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Notes Chapter 5: Thank you very much for the reviews for last chapter - please continue reviewing! I hope you're still enjoying this. Thanks for all alerts and favourites, and to: afrozenheart412 for some extra thoughts; and California Fox and Juliette for reviewing 'Sunset'.
Please review and let me know what you think, I'd really appreciate that. Dedicated to iluvCSI4ever for nagging me to update and reading :D
Once Upon A Time In the Old West
Chapter 5: Way Out West
Sid:
It has to be said, it is not a regular occurrence for customers to fall at my feet. The usual habit is for loved ones, or otherwise, to call on me, and a wagon is brought round, always with the utmost discretion. Sometimes, admittedly, customers have come to me in more unusual circumstances. I remember the time one poor fellow was left outside my door in a handcart with a label round his neck, having been found in the hills by some good-hearted fur trappers. He was given a decent and honest burial, but we never did discover his name. There have been other cases of that nature, all of them buried in the town cemetery, each with an unmarked wooden cross; God rest their souls.
Thinking of customers' unusual circumstances also brings to mind poor Mr Edwards, who kept the remains of his dear wife…
"Hammerback!"
Taylor's calling me and it seems he wants me to have a closer look at the dead man. In all honesty, I expect this man, and most of my customers, would rather not be patrons of S. Hammerback and Son, Undertakers. But in life, death is inevitable and I take comfort and a certain amount of pride in belonging to an honest and ancient profession. Although not the oldest profession in the world, it bears saying. That would not bear thinking about…
The truth is, that in a profession such as mine, I will never run out of customers until I run out of life itself. And I hope sincerely that it is a long time before that happens; I have too many things yet to do, including seeing my dear girls happy and married with families of their own, continuing the proud name of Hammerback… even though it will be under a different name. I sometimes wish we had also been blessed with a son, but I cannot make any complaints; Martha and I have been blessed enough with two remarkable girls who would make any father proud.
I wonder if this poor fellow had any family? If so, it is sad news they'll be receiving only a few weeks before Christmas. Yes, it is the tragedy of life, that even in the midst of it, death can strike; and it's something that takes most folks by surprise, as this poor fellow lying on the floor of Miss Stella's saloon has once again proved. The nature of my business is something I think about on quieter afternoons in the parlour, before Miss Monroe's children emerge from the schoolhouse, and before Miss Stella's patrons converge on the Saloon. Evidence of the cycle of life, it has to be said.
We're a small town, but we have all seven ages of man represented, as Mr Shakespeare so eloquently puts it. All the world's a stage indeed. And tonight in our little world of Hattanville, the stage seems to have been set for a dark and deadly mystery; a dead man, a bullet and talk of ghosts. I can see folks are looking nervous and casting their eyes around, as if expecting phantoms to be appearing out of the blizzards. Which as science and evidence tells me, is not something that will happen, but superstition's a powerful thing, and as I bend over to examine the man more closely, if it weren't for the bullet hole in his chest, I could almost believe he had been frightened to death.
As I told Mr Flack earlier today, however, I do not believe in ghosts or spirits, and I will continue to disbelieve until science proves me otherwise, yes sir. It certainly is a disconcerting thing though, to have a man fall through the door with a cry for help that came too late, and to hear his dying words whispering of other worlds.
What other worlds do we go to beyond this one I wonder? And if so, what can we expect? I wonder how a humble town undertaker and historian such as myself would be received, and where I would be received. Possibly it is a place similar to the vast wilderness we live in here; with the majesty of mountains and clouds; or possibly it is a little like Idaho.
If only my customers could share with me what they see when I send them on their way into the always unknown. What tales dead men, and indeed women, could tell. This poor fellow in front of us all was taken too soon before he could finish his tale. Dead men tell no tales? I rather fancy they do. Oh yes indeed. And so do the living as well; there are plenty of tales to be had from the residents of Hattanville, and it's been my privilege to write them down for the generations to come to learn from and enjoy, and this man's tale is one that will be told for many dark winter evenings to come…
"Hammerback! Any thoughts?" Taylor barks at me.
The Sheriff, I believe, is not a man who spends his time pondering on the great mysteries of life and death, he simply makes it the business of his life to make sure his citizens do not come to an untimely death, and that there is justice at least for those who do. This poor man lying in front of us will have the comfort of knowing that the Sheriff of Hattanville will not rest until he has answers to this mystery.
It may be I can provide some for him, as I've noticed something as I'm bending over the man's deceased form.
"Do you see this, Taylor?" I point to a mark on his leather waistcoat. Taylor peers in for a closer look, and Miss Stella leans over too, resting a hand on his shoulder. I fear it is not entirely suitable for a lady to be involved in such a situation, but then it has to be said that Miss Stella, not least in the eyes of Taylor, is no ordinary lady.
"I see a man with a bullet hole in his chest. What else do you see, Hammerback?"
"This." And I point out to him, and all the other folks who have crowded round, a dusting of black powder on the dead man's waistcoat.
"I am almost certain this substance is gunpowder. It has a very distinct texture."
Distinctly dangerous properties too, as I had the misfortune to discover during a most unfortunate incident a few months ago, when a scientific experiment did not go quite as planned. Fortunately, there was very little damage done, thanks to Martha's quick thinking and actions with a bucket of water. I escaped with no more damage than singed hair and eyebrows, which took a while to grow back, giving me a lopsided expression for quite some weeks. It caused one or two of the more sensitive folks in town to look at me with expressions approaching alarmed until I regained my usual appearance. Since that time I have been more cautious with my experiments, leaving things of an explosive nature to other people…
"Gunpowder? What the heck's this man doin' with gunpowder on his waistcoat?" Mr Flack demands.
"If I knew the answer to that, I would gladly tell you, young sir. But it seems to me that a logical explanation would be that he brushed against some gunpowder, thus transferring it to his waistcoat…"
"From the gunpowder works, maybe. Stands to reason, don't you think, Mac?" Miss Stella looks expectantly at Taylor, and I see the look he returns her. Almost seems at times as if the Sheriff of Hattanville and the Saloon owner don't even need words. It's often the way between Martha and myself, it has to be said; I know when I've prattled on too long, or have taken up an unwise hobby when a certain frown and lowering of the eyebrows occurs in her dear face. Yes, Martha is a woman to be admired. And feared too at times. As is Miss Stella, as I suspect many of the men in town have found. Not that they would admit it to anyone. Though I have noticed a certain, shall we say, caution, on Mr Daniel Messer's countenance whenever he encounters the very fair Saloon owner.
I myself have had no cause to raise the wrath of Miss Stella, but I have seen many a time when Taylor has. Some of the disagreements they have had in the past have fair shaken the roof tiles off the Sheriff's office. I remember the time when Taylor had taken…
"You sure this is gunpowder, Hammerback?" The man in question is giving me a certain look. Taylor is someone who can speak most eloquently without words, and I see a man who is saying to me quite clearly that he is looking for answers, as rapidly as possible.
"I would swear to and bet on it, if I was a swearing or a betting man, Sheriff."
As it stands, I am neither. I strive to be nothing less than a gentleman, and cursing in particular is most definitely not gentlemanly behaviour; though the younger fellows in town now and again let a curse slip, and I have been most embarrassed on occasion to have heard unladylike words escape Miss Stella's lips. Regarding betting, I've heard rumours in town that Mr Messer has a bet concerning the Saloon owner and her pistols. But I know nothing about this of course…
"Anythin' else you notice?" Mr Flack asks, tapping his foot on the ground. He is also a man very keen for answers on matters, and I'm happy to oblige him, as he is a good man in an age when they are often hard to find. Hattanville, however, is a town with no shortage of them. Good women too, and I'm happy to see that Mr Flack has found himself a good woman in the very ladylike form of Miss Jessica Angell. Yes indeed, it gives me, a man of more senior years, a warm glow in my heart to see the courting of younger folks who are dear to me.
"Nothing else that stands out at present, although I suggest we take this unfortunate gentleman over to my parlour and we can examine him in more private circumstances." I answer him.
It has struck me that we are very much in public, and it seems most unseemly for a dead man to be talked over and examined in front of the whole of Hattanville, and in the presence of ladies, some of whom are very gentle souls. It would be a terrible thing to have any incidences of the vapours amongst them. Even with Miss Stella's spirits, of the alcoholic kind, to hand.
"Sounds like a good plan to me." Taylor says and straightens up. Then with a nod to me, he turns and raises his voice to address the townsfolk who are all craning their necks to see, "All right folks, here's what we're gonna do. First, I want to thank each and every one of you for comin' out tonight in weather as unsociable as this, I'm mighty grateful to you all. As you can see, we got a lot to be thinkin' about and doin', but followin' the tragic events we've just witnessed, we're gonna have to attend to certain things first. Before you all return to your firesides, I gotta ask a favour of those who remember Isaac Stephenson, the builder of Hattanville, or any of you whose parents and grandparents knew him. Any tales or knowledge of him might help us in findin' these deeds, and I'd be mighty grateful to have any information, however small or insignificant it might seem, as it could be what we need to save our town."
A mighty cheer arises at the Sheriff's words, and promises come from every corner to undertake what he has asked. Then the bar begins to empty and folks make their way back to homes and hearths. Very soon, there are only a few folks left; myself, Taylor, Miss Stella, Mr Flack, Miss Angell, Doctor Hawkes, and his companion, Miss Higgins.
"What now, Mac?" Mr Flack turns to the Sheriff with his thumbs hooked in his belt and a concentrating look on his face, "We takin' him over to Hammerback's?"
"That still suitin' you?" Taylor asks me.
"By all means; I would not have made the offer otherwise. I suggest we cover him as decently as we can against the snow, and carry him over there."
"I got just the thing!" Miss Stella hurries off, returning in moments with a large sheet that appears to be covered in marks of some sort. Marks that appear to be paint. "Got this for coverin' up some of my furniture when Mac tried redecoratin' in here a few months back."
She gives the Sheriff a laughing look. Gracious me, I believe this is the second time tonight she has brought a blush to the cheeks of Hattanville's Sheriff.
Mr Flack looks highly amused as he takes the sheet, "What happen, Mac? You have a little accident with the brush? Manage to get anythin' on the walls at all?"
I feel a certain amount of sympathy for Taylor, but he retains his dignity as always and simply shrugs at his Deputy.
"Turns out that paintin' an entire saloon is not as easy as I first thought, Don."
Miss Stella pats him on the arm, "It ain't Mac, and you did your best. And it certainly gave an interestin' look for a while to the walls."
I would describe it as a definite snort of laughter that Mr Flack gives, however he says no more and does a sterling job of supervising the wrapping of the dead man by myself and Doctor Hawkes, and we are soon transporting him back to my parlour.
Doctor Hawkes, Taylor and I carry him between us whilst Mr Flack and Miss Angell walk with Miss Stella and Miss Higgins; Mr Flack seemed most anxious to accompany the ladies, so the Doctor and Taylor offered to assist me with the carrying of our dead friend.
In no time at all we have reached the parlour and find my dear, good Martha has set out for us steaming mugs of cocoa and plates of sandwiches. It takes even less time for Mr Flack to find his way towards them. However, he remains a gentleman as always and does not forget to offer them round to everyone first before taking a handful. Martha looks delighted as always to have her food appreciated and gives Mr Flack one of her special smiles. I do believe she has a special place in her heart for the Deputy of Hattanville; he certainly always finds a place in his stomach for her cooking and baking.
The dead man is found a suitable resting place for the night, and our little party settles in front of the fire in my sitting room. I cannot help standing by the window to look out at the snow that whirls down in dizzying fashion. Cold and terrible are the forces of nature in our corner of the world, and I thank heaven that I'm safe indoors on such a night, and my friends are safe here with me too.
But not for long it seems. Taylor's looking a restless soul indeed and has refused all offers of food. Something is on his mind, and I can see Miss Stella has noticed too as she's watching Taylor closely. Finally, he rises from his chair and stands with his back to the fire facing us all.
"Mac?" Miss Stella joins him, and the rest of us fall silent at the serious expression that has settled on Taylor's face. He has a look of determination in his eyes, and they're stormier than the blizzard that's raging just beyond the thin pane of glass in the window.
He sighs heavily and looks round at all of us, "We got ourselves a mighty big problem here." He says, "And it's one I ain't gonna keep waitin' till mornin'. Somethin's badly wrong at the gunpowder works; talk of ghosts, talk of strange noises, and a man who dies at our feet. These are troublin' things, and things I can't allow to happen to the folks of Hattanville."
"What you sayin', Mac? Can't say I'm rightly followin' you here. Care to elaborate?" Mr Flack finishes chewing on his sandwich and gives the Sheriff a curious look.
"What I'm sayin' is this, Don." Taylor answers him slowly, "I'm sayin' I'm gonna head out there tonight, to find out the truth of whatever's happenin'. If I wait till mornin' it gives wrong-doers a chance to be escapin', and I can't take that risk. I got a feelin' this is all connected; the railroad company, the missin' deeds and the murder of the man who's now lyin' in a pine coffin in the other room…"
Miss Stella has taken a hold of Taylor's arm; fierce only just begins to describe the expression on her face, and the curls escaping from the decorated combs she wears in her hair seem to be quivering with anger.
"You ain't tellin' me you're ridin' off out to the gunpowder works tonight, Mac! Have you seen the weather out there? I know you're a man who acts on impulse at times, but this ain't impulsive, it's madness! You ain't goin' and that's that!" She folds her arms and presses her lips together.
Mr Flack's stood up too, and we got a square of people facin' each other here; myself standin' a little awkwardly, Mr Flack, Taylor and Miss Stella. Miss Angell, Miss Higgins, Doctor Hawkes and Martha are in their seats and lookin' between us. It would be fair to say you could cut the air with one of Martha's cake knives.
"I gotta agree with Stella on this, Mac. No way in hell you can be thinkin' of goin' out there tonight in this kinda' weather! You'll get yourself killed sure as anythin'."
"And I ain't havin' that, Mac Taylor!" Miss Stella pulls him round to face her, "I understand why you want to do this, I do, but you gotta realise you can't go puttin' yourself in danger like this!"
We've got two strong-headed people facing each other, neither of whom want to back down.
"I'm Sheriff of this town, and that brings responsibilities, Stella. This is a problem I gotta solve and it can't wait." Taylor's also folded his arms, and there's a look of stubbornness on his face I recognise well. Here stands a man who won't be moved; but it seems Miss Stella has not said all she has to say on the subject.
"Well then, if you're set on headin' out there tonight, the only thing I can do is make sure you ain't headin' out there alone!"
"And just what are you meanin' by that?" Taylor sends a dagger of a glare at her, which she deflects with an equally sharp look of her own.
"I'm comin' with you!"
Sorry this took a while to post, I hope it was worth the wait, please review and let me know! Also, please take a look at my one shot 'Sunset'; and 'Twelve Days of Christmas', a collaborative story under the name Lily and Blue. Thanks, Lily x