A/N1: Slightly different structure to this chapter. Flashbacks.

Heaven and Hell

Book One:

Bring My Coffin Along

CHAPTER EIGHT:

Zigzag

Saturday, September 19, 1885
Idaho Falls, Idaho

Saturday morning, early. Chuck had his eyes shut but he was awake.

He could smell coffee, bacon, biscuits. The blankets were warm around him. The weather had cooled, fall now definitely in the air, as if the season had awaited the Festival to declare itself. Chuck pulled the blankets up to his chin. He wanted to keep the world out, or keep himself out of the world, for as long as possible.

It had been a long and upsetting week. Monday started it and it kept rolling after that. Chuck wished for unfeelingness - or for forgetfulness - or both. All week long his spirits had been low and his mind overclouded.

Scenes of the week replayed in his mind.

Sarah was standing in the doorway to Chuck's room, her hand on the doorknob.

Carina was in Chuck's lap, her nose against his. Sarah began to speak as she opened the door, but her sentence never ended. It stayed unfinished, broken into unending ellipses.

Sarah's face reddened to match Carina's dress. Chuck saw Carina look at Sarah then glance at him. She glanced at Chuck a second time. She jumped up.

Sarah had a grey hat in her other hand. She was wearing a grey tailored jacket and a long skirt of the same color, over black boots. Her hair hung long, loose, golden.

Carina stepped forward. Sarah, after staring at Carina's form-fitting red dress, looked at Chuck, who, by now, was standing too.

"I'm...I'm sorry to interrupt," Sarah stammered, her face the color of Carina's dress. "I have to go." She whirled in place and started down the hall. Chuck stood there, lost. Suddenly, the name for what Sarah was wearing popped uselessly and nonsensically into his head: riding habit. Sarah wore a grey riding habit. Chuck was so surprised and so lost he was beside his reason, unhinged, staring at his empty doorway, his mouth hanging open.

He felt a hand tug his sleeve. "Go!" Carina. "If that's how it is, Boston, catch her!"

Chuck chased Sarah. By the time he got to the living room, he heard the front door slam. Reaching it, opening it, he saw Sarah. She was past the flowers, and had the reins of her horse, sorrel, in her hands. She swung herself upon it in one impossibly fluid motion, seating herself sidesaddle. Chuck called after her, modulating his voice so as to reach her but not to alert everyone on the street. She turned to him as she turned her horse. Her eyes flashed blue, intense, above a deep, regretful frown. She spoke to her horse and cantered away, no glance backward.

By the time Chuck got back to his room, it was empty, the window open.

Chuck saw Sarah once more during the week, on Thursday, at the funeral for Miss Reynolds. Carina was not there, just as she was not at the Festival. He did not see Carina after the funeral either.

Tuesday had been strange.

Just before Chuck rang the bell to start the day, he saw the sheriff and Nehi coming out of Devon's office. Devon was between them, and the three of them walked to the sheriff's office, near the schoolhouse but diagonally across the street. The three men looked serious, unhappy. Devon noticed Chuck but did not acknowledge him. Nehi touched the brim of his large hat. They went inside.

Johnny Constance proudly shared the news after answering "Here!" when Chuck called his name during roll. "And Doctor Woodcomb's in jail for murdering Miss Reynolds." The room exploded in questions and whispers, Johnny smiling at himself and the hubbub he created. It took Chuck a long time to get the students settled and focused.

At lunch that day, Chuck walked out of the schoolhouse and saw Nehi sitting on a bench in front of the sheriff's office. Nehi noticed him and Chuck waved him over. He walked over - his odd, sea-faring, bow-legged gait.

"Howdy, Dee-vine. I's a-jes a-ponderin'."

"Hello, Nehi. What were you pondering?"

"Beelines, some, and men, some."

"Beelines and men?"

Nehi pushed the brim of his hat back. His beard must have been freshly trimmed the day he and Chuck met, because it was longer now, shaggier, and grey was showing in it more. He gave the hair on his chin a thoughtful tug.

"Y'see, Dee-vine. Mens gotta live, and theys gotta make it through evvery day, no matter iffn the man's richer'n Midas or poor's-a church-pest. A day's a day, giv'n t'each the same. No man cain 'scape it.

"An some men, like ya, Dee-vine, seem-ta takes a beeline through the day, an' uthers, weell, they's goan all ziiggyzaggy, nary ever-a straight line, " He made a snaky motion with his hand, held out sideways. "I reck'n I'ma one o' the ziggerzaggers." He shrugged meekly.

"The Doc in 'ere," he motioned over his shoulder with his thumb, motioned to the sheriff's office, "he's like ya, a beeliner. But't looks like he done ziggyzagged a li'l cause-a a woman." Nehi narrowed his eyes. "Ya ain't a-planning to get all ziggyzaggy on me, is ya, Dee-vine?"

Chuck had been unprepared for Nehi's philippic. He stood frozen for a moment on the bottom step of the schoolhouse, a silent congregation of one.

Nehi regarded him then went on. "Sumpin' ya need from me?"

Unfrozen, Chuck answered. "I see you arrested the doctor."

"Well, kinda we did, an' kinda we didn't. He's been in 'ere answerin' Constance's questions. Seems the sheriff's nephew, Johnny Constance, tol' his dad, the sheriff's brother, 'bout the Doc havin' feelin's fer Miss Reynolds. Johnny claimed that there hair trinket ya found was a preesent from Doc. He done tol' the sheriff's that's true. They's still confabbin' together. Doan knows whether we's a-gonna jail 'im er not."

They did not jail him.

Chuck visited Devon after school in Devon's office. Chuck had not been inside before. It was a handsome office, decorated with the same developed taste that chose Devon's clothes. Masculine but slightly ornate. Everything carefully placed, tucked away.

"So you saw me being taken to jail this morning?" Devon asked without preamble. Devon looked rumpled, harassed, tired. His eyes were bloodshot, his face unshaven.

"I did. I should have said something to you yesterday, Devon, but Johnny Constance must have overheard us talking. I saw him at the window and thought he had only been peeping, not eavesdropping."

Devon shrugged. "I was just a bath and a shave from going to see Mark Constance anyway. But why would Johnny be listening in?"

Chuck blew out a breath. "I don't know why he started, but, according to his mother, he was infatuated with Miss Reynolds. I've seen enough myself to believe it too. I suspect he began listening out of mischief and kept listening out of anger."

Devon laughed soundlessly. "Too bad for the kid. I guess he and I understand each other in a certain way. I bear him no ill will. He just made my conversation with Constance reek of whiskey instead of bay rum. Speaking of which, I need to get cleaned up. I have a couple of late appointments."

"So you are not under suspicion?"

Devon blinked. "I didn't say that. But not too much suspicion. Only enough to be told to stay in town and to take Nehi with me if I get called out of town." Devon smiled. "Not jail, not house arrest, but call it 'town arrest'. If nothing else, they really can't afford to lock up the only doctor." He tried to smile and almost succeeded.

"I'm sorry. Let me know if I can help."

"I will. And, until this cup passes from me - see, I've read some of your sorts of books, Chuck - you'd be better off giving me a wide berth."

"No, Devon. I'd like to call you my friend, and I do not abandon my friends, not if I can help it."

Devon shook Chuck's hand. "I do call you my friend, Chuck."

They parted. But late that night, well after dark, a group of townspeople gathered in front of the sheriff's office. Mrs. Justus led them. They began to chant accusations against Devon. The sound, coming from up the street not far from Mrs. Fitzsimmons', roused Chuck from his preparations for school. He left the house and walked up the boardwalk, stopping in front of the darkened windows of Patel's Dry Goods Emporium.

The group was not large, maybe fifteen. Most were women of an age comparable to Mrs. Justus. Chuck had seen most of them at church or on the street. He did not know many names. He did recognize Emily Whittier's mother.

Mrs. Justus stood in front of Devon's door, swinging a lantern. By the time Chuck reached them, they were singing.

Sinners, will you come to Jesus?
Oh! that you would come today;
Come, before the sword of vengeance
Cuts you down upon the way,
Soon the harvest may be gathered,
And the sheaves collected home;
Then, in vain you'll call for mercy,
And, in vain, may wish to come.

Mrs. Justus' fierce alto voice rose above the others. Chuck stared at the singers, lanterns among them here and there, the flickering, demonic glow of self-righteousness - it flickered in their voices too, not imploring but exultant. The 'you' of the song included none of them. It was addressed to Devon.

His office lights stayed off and he never appeared.

When the hymn ended, Mrs. Justus glowered at Chuck and led the group away. Chuck wondered if he should be numbered with them. He had been singing such a song in his heart for months, not in pity but in hatred, singing it to Daniel Shaw. He was still singing it. And wasn't he - now - thinking of the departing singers as 'you' too?

Self-righteousness was Br'er Fox's tar-baby.

He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned.

Mrs. Fitzsimmons was standing there, wrapped in a dark shawl, her face darkened by concern for him.

"Please stay out of this, Chuck. If the murderer isn't found soon, this is going to fester. There are old wounds in Idaho Falls, old divisions and hatreds, and this could rip the scars open, make them bleed again

"Mrs. Justus has been waiting to claw at the doctor. She's waiting to claw at you too. I've heard things. If you like Dr. Woodcomb, and I know you do, you won't help him by further angering Mrs. Justus."

The town was deathly quiet on Wednesday.

Chuck had been able to get Mrs. Fitzsimmons to allow Anthony Rizzo and Faith Stone to come to the house for extra lessons.

She had, as Chuck predicted, yielded on the point of her preserves as well. It had taken the exercise of all of Chuck's considerable rhetorical skills to make it happen. But as a result, Chuck worked with two happy children, eyes alight over their studies, their smiles smeared red with jam.

When they left, Anthony gave Chuck an envelope. In it was a note of thanks from Zondra. And money. A generous amount.

Thursday was the funeral, and the burial in the hilltop cemetery. At the funeral, Sarah did not speak to him, acknowledge him, even look at him. She left before the burial.

Friday after school, Chuck entered the front door at Mrs. Fitzsimmons'. She was standing off to the side of the room, waiting on him, a corner of the curtain lifted, spying out the window. "Mr. Bartowski," she said, "do you realize that this is the third day in a row that Ruth Justus has followed you home? I told you, Chuck. You need to be careful."

All at once, Chuck threw the blankets off and sat up, placing his bare feet on the cool wooden floor. He was jangling, out of tune. He had been passive all week, done to. He needed to do something.

Some Saturday morning something.

He was to meet Nehi at The Bar None later, after dark, to buy him the shots he owed him. Chuck decided that he would stop by Devon's office on the way and invite him to join.

The doctor had been holed up in his office all week, his meals brought to him from Lou's. He needed to get out of there - not just because the hiding seemed guilty and fueled the Justus-inspired gossip in town, but also because the man had to be in desperate need of fresh air.

But that left Chuck the day.

Nehi had told him on Friday how to get to Walker's ranch. Jenny was available for Chuck to ride. He was going to do it: he was going to go out there. Ride to the Walkers. Perhaps Sarah would talk to him, perhaps not. Probably not. If nothing else, he could see some more of the country and talk more with Jack Walker. Maybe he'd even get a chance to talk to Casey.

He wanted a chance to explain to Sarah, explain to her what had - and hadn't - been happening in his room. With Carina.

And he wanted to know why she had come. Her letter had sounded like the end of...of whatever it was that had seemed to be between them, of whatever it was that had caused that kiss. But if that was the letter's point, why follow it into town and enter Chuck's room unannounced?

Sarah Walker confused Chuck. To put it mildly.

After breakfast, Chuck marched to the stables. One of the hands got Jenny ready and Chuck set out for Walker's ranch. He was more comfortable astride Jenny than he had been the first time; he was able to keep her moving at a comfortable but not leisurely pace. It took almost an hour to get to the ranch, Nehi said, but as the day reached mid-morning, he knew he was close. His pace had shorted the journey.

He stopped, unstoppered his canteen, and took a swallow of water. Jenny stood patiently, waiting to begin again, Then she whinnied. Chuck looked around and saw Sarah Walker ride out of the brush ahead of him.

She was in the riding habit she wore when she came to his room. She must have spotted him before he spotted her, because she was gazing at him with no surprise in her eyes. He put the stopper in the canteen and hung it from the pommel. He pushed his white hat back, much as he had seen Nehi do. Sarah rode toward him, her beneath her grey hat face neither welcoming nor unwelcoming. Her blue eyes were as intense as when he last saw her when she rode from Mrs. Fitzsimmons'. He sat and waited for her.

She rode up to him and pulled on her reins. "Whoa, Sam," she cooed softly. The sorrel horse stopped.

Sarah sat there in silence. Chuck did too. The horses greeted each other. It seemed Sarah was determined not to speak first, so Chuck started.

"Hello, Miss Walker. Nice day for a ride."

She nodded once, nothing more.

"I had free time today and wanted to get out of my room, um...out of town, so I decided to ride out to your ranch."

"I see. Were you invited? Did my father ask you to come? Did Casey?" She made it obvious that she had not invited him.

"No, and if I am...unwelcome, I can ride back to town. I wanted to see this part of the country. I heard that this area west of town is picturesque."

She nodded, twice this time. Her face became more mobile, less stony: "It's a handsome country." She cut her comment off there and looked away from him. "I'm heading back to the house - the ranch. We can ride together, if you wish."

She did not await response; she turned Sam and began in the direction Chuck was facing. He urged Jenny forward and she followed the other horse. Chuck could see only Sarah's back, the hat, the grey tailored jacket, despite the fact that she was riding sidesaddle.

The sky was blue but festooned with billowy white clouds. They appeared more irregular holes in the sky than objects beneath it. For a moment, Chuck thought that perhaps he could see beyond his side of the blue, up and into a white beyond.

The pathway they followed was sided by pines of various sorts, various greens, various heights. The terrain was noticeably drier than it was in the opposite direction from town, the direction he and Nehi went to practice shooting. To find bodies.

Sarah had not spoken again and had not glanced at Chuck. He spoke to her back.

"Miss Walker - about the other day. Carina Miller, um, the woman who was...in my room. She's a friend of mine," Chuck thought he saw Sarah's shoulders rise. "We met on the stagecoach. She came by to thank me for helping a friend of hers who...works with her at The Bar None."

Sarah finally spoke, her voice flat. She did not turn. "I take it she offers her thanks...professionally?"

"No, no. It was personal. No. I mean, yes, it was personal, not professional, but it wasn't personal in quite that sense. I like Carina - I admire her - but I don't have romantic feelings. Not for her."

"Then for her friend, the one you are...helping?"

"No, yes, I like her too, although I don't know her, not even as well as I know Carina, and I don't know Carina well. I don't have romantic feelings for Zondra either."

"Zondra." Sarah, still facing away, pronounced the name, her inflection still flatter than the surrounding landscape. "I think I know her, have seen her. Dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes. A beauty."

"Um, yes, she's beautiful. So is Carina. But, as I have said, they are my friends."

"So," she cast a quick, unreadable glance over her shoulder, "let me get this straight. Our new teacher, the man from Boston, from Harvard, from the Harvard Divinity School, is friends with - and openly admires - women who work...upstairs for Anna Wu?" There was no derision in Sarah's tone, no sneer. Just a hint of real curiosity.

"Yes, that's it, that's the...straight...of it."

They rode on in silence, broken by a smattering of bird calls.

"You are an unusual man, Mr. Bartowski." She did not turn.

"I'd prefer it if you called me 'Chuck'. I wish you'd stayed long enough the other day for us to sort this out."

He saw her shrug, the grey jacket moving up, then down. "Nothing to sort out. I came by on a whim. I was...in town on an errand and...I wondered if Casey had delivered...my letter to you." Despite the halting, her tone was even.

"He did. I had just read it when Carina climbed in my window."

Sarah's head spun around, the deep frown from her visit to Mrs. Fitzsimmons etched onto her face. "Your window?"

Chuck bit the bullet. "Yes, she seems to think that is her door."

Sarah turned away from him again. "If someone sees her doing that, she will ruin you, Mr. Bartowski...in this town...as teacher."

"I'm not sure I can control Carina, but...she knows that too; she told me. I'm sure she's been careful. She doesn't want to hurt me."

Sarah huffed. "No, that I certainly believe. She does not want to hurt you. I saw her looking at you."

Chuck shook his reins. He and Jenny were synergistic enough now for her to respond. Chuck pulled up even with Sarah. She was still facing ahead but he could at least see her profile.

"I wanted to ask you about that letter...Miss Walker."

"What about it, Mr. Bartowski?"

"What happened in the barn - the…" - he started to use her word from the letter, 'incident', but then decided not to retreat to the detached, generic word - "the kiss, our kiss, the kiss you started…" she did not turn to face him but her face colored and he saw the near side of her mouth curl downward, "You asked me to forgive you for it, but did not say you regret it."

Chuck had almost lost his nerve. If he had to say more, he would have lost his nerve.

He saw her black-gloved hands tighten around the leather reins. They rode on for a few yards. A cloud interposed itself between them and the sun; they were enshadowed suddenly; then, just as suddenly, enlightened. "I didn't say that I regretted it," she said, her words neither a simple declaration nor a simple question, but a maddening, complex mix.

"I understand that you are...engaged, Miss Walker...and so I will do as you asked. I will not mention the kiss again. It's just that…" His resolution weakened and his comment trailed off.

"It's just that...what, Mr. Bartowsk?"

He took a breath, rallied. "It's just that the letter had a tone of finality. And you addressed it as you just addressed me: 'Mr. Bartowski'. But when you came to my room, you said 'Chuck' as you opened the door. It's a little like you wrote 'stop' and then said 'go'. I don't understand."

As best Chuck could tell, she had plunged into thought. She still did not look at him and he was still trying to judge her reactions in profile.

He saw her chew her bottom lip. And then, in the same soft tone she had used with him in the cemetery and once during the Festival, she asked a short question: "Why does it matter to you to understand?"

Chuck felt the pain of her letter again, the pain of his reaction to it. He also felt the reel his heart had danced when she kissed him, felt her again as the fixed point around which he rotated.

"It matters for reasons I shared with you in the barn - my lips were involved but I admit that the reasons were not verbally given." He waited for a response but all he could see was the side of her mouth curl upward as her shoulders relaxed. "It matters, Sarah, because you matter. You matter to me."

She turned to look at him, her face composed, expressionless. "Personally?"

He smiled. "Most personally."

She smiled too.

She turned and looked ahead. A large ranch house was in view. Sarah's smile vanished. Her face petrified. On the porch, waving at them, was Daniel Shaw. Beside him stood his grey reflection. The reflection was not waving. The grey reflection had to be David Shaw, Daniel's father.

Sarah kicked Sam and moved ahead of Chuck, her shoulders tense. She waved back.

When they reached the porch that ran all the way along the front of the house, Jack Walker had joined Daniel Shaw and his father.

Jack frowned when he saw who was behind his daughter, but he stood back so that the frown was not visible to the Shaws.

Sarah got off Sam and wound the reins around the hitching post. Daniel jumped off the porch and swept her up into his arms, kissing her. She kissed him back, laughing. They embraced for as long as it took Chuck to reach the porch.

He was trying not to react to the couple, the kiss or the laughter, and his attempt to not look at them caused him to misjudge the distance from his saddle to the ground. He landed awkwardly, and then fell backward onto his butt, and ended up seated in his own little cloud of dust.

Sarah let go of Daniel but he continued to embrace her. She pushed him away gently and walked to Chuck, extending a gloved hand. She looked into his eyes as she did and her eyes were hard. He took her hand and she helped him up, immediately turning from him to Daniel.

"Daniel, I don't think the two of you have been introduced. This is our new school teacher, Mr. Bartowski."

Daniel looked Chuck up and down as Chuck brushed the dust off his backside and then off his legs. He picked up his hat; it had fallen off when he had fallen down.

Daniel took a long stride toward him. "I saw you at church before I left town. I understand I am in your debt for escorting my bride-to-be," he extended his hand without looking, simply expecting Sarah to take it (she did), "to the Fall Festival. Mr. Casey reports that a memorable evening was had by all."

Sarah glanced away. Chuck looked at his boots. Casey walked onto the porch from the house. "Well, if it isn't Mr. Fancypants, minus the Fancypants."

Daniel barked a laugh and pulled Sarah against him, putting his arm around her and holding her there. Chuck forced himself to take a step toward Daniel Shaw and smile.

That smile was the most difficult expression of his life, made all the more difficult by the moments with Sarah that preceded it. But he recalled Jill's beaten body and he managed a smile that measured up. No one reacted strangely to it, despite the forest fire of distemper that blazed zigzag inside Chuck, his now-centerstage hatred for the black-eyed man handling Sarah Walker.

Chuck bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

Casey went on. "Yeah, at the Festival, dancin', Mr. Fancypants here taught Idaho Falls somethin' 'bout the ways the human body can - but shure as hell shouldn't - move. Luckily, your fianceé was there to provide edifyin' contrast, a little like a swan a-swayin' next to a gaddin' buffalo."

Daniel barked another laugh.

Sarah gave Casey a sharp, cold look as she saw Chuck's slumping blush. Casey pressed on. "Shure, though, that there dismount was show enough for everyone to see what I mean."

"I'm sorry," Chuck offered. "I can ride but my long legs make getting on and getting off...tricky...sometimes."

He saw Sarah look at him but then she looked away. "Casey, since you are here, could you help Dad? Take the gentlemen inside and get them something to drink. I'd like to get out of my riding clothes."

Daniel looked at her, giving her a teasing smile. "I'm surprised at you, out riding without me."

Sarah smiled back at him. "I know. I don't normally - but I had a lot on my mind...I mean, with you coming back. I just didn't expect you so soon."

"We made good time on the ride back, Dad and I," Shaw said, preening a little. "I didn't want to spend any more time away from you than absolutely necessary."

He gave her a quick kiss. She squeezed his hand and headed into the house. Casey grunted. "Follow me." Jack looked darkly at Chuck.

Chuck shook his head. "Um, I believe I am going to head back to town. I was just out riding when I happened across Miss Walker. Seeing as how you have company, I would rather not intrude. I'm sure you folks have lots to talk about."

Jack nodded and started to speak.

Daniel broke in. "Do we? Yes, we do! Sarah promised she would set a date when I got back. That's another reason I pushed myself and Dad hard to get here."

"It's time the girl took this seriously," David Shaw said, his first words, his voice like gravel underfoot. "We've waited long enough. Time to make this all official."

Jack led the two Shaws inside and Casey, despite his earlier "Follow me", lingered on the porch. As Chuck mounted Jenny, Casey stepped down and handed Chuck her reins.

He gave Chuck an apologetic look. He spoke softly "Sorry, kid, but if that Shaw boy thinks you're competition for Sarah, he'll kill you, shure. He won't blink; he won't fuss. Hell no, he'll eat-a stack of flapjacks while you're a-bleedin' out."

Chuck looked down at Casey. "I'm no competition for Miss Walker."

Casey narrowed his eyes. "Don't be the fool I pretended you are, Chuck. Now, git." He turned and went into the house.

Chuck spat red on the ground. He rode away. From Hell's heart, I stab at thee...

A/N2: Leave me a response, a review or PM? Talk to me, folks.

Tune in next chapter for a visit to The Bar None - a Saturday night on the town! Yee-Ha! Chapter Nine, "Kick Up Your Heels". One chapter to go in Book One.

A/N3: No pre-readers were harmed in the making of this Western. I hope not, anyway. Thanks to Beckster1213, Chesterton and David Carner.