Disclaimer: Magnificent Seven (TV) does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit. Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.
Story Title: Next Time
Chapter 1: Innocent?
La belle dame sans merci
From Keat's poem
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
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"Damn it!" protested Deputy Sheriff Oliver Oglethorpe.
The middle-aged man pushed back from his desk and stood up. Papers covered the top of his desk much as the soft round flesh of his belly covered his belt. Oliver was trying to finish the jail's end of month reports. Bob, Tucson's Sheriff, would be back in town soon. Bob would want to review the completed reports. Want them to be right this time, not like last month.
"Again?"
A sing-song chant echoed in the hall outside his office. He went to the door, tempted to close it and shut out the sound of that incessant voice. Oliver liked his new office. Especially liked having a bedroom of his own right behind the office. He didn't like all the paperwork that went with being the new jailer. Didn't like most of his prisoners. Didn't like that noisy one especially.
"That dang squawkin' of hers is driving me crazy!" he huffed.
"Us too!" called voices from the men's side of the jail.
Really? Could they hear the interminable lilt of her voice too? The sound drifted up the hall, filled his office and his head with unintelligible words. With a resigned sigh, Oliver trudged down the corridor on the woman's side of the jailhouse, to the cell occupied by that infernal woman. The slow-moving man stopped next to the bars. A lot of things had changed since Clovis Burton marched a bald woman in a fancy black ruffled dress into town at gunpoint last week. Oliver's lips twisted in a frown. He watched for a moment as she twirled around the small room oblivious to his presence. Louder now that he was closer, her words were clear.
"Let me outta here! I'm innocent!"
He gave a snort of disgust. Banker Edmunds had fallen all over himself to help the rich woman. Oliver had to wonder how much money the woman had, and how much of it Edmunds hoped to get. The jail cell was all prettied up for her. Real furniture hugged the walls: a feather bed, a chifforobe, and an ornate vanity table with a three-piece mirror. The woman herself now wore a new dress and a freshly curled long dark-haired wig. With her face made up from the concoctions in all those jars and powders on the vanity, she certainly didn't look like the hellcat Clovis had accused of murder.
"Get me out of here!" hissed the woman.
Startled, Oliver stepped back from the bars she now gripped with her bony fingers. In her last swirl around the room, Ella Gaines Larabee, as she called herself, must have finally realized he was there.
"Can't do that."
Oliver smiled, proud of himself. His voice sounded steady, steely, almost like Bob. Her head tilted to one side. The prisoner stared at him with her wild eyes. A slow smile spread across her face. God, a man could get lost in a smile like that!
"I'm innocent!" whispered her seductive voice.
Oliver shook himself breaking her spell. Then he smiled even wider. He'd heard that before.
"That's for the judge to decide," he reminded her.
A hard frown replaced her knowing smile. The look in those eyes chilled Oliver.
"I want my lawyer!"
Oliver blinked. She hadn't said that before. Not once.
"You got a lawyer?" he asked in disbelief.
"Of course I do," she snapped.
"What's his name?" demanded Oliver. "And where is he?"
The judge would be upset if he had to reschedule her trial to wait for some out-of-town lawyer to show up. Better be someone local thought Oliver. Or at least someone in the territory. Please not someone from back East!
"Harcourt James," the prisoner answered. As she turned to walk away, she added, "From Red Fork."
Hmmph! Two could play that game thought Oliver. Wordlessly, he turned and walked back to his office. He knew Red Fork didn't have any of those new-fangled telephones found here in Tucson. Oliver had a telegram to write. He'd call it in to the telegraph office. If he was lucky, he could talk to that sweet Miss Millie. And if Oliver was really lucky, there wouldn't be another one of those dang telegrams from the Sheriff of Four Corners.
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"Who's Judge Fitch?"
JD looked at the newspaper he held in confusion. Mary had published Maude's obituary notice in The Clarion last week. Today's edition held more details on the trial pending in Tucson. The sheriff looked across the top of his paper to Ezra. The gambler wore a black suitcoat over a plain white shirt and an unadorned black waistcoat. The ruined black pinstripe pants, washed nightly as Ezra refused to let any of his other pants be attacked by a seam ripper, covered his leg brace. A bare foot peeked out on the elevated leg rest of his chair.
"A colleague of Judge Travis," drawled Ezra.
"Mary tell you that?"
Ezra flipped cards over and over in a complicated one-handed shuffle. He wasn't even looking at the cards. Ezra's green eyes were on the girls playing beneath the shade tree. Normally the girls wore calico dresses covered by white pinafores. Last Wednesday, Mary had spent the entire day dying clothes black. Even Ben's blue suitcoat and a pair of Billy's denims were boiled down in the huge inky blue-black liquid staining both the clothes and Mary's largest cauldron. She herself wore a severe black dress. Mourning clothes. JD glanced over at his friend.
"Did she tell you why this Fitch fella set the trial date for the nineth of July?" prodded JD.
Waiting for Ezra to answer, JD's dark eyes glanced down the busy street. Delbert sat in front of the saloon keeping watch. Jonas was down by the stable talking with a drover JD didn't recognize. Lord! JD hoped that fella wasn't planning on taking a herd up Main Street.
"First Monday after the court recess for the Fourth of July," replied Ezra.
"Huh? The Fourth ain't until next week," protested JD. "What happened to this week?"
"You would have to ask Judge Fitch that."
"Well, that ain't likely," replied JD. "Ain't like I'm gonna be in Tucson for the trial."
JD glanced back at Main Street. The church had been silent all week. Josiah had been on a bender since the news of Maude's passing. Last night, JD had put the big man in a cell to sleep it off again. Chris came out of the telegraph office with a frown on his face. Nathan was nearer, walking towards them. JD nodded at Nathan's approach. The lawman set the newspaper on the small table beside Ezra and rose to stand. Ezra twisted in the invalid seat to look directly at JD.
"You're not going to the trial?"
JD could hear the surprise in his friend's voice. And was that a faint hint of disappointment?
"Course not, ain't my jurisdiction," answered JD. "I'm real sorry about your Ma Ez, but I ain't got nothin' to say at Ella's trial."
He settled his bowler atop his head as Nathan joined them on the front porch. Ezra slumped back in his seat with a tired sigh.
"I had hoped my friends would join me…"
"Join you?" interrupted Nathan. "Where you think you're goin'?"
"Tucson," answered Ezra. "I need to be there for the trial…"
Nathan was already shaking his head.
"No, you ain't going," the physician stated firmly. "You can't be bouncing around on a stage to Tucson just yet. That leg isn't healed enough! The femur is gonna take…"
Ezra shot a frustrated glance at the heavy brace running the length of his leg. Although the cast had finally been removed a few days ago, Nathan still insisted on the brace.
"I had not planned to expose my infirmity to the vagaries of public transportation," objected Ezra. "I had thought to utilize that fine carriage…"
Nathan reached forward and grasped Ezra's injured leg. He squeezed gently. Ezra gasped in pain. His green eyes widened and he inhaled sharply before Nathan released him.
"That… was… unkind!" huffed Ezra.
"Not nearly as unkind as the rutted road to Tucson," objected Nathan.
"I assure you…"
"You ain't going."
"Then who will ensure justice for Mother?"
JD glanced at Nathan. They could both hear the plaintive tone in Ezra's voice.
"Reckon that would be me," answered Chris.
The long, lean man stepped onto the porch. In his hand he held two telegrams. Chris looked at the papers, his lips curled up in a disgusted frown.
"I've been told to come testify," explained Chris. "Once by the prosecuting attorney… and once by the defense."
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