A/N1: I spun you around as the last chapter ended, kisses and bodies. On we go.

Heaven and Hell

Book One:

Bring My Coffin Along

CHAPTER SEVEN:

Wake

Saturday, September 12, 1885
Idaho Falls, Idaho

Nehi went to get the sheriff, to report what had been found. Chuck stayed with the body. With the woman, with what was left of her.

Chuck and Nehi left the body in the ground, still buried beneath and alongside the fallen pine. Chuck was sick to his stomach, his head throbbed. His life kept rising and falling, rising and falling. The falls seemed deeper than the rises seemed steep. He felt like he was getting in deeper and deeper, gradually. The trees around Chuck loomed and swayed, like inconsolable mourners.

Large black flies crawled on the corpse's face; he moved closer and waved them away, trying not to inhale the odor, growing stronger. He sat down in the dirt, fanning the woman's dead face, to keep the flies away.

An impromptu, tardy wake, his fanning of the woman's face all the ritual observance he had to offer. He could shoo the flies away.

A wake. Death.

Death.

Jill. That day, that awful day...

Things for Jill had gotten better. With Chuck's help, and the help of Professor Abbot, Jill had a new job at an apothecary's shop. She was excited about it. The money was good and the work fascinated her, engaged her ready mind. Molly spent the day at school, and Chuck stopped by to fetch her afterward. That particular day, Jill, off early, was going to cook dinner. They were going to plan for the new lodgings Jill had found for her and Molly.

Chuck walked Molly home, her hand in his. She skipped at his side. They knocked and entered the apartment, not waiting for a greeting. Molly called out: "Mommy, I'm home." Jill didn't respond - Molly would never get a response. That was when Chuck found Jill's body.

Chuck loved Jill. They had become true friends. She wanted more, and hoped for more, Chuck knew, but he had not been able to sort out his feelings for her. He had not become close to anyone since his parents died. Ellie and Morgan he loved before his parents' death, but after their death, Chuck could not bring himself to love anew. He liked people; people liked him. But he would not make stronger connections, connections that might be severed, snapped by fever, or one of a million other disasters.

Meeting Jill and Molly had changed that. Chuck had fallen for the little girl and that had led to his friendship with her mother. Jill had made her hopes clear to Chuck early on, and Chuck had tried to explain how he felt or didn't feel, but he knew he had confused her more than helped her. Not just Chuck's feelings, but the whole situation had been complicated...

Chuck kept waving his hand at the flies. He tried not to look at the dead woman's face but could not keep from it. Miss Reynolds. Chuck was sure. He had never seen her, never seen her likeness, but he was sure. Chuck ached for her, for what had happened to her. He dreaded what the news would do to the town - but especially to Devon and to Mrs. Fitzsimmons and to the students, to Johnny Constance.

Sunday, September 13

After the discovery of the murder, church was somber. Dark suits, dark dresses under a low, dark sky.

Chuck walked quietly with Mrs. Fitzsimmons to the schoolhouse. Everything and everyone seemed shocked, their expressions and gestures mechanical and muted. Chuck sat where he sat the Sunday before. Sarah was not there. Neither was Mrs. Justus.

When Jack Walker began his sermon, he mentioned that his daughter was at home, not feeling well. The funeral was scheduled for Thursday.

Monday, September 14

The school, while not as somber as the church, was also muted. The students seemed spooked and uncertain. The murder seemed to pollute the very environment of the schoolhouse.

Chuck tried to reassure the students - and himself too - by choosing different, cheerier subjects. He shifted the older students from passages of Hamlet to passages from A Midsummer Night's Dream. And he had all the students, young and old, involved in his spirited, simple, just-before-lunch recounting of the play within the play, the play in the woods, of Pyramus and Thisby's struggle with the Wall. It diverted them, or almost all of them.

Johnny Constance, though, spent both the morning and the afternoon staring into space; he would not contribute, would not react, not positively. He seemed angered by the tale of Pyramus and Thisby. Chuck had thought that perhaps Johnny's parents' concern was exaggerated, but events had conspired to make them appropriate. When Johnny was not staring into space, he was gazing hatefully at Chuck, as if Chuck were guilty of the murder.

During lunch, while the students ate outside, Chuck stayed at his desk. He was writing a letter to his sister. He had just written her name atop the page when he heard a man clear his throat. He looked up to see Devon standing there. He looked stricken and unwell. He had been outside of town, helping a woman give birth, and had not been there when Sheriff Constance, Nehi, Chuck and two other men came into town with the wagon, a blanket-covered form in the back. They had taken the body to Langston Graham's. Graham quickly came out and oversaw the transfer of the body into the mortuary, doing his best to give the growing crowd of onlookers little to see.

Chuck had knocked at Devon's door on Sunday as he and Mrs. Fitzsimmons trudged to church, but he got no answer. But Devon now obviously knew. His eyes were red; his hands, holding his hat, shook. It was all unlike the man Chuck was getting to know; it was all a testimony to Devon's unhappiness.

"Chuck, do you have a few minutes? Can we talk?"

Chuck came around from behind the desk, stepping down to face Devon. "I'm sorry, Devon. I wanted to be the one to tell you."

Devon nodded and smiled a flat smile. "Thanks, no helping it. The birth was more complicated than I thought. I was worried about the baby. I stayed until he and the mother were stable. So I got back late yesterday. Mark - the sheriff - told me. I just stayed in my apartment after that." He looked at Chuck. "Do you know I live above my office?"

Chuck nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Constance, Martin's wife, mentioned it to me at breakfast the other day when I said I knew you."

They stood looking at each other after that, neither sure what to say.

Devon spoke at last. "So you found her?"

"Yes, Nehi was with me."

"And someone had just...buried her...out there."

Chuck nodded. "Yes, it looked like...well, like a hurried thing."

"Are they sure...is the sheriff sure...it was murder?"

Chuck kept careful control of his tone. "She didn't bury herself out there, Devon. And the sheriff found holes in her clothes. Langston found knife wounds on the body." Chuck paused, not wanting to continue. "More than enough wounds to kill her."

Devon slumped onto a bench. He dropped his head into his hands. "My God, Chuck," he smiled bitterly, "I loved her. I wouldn't admit it to myself - but I did. I've not been the same since she...left...I mean, since...since…" His voice grew thick and he could not complete the sentence.

Chuck put his hand on Devon's shoulder. Words were scant comfort at such times. Chuck knew that from his own life.

Devon opened and closed his hands on the desk before him. His head was still hanging.

"Do they have any idea who...who did it?"

"I don't think so, not yet. But she had a comb in her hair," Devon looked up, "no one had seen her with it before. The sheriff showed it to Mrs. Fitzsimmons and she did not recognize it. The thought is that perhaps she got it just before she was killed - that it will point to the killer or to what she was doing before she was killed."

"Did you tell the sheriff what I told you about Shaw?"

"No, I assumed you would. Did you?"

Devon shook his head. "I haven't...yet. David Shaw technically hired me and chose me as the town doctor. I've told you about Daniel.

"I...I don't want to seem like I am pointing a finger at him. After all, as I told you, I saw nothing incriminating. The conversation between them didn't seem angry or upset. I'm not sure if it was Daniel."

"Couldn't you just tell the sheriff you saw someone? Just give a description? Leave Shaw out of it?"

Chuck's mind had gone to Shaw as soon as the shock of finding the body had passed, and around the time the sheriff and Nehi appeared with the men and the wagon. But he had said nothing about it. He had no evidence at all - nothing but his gut and Devon's story. The story was Devon's to tell, and there was no evidence that the man at the window was Shaw.

He had no evidence that Shaw killed Jill, either; but Chuck knew he did. Gut. Intuition.

Devon weighed Chuck's questions. "I suppose so. But, Chuck, there's, there's a new problem."

"A problem? What do you mean?"

Devon twisted up one side of his mouth. "That hair comb, Chuck. I gave it to her."

"You did? When?"

Devon didn't answer. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "That night. After I saw her with that man - with Shaw, or with whoever that man was."

"Where?"

"She walked by my office later, after dark, and I saw her. It was my last chance. I invited her to come in. She did. That hair comb belonged to my mother. I had wanted to give it to Miss Reynolds for a long time, hoped to - if the time was ever right."

"So she accepted it?"

Devon shook his head. "No, not at first. She told me I was overstepping, that...such a gift was...an intimacy too great for our...friendship. We had words. She was angry; I was angry; I told that I saw her window-conversation with the man. She calmed then, changed her tone. Instead of irked, indignant, she became...receptive. We talked for a time. She let me hold her hand. Before she left, she accepted the comb. She promised she would write to me, but she would not tell me where she was going or why. After she left I was sure I would never see her again or hear from her again."

Devon's eyes were damp. He waited for Chuck to react. Chuck looked up, out a window. He saw Johnny Constance duck out of sight. Chuck looked at Devon; he had not noticed Johnny.

"What should I do, Chuck? Should I tell the sheriff? I mean, I know I should, but like I said, I don't want to seem like I am pointing a finger. If I don't say who I think I saw, that I think it was Shaw, the story is going to seem like nothing more than a flimsy attempt to deflect attention from...me."

"But, Devon, you're the town's doctor. People know you. Where were you after Miss Reynolds left you that night, during the time when she was presumably...you know?"

"I was upstairs in my room. I had two bottles of scotch. I spent the next day and night with those two bottles. No one called; I went nowhere. I know where I was - sort of - but no one else does."

"Still, Devon…"

"Look, Chuck, I know you are right, but there are people in this town who don't like me, don't like what I stand for…"

"Justus?"

"Yes, she's the firebrand - but she's not alone." He sighed again. "Chuck - it's not really that I'm so afraid that I'll be seriously suspected of...murder. I'm afraid of that, yes, but it's what happens after... I've managed not to take sides in this town and to avoid even a hint of scandal, my non-church-going aside. I'd like to stay here. But I worry that this...crime...will never be solved, and so I worry that talk will follow me around, follow me forever, interfere with my ability to do my job, a shadow stalking me, but not my own shadow…"

Chuck took his watch from his pocket. Lunch was about to end. "Let's talk more about this tonight. I'm pretty sure that you need to talk to the sheriff. But I have to start school again."

Devon nodded. "Thanks, Chuck. But not tonight. Breakfast tomorrow at Lou's. Let me mull this over tonight and talk to you about it tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, Devon." Chuck walked Devon to the door and called the students back in. As the students filed past, Chuck saw Devon start toward his office, but then change direction toward The Bar None. He was walking with his head down. Johnny Constance was the final student up the stairs. He stopped and watched Devon with Chuck.

"Doc looks like something is troubling his mind. Wonder what it could be?" Johnny went inside.

Chuck was walking from the schoolhouse to Mrs. Fitzsimmmons' when he heard Nehi call out his name - or what Nehi treated as Chuck's name.

"Dee-vine!"

Chuck stopped and turned around. Nehi came hurrying toward Chuck. "Hello, Nehi!"

"Unnother long day in them bookish salt mines? So, I's talkin' to Izzbel and she tells me ya bin teechin' her all 'bout You-klid. I doan unnerstan' it, lines 'n suchlike. Now, strings 'n rope, them's I unnerstan', but a - how'd Izzbel say't? - a langth with'n no bredth. That'd be one mighty skinny streeng, more-a hair 'n-a streeng. But a hair'd still be havin' bredth. Cain't get my haid aroun't."

"Come by the school one day and I'll try to explain it."

"But I doan unnerstan why's ya teechin' um 'bout things tain't reel."

Chuck looked at Nehi and pointed back to the top of the schoolhouse's bell tower. "Can you see the bell from here, Nehi?"

Nehi nodded, "My eyes's good as yers, maybes better, iffn our shootin's anny proof."

"Can you get from here to there without walking?"

Nehi looked at him like he was crazy. "Nary a bit. Iffin I's a bee, I cud fly ri' to't."

"Exactly. Good. You could make a beeline, right?"

"Shure. A beeline." Nehi said. Then he jerked, turned to Chuck, his mouth open.

Chuck smiled. "Are beelines real, Nehi?"

Nehi stared at the bell tower, then stared at Chuck, then stared at the empty space between them for a while. "I's gonna have-ta study up on that'n." He shook his head, muttering, "A beeline, a beeline." He shook his head again. "I knows it's there, an' I knows i' tain't."

"Any news on the murder today, Nehi?"

Nehi shook his head yet again but in answer to Chuck's question. "Nope, Constance dun rode ta the railway camp. Seems the teecher - the teecher what was, I mean, Miss Reynolds - was inna camp the day a-fore she got keeled. Yer stoodent, Monica Stutts, come an' tol the sheriff bou't this mernin' when she a-come to town. Her father's wi' her and he took 'er back ta camp. Sheriff went wi' em."

"What was Miss Reynolds doing at the camp? I take it she didn't frequent it?

Nehi shrugged. "Nope. It's plumb puzzlin'. No place fer wimmin. Doan knows how Mr. Stutts can let his Monica be there."

Nehi looked at the bell tower again. "That You-klid is plumb puzzlin' too. Say, yer still gonna stand me to m' red-eye and smokes, fer the other day? I knows we didn' git to finish…"

"I owe you, Nehi. But not today, okay?"

"No hurry, Dee-vine. I know yer good, and good fer't."

Chuck stood at his window, looking out at the sky.

Sunday's dark clouds had become Monday's, and they had hung overhead, unmoving and unmoved, all day long. The late afternoon was unnaturally dark.

Tired from the emotional day, tired of wondering about everything, everything going on inside and outside him, all of it rotating around Sarah's kiss, Chuck moved from the window and sat down in his armchair. He picked up an open copy of Charles and Mary Lamb's The Complete Tales From Shakespeare, another of Mrs. Reynolds's books, now (according to Mrs. Fitzsimmons) Chuck's books. He noticed Miss Reynold's name on the fly-leaf of the volume - Ida Reynolds - spiky but clear. He had not noticed her name on the Emerson or on the Hamlet. He was gazing at her name, trying to descry something, anything in it, when Mrs. Fitzsimmons knocked and opened the door. She held out an envelope.

"Chuck, this came for you. A man, a Mr. Casey left it."

Chuck got up and took the envelope. "Is he still here?"

She shook her head. "No, he left already. I hardly got a chance to talk to him. Not a big talker, is he?"

"No," Chuck said, "he's not got the gift of gab."

Mrs. Fitzsimmons gave Chuck a concerned look. "I'm going to walk over to Large Mart, see my sister. I will be back in a few minutes."

He turned the envelope toward him. His name was on it, nothing more. He opened it up and took out the single page folded inside. It was from Sarah. Gut. Intuition.

Mr. Bartowski,

Mr. Bartowski. Not 'Chuck'. His heart sank.

I was sorry to hear about Miss Reynolds, and to hear that you discovered her body. That must have been awful. I hate to write to you so soon after such an event, but I feel that I must. I need to apologize to you. Twice over.

First, I apologize for the incident in the barn. I was upset and addled. It was a mistake. It won't happen again. Forgive me for the liberty I took with you, please.

Second, I apologize for getting upset - angry - with you. You did not do or say anything wrong. I reacted wrongly to what you asked. Forgive me for that too, please. I can be hot-headed, as you now know.

I ask that this note be the end of these matters and that we never speak of them again. I trust your discretion as a gentleman.

Sincerely,

Sarah Walker

Sincerely. Chuck re-folded the note and returned it to its envelope. He held the envelope for a few moments. Sighing, he put it in his jacket pocket along with Sarah's ribbon, the ending next to the beginning. He sat down in his armchair.

He stared blankly for a long time, trying to understand his reaction, the peculiar pain caused by the note. He had not felt that particular pain before. He hoped never to feel it again, even as he knew he would go on feeling it for the foreseeable future. Sarah's lips, her white dress, her arms around him.

A sliding sound jolted him from himself.

Carina was climbing through his window.

Carina was in his room.

"Howdy, Boston. How are you? I heard about Saturday. The body. Awful, really awful. I've been worried about you." She looked at him. "I was afraid I would find you like this. Well, I'm just the woman to cheer you up."

She was wearing the tight red dress he had seen on her before, the same low white boots. He could see the toes of them beneath the low hem of the skirt.

He made himself smile. But then the smile became real, if weak. Her arrival had cheered him; he was glad of her company.

She took his smile as an invitation and before he knew what was happening, she was seated in his lap, wiggling side to side and smiling at him, a look in her eyes he could not decipher but that unnerved him.

"A little cheer, Boston," she said as she swooped in and kissed him, hard, on the lips, her arms around his neck pulling him to her. He was so shocked he did not respond. She sat back.

"This game is so much more fun when it isn't solitaire, Boston. I want to cheer you up - and want to thank you for coming to see Zondra and helping her boy. You are a fine man, Chuck, and there aren't many." She leaned down, bringing her eyes close to his, hers dancing. "Now, about the game. Are you going to play too?" She put her nose against his.

"Carina, I can't…"

There was a soft knock on his door as it opened. "Chuck, I had to see…"

Sarah Walker stood in the open doorway, her hand on the doorknob, staring at Carina in Chuck's lap.

A/N2: Thoughts? I'd love to hear from you.