AN: Readers, I thank you for sticking with this story. Thank you everyone who took the time to comment, I appreciate it. Guests, I'd thank you personally if I could.
Next Day – Noon
Will Stambridge headed SW from St. Louis for no real reason, and stopped in Greenville Illinois, because it seemed as good a place as any. He stabled his horse and thought about where to go next - restaurant, saloon or hotel. He decided on saloon, and choosing one was easy. The Green Leaf was the only drinking establishment in town. He paused outside, adjusted his gun-belt out of habit, and pushed through the batwing doors. The place was almost empty, not surprising for noon on a weekday. The bartender, and an old geezer, drinking alone at a table, were the only people there. Will walked over to the bar. The brawny, bald barkeep ambled over with a cigar between his teeth. "Hello stranger, what'll it be?"
"Beer, tall and cold."
The bartender grabbed a mug, filled it to overflowing and set it on the bar. "10 cents." Will slapped a coin down, and thirstily took a long swallow, with the barkeep watching him warily. Strangers didn't come through Greenville every day "Got a name mister?"
Will set his beer down. "It's - it's Bill – Smith. Bill Smith."
"I see." The bartender took the cigar from his mouth and flicked ashes on the floor. "We don't get a lot of strangers here, but it's funny how many have that same last name - Smith. Ain't that something? Are you in town for some reason, Mr. Smith?"
Stambridge took another sip of beer. He had no reason to be anywhere. "Well, I guess I wouldn't mind finding a job. Know of any?"
The barkeep looked Will up and down. A middle-aged man with un-calloused hands, wearing a nice looking suit. He wore a gun-belt like he was born to it, and had a nasty bruise on his face. "Nope, don't know of anyone hiring. Anyways, this likely ain't the right town for you."
"Barry, another whiskey over here - please." The old man sitting alone at a table, held up his empty glass.
With a smile that was almost tender, the barkeep grabbed a bottle and walked across the room. "Last one, Tom, then I'm sending you home." Barry refilled the old timer's glass and gave him a pat on the back, before returning to the bar.
Will swallowed the last of his beer, and nodded towards the old man. "Bet that old geezer runs up quite a bar tab. A man like that, must be good for business."
The barkeep eyed Will cooly. "Not that it's any of your concern Mr. Smith, but Tom's wife Mary died 3 weeks ago. Married 50 years. We all do what we can to help him through it. I give him enough free whiskey to ease the pain some, and then send him home to his daughter and son-in-law. The stableman, Gus, makes sure he gets there safe. A neighbor will take him fishing in the morning, help him pass the time. Tom's a person, not a bar tab. You want another beer?"
Stambridge stared into his empty mug, feeling awkward, even ashamed, without knowing quite why. He looked up at Barry. "Tom's a lucky man to have such friends. No thanks on the beer, but are you sure you don't know of any jobs? It doesn't have to be anything – special. I'd just like to stay in one place for a time, and this place seems – good."
Surprised by the emotion in Will's voice, Barry nodded. " Well - this probably ain't what you had in mind, but there's a church at the end of the street, can't miss it. A minister runs it, Reverend Francis Pearl. Some folks say he's a saint, others say he's a fool. Anyways, he helps strangers find work, a place to stay, stuff like that. You don't look poor like most that he helps, but well – maybe he can help you find what you want."
Stambridge smiled weakly. It wasn't what he had in mind. "Thanks for the tip. I'll think about it." He headed towards the door.
"Mr. Smith, one thing." Barry called from behind the bar. "If you decide to go to the church, you should know that Reverent Pearl don't take to no violence. You'll have to give up that gun you're wearing, and leave it in the box outside the church."
"Thanks for the advise." Will pushed through the doors and stood outside to think. Going to some minister to find work – it seemed ridiculous – work doing what? Besides he wasn't a church going man, and had no plan to become one. Anyway, he had no reason to stay in Greenville. Problem was he had no reason to be anywhere. Maybe talking to the minister wouldn't hurt. He didn't have to tell the truth about his past.
Will walked to the end of the street. Barry was right, you couldn't miss the church. He went up the steps to ring he bell, but paused. A large box sat in his way. The sign above it read, All Weapons Here. Return Not Guaranteed. That was it, 6 words. Stambridge stared at the sign and walked away.
St. Louis
On Washington Street, the slight downhill incline made pushing Matt in his wheelchair effortless, but as Kitty pushed him along, she scowled. "I swear Matt, if you don't stop grumbling and shifting around, I'm going tilt this chair and dump you right into the street."
Matt couldn't help but laugh at her outburst, "I'm sorry Kitty. I just hate being wheeled around in this thing."
"It's just for a couple of days, and it doesn't mean we can't enjoy every minute of the time we have left in St. Louis. You being in a wheelchair doesn't have to ruin a thing."
"You're right Kitty, I'm sorry, and look here's the restaurant, the Century Club.
Impressed by the beautiful building, Kitty pushed him inside. The maitre de recognized Matt, but hid his surprise at seeing him in a wheelchair, being pushed by a beautiful woman. "Right this way." He led them to a table for two in a private alcove, and removed a chair so Kitty could roll the wheelchair up to the table. Kitty sat close to Matt and they looked at the menu together. A waiter come over with a basket of bread, took their orders and disappeared.
Matt started to offer a roll to Kitty, but saw she was staring straight ahead, and idly twisting a napkin. He put a hand on hers. "Kitty, you don't have to talk about Stambridge if you don't want to, but something's bothering you, and I think it has to do with him."
She looked into Matt's blue eyes. They steadied her. "Matt, when Will was in Dodge 6 months ago, he thought about the choices he made in life, and said he wanted a change. Yes, some of that was asking me to marry him, but he also wanted to leave his gunslinging life behind him and get a fresh start. Matt, he didn't change is life, and part of me is angry with him for that." She sighed. "If he doesn't go in a different direction, terrible things will keep happening. I know it. Matt, I care what happens to him. Do you think he can change?"
The waiter appeared with their meals, and filled their glasses with wine. The pause in conversation gave them time to think. They waited until the waiter was gone. "Matt?" She knew he had reason to see the worst in Will, but she also knew that his innate fairness would make him see all sides.
"Kitty, people can change. I believe that. But it took Stambridge years to build his reputation as a gunslinger, and it won't magically go away. He has to replace it with something, and that something has to be built, bit by bit, day by day. Kitty, when Stambridge saved you in that stagecoach robbery, he did a fine and brave thing. I shudder to think what would have happened if he hadn't been there. But different situations call for different kinds of bravery. Take you for example."
"Me?" Her eyes widened.
"Kitty when you came to Dodge, lots of folks looked down on you, you know that. You heard the things they said behind your back, or even to your face. But you kept going, day by day, holding your head high, saving money, planning a better life, proving yourself. Over time people saw the real you, a kind and generous person, an honest and capable business woman, a valuable part of the community. You had set-backs, tough times and it was slow going, but you had the courage to keep at it."
"Matt, I always had you on my side, and friends like Doc and Chester."
"Even so, it was your courage that pushed you forward, even when you were discouraged. If Stambridge is half as brave as you are, Kitty, I think he can make a new life for himself."
"I sure hope he can. He is mulling some things over, I know that." Kitty smiled. "He even asked me to thank you for saving his life, both times. Back in Dodge, after the lynch mob, he couldn't bring himself to say it. This time, he didn't see you after you were shot. So he wanted me to thank you for him."
"No need for thanks." Mat shook his head, "Just doing my jo..."
"NOPE, I don't want to hear, it's just the job or the badge you wear. It's the man behind the badge. The man I fell in love with, and will always be in love with." She reached over and put her small, soft hand in his large calloused one.
He smiled crookedly. "You know, I remember a day, a long time ago when I noticed a beautiful woman, eating breakfast in a cafe. It was a rainy, bone chilling morning, but just sight of that woman warmed me to my core. It still does. I will always love you, Kitty."
She smiled and he leaned closer. "You know Kitty, this vacation started out great, but we lost a few days because of all that happened. How about this – after lunch we go to the telegraph office and let folks in Dodge know that because of unavoidable delays, we'll be back next Friday, not Monday like we planned."
"I think that's a wonderful idea." She lifted her wine glass. "To us, our vacation and every moment we share."
Greenville Illinois
Stambridge hurried from the church, and started walking faster and faster. He stopped short – it hit him like a ton of bricks – he was running away. His own words echoed in his head: The mistake is if we don't make a change, if that's what we really want.
It was time to take stock. Kitty wasn't in love with him, but she cared, that was something. And Dillon did save his life. Of course, it wasn't personal, it's just what Dillon does. He wears that gun of his to protect people, whatever he thinks of them. Still, because of Dillon he had another chance at life. The question was, what to do with it. The path he was on meant more death and destruction, but Greenville Illinois and a minister? He shook his head and shrugged. No better idea had made itself known. He pivoted, walked back to the church and stopped in front of the box with the sign: All Weapons Here. Return Not Guaranteed. His hand moved over the top of he pistol. He savored its familiar feel and latent power. It was the source of his livelihood, and the root of his pride and worth. A lot to give up. Slowly, he unbuckled his gun-belt and dropped it into the box. He took a deep breath and rang the bell. A minute went by. A man opened the door and looked at Will with clear gray eyes. "I'm Reverend Pearl. I've been watching from the window. I wasn't sure you'd be able leave your weapon, but you did. Come in." The voice was deep and kind, the eyes were full of wisdom.
Will Stambridge stepped inside.
The End.
