Hope
Chapter One
Jess
I've traveled down this lonely road before. I suppose I shoulda been used to sitting in the saddle day after day, heading for somewhere, but getting nowhere, yet this time it felt unfamiliar, like I didn't wanna be here. I guess it's because all those years before, when drifting was as normal to me as drawing my gun, I hadn't known what it was like to be tied to anything I coulda called a home. This time I did. But now that solid foundation of a home was gone, because the ties that had been looped around me, attaching me to that home had been severed. It's just me and my horse again, and that long, lonely road to nowhere.
Some would say my life's been a mess, built on pain, loss and hardship. I ain't one for labels, except maybe my profession, and that itself has seen its variation over the years, but aside from either being a gunfighter, rancher or just a no-good drifter, I ain't gonna be naming my troubles. They're just that. Troubles. Everyone has scrapes now and then, although it sure seems that I've had more than my share. I'd just been kicked by one of those shares again recently. Maybe I kicked myself, I dunno, but there was another boot aiming at me too. I can still feel the sting a coupla weeks later, perhaps, because there was a different boot jabbing at me other than my own. The hidden wound that it created has only worsened, because inside of that boot that struck deeper than my outer flesh was a foot belonging to the man that was my best friend.
I can't change things now, but since it had been from my best friend, at the height of our flaring tempers, I shoulda just took a short walk and cooled down, but instead, I walked toward the barn in full determination to leave, my feet pounding the ground harder than the way my fury beat inside of my chest. I'd hurt Slim, but I knew that going back to the drift would hurt him more, yet I couldn't stop what I'd already started. It was too late. The fight was too fresh. The words were too strong. It was true that our argument was two sided, based on something as meaningless as how much money was spent on a dad-blamed horse that woulda rather tromped us both into the ground than get broke.
I think if Jonesy woulda been there, he woulda interfered and called us a coupla dern fools, stubborn mules, or something alike, and we woulda stared hard, blue into blue, until the lines around our eyes started to soften, and the next thing we woulda been doing was clapping our hands on each other's backs, the fight behind us, forgotten, forgiven. But that didn't happen. I made my own choice, even if it was the wrong one. I ain't sure I've figured that part out yet, but something I do know, I woulda stopped and turned back if Slim woulda called out to me. I was already starting to crumble when I urged my horse in motion, knowing that to leave meant I'd never be coming back, but it was the silence that kept driving me forward and I left. And dad-gum, I've been miserable ever since.
It's been hot, cold, wet, dry, stormy and downright dangerous, and that's just Mother Nature's side of things. I wouldn't even begin to describe how I felt inside, although there coulda been some similarities to the weather variants that I faced. Mostly, I was lonely, an emotion that I was quite acquainted with, but the longer I had to stew in it, the more I realized how much I hated it. I had no one to complain to about this ongoing fix except myself. I knew I was to blame, even if both Slim and I really were a coupla dern fools, stubborn mules, or something alike.
Every day that I was gone was a little longer, the nights even longer still, and after spending one of those particular nights huddled up in a rain squall listening to every drip that fell, I decided to pull up for the next and get some real shut eye in a real bed, so at dawn I made haste for anything that looked like a town. I found one in a particularly barren corner of Dakota Territory. It had a hotel, a diner, a sheriff's office and two saloons, but not much else. A dry bed might've been what I'd come to seek, and it ain't no surprise to say that I'd be expecting to spend some of my time cozying up to the bar, but it wasn't any of these things that grabbed me once my backside no longer was attached to the saddle.
A funeral was taking place, and I arrived just in time for the procession. I took my hat off in respect, and it wasn't long before an old-timer leaned against the hitching rail that I tied my mount to, wiping his weathered cheeks with a handkerchief. I could've walked away when the mourners passed on by me, but something kept my feet stilled. Too somber of an occasion, I reckon, to just walk away and head into the saloon for a shot or two of whiskey while the rest of the town cried, but more than likely it was because the man leading the group kinda looked like me and I couldn't take my eyes off him until he rounded the corner toward the cemetery. Not that I thought he coulda been my kin, but it was just his stride, the way his head was held, the way his eyes glistened with a certain flame. He looked determined, yet defeated. I kinda knew exactly how he felt. And maybe if he looked at me, we coulda shared a nod of understanding, but his thoughts were only on his loss, and would never turn his attention to some no-account drifter. As others around me started stirring, I put my hat back on my head, my foot angling to one of my preferred destinations, when my movements turned the old-timer at the hitching post in my direction.
"You knew, Sam?" He asked, his moist eyes looking hard into mine.
"No, sir," I replied with a slight shake of my head. "I'm just passing through town."
"Oh," the man gave a heavy sigh, using his head to gesture toward the empty space where the small line of people wearing black had disappeared to. "Sad story, that, you want to hear?" Of course he didn't wait for me to reply, but I don't think I woulda said no. I reckon I needed to hear the story, even if it was a sad one. "Sam Sherwood died in an accident, and Jeff, his brother, that was the man walking in front, feels all the blame since he was supposed to be working on the barn roof with Sam and not out dillydallying like he was. The ladder tipped and Sam fell. Jeff found him there, gone, not even able to say a heartfelt goodbye. They were close, those two boys, and now… well, you can figure the rest."
I certainly could. And that's what brought me to a cheap, sparse and dreary hotel room to stay and not out getting my fill of food or drink like I'd planned and not stretching out in bed to sleep the longest hours away. It was the single wooden chair next to the small round table that attracted me, as it was in this position where it'd be best to pen a note to Slim, because we had never said a heartfelt goodbye either. If we had, I probably woulda never left. It was strange how the names of the two brothers were kinda parallel to Slim's and mine. Sam and Jeff. Slim and Jess. Sure kept me thinking about us, on what went wrong, and what mighta still been right.
I've been sitting here ever since, the piece of paper in front of me, the dim light of a lamp next to me, trying to figure out something to say to someone who wasn't only just my friend, but was like my brother. I'd managed to write Slim's name at the top, and as I continued to stare at the blank space below it, the image in front of me started to blur away until I could see the ranch in its place. When that picture brought a twitch of my mouth that turned into a smile, my head filled with thoughts, memories and emotions that whispered into the form of words. Nothing skillful or poetic, but I reckon it was about as close to the whole me that I could get.
The Sherman ranch. I can't help but wonder how many miles I'd wandered before I landed there. If I coulda counted them, I probably coulda trekked across the entire country and maybe back again. I saw a lot of different places, met a lot of different people, fought my way through a lot of it, but wasn't all of that big open just some empty space, if it wasn't where I belonged? Even though I wasn't really looking for a place, I gotta admit I'd always hoped that one day I'd find me somewhere to root down. I reckon that's one thing that a man can't help but hold a piece of, especially when that man is someone like me that ain't never had much in his life. Hope. It got fulfilled when I was welcomed into Slim's family. I suppose it's kinda strange to say, but even though I've left the ranch behind me, where that feeling of hope existed before, hasn't dwindled at all. Maybe my inner being knows more than I'd like to think.
Dad-gum. I'm supposed to have a rough exterior that's hardened all the way to my interior, but I've gotta heart that ain't all stone-like. It can feel hurt, sometimes more than I ever like to fully express. Slim didn't hurt me. Not really. It was his words that cut to the core, not anything physical. But I did bleed. I might never cry, but dad-gum, I've sure been bleeding, because like me, Slim knows how to give a blow. I was kinda surprised that he could stand up to me like he did, delivering it back pound by pound, but I woulda lost a lot of respect for him if he woulda allowed me to walk all over him. We mighta parted, but that didn't change my true opinion of the man. It's me that has all the black marks and it's about time I stopped sharing them with him. I reckon Slim'll be a better man without me.
But was I gonna be a better man alone? That I couldn't yet answer. I'd like to think I could be, but there wasn't much hope in thinking I was gonna be a model citizen, clean-cut and polished without trouble waiting for me around every corner. No, hope was built on something more solid, and I stood alone on sinking sand. I stood alone all right, and I would stand, walk, ride, and do everything else alone from now on, even if I didn't really want to.
I reckon I woulda wrote all that, if I coulda worked my thoughts out on a piece of paper and addressed it to Slim. What really went in the envelope was something a whole lot shorter. But even that wasn't without feeling.