This is a follow-on to my story "Merely Players".
Chris Larabee let out a low-grade growl as he looked once more over to the prone man. He was bewildered at how one minute he could be worried sick about the irritating southerner and the next minute want to place a bullet between his eyes … even as he slept. He watched as Ezra Standish continued to his long siesta, robbing Chris of his opportunity to talk with the man. It was almost as though the gambler was purposefully avoiding the leader of the lawmen of Four Corners with this seemingly never-ending rest. Nathan Jackson had stopped back in nearly two hours earlier, just after Chris had taken Josiah's place in watching their sick friend, the healer gently reminding him that the card sharp had been desperately ill and needed the healing sleep. The former gunslinger had stepped out shortly after that conversation to spend some time at the jail and then to have a meal with Mary Travis. The publisher of the town's newspaper had been preoccupied the previous week with a visit from the Judge and Evie for some rare family time with Billy and his grandparents and had missed what was going on amongst the six protectors of their town. She had forced the meeting with Chris to better understand why things had devolved as they had, and to hear some assurances from him that something like this would not happen again. Ezra had come to mean a great deal to the pretty blonde, the bond they shared after he'd saved her life something she cherished, his life now more meaningful to her and something she expected his friends to protect in her stead. By the end of their meal, Chris was more than ready to leave – the look in Mary's eyes cutting more deeply than the newswoman's words – but even more anxious to get his talk with his recuperating friend started … and finished.
Once he'd checked in with his other men, Chris returned to Ezra's room above the saloon. Nathan had mentioned that once he finally woke this time Ezra would be allowed up from his sickbed and given a chance to spend short periods down in the saloon or resting in a chair out on the boardwalk in front of the drinking establishment. Neither place was particularly conducive to the healing of his lungs but, as the healer had learned from painful experience, a great deal of Ezra Standish's ability to recover from injury or illness was predicated on his mood, and keeping the card sharp cloistered away for too long didn't do the gambler or anyone else around him any favors.
Chris pondered what had transpired these last two weeks. He shook his head as he looked out the window, the bright sunshine a welcome contrast to the cold, dreary days of late. It seemed as though Mother Nature had been as mad at Ezra's compatriots as all the women of the town had been. Inez and Mary had been particularly vocal. Gloria Potter took a decidedly different approach, having presented each man – save for Nathan – with a wicked glare and a cold shoulder when they had stopped by her store for provisions. Vin had gotten an earful from Nettie Wells and J.D. had suffered a loud and embarrassing dressing down from Casey out in front of the jail. Even Buck's current romantic interest had been disinclined to accommodate him once she'd heard what had happened to the charming, handsome gambler, at least for a long three days. And Evie Travis, before she and the judge took to the stage to head home, had made it clear that she and her husband expected the men to take better care of each other, and that the women of the town would be keeping a keener eye on them as it was obvious that they needed looking after. It had been a long time since Chris had been chastised like that by a woman, the bittersweet memory of Sarah making he and Adam, both caked with thick, sloppy mud from head to toe, remain outside in the evening chill while she prepared hot water to use on her 'two pigs playing in their sty'. He managed a crooked grin at the recollection.
"Deep thoughts?" he heard from the bed. Chris looked up to find Ezra struggling to a more upright position. He jumped from the rocking chair to assist.
"Here," he said, offering his arm. Ezra grasped it and Chris embraced him from behind his back and between the two of them the gambler now sat up more comfortably.
"Thank you," Ezra said panting, followed by a slight cough.
"Can't seem to shake it?" Chris asked.
"Ah assure you, Chris, ah prefer this to what was occurrin' earlier." The blond heard 'or what happened last year', even though it was not spoken. Chris nodded but did not offer a response. Ezra continued, "How long have Ah slept?" He looked out the window. "Ah take it the morning hours are well behind us?"
"Yeah. You've been out a long time today. Nathan says you needed the sleep." Chris rushed to add, "You look and sound better. Seems he was right," he added as he handed Ezra a cup of water.
Following a long, thirst-quenching drink, Ezra replied, "Ah don't know how much better Ah could possibly look, but Ah do feel much improved. Ah sense," he said as he looked about his person and took a good whiff, scrunching up his face as he did so, "a visit to the bathhouse is in order." He handed the cup to Chris, who set it back on the bedside table and re-took his seat in Ezra's rocking chair.
"How about I have a bath brought up for you?" he asked as he leaned back and started the chair into an easy rocking motion, his booted foot propped up on the frame of the bed.
Ezra eyed Chris quizzically. "Ah feel well enough to manage mah ablutions in the regular manner." Chris eyed the southerner from head to toe, which made Ezra look upon himself once more. He could see that he was wearing a nightshirt, which felt a little damp from his long rest in the warmth of the day. It was nearing winter, but the cold chill of the last two weeks had made way for a warm, sunny day. But from Chris' expression, Ezra could read what the reticent man before him refused to verbalize. "So, when you said Ah look better, your meanin' was relative?"
"Kind of. I don't think you'd want to go out lookin' like you do."
"Ah trust your judgment and accept your recommendation, gratefully, of a bath sent up here." Chris stood again to head to the door, but Ezra stopped him. "Chris, did you have something else you wished to discuss?"
'Damn', the leader of 'The Magnificent Seven' thought. The card sharp was damned observant. Heading to arrange for the bath was only going to postpone the inevitable. He turned back to his resting cohort.
"Yeah, I do. Do you want your bath first?"
"Not necessarily."
"How 'bout somethin' to eat. You slept through when Nathan brought you something earlier.
"Ah can wait for supper." Ezra watched Chris, whose body language was the very definition of the word uncomfortable. "Ah see little point in delayin' this conversation. There seems to be somethin' upsettin' you. The sooner we start, the sooner it will all be over," he noted with a knowing smile.
Chris grabbed the chair and placed it closer to Ezra's bed and sat down. "I doubt that whatever we …." Chris stopped and looked away from the gambler. He took a deep breath, looked back to the recovering man and said, "I don't know what it is about you that makes me …." He stopped once more, unsure exactly how he should proceed. Ezra helpfully filled in the blank.
"Crazy?"
Chris chuckled. "Yeah, that, too. But what I meant was I don't know why I treat you differently from the rest."
"Ah often wonder that mahself." Their eyes remained locked on each other's for a long moment. Then Ezra blinked, looked away, but came back to Chris, anxious to hear how the former gunslinger would reply.
"It's not like they don't all drive me crazy. Josiah and the drink," he started, though he grimaced when Ezra raised his eyebrow. "Go ahead, say it."
"As The Bard of Stratford-Upon-Avon said, 'The raven chides blackness'." Chris frowned. "To we plain folk, the pot callin' the kettle black."
"Ain't nothin' plain about you, Ezra."
"Ah will take that as a compliment. And you should know that you have been farin' far better of late than Mistah Sanchez in toleratin' your liquor."
"I guess," the gunslinger said, hesitant to add that Ezra and the others in their group provided the friendship whereby he no longer felt the need to seek solace in a bottle.
"And the others?" Ezra asked, now curious to hear more now that Chris had raised the subject.
"J.D. is just, even after a couple of years out here, reckless. Could get his head blown off - or one of ours some day."
"He is still … young," the con man interjected through a cough.
"He ain't that much younger than Vin, or you for that matter."
"Mistah Tanner and Ah both were forced to maturity by circumstance. J.D. has had all of us to ease his way."
Chris shook his head irritably. "A blessing and a curse," he said. It was one thing for J.D. and Buck to fool around like the lost brothers they seemed to be, but when the young man from the east didn't heed his or others' warnings, it just about made Chris want to relegate him to the jail. Behind the bars.
"What of Vin?" Chris heard Ezra ask. "What about him makes you head to the saloon?" They both smiled, knowing that even though Chris didn't generally get stinking drunk anymore, he could still imbibe enough to qualify as a mean drunk, with Ezra often on the receiving end of the tall blond's anger when Chris was in his cups.
"Vin's tough. As you said, he grew up sooner than he should have had to. He's used to taking care of himself." Chris looked out the window toward Vin's wagon and then returned his gaze to Ezra. "He's stubborn."
"He is," Ezra agreed.
"A lot like you."
The gambler placed his hand to his chest and offered a mock horrified expression at the claim. "Moi?" Ezra challenged agreeably.
"Oui," Chris countered, familiar with a few French words from a whore he'd become particularly fond of once down on an extended visit to New Orleans. "And because he's stubborn," Chris went on, "he thinks he knows best, and he does on a lot of things. I trust his judgment and his instincts, but he's got to listen to Nathan and me about his back."
The gambler nodded. "You are not the only ones among us who have been rebuffed by our fine tracker." Chris knew that this was true. Ezra had tried more than once to get Vin to change his ways. And he did more than his part by insisting that Vin use his vacant room and fine feather bed when the gambler was forced to spend time in the clinic or was out of town. They were all worried that the man from Texas would one day be crippled by the back problems that he steadfastly refused to acknowledge. It was getting bad enough watching him suffer, in fact, that Chris and Nathan had already discussed playing their own guilt card, telling their friend that he was risking other lives than just his own that day in the future when his back finally went out.
"And what of Nathan?" the southerner asked. Ezra had his own fractious relationship with the Negro healer, though time had resolved much of that animosity, as had trust and, ultimately, friendship.
"Hell, Ez, you know Nate can be more 'holier than thou' than Josiah."
"To a certain degree, do you not feel that he has earned the right?"
"No, I don't," Chris answered firmly.
"But his sacrifices for this town … "
"No. Nathan hasn't sacrificed for this town any more than the rest of us."
"You don't believe that working as a healer, for practically no compensation, in a bleak, cold room above a livery is not sacrifice?"
Chris kept a steady eye on his healing friend. He knew that of all of them, Ezra appreciated Nathan's skills, despite all of his contrariness when under the healer's care. But when Chris saw Ezra's lips turn up, he knew from the expression on the wily man's face that he was simply offering up a counter-argument. It was, after all, one of Ezra Standish's favorite pastimes: taking the opposite side to any that belonged to Chris Larabee.
"I know none of this is news to you, Ez, but the town lets Nathan have those rooms for free. And the judge agreed to give him a little extra money for patchin' us up."
"As well as any innocents who might be harmed in our skirmishes with the less law-abiding citizenry in and around our dusty village. But don't forget that Nathan puts a sizable percentage of his funds into needed supplies for the clinic, and donates whatever he can to the Indian villages."
"Yeah, and you buy him books and other supplies."
"Ah … "
"Don't deny it."
"Ah won't. Ah insist that the person most responsible for mah well-bein' – outside of mahself – be well-equipped for that role. Ah suspect one would have to say that our healer's compensation is an unusual hodgepodge."
Chris didn't like that Ezra didn't count the rest of them in that list of people responsible for his well-being; it was just one more thing that he needed to work harder at with the southerner. On another day. The topic at hand was Nathan. "And don't forget we all worked on fixin' up the walls earlier this fall … "
"Don't remind me … Ah was pullin' out splinters for days,' Erza groused.
"And you arranged for that new stove. That was nice of ya, Ez."
"As Ah have said before, since Ah seem to spend an inordinate amount of time under Mistah Jackson's care, it seemed a wise expenditure."
"One more thing: Nathan may not always get paid for his services – cash money – but lots of people offer him services or goods in kind. Plus," the blond added as he leaned back in the comfortable rocker, prepared to easily win this debate with his last point, "Nathan is doing work that he loves, helpin' and healin' people. Except for his background, he would be a doctor. Hell, except for slavery and the color of his skin, he would be right now. It's the man's calling, and he's real lucky he's able to do something that brings him so many rewards."
Ezra smiled, pleased to see Chris arguing his point so well, amused that he now seemed to be arguing counter to how he'd started. Chris Larabee was far more intelligent than many gave him credit for being. The con man said, "It seems that his minor failing is easily forgiven by his other qualities."
"Most days, but there are times I still want to punch him in the face, especially when he unloads on you."
"Well, Ah appreciate your concern, but Ah believe Ah can handle Nathan's slights."
"You shouldn't have to."
"Ah accept them from you." Chris nodded, his eyes showing that the comment stung, no matter how true. Ezra hadn't intended to take the conversation into overly serious territory. He redirected the dialogue back to the others of the seven. "And what is it about Mistah Wilmington? You have known him the longest. Surely there is nothing that he could do that you haven't already addressed in your extensive history together."
Chris wanted nothing more than to go back to Ezra's comment about accepting Chris' slights. It was the point of him being here, to apologize for letting things go too far, for not listening when the gambler had asked that Vin leave rather than spread his cold to others. They all knew that Ezra was more susceptible to colds and for his lungs to be affected negatively because of it. He would get back to that, but now, since he'd started them down this path, he would answer the question about Buck.
"That's exactly the problem, he knows me too well. He takes liberties, though he probably doesn't look at it that way."
"Ah have no qualms in stating that Buck only ever does what he thinks is in your best interests."
"That may be so, but the man likes to talk, and sometimes he talks about stuff in my past that is off limits, and he knows it."
Ezra nodded but said, "Still, there is no doubt in mah mind that Buck only wants what is best for you. He has seen you at your best and at your worst; he has been with you for times of great joy and deepest despair."
Chris blinked to stave off tears. When Ezra spoke, his warm, lilting accent, the clear, heart-felt words, it made him see Sarah and Adam before him. He used to think that he was forgetting what they looked like. He also used to hurt down deep to have anyone speak of them. It still hurt, not having them with him any longer, but it didn't hurt as it had long ago. He knew that what Ezra said was all true, grateful to him and his other friends for helping him get so far. He never thought he would be able to live with thinking of his wife and son without that wretched ache in his heart. Yes, he knew that what Ezra said about Buck was true, and he said so.
"You're right, I'll always have him at my back, and I owe him more than I can ever repay. But as you and I both know, Buck's biggest problem isn't his big heart or his big mouth."
"No, it's his formidable libido," Ezra countered.
"And it's gonna get him shot some day."
Ezra tilted his head. "Ah fear there is nothing to be done to help him, but Ah can see how you, as the leader of our merry band, would wish to quash that libido from time to time."
"You have no idea."
Ezra laughed, which was immediately followed by a cough.
"Nathan aware that you still have that cough?"
The con man sighed, coughed again, and said, "Yes, Mother."
"Don't do that. I sure as hell don't want to be mentioned in the same breath, for any reason, as Maude Standish."
"And Ah would not wish it for you," Ezra replied with a melodramatic shudder. He watched the former gunslinger, who still looked troubled. "Ah know that you feel badly about what transpired. Ah do not hold a grudge. Ah am nearly over mah illness, and Ah do trust that lessons were learned from this affair."
Chris stood and walked to the window. He could see Vin at his wagon, and Buck and J.D. running around like children. Josiah, he knew, would be at the jail, preparing to head out on patrol. Things seemed … nearly back to normal, whatever normal was. Out of the window he heard the creak of a door across the main street and then saw Nathan ambling down the stairs of the clinic. He turned back to Ezra.
"I know Vin learned his, and I learned mine. I think we all did; none of us liked the results of our actions. We shoulda listened to you, Ezra."
"You should always listen to me," the gambler wisecracked.
"Don't know about that," Chris responded with an easy smile. Ezra seemed so much better; Chris' relief was palpable, to both men. "Are we good?"
"Ah believe that you seem to grasp the correct definition of the word. And yes, Chris, we are good."
"That's good, then." He turned for the door. "Oh, by the way, Nathan's on his way," he said as he shut the door behind him. He could hear the 'Good Lord!, followed by a hollered plea for the leader to stay, followed directly by a cough. Chris shook his head, laughed lightly and headed down the stairs, passing a determined Nathan Jackson on his way. The look on the healer's face made Chris laugh even more.
Yeah, normal – whatever the definition – felt real good.
The End.