Leaves That Are Green Turn to Brown, a magnificent seven fanfic

"...faded in the night

Like a poem I meant to write,

And the leaves that are green

Turn to brown."

- Paul Simon

Vin Tanner was an introspective man who often pondered the currents of life, and in general the strangeness of people and the world. For much of his life he'd been an outsider and a loner, often homeless, always rootless. A few times he'd landed in places he almost felt he belonged, and so it was with the town of Four Corners. He called it home, if by "home" he meant only that he'd found people there he had come to know as friends.

Still, he felt stifled by the town, pinched in by close quarters and the busyness of it. When he got the itch to be free, Vin would take off, ride into the countryside, and disappear for a few days.

This time, the weather had been clear and sunny, if cold, when he left. But it was a clean, honest cold that sat benignly along the outline of his clothes. It refreshed his face and made him feel alive. The sky overhead was a soft blue, decorated by thin wispy clouds. From a life lived mostly out-of-doors, Vin knew this wouldn't last. At best, the frosty breath of winter was a few weeks away.

He had no plan. Traveling until he felt like stopping, Vin set up camp at a pretty site near a stream where he could fish. He'd been feeling achy and out of sorts, and believed open space and fresh air were the cure for it. He spent a few days doing next to nothing. Caught some fish the first day, snared a rabbit the next. Talked to his horse, Peso. Listened with appreciation to nature's sounds and wrote poems in his head. With squinted eyes, Vin admired the pretty view all around while rolling his shoulders against the ache that wouldn't go away.

On the fourth day, the sky became the color of lead, and rain came in the form of drizzle. Gradually, the cold turned malignant, a fine mist invading between Vin's coat and shirts till it dampened even the deepest layer. The greedy chill sucked away body heat, demanding more of it by the hour.

Vin hunkered down at the campsite, feet close to the fire. In clothing that no longer offered warmth, he searched the sky for signs the weather would turn again. But though the rain stopped, the sky stayed gray and opaque. When a sharp wind came up in the night, Vin admitted defeat. He thought about the saloon, friendship, and Inez's spicy cooking – all of which would be a hell of a lot warmer than it was here. In the morning he closed camp. When he mounted up, it was toward Four Corners that he turned Peso's head.

It took a day and a half to get home. Now and then, rain rode the ill-natured wind. Moisture blackened the trees, yellow grass sagged on the ground, wildlife huddled in their burrows. The welcoming landscape had turned bitter. And Vin Tanner was sick.

-o-

For two days, Chris sat on the boardwalk, watching the road that would bring Vin home. He knew it was ridiculous, hated the prickly feeling he had, but he would not relax until he saw a certain black horse appear at the end of the street. The wind blustered, rain spat, came and went, and still Chris sat, bundled in a heavy woolen coat. He changed places often, parking himself in different spots – outside the jail, in front of the boarding house or next to Mrs. Potter's store, wherever there was protection. Restlessly, he spent time whittling, stiff fingered, handing out tiny wooden horses to a few children who came by. The children didn't seem to care that the toys were not Chris's best work.

At last the real horse and rider appeared. Chris stepped into the muddy street as they got close, grabbing hold of Peso's bridle. Vin's head was bowed. When he turned a wind burned face to peer at Chris, he seemed barely to know where he was.

"Good God!" Chris exclaimed. "Don't you have the sense you were born with? Why are you out in this?"

Vin stared, bleary-eyed, at his friend. There weren't any real answers to those questions, because where else would he be?

Together, they went to the livery. Chris made Vin sit in a corner while he took charge of Peso, untacking, rubbing him down, and settling him with food and dry bedding. He tried to ignore the occasional harsh cough sounding from the corner. Vin hadn't said a word, but when Chris was done caring for the horse and stood expectantly before his friend with a look that said "well?", Vin finally spoke. "Was thinkin' of headin' for the saloon."

Chris glowered at him. "You're going straight to the clinic. You look like death warmed over."

Vin studied Chris's face, saw he was serious, and dipped his head in assent. "Ain't warm," he murmured.

At the clinic, Nathan made Vin strip off the damp shirts. He checked his throat, listened to his chest, and analyzed the cough. Vin was shaky, feverish, and Nathan shook his head with regret when he told him, "Sounds like lung fever, Vin. Pneumonia. I can make a tonic to loosen the cough, but you have to get to bed right away and stay there. You need to get warm, and I'll make a poultice for your chest."

Vin thought about the wagon he slept in, how the wind could whistle right through it. He pictured the heavy buffalo robes he would cocoon himself in. Trance-like, he pulled a shirt back on. He didn't see Nathan pull Chris aside or hear their low voices.

"Chris, you can't let him stay in the wagon." Nathan gazed out the window. Overhead, gray upon gray, clouds moved through the sky. The window shuddered. "It's so miserable out there, I wouldn't be surprised to see sleet."

"I'll take him to the boarding house," said Chris. "It's warm there." When Chris told Vin of the plan, it was proof of just how sick Vin was, that he didn't protest.

-o-

The room Vin went to was a little cubby of a place, on the ground floor at the back of the boarding house. Its window faced the wall of the cigar shop next door. For the next few days, Vin lay in an iron bedstead, enduring various remedies, like hot toddies and a diet of broth and eggs he would barely touch. Nathan prepared cough syrup from a complicated recipe. A mustard plaster was applied to Vin's chest, covered with wool to hold the heat in, and changed frequently. Vin was weak and wheezy. Chris propped pillows behind his back to keep him from lying flat.

One day, Nettie Wells was summoned to town. She arrived in mid afternoon, wearing an apron over her dress, ready to act as nurse, and bearing a kettle of chicken soup. Vin took half-hearted sips of the broth, then lifted apologetic eyes to the woman who loved him like a son. "Sorry, Nettie. Don't nothin' taste good to me."

Stricken, Nettie swallowed against a lump in her throat. She patted his shoulder. "It's all right. You rest now." She pulled the quilt up over Vin's chest, expecting to see his eyelids close for sleep. Instead, his eyes wandered to the window, and her own gaze followed. Vin was studying a leafy vine on a trellis nailed to the wall of the cigar shop.

Nettie strode over to peer through the glass. Against the weathered gray of the wall, most of the leaves showed up brown, dried and decaying. Only a few still bore traces of green, fluttering, barely keeping their hold on the vine. As Nettie watched, a gust of wind snatched one of the crusty leaves, and it swooped and rose to disappear from sight.

Chris was just coming into the room. Shucking off his coat, he stepped over to stand beside Nettie. "The merchant and his wife came from out east," he said. "She brought her own plant slips and managed to make that thing grow and flower. Tended it like a baby all summer long."

"It don't belong here," came Vin's voice from across the room.

Startled to hear him speak, both Chris and Nettie turned.

Vin struggled to sit up a little higher against the pillows. "It's dyin'," he rasped. "Like me. I been watchin' those leaves - fallin' faster all the time. Yesterday there was near fifty, this mornin' maybe twenty. Pretty soon they'll all be gone, and then so will I."

Nettie was scandalized. She placed her hands on her hips and spoke sternly. "What are you talking about, Vin Tanner? Of course it's dying. It's the time of year when green things die."

"Because their time is done," said Vin. His breath came short as he spoke. "Like mine. When the last one of those leaves goes, I'll go too. It's meant to be."

Wordlessly, Chris slid his gaze back to the window, and counted the leaves. There were nine.

But Nettie was not wordless. She advanced upon the bed. "I have never heard such nonsense in my life," she scolded. "That vine has nothing to do with you. You are going to get better, do you hear me? You'll be strong again – just as green and alive as those leaves were all summer. And I won't hear any different!"

Vin lifted his chin to stare back at Nettie, stubbornly silent. Underscored by sunken cheeks and a pale complexion, the determined look produced a horrid sight. With a sudden gasp, turning swiftly, Nettie stalked from the room.

Chris glared at Vin for a moment, then followed Nettie out, just in time to see Nathan arrive in the hallway. Nettie stood sagged against the wall, apron twisted in her hands and pressed to her mouth. Alarm bloomed on Nathan's face. His eyes darted from Nettie to Chris.

Lifting a hand in a sad gesture, Chris said, "He's – hanging on."

Nathan touched Nettie's shoulder. "We're doing what we can."

"He's decided not to live any more," Nettie whispered. "Made up his mind he's not going to get well."

"Why would he do that?"

Nettie only shook her head. "He seems not to care." She sniffled then and straightened away from the wall, swiping the apron at her eyes. "Look at me, acting foolish and crying like a child. At my age."

"Go get some rest," Chris told her. "Nathan and I will talk some sense into this mule."

When Nettie had gone to the room she'd rented, Nathan questioned Chris. "What's goin' on here?"

"Vin's saying crazy things. I don't know – maybe he's delirious or something. Can you check him out?"

"Sure, Chris. It's why I'm here."

In the room, Vin was facing the window. His eyes were wide open. "Seven," he murmured. Then, "Six," in a voice so low Nathan barely heard it.

Nathan frowned as he approached the bed. He placed a hand on Vin's forehead, finding it less warm than the day before. Curiously, he looked around the room. What was Vin counting? Chris saw the searching gaze and gave a little jerk of his head toward the window. Looking out, Nathan saw nothing but the wall of the store next door, and the dark weathered vine against it.

"He's come up with some crap about dead leaves and him dying along with them," Chris said in a less than charitable tone.

Tossing Chris a dirty look, Nathan adjusted Vin's pillows and straightened the blankets. He understood Chris's frustration, but also knew simmering resentment would not help the situation. He kept his voice gentle. "What's this about, Vin?"

Vin was calm. "Nettie said it. It's the time of year when things die."

"That is not what she meant!" Chris burst out. Furiously, he strode to the window, yanking the curtains closed with such a savage motion it was a wonder they didn't rip. "You're not counting those stupid leaves any more!" he ordered.

"Hold on there!" Nathan started, angry at Chris's outburst. "Don't – "

He was interrupted by Vin's quiet statement. "Can't stop the nature of things."

Nathan turned his attention back to Vin. He saw sorrow and solemn acceptance in his eyes, and recognized the loneliness of a man prepared to let loose from earthly ties. "Vin," he said softly. "You ain't takin' that journey yet. You're weak, but your fever's down." Pulling a stethoscope from his coat pocket, he spoke over his shoulder to Chris. "How's his cough been?"

"Actually seemed a little better today."

Nathan listened to Vin's chest. "Your lungs do sound some better, Vin. The treatments – "

"I'm so tired," Vin broke in. His voice was fragile as the dry leaves. "I could just let go, fly off or drift down like them old leaves. I don't know where they're goin', but it seems like an easy thing to do."

Turning to the little table at the bedside, Nathan reached for a pitcher and poured water into a glass. "Drink this," he said. He held the glass while Vin obediently took small sips. "Listen to me," he said, and was gratified to see Vin lift his eyes to look at him over the rim of the glass. "These morbid thoughts are from layin' around with nothin' better to think on. You've forgotten what it feels like to be well. Put your mind to gettin' better and it won't be long before you do." Setting the glass down, he added, "I want you to rest now, and think about good things. Sunshine, fresh air, and how it's gonna feel when you get back on that horse of yours. He's been missin' you."

Reluctantly, Vin closed his eyes and settled back. Nathan rose, gesturing for Chris to follow him into the hall. Outside the room, he turned a caregiver's eye on his friend. Dull-eyed, the picture of exhaustion, Chris looked almost as bad as Vin. Buck or Ezra would come later to relieve him of his watch, though how long they could actually keep him away was anyone's guess. Nathan knew the anger Chris had shown was a veneer over worry and fear. Nettie was not the only one who needed rest.

In the same kind voice he'd used with Vin, Nathan asked, "Where'd he get these ideas?"

Chris shrugged. "It's one certain idea." And he told Nathan about Vin's belief that when the last leaf fell from the vine, then he would die too.

"That ain't good," Nathan said quietly. "I've seen this kind of thing before, and it don't end well. For a man to survive, he has to believe he will."

The hallway was drafty. Chris leaned on the wall, hugging and rubbing his arms as he weighed Nathan's words. "I don't always understand Vin's way of thinking," he admitted. "He's lived so many places, with so many different kinds of people. Where dying's concerned, I couldn't say what kind of beliefs he's taken up along the way."

Nathan nodded. "Beliefs. Right. Well, Josiah knows a lot more about religious stuff. Maybe he can set Vin straight."

-o-

Even without the gray nature of the weather, it would have been dreary. Days were getting shorter; the sun would be gone by 5:00. The irksome wind made for a miserable walk to the church. Nathan flipped up the collar of his coat and hunched his aching shoulders. The tension of the last few days crept up his neck and into his head.

He entered the church to find Josiah tending to guttering candles near the altar. Gazing around, Nathan wondered if it was even safe to have them lit. A wayward flame would spread so fast in this old building. He knew Josiah had his own notions and ways of doing things, though. Would probably just tell him to have faith if he said anything, so he shrugged it off, and after greeting his friend they sat together in a pew. Josiah, like their other friends, had stayed with Vin a few times while Chris rested. Now Nathan updated Josiah on Vin's condition. He talked about Vin's strange ideas, how he had tied his life to the hapless dying leaves. "I'm afraid he might will himself off without a fight," he said.

At that moment, the door opened and JD blew in with the wind. JD pushed his hair back and glanced around, giving a brief nod to his friends. He approached the bank of candles, crossed himself in the way of the Catholic faith, and knelt. Nathan and Josiah were quiet, averting their eyes while JD prayed silently and used the flame of one candle to light another. When he rose, he crossed himself again, placed a penny on the table, and left without a word.

With the whoosh of the door, JD's candle went out. Nathan glared at the other remaining flames. He tossed off a helpless wave. "What's that for?" he demanded. "What does it do? Why do churches always have all these candles?"

"Light in the darkness, my brother." Josiah said in his soothing tone. "A tangible symbol of faith. Hope." He glanced sidelong at Nathan. "To some." Nathan rarely spoke of his own faith, or lack thereof.

Nathan's frustration grew. He asked again. "Just what did JD accomplish by doing that?"

Josiah did not rise to Nathan's apparent anger. "Sometimes when folks feel helpless, lighting a candle seems like the one thing they can do."

Silently, they sat a while longer, watching the candles. The flames quivered, receded and grew as the drafty building itself seemed to breathe. It was peaceful in the church, and Josiah had all the patience in the world when it came to waiting for another person to open up and talk. Finally, in a calmer voice, Nathan said, "I've done what I can. What I know to do." Sighing, he rubbed at the cramped muscles in his neck. "Josiah, you've been to other lands. Have you ever run across a medicine anywhere that would help Vin?"

Not one to let time spent in silence go to waste, Josiah had been pondering things. "Well," he said, "given the notion Vin's got in his head, I don't think we're talking about an actual medicine here." He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head back a little as he spoke, brow furrowed in thought. "I've visited foreign countries, studied their art and culture, learned of different spiritual beliefs. Where the mind is concerned, there are things that can help. Ceremonies, ritual, prayer. Shamans and priests the world over use lore to affect the minds and bodies of others." Josiah touched a finger to his temple as he looked at Nathan. "Good spells for their people, curses upon their enemies."

Looking down, Nathan flexed his hands, then curled them into fists. He recognized folks could sometimes think themselves into either being sick or well, but that was out of his control. And he wanted control. He wanted illness to be not some formless presence just doing as it pleased, but rather some - thing - he could grab onto with his bare hands and force into submission. Besides, some of what Josiah had said sounded too much like superstition, even magic, and Nathan hated superstition. "I don't believe in that stuff," he said.

Josiah shrugged. "But Vin might."

-o-

The two men shared a light supper of bread and cheese, then Nathan walked out into the night. Josiah would visit Vin tomorrow, perhaps bringing wisdom or philosophical talk devised to bring him to his senses.

Josiah placed the leftover food in a small storage cupboard. Next to it was a much larger cupboard. In this, he kept all kinds of things, and he opened it now, pulling both doors wide to view its contents.

He was always surprised at the amount of stuff he had managed to accumulate since coming to Four Corners. Tools, paint brushes, boxes of nails, cans of paint and varnish and such. Pushing things aside, he reached farther into the cupboard. Josiah's personal possessions were few, but he did have a collection he'd kept from his travels – art objects, curiosities, and books describing cultures and faiths of the world. Maybe these could give some clue of how to offer Vin strength.

Beneath the stack of books was a folded white robe, and he pulled this out as well. The robe had been here when he came to the church. Josiah held it up, let the heavy cloth drape down before him. He mused about ceremony and ritual. What made people believe as they did? If he wore this robe, some people would say he had the power to forgive. Might some also think he could heal? If he could make Vin believe something, and he, Josiah, actually believed it too, what might he accomplish?

Josiah put the robe on, encasing himself in whatever authority it held. He carried a lamp and the books to a pew, where he spent some hours in meditation and reading. When he rose later, folded the robe and replaced it on the shelf, he stood by the cupboard and marveled at what he believed he could do.

-o-

Fiercely, the wind beat at the buildings during the night, rattling windows and stealing in through every small crack. There was sleet too at times, icy bits tapping on the glass. Chris dozed in the chair and woke to a chill in the room. Nearby, Vin lay motionless in the bed. The windburn on his skin had improved with a healing balm. Now, except for gray smudges beneath his eyes, his face was pale and ghostly.

Seeing the fire in the stove was nearly out, Chris hurried to attend to it. Vin woke to the noise, coughing. He grimaced when he saw the drawn curtains stirring with the draft around the frame. "You think them curtains are gonna make any difference?" he scratched out.

Chris held his hands to the already growing flames. "Maybe."

Vin gave a scornful sniff. "Pull 'em aside, Cowboy."

Lips clamped tight, Chris looked toward the window with its trembling curtains. He'd heard the wind in the night. "God," he thought. "If it's moving the curtains in here, what must it have done out there?"

Vin took in breath to speak again, but broke into a spasm of coughing that made him curl onto his side. Rushing over, Chris pulled him back up, helped him lean forward, and rubbed his back until the spell was over. He fetched the bottle of cough syrup and poured a measure into a spoon, offering it to Vin. "Why are you so hell-bent on thinking that vine has anything to do with you?" he asked.

Vin swallowed down the dose. He tilted his head back on the pillows to gaze at the ceiling. One hand played with the frayed edge of the quilt. He took a cautious steadying breath, then said, "Chris, do ya ever feel like ya don't belong nowhere?"

Leaning down, Chris reached out to catch Vin's hand, stilling its fretful motion. "You know I do," he said, very low.

Vin nodded at Chris's admission. Haltingly, he went on, forming thoughts into words, and getting those words out the best he could. "I been homeless since I was little," he said. "Always felt like some kinda plant that couldn't take root, y'know? Didn't belong nowhere. Just blew along with the wind, landin' anywhere it took me. That vine out there – " Vin's voice squeaked a little and he stopped talking, swallowing away the scratch in his throat. After a moment he went on. "The vine," he repeated. "That lady brought it here and it don't belong. Not right for this place. She shouldn'ta tried to make it take root here. So the wind's takin' it all away now."

"But it did take root," Chris tried.

Vin shook his head. "Chris, open the curtain."

The two men's eyes met, and there was pain in each set. Wearily, Chris stepped to the window. His hands were unwilling as he placed them on the curtains to pull them aside. Weak sunlight filtered into the room, and Chris's heart leaped, whether from fear or relief he wasn't sure. The sun was out at last, and against the wall of the cigar shop, one leaf, curled and brown, remained.

Behind him, Vin murmured, "It's the last one. It'll let go today, and then I will too."

-o-

The day wore on. Though the wind had died away early on, Chris kept the fire stoked, holding off the chill. Once again, Nettie coaxed Vin with soup, this time steely-eyed, serving it with a brisk attitude. Nathan stopped by, bringing more supplies. Outside, the leaf still clung to the vine. Nathan, standing at the window, observed it through narrowed eyes, then turned away to advise Nettie on continuing the chest plasters.

Vin slept off and on, and when he was awake, stared hollow-eyed at the solitary steadfast leaf for long periods. Chris and Nettie whispered between themselves. Except for the one spell earlier, Vin's cough was better and Nettie seemed hopeful. But Chris took furtive glances out the window, holding his own breath, and prayed the wind would not come back in the night.

It was late afternoon before Josiah came to visit. His boots and coat were wet. He was chilled from his walk, and breathed a sigh of appreciation at the heat the room offered. He prayed and said a blessing over Vin, who accepted it with indifference, though it comforted Nettie. Peering into the kettle on the wood stove, Josiah took a deep appreciative sniff.

"There's more than enough," Nettie invited. Quickly, she ladled soup into a bowl and handed it to him. Josiah caressed the bowl, absorbing its warmth into his hands. "You're cold," Nettie observed. "The wind's coming up again." The way she said it was half statement and half fearful question. "You seem tired," she added.

Josiah frowned with regret. He'd promised to visit Vin, and should have been here much earlier, but had been up most of the night. After finally falling asleep in the early morning hours, he was appalled to wake up, aching and shivering, to discover it was already afternoon. "I was up till the wee hours last night," he admitted to Nettie. "Our friend Nathan gave me a lot to think about." Walking to the window, Josiah peered into the shadowed space between the buildings. He seemed satisfied at what he saw there. "The mind is a wondrous thing," he murmured.

-o-

Next morning, when it was light enough, Vin called to Chris to open the curtain. Chris had again spent the night dozing uncomfortably in the chair. Steeling himself, he rose, knowing there was nothing he could do to fight the inevitable.

The leaf was still there.

Dark brown, dead to all appearances, but obstinately distinct against the weathered gray wall of the store.

Astonished, Chris turned toward Vin to see him staring. Chris looked again at the leaf, and when he turned back, Vin was still staring, blue eyes confused. Chris checked Vin's forehead. Finding it almost cool, he returned to his chair, with no idea of what to say. Vin lay still in the bed, looking out the window for a long time.

Elsewhere in the boarding house there were sounds of people rising, stirring about in their rooms, and the noise of pans banging in the kitchen. "Would you eat some food?" Chris said at last.

Slowly, Vin nodded. "I just might." And Chris felt something inside of himself begin to unfreeze.

In the dining room, he ordered eggs and toast. He was in the hallway waiting for it, when at the sound of the door, Nathan came in. Chris smiled at him.

Nathan returned his own glimmer of smile. "Leaf's still there, ain't it?"

Chris shook his head, not to say no, but to display bafflement. "Couldn't believe my eyes, and I guess Vin couldn't either," he answered. "But it looks like he's turned a corner. He says he'll eat now."

"That's a relief," Nathan said with a sigh. " 'Cause I'm gonna have my hands full with another patient now. Josiah's sick with an ague."

"Damn." Chris remembered Josiah's weary manner the afternoon before, and frowned.

"Thankfully, he's strong and stubborn." Nathan went on. "He'll surely get through it. But he brought it on himself. Did you see how his coat was wet yesterday, even though the sun was out? He caught a chill the night before – out in the sleet, workin' by lantern light."

Chris gaped at him. "What in the world?"

"Had an idea about provin' the powers of the mind," said Nathan. "Didn't you notice how that last leaf never moved, Chris? Not so much as a quiver? Josiah painted it there the night the last real leaf fell."

End

Author's Notes:

1. O. Henry (William Sydney Porter, 1862-1910) was an American short story writer. "The Last Leaf" was first published in 1905. O. Henry's most famous story is "The Gift of the Magi", which has been adapted and retold in many different versions, including as movies and episodes of popular television series.