, the way you remember them, and we could frame it."

"No need. Like I said, I got 'em tucked away inside. Can't ever lose that, no matter what."

"Which makes me not up to your standard for wanting Ma there?"

"No such of a thing," Jess retorted at once. "With you it ain't about needin'. It's about wantin'. Two different fruits, my ma used to say." And then: "And talkin' of fruits—where's my supper?"

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Note: I was inspired to this piece in watching one of the Laramie videos on YouTube, which included a clip from "Duel" in which Slim and Jess, up in the ranchhouse attic, find a picture of Slim's mother. I'd completely forgotten that bit of business, but after I spent a day or so thinking about it, I realized that it would be unlike Slim to leave her there forever. So I sat down and started to type, and this was what resulted.