Death Has Its Price

Chapter 27 – Eureka!

There was a knock on the door and he opened it to find his brother standing there. "Manager's here," Bret told him. "Let's go."

"Where's Doc this mornin'?" Bart asked.

"Same place Doc is every mornin' at this time. In bed, asleep. He didn't come back with you, did he?"

"Nope."

"God only knows what time he went to bed, or what time he'll get up. I think he wanted you and me to do this, anyway. Just in case."

They walked downstairs together, one brother who wanted to remember and one brother who wanted to forget. Jimmy was at the front desk and brightened considerably when he saw the Mavericks. "Good morning, gentleman. Mr. McKinnon just got here this morning. He's in his office." He indicated a door behind the front desk counter. Bret knocked and they heard a voice call "Come in."

Harold McKinnon was a smallish man, with a full head of red hair and a glorious mustache to match. "Mr. Maverick, so happy to see you again. And this must be your brother. Well, we're all so glad that he found you. He and Doctor Holliday were quite beside themselves looking for you. Please, have a seat."

They sat in the chairs in front of his desk, and he produced a box that Bart could see contained a set of saddlebags and a black, leather-bound book. "You have a receipt for me to sign, Mr. McKinnon?" Bret inquired.

"Yes, sir, I do, right here." The man handed Bret a piece of paper which he signed for the box of possessions.

"Here ya go, Bart," and Bret gave him the box. "Everything in here is yours. Thanks, Mr. McKinnon, you made this a whole lot easier than it could have been otherwise." Bret rose and shook hands with the manager. Bart did the same, then picked up the box and left the way they'd come in.

"Sure didn't leave much behind, did I?" Bart asked his brother as they went back upstairs to Bart's room.

"More than some folks," Bret told him.

"What if I don't ever remember my past, Bret?" There was worry, and fear, and doubt in Bart's voice. He set the box on the bed. "What if I'm like this forever?"

"Then we'll make new memories to replace the old ones." He grabbed his brother by the arms and held on, ready to shake some sense into him if necessary. "IT. DOESN'T. MATTER. All that matters is you and me and the rest of our family. We've got all our lives for you to remember. Understand?"

"I got it, Brother Bret." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he'd said them before.

Once again Bret looked delighted. "I've been hopin' to hear that, Brother Bart."

He turned loose of his brother then, a big smile on his face. "Let's see what you used to carry, shall we?"

"You haven't looked? You've had this stuff all this time and you haven't looked at it?"

"It's not mine."

"What if you hadn't found me?"

"Ah, but I did."

Bart sighed. Somehow he knew this was Bret Maverick logic and there was no arguing with it. He picked up the black leather book. He assumed it to be his mother's Bible, and he opened the inside cover. On the first page, there was an inscription – faded but readable. 'To my beautiful, bewitching Belle. On our wedding day. Forever yours, Beauregard.'

Belle. His mother. Beautiful, bewitching Belle. He had a flash of memory and he saw her for a moment, the way she'd looked before she got sick. She had dark hair and darker eyes, and the most dazzling smile he'd ever seen. She held a little boy, no more than two or three years old, his arms reaching for her neck and snuggled against her bosom, and he knew it was him. It was so real, and such a jolt, that he dropped abruptly to the bed and clutched the Bible to his chest. He gasped and caught his breath, fighting to get air into his suddenly deflated lungs.

Something at the window had caught Bret's eye; he had his back turned to the bed and didn't see the reaction from his brother. When he turned back around he was surprised to see Bart gripping the Bible, tears running down his face. "I saw her, Bret, I saw momma."

"Anything else?" his brother asked anxiously.

"Isn't that enough?"

Bret nodded his head, acutely aware of how emotional the glimpse of their mother had been for Bart. "That's enough, little brother. That's more than enough."

XXXXXXXX

The rest of the box had been set aside, to be dealt with later. Bart was so emotionally drained by the vision of his mother that both he and Bret decided to wait before looking at anything else. "I think you should be clear-headed and clear-eyed when you tackle the rest of your belongings," his brother offered as an explanation, and Bart agreed with him.

Later that morning Doc finally appeared downstairs in the dining room as the Mavericks were finishing a late breakfast. "Well, good morning Bret and mystery guest. Which man do we have with us today, Pre-Bart or post-Bart?"

"Very funny, Doc. Sit down and have some coffee with your whiskey."

Doc surprisingly did as directed. "Any change this morning?"

"I remembered my mother," Bart answered.

"I take it that was a much more joyous event than my remembering would have been," Doc offered. "Anything else?"

'Hungry," Bret commented.

"Ah, yes, the well-known Bret Maverick appetite."

"I can't help being hungry," Bret snapped back. "You live on whiskey and Bart lives on coffee. I happen to prefer food."

"Play nice, boys," Bart advised. He looked at his brother. "Now that you can't complain about being hungry anymore, I'd like to go back to that box upstairs."

Bret utilized his napkin and nodded at his brother's request. "Works for me. You wanna come, Doc?"

"No, gentlemen, I leave the hard labor to the two of you. Now that he who was lost has been found, I have some poker playing to take care of."

Bart stood and clapped Doc on the shoulder. "Thanks for everything, Doc." He dropped money on the table and started out the dining room door.

"That goes double for me, Doc. I couldn't have done it without you." Bret added as he followed Bart up the steps and back through the hotel.

Bart stopped as he unlocked the hotel room door. "What if nothin' happens?"

Bret shrugged. "Nothin'. Life goes on. We decide what we're doin' next and go do it." He put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'm just not lettin' you outta my sight, that's all."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"What if one of us gets married?"

"Ever!"

They laughed as Bart opened the door. The first thing either of them saw was the box, now devoid of everything but the saddlebags.

Bart walked to the bed and sat down, gingerly removing the bags from the box they sat in. He handled them as if they were a rattlesnake. Finally, he could put it off no longer and took a deep breath, opening one incredibly carefully. Inside was a Charles Dickens book, 'Great Expectations,' and a 'Book of Poker According to Hoyle', and two white handkerchiefs. Nothing else. Bart looked over the objects, handling each as if they were made of gold. Then looked up at his brother. Nothing.

"Sorry, Bret, nothin's familiar."

His brother tried not to react. What effect would it have on Bart if he knew how disappointed Bret was? "There's a pocket under a flap on the strap. Look there." Bart looked at his brother questioningly. "Never mind how I know it's there, just look."

Bart did as he was told and found the pocket. He reached inside and pulled out a small black bag, opening it carefully. Inside was a pair of black opal and gold cuff links – the same pair momma left to her youngest son when she died. He unwrapped them and examined them protectively, somehow knowing how valuable they were to both brothers. He shook his head. "They're beautiful. Where'd they come from?"

Bret sighed, then sat down in the chair next to the bed and told his brother the story of momma's gift and how he'd lost and then regained them for his brother. When he was through Bart looked at him with a new-found respect and a profound sense of sadness. "I'm sorry she left them to me and not you. That doesn't seem quite fair."

Bret almost chuckled. "That's alright. I didn't realize it at the time, but she left me something worth just as much, if not more – you."

"I wish I could say I remember them – but I don't."

"That's understandable – you've got another whole side."

Bart unbuckled the bag and reached in, not sure what he'd find. Pretty mundane possessions, thus far. What he touched was soft and rough at the same time, and it seemed to 'squish' under his fingers. He looked down at the object he'd withdrawn from the saddlebag. A dirty and bedraggled hand-made doll, with one eye and a lopsided, sewn-on smile and an 'end-of-the-world' look. And he remembered everything.

Caroline, the ranch, Lon Tenley and Thurgood Schafer, six wild months in Mexico, Silver Creek and Jody Mayfield, the trial and Bret's last minute rescue, their Cousin Beau, Anderson Garrett and his daughter Rose, the stabbing that nearly killed him, Samantha Crawford and their 'almost' love affair, the dream about Caroline and their twins, the riverboat voyage from hell, Millie Ridgeway and the attempted poisoning, the earthquake in Mexico, the rockslide in the Superstition Mountains, Pappy, Momma, and Bret. Most of all Bret.

"Bart, Bart, look at me, Bart. Breathe. C'mon, son, breathe. Don't do this to me." It took him a minute to realize that Bret was gently slapping his face, trying to wake him up or bring him around or something, and he was lying on his bed and his brother was bent over him, looking terrified. "Bart, wake up. Say something. Bart."

Bart grabbed his brother's hand. "Bret."

Bret stopped in mid-slap. Something in the way Bart had just said his name was different, with love and affection instead of confusion and doubt.

"Bart? Is it you? Is it really you?"

"Breton Joseph Maverick. Brother Bret."

Bret grabbed his 'little brother' up off the mattress and wrapped him in a giant bear-hug. "Everything?" was all he could ask.

"I think so," Bart answered.

"Momma's name?" Bret questioned.

"Belle."

"Uncle Ben's housekeeper?"

Bart laughed. "That's easy. Lily Mae."

"What hand did you beat Seth Johnson with?

"Four queens."

"And the chicken we set on fire?"

"We? You mean you and Beau!"

"Bart!"

XXXXXXXX

They were sitting quietly in Bart's room, some several hours later. They'd shared the news with Doc, who'd just smiled that 'Doc' smile and gone right back to playing poker. After returning to the hotel they spent the rest of the day talking, reminiscing and catching Bart up on all the things that had occurred in the last year. Including the sad news about Beau's wife, Georgia. "How's he doin'?"

"Not good," Bret relayed. "But I got a wire from Jody just before Doc and I left for the Stanhope Ranch. She said he decided to stay in Silver Creek for a while, at least until spring. And that he was starting to settle down some. It's gonna take time, Bart, you know that."

"Yeah, I do." Bart was silent for a minute, thinking. "Bret, I wanna go home."

"To Dry Springs?"

Bart shook his head. "No. To Texas. To Little Bend. To see Uncle Ben and Lily Mae. And to make amends with Pappy. I've been too hard on him for too long. I want him to know how I feel about him. It's long overdue, don't ya think?"

"Yeah. I do. You're sure? Back to Texas?"

"Brother Bret, I've never been more sure of anything in my life. How much trouble can we get into in Little Bend?"

The End

Tomorrow – A One Shot Follow-Up

'Death's Aftermath – Joplin'