Ezra crawled out of his room at noon, rubbing his tired eyes. Though he'd been abed for more than twelve hours, he hadn't slept for more than two of them. And neither provided the respite he so needed. They were filled with visions of death, blood, screams . . .
Ezra shook his head trying to clear the memories from his mind. He walked down the rickety stairs of the tavern that once had been his own. He made his way to the bar, leaning heavily on the wooden surface.
"Miss Recillos if you would be so kind as to pour me a whiskey?" As an after thought. "Leave the bottle."
His head was down, so he did not notice the disapproving stare of the normally jovial bartender, nor did he notice the glares from the few other patrons in the saloon. But he did hear the sarcasm and loathing dripping from Inez's every word as she sat the half empty bottle on the counter top.
"Of course, Mister Standish." The slam of the liquor bottle brought his head up. His eyes followed Inez's retreating form for a confused moment before he grabbed the whiskey. Ezra stared at the amber liquid praying that it would be enough to give him courage and strength, but knowing, deep down, that it wouldn't.
Ezra raised the glass to his lips, but was dissuaded from drinking when Nathan sat down beside him.
"She's doing okay." Nathan began, smiling his thanks at Inez when she sat a glass down in front of him.
"I should hope so." Ezra poured the contents of the glass into his mouth, grimacing as the fiery liquid burned a trail to his stomach.
"Listen, Ezra, I don't know how to say this . . ." Nathan began, taking a moment to take a breath. "I know you aren't the father of that baby . . ."
"Nathan, don't. As far as anyone is concerned, I am." Ezra looked the healer in the eyes as he spoke.
"Ezra, you can't keep this up. Chris is ready to kill you for what he thinks you did!" Nathan hissed.
"Better him hate me for what he perceives is my fault, then know the truth."
"That she was," Nathan looked around at the attention his raised voice was getting and lowered it so only the man beside him could hear. " That she was raped? Ezra, he would understand that there was nothing anyone could have done."
"Would he really, Mr. Jackson?" Ezra looked away. "It's not my decision in any event. I swore I would not tell another soul what happened to her and I intend to keep that promise to her." Ezra swallowed another shot. "Good day Mr. Jackson."
"Ezra . . ." Nathan tried again.
"Good day, Mr. Jackson."
Nathan shot one last exasperated look at the gambler before he left the saloon. If this was the way he wanted it, he could have it.
At the bar, Ezra refilled the glass.
***
Julian awoke, painfully, in Nathan's clinic, a room she was all too familiar with. By her bed, asleep in a rickety old chair, was the sleeping form of her brother. Sprawled out as he was, it was hard not to think of him as a little boy. It brought a smile to Julians lips.
Julian stood carefully, wincing at the pains in her lower abdomen. Her right hand shot out to steady herself on the bedpost as she felt her head swim. A glance to Chris, making sure he was still asleep, she grabbed her dress noting it wasn't the one she'd donned the previous day. Actually, she wasn't even sure it was previous day, but that didn't impede her movements.
Julian dressed quickly, tying the laces on her boots with efficient speed. Pulling her wool shawl around her shoulders, Julian left the small clinic and headed for her room at the boarding house.
It was no easy task. In addition to the sea-sick feeling in her stomach and the nearly overwhelming dizziness, she had to avoid three of her brother's friends on the short trek. Surely if they saw her out in the street, they would order her back to Nathan's where she would be forced to drink some vile concoction and lay down for the next three or four days. She shuddered at the thought.
Julian fished for her key in the pocket of her dress as she walked. It was when she made it across the street that she first noticed something was amiss. Mothers, walking with their children, usually so kind to her, forcibly moved their child across the street. Men who had never dared glance in her direction due to her connections, stared unabashedly at her. Disapproving gazes looked back at her from every once kind face.
Julian, bemusedly, entered the boarding house where she stayed. Miss Pross, who'd never been anything but civil to her, ignored Julian's greeting altogether. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she walked the steps to her room. What was going on here?
She flung open the door to her room, surprised to find everything in order. With the way people had been acting to her today, she would not have been shocked if Miss Pross kicked her out of the house.
Julian sat down on her bed and began to sob. She wished Ezra were here right now.
***
Ezra on the other hand, deep into his bottle of whiskey, was wishing that he'd never agreed to stay in this backwater town.
"All they ever do is laugh at me." He muttered, finishing off another shot. "I never do anything right. If I don't show up for ONE thing, they go and think I've run out on 'em again." Ezra hunched over the drink, suddenly not feeling sturdy enough to sit up straight.
Inez, cleaning glasses with an off-color rag, looked at the gambler worriedly. She couldn't remember a time when Ezra had drank so much. But what could she do? Ask him about it? The only person he ever talked to was Larabee's younger sister, and she was up at Nathan's suffering from Ezra's . . . actions right now. Inez glowered, suddenly recalling why she was mad at him in the first place.
Ezra tossed another shot down his throat. Or perhaps it would be more apt to say, down his shirt front. The amber fluid now stained the expensive imported silk Ezra was always so proud of.
He didn't as much as blink before pouring a shot to replace it.
Inez put the glass she was holding down on the counter. Scoundrel or not, she would be damned if she would let that man pass out in her bar.
"Come on, Senor Standish." Inez put on arm across his back. "I think you've had enough. You've been drinking all day. Let me help you to your room." She tried with all her considerable strength to get Ezra moving. He was having none of it.
"What?" his voice was uncharacteristically loud, the Southern accent veritably rippling through his words. Patrons across the saloon turned to stare. "Cain't 'ave a drunk in 'ere? Or's it sumpin' else?" The last word was slurred. Inez knew he was very far into his cups. He continued. "Cain't 'ave a man in 'ere that would do sumpin' like that to a liddle girl, right?" Ezra shoved her helping arm away violently. "I don' need your 'elp." He stood and began walking shakily toward the batwing doors. "Yours er anyone else's."
Ezra, somehow not falling flat on his face, managed to exit the saloon with a modicum of his dignity left. He walked blindly across the street, not sure exactly where his feet were taking him.
***
Julian's self-pitying tears were finally abating when the knock came at the door. She hastily wiped a hand across her eyes before heading for the locked entrance. She knew without looking that it was either her brother or one of his nosy friends. She flung open the door ready with a biting remark about how she could take care of herself.
"Why can't you . . ." Julian stopped mid-sentence, shocked. "Ezra?"
At least she thought it was Ezra. His hair and clothes were a mess, it looked like he'd forgotten to shave, and he positively reeked of whiskey.
"Ezra?" She asked again of the figure in her doorway, who was leaning heavily on the door jamb.
"Ha-yee, Goo-lee-ann." his words were drawn out, and his eyes weren't focusing on much of anything, but it was him alright.
"Ezra, what are you doing here? How did you get up here?" She helped him into the room, leading him to take a seat on the bed,
"Walked." Then he fell backward, sprawling out across the down comforter.
"I realize that, but . . ."
Ezra's mumblings grew louder, causing her to listen. "Your brother jus' can' seem to think that I am innocent when it comes to your welfare . . ."
So that's what it was! Chris thought Ezra had fathered the child she'd miscarried. Julian, not for the first time, wondered how Chris could be so blind to the truth about Ezra. What had he done to deserve such bias? Julian looked down on the now snoring gambler in her bed. She sighed and rolled her eyes before busying herself with the task of removing his well-worn boots. If he was going to pass out in her room, the least he could do would be take his shoes off before he did it, she thought, tugging with all her strength.
Julian pulled a thin blanket over Ezra's sleeping figure. "Goodnight, Ezra." She said, then lowered her voice. "Good night Julian, my dear. Thank you for allowing me the use of your bed." She returned her voice to normal. "Oh, that's no problem Ezra. It's nothing."
Then she put her head in her hands. When she'd wished Ezra was here, she's meant awake and cognizant, not passed out, and suffering from her forced promises.
God's sense of humor never ceased to figure out ways to annoy her.
***
Chris sat in the saloon trying to ignore the comments swarming about him. Upon appearing in the establishment, the steady hum of conversation had dulled, indicating to him the major topic of conversation among its patrons.
How the hell they'd found out in the first place was a mystery to him. If he ever found the son of a bitch . . .
" . . . Larabee girl for a toss in the hay myself . . ."
" . . . Up there with him now "tending" his wounds . . . "
That was it; he couldn't stand it any longer. It was bad enough when the talk had been speculation and not spoken outright in his presense. At least then he could pretend it didn't go on. Despite her current feelings toward him, Julian was his sister and he'd be damned if anyone would drag her name through the dirt like this. Chris slammed his glass down on the table, stood, and glared at the men who dared to meet his gaze. Words, unable to express themselves coherently, hung a warning in the air.
Stalking out of the crowded room, the doors swung violently in his wake. Chris took a deep breath of the early evening air.
"You're out of there early."
Chris turned toward the feminine voice behind him. Mary, shawl clutched tight about her shoulders, stood two feet behind him.
"And you're out late." By this hour, Mary was usually home. He paused, allowing her to catch up with him.
"I'm printing the newspaper tomorrow. I'm taking a break before I finish setting the press." Mary allowed him to walk her along the wooden sidewalk.
They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes until Mary spoke.
"I've heard some . . . disturbing things about your sister."
Chris paused for a split second, almost imperceptibly, before asking, "Yeah?"
"People think maybe she should go back. Back east. To where she came from."
Chris halted dead in his tracks this time and whirled to face the blond editor. "What?" Chris was incredulous. He could understand it when Mary said the same about the prostitutes coming to town. But she knew Julian. She talked to Julian, ate with her, laughed with her for crissakes. They were friends. "People? Or you?"
"Mr. Larabee, I . . . it may be for the best . . ."
"For the best?" Chris shook his head at her. "To make her go and live with our aunt? The same aunt that never gave a damn about anything but the money I sent her?" Chris turned away from the woman. "Forget it." He muttered, stepping from the sidewalk and started on his way down the street.
Mary, still on the walkway, pulled the wool shawl tighter about her shoulders, the air suddenly chilling her to the bone. Looking at the black clad man stumbling down the street, she let out a sigh.
"It may be for the best . . ." she whispered.
***
Five men sat in the bar watching as their leader stood and left the saloon.
"What was that about?" JD asked, sipping from his glass.
The four other men turned and faced the young man with the same look on their faces.
JD looked around the table, comprehension dawning suddenly. "Oh."
"Don't see how it's any of their business." Buck commented with an almost religious fervor; each word consecutively louder.
"People gossip with great fervor when it does not involve their own." Josiah's gaze roamed the crowd as he spoke, looking for the stares that would predictably fall upon them.
"People wouldn't have reason to talk if that Southern son of a bitch had his hands to himself." Buck's words fell violently from his lips. Much like Larabee, Buck fought the urge to kill Ezra outright.
"Sorta like the pot callin' the kettle black, ain't it Buck?"
Buck whipped around in his seat to look at Vin. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Jus' sayin' that you might wanna look more carefully at your own actions 'fore you condemn Ezra's."
"You no good . . ." Buck lunged across the table at Tanner, hands extended. Josiah stood, quickly putting himself between the two men, restraining Buck with all his might.
"Settle down Brother Wilmington. It does her no good to fight with Vin." Josiah sighed with relief when he felt Buck relax in his grip. Buck, stepping back from the burly man, straightened his jacket. He leaned down, grabbing his glass of beer and swigged it down. Dropping the glass back on the table, Buck stared at Vin with a gleam in his eye, before exiting the saloon in much the same manner as his long time friend.
Nathan, silent across the table, watched all of this with a heavy heart. He wanted to tell them the truth, truly he did. But a promise was a promise.
Ezra shook his head trying to clear the memories from his mind. He walked down the rickety stairs of the tavern that once had been his own. He made his way to the bar, leaning heavily on the wooden surface.
"Miss Recillos if you would be so kind as to pour me a whiskey?" As an after thought. "Leave the bottle."
His head was down, so he did not notice the disapproving stare of the normally jovial bartender, nor did he notice the glares from the few other patrons in the saloon. But he did hear the sarcasm and loathing dripping from Inez's every word as she sat the half empty bottle on the counter top.
"Of course, Mister Standish." The slam of the liquor bottle brought his head up. His eyes followed Inez's retreating form for a confused moment before he grabbed the whiskey. Ezra stared at the amber liquid praying that it would be enough to give him courage and strength, but knowing, deep down, that it wouldn't.
Ezra raised the glass to his lips, but was dissuaded from drinking when Nathan sat down beside him.
"She's doing okay." Nathan began, smiling his thanks at Inez when she sat a glass down in front of him.
"I should hope so." Ezra poured the contents of the glass into his mouth, grimacing as the fiery liquid burned a trail to his stomach.
"Listen, Ezra, I don't know how to say this . . ." Nathan began, taking a moment to take a breath. "I know you aren't the father of that baby . . ."
"Nathan, don't. As far as anyone is concerned, I am." Ezra looked the healer in the eyes as he spoke.
"Ezra, you can't keep this up. Chris is ready to kill you for what he thinks you did!" Nathan hissed.
"Better him hate me for what he perceives is my fault, then know the truth."
"That she was," Nathan looked around at the attention his raised voice was getting and lowered it so only the man beside him could hear. " That she was raped? Ezra, he would understand that there was nothing anyone could have done."
"Would he really, Mr. Jackson?" Ezra looked away. "It's not my decision in any event. I swore I would not tell another soul what happened to her and I intend to keep that promise to her." Ezra swallowed another shot. "Good day Mr. Jackson."
"Ezra . . ." Nathan tried again.
"Good day, Mr. Jackson."
Nathan shot one last exasperated look at the gambler before he left the saloon. If this was the way he wanted it, he could have it.
At the bar, Ezra refilled the glass.
***
Julian awoke, painfully, in Nathan's clinic, a room she was all too familiar with. By her bed, asleep in a rickety old chair, was the sleeping form of her brother. Sprawled out as he was, it was hard not to think of him as a little boy. It brought a smile to Julians lips.
Julian stood carefully, wincing at the pains in her lower abdomen. Her right hand shot out to steady herself on the bedpost as she felt her head swim. A glance to Chris, making sure he was still asleep, she grabbed her dress noting it wasn't the one she'd donned the previous day. Actually, she wasn't even sure it was previous day, but that didn't impede her movements.
Julian dressed quickly, tying the laces on her boots with efficient speed. Pulling her wool shawl around her shoulders, Julian left the small clinic and headed for her room at the boarding house.
It was no easy task. In addition to the sea-sick feeling in her stomach and the nearly overwhelming dizziness, she had to avoid three of her brother's friends on the short trek. Surely if they saw her out in the street, they would order her back to Nathan's where she would be forced to drink some vile concoction and lay down for the next three or four days. She shuddered at the thought.
Julian fished for her key in the pocket of her dress as she walked. It was when she made it across the street that she first noticed something was amiss. Mothers, walking with their children, usually so kind to her, forcibly moved their child across the street. Men who had never dared glance in her direction due to her connections, stared unabashedly at her. Disapproving gazes looked back at her from every once kind face.
Julian, bemusedly, entered the boarding house where she stayed. Miss Pross, who'd never been anything but civil to her, ignored Julian's greeting altogether. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she walked the steps to her room. What was going on here?
She flung open the door to her room, surprised to find everything in order. With the way people had been acting to her today, she would not have been shocked if Miss Pross kicked her out of the house.
Julian sat down on her bed and began to sob. She wished Ezra were here right now.
***
Ezra on the other hand, deep into his bottle of whiskey, was wishing that he'd never agreed to stay in this backwater town.
"All they ever do is laugh at me." He muttered, finishing off another shot. "I never do anything right. If I don't show up for ONE thing, they go and think I've run out on 'em again." Ezra hunched over the drink, suddenly not feeling sturdy enough to sit up straight.
Inez, cleaning glasses with an off-color rag, looked at the gambler worriedly. She couldn't remember a time when Ezra had drank so much. But what could she do? Ask him about it? The only person he ever talked to was Larabee's younger sister, and she was up at Nathan's suffering from Ezra's . . . actions right now. Inez glowered, suddenly recalling why she was mad at him in the first place.
Ezra tossed another shot down his throat. Or perhaps it would be more apt to say, down his shirt front. The amber fluid now stained the expensive imported silk Ezra was always so proud of.
He didn't as much as blink before pouring a shot to replace it.
Inez put the glass she was holding down on the counter. Scoundrel or not, she would be damned if she would let that man pass out in her bar.
"Come on, Senor Standish." Inez put on arm across his back. "I think you've had enough. You've been drinking all day. Let me help you to your room." She tried with all her considerable strength to get Ezra moving. He was having none of it.
"What?" his voice was uncharacteristically loud, the Southern accent veritably rippling through his words. Patrons across the saloon turned to stare. "Cain't 'ave a drunk in 'ere? Or's it sumpin' else?" The last word was slurred. Inez knew he was very far into his cups. He continued. "Cain't 'ave a man in 'ere that would do sumpin' like that to a liddle girl, right?" Ezra shoved her helping arm away violently. "I don' need your 'elp." He stood and began walking shakily toward the batwing doors. "Yours er anyone else's."
Ezra, somehow not falling flat on his face, managed to exit the saloon with a modicum of his dignity left. He walked blindly across the street, not sure exactly where his feet were taking him.
***
Julian's self-pitying tears were finally abating when the knock came at the door. She hastily wiped a hand across her eyes before heading for the locked entrance. She knew without looking that it was either her brother or one of his nosy friends. She flung open the door ready with a biting remark about how she could take care of herself.
"Why can't you . . ." Julian stopped mid-sentence, shocked. "Ezra?"
At least she thought it was Ezra. His hair and clothes were a mess, it looked like he'd forgotten to shave, and he positively reeked of whiskey.
"Ezra?" She asked again of the figure in her doorway, who was leaning heavily on the door jamb.
"Ha-yee, Goo-lee-ann." his words were drawn out, and his eyes weren't focusing on much of anything, but it was him alright.
"Ezra, what are you doing here? How did you get up here?" She helped him into the room, leading him to take a seat on the bed,
"Walked." Then he fell backward, sprawling out across the down comforter.
"I realize that, but . . ."
Ezra's mumblings grew louder, causing her to listen. "Your brother jus' can' seem to think that I am innocent when it comes to your welfare . . ."
So that's what it was! Chris thought Ezra had fathered the child she'd miscarried. Julian, not for the first time, wondered how Chris could be so blind to the truth about Ezra. What had he done to deserve such bias? Julian looked down on the now snoring gambler in her bed. She sighed and rolled her eyes before busying herself with the task of removing his well-worn boots. If he was going to pass out in her room, the least he could do would be take his shoes off before he did it, she thought, tugging with all her strength.
Julian pulled a thin blanket over Ezra's sleeping figure. "Goodnight, Ezra." She said, then lowered her voice. "Good night Julian, my dear. Thank you for allowing me the use of your bed." She returned her voice to normal. "Oh, that's no problem Ezra. It's nothing."
Then she put her head in her hands. When she'd wished Ezra was here, she's meant awake and cognizant, not passed out, and suffering from her forced promises.
God's sense of humor never ceased to figure out ways to annoy her.
***
Chris sat in the saloon trying to ignore the comments swarming about him. Upon appearing in the establishment, the steady hum of conversation had dulled, indicating to him the major topic of conversation among its patrons.
How the hell they'd found out in the first place was a mystery to him. If he ever found the son of a bitch . . .
" . . . Larabee girl for a toss in the hay myself . . ."
" . . . Up there with him now "tending" his wounds . . . "
That was it; he couldn't stand it any longer. It was bad enough when the talk had been speculation and not spoken outright in his presense. At least then he could pretend it didn't go on. Despite her current feelings toward him, Julian was his sister and he'd be damned if anyone would drag her name through the dirt like this. Chris slammed his glass down on the table, stood, and glared at the men who dared to meet his gaze. Words, unable to express themselves coherently, hung a warning in the air.
Stalking out of the crowded room, the doors swung violently in his wake. Chris took a deep breath of the early evening air.
"You're out of there early."
Chris turned toward the feminine voice behind him. Mary, shawl clutched tight about her shoulders, stood two feet behind him.
"And you're out late." By this hour, Mary was usually home. He paused, allowing her to catch up with him.
"I'm printing the newspaper tomorrow. I'm taking a break before I finish setting the press." Mary allowed him to walk her along the wooden sidewalk.
They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes until Mary spoke.
"I've heard some . . . disturbing things about your sister."
Chris paused for a split second, almost imperceptibly, before asking, "Yeah?"
"People think maybe she should go back. Back east. To where she came from."
Chris halted dead in his tracks this time and whirled to face the blond editor. "What?" Chris was incredulous. He could understand it when Mary said the same about the prostitutes coming to town. But she knew Julian. She talked to Julian, ate with her, laughed with her for crissakes. They were friends. "People? Or you?"
"Mr. Larabee, I . . . it may be for the best . . ."
"For the best?" Chris shook his head at her. "To make her go and live with our aunt? The same aunt that never gave a damn about anything but the money I sent her?" Chris turned away from the woman. "Forget it." He muttered, stepping from the sidewalk and started on his way down the street.
Mary, still on the walkway, pulled the wool shawl tighter about her shoulders, the air suddenly chilling her to the bone. Looking at the black clad man stumbling down the street, she let out a sigh.
"It may be for the best . . ." she whispered.
***
Five men sat in the bar watching as their leader stood and left the saloon.
"What was that about?" JD asked, sipping from his glass.
The four other men turned and faced the young man with the same look on their faces.
JD looked around the table, comprehension dawning suddenly. "Oh."
"Don't see how it's any of their business." Buck commented with an almost religious fervor; each word consecutively louder.
"People gossip with great fervor when it does not involve their own." Josiah's gaze roamed the crowd as he spoke, looking for the stares that would predictably fall upon them.
"People wouldn't have reason to talk if that Southern son of a bitch had his hands to himself." Buck's words fell violently from his lips. Much like Larabee, Buck fought the urge to kill Ezra outright.
"Sorta like the pot callin' the kettle black, ain't it Buck?"
Buck whipped around in his seat to look at Vin. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Jus' sayin' that you might wanna look more carefully at your own actions 'fore you condemn Ezra's."
"You no good . . ." Buck lunged across the table at Tanner, hands extended. Josiah stood, quickly putting himself between the two men, restraining Buck with all his might.
"Settle down Brother Wilmington. It does her no good to fight with Vin." Josiah sighed with relief when he felt Buck relax in his grip. Buck, stepping back from the burly man, straightened his jacket. He leaned down, grabbing his glass of beer and swigged it down. Dropping the glass back on the table, Buck stared at Vin with a gleam in his eye, before exiting the saloon in much the same manner as his long time friend.
Nathan, silent across the table, watched all of this with a heavy heart. He wanted to tell them the truth, truly he did. But a promise was a promise.