Note: Thanks for your patience and understanding. This is my first FanFiction story, and I had trouble posting it, so I deleted the first attempt and am trying to repost. This time, I'm hoping to put the entire story here at once. In the future if I write more, I'll try to figure out how to upload in chapters. This story has some battle action described, but it is primarily a character revelation story. Thank you for reading.
Memories' Battle Cries
Chapter One
Slim Sherman sat on his bed, bare feet on the floor, leaning forward with elbows on his knees and hands tightly clasped together between them. He faced Jess's bunk, grimacing in empathy as he watched his best friend's misery.
He wondered what he should do this time. Wake him or let him ride it out?
Jess Harper was obviously asleep. But with as active and vocal as he'd been, Slim had to wonder how someone could remain asleep while thrashing around and calling out like that. It was the constant talking that had awakened Slim.
"Watch out!... Fire!... Fire!... G-gotta make it th-through..."
It had been going on for over ten minutes now, and as the words continued, Jess's voice had become more urgent, but not very loud. Locked as he was in a deep sleep, he was basically murmuring most of the time, and Slim could only make out a word now and then. But the tone switched between frustration, hopefulness, desperation, anger, strength, and what, if it had been anyone else, Slim would have labeled fear. But he'd never seen Jess exhibit fear of any kind. At least not while awake. Oh, he surely must have felt it a time or two, but he'd never let it show. Slim would term the way Jess reacted to any danger as alert rather than afraid. In his dreams, though, he couldn't control his expression of emotion.
Ever since Jess had landed at Sherman Ranch and Relay Station, he'd occasionally had the dreams. Well, dream wasn't the word for it. The images that stampeded through Jess's mind made for awful nightmares. Slim would sometimes let him work his way through them until Jess either woke himself up or, from sheer exhaustion, finally collapsed back into a more restful sleep. Sometimes, Slim would try to talk his pard through them, although he never knew whether Jess actually heard his assurances that all was well. Other times, when he simply couldn't stand the suffering the man who'd become like a brother to him was obviously going through, Slim would have to shake him awake.
Those times when Slim woke him, Jess would apologize abashedly, and often hurry from the bedroom to sit on the porch or pace the perimeter of the corral, unable to return to sleep. Or perhaps unwilling to. Maybe wanting to avoid leaving himself open to another set of nightmarish visions born from memories too agonizing to let rise to the surface during the day. Sometimes he'd spend the remainder of the night in the barn, embarrassed at disturbing Slim's rest, even though his boss who'd become his best friend assured him it was okay and there was no need to leave their bunkroom. Slim never told Jess that he talked during the nightmares, worried it would make him even more self-conscious about sleeping in the house. When Jess asked if he'd said anything, Slim just told him that he made some noise and moved around a lot.
Another thing Jess was unaware of was that it was through the sleep-induced mumblings, when they'd nursed Jess through a fever delirium, that Slim and Jonesy had first learned about the fire that stole the young Texan's large family from him when he had just turned 15 years old, despite──Slim was sure──Jess's valiant attempts at a rescue. Jess had eventually told Slim and Jonesy a little about the fire, and they'd never let on that they already knew some of the details.
Now, Jess once again mumbled several words too low to comprehend and then raised his head from the pillow as he emphasized, "Get down!... stay low... now... forward!"
Slim wondered if Jess had had to deal with the nightmares continually since he was 15 or if they'd come and gone periodically. Or maybe even started in more recent years altogether. But he never dared ask any details about them. The horror of them was something he didn't want to make Jess think about or talk about. Instead, he just silently sympathized as Jess's imagination fought the flames.
The younger cowboy rolled his head back and forth, reaching out, his arm at full length and his hand in the form of clasping something.
"Can't g-get that 'un… Go back!... Wh-where is he?... Fire! "
More indistinguishable words, accompanied by harsh scowls, were followed by Jess collapsing back, sounding overcome. "Won't work… look at 'em..." His face was a picture of defeat. "No way out," he moaned.
The nightmare had been going on much longer than they usually did, and Slim felt a strong pull to put an end to the terror that had laid hold of Jess's mind. He stood up and moved toward the other bunk, still trying to decide if he should say something calming to try to settle Jess or resort to waking him up.
"Fire!... Damn it, Murphy, help me!"
At the mention of the name Murphy, Slim stopped. After a moment's hesitation, he sat back down on his bed, thinking maybe it would be better to let Jess work through this one. He'd never heard him utter that name before. His nightmares had always been about his family's deaths, and it was their names he called. Who was Murphy?
Jess tossed and turned. He frantically kicked invisible enemies, reined an imaginary horse, pointed a nonexistent gun. He mumbled a few more words Slim couldn't make out, but then he caught one.
"…enfilade…"
Slim frowned, confused as to why a military term had slipped in among the others. After a sentence full of incomprehensible mutterings, he finally heard another word clearly.
"…Yankees…"
He suddenly understood why this nightmare was different from the usual ones. This one was new, not a repeat of Jess's dreams about family. And Slim realized that this time "Fire!" didn't refer to an inferno. No, it was a directive. To shoot.
"Too many… extraction blocked… m─mission f─fail…" Jess gasped.
Jess usually had nightmares when he'd been through something very draining either physically or mentally. Severe Illness, bad injury, extreme emotional duress. And that had certainly happened a month ago when Paul Halleck came to town, causing Jess to recall in too-vivid detail what he'd gone through as a teenaged Confederate soldier, and then a captive in the Union prison camp run by Captain Halleck.
Prior to the former officer's arrival in Laramie, Jess had gone a couple months without having any nightmares. But they had started again immediately after Halleck left town. Though Slim had listened to Jess's nighttime mumblings several times a week since then, this was the first night the words had been clear enough to deduce that they referred to the war instead of the fire that took his family.
"Smith! Madison!... Retreat ordered!... Hear me?"
Drenched in sweat, Jess let out a groan that sounded like a reflection of true pain. Then came panting, as though he was having difficulty getting his breath. Slim frowned even more, again fretting about what he should do. Maybe all he could do this time was just to be there, so Jess simply wasn't alone.
"Stay in… saddle… gotta h-hold on… can't let 'em… t-take me."
Slim gritted his teeth, picturing Jess as a very young soldier wounded and knowing he was about to be captured.
Another low moan escaped Jess's lips. Grimacing, he reached a hand up and laid it on his chest. A hitch in his breath was followed by a wretched, coarse whisper.
"Hurts..."
Slim suddenly felt very awkward, almost as though he was eavesdropping on a private conversation because he knew how embarrassed a fully awake Jess Harper would be to have anyone hear him give voice to pain.
And he knew Jess would be absolutely mortified that anyone should see the solitary tear that trickled down his cheek. His next words, spoken between quiet gasps, pierced straight to Slim's heart.
"Ain't… dead… come back… Sarge… don't leave me here."
Slim ran his hand through his hair and sucked a deep shuddering breath. Good grief, what had the kid gone through during that battle? And afterward? And in the prison? He just couldn't take it anymore; if the dream didn't end real soon, he was going to have to wake Jess up. He braced his forehead against his hands and shifted his gaze, choosing to stare at the floor rather than Jess's anguished face.
"Can't be… oh, lord… it is…" Jess's voice was faint. "…no… d-don't…" His voice was fading with each word, sounding desperate, almost as if he was pleading. "…don't… shoot… S-Slim..."
Slim's head jerked up at the mention of his name. He checked Jess's eyes to see if he'd woken up and called for him, but they remained closed. Jess stopped talking, his movements ceased, and his breathing evened out. Finally, he had settled down again into a calmer sleep, exhausted, without ever having awakened. Slim sighed in relief.
He stared at the man who had just fought and lost a battle in his sleep, wondering why Jess had said his name in the nightmare. Had he been about to ask Slim for help? Was he pleading with someone else not to shoot his best friend?
During dreams, current times often mixed with previous times, Slim reasoned. Maybe the dream had become not just about the war and the prison camp but also about the showdown in Laramie. Both had involved Halleck. And Slim had been in the shootout.
Well, dreams rarely made any sense anyway. Often a jumble of who-knows-what. At least Jess seemed settled now.
Slim picked up the blankets from the floor where Jess had kicked them and covered the sleeping man. Then he sank back on his own bunk, hoping to salvage at least some of the night for sleep.
And wondering if Jess would remember any of it when the sun came up.
Chapter Two
The next morning, after two cups of coffee the dark-haired young Texan appeared to be in a good mood. He teased Andy and Jonesy and slapped his boss on the back as he passed Slim, who was seated at the dining table.
"Bet you can't wait to get up to that high range today, right Slim? Good weather for movin' them steaks on the hoof to new pasturin'."
"Sure sounds like you're ready to work," Slim said, smiling.
"Always."
A loud "humph" came the kitchen where Jonesy overheard the remark. Andy chuckled, and Jess just good-naturedly cocked an eyebrow.
Slim grabbed a biscuit and buttered it. "Glad you're rarin' to go and no worse for wear."
Jess turned from the rack by the front door where he'd taken his gunbelt off a peg and was buckling it on. "What d'ya mean?"
Slim wished he wouldn't have let that last part slip, but now he had to explain. "Well, you had kind of a rough night. Looked like you were dreamin' some."
"Oh," Jess said quietly. He nodded, his face changing from its carefree expression to a mix of embarrassment and sadness before he managed to quickly cover it with a lopsided grin and forced cheerfulness.
"Sorry, hard rock. Sure hope I didn't make ya lose too much sleep, or you'll be sackin' out by the lake when you oughta be ridin' fence."
Slim hadn't missed the momentary melancholy in Jess's eyes, and he felt even more regret at bringing up the subject. But he knew Jess meant his quick recovery to serve two purposes—to relieve Slim from feeling bad for mentioning the dream and to prove there would be no further exploration of it allowed.
"Don't worry about it," Slim said, and then he smiled as he added the standard response Jess was known to give when asked how he was, no matter his true condition. "I'm fine."
Jess recognized the subtle teasing, smiled flickeringly, and made for the barn to saddle Traveler.
Slim finished his coffee and bacon, talked a bit with Andy, and went through the kitchen, slipping his plate into the dishpan as he headed toward the door. As he passed Jonesy, the older man turned and held out a canvas bag.
"That bad penny felt a need t' scoot out of here so fast he didn't even eat. You can bet he'll be feelin' that emptiness before you start up the first hill. This oughta save ya from havin' to listen to a lot of growlin'. And I don't mean his stomach."
"Thanks, Jonesy. Remind me to never try to put anything over on you. You don't miss a thing."
"And don't you forget it," Jonesy replied.
The two young ranchers soon headed out to the north pasture to check fences and drive the cattle grazing there to a different range. The day proceeded normally, with Jess riding farther out to check more of the fence line and look for strays, while Slim returned to the ranch to work with the horses and see to the team change for the incoming stage.
By the end of the afternoon both men felt a strong sense of accomplishment toward the needs of the ranch. With Jonesy and Andy, they enjoyed a nice meal and then all settled into their routines for the evening.
Nothin' better 'n relaxin' with family after a busy summer day and a satisfyin' supper. Jess smiled at the thought and stretched his legs out under the dining table as he sipped yet another cup of coffee and worked on a second piece of pie. He looked over at the others in the room who were relaxing by the fireplace, and was overcome yet again by that unfamiliar feeling. He hadn't yet got used to it, but he sure did welcome and appreciate it. A feeling of belonging. Of being part of a family. He shook his head as the smile stretched wider. He still had trouble believing it. For the first time since he was 15, he had a family.
And he'd do anything for them.
Slim and Jonesy were seated in front of the fireplace, both reading. Andy was on the floor near them, playing tug with the latest stray pup he'd found. He looked up at his big brother in the rocking chair.
"What are ya readin', Slim?"
"New book. It was just published. Friend of mine sent it to me."
Andy inched closer to view the title. "Hardest Fought Battles of the Civil War," he read aloud.
Jess's head jerked up, his eyes darting uneasily between Andy and Slim.
Andy's ever-present curiosity ramped up. "Does it tell about any of the battles you were in?"
"Hey, Slim," Jess suddenly interjected, as he rose from the dining table so fast that he bumped it hard, the impact sloshing coffee beyond the cup. He started toward the front door, leaving the half-drained coffee and half-eaten pie behind. "I'm gonna go… uh… take care of a few things out at the corral before it gets too dark."
Slim looked at him knowingly and gave a slight nod. "Okay, Jess."
His fingers flexing restlessly, Jess cast a quick glance at the two others in the room and hurried outside.
As soon as the door closed, Jonesy drawled, "Well, there he goes again."
"Usual reaction," Slim agreed.
"Slim, why does he do that?" Andy asked.
"Do what?" Although Slim thought he understood what his brother was referring to, he wanted to make sure.
"Whenever anybody starts talkin' about battles, why does Jess always go hightailin' it?"
"Oh, you've noticed that, huh?"
"Be kinda hard not to. Happens every time. Here. In town. Everywhere."
"Well, every man who fights in a war has to figure out how to live with the memories and feelin's afterwards. And we do it in different ways. For some of us, we need to read about it, talk about it now and then, to try to make sense of it all." Slim stared pensively into the fireplace. "If that's even possible," he added under his breath.
He shifted his attention back to Andy. "For others, they never want to talk about it. Keepin' it buried is how they live with what they've been through."
Andy's brow wrinkled. "But I've heard Jess talk about the war—in general, anyways. He just won't ever talk about battles or his commanding officer or anything specific, like you do."
"You have to remember, Andy, that there were a lot of differences between Jess and me when it came to the war."
"Because you were Union, and he was a Reb; you came out on the winnin' side, and he was on the losin' side."
"That's one. And that alone means we had very different experiences and very different feelin's when it all ended. Another difference is that I was infantry and Jess was cavalry."
"And you were an officer and Jess wasn't. Wait, was he an officer?"
"I doubt it, though he's never actually talked about his rank. I'm sure he was a great soldier, what with the way he can shoot and ride and strategize. And with his degree of courage, which goes beyond anyone else I've ever known," Slim replied. "He'd surely make a great officer. But I know he was really young when he went into the army."
"Sixteen," Jonesy said. "Went in a few months before his seventeenth birthday, along towards the end of the second year of the war. Barely nineteen when the whole ruckus ended."
Slim nodded grimly. "I know he sure saw a lot of action in a short amount of time. Just a year and a half. Hardly enough time to be promoted, especially for someone that young."
"A year and a half?" Andy got up from the floor and took a seat near the two men, letting the puppy frolic at his feet. "But Jonesy said he went into the army before the second year of the war was over. The war lasted four years, so why didn't he fight longer?"
"He was wounded."
"Real bad too," Jonesy added. "Almost didn't make it. He let that slip during the fever."
Andy winced at the thought of Jess being seriously hurt. He wondered what happened. Bullet? Bayonet? Grenade?
"Once his wounds finally did heal, he didn't go back to the fightin'." Slim placed a bookmark and closed his tome.
"You know, that's kind of surprisin'," Jonesy said. "Soldiers often got sent back into action after they healed, even from bad wounds. Especially those Southern boys. The Confederacy was always short of fighters."
"Yeah, but there was a good reason why that didn't happen with Jess."
"What was the reason?" Andy asked.
Slim considered how much information he should share. Should he wait and ask Jess if he wanted to explain? But he decided since there were others in Laramie that surely knew about it now, it was time to make sure Jonesy and Andy were aware, before they learned it through some gossip coming from town. It was surprising they hadn't already heard more than they had. It was well past time, actually, when he should have told them the complete story of what happened with Halleck and the shootout—and why it happened. He'd get into the details later. For now, he'd keep the topic on Jess.
"I didn't know this about him until recently," Slim answered, "but a huge difference in the war for Jess and me was that I never had to deal with bein' captured."
Andy's eyes grew big. "And Jess did?"
"Wounded and captured when he was just 18. That ended his fightin' during the war."
Jonesy frowned. "I never knew he was captured, Slim. That boy was held in a Yankee prison?"
Slim nodded. "One of the worst. And what he went through there was pure—." Glancing at his younger brother, Slim stopped himself from getting too descriptive and using language his mother wouldn't have approved of Andy hearing. "—misery," he finished. "He tried to forget it as much as he could. But when Paul Halleck came to town it brought Jess's terrible memories of the war and the prison camp to the fore. Halleck was the captain that ran the prison."
"Mercy. No wonder Jess had such a rough time with that new deputy." Jonesy shook his head. "Reckon that's what's started this new round of nightmares he's havin'."
Slim looked in surprise at the man who was like an uncle. "You know about those? Jess tell ya?"
"'Course not. He'd never do that. Though I sure wish he would talk about 'em. I heard him through the wall between our rooms last night. And a couple times last week. I couldn't tell what was said, but I knew what was happenin'. More nightmares."
"They're rough, Jonesy. He's really goin' through somethin'. But I can't tell if he remembers much about 'em when he wakes up."
"Oh, you can bet he remembers 'em all right. But the boy's mighty good at pushin' troublin' thoughts away durin' the daytime."
Andy had been listening intently. Slim had told him in the past never to say anything to Jess about his bad dreams. Hearing that his hero was now having even more nightmares increased his sympathy for Jess, along with a great deal of curiosity.
Jonesy pondered the new information about Jess's capture. "But awful as it was—him bein' a prisoner of war—it still don't figure on why he stays away from talk about any battle. Won't even let himself hear mention of a single one a't'all."
Andy asked, "Slim, has Jess ever talked about where he was captured? Or anywhere he fought? Any battle he was in?"
"No. Not to me."
Andy looked at Jonesy.
"Me neither."
"I wonder why not."
"The only person who knows the answer to that is Jess himself," Slim said.
"Do you think it would be okay if I ask him sometime?"
"I don't think so, Andy. Not yet. Captain Halleck being here sure brought up some tough memories for Jess. You might even say it's opened up some old war wounds. And they're still raw."
Andy sighed and nodded. He moved off the chair and back onto the floor to play with the pup.
"Ya know, Slim," Jonesy said, "I think one of these days it'd be a good thing for us to get Jess talkin' about the war and all. Get him to let some of that worrisomeness out."
"Yeah, I s'pose. Maybe it could help him to open up about it some."
From his spot on the floor, Andy heard their words. What he missed was Jonesy gesturing back and forth between just himself and Slim when he said "us." After a bit of thinking on it, Andy came to a decision that he kept to himself.
He wanted to satisfy his own curiosity, but even more, he needed to help Jess.
Chapter Three
The next afternoon, Slim was in Laramie to pick up some lumber, and Jess was working in the barn. He was looking after a few of the horses, organizing equipment and storing some supplies when Andy came through the door.
"Hey, Jess. Need any help?"
"Nah, I can handle it. Thanks, though."
Andy decided now was as good a time as any to bring up the subject he couldn't get off his mind. "Jess, can I ask you something?"
"You can always ask me anything, partner. Now, whether or not I answer is a dee´cision that's up to me, though, ain't it?" Jess grinned.
"I was wonderin'… Slim said you were wounded during the war. Right?"
Jess's pleasant expression faded. His relaxed demeanor vanished as his spine stiffened.
"Yeah."
After the brusque answer, he quickly turned his back to Andy and hefted a huge sack of oats over his shoulder.
"Jonesy said you were hurt real bad."
Still facing away from Andy, Jess didn't respond. He just scowled, wondering how Jonesy had come by that bit of information. He didn't recall ever mentioning that, not even to Slim. What else did they know about him, and how'd they find out? He made his way over to an alcove close to the horse stalls.
Andy trailed behind him. "How'd it happen?"
Jess set the heavy bag of grain on the floor. He didn't look at the teenager as he muttered, "Shot."
"Where were you hit?"
Eyeing the storage bin, Jess chose to wait until later to load the oats into it. He stooped to scoot the bag into the corner.
"Jess?"
"Huh?"
"Where were you hit?"
"Through the left leg. Caught one in the right side of m' chest."
He didn't mention the multiple lesser wounds he'd received before those two minié balls found their target; he didn't count the others as mattering much. They weren't the ones that put him in Union hands.
"Slim said you were only 18 when you were wounded."
"That don't make me nothin' special. A lot of us was wounded at 18." He stepped away. "Some younger," he grumbled morosely under his breath.
He grabbed a pair of hay hooks and thrust a hook into each side of a bale near the corral opening. He hoisted the bale and carried it to an area near the stalls.
Andy watched him, trying to see his face as Jess maneuvered across the barn. "Must'a hurt somethin' fierce."
"Most gunshot wounds do," Jess grunted matter-of-factly as he dropped the bale against the wall and returned to get another.
"Did they get you to a hospital pretty quick?"
Jess glanced toward Andy, then immediately away. Andy failed to recognize the flicker of pain that shone briefly in the dark blue eyes.
Jess lugged the second bale over and into place atop the first. There was a hardness in his voice. "Got hauled off to a Yankee field hospital. Union doc dug it out of me there in the tent."
"In a tent? Man!" Andy couldn't help flinching. "I hope they gave you… well... did they even have medicine there to put you to sleep?"
Jess exhaled heavily, avoiding looking in Andy's direction. "That field hospital don't exactly hold happy recollections for me, Andy. Maybe ya can talk about somethin' else."
Andy hesitated for just a moment. "After they patched you up, they took you to a prison camp?"
Jess pursed his lips, irritated at this choice for the new topic. He nodded curtly and walked away toward the back of the barn, hoping to put an end to the conversation.
Andy followed.
"I was just wondering what the battle was, when you got captured, I mean. Where did you fight? Which battles were you in?"
"That ain't somethin' I want to discuss." Jess reached for a rake and set about spreading fresh straw in the two stalls that were currently empty, preparing them for the return of stock.
"Why not?" Andy asked.
"I just don't think it's a good idea to talk about 'em."
"But you know which ones Slim fought in, don't ya?" Andy watched Jess closely.
His eyes still on the rake moving the straw around on the floor, the Texan shook his head.
"You don't?!" Andy's surprise showed in his voice and his widened eyes.
"No, I don't." Jess had to work at just giving a purely factual reply and keeping the emotion out of his voice. "I know he was infantry, and I know he was a second lieutenant. That's it. I don't know his regiment or his unit or his battles. I don't want to talk about mine, and I don't want to hear about Slim's." He raised his head and stared pointedly into Andy's eyes. "Don't tell me nothin' about 'em."
Jess's voice was level, but with the piercing look in his eyes, Andy felt as though he'd been given a warning rather than an instruction. "Okay, Jess. I won't."
Still, he was intrigued at this piece of news. Jess sure never wanted to hear the details about any battles, but Andy figured he at least knew where Slim had fought. "You been here almost a year. Just seems funny that you're not even interested in the names of the places."
"Ain't nothin' funny about it." Jess was having a harder time hiding his growing annoyance, so he took a purely honest tack to try to end the inquiries. "Look, Andy, I don't feel much like talkin' anymore."
He set the rake aside and stepped into Traveler's stall. He picked up a brush and began to groom the bay, drawing comfort and calm, as always, from caring for his horse.
Andy climbed up and sat on the top beam of Trav's stall behind Jess. "Well, see, the thing is… "
His back to Andy, Jess rolled his eyes and clenched his teeth.
With a 13-year-old's unwitting compulsion and determination to draw Jess out, Andy pursued his interest. "I've noticed how you always leave if somebody says somethin' about the war and it starts to sound like they might get to talkin' about battles. You make an excuse to get out of it."
"I got a right to leave a conversation, don't I?"
"Well, sure. But I don't understand why."
"You don't need to understand." Although there was now a hint of tension in Jess's voice, he managed to keep the volume even.
He dropped the brush into a bucket. Traveler sensed his human's unease and turned his head to gently nudge Jess's cheek. In gratitude, Jess affectionately stroked the bay's muzzle.
Andy was not deterred. "But I can't help wonderin'. Even if you don't want to talk about the battles you fought, why won't ya just listen to Slim? You're his best friend, so he'd surely like to talk to ya about it."
The muscles in Jess's jaws twitched. He unconsciously began flexing his fingers and rubbing his thumb and index finger together the way he always did when he was nervous or upset. Andy didn't notice.
"It's fine by me if he wants to talk about the war. The causes of it. The right and wrong of it. The politics. Things like that. I just don't want to hear about the battles. Slim accepts that. You should too."
Like a dog gnawing on a bone—or maybe more like a pesky little brother trying to be helpful without understanding exactly how delicate the attempt needed to be—Andy kept at it. "But you haven't told me why you won't talk about 'em." His eyes followed Jess as he moved from one stall to the next, checking the animals for any signs of injury or illness.
"Leave it be, Andy." Jess's baritone sounded more gravelly than usual.
Andy was oblivious to Jess's increasing agitation. "Aww, come on." he coaxed. He could always talk Jess into telling him stories of his days on the drift. War stories shouldn't be any different, he figured. "You know I always love it when you tell me about places you've been, adventures you've had."
Jess stopped dead in his tracks and threw a sharp look at the boy. "War ain't an adventure. And kids don't need to be hearin' about it." He jerked a couple bridles from where they'd been set aside and moved to hang them up.
Jess was used to Andy peppering him with questions, and he never minded answering the plethora of inquiries about being on the drift, the various cities he'd visited, Indians, wrangling, his past wanted posters, being hunted for bounty, and many more subjects of discussion. Even gunfighting, until Slim put a stop to that. From the start, Jess had taken strongly to Andy, who reminded him of his own younger brothers, especially the one right next in age to himself. And he had come to love Andy as a little brother. In fact, he even admired Andy's curiosity because the kid had an incredible brain, and Jess understood his need to fill it with as much information as he could gather. Slim joked that the one and only thing Jess Harper had infinite forbearance for was Andy with his need to ask constant and far-ranging questions.
And Jess couldn't recall ever refusing to answer a single one of them. He'd even gone so far just now as to answer questions about his injuries, the brutal treatment of them, his capture, the prison camp—things he hated to think about much less talk about. And he knew Andy had no idea how hard that had been for him. But this one question—about the battles he'd fought—was where he drew the line, and he was at the end of his patience with Andy not accepting that.
Andy, however, was bewildered by Jess's reluctance. Plus, his growing obsession with getting answers bordered on his feeling like he'd found a treasure chest he couldn't pry open. He hopped down from the stall where he'd been perched, and standing a few feet behind Jess, he persisted. "Just tell me the names of the battles you fought in. You don't have to tell me details about 'em."
"I don't have t' tell ya anything!" Jess barked, turning his head slightly to direct the remark back over his shoulder. "Just stop."
Andy was becoming as aggravated with Jess's evasions as Jess was with his curiosity. Seemed like he was constantly being told not to talk to Jess about certain things. Don't mention his nightmares. Don't ask about his family. Don't say anything about his gunfights. Don't talk about his battles. He understood Slim's insistence not to cause Jess pain by discussing his dreams and the loss of his family. And he realized Slim's limitation of the gunfighting instruction was basically, from Slim's overprotective viewpoint, for Andy's own good. But he couldn't see any reason for Jess not saying the names of the places where he fought. If he wanted to shut that part of himself away from everyone, he could at least explain the reason for doing it.
"Doggonit, Jess! Why won't you tell me?"
Completely exasperated, Jess reeled to face him. He stood glaring momentarily, breathing deep to keep a tight rein on his response. "Go back to the house," he gritted the words low and slow.
Andy's lips had just parted to issue further argument when a voice came from the front of the barn. "That's good advice, Andy."
Jess and Andy both turned toward the person neither had realized was present until he spoke.
Jonesy stood just inside the door, his thumbs hooked in his suspenders. "Go on now." He cocked his head toward the house.
Feeling frustrated and now outnumbered by adults, Andy stomped wordlessly past Jonesy and into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.
Jess leaned back against the stall's upright. Jonesy studied the tautness in the ranch hand's jaw muscles and he knew that, after what had just happened, the time had come. Jess needed to talk. And it was his place, not Andy's, to convince the Texan to do it.
Chapter Four
Jess yanked his hat from his head, wiped his arm across his sweaty brow, and hung the black Stetson on a peg. "That boy just don't know when to quit."
Jonesy stepped further into the barn. "There's another boy around here who's like that."
Jess looked at him in confusion, his left eyebrow hiking up.
"You don't know when you can quit carryin' a load by yourself, Jess. A burden's a lot lighter when it's shared."
"Don't you start in on me now," Jess groused as he hoisted a saddle from the floor, where it had been temporarily placed, and slung it over a rack.
Jonesy ambled further into the barn. "You were pressed into service in the South's army when you were just a kid." He shook his head ruefully. "Land's sake, you were sent off to war when you were only three years older than Andy." Sounding more like he was thinking out loud than trying to make a point to Jess, he continued, "But by then the fightin' was for sure full blown. And you fought for a year and a half before you were wounded. So I know you saw more than your share of battles. Some that were mighty bad, I reckon."
"All battles are bad." Jess's remorseful voice was so soft Jonesy didn't even hear his comment. The young man bent to pick up a toolbox in the walkway and moved it back where it belonged.
"And 'cause you're a great horseman… and you were Texas cavalry…" Jonesy said slowly, "…I'd imagine you might 'a been what they called 'a shock rider.' " His eyes widened inquisitively as he watched Jess.
Jess's eyes darkened to deep midnight blue, a storm building in them. He shot Jonesy a warning look that should have frozen the man where he stood. Jess didn't like where this was headed. Jonesy's guesses were too much on target.
Yes, he'd been assigned to ride in dangerous patrols whose purpose was to spearhead attacks on, and even behind, Union lines. "Shock troops" they were called. At times, their rides were nearly suicide missions, with most of the unit wiped out. Replacements were needed often. He'd been one of the fortunate ones that came out pretty much unscathed, just a few minor wounds once in a while. The worst had come from an officer's saber slash across his stomach that, while not too deep, had bled a worrisome amount at the time and left him with a fine line of a scar a foot long. That injury had been the most damaging, until the early morning raid when his luck finally ran out, and a couple blasts from a Yankee's gun landed him first in the field hospital and then the prison. He sure as shootin' didn't want to talk about, or even think about, his shock unit.
Jonesy assessed the range of emotions that crisscrossed the young man's face almost as fast as Jess Harper, former gunslinger, could draw his .45. The elder man had his own ideas about what might be causing them.
Maybe Jess had witnessed the death of a close friend in battle, maybe even a brother or a cousin. Or maybe it was the anguish of having to shoot Northern soldiers as young as himself when he had no real animosity toward them. Or the fear of not being able to tolerate reliving the horrors of the prison if he'd hear the name of the place where he'd been captured. Whatever it was, the boy needed to let it out. Like lancing an infected wound, they had to drain that built-up poison that was causing Jess so much pain.
Sure, lots of men who had gone off to the war, in fact most all of the men who saw action, came home with terrible memories of what they'd seen. And what they'd had to do. And Jess hadn't even been a man when he'd been coerced into service for the Confederacy. He'd been a 16-year-old boy when he was prodded into the army. Jonesy had learned that when it came out, along with the slip about how badly he'd been hurt, during Jess's feverish ramblings when he was so sick last winter.
As rough as it was for a man to handle being in a battle, how much harder was it for a kid? A brave kid to be sure, but one that ended up critically wounded and, as Jonesy had just overheard Jess tell Andy, treated by the enemy in a makeshift field hospital. And Jonesy figured the Union doctor was likely allocating the best of his time, and what little anesthesia was available, to his own troops; digging a bullet out of a young Reb, sewing up his chest and leg quick and sending him off to a prison camp. And with Jess being in a shock unit, Lord only knew what kind of battle horrors he'd been part of before he got shot. Jonesy reckoned Jess had some mighty awful memories buried mighty deep.
Hearing the name of a particular battle could very well draw to the surface some thoughts and feelings the boy just didn't want to face.
There were plenty of soldiers on both sides that had avoided talking about the war when they'd come home. But that was five years ago, and now that the hurts weren't quite as fresh, more of those soldiers were starting to talk about what they'd been through. You could catch parts of conversations like that most anywhere nowadays. Not just in a house where friends gathered for supper and some reminiscing, but also in a saloon where strangers shared a drink, the general store, the café, a street corner, an ice cream social. Heck, Jonesy even overhead a Yankee captain and a former Reb sergeant debating Shiloh tactics while they were standing in the vestibule of the church after Sunday service.
Jess had surely run into similar conversations, and though, so far, he'd been able to sidestep talking about his own experiences and hearing about Slim's, he simply couldn't avoid them forever. And Jonesy was of a mind that it would be better for him to start getting things out in the open here in the security of his own home, rather than having such emotional stirrings unexpectedly come bubbling up and suddenly boiling over who knows where. He felt like he needed to help Jess confront the ghosts and griefs of the past.
Jonesy had slowly strolled along until he arrived just a few feet from Jess.
"Now, I can understand why a body don't want to go on and on about the particulars of the war, but you won't even say the name of a battle. Shucks, you won't even let yourself hear the name of one."
Trying to put some distance between Jonesy and himself, Jess retreated to an area between Traveler's stall and the next one, and sat down on the large trunk there. He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and with both hands massaged the back of his neck, where tense muscles were causing the start of a headache.
"Just leave it be, Jonesy." He sat up straight again and, letting one hand drop to his knee and moving the other to rub his forehead, added, "Please."
Jonesy had never heard Jess Harper use the word 'please.' So he recognized the desperation in the quiet but firm request, and for a moment he considered leaving Jess to handle his turmoil on his own. Instead, he concluded that he just had to try to be of some help. Maybe if he could at least get Jess to talk a little about one battle, it might help ease him out of some of those war and prison nightmares.
"Well, I would leave it be," he said, "except for it's botherin' you a powerful lot, boy. Has been for quite a while. And that ain't good for ya, keepin' it all inside."
Jess soon realized the mistake he'd made in choosing this location between the stalls to take a seat. Jonesy pulled up a milking stool and parked himself directly in front of the young ranch hand, blocking any easy route for him to extricate himself from the barn.
"Jess, I couldn't just walk away if you were bleedin' from some injury here on the ranch, now could I? No sirree Bob, I'd feel a callin' to help ya. And it's awful hard for me to think about walkin' away and lettin' ya go on hurtin' from an inside wound. One that's been festerin' since shortly after ya come here."
It became obvious to Jess that he wasn't getting out of there without hearing one of Jonesy's highfalutin' lectures. Not unless he wanted to be rude enough to just push past the old man and walk out. And he didn't have any notion of causing hard feelings by doing that. Besides, that Southern raisin' to be respectful to the elder members of your family still ran deep in him. There was no help for it but to wait until Jonesy finished. He leaned forward, head lowered, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped together. He stared down at his boots and resigned himself to listening.
Jonesy studied him. "Now, I know you didn't want to talk to Andy about it, prob'ly 'cause he's so young. And for some reason, you don't want to tell Slim either. But don't you think it might be okay to at least let me help tote a bit of that burden with ya?"
Jess continued to focus on his boots. He struggled to get his rapid breathing to even out.
It seemed to Jonesy that Jess was thinking about his offer. And the boy suddenly looked tired, so very tired. Drained, maybe, by the strain of never letting anybody share any of his burdens, including this one. Why couldn't the boy trust anyone enough to let them help him?
He waited, giving Jess time to decide. Watching him, he thought the Texan's expression suddenly made him look very young. He was young, just 24. But right now he appeared to be that teenage kid who was plucked from the Panhandle, stuck on a steed and thrust into the thick of a war he didn't even understand.
Finally, Jonesy saw the youthful eyes close, the long thick lashes casting shadows on the high cheekbones. The still-bowed head with the wavy dark hair nodded slightly.
"All right, then," Jonesy said calmly. Again, he waited, this time for an explanation.
When Jess didn't seem to know how to begin, Jonesy softly prompted, "Why do ya avoid the names of the battles, son?"
Jess took in a steadying breath and exhaled slowly. "Because what if…" He paused, sucking his lower lip in between his teeth. He seemed to be reconsidering whether he should continue. Then, frowning, he swallowed hard and plunged ahead. "Because… what if Slim and me… were at the same place? What if… in one of those battles… we fought against each other?" The startlingly blue eyes filled with a sort of lonesome anxiety, as he raised them to stare into Jonesy's. His voice was so quiet that what he said next could barely be heard. "What if Slim was the one that shot me?"
It was evident from the astonished look on Jonesy's face that the thought had never occurred to him.
He'd pictured various scenarios for Jess's determination to avoid the mention of a battle. But this—that something like this was what was making the boy overwrought about battle names and locations—well, that's something that he hadn't thought of. Never would have thought of in a hundred years.
Noting Jonesy's reaction, Jess tilted his head down again. "If we were both… if there's even a chance… I just wouldn't want to know."
A couple long moments passed. Then Jonesy drawled, "Well, I can see how you seem to think that makes sense to ya, Jess. But the odds of that happenin'—."
He stopped in mid sentence. Jess had raised his head and looked toward him, and the pain the older man witnessed on the young rancher's face caused his breath to catch in his throat.
Then Jess stared beyond Jonesy's shoulder and appeared to be focusing on something no one else could see. When he spoke, his voice came low and tight with emotion.
Chapter Five
"That mornin'… Bright sunrise. Clear day, not a cloud in the sky… Our unit infiltrated Union lines."
Jonesy sat in rapt attention as Jess began to talk, lucidly for the first time, about his war experience.
"But the information our captain had got about their reinforcements was all wrong… They were ready for us. Infantry troops started surroundin' us… lord, so many of 'em. More 'n I'd ever seen." Jess shook his head, his voice raspy and quiet. "They just kept comin'."
It was as though he was remembering the scene aloud in solitude, rather than telling someone about it. Jonesy watched the young face try to maintain control.
Jess swallowed hard. "Fightin' got fierce real fast. I'd been firin'. Took down a few Yankees. Wanted to reload, but our commandin' officer ordered retreat. So I was reinin' my horse around… And just then, I got a blazin' sharp pain in my leg. Blood started spurtin'… There was a row of Yanks kneeling behind a fence. The one that'd shot me was right there, couldn't a' been more 'n fifteen feet away. Still aimin' towards me... He was lookin' out over the barrel of that rifle. And for just a split second, I locked eyes with 'im... Blue… He had blue eyes."
Jonesy's heart ached as he watched the young man and heard the details of the horror he was experiencing all over again.
Jess had a faraway look in his eyes. "My horse had spooked at the shot… Dang horse shoulda been used to battle noises and smells... Like to give the man that trained 'im a piece of m' mind... It was the first time they'd give 'im to me to ride. My horse I'd always rode got shot out from under me in the last fight... I was pullin' 'im back with just my left hand, still had my gun in my right... Trying to control 'im and stay in the saddle while he reared up... Funny thing though… that blamed horse's dancin' around jerked me out of the line of the Yank's next shot… Sure must 'a disappointed that bluebelly… missin' at such close range."
Jonesy gulped, picturing 18-year-old Jess Harper battling enemy soldiers, his own horse, and his pain and blood loss from a leg shot clean through.
"That Yank still had his rifle held high, and it blocked me from gettin' a full look at his face. But he didn't have no hat on, so I could see his hair... It was blond."
Jess squinted his eyes, still viewing a battle that had ended years ago.
"I knew I only had one bullet left in my iron… I got my horse under control, whirled him around… and I pointed that Colt square at that Yankee… but he'd already been holdin' that Springfield of his steady in place the whole time... Before I could pull my trigger… he'd already fired again."
Jess's voice shook slightly as he said, "That one hit m' chest."
Without realizing it, he reached his left hand up and rubbed where the bullet had entered.
Jonesy winced, watching Jess relive the moment.
"I tried to hang on." Jess sucked in some breath and shook his head. "Couldn't."
He swallowed hard again. It was becoming more difficult for him to force the words out.
"The gun… fell from my hand... I fell from the saddle... And that Yank, he knew he'd took me out for good... He stood up, turning away... A few others along the fence stood too, so they could move out. With them alongside him… he sure looked… he was… tall."
Jess paused. Jonesy could see he clearly intended to continue, he had more to say. But he was trying to wrestle his emotions and keep them under control. His fingers on both hands were constantly flexing and his breathing was fast and shallow. It was all Jonesy could do to keep from placing his hands on the boy's shoulders to comfort him. But he knew he needed to stay still, so Jess would go on.
"I was layin' there on the ground... I knew they were gonna… take me… Our unit was a real menace to the North, so I knew they'd want to question me… 'bout our base of operations… intelligence sources… our next mission… if they could keep me alive long enough." Jess stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowed, his fists clenched. "I wasn't tellin' them Yankees nothin'…" His voice cracked with suppressed anger mixed with recalled fear. He gasped a ragged breath, then pursed his lips tightly.
Jonesy could hardly handle it. His heart was racing, his breathing almost as constricted as Jess's.
"But there wasn't nothin' I could do to stop 'em from takin' me... My horse had bolted… my unit was retreatin' around me, and I don't think they even saw me… or if any of 'em did… they thought I was already… dead… I couldn't move… All I could do was lay there… and bleed." He gasped another ragged breath. "…And stare at that tall Yankee's back."
Jonesy bit his lip, feeling tears well up in his eyes.
"He was yellin' to the troops comin' up... Then he was leaning and pointin' towards somethin'... When he raised his arm… I saw… I was about to black out, and right after that, I did... But on his uniform… I saw it..."
Jess's eyes glistened as extra moisture gathered in them. "His rank."
His face contorted into a mass of torment as his voice came in a choked whisper. "Second Lieutenant."
Jonesy's mouth dropped open. Tall. Blond. Blue-eyed. Union. Infantry. Second Lieutenant. Just like Slim.
Jess turned away. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to make the image disappear.
It was the first time he had ever told anyone about that day. The first time he had actually allowed himself to visualize the details, given his guarded spirit permission to remember it all. To remember the pain of multiple wounds, the helplessness of the wait, the dread of knowing he'd be captured, the terror of being taken by the enemy, the desolation of having no control over what was happening to his 18-year-old soldier self.
As he recalled it all, it had reignited another time of danger, of feeling such helplessness, of having no control. When he was 15 and the Bannisters had charged into the Harper yard and trapped his family in their burning home. Now, he clearly realized for the first time how those two incidents in his teenage life were forever connected to each other, deep in his heart and his memories, where his greatest hurts were sealed. And he knew both experiences created the forge where the man he had become was shaped.
It had taken a lot out of him to confront it all, to voice it, after over five years of keeping the images and the feelings as far away as he could, locked in the vault of his past, where he hoped they couldn't damage him anymore.
But it was done now. Jess exhaled a slow, labored breath and breathed in a degree of relief. Now he could close it all away again, out of his thoughts. Maybe someday he'd even be able to bring himself to release the anguish and let it go, once and for all. But for now at least, there would be no more need to talk about any of it. Now that Jonesy knew this much, he'd understand and surely he'd let things rest.
It took a good long minute for Jonesy to regain his composure. He wiped at his eyes, thankful that Jess was turned and had closed his eyes, so he didn't notice. Jonesy considered what he'd just learned, stroking his chin and clearing his throat, along with, he hoped, the huge lump in it that had choked him as he listened to Jess and watched him struggle through his story.
Knowing the courage it took for the young Texan to relive that battle, when Jonesy spoke, his voice was soft and full of compassion.
"It's good that you let that all out, boy."
He saw Jess nod and heard him take another deep breath, steadier this time.
"And you might want to look at it this way..."
Jess's eyes flew open, and with a flare of typical Harper temper, he wheeled around toward Jonesy with a quickness and bearing that startled the older man. The tears clouding Jess's vision were gone in an instant. He was immediately off that battlefield and back at Sherman Ranch, glaring and gritting his teeth. Dadgum! Why wouldn't Jonesy let this go?!
But in the face of the Texan's sudden ferocity, the older man remained calm. In a low voice he kindly said, "Son, the Union army coulda had a thousand tall blond second lieutenants."
Jess blinked. His eyebrows hiked up. His lips parted slightly. His heart latched onto Jonesy's words like it was grabbing a lifeline.
It was a simple notion, and Jess may have tried telling himself something along the same lines more than a few times. But hearing someone else put it into words and say it out loud to him made an impact that his lonesome inner chidings could not. His anger completely dissipated as quickly as it had arisen. As he let Jonesy's simple words sink in, his shoulders relaxed and his breathing quieted.
Jonesy noticed the change, a sudden sense that the boy had grabbed hold of this new perspective. Maybe now he'd be open to another idea.
"Jess, what if you'd hear where Slim fought, and you'd realize you were never in the same place? Or what if now you just tell me the battle where you were shot, and I'd know Slim was never a part of that one, so I could promise ya that it couldn't a' been him? Then, you'd be able to put that worry to rest. Couldn't ya?"
"Yeah, I could. If it'd turn out that way." Jess looked at the barn floor again. "But what if it don't?" he said quietly.
He shook his head and then looked at the older man with an expression full of trepidation.
"Jonesy, I just ain't… ready... I ain't ready to risk it. Can't take the chance of hearin' we were both at──."
He snapped his mouth closed, catching himself before uttering the name he'd almost let slip. He stood up and pensively looked out toward the ranch yard. "Better to just not start down that road at all."
After a long moment, Jess turned his gaze—now much more benevolent—to Jonesy again. "Do ya understand?"
"Yep. I surely do."
In an emotion-choked, gravelly drawl Jess said, "Then, can ya let it go now? Let's don't talk about it anymore. All right?"
"All right." Jonesy stood and stepped aside to replace the stool where he'd found it. That allowed Jess to walk on past him. But before he could resume his chores, Jonesy spoke again. "After just one more thing."
Jess halted. With a heavy sigh, he turned and gave Jonesy a wearied look.
"You know, Jess, Slim can't help but notice what you do when anybody brings up a battle. And how you won't talk about the ones you were in. And won't listen to him talk about his. He don't say much about it, but I know he's curious, concerned even. So why don't you just come right out and tell him why you won't talk about 'em? That it's 'cause you don't want to find out if there's a chance he could a' been the one who shot ya."
"Maybe he's never thought of that possibility. I could see you never did. And if he hasn't, I don't want to give him cause to start thinkin' 'bout it." Jess glanced away and softly said, "The idea of it's haunted me since I first thought of it. I don't want that to happen to him. Or Andy. Or you."
He turned back and looked intensely at Jonesy. "You know how Slim is. If I told him I'm worried that we could 'a been in the same battle, you know what he'd do. I wouldn't want him to be goin' through his battles over and over again in his mind. Tryin' to remember everything that happened, every order he gave. Tryin' to picture the Confederate soldiers he aimed at and tryin' to recall if one of 'em looked like me. Tryin' to figure out if it was him that caused me to be captured and go through the hell of that damn prison. Wonderin' if… if it was him… who fired the shot… that nearly killed me."
Jonesy could purely see Slim doing all that. And it would tear him apart.
He looked respectfully at the troubled young Southerner in front of him as a new realization dawned. Jess avoiding battle discussions had never been a matter of trust, like he'd been thinking just a few minutes earlier.
"You walkin' out when anybody starts talkin' about battles, you refusin' to talk about your own—that ain't just to guard yourself from learnin' the full truth. You been doin' it to protect us."
Looking down again, with exhaustion and sadness in his voice Jess murmured, "You said you'd let it go." He then raised pleading cerulean eyes to the man who had become an uncle to him, just as he was to Slim and Andy.
Jonesy stared into the young eyes that held a depth of experience and accumulated pain that surpassed that of most old men. "Yep. That I did." He stuck his hands in his pockets and headed for the door.
As he neared the barn's entrance, Jess called out.
"Jonesy?"
The elder man turned and looked back. He saw the apprehension in the expressive eyes.
"Are ya gonna tell Slim anything we talked about?"
"'Course not. Don't you be worryin' none about that. You got my word on it."
He saw the relief that swept over Jess.
"And if you ever want to talk some more about anything, boy, anything a't'all, you come to me. I can often be found moseyin' around the Sherman Ranch. Just twelve miles outside o' Laramie."
Jess's mouth lifted on the right side in the beguiling Jess Harper smile they all knew well. "Thanks, Jonesy."
The man with the derby that seemed to be always perched on his head nodded and slowly walked on out of the barn and toward the house.
As much as he could see the torment Jess suffered at the idea that he and Slim could have fought against each other in a battle, Jonesy couldn't help but think there must be more to it than that. And if there was more, at least that wall Jess had built around himself had started to crumble some today. Maybe eventually he'd come to terms with the rest of what was bothering him. There must be something else about the war that the boy just wouldn't face.
But then again, maybe not. Maybe the possibility that Slim could have shot him really was enough on its own to affect Jess so deeply. After all, he had lost his entire family, including several brothers. And now, finally, he had a family again, had brothers again. Slim and Andy. As much agony as all the other experiences of the war were causing him, maybe Jess was coming to terms with them. Even so, he still couldn't bear the idea of something tarnishing his newfound brotherly relationship or causing hurt to his new family. The potential for that had, as Jess put it, haunted him.
Haunted. Yep, that surely would be the word for it all right, Jonesy thought as he turned the doorknob to enter the kitchen.
He wished Andy never would have badgered Jess about the war to begin with, but since the circumstance had arisen, Jonesy was glad he'd given the hired hand-turned-family-member a degree of relief by providing the opportunity to talk about it a bit. Glad that maybe he'd helped toward making the wartime nightmares settle down. Glad that maybe he'd helped the boy deal somewhat with that heavy weight on his shoulders he'd been carrying for so long.
Well, he was sort of glad.
He scowled as a feeling of deep shame filled him when he realized a small part of him wished Jess had never opened up, after all.
Wished that he himself didn't have to wonder now.
About the wound that almost killed Jess.
About the battle where it happened.
About who'd fired that shot.
Chapter Six
Slim returned from Laramie just as the sun was starting its decent beyond the mountains. He and Jess unhitched the team and settled the horses for the day. As they began to unload the lumber from the wagon, Andy came out of the house and went directly to his critters' pens to feed them. Though he was near enough to the two men, he paid them no mind—something Slim immediately puzzled over. Although it might not be so unusual for Andy to take no notice of his brother, it was downright odd for him to completely ignore Jess. He normally followed his hero around like a puppy begging for some attention, which Jess was always happy to give.
"Hey there, Andy!" Slim called. "How's everything going?"
"All right." Andy's sullen response matched his expression. He didn't even look up, just quickly finished distributing the food he'd brought out and headed back into the house, not taking time to play with his pets, just shuffling along, head down.
Slim turned back to Jess. "Wonder what's going on. You know of somethin' botherin' Andy?"
Jess hefted another three 8-foot long two-by-fours over his shoulder and started for the barn. "Aww, he's got a burr under his saddle. Just give him some time, and he'll be done with it."
Slim picked up a similar load of wood and followed Jess. "What's he mad about?"
"Don't worry on it, Slim. It ain't nothin'."
It seemed to Slim that if Andy was angry at Jess, then he, as the older brother with the responsibility of raising Andy, had a right to know what set him off. Because maybe it started with Jess being the one with a burr. He could get kinda surly at times, though it would have been out of character for him to direct a bad mood toward Andy. It was almost a year now that Jess had been at the ranch, and Slim had never once heard him raise his voice to Andy, even when the constant begging for a story, a game, an afternoon of fishing, or the like would have driven most any man to his limit. Jess had an infinite supply of patience with Andy, even beyond Slim's level of understanding for his young brother—and well beyond the tolerance Jess would have ever afforded anyone else he knew. But maybe now, for one reason or another, Jess had finally had it.
"You upset with him, Jess?"
"Heck no. I don't have nothin' to be upset about." Jess added the lumber to the stack in the barn. "He's the one that's prob'ly snarlin' under his breath at me. Don't matter though. He'll get over it."
"You two get into an argument?"
Jess turned around and, with a crooked smile lifting the corners of his mouth, shook his head at his friend. "Dadgum, what is it 'bout you Shermans? You gotta keep harpin' on every little thing. Can't let nothin' go." Tugging his black leather gloves off and tucking them into his gunbelt, he headed for the water pump, calling over his shoulder, "Nearin' suppertime. I'm washin' up. And I'm gonna go in and eat your portions along with m' own, if you don't get a move on."
Slim shrugged and took Jess's advice, chalking Andy's mood up to teenage petulance.
The suppertime conversation was filled with Slim and Jess planning the next day's work, Slim sharing the news he'd heard in town, and Jonesy describing the humorous way a lovely middle-aged passenger on the afternoon stage had none too graciously put an end to stage driver Mose's shameless flirting. Andy sat with his eyes downcast, pushing his food around on his plate and providing only one-word responses when Slim and Jonesy tried to drag him into the interaction at the table. Jess, however, was of the opinion that they needed to just give Andy his space and let him take the lead when he felt like talking. Misreading Jess's intention as avoidance of him, though, Andy asked Slim to excuse him from the table.
"You not feelin' so good, Andy?" Slim began to be concerned that the kid wasn't angry, but instead might be coming down with some sickness.
"I'm fi—. " Andy cut off the remark, uncomfortable at borrowing the 'I'm fine' phrase Jess always used and he usually copied. "I'm okay," he finished, keeping his eyes averted from everyone. He stood quickly, went straight to his room and closed the door.
Slim watched the boy disappear into his room, then he turned back toward Jess and found the dark blue eyes already looking at him, Jess having anticipated the curious look that would be directed his way.
"I told ya, Slim. It ain't nothin' to worry 'bout. Boys get mad. They get over it. And sometimes we never know the why or wherefore of it. Like I said b'fore, it don't matter."
"Well, if you two got into it, I think I need to know."
"Jess is right, Slim. No need to take on so about a young boy sulkin' around for a while," Jonesy added. His eyes briefly met Jess's, and he saw the gratitude for the intervention. "Seems like I remember another young fella used to do the same thing around that age. He was a mite taller though."
Slim grinned wryly. "Yeah. I reckon so."
It was around 9:00 when Jonesy announced he was tired and turning in early. Slim mentioned he'd forgot to bring in a saddlebag he'd left hanging on a fencepost up the road a ways, and Jess volunteered to make the short hike to retrieve it.
"Leave it there, Jess. I'll get it in the mornin'. It's not gonna walk off anywhere."
"If it's hangin' right along the road, it just might walk off. Slung across the back of some late-night travelin' cowpoke's horse. It's a nice evenin' for a stroll. I'll just mosey on up there and fetch it."
Hearing the front door squeak open and then close, Andy cautiously opened his door. Slim noticed him peeking out. Then he left the bedroom and headed straight to the kitchen.
A moment later, Slim stood up from his rocking chair and followed.
"Andy, it seems like you've got some kinda grudge goin' against Jess. You want to talk about it?"
The boy put down the cookie jar he'd been about to pilfer and stood silently staring at it. When he turned to his big brother, his eyes were brimming with barely held back tears.
"I ain't mad at him, Slim," he said quietly. "I ain't got no call to be mad at him. That's for sure."
Slim decided not to correct the grammar this time, since Andy was obviously distraught. "Well, if you're worried that he's sore at you, I can assure ya he isn't."
Andy shook his head. "Nah, I know he ain't angry. He got kinda… well… maybe riled just for a bit, I guess." His voice was low and quivering. He looked away again. "Anyway, he had a right to be peeved at me."
"Why's that?"
Andy drew a short breath. "I… I hurt him, Slim." His voice cracked.
Slim frowned. "What? How could you have hurt Jess?"
"I didn't mean to. I was just wonderin' about stuff. And I even thought I could help him." Andy looked up into the light blue eyes, so like his father's, and so different from his own dark brown eyes he'd inherited from their mother. "But I shoulda obeyed you." He sucked in another breath. "I asked Jess about stuff I shouldn't 'a. And it… it hurt him."
He sniffed, trying to get himself to settle down. After all, he was 13 now. Too old to be caught crying, he told himself. But it was hard not to, because he felt like he had somehow betrayed Jess. His best friend. His hero. And things could never again be the same between them now.
At the time of their conversation in the barn, the change in Jess's demeanor and expressions hadn't really registered with Andy. But later, when he was alone back in the house, it all began to come together in his mind, and he realized what it meant. The strain in Jess's nervous movements. The tremble in his voice. The look that had shown his eyes before he'd quickly averted them from Andy's view. Pain. Pure pain from memories Andy had poked at and stirred up, like jabbing a stick into a campfire. How had Slim put it? Jess had war wounds that were still raw. And knowing he was the cause of irritating those wounds to the point of causing Jess pain, filled Andy with remorse and shame.
"I can't hardly stand it, Slim. I know Jess ain't mad. He don't even seem sad anymore. But I feel so awful 'cause I made him think on those things. And he didn't want to." The words poured out fast, leaving Andy breathless.
Slim thought he now had a fairly good idea of what the conversation might have been about. He could just imagine Andy flinging one question after another at Jess.
"What did he tell ya?" he asked softly.
"Hardly anything. He just kept tryin' to get me to leave it be. But I kept houndin' him. Now, I'm so ashamed, knowin' I caused him to hurt… I'm truly sorry. And I should tell him that… But I can't even look at him."
Slim smiled. He put a hand on his little brother's shoulder.
"Andy, the fact that you're upset by this just shows what a good person you are. Shows how much you care. And you can bet it's your carin' that Jess feels when he's around you. No need for you to be ashamed. No need to avoid him."
Andy swiped at his face where, despite his best efforts, a contrary tear made its way down his cheek. "But I feel like things can never go back the way they were with Jess and me. I ruined it. It was like we had a… a… bond. And I don't know how to fix it back like it was."
Slim drew his brother close to his side for a quick hug. "Andy, there's nothin' you need to fix. Because in Jess's eyes, nothin's been broken."
Andy looked up. "Are ya sure? Does he still want to be my friend, even when he tried to tell me… to get me to stop… and I wouldn't listen?"
Slim took a short step back. "Don't you think Jess would understand?"
Andy didn't respond.
Slim folded his arms across his chest. "Andy, let me ask ya this. How many times do you suppose Jess Harper didn't listen when he was 13? Or 19? Or yesterday?"
Andy thought about that for a second, and then he couldn't help but smile.
Slim grinned too. "Just act with Jess like ya always have. Believe me, everything's back to normal." He gave the boy a good-natured pat on the back. "Let's get at those cookies before Jess comes back and wipes 'em all out."
They sat down at the table with their cookies, milk for Andy, and coffee for Slim. After some more talk, Slim decided he needed to take care of something.
"Hey, Andy, I'd better go take a look at Alamo. He's seemed to be favorin' a foreleg once in a while lately, and I want to make sure it's lookin' all right before I call it a day. You finish up your snack and get to bed."
"Okay. G'night."
Slim took a quick look at his horse and finding everything to be good, he waited at the entrance to the barn so he could take care of the other situation he had on his mind. It wasn't long before he saw Jess lumbering casually down the road, the saddlebag slung over his shoulder. Slim waved at him, motioning for him to go on past the house and head for the barn.
Chapter Seven
"You must be needin' this here saddlebag mighty bad. Hide some gold dust in there, did ya?" Jess grinned as he handed it to Slim.
"That'd sure be nice." Slim smiled as he accepted the saddlebag and hung it across the top of a stall. "Thanks for gettin' it for me."
"Sure." Jess looked at him seriously then. "You ain't out here waitin' on that. What's up?"
"I just wanted to talk to ya for a minute about Andy."
Jess let out an aggravated sigh. "Look, Slim, this is gettin' kinda ridiculous. There ain't nothin' wrong."
"I know that. I just wanted you to know it."
"Huh?" Jess's left eyebrow lifted.
"Andy isn't mad at you. He's been upset with himself."
"What for?"
"Jess, I've got an idea of the kind of questions Andy was probably askin' you. And I know sometimes he won't let up. He's regrettin' how he made ya feel."
Jess shook his head. "He don't need to feel bad. Can't blame a kid for bein' curious and askin' questions. I didn't tell him much, but he got some answers." He took a breath and quietly said, "I just needed to stop sooner than he wanted to."
"I want you to know I appreciate the way you put up with him to that point. And he wanted to apologize to ya."
"No need for that. I'd better go make sure he knows he didn't do nothin' wrong." Jess started for the door, but Slim grabbed his arm.
"Nah, wait. Let him think on things a while."
"He's a good kid, Slim. He's just that—a kid." Jess started for the door again.
"Yeah, he's a good kid. But he still needs to learn some things. Like how to consider other people's feelin's. How to listen. To obey what he's been told, respect authority. And to know there are limits to how much he can push."
Jess stopped and turned to Slim. "You don't think I should go talk to him? What do ya want me to do?"
"Just let everything go back to normal. He just needs to feel comfortable with ya, like before. Like you're pals."
"Well, that's for sure 'nuff easy. Never stopped bein' pals." Jess grinned. "You know somethin', Slim? Someday, when some beauty finally hogties ya and gets ya to put a ring on her finger, you're gonna end up turnin' out a whole passel of young'uns and bein' a right good pa to 'em."
"So will you, Jess."
Slim was surprised to see the smile leave his pard's face as Jess's head dipped.
"I ain't so sure 'bout that. I didn't have the kind of example that you did, showin' me how to be a good father."
Jess's expression held as much sadness as his words. Slim had to wonder about their meaning. Was Jess referring to the fact that he hadn't had a father since right after he'd turned 15? Or was he alluding to something lacking in his father even when he was younger? Maybe both. Slim wished he could ask, wished he could know more about the upbringing Jess had. About the possible scars, both physical and emotional, beyond those that came from the fire. It would help him understand Jess better. As it was, it gave him a little more insight into Jess's casual relationships with women and his adamant reluctance to become seriously involved with one. If he was worried about his ability to be a good father, avoiding marriage made sense. But Slim knew Jess would make a great father someday, and he wondered why Jess himself would doubt that. He wouldn't ask though. It was probably best to wait until Jess opened up more about his family circumstances a little at a time. But that didn't mean he couldn't try to help the young Texan recognize his own worth.
"I have no doubt that when the time comes, Jess, you'll be a good father. I can see that because you're a good man. And a good brother to Andy and me."
Slim clapped the younger man on the shoulder and headed them both toward the house. He didn't see the look of amazement on Jess's face as the word "brother" resounded in his mind and his smile returned.
Chapter Eight
It was two weeks later when Slim remarked to Jonesy that Jess had been sleeping like a baby, not a single night of the horrible dreams. Jonesy nodded and simply uttered, "Good."
The difference was evident in the daytime too, to all of them. Jess had more energy, since he was actually getting a full night's restful sleep every night. And he seemed much more at ease. He laughed more. He plotted with Andy for ways to have fun. Slim was so happy to see the change, he wasn't even too annoyed when Jess and Andy pulled two pranks on him in the same day. Or when they sneaked off to fish one afternoon. Jess made up for it by working harder than ever, without even been goaded.
Slim would have been able to relax completely if not for one thing. The other change he'd noticed. In Jonesy.
When he was around Jess, Jonesy acted just like always. In fact, he seemed to go out of his way to show he was in a good mood, which put Jess even more at ease.
But Slim noticed Jonesy was often unusually quiet during the day if Jess wasn't near. And he'd started taking walks alone out along the road in the evening. He went to bed a lot earlier than usual. And every once in a while, Slim would glance up to find Jonesy looking at him. Then the older man would quickly busy himself in another room, leaving Slim to wonder what he'd been thinking.
And Slim couldn't help but notice that Jonesy's sullenness had started at exactly the same time Jess's had ended. There had to be a connection.
He was considering that one afternoon as Jess labored in the heat over the forge. "Jess, you've sure been workin' awful hard all week."
"Like I told ya before, work keeps a man in shape." Jess grinned. "I'm actually enjoyin' it, hard rock. You oughta be glad t' have me around."
Slim returned the grin. "I am. Most of the time."
Jess smirked.
"But why don't you take a break for a couple hours. Andy got done with his chores early, and with it bein' such a hot day I bet he'd like to go swimmin'. Why don't you go with him?"
Jess's surprise showed. "So far, I only got two of the shoes done for that green-broke mustang. Don't ya want me to finish up the other two?"
"It'll keep one more day."
Jess shrugged with an accompanying smile. "Well, okay then. You're the boss." He eagerly pulled off the blacksmith's apron and yelled for Andy. In a matter of minutes, they headed out, Jess teasing Andy, loudly and purposefully within earshot of Slim, that they'd better hurry before the real Slim Sherman, that sourpuss, got home from wherever he'd been hiding and kicked this nice guy pretending to be him off the ranch. Slim just shook his head at his brothers.
After they'd ridden out toward the lake, Slim went into the house, finding Jonesy in the kitchen making bread.
"How are ya, Jonesy?"
"Purt near perfect," Jonesy replied with overdone enthusiasm that was uncharacteristically cheerful for the older man. Slim noticed but didn't comment on it.
He poured a cup of coffee, pulled out a chair and sat down at the small kitchen table, an action that immediately roused Jonesy's suspicions. First he sends Jess and Andy off swimmin'. Now, middle of the afternoon and Slim's just sittin'? What's he up to?
"You know, Jonesy, like I mentioned before, Jess hasn't had a nightmare in over two weeks now." Slim took a swallow of coffee. "He's relaxed, and he's continually been in high spirits. I sure like seein' him feelin' so good these days." He watched for Jonesy's reaction.
"Does seem he's got shuck of at least some of what'd been botherin' him," Jonesy replied cautiously, glancing at Slim out of the corner of his eye.
Slim nodded. "It's funny though… how just the same day that things turned better for Jess, it seems like somethin' started botherin' you." Slim looked intently at the older man. "Still is."
"Now why in tarnation would ya say that for?" Jonesy bent to retrieve a pan from the lower cupboard, banging the door closed. "Can't a fella have a few days of quietude without folks thinkin' there's somethin' wrong?"
"Sure he can. Just kinda strange that both those things, Jess feelin' better, you feelin' wor─… quiet… began after that talk you two had in the barn."
Jonesy turned toward the tall rancher then. "What talk?"
"Come on. No need to hide it. Andy told me you sent him to the house that day, but you stayed with Jess. For quite a while."
Jonesy kept working.
Slim set his coffee cup on the table and stared into it, turning it back and forth between his hands. "Did he talk about the war?"
Jonesy poured himself a cup of coffee and sauntered to the table. "I promised him, Slim," he said quietly. "Said I wouldn't tell ya what him and me talked about."
Slim nodded. "I understand. You were obviously able to help him, though. I'm sure he's grateful. So am I."
Jonesy pulled a chair out across the table from Slim and eased down onto it, rubbing the small of his back. He sighed and then mumbled under his breath, thinking out loud. "No man should have to go through everything he's been through, much less a boy startin' at 15, maybe younger." They still had no idea what Jess's earlier years were like. "We all have our share of griefs we have to deal with, but that boy's seen more evil and felt more pain and sorrow than anybody I've ever known." Jonesy shook his head sadly. "Just 24 and already had too much. Way too much."
He looked fixedly at Slim. "Jess might not be havin' any nightmares right now, and I surely do hope that lasts. But don't expect that boy to be right as rain and willin' to start talkin' about the war now. Not by a long shot. He still won't be wantin' to hear about any battles."
"I figured as much. But when somebody starts talkin' about 'em, I sure wish I could know what's going around in that brain of his."
Jonesy slowly shook his head, a pinched look on his face. "No, Slim. No, ya don't."
Slim looked closely at the older man, empathizing with him for the distress clearly evident on his face. "But you know. Don't ya, Jonesy?" he said softly. "And that's what's been eatin' at ya."
For a moment Jonesy didn't respond. Then he sighed and said, "I've been in a few dust-ups in my time, Slim, but I never had to go to war... Let's just say that I realize now, more than I ever could have before, what I was spared from. And thinkin' about what you two boys went through—you for the Union, Jess for the Confederacy, the two of you on opposite sides in that blamed mess—has stirred a lot of feelin's in me. Some thoughts I'm just havin' trouble settin' aside."
"You do seem kinda haunted."
Jonesy flinched. There was that word again. Same one Jess had used. Haunted. And it was more accurate than Slim could possibly know.
"I reckon I'll be able to deal with it and move on past it soon enough."
For a while, the two men sat in comfortable silence, sipping their coffee. After some reflection, Slim said, "Jonesy, I think the greatest thing a person can do for another can be summed up in one word."
"Oh you do, do ya? And what's that, Mr. Smarty Pants?" Jonesy tried to lighten the mood.
But Slim replied with a serious tone. "Sacrifice. You sacrificed your own peace of mind in order to give some peace to Jess. That's something a good friend would do. Or an uncle." He looked Jonesy in the eye. "Or a father."
Jonesy's eyebrows raised at the last reference. Then he smiled. He sounded a bit choked up when he responded. "Well, if'n I was to have sons, I sure couldn't ask for any better than the three young wisenheimers that live here."
Slim stood up. "You know how we feel about you, Jonesy, what you mean to all three of us." Knowing it would embarrass the older man to no end for him to go on, Slim gave no further detail. He simply patted Jonesy on the shoulder and echoed the older man's words to him from a couple weeks earlier. "And don't you forget it."
Slim headed back outside to his chores. Jonesy sat at the table for several minutes, thinking over what Slim had said about sacrifice.
He wasn't sure if he'd really consider what he'd done for Jess to be a sacrifice. Well, maybe a small one. He'd sure never have thought of it that way, though, until Slim mentioned it.
But he felt a bigger sacrifice was made by the man who'd spoken the word. Slim had sacrificed a lot over the past year, helping Jess through his restlessness, both in his nightmares and in the tough time he'd had leaving the drift and his past behind and settling down to a good life at the ranch.
But he felt the biggest sacrifice of all had been made by Jess. He'd put himself through a lot of loneliness, sadness and worry, keeping everything inside, always with his constant "I'm fine" claim, when he was really struggling with the aftermath of the loss of his family, the war, the prison, the gunfights, old enemies, even old friends, and all the other troubles of his past that kept interfering with his chance for current happiness. He shouldered his burdens alone in order to protect his new family from having to share his sorrows. And to a large extent, he was still doing it. But Jonesy hoped that Jess would gradually keep knocking down that wall, let them in, let them help him.
And he knew neither Jess nor Slim would see anything they did as a sacrifice. It was simply what family does for family. And they were happy to do it. And so was he. Jonesy smiled. Yes, he was glad to do it. One hundred percent glad.
He rose and returned to his duties, with a surprising spring in his step and whistling a snappy melody as he cooked up a storm.
That evening found the three men and one teenager gorging themselves at supper.
"Jonesy, what's got into you?" Jess beamed. "Every bit of this here meal's so dadgummed delicious, I wish I could just keep on eatin' till sunrise. But I'm stuffed plumb up to the gullet. You really outdone yourself on this cookin' tonight!"
"Now there's somethin' I never thought I'd hear," Slim said.
Jess quirked an eyebrow. "Me sayin' that Jonesy's a great cook?"
"You sayin' you can't eat any more!"
Andy started the laughter, and the others joined in.
It was a sound that would echo often through the years at the Sherman Ranch.
—The End—
I want to express my gratitude and admiration for all the incredibly talented and creative souls who brought "Laramie" and its memorable and beloved characters to the screen. My thanks and respect also go to the FanFiction community and administrators and all the talented and inspiring writers of "Laramie" stories here. Special appreciation goes to the beta reader for this story, SonoraDesertBloom.
Readers, thanks for taking the time to read my first story. I welcome your feedback.
