Close to midnight, the world around them seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. A warrior's gust galloped over the shadowy green luster of the trees, driving the torrid summer back with its war cry which howled down into the thick woods. The sky cast her tenebrous cloak spotting here and there with rolling charcoal clouds which smoked out the shining sparkle of every incandescent star. Opening every graveled pore and crevice the soil of the earth seemed to stretch sensory towards the coming silvery mist. Effervescent with the tingling musky fragrance of rain the ground softened and made ready for the parting of summer.
The clouds strung out through the velvet night misting every flower, rock, and tree. Glistening like a diamond dusted jewel the tamed wild basked richly as the sky eddied in peach swirls highlighted by white cottoned puffs of cloud tinted with a cool shade of periwinkle blue. The twilight of night fell back nearly in venerable awe, that the brilliance of morning had arrived. There was a crisp fresh coolness to the air lifting the spirit of the dew dripping champagne honeysuckle. Crimson and lush the roses bloomed, as their petals glittered with thick crystallized droplets from the nights misting. The fat gnarled trunks of the trees seemed to billow their bellies with delight as their dancing branches shimmered lace like torrents of opalescent rain from their heavy boughs onto the hawthorn and wormwood thickets. This sent a musky aroma up into the houses open windows tantalizing it's occupants into a wakeful state.
Every muscle in his body stretched without a single limb adjusting position. Jake inhaled the sweet rose scent from her glistening curling hair. It had dried in thick tight satin ropes curling in waves which veiled her pillow. Not a single line of tension traced her slumbering oval face, where she slept tucked beneath him. Her white cotton chemise dipped modestly over her chest leaving her arms and shoulders bare. Jake ran his white finger down along the creamy lightly browned flesh of Teresa's arm without waking her. He didn't think he had slept so soundly in days. That night after he'd helped Teresa from the copper tub, he'd sent her wrapped and caped in two linen towels, upstairs while he cleaned up. On his arrival into the bedroom, he'd discovered she'd slipped into her white cotton chemise and a pair of his white muslin short drawers. Although, she'd wrung out her hair, it blotched the thin fabric of her garments turning them translucent under her wet locks. After stripping down into his own ivory cotton johns, they'd crawled tiredly into bed. As usual, Jake had draped his leg over her thigh feeling her mold back into his body, tucking herself comfortably beneath him. Jake waited until he thought she'd slipped away into the confines of sleep, before he nudged her closer into the crook of his lap. It was as though she couldn't be close enough, and couldn't be more entwined with him. It wasn't desire or pleasure he was after, but pure affectionate intimacy. Then he felt it. Her hand floated up and behind her shoulder gently caressing his neck.
"I am yours," she whispered into a yawn. "All yours, my heart."
Now as he watched the mornings light brighten her face, Jake felt a pang strike at his heart. It was the exact same pang that he'd felt the first time he'd spoken to her outside the barbershop all those years ago. Deciding to allow her to sleep in a little longer, Jake quickly dressed, grabbing his boots up under his arm, he quietly crept down the hall and peeped into the nursery.
The tightly knit three had yet to stir. Pillows and blankets had been arranged in a semicircle on the floor, around a solitary oil lamp which had completely burned down. Lucy and Izzy were nestled under each crook of Cloud Dancing's arms, as they slept soundly. The only noise to be heard was a petite nipping as Izzy dreamily sucked on her thumb. Jake nudged back one side of his mouth, letting it curl up into a laughing smirk, before he retreated from the doorway and skipped down the steps. So breakfast was on him, he thought plopping down at the bottom of the stairway and squeezing his feet into his boots.
A fine frosty draft slid in under the slither of a gap beneath the door, splashing invisibly against Jake's hands as he finished tying up his laces. The chilled sensation drew his eye to scrutinize the odd shadowy break in the line of light beneath the door. Brows raised curiously, Jake paced down the dim foyer and wrapped his long fingers around the bulbous brass knob. Cool and slick it clacked mental against metal in his grasp. Jake wasn't expecting anything odious, or anyone for that matter. His very being was still elated and complacent over the previous night's revelation. His wife loved him. Suddenly, the thought of Randall McCoy's fondness for Teresa stung a little less. Jake felt a little more strength in his faith that Celina could be dealt with. Here Jake opened wide the door and looked down at the object of his destruction.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The telegraph man was the oddest fellow, Randall had ever chanced to lay his murky turquoise eyes on. His lips had pressed down hard on his habitual smile, locking back a chuckle as Mr. Bing goggled awkwardly in his direction. The man's lips seemed to pucker and yet squish forward as he scrutinized Randall's length. It wasn't until he'd handed the gangly fellow Ms. Teresa's note that those creased lips fanned out spreading into a welcoming smile that was all teeth and thankfully no gums.
"Why you must be Mr. McCoy!" the lanky giant mused excitedly. "The whole town's buzzin' 'bout yah! You brought Mrs. Slicker home. It's a mighty nice thing yah did. Her little one's were just dyin' tah see her back. Now maybe Jake'll set himself tah-"
Randall had held up his hand breaking in. He was positive if he hadn't the man would have spilled an entire chronicle on the, of late, unfortunate couple. "How much for the sending?"
"Oh if yer sendin this for Mrs. Slicker, Jake's still paid ahead of time, from when…" Horace seemed to check himself. "Well, from before."
Nevertheless, Randall had slid the steel money clip from the concealed pocket within the breast of his black and silver waistcoat, and pulled three bills free. He fanned them in the air as though he were showing Horace his hand at cards before tapping them down inside the office window.
"For your trouble," his voice was steady and his eyes arched pleasantly, disarming Horace of any ill thought.
"Aw, th-that's awlright. You ain't gotta tip me," Horace began to push the money back with his long spoon tipped fingers. But Randall held firm never loosing his easygoing swagger as he leaned into the window.
"Then let it be for your discreetness, over that wire," Randall stood back nodding his head graciously to Horace who smiled despite his new curiosity for this boyish and yet hard sort of man.
"Thank you just the same!" Horace yelled as the Randall had walked away. "You can count on me! I-I took an oath!"
Now with the morning hours so blissfully cool, and the town springing to life before his eyes, it was dawning on Randall that Colorado Springs was one heck of a town. It surprised him how colorful and quirkily contrasting the people of the town seemed to be. They were like the wafting white clouds in the sky. No two were the same shape and yet they drifted together no matter the wind or the storm. Randall strode across the unmarked intersection from the Gold Nugget to the Mercantile. There was a gruff smacking sound of a fist striking down on glass. The panes rattled but didn't break. Stepping up on the wooden walk, Randall patiently perched his shoulder against a weathered post which was helping to hold up the walks roof.
"You ain't gonna git much outta me, Loren!" Hank's voice was thick with grit and pulsing with defiance. "If yah won't listen tah Dorothy, yah won't listen tah Michaela, YAH won't listen tah ME…What's it gonna take old man? A council meetin'."
"Ah, I ain't seen none what any of you are talking about!" Loren's voice was a wall of defense. "I sat right next tah all three of 'em in church and not a thing happened! Now I say until one of them comes out fightin' or fretin' it's none of my concern! An' it ain't a council matter unless yah got proof!"
"I'll get proof," Hank rumbled like a thunderous hammer.
A stern silence followed before Loren's much calmer question fell unanticipated on Hank's head. "Why do yah care so much Hank? If it's true, she sounds like your sort of ah gal."
Hank mumbled something then, which left Loren stunned and Randall wishing he had had the presence of mind to be more of an eavesdropper than a willful bystander. It had to have been something quite powerful for as Hank lumbered through the wide open doorway and crashed down the walk, Randall was sure he'd seen the man blushing.
Turning on his heel, Randall lifted his chin as he starred at Loren Bray from under the bowed brim of his black slouch hat. The cerulean hue of his eyes pierced through the shadow which cast on his face as he approached the counter. He waited for the shop owner to shake off the look of a ruffle feathered, gawking chicken, before he nodded in greeting.
"Help yah?" Loren's eyes shifted after Hank's stalking strides as he disappeared into the depths of the saloon front.
Randall tipped his hat back squeezing his left eye in thought, "Ah can of peaches…ah big can."
Loren shook his head jostling his cheeks slightly, as he jabbed his thumb at the shelves behind him. "Only, got jars. No cans."
"That'll do," Randall tilted his head into his crooked smile. He paused thoughtfully as he watched Loren retrieve a medium sized mason jar filled with slick chunkily sliced, syrupy sweet sunshine. He felt the glands up under his jaw tighten with anticipation.
"That'll be a dollar twenty-five," Loren waited drumming his polished round fingertips on the counter.
"Um," Randall looked around him a little sheepishly. "You ah wouldn't happen to have anything that teaches readin' and writin' would you?"
It was evident Loren was still disheveled from Hank's inaudible admission. He sighed irately, clearly wanting time alone to think, "Yeah, a school teacher!"
Randall chuckled lightly, unfazed by the retort, "That's alright, mister." Randall smiled warmly handing Loren seventy-five cents over what he owed. Taking his jar in one hand and tipping his hat to Loren genially in parting, Randall quipped, "Already got me one of those. But thank you kindly for the preserves."
As Loren watched the stranger leave, he shook his full head. There were too many of the wrong kind of people coming to town, he thought before resigning himself to contemplate what Hank had said.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
His fingers wrapped around the ceramic glazed handle lifting the dynamite object before him. The two toned brown jug felt heavy under it's full weight, and the liquid within sloshed maniacally, seeming to bang against the stout cork. Jake sucked in his breath as he held the whiskey jug away from his body as if it were about to explode. His mouth swelled like it was filled with cotton, making his now dry tongue rub grittily into the roof of his mouth. It wasn't just any jug of whiskey. It was from Hank's good stash. Hank wouldn't do this to him. It had to have been Celina. But how did she get her hands on such a dangerously secure nectar which Hank prized so dearly, that he kept it from even the highest paying hands?
No matter how Jake was repulsed by it, he found he couldn't relinquish it from his grasp. The contents were so familiar to him, even now, as he felt the troublesome drink splashing about within, Jake felt he could smell it. Smell the alcohol nipping at his nostrils, inviting his lips to partake of its undoubtedly smooth texture, as it slid down his practiced throat. Coming to his rescue, his reasoning rushed forward reminding him of the emptiness it would taste of. The taste of a foul stench, poor judgment, frighten souls he'd worked so hard to gain with devotion and love, disappointed and crushed hearts. And one unsuspecting little heart which had just wandered down stairs groggily rubbing her pearl gray and blue eyes, as she stepped towards him.
"Papa?" Lucy yawned. "What's that, Papa?"