It was a Sunday morning. The kind of hour that if he had any sense, he'd be still in bed sleeping off Saturday night's hangover. Instead, the sky was barely even gray while he clutched a glass of subpar whisky.
It was as quiet in the saloon as it was on the streets. Only two other men graced the saloon with their presence, three if one counted the owner, and all had the sense to leave him well enough alone in his black mood except for one of the working women.
Her tinkling laughter grated like nails on a chalkboard because of the depravity and foolishness behind it, and it cut like thorns because he'd heard a richer and sweeter laughter during the short while he'd been able to call Ruth his wife.
"I have a lovely room in the back where I can bring a smile to that handsome face of yours."
He didn't even look up or respond to her honeyed words that hid a bitter trade.
One of her hands brushed the whiskers of his cheek and settled on his shoulder. For a moment if he closed his eyes, he could pretend that it was Ruth's hand that touched him, but he knew better and the touch left him cold.
"You, ma'am, are a viper intent on consuming me, but I will not take your poison today."
He should have been kinder in his rejection. Ruth would have wanted him to be. His words had obviously stung, and she pulled her hand away. "No, you obviously prefer to drink your poison."
He looked down at the amber-colored drink and then he watched as she slinked off to the two men playing cards. She was right. The whole place had a poisonous atmosphere.
The drinks that went down smooth came back sour in the light of a new day. The smiles the girls wore were as false as the red of their lips. The gambling that happened could be exciting until your pockets came back empty.
It wasn't just the "wicked" life either that ended up unhappily. He'd toiled hard to earn his living for that short while on the ranch, and he'd lost it in an instant. Building your world around a spouse didn't work either. They either left by choice or by the grave, and it didn't matter which. The one left behind ended up just as lonely. So much for the "good" life.
And not even the night gave him rest. It plagued him with dreams and memories and anxieties. He almost wished he was Stephen Ball so then he would be dead. It was a sad outlook for a man as young as he was. It often took years for a person to reach such gloom and despair, but he really did feel like life was a fleeting yet miserable experience with few joys to make up for it and those that were the lucky ones were those that were six feet under.
He supposed life had always been so empty and insignificant, but he had never felt it so keenly. He had thought pleasure to be a worthwhile distraction to the harshness of life, but it didn't last forever. Therefore, he had come to the conclusion that life meant nothing.
You were born and then you died. You could fill the years in between with all manner of things, some good and some bad, but the end result was the same. The earth continued its revolution around the sun caring little for the manner of life that teamed on its soil until memory of the previous generation with their hate, their accomplishments, their sorrows and even their love were swept away and lost forever.
So what did anything matter? Yet, if life was meaningless then the answer must be that he hadn't yet found the meaning of life. He wasn't satisfied with the conclusion that he had come to.
Suddenly a bell rang out calling sinners to worship. The sound was mellow and sweet but urgent. It was if it called out to him, "Come, Come."
He paid for his unfinished drink and then followed the melodic tones to a little church on a hill.
It was strange he should find himself here of all places, at a house of worship. Maybe he'd just gotten used to going with Ruth, but something in him had pulled him here. He had an indescribable yearning for something he couldn't put words to.
And then he considered a thought foreign to his usual way of thinking: perhaps the reason life was so vain was so that man could realize that apart from God everything was vanity.