Bearer of the Bail
Nick was sobering up. He hated sobering up in jail, and for the n'th time he kicked himself about it, about having too much whiskey on a Saturday night and getting into an argument over a card game. He knew he should never do that, especially when the game was full of strangers he didn't know who were drinking as much as he was.
"Oh, I gotta cut this out," he moaned to himself.
It was dark outside the barred window. He didn't really know what time it was, but he knew he had to have been here for a couple hours at least or he wouldn't be feeling his sense come back. Thank heaven Jarrod had gone off with Heath and their mother to Stevensville – a nice, long stage trip. They wouldn't be wiring home until they got to Stevensville so they didn't have to know he was here in Stockton, in jail, sobering up. He wouldn't have to get another lecture from his older brother when he brought the bail.
The bail….
Nick moaned again. Nobody was home. Even Audra was off to Denver to visit an old school friend. Who was going to bring the bail?
The cell block door opened and the sheriff came in. He unlocked the cell door, saying, "Your bail money is here, Nick. You're free to go."
Nick stood up, still a little wobbly on his feet and in his stomach. "Who brought it?" he asked, confused.
"Come on," the sheriff said and opened the door wide.
Still wondering, Nick went into the office area – and stopped. There he was, as calm as ever, wearing that plain expression he always wore. Never judging, never annoyed, never put out. Always Silas.
The sheriff handed Nick his hat and his holster and gun. Feeling like he was about six years old, Nick said, "Thanks, Silas."
"You're welcome, Mr. Nick," Silas said.
Nick and the sheriff exchanged looks – the sheriff's face saying Aren't you ashamed of yourself? And Nick was. He'd gotten in trouble and in jail at night before but never – never – had Silas had to come and bail him out.
The sheriff said, "Settle up with the Empire in the morning and I'll drop the charges."
"Thanks," Nick said.
Silas stood by the door and let Nick go out ahead of him. Silas had followed and closed the door behind them before the sheriff let himself chuckle.
A Barkley buggy was waiting out front, and Nick's mount was already tethered behind it. Nick climbed in and grabbed the reins as Silas unhitched the rig and climbed in beside him. They looked at each other. Silas's calm expression spoke volumes.
"What, you think you oughtta drive?" Nick snarled. It was only a half snarl.
"I think you might be happier if I did," Silas said.
Nick handed him the reins and slumped back in the seat. Silas silently drove them out of town.
Nick was starting to get a headache. When they hit a bump in the road, he jumped and blurted out, "Silas, can't you miss the ruts?"
"It's dark out here, Mr. Nick," Silas said quietly, "but I'll try to do better."
Nick muttered and moaned and grumbled when Silas slowed to make the bumps easier to endure. "At this rate it'll be morning before we get home."
Silas just said, "I'll get us there as soon and as smooth as I can."
Nick grumbled some more and slumped some more. At least there was some moonlight making the roads more visible as soon as they came out of the trees, but now the moonlight was in his face. Nick felt the light drilling into him like an ice pick through his forehead. He grumbled some more.
Silas kept silent and kept driving.
Nick pondered things when they turned a bit and the moonlight was less punishing. The more he thought, the more irritated he got – with himself. Having the butler bail him out and drive him home after a night of too much drinking – thank heaven the family wasn't home to see this.
"I'm sorry, Silas," Nick finally said, breaking the silence.
"What for, Mr. Nick?" Silas asked.
Nick had to think about how to answer that. "For making you come all the way into town to bail me out and for yelling at you just because you hit a bump or two."
"I guess you've had a rough night, Mr. Nick," Silas said.
"That doesn't mean I had to unload it on you," Nick said. "You used your own money to bail me out, didn't you?"
"I keep some money handy for emergencies," Silas said.
"You never had to bail me out of jail before, though."
"No. Mr. Jarrod usually does that."
"All right, all right," Nick said. "I get to drinking too much and I turn into a dissolute piece of – " He didn't finish it with the word he was thinking of. He just said, "I gotta cut that out, don't I?"
"I'm not telling you what to do, Mr. Nick," Silas said. "You got your own mind."
"It doesn't work very well sometimes, does it?"
"I'm not saying that."
"Well, what are you saying?!"
Silas remained very calm and drove a little to the side of the road to avoid a rut so deep he could actually see it. "I'm saying you know your own mind by now."
By now, Nick thought. He had turned 30 only a month before. "You think I'm too old to be drinking too much in a saloon and getting into a fight and getting arrested, don't you?"
Silas didn't answer right away. He avoided another rut and said, "I'm saying you know your own mind, Mr. Nick. I'm not telling you what to do."
"Maybe you ought to," Nick muttered. Then, more quietly, to himself, he muttered, "I am too old for this."
Silas heard him but didn't comment.
Nick said, "I'll get some money out of the safe and pay you back in the morning."
"Whenever you can, Mr. Nick," Silas said.
"Why do you have to be so agreeable, Silas?!" Nick blurted, and thought too late that he shouldn't have said such a thing to a man who had been a slave for a big chunk of his life. Of course, he was agreeable. Once upon a time, he had to be overly agreeable to avoid getting whipped. "I'm sorry, Silas," Nick said more quietly. "I oughtta be more agreeable myself."
"If you think so, Mr. Nick," Silas said.
Nick mused out loud. "I'm over 30 now. Thirty. I didn't used to think that was such a big deal, but I look at my brothers – Jarrod's over 30, Heath's still way under it, but both of them are more agreeable than I am. I drink too much when I go into town for a card game and I get ornery when I do."
Nick left off. It was a while before Silas just said, "Sometimes."
Nick thought about that. Silas was right. It didn't always happen that way. It wasn't that he was incapable of being sensible and agreeable. It was just – "Sometimes I act stupid."
"Most everybody does, sometimes," Silas said.
"There you go, being agreeable again," Nick said, but this time he said it with a smile and a small laugh.
Silas smiled a little in the darkness. "You know your own mind, Mr. Nick."
"All right," Nick said. "I hereby resolve that I will never need you to bail me out of jail again."
Silas smiled a little more. He might have said, We'll see, but he didn't. He'd watched Nick grow up from a boy of four to a man of 30 and if there was one thing he'd learned about this Barkley, you didn't try to talk sense into him. If you talked to him right, he'd work his mind around the right way by himself.
And Silas had 26 years of practice at that. He just said, "Thank you, Mr. Nick. That'll be fine."
The End