CHAPTER TWELEVE

The plain black carriage pulled up to the back of the house and Judge Amos Wilson could see by the two agents' horses that the men had already arrived. He had agreed with his wife that having a meeting was the best way to discuss future plans. Betty had originally wanted the men to come to dinner, but he couldn't agree to Gordon sitting down at his table after what he had done to his niece so many years ago. He admired and loved his wife of thirty two years, but this is where he drew the line regardless of her case that Artemus Gordon was a man of morality. No matter what the plea, he would never be an honorable man in his eyes. So he and Betty had compromised with a late afternoon tea.

He thanked his driver and told him he needed to be at the court house early tomorrow so to please arrive no later than six in the morning. He climbed the stairs reviewing in his mind what he and Betty had discussed over the last week.

Joy greeted him at the door with her bright smile that always melted his heart, although few knew it. "Mr Gordon and Mr West are here Uncle Amos. Did you have a good day?"

"Yes, I did, my dear," although in fact he did not, having sentenced a man to hang at the territorial prison for a murder he was not convinced he had committed. The jury had found the poor soul guilty and the sentence was mandatory. He'd send a telegram to the governor in the morning and see if he could get a stay of execution so he would have time to talk to the lawyers and come up with another option.

He was met next by Betty, the petite woman he'd fallen in love with and to this day loved only more as each day went by. "Hello, Dear." He greeted her with a peck on the cheek as she took his valise and hat. Betty could tell with one glance that it had not been a good day for her husband and she passed on her sympathy with a light squeeze of his arm.

"Mr Gordon and Mr West are here, Dear. We have already spoken as they arrived a bit early. I think Mr Gordon was anxious to talk," she said quietly. "Although I haven't spoken with either of them for the last few minutes, I do believe that they will come around to the only right way to proceed."

"And you, my Dear?" He said attentively. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Yes, Amos, I am, but I understand if you have second thoughts. We can talk as I'm sure there are other ways to handle the situation. We have to think of you too, you know."

"I will be fine. Gives me a chance to do some traveling too, you know. Ulysses and Julia have been asking me to come to Washington and break the terrible stalemate that's going on in the Justice Department." He paused looking down on this beautiful woman whose body had given into the years but whose spirit, intelligence and zest for life remained as strong as when he meet her.

"Come, Amos. Joy has tea and your favorite cookies waiting for you in the parlor." He followed her into the small room and was greeted by the two agents. James West was the closest and held out his hand confidently, self-assurance and vitality on his handsome face.

"Good afternoon, Sir," West said. He shook the offered hand firmly and moved on the next man, Gordon standing slightly behind West.

"Judge Wilson, good to see you again, Sir." Gordon extended his hand and the Judge had to consciously remind himself to be polite as he briefly took his hand and quickly moved on to his grand niece's offer to pour his tea.

He sat, indicating with a wave of his hand for the men to sit also. "Joy, tell your Aunt Betty we'll be a moment. Go give her a hand in the kitchen, and thank you, dear." He sipped his tea. "Would you like some?" he added indifferently as he looked at the other men.

"No thank you," James added quickly, "we'll wait for the ladies."

The Judge responded with a simple nod, and then he let the room go silent as he continued to drink.

Finally the Judge said, "I understand you talked with Mrs Wilson earlier today?"

"Yes, we did," Jim replied brightly. "We had a very nice discussion." Although Jim knew that of course it wasn't a discussion at all but a treatise and analysis delivered by Betty on why they should continue their partnership.

"My wife is a very smart lady, but I'm sure you already know that."

"Yes, Sir. We certainly do."

"And a lovely woman also." Artie chimed in. The Judge looked down his nose with a disapproving wince, and then added, "So, Mr Gordon, have you and Joy spoken about your plans as well as hers?"

"Yes, Sir, we did that also." Artie glanced at Jim tentatively before he began. "I think we all know what each other's concerns are and I think it's up to Jim and I to work out what will be best for us individually, for the Secret Service, and for Joy."

"I see," the old man replied clearing his throat in an officious manner. "And do you have any indications of what you might do on any of these fronts?" He put his cup and saucer down on the dark mahogany table next to him and folded his hands across his well padded stomach.

"Well, I understand from Mrs Wilson that you are also amenable to the idea of Joy traveling east to look at schools and perhaps even further to Europe, France, in particular, to evaluate educational and cultural opportunities there." He hastened to add, "… not by herself of course, but with a qualified female chaperone."

"Did my wife mention any ideas for this qualified chaperone?" he asked.

"No, Sir, she didn't mention any names if that's what you mean."

"Continue then, Mr Gordon." The Judge leaned back in his chair and looked like he was ready to begin a cross-examination of Artie, when Jim interrupted.

The Judge's still smoldering animosity towards his partner was obvious, and although the old man was important in Joy's life and thus in Artie's life too, enough was enough. He interjected, "I think our visit today with Mrs Wilson, Joy and, of course, yourself will be instrumental in helping us devise a situation that will work for Artie, myself, Joy and of course yourself and Mrs Wilson, and the Secret Service."

They'd gone through this before when they'd first met in the Judge's office days ago, and the Judge knew he was playing a losing game. He was also keenly aware of his truce with Gordon that he wouldn't harass him in front of Joy. He nodded in acquiescence. "Well, let me know what you gentlemen decide. I know Colonial Richmond is more than willing to be flexible on this. He has suggested even the possibility of adding a third member to your team, perhaps working in slowly to get the feel of how you operate and picking up more responsibility as time goes on. With sincerity, gentlemen, I will do what I can to help you work this out." He made a point of making eye contact with Artie as he spoke.

"Thank you, Sir." Artie replied. "We'll be in touch." At that, Betty and Joy entered the room with a plate of tea rolls and cookies. Joy poured for the group and conversation became more general with the Judge remaining guarded while the rest talked about schools, what Boston was like in the spring, and how Washington DC just kept growing.

They finished their tea and Artie was relieved to get out of the Wilson house. As they left, Betty stopped Jim and gently took his elbow pulling him over just a bit to give him a motherly peck on the cheek. She did the same as Artie said his goodbye, much to the Judge's dissatisfaction, but he said nothing. "Take care of yourselves and God bless," she called after them.

Joy followed them out back to the small barn on the pretense of seeing Black Jack again and gave the horse one of the carrots she'd brought out with her.

"He likes you," Jim said, "and that's a compliment because he doesn't like too many people." He tightened the saddle cinch as Artie did the same to his horse.

"He's just a big pussy cat, aren't you," she cooed as she nuzzled the animal's velvet nose. "You just have to know whose boss. You're a smart horse and you aren't going to let just anyone ride you, are you." She hugged the animal's muscular neck and gave it a farewell kiss.

Jim turned to her, smiling. There was a lot he could say. But seeing as he felt his own emotional control slipping, he decided a hug and a kiss on the check were the safest. "See ya soon, Princess." He looked back to Artie, "I'll meet you outside."

Joy walked over to Mesa who stood anxiously anticipating his treat. He'd seen his stable mate get an unexpected pleasure, and he sniffed the air awaiting his. As the horse happily munched away she stroked its neck with long gliding sweeps of her hand. She spoke quietly as she mindlessly continued stroking the animal, "I'm going to miss you, Father." She hesitated a moment and then looking into his eyes added, "… Dad. I feel like I just got to know you and now you're leaving. I'll miss you and Uncle Jim too." She turned back focusing her attention on the big chestnut horse who nuzzled its nose against her arm. "But I know you need to do what's right for you, Uncle Jim and this country. I love you, Dad and I'm very proud of you and Uncle Jim. Of course I want you to stay here with me, but what you do is important and I guess I'll just have to share you."

Artie studied her face. She didn't look like she was going to cry, but she was struggling with the reality of him, her father, leaving. He said scooping her up into his arms, "This won't be a long trip. We'll be back in a few weeks and we'll talk more."

She looked at him, "But will you be safe?"

"You bet," he said cheerfully feeling the weight of his decision to stay or leave come crashing down on his head. He hugged her tighter and she locked her arms around his waist. "I'm so proud of you," he mumbled into her hair.

"I'm the one who should be proud," she murmured.

He kissed the top of her head, and caught his own tear with the back of his hand before it tracked all the way down his cheek. "I'll see you in a week or two. We'll go back through here on our way to Washington. And I'll tell the President that he has to share me with you, at least for now." He wiggled his eyebrows at her with a playful grin, and she smiled back. He tipped her face up and kissed her on the cheek.

She smiled. "And I'll make sure I don't call you Dad in front of Uncle Amos."

"That too," he replied. He tousled her hair and mounted up. With a wave, the two men turned their horses and headed out of town.

As they moved out of ear shot, Jim said, "Well, at least you know the old man isn't going to try to take her away from you."

"Yeah, that's a relief." Artie replied. Jim looked over at his partner. "So Artie, I hate to keep putting this on you, but what do you think you'll do? You know how I feel: you should get out for your and Joy's sake. But I know that's selfish of me and probably ill-advised for the Secret Service. I just hate the thought of you getting hurt."

"Ditto for me, you know." replied Artie, "You know, I've always hated the thought of me getting hurt, AND you getting killed, but I think Betty already summed that up for us didn't she. And other than the part about me getting fat, I agree with her summation." He paused collecting his thoughts for a minute. They rode at a slow comfortable trot with the muffled sound of hooves and creaking leather accompanying them.

"Jim, I hate to miss one more minute of Joy's life because I've already missed sixteen years of it. On the other hand, it was Amanda's wish, maybe even premonition that I continue with the Secret Service because she knew it was important. I wish I could talk to her about it but that's not going to happen, is it. So what's my choice? I can do desk or laboratory research, and worry till I'm sick over you and your damn tactics. OR, I can go to Paris, be with Joy, and worry till I'm sick from afar. OR, I can stay in the field."

"Maybe Betty is right: if it's worked this long, it will continue. I don't want to leave the field and I don't want to leave you. Let's just face it, we're good, we're REAL good. And the sad fact is we both seem to like this crazy, stupid, wickedly dangerous line of work we're in."

Artie was on a roll and Jim quietly listened knowing that this was his partner's opportunity to really think the whole thing out.

"Joy doesn't think I should leave. She says I'm too important to the country. And although she'll miss me… miss US, she'll be ok. And if she should go to Paris, I won't see her anyway, I just have to make sure I don't get murdered." He looked over at Jim who broke out in laughter.

"What?" Artie complained. "What's so funny?"

"Just what you said. Yeah, I guess we are in a crazy line of work that we have to complain about getting murdered like it's an annoyance, an aggravation. Kinda like trail riders complaining about the smell of a thousand head of beef or always stepping in cow- pies. An unpleasant nuisance but one that just kinda goes with the job." He hesitated for a moment thinking, "Now that you put it that way, maybe I'M the one who's nuts because I'm not thinking about leaving!" He chuckled.

"Well, now that you mention it, you are nuts! But you'll never leave because where else could you joyfully have fight after fight after fight and never, or at least seldom, get hauled off for breaking the peace." Artie shot back. "And by the way, you pull that get fat from eating too much fancy food again, Pal, and you can better start getting used to your own cooking!"

Jim looked back to his partner, shaking his head with a grin as he thought about what an unexpected friendship they had. What good was an actor in the Secret Service, he remembered asking Colonial Richmond. Artie wasn't much of a fighter, not great with a gun, and had the strangest idea that disguises, subterfuge, and trickery was the way to meet the end goal. How his opinion had changed. He knew now that Artemus Gordon was indispensable, more reliable than the sun's rising every day, and a friend like he never thought he'd ever have.

"And what are you smirking about now?" Artie asked with cynicism creeping into his voice.

"Nothing," said Jim. "You know you worry too much."

"Oh, and what about you who doesn't worry enough?"

"I don't need to worry. That's what I have you for." Jim replied with an impish grin.

"Humph!" came Artie's reply. "You didn't seem to think I should be doing this stuff anymore. Too dangerous, you-who-never- worries says!"

"Well the way I see it, if I think it's no longer in my niece's best interest for you to be gallivanting around the country side dressed up as Sir Lancelot or some such character, all I have to do is shoot you in the leg or something, and that will put you behind a desk for awhile."

Artie looked at Jim gravely. "You'll get in trouble for that. Richmond won't be happy with you if you go shooting me."

"Artie, like I said once before, I'd never hurt a hair on your head, … unless of course it was for my niece."

Artie fired back, "I'll turn Betty lose on you."

Jim laughed, "Ok, now you're scaring me."

They both fell silent for awhile smiling with their own thoughts, as the sun began its preparation for dusk, signaling the birds to roost, and the shadows to lengthen.

Breaking the silence, Jim said somberly, "Artie, don't ever forget that whatever may happen in the future, Joy knows now that she has two parents who love her without reservation. That's a lot. Take it from someone who knows."

Artie looked over at Jim with a tight sad smile, and a nod of acquiescence. Thoughtfully he said, "I guess we'll just see how it goes. How Joy and Betty do for schools, what Litta says… you know you'll hear her scream all the way across the Atlantic and the eastern states." He straightened in the saddle with a look of resolve on his face as he scanned the horizon. "This job Richmond gave us should be an easy assignment. And when we're done, we'll pass through here again in a few weeks." Artie said it to himself more than anyone else as he gazed at the setting sun's fiery glow as it passed control of the day to the night.

Later that evening, after Jim had turned in, he took out his sketch pad and added another drawing. It was of he and Joy sitting on the porch swing, her head resting on his shoulder.

He smiled and flipped to a clean page. He made a grid with names across the top and questions down the side. He then proceeded to analyze the situation: should he stay or should he go. He carefully made notes in the grids corresponding to each name. When he was finished he tapped the pencil on the paper and sighed. His attempt to put the question in a more logical format hadn't clarified the problem the way he hoped it would. But then he sat up suddenly and added one more line to his list of questions: titled "Safe?" When he finished answering it, he lay the pad down on his lap and closed his eyes, digesting the obvious facts that a scientific approach brought to the subject.

"We'll have to see how it goes, see how it goes," he muttered to himself as he placed the notebook on his chest and fell into a deep sleep.