Explosions
Part Three
Chris jerked, causing Mary to jump, and his eyes flew open. He stared at the surprised woman standing above him for a second before twisting bodily to look over at Ezra on the next bed.
"Chris!" Mary said happily, "Nathan, Chris is awake!"
The healer looked over from where he was tying off the last rope holding Ezra down. His face split into a grin, and Josiah sighed his thanks to the air.
Chris just frowned, then grimaced as pain exploded through his head at the movement. He reached up a hand to his head, only to have Mary grab it and pull it away.
"You have a nasty gash on you head, Chris. Don't touch it."
The gunslinger stared up at her, then gripped the hand that held his. "You have to wake up Ezra," he hissed, a hoarse quality to his otherwise solid voice. Mary blinked, and turned to Nathan as the healer came to kneel next to the bed.
"Hey Chris, you had us scared for a while. You managed to break a leg, but otherwise you're okay. You up for drinking some water?"
Chris narrowed his eyes, blinking tiredly. "Nathan, Ezra…you have to wake him up. You have to find a way."
Nathan frowned, "Chris…Ezra is awake. Sort of. And how did you know…."
"No, no, he's not. You have to bring him back here. Talk to him, call him back. You have to…" he started to cough, just as Josiah came up with a cup of water in his hand. The preacher handed it to Nathan.
"Drink this, Chris. You lost a lot of blood out of that head of yours. It'll give you a massive headache soon enough. We need to replenish your fluids, okay?" As he spoke, the healer raised the cup to Chris's lips.
Abruptly, Chris grabbed the cup from Nathan's hand and drank the proffered drink, taking it in one gulp. Nathan's eyebrows raised slightly as the gunslinger then threw the cup across the room.
"Now listen to me," he said, grabbing the healer's arm. "I'm not crazy. Ezra's lost. You have to bring him back. Talk to him, yell at him, anything. I saw him respond to you, Josiah and Vin….but especially Josiah. He could almost see where he was then." He looked over Nathan's shoulder to the older man. "You weren't in the war, were you preacher?"
Josiah frowned, "The war? The war between the states, you mean? No. I was still in southern California then."
"That's why. You talk to him. And get JD to talk to him too. I'm betting…" he grimaced suddenly as a particularly sharp stab of pain screamed down the side of his face. "Ow," he muttered, letting go of Nathan to try and hold his head again.
"I'm sorry Chris, I didn't want to give you anything for the pain until I was sure you would stay awake." Nathan was watching him warily now, as one might someone they think might be a little crazy. Chris groaned and sank back down to put his head on the pillow. At least his leg didn't hurt too much. It was mostly just a dull throb.
"Talk to him, Josiah. Remind him of where he really is," Chris begged, closing his eyes.
Nathan watched with a frown as Chris's breathing evened out again, and the man succumbed to sleep. He'd have to keep waking him up now, to make sure that the concussion didn't keep the gunslinger asleep permanently.
"Nathan?" Mary asked, standing with her arms crossed.
"He's fine, Mary. Now that he's woken up. He should be alright."
"Yes, but what about what he said about…"
"I don't know. Somehow, he must have heard us talking about Ezra. Heard Vin when he mentioned that Ezra asked about his captain, and the war. He's probably just a bit mixed up."
Mary frowned, but didn't disagree. Instead, she just sat back down and went back to holding Chris's hand. Nathan stood and stretched, then looked back at Ezra, and then beyond to where Mrs. Greene was still sitting with a sleeping Inez.
"Mrs. Greene, could you do me a favor? Could you go tell the others that Chris woke up?" The apothecary's wife stood with a nod, and tucked the hand she'd been holding back under the covers. Inez didn't stir, just muttered something in Spanish. As she reached the door, she jumped back slightly as it swung open on its own.
As if he'd heard Chris's summons, JD stood at the open door, finding several pairs of eyes watching him curiously as the winter winds blew in past him.
"I came to…" he waved at the beds, "to see how they were."
Josiah grinned, "Perfect timing, son."
After Major Larabee fell, he disappeared, and so had the confederate private – Lassiter, Ezra remembered, Private Tommy Lassiter – who had shot him. This left the young lieutenant alone in the clearing, marveling somewhat at the silence that had descended. It was as if time had stopped, erasing all the sounds of the forest and the war beyond, leaving nothing moving except him.
He sat down, noticing that the leaves beneath his feet never made a sound, and breathed slowly. He was wheezing again, not too surprisingly, the pervasive rattle of the consumption he'd contracted almost two years ago still with him. It had, luckily, not been too debilitating, and he'd bounced back after a few months from a disease that killed most everyone else. But, occasionally, especially in the winter, or when he became too excited, it would come back to haunt him. It faded more each time, showing his lungs were healing, but it bothered him still.
So, his lungs rattled, and his throat wheezed, the only sounds in the small, bright, damp clearing.
Gently, he lifted up a dead leaf, feeling the wet stickiness of the swamps on it. It glistened in the sunlight streaming through the branches above, but only dully.
Was this not real?
And yet, there were no sounds, not too mention that he'd just seen someone shot and disappear. It was someone he knew he had met far from here, in a different era of his life, years in the future, someone he respected and…worked for, someone who had tried to tell him that this wasn't reality and that he needed to get home.
If he thought about it, he could feel the sensation of ropes digging into his skin, and the burning in his chest, shoulder and arm belied the healthy look of the limbs before him.
"Lieutenant Spencer?"
He looked up to see the private, Private Lassiter, staring down at him, worry bright in the younger man's eyes.
"Lieutenant Spencer, the raid failed. Everyone is dead. We're all that is left."
Ezra frowned. That wasn't right. The raid had been a success. He remembered being praised for it by one of the Colonels.
How can he remember being praised if it hadn't happened yet?
He put the leaf down, and struggled to his feet, brushing the muck from his dark gray trousers.
"Sir, there are more Union soldiers coming. If we don't leave, they'll capture us."
"Let them," Ezra replied darkly.
The private frowned, "What?"
"Get out of here, Private Lassiter. Rejoin the others."
"Sir, I'm not going to leave you. They…they might kill you."
"Yes, they might."
"Sir?" Private Lassiter stepped away, his dark brown eyes narrowing.
Ezra didn't respond, just put his hands over his eyes, blocking the scenery from his mind. "I just want to go home…" he moaned quietly.
"Well, Captain Spencer, while I can sympathize with that statement, I am afraid it is simply not a good enough excuse for desertion."
Ezra's hands dropped from his face, startled. He was standing in a clearing still, but a vastly different one. It was much colder, and the trees of the south were replaced by the pine and maple of North Carolina. Moonlight filtered down from above through budding branches to bathe him in an ashen glow, his face and gray clothes becoming almost one color. His eyes widened as he stared into the face of his commander. General Joseph E. Johnston stared back, his face twisted in a grimace, disgust and understanding warring for attention on his august features.
"General?" Ezra asked, green eyes wide.
Retreating after Bentonville, North Carolina, late March 1865, as usual on the wrong side of Sherman's Campaign.
Around him stood a whole array of soldiers in gray, several of them with their guns raised, pointing at him. General Johnston had come for him himself, Ezra realized with a groan. Johnston may have been the curse that got him into this war, but he was also one of the few men Ezra truly admired.
The General was a hero in Ezra's mind, even if he had finally had to succumb to the greater forces of the Union army in this, the Carolina Campaign. They lost at Bentonville, and were now retreating North to Raleigh, Sherman dead on their heels. Ezra had decided this would be a good time to run before it was too late, having already concluded a long time ago that the South would lose this war. He had no desire to spend the rest of it as a prisoner or dead for nothing more than his respect for this man before him.
So, he had deserted…
…and had been caught.
"Well, Captain Spencer, I had thought you would have more honor than this. I brought you into this war, and promoted you, all because I believed in you. And this is how you repay me. By deserting in the dead of night, leaving your comrades to face the cannons alone in the morning without their Captain to lead them in the counterattack." Johnston's voice was cold and tired. He was clearly demonstrating to the young man that he did not have time for this.
"You came after me yourself?" Ezra replied sadly. "I wouldn't have thought a mere field captain would have deserved such an honor." If there was sarcasm in the statement, it was drowned in the sorrow of a man who knew his entire life had been and would always be a failure.
"Yes, son. I came after you myself. These men here," he nodded to the others in the clearing, a mixture of ranks and ages, not normal soldiers, "are my friends. They know that I once was very proud of you. You acquitted yourself with great spirit in this war, despite the losses in Tennessee and the failed raid in Georgia. I would send for information about your career, after they posted you to General Hood and I was sent up here. I still had faith in you, because I thought there was a greatness in you. When they told me I would be in charge of the Army of Tennessee again, and I learned that you were still part of it, I looked forward to seeing you again, to butting heads with you. I was almost as proud of you as if you had been my own…." He frowned, sensing, perhaps, that he was getting a touch maudlin. "But you have deserted, Ezra Spencer. For that, you will stand trial, and I will not be the one to help you." He stopped again, the frown deepening as he crossed his arms. "You disappoint me, Ezra."
Ezra was only half listening, his eyes staring at the ground at the General's feet.
He never knew the General had been proud of him. Oh, sure, he sensed it, and maybe guessed at it when he was transferred and promoted by the General himself. But he never actually heard him say it. He'd heard others comment that he was one of the General's favorites, and was even made fun of once when someone suggested he was Johnston's bastard son…but he'd never heard it from the actual General's lips.
He had never heard it.
Because the General had never told him. Never.
Especially not after Ezra deserted. He'd never heard from the General again, though the man was still alive somewhere.
Bright light seemed to flash through his head, and he tilted his face up to look at the older man in front of him, moonlight shining off the stars on the man's collar. The General was holding onto the short graying beard at his chin with his hand, smoothing it into the V shape that had become the handsome older man's trademark.
"Wait a minute…," Ezra said slowly, watching those grim, gaunt features. "I deserted, General, yes…but I wasn't caught."
The General just stared at him, the frown lessening slightly at the bewildering statement. The hand fell away from his beard to rest in a fist at his hip.
"What?"
"I wasn't caught," Ezra maintained, almost arguing. "I managed to get away, and I cut around the armies. I was in Kentucky somewhere when I learned of your armistice with Sherman in April."
"Ezra, what are you talking about," Johnston huffed. "It's still March."
"This war will be over in a month, General."
"Stop talking nonsense, boy. You are not a soothsayer."
"Don't you see, General? This isn't real. I'm torturing myself, don't you see? I never felt guilty about deserting the Rebs before, except about possibly disappointing you."
The General's jaw clenched, "Ezra, I do not know what game you are playing, but feigning madness will not help you at trial."
Ezra grinned suddenly and shook his head. "Oh, nothing can help me now, General. See, I just figured it out. I'm dead…and this is my hell. To relive the war, with all my successes turned into failures."
"Ezra…."
"The raid in Georgia on the train was a success, General. Except…Private Lassiter, the one who shot Chris? He died. He got a bullet in the side, and bled to death because I couldn't get him back to camp in time, not if we were to hold on to the supplies. I remember that now. I killed him because of those supplies….and my guilt brought him back to life in this, my own private hell." He laughed, and Johnston took a small step back.
"And that cannon run in Tennessee, back when I was a sergeant over a year ago?" He looked at Johnston, who had raised his chin slightly, his sharp eyes black in the low light. Ezra smiled, "In this place, Captain Michaels berated me in the hospital tent for losing that battle, saying that I lost twelve cannons. But I won that day, General. I even earned a medal. See, both Captain Micheals and my lieutenant were killed, and I was left in charge of that side of the battle. We succeeded in crushing the Union forces and holding that hillside for a few more days with very few losses on our side. But…it was also my bloodiest hour, General. I killed more men that day than any other in the war." He grimaced, remembering the sickening feel of looking down at the field of dead Union soldiers and their horses, aware that it had been his cannons that had brought them down.
"Captain Spencer, you are actually beginning to worry me. Come on, let's get you back to see the doctor," the General soothed, consternation thickening his tongue.
"Chris, he tried to help me. Tried to explain to me where I was, but I killed him before he could. I wonder if he is dead too. If so, I hope he is with his wife and son now, and no longer concerned about me. At least, I know he is not here anymore…." He looked around, as if looking for someone.
"Ezra, son…"
Ezra's eyes flashed at the familiar term, turning back to the General. "I always hated it when other people called me that, General. Except you. I liked it when you called me son, maybe cause part of me hoped it was true. And now Josiah. He calls me son all the time, General, just as you did, and at first I fought against it, perhaps in your memory. But I've gotten used to it now. And…I miss hearing him say it." He lowered his gaze again, the youth in his voice leaving as his face seemed to age slightly.
"I'm taking you back now, Spencer."
"Standish," Ezra corrected. "Ezra P. Standish, at your service," grinning again suddenly, he pulled the card he found up his sleeve and tossed it over to Johnston. The General's face was one of confusion as he looked at the ace of spades in his hand.
"The death card," the older man stated.
"Oh no, General. Some may believe so, but a fortune teller can tell you that the ace of spades can also represent the ace of pentacles in a tarot deck. It is the card of intelligence, character and wit, of mastery of the arts, the trades and professions, and, of course, the card of wealth and money. Reversed, it smacks of greed and corruption, of weakness and, my favorite, of gambling."
"Really," the General stated coldly, handing the card back.
"Spades are also the highest suit in the deck," Ezra continued, accepting it. "The ace, therefore, it the most powerful card in a poker game." He turned the card over, the pocketed in his waistcoat pocket, not noticing that he was no longer wearing confederate Gray. His eyes took on a pensive gaze, as he patted the card in place.
"Of course, perhaps now you are right. Perhaps now it does merely mean death."
"Captain, you are out of uniform," Johnston said angrily, though his voice sounded oddly faded. Ezra looked down to see he was wearing his red coat, maroon brocade waistcoat and dark pinstriped pants. The General took another step back, almost near the trees. The other soldiers had already gone.
"So it has," Ezra noted quietly, brushing some of the North Carolina dirt from his shirtsleeves. Looking up, a thirty two year old man's face had replaced that of the twenty-two year old, and Ezra found that he was alone again in a clearing. The sky above was brightening as false dawn interrupted the night.
"Well," he said to himself, looking around, then down at his clothes again. "I suppose that, if I must be in hell, or purgatory, or wherever this is, at least I may as well look good." He straightened, and felt a twinge in his shoulder again. How odd that he should feel pain in death.
"Hey Ez. Can you hear me?"
The gambler stopped brushing himself off. Dawn broke as he watched the trees around him.
"Ezra, I just wanted to say that I'm awfully sorry. Me and Vin, see, we thought we were so clever, you know? Rigging up those ropes and all. We were so sure we would get to you."
"JD?" Ezra looked up at the blue sky through the budding branches.
"Hey, he said my name!"
"Yeah, he does that sometimes. I'm not sure if that really means he knows we're here or where he is, though."
"Josiah?" Ezra squinted, recognizing the two voices distinctly though he couldn't see them. Slowly, he could make out Josiah and JD sitting on a pair of chairs beneath one of the large maple trees, talking to each other. When he called the preacher's name, however, the large man looked over. Suddenly, he was right there, looking down at where Ezra was lying on the ground, a heavy hand caressing on the younger man's forehead.
"Can you see me, son?" Josiah asked. Then, more clearly, as his features seemed to become more lively, "Do you know where you are?"
"Ezra?" JD was biting his lip where he too looked down at Ezra's face. "Chris said we should talk to you. We've been trying for the past fifteen minutes. Can you hear me?"
Ezra stared up at them, eyes wide open. He looked at the boy, "JD…where…what happened?"
"Me and Vin didn't manage to get to you in time, Ez. We're so sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry. Can you forgive me?"
Ezra just blinked at him, then past him. The trees and sky were gone, replaced by the dark brown slats of Nathan's clinic.
"Am…am I still dead?" Ezra asked then, looking back at the boy. JD had never been in the war. He wouldn't even have been in the double digits then. Or, if he had, he would have been ten or eleven at the most and still living in Boston. And Josiah…was probably in California somewhere, or abroad. How could they be in his hell if they weren't in the war….
"You're not dead, Ezra," Josiah said quietly, absently brushing his hand through Ezra's hair. "You never were. Just lost for a while, I should think."
"Lost?"
"Yeah."
"How are you feeling?" JD said, leaning forward on his knees.
Ezra had to think about this for a minute, sending questions down his extremities and feeling the dull pain in his shoulder and arm. The ropes were more obvious now.
"Am I tied down?" he asked, his tone a little accusatory as he looked up at Josiah. The preacher smiled crookedly.
"Nathan said he had to do it to stop you from thrashing so much," JD supplied. "But if you're awake now, maybe he can untie you."
Ezra nodded, swallowing some of the bile that had risen in his mouth. Josiah, sensing his need, brought a cup of water to his lips, which the younger man drank greedily.
"Nathan's just popped out to get a quick bite. Want me or JD to go get him?" Josiah asked.
Ezra's eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head, ignoring the pain it caused to his throbbing skull. "No, God no. Please. Both of you, stay, okay? And talk to me? Please?" He tried to reach for JD with his good hand, but it was lashed down. JD grabbed it anyway.
"Sure, Ezra. We won't leave you…I promise." JD's smile lit up his face, and on the other side of the bed, Josiah nodded solemnly. The preacher then glanced across to Chris's sleeping form with a trace of wonder, wondering how the gunslinger had known that Ezra would need them. The gambler didn't notice Josiah's glance, instead smiling back at JD.
"Thank you," Ezra said thickly, "thank you. I think I will have to hold you both to that for a while." He let the warmth of JD's hand in his warm up his entire soul, letting it wash away the cold of his memories.
Part Four
Four Corners, Two Weeks Later
Chris frowned up at Ezra, who was allowing Nathan to finish dressing him by draping the navy coat over his shoulders. They had been recuperating together at the clinic now for almost two weeks, and, today, Nathan was finally letting Ezra go. Chris, because of his leg, was being forced to stay in the clinic another week, until he could put enough weight on the leg to use crutches without damaging it too much. Needless to say, Chris was somewhat pissed off. Inez had been allowed to leave after only a few days. She had moved in with Mary until something could be done with the saloon.
Over by the open door, where the spring like air was seeping into the room along with a healthy does of sunlight, the others were all lounging about watching. Ezra eyed them curiously, wondering why they were all here, but so far hadn't said anything. They watched him with a variety of lopsided grins.
"You ready for this Ezra?" Nathan asked, a hint of a smile on the healer's face as he brushed down the empty sleeve where Ezra's arm was still in a snug sling. Then he pulled the edges of the coat together so Ezra was mostly covered. Ezra suffered the indignity of being dressed like a child with as much grace as he could muster.
"Certainly, Mr. Jackson. As I understand it, Miss Virginia was kind enough to give me back my old room at the boarding house for the duration, and all my things have been moved there. However, I must censure you for not telling me what is happening with the saloon." He offered Nathan a sidelong glance, and the healer shrugged.
"Well, until today, we weren't sure what was happening. Josiah donated wood to fix it, and some rebuilding has been done, but all out of our pockets."
"And backs," Buck added, pretending a groan and placing a hand to his lower back.
Nathan smiled. "Yeah, well, anyway, we didn't want you to worry, so we didn't say anything about the fact that we didn't know."
"But now you do know. So…?" Ezra lifted eyebrows, but Nathan didn't answer the implied question, his lips shutting firmly into a thin line. Over by the door, Ezra thought he heard Buck snicker.
"Is there something I should be made aware of, Mr. Wilmington?" the gambler asked, looking again over at the tall man by the door, then at the healer. Nathan's eyes were watching the floorboards.
"Ezra, just get out of here and find out for yourself, damn it," Chris growled from his bed. He was sitting up, trying to look nonchalant despite the long cast on his leg. "I'm tired of hearing you yapping. It's bad enough I had to put up with it this whole past week, since you woke up proper."
Ezra turned a bright smile on his fellow injured companion, and Chris returned it with a dark look. When he had first awoken, Ezra had been watching Chris carefully, thinking about the role his leader had had in his…dream, I guess you'd call it. Occasionally, he'd also spot Chris watching him with a strange air, as if apprehensive about something, but the older man had never spoken about what it was. It had unnerved Ezra slightly, and he had consciously been even more garrulous than usual this past week, until Chris's features had returned to their usual state of being annoyed with the gambler. It reminded Ezra of how much he enjoyed annoying the gunslinger.
"Well, Mr. Larabee, when you put it that way, I'm almost tempted not to leave at all."
Chris literally growled like a dog in response, and Ezra's smile widened. Then he looked back at the door, noting that the lopsided grins had broadened to become more wicked, and his own smile became more calculating in response.
"For certain," he said, "I am not leaving until one of those awful men I once considered friends explains to me what it is they find so amusing."
"Aw heck, Ez," Vin said, stepping forward, "we're just so pleased that you moving around, is all."
"Oh really, Mr. Tanner."
"Sure."
"You are, as always, a terrible liar, Vin."
"Me?" Vin pointed to his heart, his fingers shaped into a gun, and Ezra had a strange flashback, thinking, for a moment, he could see that arm encased in military blue and trimmed with green. Vin had just mimicked their salute. But Vin was from Texas, not Ohio.
"Indeed," Ezra replied, his joviality disappearing. Without realizing it, he found himself continuing to watch Vin, and the younger man's face fell under the scrutiny. Finally, Vin frowned.
"Well, I ain't gonna tell you about the saloon, so you best just come and figure it out for yourself," the tracker stated, stepping back and pointing to the outside, thinking this was what Ezra's expression had to do with. But Ezra surprised him.
"Were you in the war, Vin?"
The question was so out of the blue, that Vin's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. "What?"
"In the war. Were you in it?"
Vin's mouth closed. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Yes."
"As what?"
"A Union sharpshooter."
"Ohio regiment?"
Vin's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open.
"Don't be silly, Ezra. Vin's from Texas," JD said.
"Just 'cause that's the direction he came from when meeting us, don't mean he spent his whole life there, kid," Buck said, watching Vin. The tracker's expression was shocked, to say the least.
"One of Sherman's Bodyguard's maybe?" Ezra asked, tilting his head.
Vin shut his mouth, and nodded.
"Interesting," Ezra replied, shifting a little in his coat. His expression had darkened, the smile gone from his face. He didn't know what had caused him to ask the question exactly, but the answer was frightening, though he had somewhat expected it. He covered his discomfort by examining the empty sleeve on his jacket for frayed threads.
Vin cleared his throat.
"I am from Texas, JD. But I moved to Ohio just before the war so as I could join the Union army. I weren't old enough until it was almost half over, which was when I joined the Seventh Ohio Sharpshooters," Vin said this all quietly, though he was watching Ezra. "Then I moved back home again after it was all over." He tilted his head, "I ain't ever told anyone here about that, Ezra. How'd you find out?"
"Maybe he remembers seeing you," Chris suggested from the bed. He was lying back now, an arm over his eyes.
"You were in the war, Ez?" JD asked, eyes open.
Ezra smiled, "Please, JD, do I look like a madman? Of course I wasn't in the war. I may have run a few supplies for the various sides, but I never enlisted. Me, in the war, what an absurd thought."
Over on his bed, Chris clicked his tongue. "Now who is lying Ezra."
"Mr. Larabee?"
"Major Larabee, Ezra. Illinois regiment. As you well know." The arm never lifted.
Ezra stared at him a moment, then swallowed thickly. The others were watching Chris and Ezra, clearly confused, especially Buck, who had been by Chris's side during much of the war. It was where they had met. He was certain they had never met Standish before coming to Four Corners.
Josiah, however, was staring up at the ceiling, a strange expression on his face. What an amazing thing, he was thinking.
"You know, I think I will leave now," Ezra said suddenly, quietly.
"I thought you might," Chris replied in the same hushed tone, but he didn't sound as pleased with himself as he could have been.
Ezra nodded to Nathan, who was watching him with a furrowed brow, then walked towards the others. The parted like the Red Sea before him, until Ezra stood on the balcony. The bright light of day burned his eyes slightly until they adjusted, then he looked down at the street.
Buck's smile had returned full force as Ezra looked back at the others, causing the still discombobulated gambler to stick his tongue out at him. Buck laughed, and soon smiled graced the other's faces again. Only Chris, who inside had removed his arm to stare somewhat blankly up at the ceiling above, wasn't grinning. He was putting together his own dreams, and shivering slightly at the implications.
Ezra glared once more at the five men on the balcony, then looked in the direction of the saloon. His heart leapt into his throat at the sight of the still ruined building. Work had been done on it, showing that someone was rebuilding it, but it was still a strange sight. But what really caused his heart to wrench was the sight of the woman striding towards the clinic's balcony, a wide smile on her face, arm in arm with a sling wearing Inez.
"Hello darling!" His mother cooed, waving up from the street with her free arm. "Feeling better? I was just coming to see you!"
"Mother?" Ezra gasped. He whirled on his companions, "How did she find out I was hurt?" he demanded angrily. The others just faced him with grins.
"T'weren't us, Ez," JD answered. "We never told her about you. She only found out that you were hurt when she arrived in town this morning. No, she came because of the saloon."
"The saloon?"
"How exactly do I get up there, darling?" Maude called, looking at the livery door below the balcony. "Are the stairs somewhere round the side? I certainly hope I do not have to come up through the stables here." She looked at Inez, who told her that the stairs climbed up on the far side, across from the Grain Exchange.
Meanwhile, Ezra looked back down at her, his face a mass of confusion. "Mother what are you doing here?"
She looked surprised, even as her hand went up to cover her eyes from the glare of the sun as she returned to look up at him. "Didn't your friends tell you?" she asked. "Why, my dear boy, I've gone and bought your cute little saloon again. The men who bought it from me decided they didn't want to rebuild, silly fools, and they offered it back to me at a rock bottom price. Obviously, I was not about to waste such an opportunity. Now, why don't you come down here and save me from having to yell up at you any longer, or having to climb the stairs to reach you. It's so undignified." She grinned widely.
Ezra legs gave out, and he barely felt Buck's and Vin's hands catch him. He did, however, hear their laughter.
Damned Yankees.
End
Some Notes: This one started as a bomb story, where, for some reason, I felt like destroying the saloon. Horrible of me I know. I tried about five different story endings, and hated all of them. This one came about after I was looking around at some Civil War sites and read about the battle of "Ezra Church." This put me in mind of Ezra's quote about General Sherman in "Inmate 78," and, well, this is what I came up with.
If you are interested in learning more about the civil war, a really straightforward site that has links to all sorts of places is the Civil War Center at www.cwc./cwc/civlink.htm
Some interesting tidbits – Johnston surrendered to Sherman one week afrer Lee surrendered to Grant, on April 17, 1865 in Raleigh, NC. Also, Johnston died after he caught a cold when he was a pallbearer at Sherman's funeral. That is why they died in the same year. A very nice, concise summary about them is available on the North Georgia website. What follows is the NG Sherman link, from which you can get to the Johnston link: /people/shermanwt.html. I figured that Ezra would like Johnston because he was a very clever, well written man. If you look at his memoirs, or at some of the letters he wrote, he had a very, ahem, "Ezra" way of speaking.
Oh, and as to Maude getting the saloon again, she fixes it up very cheaply, using Josiah's big heart shamefully in order to "borrow" some supplies he really meant to use on the church. Then she sells it again at a healthy profit…but not to Ezra.