Pity is the Worst
Chapter 1
It had been a while since Nick and Heath insisted their brother Jarrod come to town with them on a Friday night, to play some poker and just relax. It had been a long two months since Jarrod had lost his wife and gone off the rails. He'd been struggling to get himself back, and back to work, both in Stockton and in San Francisco. All of the family was beginning to think he had thrown himself into work too much, but they knew that was his way when he had difficulties to find his way through. He'd bury himself in work. This time was just far more difficult than the usual.
"Yeah, all right," Jarrod had said at dinner when Nick asked him to go to town with him and Heath. It actually surprised everyone, but it put a big grin on Nick's face, and by eight-thirty, the three Barkley men were off to town.
With his usual boisterousness, Nick burst into Harry's saloon first, Jarrod right behind him and Heath bringing up the rear. The place was full of noise and music and poker, but Nick spotted a game just beginning to start up. He headed straight for the table where two men had just sat down and opened a deck of cards. "Can anybody get into this game?" Nick asked.
One man, a fellow about Jarrod's age, motioned to the three empty chairs. "Come on in," he said.
The Barkleys each sat down as the man with the cards began to shuffle. "Hey, Tad," Heath said to the young man, a dark fellow somewhat older than Heath but younger than Nick who worked at the Stevenson ranch.
"Heath," Tad said. "I see you talked the lawyer into letting go of some of his riches."
Jarrod chuckled, even if his smile wasn't as large as it could get. "I plan to add to them," he said. He looked at the other man and tried to be neighborly. "I don't think I know you, friend."
"Jim Medlar," the man said.
"Are you new around here?"
"Just passing through on my way to Modesto – to visit my mother," Medlar said.
"Good man," Nick said. "Never neglect your mother."
"If you neglected your mother, she might shoot you," Tad said.
The Barkley men laughed. "She wouldn't shoot us, but she has a few kitchen utensils we'd probably see come out," Nick said.
"You don't mess with Victoria Barkley," Tad said to Medlar.
Medlar smiled. "I've heard of the lady."
"My mother's reputation puts many men to shame," Nick said. "I'm Nick Barkley, these are my brothers, Jarrod and Heath."
Medlar nodded as Tad had him cut the cards. Tad called five card draw, nothing wild and began to deal.
The hands of poker went around and around and the whiskey went down in a hurry. There wasn't much chat at the table – serious poker was being played – but after about an hour and a half, Tad's money ran out. He begged good night and got up – and nearly went straight down again. It looked like he lost his money because he was losing his sobriety.
Heath steadied him. "You all right to go home?" he asked.
"Oh, I'll get on my horse and he'll just head right there," Tad said.
"Make sure you get on the right horse," Heath said.
The Barkley men and Medlar bid him good night as he went out the door. Medlar had the cards in front of him, but he just held onto them, finishing a glass of whiskey and then pouring the remainder of the third bottle they'd all drunk together into his glass.
"Short break for a short drink," Medlar said as he downed the little bit of whiskey in his glass.
The barmaid brought another bottle, but Jarrod waved her off. "I think maybe I've hit my limit for the evening," Jarrod said.
"I'm getting there myself," Medlar said.
"Yeah," Nick said, collecting what was left of his money. As his brothers and Medlar did the same, he said, "We all have work tomorrow."
"And I've got a long thirty miles to get to Modesto," Medlar said.
"What's prompting your visit to your mother?" Heath asked and downed a little more whiskey.
"Oh, I haven't been down there in a while, and her birthday comes up next week," Medlar said. "Sixty-five. I'm thinking I might oughtta move back home and take care of her."
"Nobody but you to do that?" Heath asked.
"Nobody left," Medlar said. "Dad died ten years ago. Mama kept insisting I should find me a good job someplace away from Modesto, so I went up Lodi way, but it's time to go back and take care of her."
"Why away from Modesto?" Nick asked.
Medlar took a sip of whiskey and shook his head. "Bad times between me and my brother. You boys are lucky, you get along good. Me and my brother used to but we had a falling out. Things got rough between us with me hanging around Modesto so I left."
"Sorry to hear about that," Nick said.
"Well," Medlar said. "He got into some trouble. He tried to get over it, I'll grant him that, it's just that – well, I suppose it's me more than him, if I really think about it."
The Barkley men looked at each other. "What happened?" Heath asked, even though nobody was sure Medlar would want to talk about it.
But Heath had drunk enough whiskey to ask and Medlar had drunk enough whiskey to loosen him up and answer. He heaved a sigh. "He tried to kill a man. Rotten man, not worth the energy much less worth going to jail over, but Bobby tried to kill him. Woulda killed him, too, but I managed to pull him off and get between the two of them and he gave it up. There was bad blood between Bobby and me after that. It's my fault mostly, I know. I was the one real mad at him, not him at me, but can you imagine what it's like having to pull your own brother off a man before he killed him? To have to protect a man you hate from a brother you love? You got any idea how mad that makes you at that brother who put you in that spot?" Medlar looked up for a reaction.
Each of the Barkleys just looked down at their drinks, before Jarrod got up and walked away to the bar. Nick and Heath looked at each other. Nick ended up saying, "That's not something you want to have to do."
"You bet it's not," Medlar said. His words were starting to slur. He was having too much to drink.
Heath glanced up at Jarrod, standing at the bar with his back to them. "Maybe you ought to look that brother up and see if you can patch things up with him," he said.
"Can't," Medlar said and finished his drink. "He's dead. Died of the influenza a year ago. Maybe that's what gets to me the most. It's something I can't never fix."
Medlar got up suddenly and left the entire saloon, walking out slowly like the weight of the world - or the weight of the whiskey - was dragging him down.
Nick looked up at Heath. Heath looked at him and then shifted his gaze to Jarrod at the bar. Nick had his back to the bar and did not want to turn around.
Heath said quietly, "I think what Medlar said poked a hole in our big brother over there."
"I'm not surprised," Nick said.
Jarrod probably hadn't thought about what protecting Cass Hyatt from him might have done to his brothers. He said very little about it and Nick was ready to bet Jarrod didn't even remember saying anything at all. In the beginning Jarrod was too lost and it was too sore a spot to touch. Later, it just seemed best to let everything go as soon as it would go.
Heath got up. "Let's go home."
As Heath wandered to the bar, Nick stood up, too. He watched Heath give Jarrod a slap on the back and he heard Heath suggest they leave, but as Nick drew closer he heard Jarrod say, "I need to go up to the office for a while. I'll see you later."
"You sure you don't want to come on home with us?" Nick asked.
Jarrod's blue eyes were sad, and shamed. "No, I don't want to do that," he said.
Nick gave him a slap on the back. "Don't be so late we have to come get you."
It was probably the wrong thing to say, because Jarrod's sad eyes got a flash of nasty in them. Nick could just see Jarrod's resentment at the notion that they would have to come take control over him again. Medlar had stirred up some mighty bad memories.
"I didn't mean that the way it sounded," Nick said, letting his regret show.
Jarrod eased off. "Sure, Nick," he said and went back to his drink on the bar.
Nick and Heath went on out together and were soon mounting up. "Ever notice how my mouth is big enough to accommodate my big foot?" Nick asked as they started to ride out.
"Many times, Nick," Heath said. "Let's just let him alone for a while. He'll come around."
Jarrod stayed at the bar for nearly another hour, nursing the whiskey and then nursing another one. Harry wasn't sure why Jarrod had turned so sullen and hadn't left with his brothers, but he had the feeling he shouldn't ask. He hadn't heard what Medlar said to the Barkleys but he figured Jarrod's mood had something to do with it and it was best left alone. Harry decided that after that second whiskey, he wasn't going to give Jarrod a third one.
When Jarrod finally left, it was good and late, and he was a bit more inebriated than he wanted to be although not roaring drunk. He decided going to the office was a bad idea, but going home didn't sit well either. Nevertheless, he knew he'd have to do it sooner or later, and he headed for the horse he'd left hitched up the street. Before he even got the chance to cross the street, though, he spotted the sheriff, dragging a drunk up off the boardwalk. As he got closer, Jarrod saw the drunk was Medlar.