Hi! Hermes here! I just want to thank everyone who reviewed, it means so much to me and you all are so encouraging! Genuinely, I wish I could make all of you the cookies of your choice. I guess you'll have to settle for my undying gratitude?
This chapter wasn't fun to write in the least, but narrative wise I think it needed to happen. I'm so not done with this story, there will be another climax to come and another story arc. Everything is off the reservation at this point! Stick with me, it'll be fun! (I hope). That being said, I've never really gone so far off the beaten trail so to speak, so I hope I can keep your interest. And for my shippers, yes, Tessa/Vas is endgame! he's still an outlaw so that'll be ALL sorts of fun to write.
If you want to have more emotions than you'd like to just listen to "Gone" by Ioanna Gike while you're reading this. Or, or "I'll Be Good" by Jaymes Young. you know, because I don't torture you lot enough.
"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid.
The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.
At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed.
There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says.
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
Later, when she could touch those days in her memory without flinching, she would realize that she remembered none of what she did or said after Sam Chisolm left. The only thing she knew clearly was that somehow she slept with the lamp burning in the dark. When she finally woke the lamp had burned itself down, but that didn't matter. Tessa stared out the window into the late morning sun and gently prodded her new reality. The knowledge that Nick and Joe were dead spilled over and she gasped aloud. It didn't feel real. It couldn't be real. She didn't know what to do with it. Part of her, not part of her, she held it- Tessa became abruptly aware of the pain in her hand and looked at it, surprised. It was almost disconnected from her at this point and she looked down to see Chisolm's sad bundle clutched in her fist, knuckles white with effort. She willed her hand to loosen it's grasp and her heart made a noise of pain -maybe that was her- but slowly her fingers complied. She didn't cry. She…
Mrs. McClay found her like that, staring down at the quilt and the pieces of silver laid on it. The older woman said nothing. She didn't ask how Tessa was. She didn't cluck and say how sorry she was that all this had happened. She pressed a careful hand to Tessa's forehead and nodded, apparently satisfied with whatever she found there. Her palm was calloused and warm against Tessa's skin and she found herself at once welcoming it and rejecting it. Before she could try to parse the two thoughts Mrs. McClay proclaimed that the blood in hair needed to be washed out, and they would figure out a way to get her to the gravesite. The words punctured her lungs.
Tessa submitted to Mrs. McClay's bustling and fussing without comment or feeling. She couldn't. She held a storm in a teacup, and as long as she didn't nudge it, or look at it, the storm balanced inside it. While Mr. McClay carried in bucket after bucket of water to slosh into a basin by her bedside, Mrs. McClay had pulled out a blouse and skirt that would "probably fit you let me see what I can do."
Some part of her wanted to smile and thank them, if only for politeness sake. Another, larger part of her was getting irrationally angry about occasionally being splashed with water. She settled for looking down at Nick's watch, feeling the scratches and dents in the metal, tracing the stupid bolo Joe insisted "completed his outfit." Her eyes burned and mucus began to clog her nose. It was just as well that Mrs. McClay sent her husband fleeing the room with a sharp word to go and get that wagon ready Willis, this girl can't walk!
If it had been any other day Tessa would have laughed at them.
"Here girl give me your feet." Without waiting to see if Tessa objected Mrs. McClay lifted up the bedclothes revealing pale, freckled limbs. Her right leg gave a warning throb. Something must have shown on her face because the other gingerly patted her knee. "We'll just have to be careful. Here shift, I've got you."
With a surprising amount of tenderness she slid her hands up under Tessa's leg and took the weight as she pushed with her left leg and turned so she was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the basin of steaming water. The pain had her teeth chattering and Tessa struggled to breathe through it, because she certainly couldn't fight it. She had no idea she was swaying forward until Mrs. McClay braced her. "Steady, steady. Here, let's get your hair washed."
Tessa's gorge rose as soon as her matted hair fell around her face. It smelled strongly of blood, kerosene, and dirt. For a moment she was back in the trench, back in the church -Joe was in the church-, and only Mrs. McClay's voice and hands pressing her's brought her out of her fugue state. The hands that clasped hers were rough from a life's hard work, and warm, but Tessa was still shaking, a full body quiver that made her bullet wounds twinge. One long fingered hand pushed her hair out of her face, taking the brunt of the scent with it.
"Cut it off. Please."
The voice was strange. It took her a moment to recognize it as her own. Wide blue eyes blinked up at her and narrowed in thought. Belatedly, Tessa recalled that this was the woman who'd kicked her out of this fine establishment. But then, to her surprise she nodded once, sharply, and went to get some scissors. Tessa tucked her nose into the collar of her nightgown, but she could still smell her own hair. It was so long, she realized with some dismay. It was probably soaked with blood. The thought made her gag and clapped a hand over her mouth, just barely managing to keep her stomach from rebelling.
"I've got you girl. Just sit up and be still."
Tessa spared a moment to be grateful that she was being so matter-of-fact about everything. Kindness, or worse, pity, would have undone her. She submitted to the scissors and breathed through her mouth. A truly startling amount of hair fell to the wayside, matted with dirt and blood, and Tessa watched it go dispassionately. Several pounds of hair shedded later Mrs. McClay directed her to lean over the basin face first. She did as instructed and was abruptly thrown back to when her mother would wash her hair over the sink. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and she took a deep, shuddering breath.
The soap was strong and stung her scalp -little dings and knicks she hadn't realized she'd acquired during the fray- and Tessa resisted the absurd urge to rub some under her nose, if only to smell something different. Mrs. McClay patted her shoulder, indicating she should rise a bit and then rinsed her hair out with water so cold she gasped. Then, with rough practiced hands she toweled off her hair with a rough bit of wool. The younger woman fought not to lean into the motion. There was nothing gentle about it, but it was familiar in a way. Tessa set her jaw.
"I know you prefer pants, but here, these'll be easier on your leg." Mrs. McClay handed her a bundle of folded clothing, smelling faintly of cedar. The smell, the gesture, nearly broke her, and Tessa nodded shakily, unable to speak for a long moment. She plucked at the fabric of her nightgown shyly.
"I think I'll need help getting dressed."
"Of course." said the woman crisply. "Bum leg like that? You'll be lucky if you can stand without help."
She wasn't hungry, but she could not deny the hard work of the McClay's so she forced down something she didn't taste, and let Mrs. McClay help her stand. It was time. Mr. McClay -call me Willis- had borrowed one of McLaughlin's wagons from next door. It wasn't far, and it wasn't a large wagon but they had underestimated just how short Tessa was. She looked at the wagon and a dark amusement welled up in her. Wasn't it enough, she wondered, that she had to bury her brothers today? Did she really have to walk and jump just to get to say goodbye?
The undertakers wasn't far, and it drew her eye while the McClay's quietly bickered. Had they moved them already? Beyond Garrett's she could see activity in the graveyard, hear the impact of shovels into the red ground. They were digging graves. A lot, if the number of men working was any indication.
Tessa blinked. Who else had died?
Who else was grieving?
"Are you alright Tessa?"
Emma. Tessa shook herself free from her thoughts and looked up into Emma's concerned face from her seat. She hadn't heard the other come up. "Yes? Emma, who else...who else died?" The words hurt to say, like chewing rocks. Emma blinked in surprise.
"Jack Horne, Gavin David, Harold Platt, Peter Jeffries…"
As she listed the dead, one by one, Tessa swallowed hard and shut her eyes. Jack. She hadn't even asked-
"Tessa you only just found out about Nick and Joe, and you're injured. The sweetest saint wouldn't have asked before now."
A blush crept up her cheeks and Tessa rubbed a hand over her face in embarrassment. She hadn't realized she'd said that aloud. Emma made a noise that was not quite laughter, and sat beside her. They watched the McClay's bicker and talk about finding a stepstool -she can't use her right leg Willis what good is a step stool going to do?- and sat in silence. Occasionally a child or two ran back and forth accross the street, either playing or delivering something, Tessa wasn't sure. She finally managed to ask:
"Everyone else…?" Vasquez and Red Harvest had not been among the dead but if they were-she hadn't known them that well but-unbidden she thought of Vas's smile and just as quickly shoved the thought away.
"Red Harvest, Vasquez, and Mr. Chisolm are fine." Emma answered, unaware of the turn her thoughts had taken. "Faraday, Goodnight, and Billy haven't woken up to tell us one way or the other." A small burst of relief lightened the grief and guilt in her chest and Tessa listed forward where she sat, sent up a prayer of gratitude to whoever was listening.
"I want to see them."
Emma looked over at her, startled and followed the line of Tessa's gaze to the undertakers. Her sigh came quick and sharp. "Tessa, they won't look-"
"I know how death looks Emma. I've seen it. But I have to see them myself. Because this doesn't feel real, and if I don't see them before they go in the ground I think a part of me will always be looking for them." Tears threatened to spill over and she looked up, refusing to let them fall.
She could tell Emma nodded in her peripherals. "I don't think there's anyone in this town that wouldn't give you what you asked for, within reason. But take it from me…" For the first time since she'd known the widow, her voice cracked and it startled Tessa. Emma was staring out at the street and stubbornly trying to keep her own tears in check. "...it don't feel real. At least it hasn't yet for me. There are nights, I know my Matthew isn't there, but I still find myself turning to ask him something."
A desperate bubble of laughter escaped before she could stop it. "That's not very comforting Emma."
"No it's not." Emma said grimly. "But it's true."
Tessa studied her in profile and hope she could be as strong as Emma Cullen. She would have to be. That or lay down and die, like a dog been beaten too many times. The realization lodged somewhere under her breastbone, burning and she suddenly felt so tired. Laying down sounded good at the moment. Emma patted her shoulder and stood, shedding the grief like shedding water. But it was still there, underneath. Her hand lingered and touched the feathered edges of her shoulder length hair.
"It was too much." Tessa explained.
Emma just nodded. "It suits you."
Tessa returned to her study of the street and locked eyes with Sam Chisolm standing a ways from the wagon and the arguing couple. He made a questioning gesture. She shrugged. "Will you help me up Emma?"
To her credit, the red head did as she asked, sliding an arm around her waist and bracing her right elbow with her other hand, doubt heavy on her face the whole while. Tessa explained through gritted teeth as her leg throbbed. "I know everyone's busy, I don't want to hold anyone up-"
"Don't worry about that." Emma assured her. "Lot of graves to dig."
And that was that.
Eventually it was Red Harvest who solved the issue of how to get her to the undertakers. Once he understood the problem, he walked over to her and held out his arms, question clear in his face. Tessa tried not to cling to Emma too tightly, but she was shaking with the effort of standing and her heart was loud in her ears. She nodded. "I'm heavy though fair warn-"
Red Harvest snorted and scooped her up as if she weighed precisely nothing. Tessa couldn't contain a squeak of shock. Her thigh twinged, but it didn't protest too much. Lacking any sort of expression whatsoever the warrior carried her to the undertaker's workshop. Emma followed. Jake Garrett led them in. People cast her strange looks along the way as they went about repairing the town. There were several coffins in the room, but the smell of fresh cut wood couldn't fully disguise the scent of rot underneath. Her skin crawled and she shuddered in Red Harvest's arms. He glanced down at her sharply and only set her on her feet after she nodded.
"I had to make Nick's special Miss Newell." Garrett stood, hat in hand, and nodded at the box to her left. The bags under her eyes were evidence of his hard work. "We worked all night to get everything ready."
In spite of herself Tessa was touched and she nodded gratefully, unable to speak. "Joe's is right here." The older man pointed to the coffin lying next to Nick's. "You understand, they aren't going to look...they aren't going to look like people so much. My wife and I, we did the best we could..."
"I know."
He lifted up the coffin lids one by one and Red Harvest and Emma helped her limp over to them. Tessa looked into them long and hard, steeled herself so she couldn't convince herself of anything but the truth. Her little brothers were in those coffins. They looked like poor wax replicas of the men she knew and for a moment her mind rejected what she was seeing. She shook her head and forced herself to pick out the features she recognized under the purpling-green skin and sunken eye sockets.
There was Joe's broken nose, busted by an irate husband. There was the scar on Nick's eyebrow, where a bounty had gotten off a lucky shot. Tears started to slide down her face and she didn't try to stop them. Someone had gotten their spare clothes from their saddlebags and dressed them, cleaned the bodies. A low keen of pain escaped her before Tessa could stop herself and Red Harvest's hand tightened on her elbow. She quickly smothered the sound. Their faces were untouched. If she look at their bodies, they didn't look like they'd been shot to pieces and blown to hell.
They didn't look like they should be dead.
"Thank you Mr. Garrett." she managed around the lump in her throat. "You and your wife, you did-did a good job."
Emma's hand found it's way to her forehead, the contact too warm for comfort. "Do you need to sit down, you look pale-" she whispered worriedly.
Tessa jerked her head away from Emma's hand and fixed her with a narrowed gaze that was fiercer than she actually felt. "I was there when they were born. I'll be there when they're buried."
Red Harvest took that as his cue, gently lifted her again and carried her out to the wagon. To her surprise, both Chisolm and Vasquez were there too. Chisolm was as inscrutable as ever dressed in black, but Vasquez looked as if he'd been working hard all morning. It was strangely comforting to see that hadn't changed.
"'Preacher says Jack and your brothers can't be buried in the church yard because they didn't live here." Vasquez began without preamble. "But if you like it, I picked a spot up on the ridge-" he pointed the direction. "-for them."
Tessa touched the bundle she'd hung around her neck and nodded absently. "Does it much matter? Nick and Joe aren't-" She caught herself and stopped before she could insult the man any more. 'I mean thank you, Vas. That will be a good place." Their eyes met and he didn't flinch from what he saw there. He nodded quietly and gestured for Willis McClay to get moving.
"Let's go then."