Chapter 5

A/N: Everything touching and personal about Seth in my stories comes from this in-depth, fascinating website: The William Windom Tribute Site. It's creator, TVNutt, has written several lovely Jess/Seth stories that I've so enjoyed.

I wish I knew the trick of uploading hyperlink addresses to this site. Just google the title and enjoy all of the interesting information there. I've used Bill Windom's background to flesh out the character of Seth.

But there's no power on Earth that would make me believe that Seth is the killer. (Unfinished Business S3Ep3)

He found himself replaying those words in his head over and over. It had been so long since anyone had believed in him like that. Since he'd believed in himself like that. Jessica made him feel proud again, like a man of integrity. That's what he'd aimed for, moving back to Cabot Cove—a fresh start, another chance to do things right, to be the man Ruthie had fallen in love with. He'd let things go so far back then.

The way she'd looked at him, like she had complete confidence in him, in his character. He'd have to tell her. He'd have to tell her the whole ugly truth. Otherwise, the dearest friendship of this new life would be a lie.

He'd had a particularly tough few hours at the hospital and his defenses were low. He drove by her house to see if the lights were on, but he knew they would be. He didn't have the energy to dance around or prevaricate, to try to make himself look better. He only had the energy to tell her the plain truth.

"Seth!" She bustled about the kitchen, fixing him a cup of coffee from the pot it seemed she always kept going. "Sit, sit," she urged. "You look positively wagged out!" She brought him a mug of coffee, then sat next to him at the kitchen table. "Are you finally ready to talk?"

Seth started, his mug lifted halfway to his lips, then he smiled tiredly. "Am I that obvious, woman?"

"Only to someone who knows you as well as I do."

"But that's just it," said Seth as he lowered his mug. "You don't know me as well as you think."

Jessica furrowed her brow. "What are you trying to say, Seth?"

Among Jessica's many virtues was her patience. He sat quietly for a few moments, collecting his thoughts. "Ever since we went up to Juniper Lake, something's been eating at me." He looked at Jessica, a curious, almost unreadable expression on his face. "You said something, and it's haunted me ever since."

"What did I say?"

"You said, there's no power on Earth that would make me believe that Seth is the killer. I guess it wasn't so much what you said, but how you said it." He looked at Jess again, and this time she could see the sorrow in his face. "You said it as though you believed I was a good man. An honorable man."

Jessica covered his hand with her own. "You are those things, Seth."

He smiled at her, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've tried to be, ever since I moved back to Cabot Cove. I promised Ruthie, I promised myself, that I'd strive to be like that young man she fell in love with."

Jessica opened her mouth to speak, but Seth held up a hand. "I strayed from what I thought I believed in. From the man I thought I was." He was quiet for a long moment. "Far," he whispered softly.

Jessica squeezed the hand she'd been holding. "Seth, you don't owe me any kind of explanation."

Seth looked at her, a pained expression in her eyes. " I need to tell you, Jess. Every day it's been like a lie between us, and you mean too much to me. Our friendship means too much to me."

"It means a great deal to me as well. Our friendship doesn't obligate you to tell me anything about your past, but I'll listen to whatever it is you have to say."

He smiled at her, a genuine smile, and it was the first hint that things would be alright. "You'll remember that Margie was just thirteen when Ruthie died." Jess nodded. "Well, I did the best I could. I really did, but we had our troubles, Margie and I. It wasn't an easy time." He sighed. "But, through some miracle, we got her through high school and up to university. She didn't want to go." Seth grunted. "I insisted. It was what her mother wanted." He looked at Jess. "I wanted it, too, you understand, but by that time I could hardly put up a fuss just on my own account. Did it for Ruthie." He smiled. "Turned out alright, Margie did. It took awhile, but she settled down eventually." He stared in the distance. "I often wonder how things might have turned out if her mother had lived. Ruthie had a gift for smoothing things over." He looked at Jess sheepishly. "I'm more of a bulldozer." Jess chuckled companionably.

"Well, anyway, I was at loose ends. For so long, all I'd done was be a doctor and a father, unfortunately in that order. Didn't know what to do with myself. With all that time." He was silent again. "I never really let myself think about Ruthie much or how much I missed her." He cleared his throat. "Always running from one crisis to another back then. But when I had the time..." He looked at Jessica again. "You understand." She squeezed his hand again. For a long moment, Seth could only hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the dining room. He took another deep breath. This is where it gets hard, Seth.

"Did I ever tell you I was stationed in Jacksonville for a time during the war?"

Jessica started, unprepared for the leap their conversation had taken. "I don't believe you ever did, Seth."

"Well, I was a raw young Yankee from down East and all of a sudden, I was in this paradise. Warm weather, sandy beaches, beautiful girls. And the music! So different than what I was used to hearing." He smiled at the memory. "I was like Dorothy when she stepped out of the farmhouse into munchkinland. I was that overcome."

Jessica smiled to see the relaxed set of his shoulders. He'd been so tense.

"It was there I started listening to this radio station they had down there. Now that was out of Montgomery, Alabama. Station WFSA. And they had this radio program on. This kid, really. Name of Hank Williams," He looked at Jessica, but her face was blank. "And he sure could sing. Every sad, lonesome feeling I ever had just welled up inside me when I heard his slow, sad songs. Every happy, joyful feeling I ever had made me wanna dance anytime I heard his happy tunes. Right then and there I became one of his biggest fans. That's what got me started listening to country music, Jess." He looked at her winningly. "And one day I'll make you a fan, too." Jessica smiled indulgently at him.

"So, after Margie'd gone away to college, I found I had quite a bit of time on my hands. So much time. I couldn't bear to sit at home, and there were only so many extra shifts I could pick up. Needed the money, of course I did, what with Ruthie's medical bills still piled up and Margie's tuition on top of that. But, still. A man can't work all the time."

He sighed and clenched his hands reflexively. Jessica patted the one she'd been holding.

"Whatever you need to tell me, Seth, it will be alright." She looked at him with that beautiful, kind face. Strange. He'd rather cut off his right arm than disappoint her. But he had to tell her. He had to, after that Juniper Lake business.

"Well. There was a place out by the hospital. A bar." May as well make everything crystal clear right from the start. "I'd never been much of a drinker, you understand. Social, of course. Not a teetotaller," he said dismissively. "But I never wanted to be in a situation where I couldn't be of help to someone because I'd been drinking." The way she looked at him. He wanted to crawl under a rock. "Well. I started going out to that bar pretty regularly. Had a band, country western. It was fun…the music, the people. I let myself go a little bit. Then a little more. Started drinking a bit more. Started making new acquaintances." He sighed. "I was running, Jess. I see that now. Losing Ruthie so young. It hurt. It hurt so badly." He looked down at the floor and Jessica brought her other hand to close around the one she'd been holding. She didn't say a word, and for that he would be eternally grateful.

"I missed Ruthie, missed the feel of a woman," he said in a low mutter. "And there were plenty of 'em around. Willing." He could hear Jessica's steady breathing over the rhythmic sound of the grandfather clock's second hand. "You understand what I'm getting at." Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Jess nod her head. "Got to where I missed a shift here or there. Nothing much at first. Nothing that couldn't be reasonably explained away. I'd built up quite a bit of goodwill over the years. They were willing to overlook a few mistakes. But soon things couldn't be overlooked." He looked up at Jess. "I was a mess, Jessica. Boozing, carrying on with women, on the brink of losing my job." He sighed. "And then—" He looked down at the floor. This is the hardest part. "Then, one night, I was at the bar. Where I usually was, nursing a boilermaker, if you could call what I did back then "nursing." And there was a fight. Oh there were always a few dustups, but nothing really serious. Until that night. One of the patrons pulled a knife and stabbed the other fella right in the gut." He could feel Jessica's pulse, steady as a rock. There weren't many women like her. Weren't many men, either. "It was pretty bad. The barkeep knew I was a doctor, but what could I do? I'd been sitting there drinking for the better part of two hours. My hands were shaky and I was none too steady on my feet. I did what I could, which was precious little, then the ambulance arrived." He stared off into space. "Course I knew one of the paramedics who came in. Thought I wasn't capable of shame any longer, but that didn't turn out to be the case."

He straightened in his chair, determined to look Jessica in the eye. "I was a disgrace. A disgrace to my calling as a physician, a disgrace to my daughter, to my wife, both of whom I loved dearly." He cleared the tears from his throat. "I made a decision right then and there. I wouldn't crawl down into the bottom of a bottle. I'd do everything in my power to be the man Ruthie had known me to be, the man I could still be for my little girl. And for my patients, if I was ever lucky enough to have any again." He cleared his throat again. "I sold the house and everything we owned except the car and a few clothes, set aside the money I needed to finish out Margie's schooling, and the rest went into Juniper Lake." He looked at Jessica. "Terry knew me a little, you see, knew my story, at least some of it, and correctly surmised the rest. He needed a fourth investor in the scheme, and he knew I had some ready cash and a need to get away. To dry out," he said in a disdainful tone.

Seth sighed and leaned back in the chair. "And now you know everything." He looked at her, hard. "I'm not proud of the man I was. No excuse for it and no reason to disappoint Ruthie. She was a wonderful wife and mother. Her memory deserved better than that." His shoulders drooped, defeated. Telling Jessica this had drained the remaining energy from his spirit. He wondered if he had enough left to drive himself home. "I ought to be going now, Jess. It's got to be going on three a.m."

"Seth, wait. What you told me tonight. You didn't have to." Seth looked at her, resignation in his face. "But I'm glad you did." Jess smiled at him and reached for his hand again. "I'm your friend, Seth, and I hope you know you can always count on me."

"Jess, you thought I was one way, when really I'm quite another."

"First," she said crisply, " you don't know how I think of you. Second, I stand by what I said at Juniper Lake." She fixed him with a steely glare. "I know you, Seth Hazlitt. I know you. I know the man you are now. You're a good friend. And a good man. Cabot Cove is lucky to have you, and so am I."

They sat in silence for a long moment. "I dreaded telling you, Jess," said Seth in a hoarse whisper. "Your good opinion of me…well, it means alot."

"You have it," said Jess quietly.

Seth withdrew his hand and pushed his chair back. "And now I really should be going, Jess."

He stood to leave, and Jess stood as well.

"You're sure you're alright to drive?"

Seth smiled at her. "I feel better than I have in days, woman. Just a few hours' shuteye is all I need before tomorrow."

"Today," corrected Jessica mischievously.

"Today," agreed Seth companionably. He came around the table and kissed Jessica's cheek. "Thank you," he rumbled, then made a hasty retreat out the back door.

Jess stood in the kitchen a few moments longer, thinking. Then she turned out the light and headed upstairs for bed.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Dear Claire,

I had the most curious experience. A friend whom I've known for quite some time confided to me some rather unsavory details about his past. He was so anxious and unsettled…afraid of my reaction, I'm certain of it. I suppose there's no need to be coy, as I'm not divulging the details of the confidence and the two of you will probably never meet. It was Seth. "Obviously," I can hear you say.

Anyway, I held my tongue, which I gather he thinks is somewhat easy for me to do, and listened until the bitter end. I don't suppose it was so very terrible by comparison, but it was bad enough. I wondered what in me was so able to readily give Seth my reassurance in the moment, but now I find myself returning to the story again and again like aggravating a sore tooth. I can't seem to let it alone. I suppose those past actions don't fit the present man I know. The man I thought I knew. You might think he's disappointed me in some way, let me down, as it were. I don't think that's it, although I was mildly shocked to discover that a man like Seth has clay feet. But I really think it has very little to do with his story at all, which, really, is quite pedestrian in so far as men and grief. I think it has more to do with me and perhaps my inability to let go of my own lapse in judgment, profound though it was.

I've been reading St. Augustine, not in a scholarly way, more's the pity. No, I keep my copy on my nightstand table and I dip into it during those 3:00 a.m. mornings. I was surprised how much it helps…not that the language bores me and I nod off, no…but rather the more universal aspect of being human. That's what it boils down to. That's what Seth confessed to me, and I suppose even Preston was being human when he took the lives of two people in an attempt to spare his own comfortable existence. But don't draw the erroneous conclusion that merely because their names appear together in the same sentence that their confessions were in any way similar.

I suppose I compare them because each has been personally meaningful to me, but that isn't quite right, either. Seth doesn't deserve such damning praise. Preston was the shoals against which my pride in my judgement broke.

I consider Seth my true north. He keeps me yar. I don't know what I'd do without him. I don't have many girlfriends, anyway, and none really in Cabot Cove. I just never really did get on with any of the women here. We're friendly, of course, but I could never confide my deepest thoughts to any of them. Not like you, dear. Not even Seth, really, though I could tell him almost as much as I do you. In a curious way, after last night's confession, I almost feel compelled to tell him about Preston. But I won't. There's no need.

I'll close now, Claire. The less said about Preston Giles, the better.

Love,

Jess