Frogs in a kettle… part 2
Josiah stumbled as he reached the church, falling hard onto the steps and half crawling to the landing. Intent on bursting through the front doors, he swayed with confusion at finding them already propped open. He could see and hear his Uncle at the front of the small sanctuary, leading the congregation in prayer, and his anger grew. Growling softly, Josiah swaggered inside, grasping the backbench for balance. The room was crowded, warm and stuffy and the floor seemed uneven beneath his feet.
People were beginning to notice him. Distracted from the prayer, they turned to stare, wrinkling their noses and making faces of disgust as they took in his disheveled appearance and alcohol permeated smell.
Josiah chuckled at their expressions. "He's a fraud you know," he pointed haphazardly at his uncle.
Jacob, his head still bowed, stopped in mid-sentence and looked up, meeting his nephew's accusation with a smug smile.
"You are a fraud." Josiah raised his voice and took another step forward. People scrunched together on the benches, sliding away from him.
Behind Josiah, Ezra squeezed past Chris and Vin. He took a spot inside by the door while the others stood just outside, ready to intervene if necessary.
Jacob shook his head in mock sadness. "I'm the fraud?" he asked. "You're the drunk preacher." His voice hardened. "What sort of shepherd are you? Toting around your weaponry, drinking your whiskey and living your life of sin?"
"I never claimed to be anything I'm not," Josiah defended.
"You're nothing but a jealous pathetic has-been." The townspeople murmured amongst themselves, nodding in agreement with Jacob. "You couldn't drag one parishioner into your measly excuse for a church." The elder Sanchez spread his arms wide. "I've filled the building and then some…"
"Like a hypocrite, standing in the synagogue that he may be seen by men." Josiah struggled to think clearly.
Jacob laughed at him, infuriating Josiah all the more. "You can try and quote the good book at me but it won't change the truth here. We can all see it clearly."
"You come into the house of God so drunk you can barely stand and falsely accuse me of wrongdoing." He looked around the small sanctuary, including his listeners in his lesson. His voice rose with righteous indignation until he was almost shouting.
Josiah winced and Jacob continued, obviously enjoying the effect he was having on his nephew. "Your selfish jealousy has blinded you. Look at yourself, Josiah!"
Josiah shook his head, the words reverberating through him.
"Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts."
Josiah stumbled backwards as if Jacob's words were physical blows. He spun away and saw Ezra standing by the door, pale and stricken. Their eyes locked briefly and Josiah turned away unable to handle the mix of emotions he saw in Ezra. He pushed past the others, fumbling down the steps and moving as quickly away from the church as his uncoordinated body would allow.
"Josiah," Nathan called out as Sanchez clumsily ran down the street, but Josiah showed no sign of hearing.
The congregation sat in stunned silence, not quite understanding the confrontation between the two preachers. Jacob, looking hot and tired, smiled wanly and then went right on with his service as if nothing had happened. He ignored the five peacekeepers in the doorway and gradually they left.
Ezra stayed in the back, ignoring the pain that was gradually numbing his entire side and watched Jacob finish his service. He shook off the mind reeling similarities between Jacob's words to Josiah and Josiah's outburst toward him the week before, instead focusing completely on Jacob. He watched, almost admiringly as Jacob recaptured the crowd's full attention and pulled them into his message. It didn't take long for Ezra to pick up on the Reverend's main theme of the night. He stayed until the closing prayer when he slipped out quietly. By the time he managed to get back to his room and light the lamp, the pain in his side had re-ignited.
Carefully he eased out of his jacket, surprised to find his vest damp and sticky with fresh blood. The damage to his wound was worse than he'd initially thought. Taking deep breaths, he re-bandaged his side with fresh handkerchiefs and bandages that Nathan had given him for daily care of the gash. Pulling the top bandage tight, he grunted and grabbed the bedpost to stay upright through a wave of dizziness and nausea. He put on a fresh shirt and once again donned his jacket, skipping a vest and hoping that the evening's darkness would keep anyone from noticing the sloppiness of his attire.
He knew that he should go find Nathan and seek proper care but a wave of doubt washed over him at the thought. Up until the last week, despite their differences, Ezra had been able to entrust himself to Jackson's care and welcomed a tentative friendship. When Nathan and the others had been so vocal about their lack of faith in him during the governor's visit…Ezra had rebuilt the wall that kept him a safe arm's length from those around him. Letting people get close to you only got you hurt. It was a lesson he seemed to have a difficult time learning. Maybe his problem was that he actually liked to feel close to other people.
With a deep breath and a healthy swig of whiskey from his flask, Ezra left his room. There were pressing matters to attend to and if his side didn't stop bleeding and start to improve once he'd taken care of them, then he'd force himself to seek out Jackson's assistance.
"What should we do now?" JD asked as he paced the jail anxiously. He'd never seen Josiah looking as distraught as he had when he'd run from the church, not even when he'd been accused of murder by that Pinkerton detective.
"Leave him be," Chris' answer sounded like an order.
Buck nodded in agreement, leaning against the jail cell bars. "Ezra already tried to talk to him and that didn't go well."
The impromptu meeting had started when the five men drifted from the church to the jail. Chris sat at the desk, drumming his fingers on the worn wood. Buck and Vin leaned casually against the cell bars while Nathan sat by the door and JD paced.
"Not sure we should let him be," Jackson countered, looking up from twisting his hat in his lean hands. "In his mind set, who knows what he might do." His eyes drifted from man to man before he shrugged. "I just don't know," he admitted to their unasked questions.
"I'll go." Vin pushed away from the bars and headed for the door. "I've talked to him before 'bout stuff. Maybe I can help again."
Chris nodded reluctantly as Tanner left the tiny building.
"Are we gonna chase Sanchez out of town?" Buck asked, referring to Jacob.
"He ain't done anything wrong." Nathan sighed and leaned back heavily. "Don't seem right."
"We'll watch him, but Nathan's right. We can't touch him unless he's done something wrong," Chris answered.
"What about Ezra?" JD posed the new question.
"What about him?" Buck looked at the youngster who finally stood still for a moment.
"Think he's alright? I mean he's been acting strange like lately, kind of distant…and now he ain't here. Where is he?"
"We'll worry about him after we deal with Josiah and his Uncle," Chris answered, amazed at the kid's perception. "I'm sure he's just laying low after the run in he had with Josiah."
It didn't take very long for Vin to find Josiah. Even in the darkness there weren't a whole lot of places a man Josiah's size and in his condition could hide where someone with Vin's tracking ability couldn't find him. In the end, Josiah didn't actually make much of an effort either.
The livery was dark and the horses were restless, stomping and snorting their unhappiness as Vin lit a lamp and hung it high enough that it cast light to see by, but was well out of the way of anyone knocking it over. Shadows now danced on the walls as the flame flickered in the night breeze. Un-phased, Vin searched until he found the deserted stall where Josiah sat forlornly on a bale of hay.
The larger man's face looked ghastly in the eerie light of the lamp, contorted in anger and fear.
"Josiah." Vin approached cautiously.
Sanchez shook his head, mumbling inaudibly.
Vin stepped closer. "Thought I'd see how you were doing," he tried again.
Like a tightly wound spring suddenly released, Josiah leapt up and grabbed Tanner by the neck, slamming him roughly into the wall.
Horses neighed, protesting the noise. Vin gasped, trying to breath as Sanchez's grip tightened.
"I. Don't. Want. To. Talk," Josiah whispered menacingly, his face a mere inch from the Tracker's. "Got it?" he snarled.
The sharp sound of a weapon cocking split through the tension and, his eye's widening, Josiah immediately released Vin and took a step backwards, away from the barrel of the mare's leg pressed into his gut.
"Got it," Vin answered harshly, one hand going to his bruised throat. "Sit down," he ordered, pointing with his gun.
Josiah's face turned into a mass of guilt and shame as he sank slowly onto the hay. "Vin," he started, horrified at what he'd done.
"Shut up," Vin snapped. He took a minute to collect himself, re-holstered his weapon and adjusted his hat. "I'm only here to help. You don't want that…fine. Lay a hand on me again and there'll be no warning before I shoot you dead."
"I'm sorry." Sanchez closed his eyes.
Vin sighed heavily, relaxing against the stall again, certain that any danger had been scared out of the preacher. "Forget it," he said finally. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
"I…don't…Jacob, the things he said." Josiah ran his hands over his face. "The things I said to Ezra…the hypocrisy," he said the last word like a curse.
Vin looked down at him, confused. What he thought was a matter of jealousy and family conflict suddenly seemed more complicated. "What about Ezra?" he asked, wondering how the gambler fit into the picture. "You bothered by something you told him earlier?" he asked, knowing how private Josiah liked to keep his affairs.
Josiah frowned and shook his head. "No, no." He cringed. "I hurt him," he muttered.
"How?" Vin straightened with concern. He remembered that Sanchez had pushed Ezra pretty hard, but the southerner had appeared to be all right afterwards.
"Please," Josiah looked up at him. "Just leave me be."
Vin watched his friend, debating what he should do, then sank down onto some hay just far enough away to be un-intrusive. "I won't bother you none, but I'm not leaving either," he explained. "Not till you're sober again."
Though it was nearing dawn, the town was still steeped in darkness when Ezra slowly but silently made his way to the church. He tried to ignore the excruciating pain that shot through his body with each jarring step, knowing that if he let himself think about it, he'd shut down and never get through the night.
As he quietly came around the back corner of the church, it wasn't a surprise to find Jacob's wagon pulled up close to the side door. A dozen or so lit candles created a path and gave off enough light to see by. The horses were harnessed, waiting patiently, and the wagon appeared to be loaded and ready to move out.
Jacob appeared in the doorway, completely unaware of another's presence. He grasped a leather satchel in one hand and pulled the door closed with the other.
"Going somewhere?"
Jacob, half-bent to blow out a candle, startled as Ezra's voice broke the stillness. He fell back against the building searching frantically for the speaker. "Who's there?"
Ezra stepped into the light.
"What do you want?" Jacob tried to recover. "I'm about to retire for the evening."
Standish smiled wickedly and moved closer, his gun now drawn and visible. "I think, sir, that you should consider a more permanent retirement."
The brightness of the early morning sun seemed a sharp contrast to Larabee's scowling dark countenance as he moved through the throng of townspeople angrily gathered outside the jail.
"Who do you think you are?" one man yelled.
"You can't arrest a man for teaching God's word," another joined in.
"Hey, Larabee, you gonna let the Reverend out?" someone else asked as Chris reached the walk. He turned, not paying attention to who was asking what.
"Depends on what he's done," he answered tightly. He didn't like how this looked as he scanned the growing crowd again. Up the street, he could see that Nathan, Josiah and Vin were on their way.
"Let the preacher go!" someone shouted, starting a chant that was quickly picked up by the rest of the group.
Scowling again, Larabee bolted into the jail wondering what the hell was going on. Ezra sat at the desk looking completely unconcerned. Buck stood watch near the window. "You better have a damn good reason for locking him up," he snarled.
Ezra simply smiled and slid a brown satchel across the desktop to him.
Chris glanced at Standish, and then inspected the bag. It was filled with money. Raising an eyebrow, he turned to the cell where Jacob Sanchez sat, starring angrily out at them.
"What's this?" Larabee asked.
"The Lord's offerings," Jacob answered snidely. "Given freely."
"With the promise that all would be used to establish the church and better the town," Ezra added.
"How do you know that?"
"I stayed for his sermon."
Chris looked at the gambler again, wondering distractedly why his words sounded slurred. "And the problem with it?" he asked, already guessing the answer.
"Ezra found him loading up his wagon, and ready to go better some other town with it all," Buck cut in. "Here they come." He moved to the door, opening it to let JD and Mary Travis enter.
"I found them." Mary smiled triumphantly at Ezra.
"Thank you, Mrs. Travis." He returned the smile. "I appreciate your assistance in this matter."
"Found what?" Chris looked from Standish to Mary. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.
Mary handed him a small pile of newspapers. "Ezra came to me last night and asked me to do some research for him. I found four direct references to Sanchez. It seems that he rides into small townships, holds services collecting offerings with the promise of setting up a permanent church. Then after a day or so—he pulls out in the middle of the night, leaving the townsfolk with nothing."
Chris accepted the papers and quickly skimmed the articles Mary pointed out.
"I thought it would be best to have some matter of proof to show our good citizens in way of explanation for his incarceration," Ezra explained.
"Did he really break the law?" JD asked. "I mean, they did give him the money on their own," he pointed out.
"Yeah," Chris considered. "Not sure it's enough to hold him more than a day or so, but it's plenty reason enough to run him out of town."
"Good thinking." Buck nodded. "We'd better get explaining soon though." He motioned to the restless crowd outside. The chanting continued.
"Let's do it," Chris agreed.
The crowd grew quiet as Chris stepped outside again, followed by the others. Ezra stood slowly, and lagging behind and using the desk for support.
"Listen up," Larabee said, commanding the group's full attention.
Vin, Josiah and Nathan were across the street watching and listening.
"Jacob Sanchez was arrested early this morning by Ezra Standish." Some of the people began to mumble angrily, but a cutting glare from Larabee renewed the silence. "He was attempting to leave town with your money."
"No," Someone protested.
"He wouldn't."
"You're setting him up." The accusation was expected.
"I have four news stories here from Mrs. Travis that tell how he's done the same thing in four other towns, at least." Chris waved the papers in the air. The crowd grew suddenly somber. "He was taking the money, and Ezra stopped him, plain and simple. We got all your money and later this afternoon you can come claim exactly what you gave or give it to the church as planned. Anyone trying to claim more than that will end up in jail with the preacher," he warned. "Now git before my men lose patience with all this noise."
Slowly, in stunned shock and silence, the people started to disperse.
"Frogs," Ezra mumbled softly as he watched. The ground seemed to lurch beneath his feet and he felt as if he was spinning.
"What?" Chris stared at him.
"Frogs," Ezra repeated clearly, then crumpled, collapsing onto the walk.
"What was he thinking?" Nathan fumed as he pushed his empty lunch plate away and looked around the table at Chris, Buck and Vin. After spending the morning patching up Ezra and making sure the Southerner was resting as comfortably as possible, Jackson needed to vent his anger.
"He could have seriously hurt himself, running around like he did," Jackson shook his head. "All he had to do was come to me and I'd have helped him. I don't even know how honest he's being with me now. Lord knows how much blood he actually lost." Nathan sighed heavily and pressed his fingertips together, the anger in his voice turning to disappointment. "I thought we had moved past all the suspicion and distrust."
Chris looked at Jackson and chuckled harshly. "Nice speech," he commented sarcastically.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you really think we should be talking about trust?" Larabee asked, pushing his chair back and standing. "Last week I didn't even bother to give him a chance -- when he's backed me up enough times that I should have."
"But," Nathan started to protest, looking at Tanner and Wilmington for support. Buck fiddled with a biscuit, crumbling it with his fingers and not looking at either Chris or Nathan. Tanner leaned back in his chair listening intently to both men but gave no clues as to which he agreed with.
"But nothing," Chris cut him off, his voice rising. "Regardless of his faults, he deserved more…from all of us. Why the hell should we expect him to keep trusting us when we've already thrown ours in his face?"
The saloon was silent, the few lunchtime patrons frozen in their places, watching as Larabee yelled.
Chris grabbed his hat from the table. "Ezra might think of the money in a situation first, but in the end he's learned to make the right choice—and none of us can honestly say we'd be alive if he hadn't." His rant finished, he strode out of the building, leaving the others in stunned silence.
Josiah squinted in the afternoon sun, his head throbbing in beat with each slow stride up the clinic steps. He felt as if he'd been trampled by a dozen horses…and deserved it all. He'd tried to sleep off his hangover, but ended up debating whether or not to go to Ezra. He knew he needed to apologize to Standish, to explain. He just didn't know if Ezra would be willing to hear him out.
Finally, he reached the landing and, after a brief pause to catch his breath and gather his courage, he entered the Nathan's little room.
Ezra was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless save for the white bandage striping his middle. His one arm was in a sling again to prevent his wound from pulling. His face was contorted in pain as he tried to slip a shirt on.
"Are you sure you ought to be doing that?" Josiah asked softly.
Ezra startled, gasping at the sudden sound of another and crying out as he moved too quickly. He swayed in pain.
Sanchez rushed forward, catching the gambler easily before he could fall and, easing him back onto the bed, propped him up on a small pile of pillows. Josiah waited, watching carefully as Ezra breathed rapidly and tried to collect himself.
"I was trying," Ezra managed, his accent thick. "To slip out without a big scene."
Josiah chuckled and reached for a cup of water from the side table. "I apologize for ruining your plan." He held out the water and Ezra took it unsteadily. Keeping his hand loosely around the cup, Josiah supported it in case Standish couldn't. Their fingers touched briefly and it surprised the preacher that Ezra didn't pull away from his assistance.
"Saved me a confrontation with Mr. Jackson, I imagine," Ezra replied self-deprecatingly once he was finished, letting Josiah take the cup.
Josiah set it on the table and covered Ezra's legs with a blanket from the end of the bed, hiding all evidence that the injured had been attempting an escape. Pulling a chair up, he sat down beside the bed. "Any reason why you're in such a hurry to get out of here?" he asked, watching Ezra's expression carefully.
Ezra's face remained unreadable. "I detest any form of incarceration, Mr. Sanchez," he replied honestly.
"Or maybe you're just tired of dealing with the lot of us." Josiah looked down, ignoring Ezra's surprise at his remark. "I need to explain some things to you about my actions lately," he continued.
Ezra squirmed, adjusting his potion and looking particularly uncomfortable. "I don't…"
"Be quiet, Son, and let me talk," Sanchez interrupted. Taking another deep breath, he went on. "When I was young, it was my job, along with my sister, to collect money for my father's church or mission—wherever we were at the time. We'd collect hundreds and hundreds in donations and all of it… all of it went to the ministry." He glanced up making sure Ezra was listening. "I grew up watching my father don fine robes for his services while his children wore rags. We never had anything, and for years I coveted the wealth that passed through my hands." He swallowed slowly and cleared his throat. "Last week, when Chris gave me that money… I was a child all over again. I could look at it, touch it." He blushed remembering he'd actually slept on it. "I could smell it and taste it, but it still wasn't mine and damn it…I wanted it."
"When you came to talk to me, I was angry. Angry that the money wasn't mine, angry that I wanted it, just angry. I took that anger out on you when you needed someone to listen. You reached out and I literally threw it all back in your face."
"Not everything you said to me was off the mark," Ezra admitted quietly.
Josiah laughed softly, "Maybe not, but there are better ways of making a man look at himself honestly. All I did was push you into doing what everyone was already accusing you of wanting to do. You came to me for help, and I chased you away."
Ezra opened his mouth to speak but Josiah hurried on. "When Jacob yelled my own words at me, Lord, I realized how wrong I had been. There's more to that scripture, you know. It may start with 'let the wicked forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts,' but it goes on. 'And let him return to the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him.' I gave you nowhere to turn and showed no mercy."
Silence was heavy in the room until Ezra spoke. "Last I was aware…you aren't the Lord."
Looking up in surprise, Josiah caught the glint of humor in Ezra's eyes. He shook his head smiling and sat back in his chair. "No, not a claim I've ever made." He watched Ezra, taking in the mussed hair, the dark circles beneath tired eyes, and the line of pain that Standish couldn't hide, and grew serious again. "I'm sorry about this," he motioned to the bed. "That I hurt you."
"It'll teach me to stay out of your way," Ezra tried again to lighten the mood.
"No," Josiah stopped him. "It means everything that you were there. I'm just sorry I was too drunk and angry to see that then."
"All's forgiven." Ezra said nonchalantly.
"I mean it, Son." Josiah grew serious. "I won't forget that you were there for me and I hope that the next time you need someone to listen—you won't be afraid to try again. Next time, I promise…I'll be there for you."
Ezra licked his bottom lip. "I'll keep that in mind."
Josiah nodded, accepting Ezra's word. "I better let you rest." He stood and moved to the door where he paused again. "One more question—What made you so watchful of Jacob? Everyone else just thought I was a jealous drunk."
"Your frog story," Ezra ducked his head sheepishly. "It reminded me of how easy it used to be when I would work a con as a preacher." He shrugged and winced at the action. "The congregation never sees it coming."
Ezra watched Josiah leave and relaxed into the pillows, allowing himself to release some of the tension he felt. Josiah's visit had surprised him, the apology leaving him confused. He was thankful for Josiah's words, for the explanation about the money and yet…he still wasn't sure he was ready to just put it all behind him. The others' lack of trust had made him doubt himself, as well as his place in the group, and it was going to take more than words to mend things.
Exhausted, he tried to put it out of his mind for the time being. No one was chasing him out of town yet and the truth was, he didn't really want to go anywhere else.
The door opening disturbed his thoughts and he opened his eyes expecting to see Nathan. Instead, Chris stood there looking very uncomfortable. For a minute, Ezra wondered if he'd thought too soon. Maybe Chris was done with him, but his better judgment reminded him that even Larabee wouldn't run a wounded man out of town…not this late in the afternoon anyway.
Larabee cleared his throat. "How're you feeling?" he questioned.
"Better."
"Good." Chris shifted from one foot to another then dove right in. "Last week I should have handled things different, should have given you a chance."
"I think I more than proved what would have happened if you had," Ezra admitted.
Larabee shrugged. "The important choice wasn't the one you keep beating yourself up about—it was staying, and in staying you saved Mary. If we'd been better friends maybe you'd have chosen differently about that money--but then you wouldn't be here either. Point is, I know it ain't fair to ask, but if you could consider giving us all another chance…" his voice faded, his eyes meeting Ezra's. "It'd mean a lot."
He didn't wait for any response from Ezra, just turned and left, leaving Ezra shocked at the admission. He couldn't remember Larabee ever asking anything of him. Telling, ordering and threatening, yes, but requesting? The heaviness in his chest lightened a bit as he relaxed against the pillows again. Though he knew there was a long way to go and it meant opening himself up to the possibility of getting hurt again…he felt good. They might have been words, but coming from Chris…it was more than that, it was a beginning.
Josiah entered the jail quietly. Jacob hadn't garnered any real concern from the others as a true threat, thus no one was on duty. The tiny building was empty save for the two Sanchez men.
Jacob lay, stretched out on the cell's single narrow cot and turned his head at the noise of Josiah's entrance. "You come here to gloat now, boy?" he asked sitting up slowly.
Josiah watched, noting how aged his uncle suddenly appeared. "Nothing to gloat about."
The elder Sanchez laughed harshly and stood, stepping closer to the bars. "You can't say you're not pleased to see me in here."
"For trying to rob my town…yes." Josiah was honest. "No other reason than that."
"I wasn't robbing nobody." Jacob waved a hand indifferently. "What do you want?"
"When are you leaving?"
"Whenever your friend gets it into his mind to let me out, I suppose." Jacob frowned. "Probably tomorrow morning, why?" he asked, sitting down on the cot again.
Josiah looked at him, determined he would not be intimidated by the familiar cutting voice or the mannerisms that reminded him so vividly of his father. "I have something for you." He removed his hat and reached into his shirt. Carefully he slipped the handmade cross over his head. "A long time ago I tried to give this to you." He looked up, meeting his uncle's piercing eyes. "You threw it back at me. I've held onto it all this time, always telling myself that I kept it to remember to be true to myself and what I believed in." He twisted the corded rope through his fingers. "It wasn't until today I realized I'd been deceiving myself. The only thing this ever did was help me hold onto my anger and hatred toward you."
Jacob made a sound of disgust, unmoved by Josiah's comments.
Josiah smiled and carefully wrapped the small cross around one of the bars. He watched a moment as it hung, swaying and twisting in the late afternoon shadows. He put his hat back on and then without a word he turned and walked out of the building.
The end!