[so let's see if I can complicate things for our magnificent lawmen…]
PART 8
Buck finished reassembling his gun after it was clean and well oiled. He had stocked as much ammunition as he could carry in his saddlebags. Exhaustion weighted his limbs as he rocked back in his chair and flipped open his watch the hands reading ten minutes to nine. Vin should be relieving him soon. As if on cue, the front door to the jail clicked open and Buck smiled.
"There better be whisky left in that saloon, Junior. Between JD and Ezra, I 'bout worried myself dry." He stood and stopped short.
Edith Berman stepped inside her hands clasped neatly together at her waist. She wore neither hat nor gloves but carried a small bag at her elbow. Strands of hair floated loose from her bun but she looked oddly composed and purposeful. Her eyes were red from continued bouts of crying.
"Mr. Wilmington."
"Ma'am, you really shouldn't be here." Buck felt sorry for the widow. He liked the Berman's; they were good, hard-working folks, the kind of people the town needed. He had heard that Robert Guthridge had offered to buy the dry goods store, enabling Mrs. Berman to return east. Seemed for the best.
"I have to see him. I have to know why."
Buck towered over the woman but she stood tall and straight ready to defend her decision to confront the murderer of her husband.
Buck nodded in understanding. He would love to give Chris the opportunity to face the man who had killed his wife and son; the least he could do was give Edith Berman that chance.
She stepped closer to the cell, trembling as she stared at the outlaw. He was so young but all Edith saw was the person who had murdered her husband, her life. She intended to speak to him if it was the last thing she ever did. "You."
Bryce lay on the cot. He turned and raised indifferent eyes to the diminutive woman. "What the hell do you want?"
Buck gripped the bars of the cell and snarled at the man threateningly, "Mind your manners, boy!" He turned to face the widow. "Ma'am, maybe this isn't such a good idea."
Edith smiled sadly and rested a hand on Buck's chest. "I'll be fine, ."
Buck's lips pressed into a thin line and nodded his understanding as he took several steps back. Mrs. Berman needed to do this. She needed to challenge this scumbag and spit in his face. Buck admired her strength.
Bryce only snorted and pushed himself up, sitting on the edge of the cot. He recognized the woman but felt no remorse.
"Why...why did you have to kill my husband?" She asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "He was a peaceful shopkeeper. He was a good man. You didn't have to kill him."
Bryce cocked his head to the side, an amused smile forming on his face. He recalled the man who had tried to stop him from entering the store and had gunned him down without a second thought.
"He was a fool." Bryce lay back against the wall putting his hands comfortably behind his head. "He'd still be walkin' if'n he just minded his own business and let me do what I wanted."
Edith scrutinized the young outlaw in the cell, like he was some strange new animal. Was that the reason? Because her husband tried to protect what was his? Because he had the bad luck to get in the path of this man? How can a person just take away someone's life without any remorse? She tried to wrap her mind around this, to understand, but it was impossible. This man...this monster, had murdered Jonathan on a whim, taken the light of her life. Her husband was dead and buried while this beast continued to live and breathe feeling, not a minute of guilt or repentance of the lives he had destroyed.
Edith's satchel fell heavily from her loose fingers, dropping at her feet. She slowly bent down to pick it up. Her eyes remained locked on the amused smirk of the prisoner. When she stood, a small pistol was settled in her hand. Jonathan had bought it for her for protection when he was not around. Bryce had only a moment to register the widow's intent before a bullet tore through his ugly heart. She would never forget the astonished expression that replaced the young outlaw's smug smile.
M7M7M7M7
Nathan Jackson pushed open the bat wing doors and joined the other men at the table. A pot of warm stew sat between them and Josiah scooped up a plate for the healer. For a while, everyone sat in silence, thinking their own thoughts.
"I'm coming with you," Nathan stated around a spoonful of the food. "I saw the jacket and it's clear Ezra's been shot. There's no tellin' what condition he's in." Nathan smoldered with regret over his treatment of the southerner. He was determined to straighten things out between himself and the conman.
Chris noticed the strain on Nathan's face. He knew it was from more than tending to JD. Each of his men struggled with their guilt. Only getting Standish back could make it right.
"What about JD?" Vin asked. "Will he be alright left alone?"
"He's hurtin' for sure, kinda restless-but he's been sleepin' pretty well all evening. Inez came up to watch him so I could take a nap and eat." Nate explained. "I'll ask her to stay with him until we get back."
"Someone needs to watch the town," Chris said. He looked at the three men sitting at the table and knew it would be more trouble than it was worth to make any one of them stay. A crooked smile lit his face. "Think Inez could take care of the whole town, too?"
"I reckon she could at that." Vin chuckled as he pushed his chair back from the table. "I guess I'll go relieve Buck. I'm sure he's sick of Rosen's hogwash by now."
The unmistakable pop of a gun galvanized the lawmen into action and they raced out of the saloon.
"It came from the jail," Josiah said. The four men ran across the street, their weapons ready.
Chris sucked in a breath and held it. If Rosen was trying to break his son out it meant Ezra was dead. He gripped his gun tight. He waved Vin around the corner as he flattened himself next to the jail house door. It had gone silent after the shot, and dread raked its claws through his gut. They waited silently and listened. Vin circled back and the four lawmen quickly pushed through the door.
Buck sat on the floor, his long legs folded beneath him and Edith Berman held gently in his arms. The shadowy figure of Bryce Rosen lay slumped over on his cot. Beneath him, heavy drops of blood fell disturbing a dark puddle on the floor in a quiet rhythm.
Chris grabbed the keys from the desk and unlocked the cell door. Nathan pushed past the gunslinger and laid two fingers aside the outlaw's neck.
"He's dead." A stunned silence met Nathan's statement.
Chris was furious. "What the hell happened?"
"I killed him...I did it...I did it..." Edith Berman murmured in a singsong voice. She looked up at Chris and the others; her wide eyes sparkled in the lantern light. "I killed the devil."
Buck looked up at Chris from his place on the floor. "She just showed up. I had no idea she would shoot him. I didn't even see the gun."
Edith began rocking back and forth, crying. Buck smoothed her hair as Josiah reached out to take her arm, "Let me take her, Buck." The preacher bent down and gently helped the distraught woman to her feet. She was visibly trembling and held tight to his hand.
"Bring her to the clinic, Josiah," Nathan intoned. "I'll give her something to help her sleep." Josiah gently urged the traumatized women from the jailhouse.
Buck got to his feet. "She killed him." He softly stated. "She just took out the gun and shot him." He pointed at the dead body of Bryce Rosen as he tried to make sense of it. He still couldn't believe it.
"And she might have just killed Ezra, too." Chris bent down and picked up the small gun the woman had dropped. He didn't blame her. Sweet revenge. He'd give anything to kill the man who murdered his family. But how would they get Ezra back now? He didn't think James Rosen would believe that a petite distraught woman shot his son down in his cell.
"Shit! What are we goin' to do, Chris?" Buck asked, running a hand through his brown hair.
"I don't know, but I do know we're going to git Ezra back, no matter what," Chris replied and walked out of the jailhouse.
M7M7M7M7
Josiah stood patiently at the bottom of the clinic staircase. He held one elbow of the tormented widow firmly, supporting her. "One step at a time, Ma'am." He paused as she studied the next riser and convinced herself to move ahead. Nathan was a few steps up and waited quietly.
Edith Berman clung to the big man next to her, trying to soak in his quiet strength. She knew she would simply float away without the anchor of the ex-preacher's quiet strength. Her husband had been big and quiet too. She felt completely lost, as if the world had disappeared, throwing her off her feet and setting her in a new direction altogether. She had worked hard all her life and took pleasure in the small successes life offered. Her instinct told her she should get back to work, that there was much to do, but she could not find her bearings. She looked up at Josiah, then lifted her foot and took another step.
Josiah's rich voice rolled over her. "We'll go upstairs for a bit and sort this out." The group started to move more deliberately but before they reached the clinic door, it flew open.
"Nathan! Thank God!" Inez darted down the few steps that separated her from the healer and grabbed his arm as if she could lift and carry him up to the clinic. They raced back inside.
"Something's wrong, Nathan! He's burning up!" Inez was frantic. "He can hardly breathe!"
Nathan threw off his coat and quickly moved to the bedside. He placed his large cool hand across JD's hot forehead. The young man was soaked in sweat and gasping for air. His eyes searched Nathan's face with intense anxiety.
Josiah gently sat Edith down in a chair by the window. The widow pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees, seeing JD fight for his life ignited too many memories.
Nathan went quickly to his dresser where he kept his medical supplies. "Miss Inez, you calm down now." He paused for a second and looked her in the eye. "You done good. Now please, get to the pump and bring up more water. If you got any boiled, I could use that too." Inez flew out the door and the preacher started after her. "Wait, Josiah!" Nathan called to him over his shoulder. "I'm gonna need you."
JD turned toward Edith Berman. He watched as her face swam into his line of vision. The room was a blur of color and any structure or form seemed to move independently of it. He was terrified. There was a sharp pain in his chest that spiked when he pulled air into his lungs, but he fiercely wanted more. His head ached and a sound rang inside it, confusing him. He felt sure someone was there that could help him get out of this nightmare. He fought to stay awake—there was somewhere he thought he needed to go-home-he had to get back home.
Edith never had children but something maternal inside the widow awoke and she leaned forward and took up one of JD's hands. "Shhh. It's OK, son. We'll take care of you." His terrible plight hemmed in the shattered pieces of her mind and she leaned over and kissed his forehead.
"Mama?"
Josiah heard the faint plea, too. He watched as Edith took hold of one of JD's hands. JD teetered on the edge of consciousness and could only manage that one word, but Edith's spirit revived. Josiah continued to listen. If sound alone could heal a man, he thought, JD would soon be cured. The woman delivered a whispered homily of soothing rhetoric for JD alone. Nathan nodded towards Josiah and the ex-preacher gently grasped Edith's shoulders and moved her aside so the healer could work.
Nathan and Josiah held JD's head and shoulders as they lifted and turned the sheriff onto his chest. He grunted and gasped. His ashen face turned to the side and he clutched the damp sheets beneath him. Nathan produced a knife, slit open the bandage, and pressed a fresh cloth to the wound. By smell alone, he knew it was infected.
Nathan pulled his tray of supplies closer. He couldn't bear to tell JD that he was going to cut open the stitches and clean the wound. The kid was in such pain already. As he peered under the fresh cloth. He listened to Mrs. Berman, she was desperately needed and she responded in kind. She spoke to JD as she gently massaged his bare shoulders. Little by little, she repositioned JD's arms until his hands rested above his head.
"Hold him, Josiah." The big preacher nodded and knelt on the floor at the head of the bed. He grasped JD's wrists in his large fists. Edith sat on the side of the bed and leaned on JD's legs. Nathan began cutting the stitches. JD struggled as Nathan worked. His fingers splayed open as he tried in vain to free his arms from the preacher's hold. Sweat soaked his hair and it hung in tangled clumps.
"Please, Josiah…let go…let me go…" He labored.
"Just a little longer, son… just another minute."
JD's hips pressed into the mattress as he tried to escape Nathan's touch. The healer worked quickly and methodically, cleaning the infection that nourished the burning fever.
Josiah took a deep breath and blew it out slowly as if he could remind JD how to breathe again. He looked at Nathan, puzzled.
"The bullet must have weakened his lung, Josiah. Once it's injured it don't take much more than a hard cough to collapse it. We gotta hope it's only a small part of it that ain't workin'." Nathan began closing the clean wound with a neat row of stitches.
Nathan laid a dark hand on JD's head and leaned in. "Can't do nothin' for that lung right now, JD. But it can heal right back up again if you stay still. You gotta rest, do you hear?" Although he spoke to the young man he could tell JD was well past comprehending anything.
Inez returned with fresh water and helped Edith wipe the area around the wound clean. Together with Josiah they turned JD onto his back and wrapped a fresh bandage around his chest. They positioned him as comfortably as possible and coaxed him to drink some of the healer's tea.
"You're going to be OK now, JD. Breathe slow…breathe shallow." Nathan whispered as he smoothed the hair from his forehead.
JD struggled with every gasp but his earlier terror of suffocation was gone. Edith took hold of the young gunslinger's hand again. The room still slid and shifted, but the hands that held him kept him in place. He sensed an oddly familiar presence that was deeply comforting.
TBC