PART 3:
Nathan left the Spencers' apartment in a hurry and Ezra hustled to keep up, almost tripping and falling when he caught his boot on a horse ring imbedded in the curb.
"Easy, Nathan," Ezra called, struggling to regain his stride. "No reason to rush. We'll get there in time."
Nathan didn't answer. For a moment he was lost, not knowing where to turn, but Ezra grabbed his arm and started steering. Glad for some direction, Jackson let Ezra guide him through the crowds of people. He heard him ask for directions at one point, and then they continued on their way.
His chess set was in a museum? It was unbelievable. How could anything he created be in a considered a work of art? Were the carvings really that good?
Was Spencer right? If his chess pieces were truly works of art, was it wrong to keep it all to himself?
Had he been wrong all along?
His mind was still reeling when Ezra came to a halt.
Nathan looked up, and saw that they were at the front steps of the museum. He stared up at the edifice with wide eyes. White marble shone in the afternoon sun.
"Shall we?" Ezra said, gesturing toward the entrance and the ticket window.
Feeling ill, Nathan could only stand and stare.
"Nathan," Ezra said quietly. "We should go in and speak to someone. We should at least see it."
Nathan shook his head. "I can't," he said softly. He indicated the sign above the ticket window.
"What," Ezra glanced at the signs. "You mean, there's going to be a lecture tonight?"
"No, the other one," Nathan said, glaring at the marker that described everyone who was not allowed in. He automatically looked for that sort of message wherever they went. The forbidding placards was more prevalent than he cared to admit.
It was almost a relief to have a reason to stay outside. He felt breathless and out of sorts, almost as if he could drift away into a dream.
Ezra made a face, and then turned to look up and down the street. "I'll be back momentarily," he said. "Stay here." He started dodging his way through the people.
Nathan caught sight of him, talking to one of the street vendors, whose cart was laden with all manner of knick-knacks. After a short conversation, Ezra was headed back toward him, swinging a cane in his hand.
"This should suffice," he said brightly, and gestured toward the door again.
"Ezra, I don't know what you're planning, but I don't think I need to go in and see it." Nathan wanted to be anywhere but in that plaza at that moment. Why didn't Ezra just let things be? They could be back in Four Corners and everything would have gone back to normal. "It's just so… wrong. I shouldn't be here. I don't need to see it there. I'll just remember it. It's better that way if I can keep it in my mind, the way it was."
Ezra looked at him for a moment, slack jawed. "We need to see what's going on," he insisted. "We'll take a quick look and ask a few questions. That's all."
"You should go alone."
"But it's your chess set." Ezra indicated the cane. "We have a way in."
Nathan eyed the object, feeling numb. "What are you up to with that?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you? I hurt my foot when you ran me into that horse ring. It's swelling dreadfully."
That snapped Nathan out of his daze. "Ezra, why didn't you tell me? Do you think you broke something? We should get you resting somewhere and I can take a look at it." It was, if nothing else, another excuse to get away. He stooped to get a closer look at the injury, but Ezra gave him a whack on the shoulder with the cane.
With a yelp, Nathan straightened.
"It will get better," Standish said and leaned on Nathan. "Let's go." He started walking, now with a heavy limp. Between putting his weight on Nathan's arm and using the cane, it appeared that Ezra could barely propel himself up the steps.
Nathan frowned, knowing that Ezra had shown none of this disability moments ago. What was he getting into now?
They staggered up the stairs. When Nathan looked up, he could see the ticket seller glaring at their approach. Charlatan that he was, Ezra was wheezing with the effort as they made it to the window. Nathan listened as the man denied them entry. Ezra kept reiterating that he couldn't manage without his assistant, and that he was ardent with his desire to see the museum before he left town the next morning.
"I've heard so many good things about your wonders here," Ezra said passionately. "So many amazing things. You cannot deny me just because of my injury. That is unjust!"
"We can provide you with an escort," the ticket seller continued, his gaze on Nathan.
"Nonsense," Ezra proclaimed, his accent thick as molasses. "My assistant knows my ways. How could I trust a stranger? I will pay for his entry. There are few people inside on such a fine day. You must be nearly empty at this time. What harm will it do?" And Ezra pushed a fold of money toward the agent. "You can keep the change, my dear sir, for your troubles."
The ticket man seemed to think about it. Then, his hand went out and he pulled the overpayment in. Almost surreptitiously, he pressed the tickets through the window.
"Thank you, sir," Ezra said.
When they reached the entrance, the usher looked surprised. He threw a look to the ticket window, and apparently received a response. They were allowed in.
The museum was dim with the late afternoon light, and as Ezra had suspected, nearly empty. Standish continued to lean on Jackson, putting so much weight on his arm, that the healer had trouble walking. He wanted to complain, but the few patrons were throwing them unsettled glances. Ezra's staggered walk seemed to satisfy unasked questions.
After taking a moment to adjust to the lighting, Ezra checked a directory mounted on the wall, and then took a turn toward the "Spencer Gallery". They clomped down the passageway, Ezra's cane making a racket as they traveled.
As they moved, Nathan looked about at the beautiful paintings and sculptures that decorated the hallways, everything seemed to sing of its importance and its place in the art world. He felt the weight of the ages on his shoulders.
Finally, they found the doorway marked with the man's name. The Spencer 'wing' amounted to one room – but its contents were impressive. The space was filled with art – the walls covered with paintings. Display cases lined the walls, filled with all manner of beautiful and precious things - from tiny beautiful bits of jewelry to woven baskets, stone figures to gilded parchments. An Egyptian sarcophagus stood in one corner and a beautiful Grecian statue occupied another.
Nathan barely saw the other items though as his eyes focused on the display in the center of the room. On a table, covered with glass case - finally – his chess set.
It was in perfect position to catch the late afternoon sunlight coming in through the high windows. It was as if a spotlight had been directed on it. Obviously, it was meant to be the highlight of the gallery.
He didn't notice that Ezra's grip on his arm had changed. He might have collapsed if not for that extra support.
It was here – his chess set, placed on an ornate tray, displayed under glass. The pieces sat in perfect order, too precise to be used in a game. They were safe here from grubby hands and dust. They would not be touched again.
There were his sisters, his mother and father, Reverend Grady and Father Antonio, President and Mrs. Lincoln, Miz Lizzie and Auntie Maddie, Nan, John, Old Joe, Francis and Rodney, the Great Pyramid of Giza and the arched Leptis Magna, bastion and tower, zebra and antelope, surgeon, captain and medicine man - and his friends.
The pieces faced each other – stagnant – frozen forever so that all may be see them clearly.
It was so perfect and so beautiful here.
It took a moment for him to realize there was a placard set in front of the set. It took him three tries to comprehend it as he read through it.
Beautifully crafted primitive chess set carved in pine and mahogany. It is believed that one artist carved the entire set, starting with the dark pieces, which appear to be of a more naïve quality, and created in an African style, reminiscent of several different regions.
The dress of the white pieces are in contemporary American. It is believed the white pieces were recently completed.
The quality is unparalleled. The detail leads us to believe that each carving represents a specific person. This is the best representation of Africans seen by our curator. Visitors should examine the thoughtful carving and take note of the sympathetic portrayals. Such work should be emulated.
Note: the nearest pawn on both sides appear to be the same person, the reason why is a mystery.
Artist unknown. Donated by George Spencer.
The room seemed to be growing dimmer, the museum grew quieter.
Proud. Nathan felt the pride swell in his chest. Never had he felt so satisfied, so very respected. Here, in this place where he wasn't even allowed to walk alone, his work was honored.
Finally, Ezra called his name. It took a moment for Nathan to respond by glancing to his friend.
"We should find the curator and ask him how we can liberate your work."
"I don't know, Ezra," Nathan whispered. "It's better this way. This is where it belongs." He might be treated as less-than-a-man in the world outside, but as an unknown artist, he was important.
Ezra turned abruptly, towing Nathan with him – again putting his weight on Nathan's arm and clumping away with the cane. Once he found the front offices, he started shouting for attention. Nathan cringed.
For all Ezra's sturm und drang, the curator could not be found. "He's gone home for the day," one attendant said in a hushed voice. "You can see him tomorrow. He's here early."
"We'll return!" Ezra stated, as he limped to the door.
As they left the immediate vicinity of the museum, Ezra lightened his hold on Nathan and the cane began to swing at his side as he strode along.
"Now, Nathan, the only thing we need to do is to convince the curator that you are indeed the artist who created the set. If we can do that, then we need to convince him that it was stolen from you, and sway him to return it to its rightful owner. Our own images, carved into pawns, will bring us most of the way. I'm not sure if our positions as peacekeepers from the Wild West will be enough. We may need you to demonstrate your prowess with the knife to really prove it. After all, you may have been merely a model. It may take a day or two to complete all the necessary machinations, but we will manage. After all, 'Persistence' is my middle name."
"I thought it was 'Persuasive'"
"Also, 'Patient'. All will come in handy."
"We can't stay here, Ezra. Doc Meer is gonna be leaving Four Corners tomorrow. We have to get back."
"We can at least speak to the curator. So, we take the afternoon train instead of the morning train," Ezra said, moving into the opening of an alley so that they could talk. "Four Corners will be unattended for a few days no matter what, and Josiah is a fine nurse. That'll give us half a day to get started."
"I can't," Nathan muttered, imaging the chess set as it stood on that beautiful tray, under glass, shining in the sun.
"You must," Ezra countered.
"Enough, Ezra," Nathan said, trying to keep the sharpness from his voice. "Just stop it."
"Nathan, we can't stop now. We've found it." Ezra turned toward the museum. "Now, we only need to find a way to wrest it from the clutches of the public. I believe if we can offer a large enough 'donation' we may be able to free it." He brought the cane up to aim it at the museum, wielding it like a sword. "We attack in the morning!"
"Ezra, stop!" Nathan said again, pulling the cane from Ezra's grip. "This has to stop now."
Ezra looked crestfallen to lose the cane. His eyes followed it as Nathan brought it to his side.
"We aren't attacking anything," Nathan went on.
"I haven't been able to gain much money so far - the club car was disappointing," Ezra said, sounding morose. "But now, we're in a decent city. I am certain that, if Lady Luck is kind, I will be able to amass an appreciable amount. Enough to grease the right wheels. I can do it, Nathan," Ezra continued. "I've made that much and more in a single night, and I should be able to do it again."
"We're not bribing anyone for it."
"Donation. It's a donation supplied by Misters Jackson and Standish. Perhaps they'll name a room after us as well. Maybe even affix a nice plaque to the wall." Ezra held up his hands as if adjusting such a sign.
"It'd be all your money, and I can't be in debt to you," Nathan said, his voice low. "I can't be beholding to any man. It's far too much, Ezra!"
Ezra looked as if he'd been struck. "It's not like that. I'm only growing my stake. And nobody seemed to have any problem taking my money to help Nettie Wells or to purchase that poor girl at the Chinese camp."
"That was different," Nathan tried.
"How?" Ezra responded.
Nathan couldn't say. Finally, he murmured, "That was for people. This is a thing."
"You're people too, Nathan."
"I can't take that kind of money."
"Then, you can pay me what I started with. I'll never say 'no' if someone wants to hand over cash. In fact, I insist! There are plenty of folks back home who owe you. You only need to call in your markers and we'll be even. If Judge Travis didn't pay our medical expenses, I'd be in debt to you for the rest of my life."
"You don't owe me anything."
Ezra paused at that. "Let me do this for you, Nathan."
"No, Ezra," Nathan stood his ground.
Ezra spoke, sounding confused, "But we need to get your chess set back."
"Spencer was right," Nathan continued. "It isn't right that one man keep such a thing. It should be on display so that everyone can see it. You read that card, didn't you?"
Ezra frowned. "But it's your life, Nathan. Perhaps you can carve another…"
"It can't be replaced!" Nathan snapped. "It's staying there, where it belongs, where it will do some good. It's a hell of a lot better than stuck in a box under my cabinet!"
"But you can't leave it here. Don't you see how wrong this is?"
"I'm not an idiot, Ezra! I know exactly where it should be." Nathan stated brusquely. "It's not 'wrong'. This is the right thing. I'm not that selfish. It's needs to be there, seen by everyone. Some folks want to take everything that's precious for themselves."
Ezra made a strange expression at that, and started to speak.
Nathan cut him off. "Stop this nonsense, Ezra. You always go too far! I'm done. I'm just done. I'm gonna get a room. Folks on the train told me to try the Bartholomew. It's not right for you, so I'll see you tomorrow at the train station."
He strode off in the direction of the promised hotel. He didn't his step until he reached it. He turned as he entered, looking over his shoulder and expecting Ezra to have followed, but was surprised to find himself alone.
He let out a breath. "Damn," he muttered.
He considered going in search of his friend, but had no idea where he might have gone. At least Ezra knew where to find him, and where to meet him in the morning.
With a sigh, Nathan went in, promising that he'd make it up to him.
.7.7
The room at the Bartholomew was small but clean. He'd been savvy enough to pack a change of clothes for his travels, but they'd been out for a few days, now. Things needed refreshing.
He took the time to rinse out some of his clothing and to hang it out to dry. The simple activity helped calm him.
He knew that Ezra had been trying to help, but Standish didn't understand the situation anymore. Nathan knew he couldn't take the set from the museum. It was too important. It was too special to belong to one man.
He'd talk to Ezra in the morning. Ezra would understand. He was strangely forgiving of any slight aimed in his direction. Of course he never seemed to forget when he'd slighted others.
Nathan pondered that, wondering if all this was just Ezra's attempt to atone for actions from when they'd first met.
"You don't owe me anything," Nathan said quietly.
It wasn't Ezra's responsibility to gamble all night to earn enough for that chess set.
But as Nathan sat on the bed, he couldn't help yearning for his carvings. His hands opened and closed as he wished to hold each of the pieces again. He'd been so close to it. If not for the glass, he could have reached out to touch it. But it wasn't his any longer – it belonged to the city of St. Louis.
Maybe someone at the museum would let him get close to it one last time. It had slipped through his fingers so quickly, he hadn't had the chase to say goodbye.
He needed to say goodbye to everyone.
Maybe, if he went to the museum in the morning, the curator would let him see it. He'd go early, before he went to the train station to meet Ezra.
He just hoped the museum officials would see him. They'd have to believe he had something to do with the set – his face was obviously part of it. But he remembered that they might need further convincing. Just because his face was included didn't mean that he'd carved it.
He could prove it.
He glanced around the room and his gaze fastened on the cane he'd taken from Ezra. He'd left it leaning in the corner. It was a simple cane of good quality maple. He picked it up and turned it in his hand, trying to decide what to do.
It didn't have the typical curved crook, but it would still be difficult to place a face on the handle. As he twisted it about, he realized that the grip would be perfect for a horse's head - to match one of the knights'.
He hoped he could get it completed in time.
.7.7.7
Nathan awoke, feeling frustrated and defeated. He'd been too weary and the lamp oil had run out in the room before he'd managed to complete much. All night, he'd been haunted by dreams of the people he loved. They seemed to be beckoning him from afar, calling out but drifting away – disappearing into a fog. He had been rooted in his place, unable to follow, not even capable of calling out their names.
All night long, he had watched them vanish into the mist.
It left him feeling hollow and lonely.
In the morning light, he ran a hand over his face, trying to dispel the last of that dream. Needing something to do, he reached for the cane. The partly carved image seemed to counter any claim of greatness.
The maple had been harder to carve than he'd hoped, and the result was a blocky and amateurish mule-shaped thing. He dropped it on his bag, leaving it behind. He would pick up his things on the way back to the train station. It made no sense to burden himself at this point.
He checked at the front desk, hoping that Ezra had left a message, but there was nothing for him. Either Ezra was still annoyed with him or the gambler had been up all night – again.
What if Ezra had managed to amass the required amount? What if he showed up with everything they needed?
The faces continued to beckon to him. He needed to see the chess pieces again, to hold what he'd created.
They were his. He needed them back.
He couldn't take that much money from Ezra, but… what if…
Nathan let himself hope. Maybe a deal could be struck?
It wouldn't hurt to try, Nathan reasoned. And maybe, if he could collect from some of the Four Corners townspeople who owed him – he might have enough to repay Ezra, at least cover his outlay.
He chuckled to himself, wondering if it was worth hoping. Should he even consider the possibility?
He left the hotel and moved along the street toward the museum, feeling lighter and more assured. If he could strike a deal, if the curator believed he was the artist, if Ezra made enough money, if the payment would be accepted, then taking the set would be justified.
And if anything fell through, it wasn't meant to be.
Resolved, Nathan increased his pace through the early morning street.
Maybe this would work. Maybe he could get the chess set back. His chest felt tight as he thought of the prospects. It would be wrong, though, wouldn't it? It would be wrong to take it from the city.
But he wanted it back.
He rounded the corner just before the museum, and came to a dead stop.
There were police officers around the marble building. Some stood at the door, examining a broken latch, others huddled a window and others wandered the grounds - all of them busily searching.
Nathan approached slowly, not daring to get too close. A dark-skinned man was sweeping the walkway.
"What happened?" Nathan asked the worker.
The man shook his head. "Someone broke in last night. I hear they tried to make off with a whole box of stuff. Dropped almost all of it. Seems they got only one thing."
Nathan closed his eyes and waited a beat. "What was taken?" he asked, knowing the answer already.
"A chess set, if you can believe that."
Nathan brought a hand to his head.
"They caught someone. I was here when they took him away. An officer found him right at the main door."
Nathan looked toward the front entrance. "Any description of the man?"
"He was wearing a dark suit," the worker said, "But he had the look of a gambler. Can't trust them, can you?"
"No, no you can't," Nathan shook his head. "Do you know where they took him?"
"Police Station 4, I'd think," he said, pointing. "They cover this area."
And Nathan took off in a jog in the indicated direction, swearing under his breath.
TBC
I'm sure everything will work out