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Charlie Parker belongs to me, so please don't use him without permission. It is entirely possible that he will appear in other stories of mine, though obviously in a different universe and role, as you will understand after reading this story. None of the other characters are mine.

Also for those of you who were rather shocked by the actions of Hannah in Josiah's story, let me just say that I saw her as perhaps being slightly unbalanced, even as a child. That is why I had her do what she did to their father. I apologize if anyone was offended by that.

This story contains a character death, but not one of the seven.

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Ezra woke with a start, laying there for a moment gathering his thoughts before automatically reaching for his pocket watch. As he focused on the timepiece, his green eyes widened and a curse escaped his lips. Leaping out of bed, he snatched the first items of clothing he encountered: his black pants, white ruffled shirt, and red coat. He rarely wore his fancy gambler's clothes anymore, but he thought since he was away from home it wouldn't hurt to get in a few games. The colors he wore leveled the playing field somewhat by warning his opponents that he was a professional. However, just at this moment, poker was the last thing on his mind.

He was late. He'd overslept, due to the late night at the tables. It was nearly noon, and the train had been due at nine thirty. Praying fervently that his charges were still at the station, he thundered down the hotel stairs and ran frantically across the street.

He'd come clear up to Nebraska territory to fetch two boys, the newest to reside at Standish House. Judge Travis, preoccupied with the severe illness and imminent death of his wife, had been unable to arrange for the boys' transport closer to Four Corners. They'd been forced to ride an orphan train from Illinois.

Other than their names, Charlie Parker and Chris Larabee, and their ages, 12 and 5 respectively, and the fact that their family had been killed in a fire, Ezra knew next to nothing about either boy. He had agreed simply on the belief that boys that young needed better homes than overcrowded orphanages and filthy railroad cars. He had been somewhat apprehensive about taking the boys in, knowing so little about them, but something in his heart told him he was making the right decision.

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While he had been sleeping peacefully, the train had chugged and hissed its way into the station. The boys, of all shapes and sizes, were being unloaded. Most of them were met by various townspeople and farmers who had come looking for children to adopt. By the time Ezra arrived, not a soul was left on the platform. Ezra frowned, looking around in confusion. This couldn't be right.

He went up to the station-master. "Excuse me. I was supposed to meet the orphan train to collect two boys, but I am afraid I was unavoidably delayed." He consoled himself by telling himself it was only a little white lie. No one ever need know he overslept. "Do you happen to know where I might find them?"

The man just grunted and jerked his chin at the doorway of the station- house.

Upon entering, Ezra caught sight of two forlorn looking waifs: a small but fierce-looking blond boy and a tall redhead, along with a sour-faced nun, apparently in charge of the two. The older boy was so thin Ezra wondered that he didn't blow away in the relentless prairie winds.

Ezra sighed and walked over. "Pardon me, my name is Ezra Standish. I am here representing Standish House."

The nun looked down her nose at him. "You're late."

"Yes, I am terribly sorry. Things...came up. Are these the two boys?"

She gave him a look that clearly spoke of her opinion of his intelligence. "Of course."

"Ah, of course." Ezra found himself shuddering under the severe gaze. "Shall we get the paperwork in order?"

She made no response other than to thrust two forms at him. "Sign at the bottom." He did so. "Congratulations, they're all yours." She gave him what could have been a smile. "Good luck." Then she swept away, reminding Ezra vaguely of a steamship leaving harbor.

He eyed the two boys. "One of you must be Chris Larabee."

The smaller of the two spoke up. "Yeah. That's me."

Ezra turned to the other boy. "That must make you Charlie Parker."

The redhead just nodded.

"Ah, wonderful. I'm Ezra Standish; I'm here to take you to your new home."

Charlie didn't speak, but Chris had quite an opinion on that remark. "I ain't going to no damn farm. Ain't a pack mule nor a hired hand neither. An' I don't need no damn family, neither. I c'n take care o'myself."

Ezra was stunned. "First of all, young man, I do not tolerate that kind of language and I'll thank you not to use it again. Secondly, I don't live on a farm, so there is little worry about that, although my land does consist of a stable with some horses. And I really don't think you can consider us a family, not in the truest sense of the word."

"Good." The boy walked over and struggled to pick up a carpet bag that was nearly as big as he was.

"Would you like some assistance?"

"No." The response was instantaneous and rather curt. "I c'n do it myself." Chris wobbled his way back to the other boy. "C'mon, Charlie."

For the first time, Ezra assessed the older boy. He looked to be around twelve or thirteen, older by far than any of the others at Standish House. In addition to being rail-thin, he was ghostly pale and had dark circles under his eyes. Ezra approached him. "Are you ill, son?"

A small cough escaped before he answered in raspy voice. "Naw, it ain't nothing." However, the meaningful look he gave Chris told Ezra that he would surrender no further information in the little boy's presence. Even so, while Ezra watched, he swayed and a light sweat broke out on his freckled face.

The former gambler steadied him with a hand. "When was the last time you boys ate?"

Charlie thought a moment. "Yesterday morning, I think. Got to stop and have some bread and milk in Wichita."

Ezra felt his heart twinge. /Poor kids./ "Well, we must remedy that situation immediately. What do you two say we head to the restaurant and get something to eat before retiring to the hotel?"

Chris looked to Charlie for guidance, and the older boy finally nodded. He wasn't sure he trusted this man, but he was awfully hungry and getting rather tired besides. A good hot meal wasn't at all unappealing. He could figure things out better on a full stomach anyway.

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During the meal, Ezra watched Chris and Charlie carefully. Both were too thin for his tastes, but Charlie was painfully so. He walked slowly to the restaurant, as if it pained him to move. He ordered a good-size meal, but once it arrived he scarcely ate a few bites, instead shoving the food around his plate aimlessly, cerulean eyes dull and listless. Chris, on the other hand, ate nearly his entire plate of chicken and dumplings. While Ezra watched Charlie pick at his food, Chris' little blond head drifted closer and closer to the table until it landed there with a muffled thunk.

Ezra chuckled; he couldn't help it. "Well, somebody is definitely ready for a nap. Are you about finished?" Charlie nodded slightly, and Ezra thought to himself that Chris wasn't the only one exhausted. "Well, then, let us retire to our room."

Charlie followed Ezra, who carried Chris, and by the time they returned to the hotel he was nearly out of breath. "Son, are you sure you're alright?"

Charlie pointed to the bed, where Ezra laid the sleeping boy. Then the two went into the hallway, leaving the door ajar. Charlie met Ezra's eyes squarely, and his eyes weren't those of a twelve year old. Ezra gasped. "How old are you, really, Charlie?"

"Seventeen." The youth smiled his first real smile. "I told...the orphanage people...I was twelve so...they'd let me...come with Chris." Charlie's speech was frequently interspersed with shallow, labored breaths.

Ezra nodded but didn't share his smile. Something didn't quite add up. "Why are you here?"

"I promised...Chris' folks...I'd look after him. I keep my promises."

"I've no doubt that you do." Ezra leaned casually against the wall. "Are you two brothers?"

Charlie wheezed a laugh, which turned into a brief coughing fit. When he'd recovered, he replied. "No. We're...cousins. His...ma and...my ma...were sisters. My folks...got sick and...died...and I went...to live...with the Larabees...three years...ago. Chris and...I...were camping when...the fire happened."

Ezra eyed the boy carefully, putting all of his symptoms together for the first time. "It was consumption, wasn't it, that killed your parents?"

Charlie half-smiled. "Yes. Their...last gift was...to pass it on." He raised his eyes to Ezra's again. Then his eyes returned to the bedroom and the child sleeping within. "Chris...doesn't know."

Ezra ran a hand over his face. "Good Lord."

"You have...no idea." Charlie gripped one of Ezra's arms with surprising strength. "I think you're...a good man. Take care...of him for me. Please."

"I give you my word as a Standish, he'll be well-cared for. But," Ezra shook his head briefly as if to dispel an unpleasant thought. "You'll be able to do that yourself, once we get back. It's only a five-day train ride."

This time Charlie's smile was distant and mysterious. "We'll see."

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Due to a small herd of buffalo who seemed disinclined to abandon their position on the railroad tracks, the trip was lengthened by almost two days. By the fifth day, Charlie was too weak to get up from the bed in the car Ezra had rented with the money he'd won at poker. Chris was still relatively oblivious, having been assured by Charlie himself that he was only tired and would soon recover. Ezra was of the opinion that the younger boy should be told, but Charlie was adamant...when he was awake, that is.

On the morning of the sixth day, Ezra woke up before both boys. After having completed his morning ablutions, he went to check on them. Both seemed to be sleeping soundly. Chris was sprawled all over the bed, arms and legs everywhere and snoring gently. Ezra smiled and replaced the covers that had been kicked off.

Charlie was in much the same position he'd been in the night before except one arm had slipped down and was hanging over the side of the bed. Ezra went to lift it back to his chest and stiffened.

Charlie's hand was ice-cold.

Slowly and with great reluctance, Ezra lowered two fingers to Charlie's neck.

Nothing. The boy had passed on in his sleep.

Ezra rubbed at his eyes to dispel the sudden burning sensation. Having only known Charlie for a few days, he couldn't actually mourn, but the death of a child was never easy to face.

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A week later, after having arrived back at Standish House, Ezra leaned, defeated, against the doorframe outside the room of his newest charge. Chris Larabee was five years old, going on forty. He had been coping admirably with the death of his parents, but losing Charlie had been the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak.

He knew his parents had died, had found them in fact. He and Charlie had been exploring the woods near his home at the time of the fire and had come back when they'd seen the smoke. It had been too late. Sarah and Adam Larabee were overcome by the smoke and flames. Not much had been left of the house or the people within. Ezra felt that it had helped that he'd been able to have some closure in the form of seeing their lifeless bodies, as traumatizing as that had been. He couldn't deny that they were gone.

Charlie's death, however, was a different matter. Chris had not been allowed to see the body and so it didn't yet seem real to him. He still clung to the belief that his cousin would return to him. After all, as he said, Charlie had promised to take care of him and he'd never break a promise. The results of this confusion were heartbreaking to watch.

Chris was angry.

No, Ezra thought, that wasn't quite true. He wasn't angry. He was absolutely furious. He lashed out at anyone and everyone who tried to reach him. He wouldn't talk to Ezra, or Josiah, or Nathan, or even Mrs. Wells. The room he'd been given was now in shambles because he's smashed everything breakable his short arms could reach. He screamed and yelled and cursed, using words no five year old should know.

Finally he'd locked himself in his room and wouldn't come out, no matter how hard Ezra cajoled and pleaded. Each time Ezra knocked on the door something was thrown at it, until finally the gambler had given up.

He spoke just loud enough for his voice to be heard through the battered wooden door. "Chris, I'm going down to the kitchen now. If you need anything you know where to find me."

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He descended the stairs with a heavy heart. Josiah had been a struggle, there was no denying that, but Ezra had never doubted his ability to get through. It had paid off eventually. Chris, however, was a different matter. Ezra wasn't sure there was anything he could do for this boy. Only Chris could decide to stop being angry and reenter the world.

A sudden crash followed by what sounded like shattering glass came from above met his ears and made him turn around and head back up the stairs before ever reaching the lower level. When he arrived, there were Josiah and Nathan standing hesitantly in the hallway. Both pointed wordlessly towards Chris' door, which was Ezra's immediate destination. The silence from the other side made him frown, and he unlocked the door with the skeleton key he always kept handy. "Chris?"

The scene that met his eyes shocked him. He'd known Chris was angry, and tended towards violence, but he hadn't expected anything like this. It would seem that the five year old had broken the only chair in the room and smashed the window with one broken leg.

"Good Lord!" Ezra rushed into the room, only stopping short when Chris brandished the improvised weapon at him.

"You stay away! I hate you, you won't let Charlie come back. But he'll be back and he'll take me away, just you wait! He promised he'd stay with me!"

Ezra might have given in had it not been for the bloody footprints he could see Chris leaving behind as he paced around in agitation. The glass littered the floor and it cut his bare feet each time he moved. "Chris? Chris, son, please stay still. That glass is hurting you."

"I don't care! It don't hurt. I don't hurt." Despite his brave words, Ezra could see tears building in Chris' eyes. "I'm a man, not some dumb little kid, and no stupid glass is going to hurt me."

'No,' thought Ezra, 'the glass isn't what's making you hurt, but you won't admit it.'

Ezra lunged forward suddenly and yanked the wooden club from Chris' hand. In the same smooth motion, he wrapped his free hand around the boy's body. The chair leg was thrown on the floor and his other arm joined the first. Chris screeched and began to struggle, pounding Ezra's body with his fists. "NO! Let me GO! You bastard! You son of a bitch! I HATE you! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" Chris kept hitting and screaming until he was exhausted and then he collapsed, weeping, into Ezra's chest. "I hate you."

"I know, Chris. You go on and hate me if it makes you feel better."

Ezra felt the shift in the boy's posture almost instantly. It was his only warning when Chris threw his arms around Ezra's neck and his legs around the man's waist. The child clung to him like a little leech for several minutes, not acknowledging when Ezra motioned the others out of the room and eased Chris into a more comfortable position to take a seat on the bed. "You're a heavy boy, you know that?"

"Yeah. Mama said I was growing like a weed."

"I'm sure you are." Ezra tread carefully; the last thing he wanted to do was make the boy clam up about his parents again. With any luck, talking about them would speed up the healing process.

"Pa said I was going to be tall like him." Chris sniffed. "I hope so. He was real tall."

"I see. What else do you remember?"

Chris spent the next hour or so reviewing some of his happier memories with his parents and Charlie. Ezra said very little, mostly just listening and offering what comfort he could. After Chris seemed to be slowing down, he rose again. "Are you getting tired?"

"A little."

"Well, it is late. We had better start getting you ready for bed."

"Kay." Chris was compliant while Ezra helped him wash and change, and afterwards, while the man was tucking him in, he touched his new guardian's arm. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ezra, I don't really hate you."

Ezra smiled. "I know." He brushed a wayward lock of hair from Chris' forehead. "Sleep well."

"Can...can you stay? Just til I fall asleep?"

"Of course." Ezra pulled a chair up beside the bed. "I'll be glad to."

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