Chapter 21: Reflections

Bill hurried into the saloon and quickly scanned the room. Again, as usual, it was packed with the normal group of work-weary and life-weary miners who found their solace in a glass of rye whiskey. He saw neither Jedidiah lingering about nor did he see any other of Gowen's henchmen.

He went up the stairs quickly and knocked on the door to Richardson's room.

"Who is it?" A voice said gruffly, from behind the wooden oak of the door.

"Inspector Avery," Bill replied in a low voice, "you said you had something for me."

Ethan Richardson opened the door, with some suspicion, "Did anyone see you?"

"No," Bill reassured him, "I was careful. It wasn't a long walk and it looks like Gowen's men aren't out and about tonight."

"Oh, they are," Richardson said grimly, "jest not around here. They've got chores t'do, I reckon. I'm due over his office t'night in a bit. That aint going to be fun. I'm hopin' he won't notice those papers are gone until it's too late for him t'do anythin' about it."

Bill looked at him seriously, "I meant what I said at the jail. I will do my best for you with the judge and to keep Gowen from coming after you."

"Not really scared of Gowen" Richardson admitted, "I mean, he's like a rattler. Got a deadly bite but ya just gotta know how to handle him. I've been on my own for a long time. I kin take care of myself. I've handled worse." He did not mention to Bill how he had "handled worse" - no use digging up old skeletons and hangin' oneself unnecessarily.

Having handled his fair share of miscreants and villains over the years (including the monster that had destroyed his family), Bill could empathize. Life could be brutal in the north country. Need to grow up quickly.

"Here's your kit," Richardson handed it to him, after glancing quickly down the hall. "Nothin's been touched in there. I coulda destroyed it but decided not to – not sure why."

"I think that was your conscience kicking in," Bill said, "you're a decent man, Richardson."

"Naw," Richardson denied, "jest trying to right a wrong. No one should treat a lady like Mrs Stanton the way Gowen did. Wish I could get 'im on that."

"This is more important to her." Bill reassured him, "She would rather have justice for the dead miners in this town than justice for herself."

Richardson was impressed. "That's a good lady ya got there."

Bill raised an eyebrow. "That's just the type of lady she is – an honorable one."

"Oh, don't give me that disapprovin' look," Richardson scoffed, "I might not be no fancy Inspector 'n all but I have eyes and I also been doin' some listenin'. The town knows ya have a special friendship with the lady."

"The one downside of a small town," Bill smiled ruefully, "apparently I have no secrets."

"No," laughed Richardson, "ya really don't. Not here anyways."

"Well," Bill turned to leave, "I'm greatly obliged to you for your help."

Ethan nodded, "Inspector, be careful. Gowen hates you and as much as I think ya can handle him, I'm sure ya remember you've been told about what happens when ya corner a dog..."

"They bite," Bill said, "I remember. But thank you for the warning."

Ethan grunted in response and closed the door.

Bill looked consideringly at the door for a moment and then headed to his room. That Ethan Richardson... interesting man...but he had no time to unravel mysteries this late in the evening.

He had work still to do and the night was now getting late.

He opened the door to his small room and the light from the moon shone into his room. You almost didn't need a lantern or candle tonight, he thought. The moon's silver glow cast an ethereal light in the room, transforming the small and sparse bedroom. It wasn't a harsh glow – but soft, creating shadows that were less menacing than they were soft ghosts.

Speaking of ghosts... it was time Bill dealt with his one final time.

The glimmer of the moonlight fell upon the picture of Mary and John, still standing on his bedside. He walked over to the desk and picked up the photograph and looked at it, lost in memories. I will always love you, he said silently to his wife, and that will never change. But I have found a woman that I admire deeply. You would like her, I think – she reminds me of you in some ways. Thank you, Mary, for the time we had together. You know that I will never forget you but I believe it's time to let you and John go. Time for both of us to find our peace.

He had been told once long ago by his grandmother that departed loved ones would never rest in peace as long as their loved ones left behind roamed on earth in pain and constant sorrow. As an adult, he knew that was simply a legend, an old tale handed down to her by her rather mystical Irish ancestors. But he wondered now, in retrospect, whether there was not just a small grain of truth in that legend.

There was a sharp pang in his heart when he admitted that it was time to let go. He knew the time was right – that she would have told him to let go a long time ago. Yet, a part of him hesitated – was he truly ready? He sent up a silent prayer, seeking some kind of sign. Bill had not only never really been a fervently religious man, he also never had been the type to look for a mystical "sign."

He always had dealt in the concrete and the tangible. It had been his career for years to investigate the strange and unexplained. This whole seeking of some sign was new to him. He felt awkward and uncomfortable with the whole notion of "signs" but this was something he strongly felt inside that he needed to have. Maybe it was part of the grieving... a part that no one had explained to him.

Mary, he asked silently, his heart full with the bittersweet realization that he would have to say goodbye a second time before he could give his heart to someone else without guilt, let me know that it is all-right to move on. We had our moments of difficulty, 'tis true, but you and I had a wonderful life together. Both of us need to find our peace.

The window was open and the night was clear and still. The scent of the mountain air lingered on the night-winds and floated in with the beams of moonlight. The bustle of Coal Valley had quieted as the shroud of night had fallen over the town. Suddenly, Bill smelled a strong scent of mayflower – a plant not native to this part of Canada. But it had been a plant that Mary had particularly favored, with its small flowers and its particularly sweet odor. It was small and hidden and bloomed very briefly – rather much like Mary herself.

The smell drifted into the room, becoming distinctly stronger. There were no flowers in Bill's room; and those flowers he had not seen anywhere near the town. Maybe the scent was being carried over from the mountains, he tried to explain it logically. But his heart and his head told him that was not likely, given where they normally grew. There was no logical explanation for this smell carrying so far.

He bent his head and touched the photograph again and thought to a poem he had once read:

Remember me when I am gone far away

Gone far away into the silent land

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more, day by day,

You tell me of our future that you planned:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that I once had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.1

Thank you, Mary, he said quietly, may you and our son rest in God's peace. I will never forget you. Remember me as I will remember you.

And with those last words, he opened the desk drawer, took out a pouch, slid the photograph in it gently and placed it face down in the drawer. He cradled the ring gently in his hands for a moment and then slipped it into a smaller pouch.

He closed the drawer, took a deep breath of the air, the scent of mayflower2 becoming fainter and fainter as the winds carried it away. The wind's task was finished and it was time for him to start a new life.

Goodbye, Mary and John.

1Christina Georgina Rossetti – 1830-1894– Remember

2Read here about the mayflower: .

Also: article/may-flowers-memories-of-a-perfumed-secret-the-forest

It's conceivable Mary may have encountered the mayflower while on the East Coast.