ONE
Donald Granger sat behind his desk and counted out the
sizable collection of currency in front of him. Each bill had to be verified
by each of the appointed representatives before he could receipt the money
and begin the distribution of the funds, as it was required.
Mrs. Travis watched intently as each note was moved from one pile to the
other. It had been at Joseph Langdon’s request, that Mary be present
at the reading of his will. His family lawyer had concluded that it was
reasonable to assume that this same woman could serve as an impartial witness
to this particular task. Once again, her presence had been requested, and
the newspaperwoman was more than happy to give up an hour of her day. Silently,
Mary wondered if she would ever see this much money again.
As the second representative, and lawfully appointed executor of the estate,
Ezra stood behind Mary’s chair as the money was tallied. Like Mrs. Travis,
none of Joseph’s family had met the gambler before, and they instinctively
concluded that he was a responsible individual. Knowing this to be the case,
Standish presented a façade of a trustworthy, distinguished gentleman.
Inside, however, he was drooling so badly it hurt.
Karen Warner sat in the chair next to Mrs. Travis. As the elder daughter
of Joseph Langdon, Mrs. Warner was the third appointee required, to release
the trust account. She hadn’t been surprised that their father left
his ranch to her younger sibling Katrina, nor was she envious in any way.
Both sisters hated the cattle ranch, but while Karen hated the whole idea
of living in ‘the Wild West’, her little sister just disliked
the beasts that their father raised.
Doctor Charles Warner stood beside Karen and patiently waited as the final
bills were counted out. He had comforted the love of his life when they received
word on her father’s untimely death. He felt it his duty now to accompany
his wife as she dealt with the last of her father’s requests. What Joseph
had asked seemed simple. He had strongly suggested that Karen ‘take
care of things’ until ‘Katrina was ready’. Charles
secretly wondered if his sister-in-law would EVER be ready for this kind
of responsibility… or any kind of responsibility, for that matter.
Word from Katrina seemed to indicate that she would arrive in due time and
take control of the estate, as their father had wished. In the meantime,
the trust fund needed to be in place so that the ranch could continue to
operate under the watchful eye of the executor. Mr. Warner was no stranger
to looking after Katrina’s affairs, but did hope that the added stability
of running a cattle ranch might make the young lady grow up a little. Perhaps
even accept the responsibility and become more stable for it. Charles Warner
could only hope…
"…90, 95, 100," Mr. Granger concluded. He looked at the two ladies across
the table from him and smiled. "By my count that is ten piles of one hundred
dollars a piece. Do you agree, Mrs. Travis?"
"Yes, Mr. Granger that was my count."
"Mrs. Warner?"
"I agree."
Apprehensive about any possible contention, the resident banker of Four Corners
looked up at the gambler and raised his eyebrows. "Mr. Standish?" he asked
nervously.
The trepidation in Granger’s face was undeniable to the gambler’s
trained eye. Ezra smiled at the thought of making this professional apprehensive
but decided against prolonging any discomfort. Being entrusted with the daily
operation and maintenance of the ten thousand acres and almost five hundred
head of cattle was a huge responsibility. The southerner didn’t wish
to give Joseph’s family any reason to question his character. "I concur
with your calculations, Mr. Granger."
Visibly relieved that the lengthy process had passed the inspection of one
Ezra Standish, Granger took a deep breath and collected the ten piles together.
Completing that task, he turned to the small table beside his desk and retrieved
a tray, which sat on top. "And this one thousand added to the other four
gives a grand total of five thousand dollars." Placing the last set of bills
beside its counterparts, he again looked at the two young women and smiled.
"Are we in agreement, ladies?"
Smiling, both Mary and Karen both nodded their concurrence.
Once more, the banker turned to pose the question to Ezra, but the gambler
responded before the question could be asked.
"Of course, Mr. Granger. Everything seems to be in order." Smiling his agreement,
Standish shifted his position towards the window and peered out. He could
see Buck and Josiah standing watch at the front door, and he knew Chris and
JD were out back. "Might I suggest that you secure the funds in the safe,
so that my associates can return to their numerous other duties."
"Yes, yes indeed," muttered Granger as he gathered the money and moved around
the counter. Venturing inside the vault, he put the five piles of cash inside
Mr. Langdon’s personal safe, closed the door and turned the dial. Making
his way back to his desk, he pulled a large ledger from the top drawer and
proceeded to record the deposit of five thousand dollars to the Langdon Trust
Fund, care of Mr. Ezra P. Standish.
He had trained as a financier, but today Granger was serving as both banker
and town notary. "Mrs. Warner," he motioned for Karen to sign the deposit
slip as he set it in front of her. "And the receipt for the lawyer in San
Francisco," he handed her another paper.
As the former Karen Langdon signed the paperwork, she handed each document
to Mary Travis for her ratification.
"Mr. Standish!" Granger beckoned the gambler’s attention from the window
then handed him the papers as he arrived at the desk.
Double-checking all the figures and the attending signatures, Ezra smiled
at the banker before placing his own endorsement on the documents. "Well,"
the gambler stood up straight and smiled proudly, "That business is finally
attended to."
Both ladies stood up as Ezra moved around behind them. Karen Warner offered
a ladylike handshake to Mrs. Travis before turning to her husband and taking
his arm.
"I believe that finalizes all of the documentation required to establish
the trust and ensure that the Langdon Estate is properly taken care of,"
Donald Granger concluded.
"Yes… Until my sister arrives to take ownership," Karen uttered quietly.
The gambler acknowledged the lady’s statement and was about to comment
when Dr. Warner spoke.
"And heaven help you when that happens," he said sarcastically.
"Charles!" his wife exclaimed loudly.
"Well, I’m sorry my dear. But it is the truth and you know it."
Mary and Ezra exchanged a quick glance.
"Is there something I should be informed of, Mrs. Warner?" Standish asked
after a moment.
Charles and Karen looked at each other evasively.
" … Before you return to San Francisco, perhaps?" Ezra added, this time
raising an eyebrow. He was clearly taken aback by the exchange of words and
looks.
"It’s obvious Joseph trusted you, Mr. Standish. He’s left everything
in your care until Katrina…" Charles Warner stopped in mid sentence
and looked at the gambler intently.
"Did Joseph ever speak to you about Katrina, Mr. Standish?"
Ezra took a deep breath as he thought on the specific words the elderly Langdon
had used to describe his younger child. They had spoken on the topic only
once, and the gentleman had characterized his daughter as ‘A tempest!
An out-of-control wild fire!’… As he recalled the words Joseph
had used, Ezra’s expression changed to one of perplexity.
"Yes," Charles acknowledged as he noticed the changing face on the man before
him, "I see he did."
"My father hadn’t seen Katrina in eight years, Mr. Standish." Karen
looked at her husband and pulled him a little closer. "She’s much more
… independent … than the last time he saw her."
An uncomfortable silence settled over the bank.
"I will see that these documents are ready for you when you leave tomorrow,"
Harold Granger broke the silence before dismissing himself to the rear of
the establishment. He took several of the required papers as he left.
"Thank you again, Mr. Granger," Mrs. Warner called out to the banker as he
disappeared. Smiling at the gambler, she nodded her goodbye to the other
lady before motioning for her husband to escort her from the establishment.
Charles Warner tipped his hat to the two remaining parties before turning
to leave.
"Good day, Mr. Standish," Karen called as they left.
The widow watched the door close behind the departing couple. She was more
than curious about their exchange. "What’s wrong with being …
independent?" Mrs. Travis questioned the gambler. Mary moved towards the
door, but turned to hear the gambler’s answer.
Ezra took a deep breath as his eyes widened substantially. "Well… given
Joseph’s rather … flamboyant … description of his daughter,
Mrs. Travis," he shuffled his feet a little as he tried to find the right
words to complete his sentence. "… I would venture to guess that…
independence… in this particular young lady … sets her apart from
her peers, and is not … necessarily… a positive thing."
Mary Travis looked at the gambler inquisitively. Tilting her head questioningly,
she shook it, smirked and walked out the door. She had no real idea what
Standish was talking about, but his reaction to the situation amused her
to no end.
Margaret Watson stood by the door and watched Nathan
as he checked the scar tissue on her son’s leg. It had been more than
four weeks since the wild dog had mauled James. There were no signs of gangrene,
and the boy had ridden out the infection well. The healer had said the boy
might be able to go home today if everything looked all right.
And right now, that’s what James Watson wanted more than anything else
in the whole world. ‘Well, Dr. Jackson?" the boy asked impatiently.
Nathan looked at the twelve year old and smiled. "You wanna be home for your
birthday, don’t ya, James?"
Unable to contain his enthusiasm, the boy’s face beamed.
Nathan looked over his shoulder at the boy’s mother. "And I suppose
that celebration in two weeks would be betta if James were home with his
family."
"I can’t think of a better Thanksgiving memory, Dr. Jackson," she replied
expectantly. Having her son beside her would top her list, but there was
something else she had in mind, for a wonderful Thanksgiving memory.
"Well, there’s a real doctor in town right now," the healer explained.
"He should be here any minute. I asked him ta come take a look."
"I thought you said James was better," Mrs. Watson said anxiously as she
stepped closer to the bed.
"Oh, yes, ma’am…" Nathan began as a knock sounded at the door.
Three heads turned to see who was there.
Charles Warner waited a few seconds before opening the
door and entering the clinic. He looked around cautiously and smiled at the
dark man and his patient. Removing his hat he closed the door and stepped
forward to introduce himself to the lady present. "Good morning, ma’am.
I’m Doctor Warner. I understand you wanted me to examine your son."
Margaret greeted the man politely, then shook her head. "No, sir," she began,
"thank you kindly for the offer, but Doctor Jackson saved James’ life.
He’s done just fine."
"As I explained to you last night, Dr. Warner," Nathan interrupted. "I
ain’t no doctor, just a healer who…."
"You done saved two of my boys, Nathan," Margaret returned the interruption.
"You don’t need a piece a paper ta tell folks what you can do."
Charles looked at the woman strangely. He tried to picture an anxious mother
with an injured child in her arms. Glancing at the Negro healer, the doctor
understood that this man would be given neither the opportunity, nor the
means to assist in San Francisco, but he also understood that folks did things
a little differently ‘out west’. Yet seeing the clear admiration
in the woman’s face and hearing her forceful words, Warner couldn’t
help but wondered how a dark man could earn such respect. Given Nathan’s
previous description of the wild dog attack, Warner was even more curious
to see how the healer had been able to save this child’s leg. "Well,
since I am here anyway… shall we take a look," he said as he moved closer
to the boy.
Jackson filled the doctor in, as he stepped out of the way, "I just took
the splits off ta take a look. Even the drainage canal seems ta be healing
nicely."
"Drainage canal?" Charles Warner glanced at Jackson. The question was clear
in his words, as he examined the terrible scars on the child’s leg."
"Yes, sir," Nathan replied. "I didn’t have the proper equipment like
the book described, so I did the best I could."
A few minutes passed as Warner continued his examination. "How long has it
been since the attack?" the doctor asked curiously. He was clearly distressed
by the injuries inflicted on the boy, but also impressed by the healing he
saw. Especially considering the environment in which the procedures had been
carried out.
"More than four long weeks," Margaret replied quietly.
Warner looked over his other shoulder and smiled at the woman. He could see
in her eyes that she had suffered everyday along with her child. And he was
also beginning to see why she had such high regard for the darker healer.
Glancing back at Nathan, the man offered a brief smile, before refocusing
on the boy. "Well, young man," he said quietly, "I can see that you’re
in good hands here." He gently set the child’s leg back on the bed and
smiled again. "The bone will take a few more weeks to set properly, but
everything appears to be going well."
"So, I’m gonna be better real quick?" James asked curiously.
"We never doubted Doctor Jackson would see him through this," Mrs. Watson
added with obvious pride.
Charles Warner stood up and ruffled the boy’s hair. "Yes, son…
I think you’re going to be just fine. And you’ve been brave through
all the pain… I can tell."
"It hurt real bad at first," James replied.
"You think the muscles will heal, Doctor?" Jackson asked seriously. "The
book told me how important it was to drain and irrigate the wound, but it
didn’t say how the muscle would heal."
The doctor smiled one more time at the boy before walking slowly to the exit.
He briefly rested his hand on the woman shoulder as he passed her and nodded
his head in reassurance.
Mrs. Watson smiled at the man as he moved towards the door, then offered
the same beautiful smile to her son.
Nathan followed Charles as he prepared to leave, still waiting for an answer
to his question. He glanced back to the Watsons as the doctor replied.
"It’ll take time … once the boy gets back on the leg, he’ll
probably walk with a limp. But lots of exercise should cure that… in
time." Warner looked at the healer thoughtfully and spoke after a few moments
of silence. "If you don’t mind, Mr. Jackson, I’d like to come back
tomorrow morning, before the stage leaves, and talk with you some more."
Nathan looked pleasantly surprised at the request and acknowledged the idea.
"Yes, sir, Doctor Warner. I’d like that very much."
"Good," Charles replied as he opened the door. "I’d stay longer but
my wife and I have hired a buckboard to go out to her father’s ranch.
We’ll likely be there for the rest of the day. She has a few things
she would like to collect." Stepping outside the clinic he continued as the
healer followed. "I’m very interested in the book you referred to in
there, and the procedure you tried to follow."
"I didn’t have the right equipment, Dr. Warner…" Nathan stammered.
"I did the best I could…"
Charles set his hand on Jackson’s arm and tried to calm the anxious
tone of his voice. "From what I can see, Mr. Jackson… no doctor could
have done a better job in saving that leg."
Nathan smiled cautiously.
"And the boy’s life, Mr. Jackson." Offering his hand to the dark healer,
Charles Warner smiled at the man he had only minutes before questioned.
Jackson took the hand and shook it vigorously.
"I’ll be back," Warner repeated.
"I’ll look forward to it, doctor," Nathan said happily, as he watched
the man go down the stairs. He took a deep, satisfying breath before heading
back inside and closing the door behind him.
Making his way back over to the bed, Nathan took the splints and replaced
them on either side of the boy’s leg.
Having practiced this maneuver many times over the last month, James took
hold of the boards and held them in place while the healer proceeded to wrap
the leg tightly. "Do I get to go home," the child asked nervously.
Jackson smiled. "The doctor seems happy with what he saw."
"I had no doubt he would," Margaret Watson announced expectantly.
"And I thank you for your trust in me, Mrs. Watson," Nathan replied, glancing
at the woman over his shoulder.
"So? …Dr. Jackson… do I get ta go home soon," James repeated again.
"Well," Nathan spoke as he continued to bandage the leg. "I’ll need
a couple of promises from both of ya."
Both James and his mother paid close attention to what the man had to say.
"First off," he glanced up at the boy, "You heard what Doctor Warner said.
Just like I told ya, that bone ain’t healed yet. I’ll need your
word that you’ll not try and stand on it."
Although the disappointment was clearly visible of her son’s face, Margaret
nodded her head in compliance with Nathan’s order as James looked at
her questioningly. The boy nodded his head slowly in agreement.
"Second… You need to promise ta tell your Ma if somethin’ starts
hurtin’. I can’t help ya if I don’t know if somethin’s
wrong."
The boy took a second to understand what the healer was saying before
acknowledging his compliance. That one seemed a whole lot easier than the
first requirement.
"And third," Jackson concluded. He finished tying off the bandages around
James’ splints and looked at the boy. "You gotta promise me you’ll
keep drinkin’ my herb tea before bed each night."
Mrs. Watson looked at her son expectantly. She didn’t like the smell
of the herbal concoction that the healer had her fix for James every night
and knew darn well, that the boy liked the taste even less. But if that’s
what it took to get her son home… Margaret smiled as the grimace on
James’ face began to waver. He nodded, signaling his intent to follow
the last of the three rules laid out for him.
Jackson looked over his shoulder one more time and searched the woman’s
eyes. With the exception of when her husband had relieved her, Mrs. Watson
had remained at her son’s side and nursed him back to health along side
the healer. Her heart had lifted every time James had made a little more
progress. She had cried when she thought no one was around to hear. Now Jackson
was letting her take her child home to his family, to be where he belonged.
There wasn’t a request in the world that he could ask of her, that she
wouldn’t willingly follow. The gentle smile and the nod of her head
confirmed that fact all too clearly.
The silence in the room was broken as Claire Watson came crashing through
the door and distracted the three from their agreement. "Hey, James," she
called out happily. "Mrs. Benson gave you an A on your story." The girl dashed
over to the bed and handed her brother his report.
The big ‘A’ circled at the top was clearly visible, and the boy
smiled. He was very happy that the teacher had been able to design alternate
assignments for him during his recuperation. And the work had taken his mind
off of the fact that he had been stuck in a bed for more than a month.
"Congratulations, James," the healer commented. "That’s quite an
accomplishment, considering you didn’t know anything about medicine
a month ago."
"All your books helped so much, Doctor Jackson. I could never have done it
without ‘em."
Jackson cocked his head. "And you would never have had to if this hadn’
a happened." Nathan commented. "Mr. Sanchez is right, James. Some good things
do come along with the bad."
Margaret cleared her throat to be heard above the commotion. "And the rest
of the good news, Doctor Jackson," Mrs. Watson tried to steer the conversation
back to their original topic.
Nathan smiled as he stood up and ruffled Claire’s hair. "I reckon I
can live with the decision… if you two can keep your promises."
Margaret’s smile brightened her whole face and James let out a loud
holler.
"What?" his sister questioned.
"Dr. Jackson says James can come home, Claire," their mother answered the
query as she slid in beside her son.
Claire let out a comparable holler to the one her brother had offered and
hugged them both ecstatically. The Watson’s all shared in the moment
of joy.
Nathan shook his head and headed for the door. He was glad that he would
be getting his clinic back, all to himself again. Yet as he opened the door
and moved through it, Jackson knew without a doubt, that he was going to
miss the entire Watson clan’s unwavering optimism. Glancing back at
the three people inside his quarters, Nathan smiled with satisfaction and
gave the family a little privacy.
"Good morning, Mr. Larabee," the newspaperwoman greeted
as the gunslinger came through the door of the Clarion.
Chris smiled at the lady and wondered how she could still look so beautiful
with the ink smudged on her face like that. He was about to mention the streak,
when he noticed the other woman behind Mary’s desk. Tipping his hat,
the blond acknowledged the widow’s greeting. "Mrs. Travis. And good
morning to you, Mrs. Thatcher," he called out.
The woman looked up from the box of old papers she was going through and
smiled, "Good morning, Mr. Larabee." She waved in his directions.
The blond looked back at his favorite lady. "I can’t believe you’re
taking advantage of an old lady like that," he teased quietly.
Mary gasped and set the easel of type down with a jolt. She was playing acting
her annoyance at Larabee’s comment, but several of the letters displaced
in the container she had held. Her irritation grew as he stood there smiling
at her.
"Sure is easy ta get your feathers ruffled sometimes," he mused.
Stepping closer to the couple, Mrs. Thatcher interrupted. "Excuse me if I
come to Mary’s defense, Mr. Larabee. But I’m helping out here…
not being taken advantage of… and quite frankly, Mr. Larabee. I’m
grateful to Mrs. Travis for letting me help. Life can be rather dull without
a purpose… When you get to be my age, you’ll understand."
Mary and Chris exchanged smiles before refocusing on the elderly visitor.
"Chris didn’t mean any harm," Mrs. Travis announced quickly.
Larabee was about to add his apology when the elderly woman stopped him with
a raised hand. "And life without laughter is just as depressing," she said
happily. "Now," she turned to look around. Seeing no more boxes on the floor,
Mrs. Thatcher looked back at the newspaperwoman. "Do you have the next boxes,
dear?"
"Oh," Mary said quickly. Realizing that she had failed to retrieve some more
containers from the storage room, she looked at the gunslinger expectantly.
"Would you mind getting some more of the old issue from the store room, Mr.
Larabee?"
Chris smiled at the two ladies and headed towards the back of the Clarion
to collect the missing files.
Mrs. Thatcher watched the younger woman’s eyes as she followed the departing
form. "Your young man is certainly handsome," she whispered quietly as Larabee
disappeared from view.
Mary looked at the woman and shrugged her shoulders. "Hadn’t noticed,"
she declared as she turned back to the easel and began to re-organize the
letters.
"Mary Travis," Thatcher exclaimed, "That’s the worst excuse for a lie
I’ve heard in a long time."
Both women smiled as they acknowledged the extent of their understanding.
"If he were any more of a ‘man’, Mrs. Thatcher, I
don’t believe I could restrain myself much longer."
The older lady giggled like a schoolgirl and drew closer to the widow. "If
I were twenty years younger, Mary Travis, you’d be forced to restrain
both of us."
"Oh, Mrs. Thatcher, you are awful," Mary joined her companion in a quiet
giggle.
A sudden wave of seriousness came over the older woman as she looked at the
lady before her. "It would please me greatly, Mary… if you would called
me Miriam."
The smile wavered from her face as Mrs. Travis looked at the woman before
her. She had been at her most vulnerable after a wild dog had almost taken
her life three weeks earlier, and she took no great comfort in admitting
that fact. Chris Larabee had done his best to stave her fears. But this elderly
woman had seen the pain in her heart and made it her own. The widow had needed
a motherly figure to see her through her tears, and Mrs. Thatcher had been
an unquestioning pillar of strength. A stranger had stepped off the afternoon
stage a month ago, but right now Mary Travis felt as close to this woman
as she did her own flesh and blood. Mary smiled. "Thank you, Miriam," she
whispered. "It would be my honor."
Casey Wells sauntered towards the livery then stopped
at the end of the boardwalk. John Dunne stood before her, and the young woman
couldn’t help but standstill and watch. He was only checking his
horse’s blanket and the straps of his saddle, but Miss Wells loved the
way JD cared for his animal. Dunne finished up and patted Haven’s neck.
Slowly he ran his hand down the horse’s side.
And as the young woman observed the movement she could see his gentleness
in her mind. She watched as her man reached out and brushed her own cheek,
and then ran his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes as he held
her and traced the outline of her naked spine to the small of her back and
beyond…
"Hi, Casey," Dunne interrupted the girl’s daydream.
The young woman opened her eyes with a start and immediately let out a yell.
"Oh, JD. It ain’t nice ta sneak up on a girl like that," she
smacked him hard across the shoulders.
"What?" he yelled in return. He was taken aback by her reaction, and more
than a little offended at the accusation. "I didn’t sneak up of ya.
You’s standin’ here right in the middle of the street."
"Well…" Casey stammered. She was trying to hide her embarrassment, as
well as come up with a good reason for her over-reaction to his greeting.
Not being able to accomplish either task, she looked at her young man angrily,
turned and stormed off down the street.
"What I do?" the bewildered man called out after her.
"Oh… nothing a man can do anythin’ about, John Dunne," Sanchez
chuckled to himself. Stepping off the walk he joined his fellow lawman in
front of the livery.
"I just don’t understand that girl sometimes, Josiah. I looked up and
saw her standin’ there, so I came over ta say hi."
Shaking his head, the preacher let the smile slowly waver from his face.
"I know what you did, JD. I saw the whole thing… Reckon I saw
somethin’ you didn’t though."
Dunne looked at the older man and furrowed his brow. "What ‘a ya mean,
Josiah… Did I miss somethin’?"
Sanchez huffed at the innocence before him and set a hand on Dunne’s
shoulder. He leaned in close before speaking. "I’m not a man who’d
stand here and try and explain what goes through the mind of a female, JD.
Hell, any man who’d try is a darn fool."
The kid laughed a little to show his agreement to the statement.
"I do know one thing though," he cocked his head. "Casey is no more a girl,
than you are a kid." The big man moved his hand from Dunne’s shoulder
and turned to face his companion. As the two looked each other in the eye,
Josiah spoke quietly, "and what was goin’ through that woman’s
mind a minute ago, proves that to be a fact… once and for all."
JD considered the cryptic words. He watched his friend straighten his stance
and stretch a little. Suddenly the questioning look disappeared from the
young man’s face and was replaced, rather quickly, with an expression
of surprise and embarrassment. "Oh," he blurted out.
Josiah smiled at Dunne, raised his eyebrows and nodded his head.
"Oh!" the young man repeated, a little louder.
Josiah smirked at the kid’s reaction and leaned forward to whisper in
his ear. "You lucky, son-of-a-gun," he said before patting Dunne’s shoulder
once again and heading off towards the church.
JD followed the preacher with his eyes before glancing back at the route
Casey Wells had taken. He continued to alternate the direction of his stare
as he backed up to Haven. Fumbling as he collided with the horse, Dunne mounted
and quickly rode out of town.