Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers
Chapter 2 – New Friends and Old Memories
Things were a lot quieter at the Walker Ranch than they'd been the last time Bart was here. Amazing what a difference playing children made to the landscape.
There was no one on the porch, and the front door was closed, so Bart wrapped Noble's reins around the hitching rail and climbed the steps. He knocked twice before he could hear someone approaching the door, and it was Sally, the middle sister, that finally answered it. She smiled and opened it for him to come in, then put her finger to her lips. He nodded and said nothing, following her into the main room. From upstairs Will came out to the staircase, then proceeded silently downstairs. He and Bart shook hands and they went back out to the front porch, where Will sat in one of the rockers and Bart followed suit.
"How are they?"
Will shook his head, but had a small smile. "Better than they were. Doc Petry still doesn't know what it was, but they're finally starting to come out of it. I tell ya what, Bart, you don't know what real fear is until ya watch your boys lay in bed and suffer, and ya don't know what's wrong with 'em or what to do for 'em. Poor Winnie's about outta her mind. Jo finally got her to go lay down for a while; she's so exhausted I don't think she's slept five minutes since they first got sick. Thanks for leavin' Abilene before ya were ready and hurryin' to get back. I don't think Winnie's ever been so glad to see me."
Sally came out on the porch with a glass of sweet tea for Will and a cup of coffee for Bart. She sat down next to Bart and laid her hand on his arm. "Your timing was perfect. Winnie wouldn't leave their bedside until Will got home. Jo and I thought we were gonna have to hogtie her to make her sleep. How did you all get back so quick?"
Bart laughed a little. "Rode like the Sioux were after us. Every time we wanted to stop Will kept us movin' with worry. Fear is a real reason to make good time."
"Yeah, you just remember that when you have some of your own," Will explained to Bart. "You'll do anything in the world for 'em. Just like our pappy's woulda done for us."
Suddenly an image appeared in Bart's mind, that of his father when Beauregard arrived in Silver Creek during his trial. "Bart!" It was a strangled cry that escaped his mouth as he rushed forward. "Bartley." The familiar greeting issued forth from Pappy's lips. He hurried over to the gaunt figure and threw his arms around his son, his boy. Bart struggled to extract his arms from the blanket and wrapped himself around his father. They stood that way for minutes; father standing, son seated, Beauregard willing himself not to sob at the poor, pitiful sight before him. What had his son been through to leave him looking so, so . . . . demolished was the only word that came to mind.
Bart shook his head to try and erase the image from his mind. For the first time, he could feel his father's pain at the sight of the scarecrow-like figure that had presented itself as his son. 'Remind me not to have children,' he thought, and immediately regretted the words. The image of Pappy was replaced by one of Will, the look of pure joy on his face as his boys grabbed his hands and dragged him upstairs to tuck them into bed.
"Yeah, at least they're gettin' better," Bart offered, and although it was a pitiful offering, it was all he had.
Will nodded, and Sally got up from her chair and went back inside. "That was certainly an experience," Will finally admitted, and Bart knew exactly what he meant.
"Yeah, I think I was seventeen or eighteen the first one of those I did. Rode drag the whole way. Coughed up dust for a week afterward. My first and last experience trailin' a herd the entire trip."
"Understandable," Will replied, and then continued. "Bret and Althea get home yet?"
Bart shook his head. "No, I don't expect 'em for a couple days. You'll know they're here when you hear the explosion that comes from Pappy."
"He's really that set against either of you gettin' involved with a woman?"
"No, not involved. The dreaded word is 'married.' When we were younger he extracted a promise from both of us that we wouldn't marry until we were at least thirty-eight."
A look of puzzlement firmly entrenched itself on Will's face. "But . . . . . you broke that promise, didn't you?"
"Ah, but he didn't know that until after my wife was dead. No, I expect that Bret will be over at Althea's ranch permanent, and Pappy will equate that with 'marriage.' It's gonna be interestin', to say the least."
"He'll get over it, won't he?"
Bart laughed. "Sure. He'll get over it. What choice will he have? It'll be Bret that does it, after all. Pappy's doppelganger."
"Well, from what Winnie tells me, you were the wild child that got away with almost everything. Isn't that still true?"
"Yeah, pretty much. The difference is I just go ahead and do things, then worry about what Pappy has to say later. Or just don't tell him at all. Of course, that does tend to get me in trouble sometimes."
Bart's coffee was done, and he stood up to go. "Will, you ever decide to go on another drive, let me know. Be glad to help any way I can. Winnie did a fine job of findin' a husband for herself."
They stood and shook hands. "Thanks, Bart. I'll hold a good thought for your brother's arrival."
"You do that, friend. And take care a those boys. I'll be sure and come by before I leave Little Bend and see 'em again."
"You goin' anytime soon?"
"Don't know," Bart answered. "Depends on a lotta things."
He mounted Noble and swung away from the ranch, heading back toward the spread he grew up on. He was curious to see everything the Roycefields had done to the place before leaving with him on the cattle drive. Riding down the road to the little ranch brought back memories of the years he and Bret had spent here growing up.
When he came around the bend in the road he was surprised to find Pappy's horse out front. The front door was open and Bart went in, calling out "Pappy!" as he did so.
"Back here!" came his father's voice, and he followed it to the bedroom he and Bret had shared until he was almost twelve years old.
"You get lost?" he asked his father. Pappy was sitting on the bed, looking at an old photo. "What's that you've got?"
Pappy handed it to his son as Bart walked over to the bed. He was surprised and pleased to find a photo of his mother, holding a baby that had to be him, with a small boy of about three clinging to her skirts. His brother, no doubt. Belle looked strong and healthy, with a big smile on her face. He appeared happy, staring with a baby's adulation at its mother. The toddler seemed terrified, probably the last time in his life Bret Maverick ever had that expression on his face.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" Bart asked his father.
Even after all these years there was nothing but pure adoration in his father's voice. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And to think I almost lost her."
"What does that mean, you almost lost her? Was she sick before? What happened, Pappy?"
Beauregard Maverick looked up at his youngest son, the man that the baby had grown into, and thought back to that day long ago when Belle Maverick had decided to shoot him in the shoulder rather than kill him. She had every right to do so, he acknowledged long ago, but he'd tried not to think about it in years. It was his own fault, and the most painful and shameful thing he'd ever done. And he'd promised himself that he would tell Bart the story, in its entirety, so he would finally understand just what his parents had gone through to have two sons.
"It's a long story, boy, and I only want to tell it once. Can you wait until Bret gets home? You both need to hear it. Please?"
Bart looked at his father, who'd never said 'please' in his life to either of his children and saw something in his eyes that had never been there before. Shame. "I . . . . . uh, sure, Pappy. I can wait. Can I keep the picture?"
Beauregard nodded his head 'yes.' He didn't trust himself to speak. How was he ever going to be able to tell them the whole story? He'd been putting it off for years, but it was finally time. He wasn't getting any younger, and they needed to understand the mistakes he'd made in the hopes that they wouldn't repeat them. Would they still feel the same way about him after they heard everything? That was a chance he was going to have to take.
Beau stood up, and for the first time he felt truly old. He looked at the handsome, caring man in front of him and thought, 'We made him, Belle. Him and his brother. We did a good thing, even if we went about it in a strange way. God help me, I hope they can forgive me like you did.'