Act Two, Part Four

Midway along the road to Tyler, a stream of invectives from beyond the next bend informed Jim that he was not alone out here in the middle of nowhere. He eased Blackjack forward round that bend, and was treated to the sight of a full-grown man literally dancing with fury in the road ahead, his face livid with rage as he jumped and stamped, occasionally lifting his fists to shake them at the sky above - and all the while, the man's horse stood placidly at the roadside, calmly cropping at some vegetation.

Blackjack nickered a greeting, and the other horse replied. And at that moment, discovering himself to have an audience, the man ceased at once both his dance and his blasphemies.

Well, most of his blasphemies. For he glared at the stranger riding slowly toward him and growled out, "Who the devil are you?"

"West. James West." Jim reined up by the man's side and asked, "Need some help, friend?"

The man snorted. "Well, that all depends."

"On what?"

"On what your opinion is of summary execution!"

Jim's eyebrows rose. "You have in mind executing someone?"

"Maybe. If I can lay my hands on the low-down, no-account, worthless skunk who did that, you better believe the first thought in my head will be 'String 'im up and be done with 'im!' " The man waved a hand toward the roadside, and Jim took a closer look.

All down that side of the road, like soldiers on parade, stood a long line of telegraph poles, the wire stretching from one to the next - except for right here. At the top of one pole dangled about a foot or two of wire, while from its nearest neighbor the wire hung limp, reaching almost to the ground.

Jim dismounted and went over for a closer look. "Hmm," he grunted as he inspected the free end of the telegraph wire, "I'd say the storm didn't do that."

"And I'd say you're right, mister," the man agreed. "That was cut through with steel, or my name isn't…"

"Max Tuttle," Jim finished for him.

Tuttle blinked. "You know me?"

"Know of you, at least. Deputy Owens told me the telegraph was down."

"Ah!" said Tuttle. "Then you're on your way into Tyler to use the telegraph there?"

"That was the idea, yes."

"Well, can you do me a favor, Mr West?" Tuttle nodded back along the road toward Macon. "I'm heading back to town to get together a crew of men to help me fix this. Since you're going into Tyler anyway, would you mind letting the telegraph operator over there know what's going on? Elmore Quincy's his name."

Jim nodded. "Yes, I've met him. I sent a wire from Tyler not two days ago. I'll tell him about this."

"Thanks." Tuttle held out a hand and they shook in farewell.

"Oh," Tuttle added as Jim remounted his horse. "And, uh… sorry about blistering your ears when you rode up."

"No problem." He glanced at the dangling wire again and said, "I wouldn't want to be the fellow who cut that, not when you find out who he is."

"Um… Yeah," said Tuttle, and he rubbed at the back of his neck as James West rode on.

…

"Read your mother's will! Why would he do that?" Artie exclaimed.

"I know. It made not the least bit of sense to me either," Liliana replied. "But the man is here and insists on all three of us gathering… Rose?"

Artie turned to look. The chair at the bedside was vacant; the child had disappeared again.

Liliana stormed over to the most likely hiding place in the room, a large wardrobe. "Now, Rose!" she scolded. "We don't have time for this. I know we've had far more visitors in the house lately than we've had in ages, but please! Can't you just come along right now and get it over with?" She grabbed the handle of the wardrobe door and tried to yank it open.

It opened no more than two inches before slamming itself shut again.

"Rose…!" she started again, but Artie interrupted. "No, no, let her be. You're right that she's probably had far too much company around these past couple of days. She can stay here and continue to watch over your mother for now."

"But… but Mr Craven wants all three of us present!"

"Yes, and he's going to get three of us. I'll just take Rose's place."

Liliana stared at him. "What?"

"Well, your mother named me as guardian, so it's my place to be there while the lawyer conducts legal business, right? Besides," he added conspiratorially, "I'd kind of like to take a look at the fellow. Mr West met him, but I haven't yet. So if you would, my dear Liliana?" Artie crooked his elbow and offered it to the young lady, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it. He made a genial bow of his head, then, addressing the bedroom in general, Artie said, "You're in charge here then, Rose Petal. We'll be back shortly. Hold down the fort, please!" And he escorted Liliana down to the parlor.

They entered that room to find a very baffled-looking Jamie perched on the sofa. Frowning at the boarded-up window and holding a leather case in one hand and an envelope in the other was a distinguished, nattily-attired gentleman whose well-kempt neckbeard and supercilious demeanor matched the description Jim had given of the man in the wine cellar.

At the opening of the door, the gentleman turned and said in grave tones, "Ah, Liliana! There you are, my dear." He clasped her hand warmly and bestowed an avuncular kiss upon her cheek. "But who is this stranger accompanying you?" he asked. "And where is Rose Evelyn?"

"Her middle name starts with a short E, not a long one, Mr Craven," Liliana replied as she disengaged her hand from his. "You surely know that by now. And you also know that Rose doesn't like to be called by both names together."

"And that she hides like a frightened rabbit whenever company comes calling," Jamie put in, earning himself a swift frown from his older sister.

"As for this gentleman," Liliana continued, laying a hand on Artie's arm, "he is, ah…"

"…the children's Uncle Artie," Artie broke in, smiling graciously. "Artemus Gordon. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr, ah, Craven, was it?" He whisked the envelope out of the lawyer's hand so as to pump the hand enthusiastically.

"Ah, yes. Yes. Quite." Now it was lawyer Craven's turn to have to disengage his hand. "The children's uncle, you say? Curious, for I don't recall ever hearing of you before. From which side of the family do you come?"

"Distant cousin," Artie responded, secure in the fact that he wasn't exactly lying, for after all, weren't all humans related one to another, connected by bonds of blood or marriage stretching all the way back to their mutual kinship with Noah? "But tell me, Mr Craven," Artie added, taking upon himself the role of host and gesturing the lawyer to a chair, "according to Liliana, you've come to read Mrs Anders' will to us. But why would you do such a thing? She isn't dead."

"I hardly think it's the place of a 'distant cousin' to intrude himself into such intimate family matters as to… Excuse me, what did you just say?"

"That I'm the children's uncle?"

"No, no, not that! You… you said that… Iris lives?"

"Mm, yes, I believe I did say that." Artie casually slipped his hands, and the envelope they held, behind his back as he watched Mr Craven's face transform, the supercilious disdain dropping in favor of a look of utter amazement.

"She… but… but I was told…!"

"Told what?" Artie prompted. "And by whom?"

"Why…" The lawyer produced a fine silk handkerchief and dabbed at his mouth. "The, the doctor, of course. I saw Dr Jordan this morning and he informed me of the, well, the incident…"

"Incident, Mr Craven?"

"Why, the, ah…" His eyes flicked toward the children for an instant, then he hissed out, "The shooting, of course. But I, I suppose I must have misheard him. I was certain he said there was nothing that could be done!"

"Mm," Artie responded with a shrug. "Nothing more to be done perhaps. Dr Jordan operated and removed the bullet, and now Mrs Anders is resting comfortably while she heals."

Craven gave a soft laugh, almost a giggle. "But that's extraordinary! It's… it's an absolute miracle! How wonderful! You children must be so very happy!"

"We'd be happier if Ma hadn't been shot," Jamie muttered.

"Well," said the lawyer briskly, "then there's no need to read the will at this time." He held out his hand to Artie, fixing him with a steady look.

"Hmm?" said Artie. "Oh, right: this!" He smiled as he returned the envelope and watched the lawyer tuck it away inside the leather case.

"Good day then, Liliana, Jamie," Craven intoned. "And good day, Mr, ah, Gordon."

"Good day, Mr Craven." Artie led the way to the front door and nodded to the lawyer as the man descended the steps and climbed into his carriage. Then, flanked by Liliana and Jamie, Artie watched the carriage drive out of sight, waving merrily to their departing guest as he left.

"Well! That's that," said Artie. "Care to adjourn to the parlor once more?"

"What was that all about?" Jamie complained.

"That is the question of the hour, my boy," said Artie, "and the answer is very likely…" He reached inside a pocket and unfurled a sheet of paper. "…here!"

"What?" said Jamie.

"What's that?" asked Liliana.

"This," said Artie, "is the will our lawyer friend came all the way out here to read." He held it up and began to peruse it.

"What?" said Jamie.

"But… but you gave it back to him!" exclaimed Liliana.

"Gave him back the envelope, yes. The contents, no. The contents are right here. Who is David Jeremiah Anders, Jr?"

Slowly Jamie raised his hand, then gave it a tiny self-conscious wave.

Artie tilted his head. "Really? How do you get Jamie from Jeremiah?"

"Long story," said Liliana. "Why did you ask about Jamie's full name though?"

"Because," he replied, turning the handwritten page so the children could see it, "according to this will, upon your mother's demise, the entirety of Las Flores with all its property and contents pass into the possession of one David Jeremiah Anders, Jr."

And for the third time since the lawyer's departure, Jamie said "What?"