The Hour of Separation
| And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. | |
|
. . .Sometimes Mary reads to Vin.
He quickly learned his letters and their order and sounds but reading the words they make is strangely exhausting. Slowly he sounds out the letters, hunching over the short list of words, pausing and sputtering, interrupting Mary to correct himself impatiently before she can do it gently.
“P. Pah, pah. P. I. G, jah.” And for one awful moment he wonders, What’s a pige?
Mary opens her mouth to assist when he blurts out, “Pig!”
Her smile is beautiful and worried. “Yes, yes that’s it. Wonderful, Vin.” There are more words but Mary tugs the list away from him. He is always reluctant to give it up, still tracking the next one as if there were a bounty on it.
She distracts him with another list. One of names. First his own and then at his request, hers. He sits for a long moment and stares at the compact form of his mark. Memorizing it like it’s a map for an exotic journey. When Mary sees how much he is enjoying the sight of them, being able to recognize them to some degree, she adds more.
Chris. “Remember Vin? C-h can sound like kah. Ch-ris. Ch-ris.”
Ezra. Zzz-ra.
Josiah. Which sounds the way it looks.
Bucklin. He would tease Bucklin later.
Nathan. The all important thuh sound. Nathan.
They share a laugh over the ease and genius of JD’s name.At the end of the lesson she busies herself elsewhere so that he can claim that scrap of paper and roughly fold it into the brim of his hat as if it has no value or sentiment to him.
Mary’s reassurances that he is progressing at an admirable pace do little to assuage his frustration. She can see that he is someone who is used to acting decisively and that it pains him to creep along. In her worry that he will grow to find reading and writing nothing but a chore she gets up in the middle of one lesson and pulls down a small volume from one of the many shelves. It is cloth bound and green, and weathered as a fall leaf. Obviously a favorite.
“My husband use to read this to our son,” and then smoothes her hand over it in memory.
Vin straightens his aching back and tries not to bristle at the thought of being read a Child's story. He owes Mary and is determined to sit there and listen even as his pride crumbles around his feet.
Casting a furtive glance at the open book he sees that there are no large drawings of small animals as he had expected. Instead, the pages are brimming with words. His head swims until he focuses on his own folded hands.
“Sing in me, Muse,” she begins, “and through me tell the story of that man skilled in all ways of contending, the wanderer, harried for years on end, after he plundered the stronghold on the proud height of Troy.”
To Vin’s ear it is like listening to Ezra read Josiah’s bible in his own tongue. Impressive and pretty, to be sure, but he understands little of it.
Mary pauses to explain. “Odysseus had fought for ten years at Troy and then spent another ten years trying to return to his wife and son. No one knew what had happened to him and on the way home he lost all of his ships, all of his men and the spoils of Troy. The poem begins near the end.” Vin quickly nods and she continues on in this fashion, editorializing here and there until Vin signals his understanding.
Mary finds a stopping point and closes the book to find Vin staring after the shuttered pages. “We’ll read more tomorrow,” she reassures him and slides the book carefully back onto the shelf.
He gathers up his hat and coat, always worried that he has overstayed his welcome. Despite this notion he stops at the door and asks, “Did Billy understand what his pa read to him?”
She smiles sadly. “No. I think he just liked to hear his papa’s voice.”
Vin nods. “Thank you, ma’am.” And then tips his hat and leaves.
Little does he know that if she thought he would allow it she would hold him in her arms as she does her own son when he is scared and in need of wordless comfort.
~7777777~
It’s doubtful that Chris will ever recover from the injuries he has sustained at the hands of Ella. God bless Nathan for his heartrending eagerness to heal. Because of him Chris grows stronger every day. The scar that will be left behind will turn pink and harmless looking despite all the damage it has done. Underneath the blanket he pulls closer around himself Chris’s hands are balled into fists. He shivers under the setting sun. As vulnerable as he is, wounded and undermined, he greets curious, pitying looks with an unblinking glare. His six friends fare only slightly better.
Each resists the urge to comfort, cajole, bribe Chris away from his rage and all the blame he will share with no one else. Josiah especially fights the impulse to haul Chris Larabee past the entrance of his empty church all the way to the front where he can kneel at the stained glass feet of Jesus and finally forgive himself. If not for the violence it would surely involve Josiah would have prayed with him long ago.
Slouching further down into his blanket Chris watches Vin leave the Clarion after yet another lesson. Unlike Mary, who does not look for him anymore, Vin searches across the dusty street and tips his hat at Chris who pretends to be looking somewhere else.
~7777777~
A season passes although it is almost impossible to tell into which one. Is winter windier than summer or the other way around? Four Corners rests in the eye of a storm with the railroad circling around and the drums for statehood banging loudly. The empty whiskey bottles that Chris, no longer under Nathan’s care, hurls at any solid surface are the loudest commotion in town.
The lack of any true threat allows the Seven to drift towards their own wants. Ezra shuffles a deck of cards and becomes a richer man. JD finds Casey’s company sweet as well as competitive while Nathan courts Rain openly. Josiah waits patiently for his congregation to show up. Buck searches for love, looking twice the way Hilda taught him to do. Vin remains in town, out of throwing distance from Chris but not out of sight, where he studies his letters.
With more and more ease Vin can follow the words as Mary reads them out loud but when he tries to read them himself it is still an arduous task. And yet, the words of Homer and now Shakespeare have become unlocked and alive for him. Doomed Hamlet and lost Odysseus remind him of Chris. Everything sad and beautiful reminds him of Chris. He bites his tongue to keep from pointing this out.
It’s become routine for him to leave Mary’s, order enough supper for two and find Chris who will not eat unless it’s put in front of him. Vin sits near him and hovers over his plate as if there’s not enough. Chris pointedly ignores him. Vin takes a large bite of roast beef and lets Chris watch him chew happily from the corner of his eye.
“Mmmm,” Vin hums around another bite. Chris glares.
After stirring butter into the mashed potatoes Vin pushes the plate closer to Chris as he tucks his napkin into his shirt collar and over his favorite blue bandana. Leaning forward he digs in again. Curious, hungry and distracted by Vin’s enthusiasm, Chris eats.
Hence, one plate, two forks.
A good day.
Other days Vin finds Chris too drunk to share anything.
He ignores Chris’s snarls and rants and easily deflects any half hearted punches and drags Chris to his feet. He tightens his hold around his waist and pulls his arm securely around his neck as Chris throws his weight around all the way up the stairs to his room. “Dammit, Chris,” Vin chides, “you’re heavier than you look.” This makes Chris laugh but the sound of it holds no joy. It comes from his chest and catches in his throat.
In his room the smaller pieces of furniture have been broken or hobbled but the unmade bed is still intact. Tired and disgusted, worried beyond the telling of it, Vin threatens to drop Chris and bury him where he falls. This also amuses Chris. Vin stretches him out carefully on the bed and answers Chris’s slurred protests with his own grunts and sighs. Chris makes it harder than it should be for Vin to pull off his boots making Vin manhandle his feet until they tickle. When Vin reaches across him to pull a blanket over him Chris pulls Vin’s hat off, the tie catching him under the chin.
“Larabee! You dang near took my head off!” Vin grabs for his hat that Chris somehow manages to keep out of reach.
“Stay a while,” Chris issues his first invitation in months.
“You confuse me. I don’t know what to make of you anymore.”
Chris lets Vin capture his hat but doesn’t let go. “You, on the other hand, are the only thing that makes sense to me.”
Caught flatfooted outside his usual territory Vin tells Chris to, “Go to sleep,” and then smoothes back a lank of hair from his sweaty forehead.
He does not know what it is about himself that makes him his most daring when he is most afraid. His hand feels heavy and awkward tangled in Chris’s hair and yet Chris moves into his touch and does not flinch or growl as he expected. He strokes his thumb up and down his forehead and is amazed and amused to see Chris blinking slowly, fighting sleep for this small comfort.
You taught me how to do this, Vin thinks, almost blaming him. All those casual touches Chris is so proficient at. Casual and filled with a gravity that lingered on Vin long after Chris’s hand had slid off his arm or shoulder. Vin is unsure if Chris knows how far he has breached his usual defenses. His near silence and nervous good manners, his deadly aim with a gun have done little to stop Chris from acknowledging him with a touch or a look or sometimes with his own silence. And yet Vin, for all his skittish hesitancy has from the beginning remained within reach.
The first time Chris had set his hand on Vin’s shoulder had shaken him. There was the weight and heat of it and the unflinching strength and reassurance behind it. There was also the realization that Chris’s hand did not swipe clean through him. What a shock it had been to have irrefutable proof that he was as real and aching as any other man. It was a realization that implied he had been haunting his own life.
Vin reminds himself that Chris was once a husband and father. He suspects that Chris has always kept most people at a distance only to return home to reach out and hold close his wife and son. What must it have been like, he wonders, to have two people rush up to you with all the affection a wife and son must possess? Did they teach Chris to reach out the way he does or was he born to it?
For himself, Vin fears that it’s something that once it’s tapped into will spill over uncalled for, unwanted, unforgivable. Too late, really, to worry about that since the hair he rakes his fingers through is proof that it has already happened.
Perversely, he thanks God that Chris will not remember this drunken night any more than he has the others.
“Go on now,” Vin says, reluctantly removing his hand. “Sleep. I’ll watch your back.”
Laxly holding onto Vin’s hat, Chris sleeps.
As always, Vin finds it impossible to stay upset with Chris. After all, he has a long history of courting seemingly formidable, difficult people like Chris or Miss Nettie despite his love of peace and quiet. His solitary ways are deceiving even to himself. The day he put down that broom that would never catch up with the dust in Four Corners and stepped out into the street alongside Chris was the day that he discovered the width and depth of his own longing.
Longing. For Vin the word has both universal and deeply personal meaning. Not blind to his own needs he knows he is part of a world population that longs to be called Son, Brother, Husband, Papa and in turn call out Friend, Pastor, Animal Spirit. Claiming and being claimed; bowing low to the twin desires to hand over everything and shout, You are nothing but mine!
Chris, mercurial and wounded, has threaded his way through Vin’s longing, feeding a mutual appetite for a need neither one is willing or able to name. Both are older than their years and brimming with intelligence and yet the emotions that make their skin sting are often a mystery to them.
Chris came closest to that mystery with a wife and a son even though he has no clear memory of calling out for them. Sarah, who brought the rough tumble of his life to a wedding and married his passion and his ghosts and then let him rest his cheek on her belly after braiding together love and sex. Impossible to top that, he thought, until his son was born. She asked him to name their child and her generosity left him with a lump in his throat that he could not swallow and so he knew his son's name was Adam long before he could say it out loud.
Chris knew that Adam was not the first son to be born to adoring parents and would surely not be the last and yet, no one - not even Sarah - had looked into his eyes so steadily and let him see both his own history and his own possibilities. Anything, Chris promised. Anything for you. And then held his son close to him so that Adam could look into him, if he so chose, or gurgle in satisfaction when he captured one of Chris’s ears instead.
This is what he grieves for: to be wide open to another soul; to have his ear tugged.
Vin has learned from his own history that human nature is not fixed. It does not travel a straight unimpeded path from the cradle to the grave. Josiah would point out that this is what makes redemption possible. A man's last action is not his definition nor the way he is born a watermark for the rest of his life. Nathan, once a slave and now a healer, is the most obvious example of this fact although all Seven of them can be held up as witnesses. It’s with both gratitude and fear that Vin acknowledges the fact that his life could trip down yet another path without warning or much effort on his part. It is, after all, exactly how he became one of Seven.
This makes him smile despite the worry he holds for Chris as he slowly rides out of town. He knows that he has been sent on an errand meant to grant him a reprieve from Chris’s self destruction. Josiah has tried to reassure him that sometimes a man has to find the bottom of his soul before he can recognize it at all. For Vin’s benefit, he also pointed out that it’s a journey made alone. As desperate as he is to meet Chris half way he knows that Josiah is right.
Eagle Bend is a day away. A night under the stars is inviting to his own tired soul. A pang of guilt rears up as he feels the grip of frustration and dread loosen their hold on him the further he rides out of town. Spurring Peso to a gallop he’s eager to enjoy his solitude in the hope that it will better enable him to return to his vigil.
In his haste, in his remorse, Vin does not notice the man tracking him. Carefully, methodically, this stranger from Texas will wait until Vin makes camp and then capture him, dead or alive, for a $500 reward.
~7777777~
Annette is plain and agreeable and nearly invisible except to Buck who smiles at her warmly from across the saloon. She strolls towards him, only looking over her shoulder once before reaching his table. To Ezra’s consternation Buck pushes back his chair so that she can perch on his lap and see his cards. She swoons and wraps her arms around his neck. Buck laughs.
Ezra rolls his eyes and throws down his hand. “Does anyone in this town believe in the sanctity of this game?”
No one answers.
Annette grows more lively under Buck’s attention, eventually squealing and upending another game when she sees JD and Josiah amble towards them. Ezra tosses his cards face up on the table.
“Oh,” she giggles, “did Mr. Tanner’s friend find him?”
Buck squeezes her to her delight and laughs. “What friend, darlin’?”
“Last night a gentleman asked me if Vin Tanner lived in these parts and all I had to do was point across the street where he was eating supper with Mr. Larabee.” Her own smile fades when she notices how pale and quiet Buck has become.
“Now sweetheart,” Buck tries to collect himself, “do you know if this ‘gentleman’ is still here?”
“Oh no,” she says, hoping to get back to the ease of before, “he nearly tripped over me trying to leave this morning.”
To her disappointment Buck hurriedly deposits her into his empty chair with a quick kiss and leaves with JD, Josiah and Ezra in tow.
Not meaning to, she fades once again into the background.
When Buck bounds into Chris’s room. Chris is on his bed with an arm flung over his eyes. He does not even look to see who could be after him in such a rush. A tray of food Buck sent up earlier sits on the floor untouched.
Buck tosses Chris’s arm away from his face and pats his face roughly to rouse him. “C’mon ol’ dog, we need you.”
Chris grumbles and rolls away. Buck pulls him back and slaps his face. Chris grabs Buck’s shirtfront and tries to stare him down with bleary eyes.
Buck is not cowed. “It’s Vin. Someone’s after that reward.”
That’s all it takes. Chris staggers to his drunken feet and leads them where they need to go.
~7777777~
Abram earns his rewards from being patient. He sits under a setting sun and patiently watches Vin stoke a fire. The stick Vin absently prods the flames with slips from his hand. A small twist of a smile crosses Abram’s face at the sight of Vin clearly distracted by his own thoughts. Believing himself to be more practical than cruel he has already decided that Vin Tanner, being worth the same alive or otherwise, will be easier to deliver to Tascosa if he is dead. With this thought in mind he raises his rifle and aims for the center of Vin’s forehead. He has brought down buffalo with just as much kindness.
Just beyond the nub of Abram’s site he can see Vin looking to his side, distant and unfocused. It’s the look of a man unused to being in love. Hints of a smile flicker across his face so it must be true and run deep while the crease between his brows suggests that it’s unrequited. Abram feels a brief hitch, low in his gut, at ending any possibilities Vin might have but it’s not enough to keep him from squeezing the trigger.
Vin stands up in response to some far off sound. Abram’s bullet catches him solidly in the low left side of his belly. Cursing under his breath, Abram walks into Vin’s camp to end his misery.
Knocked onto his back, not knowing who or what gut-punched the air out of him, Vin struggles to breathe as he pushes himself to sit up. Unsteady, his arms suddenly too weak to hold him, he falls back onto the hard packed ground. He stares up at the sky painted blue and gold and orange by the setting sun, the last of its rays trying to shine through the tree leaves above him as a parting gesture. It’s so beautiful to him that he can think of little else. Not the cold that is seeping into his bones or even the breath that still escapes him. A shadow passes over him and then blocks his view. A man backlit and full of even more shadows, holds a rifle with the stock braced on his thigh. He’s not one of the Seven and this is all Vin needs to know about him before he loses interest. The sun is fading quickly as Vin struggles to move out from behind this darkness, to feel the warmth on his skin one more time - so much like being touched.
The sharp crack of a gun fired startles Vin as the dark ghost above him tumbles out of sight. For only a brief moment the gold light shines on his face before dust kicks up around him and Chris is by his side, breathless and sweating, looking scared and hung over. He feels Chris’s rough hands cup his face and is not even a little surprised that Chris is yelling at him and yet he can barely hear a word.
What a strange dream, Vin thinks, and then closes his eyes.
~7777777~
Buck spurs his horse on , leaning low over his saddle as Chris is, both their animals lathered in sweat. They have ridden like this before, years ago, when Chris saw black smoke far off on the horizon where his home and everything precious to him had already burned down. There’s a desperateness to reach Vin, to stave off any further tragedy.
Ironically, another lazy plume of smoke alerts them that they are close to Vin’s camp. Chris curses his horse for not being able to go faster, for not being able to fly. The terrible echo of a rifle rips through the air and then Chris is off his horse before it can stop and cutting through the trees towards Vin, gun already in hand. Buck is right behind him and only briefly sees Abram begin to swing his rifle away from Vin and towards Chris when Chris fires. A single tear of blood runs down Abram’s forehead before he tips over like a felled tree.
“Vin! Vin!” Chris cries out before he takes in the blood soaking Vin’s shirt. Buck is nearby looking over Abram and confirming with his indifference that he’s dead. With shaking hands Chris gingerly lifts Vin’s shirt away from his wound. The sight chokes a moan out of him. Buck is suddenly beside him, reaching under Vin and then grimly shaking his head. No exit wound. Abram’s bullet is still inside.
Buck races to his saddle bag, nearly spooking his exhausted horse and pulls out neat wads of bandages that he keeps at Nathan’s behest. Together Chris and Buck apply them to Vin’s wound and then wrap a strip around his waist to hold it in place. Before they finish it is already soaked through. Chris places his hand over it and Vin stirs.
Chris is at once heartened to see signs of life and anguished to witness the pain Vin is in. “Buck, help me get him on his horse,” he nearly pleads and then barks, “No! Leave it!” when Buck reaches for Vin’s saddle. He lifts Vin under the arms while Buck carries him under his knees. Vin’s forehead lolls against Chris’s chin while he holds the brunt of Vin’s weight as Buck lifts his leg over Peso’s bare back. With more grace than a drunk should have Chris slips behind Vin. Pulling Vin against him and tucking Vin’s head between his chin and shoulder, Chris regains some of his authority. “Take his horse,” and he deigns to glance at Abram’s soulless body, “and get Nathan to meet us at my cabin - it’s closer than town.” Vin groans as his blood seeps between Chris’s fingers. “Ride like the devil!” Chris calls out to Buck who is already on his way.
Chris tries to swallow the bile of his own panic as he secures his arms around Vin and spurs Peso on. The reins of his horse and Buck’s are fisted in with Peso’s as the worn down animals travel on either side of Chris and Vin. Their pace is maddeningly slow and despite Peso’s smooth gait Chris’s hands are slick with Vin’s blood. Vin begins to shiver. Chris drops the reins of the two horses and pulls the back of his serape off over his head and then over Vin’s. Chris wraps his arms around him again, in effect, warming him with his fear. The untethered horses slow to a stop and then heads carried low begin to follow. Both have already been forgotten.
Vin feels something scratch and then tickle his forehead. He raises a heavy hand to swat it away only to have his fingertips rake over what feels like stubble. With great effort he opens his eyes and cants his head back to see Chris’s stern, worried profile. Chris cups the back of his head and takes a moment to look into Vin’s eyes before he tucks his head back against his cheek. Vin would be amused if not for the anguish he sees in Chris’s burned eyes, the deep worry lines between his brows and the smear of blood across his chin.
“Chris?” Vin asks, his voice sounding rough and far away.
“Yeah, pard.”
“You all right?”
Vin feels Chris smooth is hand over his shoulder before he answers, “I’m OK, Vin. Just need to get you to Nathan.”
With weak fingers Vin plucks at the serape that engulfs him. Dun and red, the colors of the desert floor with black shot through it. Chris wears black. Like a flag with each battle sewn into it. Or a warning. I am dangerous. I am grieving. I am dangerous because of my grief. Black, too, like the night sky.
Vin looks up. The moon is full and her light shines through the clouds. The sky is littered with stars. It’s a small blessing on a terrible night. “The moon is out,” Vin says. His vision clears and for a long moment it seems as though the entire world has been illuminated for him in blue and white. It’s vast and beautiful and he can see it all within the confines of his friends clothing, within his arms and his bloodied hands. “Can you see it, Chris?”
“Yeah,” Chris clears his throat. “I see it.” He carefully tightens his hold on Vin and hopes to reassure him further. “It’s going to lead us home.”
The realization that Chris understands chokes him with emotion. He gulps for air and his gut bites back until he is curled over in pain.
Chris reaches across his chest and eases him back. “Easy, Vin, easy. That’s it. Slow down…” With his head thrown back against Chris’s shoulder and Chris murmuring in his ear, Vin slowly regains his breath.
Chris’s demonstrative strength and soothing voice belie his fear but Vin hears it and feels it running down his bones. Wanting only to ease Chris’s anxiety Vin places both of his hands over the one Chris has covering his wound. “I’m all right, Chris,” Vin lies, “It don’t even hurt no more.” His words seem to have the opposite effect as Chris tenses behind him. Vin struggles to tell him more but the effort cuts him low. He nestles his forehead back into the crook of Chris’s neck and finds that he is the one reassured by the now familiar scrub of Chris’s stubble. Right before he gives in to his exhaustion he feels Chris turn his head slightly and then the long press of lips to his temple - although he might have imagined it as he has so many times before.
They make their way to Chris’s cabin in this fashion. Both scared, both exhausted, both desperately trying to spare the other.
~7777777~
At the sight of Nathan running towards him Chris feels his eyes burn in relief and gratitude. He comes to a stop and suddenly there is a commotion around him. He has been traveling for so long with his ear trained to any sound that Vin might make that the urgent commands that Nathan is issuing are almost deafening. Buck and Josiah are a blur on either side of him. His hands are tangled with Vin’s and also with the reins and it’s only Nathan’s sure handling that releases them. Finally letting Nathan pull Vin into his arms Chris immediately feels the cold loss of him. Vin’s head hangs low over Nathan’s arm as the toes of his boots point towards each other. It’s a horrible sight that leaves him wondering how long he has been whispering to a dead man.
Something tugs at his sleeve and with no real interest Chris looks down to see Josiah gaining a firmer grip on his upper arm. “You’ve given up too soon,” Josiah preaches. “Come down off that horse and help your brothers.” Wanting desperately to believe Josiah’s admonishment Chris uses what’s left of his determination to slide off of Peso and let Josiah lead him inside.
Chris’s cabin is little more than a shack. To the right of the door is a small round table with two mismatched chairs. A large bed in the left hand corner seems to be the only concession to comfort and practicality while the stone fireplace looks hardly big enough to roast a rabbit. Despite this, boiled water cools on the hearth and Nathan has laid out the bottles of laudanum and carbolic along with the terrible instruments he will use to try to save Vin.
Vin’s dead weight sinks him into Chris’s bed and makes him appear smaller and younger. His breath is quick and shallow. The bleeding wound that Abram cut him down with is the most obvious sign that he’s still alive.
Chris steps over the bloodied serape now in a heap on the floor with the rest of Vin’s ruined layers and stands numbly behind Nathan and Buck. Nathan sits on the edge of the bed and checks Vin’s pulse at his throat with one hand while the other lifts an eyelid to reveal a blown pupil. Dropping his head momentarily Nathan quickly regains his composure and with a look to Buck sets about to remove the bullet. Buck places his hands on Vin’s legs just above his knees. Chris realizes it’s a restraining gesture and swallows hard. Pulling himself out of his stupor he steps to the other side of Nathan and crouching down places his hands on Vin’s shoulders. His stained hands are shaking but strong. He hopes they are of some comfort.
Nathan douses Vin’s wound with carbolic and then makes a small incision to reveal the pathway of the bullet. Buck ducks his head and stifles a groan while he tightens his grip on Vin’s unmoving legs. Slowly and with a deliberateness that speaks of his skill, Nathan follows the bullet. Vin remains utterly still. Even his pain does not stir him. Buck loosens his hold and without thought begins to soothe and pat Vin’s calf. One of Chris’s hands settles in Vin’s hair and scratches gently at it. Nathan leans in closer and finally withdraws his bloody instrument and drops a small pellet of metal onto a pristine cloth. It is almost impossible to believe that such a small thing could devastate not only Vin but also the men he rides with.
Chris lets out a relieved, exhausted breath and then shifts to look into Vin’s eyes as if the removal of the bullet would release Vin from his suffering. When Vin’s eyes don’t open Chris cups Vin’s face in his hands and thoughtlessly shakes him. “C’mon now, Vin,” he scolds. “Wake up.”
Nathan exchanges a worried look with Buck and then says, “I’m gonna stitch up Vin here and then wash him up.” Sparing a glance to Chris’s sullied hands still holding Vin’s slack face Nathan brooks no argument. “You go on now and wash up, too.”
Chris does not question Nathan’s authority in these matters but it’s hell for him to let go. Carefully and with a nagging reluctance Chris rests Vin’s head back on the pillow and slowly rises to his feet. Buck has already gone to a chest by the bed and retrieved a clean set of dark clothes for his friend and laid them by a basin on the table. Chris walks stiffly over to the basin and looks over his shoulder to watch Nathan working on Vin.
“Chris…” Buck whispers but all Chris can offer him is a distracted glance.
It is Ezra, who has shown up with JD sometime during this ordeal who steps through the open doorway and rolls up his sleeves to reveal strong, pale arms bare of any tricks or weaponry. Running a hand across Chris’s shoulder as if he were walking behind a spirited horse that might kick Ezra turns him towards the basin and then tugs on Chris’s soiled shirt and asks, “Mr. Larabee?” Chris seems disinterested in anything that might be done to him and Ezra takes advantage of the moment. Pulling Chris’s shirt out of his pants he begins to unbutton it. “I know you think the world is setting itself to put you on your knees again,” and the truth of Ezra’s statement gains him Chris’s attention, “but you forget that our Mr. Tanner has always gone his own way and will not be led to his death easily.” Buck turns away and covers his face with a shaking hand. Ezra drops Chris’s shirt on the pile already on the floor. Calmly soaking a cloth in the basin Ezra squeezes out the excess and then dares to wipe off the sweat and blood from Chris’s face. “But you already know that, don’t you?” Using the audacious truth to breach Chris’s usual defenses Ezra pulls Chris’s hands into the basin and washes them thoroughly with a plug of soap that JD has found. “Look around you,” Ezra says as he dries Chris’s hands. “You are not alone.” He hands Chris a clean pair of drawers and pauses while Chris steps into them. “Vin’s friends are here.” Josiah places a blanket around Chris’s shoulders while Buck smoothes out a bedroll at the foot of the bed. “Your friends are here.” Slowly, so as not to spook him, Ezra leads him to the bedroll and coaxes him to lie down. “When you wake up we will still be here.” Unable to keep his eyes open a moment longer, Chris sleeps.
Through the open doorway the predawn light creeps in.
~7777777~
Chris is chagrined to find that he has slept while Vin continues to fight. Rising to unsure feet he dresses in the clothes laid out for him the night before. Ezra’s word is good. Each of his friends are quietly busy in his small home. Like the grudges he sometimes holds, Chris will never forget it.
A small wooden crate sits on his table and is filled with ham, coffee, bread and apples. Good food and the absence of whiskey implying women were involved. Ezra sorts through the provisions and begins to make coffee. A quick look out his window and he sees JD watering the horses including Abram’s gelding. Josiah brings in his saddle bags and empties out more bandages and carbolic onto the chest. Buck brings in a emptied basin and fills a pitcher from a bucket of spring water. He takes both over to Nathan who is soaking Vin’s brow with cool, wet cloths. Vin groans and shrinks away.
Sober and half awake Chris is defenseless. He places a hand on Nathan’s shoulder, almost restraining him.
Without looking back or stopping his ministrations Nathan informs Chris, “He’s got a fever.” His tone tells Chris that it is both expected and dreaded.
Vin’s eyes drift past Nathan to Chris. Chris can only see a sliver of blue. He wonders if Vin sees him at all. Vin shivers despite the heat radiating off his skin. Chris cringes in sympathy.
“Heeey,” Chris chokes, “Vin…”
Nathan leaves one cloth draped over Vin’s forehead and then runs another across his throat and chest, down his arms. Shivering, Vin continues to watch Chris. Chris wants to reach out to Vin and reassure him, and in effect, reassure himself, but despite Vin’s steady gaze he can feel him slipping away. All the intangible connections that they made from the start are lifting from his skin, unwrapping themselves from all his better instincts. Vin is letting go and it’s unbearable.
Suddenly his cabin is too small, overcrowded with good intentions and the possibility of loss. Stumbling back, startled when Josiah tries to steady him, Chris breaks into a cold sweat and runs out the door only to stop when there is nowhere to go. The band of ne’er do wells that he is proud to be a part of have already seen to everything. Unable to catch his breath Chris tries to regain some measure of his composure and only partially succeeds.
Buck, always eager to comfort with his proximity starts out after Chris but Josiah’s large, gentle hand restrains him completely. Buck turns back to Vin and it takes all his self restraint to keep from pushing Nathan aside and lifting Vin across his lap. He would do it. He would cradle Vin’s fever in his arms and woo it until it tired of his sentiment and went on its way. He would do it if only Josiah would stop ironing his hand across his shoulders making it impossible for him to lift his chin off of his chest much less move decisively.
While Vin’s fever burns the rest of the Seven dance slowly with their helplessness. Nathan refuses his own fatigue trying to help Vin fight. As the day passes on Ezra finally rests his hand on Nathan’s shoulder and takes the wrung out cloth from his hand. A plate has been set on the table for him with hot food and strong coffee. Nathan throws a hand up in resignation and begins to eat not from hunger but out of gratitude. While Ezra settles himself in Nathan’s place Buck pushes his shoulder behind Vin so that Vin can rest against his chest. Barely conscious, Vin talks to spirits that only he can see in languages only he can understand. At times it seems as if he is calling out for someone. Buck wraps his arms warmly around Vin and whispers in his ear, “We’re all here, Vin. We’re here.” JD, already full of his own innate high emotions is unable to take in anymore and scrambles past Chris who is haunting the doorway. Josiah goes after JD in his slow, sure way, gripping Chris’s arm on the way out. Nathan puts down his fork and stares out the small window no longer able to even pretend that he wants anything that is in front of him.
Chris remains just outside his own door, not entering even for the slow burn of whiskey he has tucked away inside. He waited outside a door similar to this when Adam was born, flinching and pacing when Sarah cried out and crying himself when he heard Adam wail. What a relief it had been to finally burst through the door to find Sarah exhausted and yet lit from within. As Sarah held Adam, Chris wrapped his arms around them and let his wife and son comfort him with their tears.
There will be no way for him to get his arms around this. He is sure of it.
Vin’s slurred voice carries out to him. An unreasonable anger wells up. Why don’t they let him go? Just let him go instead of holding him here with their arms and useless medicine and their soft words. Why make him suffer like this? They should take their turns and bless his forehead with their rough palms or even a kiss and then let him go. Heaven is the least he deserves - not this unending hard scrabble for freedom with no room for family except for the men who surround him now. Except for his own tight fisted…love.
This time when he steps off the porch he makes it to the creek that runs through the shade of trees. He cannot hear Vin calling or any response. The sound of water tumbling over smooth stones fills his ears and he’s grateful for it. He paces in a tight knot and then suddenly stops and sits in the dirt, as still as a rock.
Hours later he flinches as the sky turns purple and then completely black. The moon shines over him and without thought he follows it back to his cabin. The doorway and the windows glow with lamp light. He can see Buck in the doorway before he disappears inside. By the time Chris is back on his porch Buck is smoothing out a bedroll underneath a window. Chris steps back into the doorway in time to see Josiah trying to ease a cup of water past Vin’s lips only to have most of it pour over his chin and down his throat uselessly.
Chris looks over at Buck who is sitting on the bedroll with his back against the wall. With one more look at Vin, Chris joins Buck and wraps his arms loosely around his drawn up knees. Buck moves quickly for such a tall man and before Chris can think of an objection Buck is in front of him pulling off his boots. Once they are off Buck keeps a hold of Chris’s foot. Buck is a strange man, Chris thinks, not for the first time. But he knew that from the start and at times like these he’s more in debt to him than ever.
He drifts into a fugue state, lulled by a far reaching stillness that not even Buck seems willing to rattle. He thinks of Sarah and Adam and hopes that they will know Vin in the sweet hereafter but it’s a weak hope based in his contrary lack of faith. Better to think of him when they met. A look, a nod and they strode after the hanging party as if they were walking down the aisle to the wedding of two archangels.
Maybe he slept, using the memory like a pillow, he would never be sure about it afterwards. The thud of bare feet scrambling around inside bring him fully awake. Pulling his foot from Buck’s lax hold he stands up and edges towards the open door. Nathan rushes past him. Once again Vin is in a boneless sprawl in his arms.
“Wha - ?” Chris asks Nathan’s disappearing back.
JD sidles up to Chris and places his hand briefly on his shoulder. “Vin’s fever is burning. Nathan wants to cool him down in the creek.”
Chris is already off the porch running in fits and starts towards the creek he hid by earlier. Nathan eases into the shallow water and then crouches low until Vin’s shoulders are below it. The shock of its coolness twitches Vin to a weak form of consciousness, his eyes barely open, his hands out and fall without any strength.
Chris comes to an abrupt and breathless stop at the waters edge.
Vin tugs at Nathan’s shirt. “Nate, it’s cold,” he pleads, and then with more of his usual grit, “It’s too cold, Nathan.”
Nathan cups some water in one hand and then pours it over Vin’s forehead and into his hair. “Gotta get this fever down, Vin. You gonna give me trouble? Huh?” There’s no heat behind his words. Only urgency and an ever present tenderness.
Still, Vin shivers and frowns as if considering his options before finally shaking his head no.
Nathan smiles despite himself and pulls Vin closer while continuing to baptize him. “Good…that’s good, my friend. Just a while longer.”
Chris wades into the water and for a brief moment Nathan’s frustration flares. Vin reaches down to some unknown source of strength and then reaches out to Chris as if he is finally there to save him.
“Chris,” Nathan quietly admonishes, “we have to - ”
“I know,” Chris assures, and then holds out his arms. “Here…” Vin clutches weakly at Chris, pressing his face into his armpit. For a moment Chris squeezes Vin against him in an instinctual effort to warm him. It tears at him to pull Vin away from him and sink him back into the water. Vin shudders and mumbles his protest and then quiets himself to take a long look at Chris. Despite his bleary eyes he subjects Chris to the most intense study since his son was a baby. Blue eyes as dark and blown as a storm look at him and through him and then blink slowly closed.
Vin loosens his hold and settles back into the cradle of Chris’s arms as much as the fever will allow. “Awright. I know. Sorry. I’m sorry, Chris.” Even fever drunk and dulled Vin struggles not to wear out his welcome.
“No. You got nothing to be sorry for,” Chris scolds and then softens his voice. “You just…” but Vin has already drifted off, mumbling in a native tongue.
Nathan approaches and Chris fires him a look that is equal parts determination and desperation. He shifts Vin in his arms as if he has forgotten how to hold someone between them - as if he is afraid he will hurt Vin further with his want and his tenderness. It seems entirely possible that he might drown them both in less than three feet of water with the grief that he is already nursing for Vin. But Nathan has worked with wounded and skittish animals before and so it’s with a sure hand that he continues to pour water over Vin’s burning forehead while the other steadies Chris’s shoulder.
Vin quiets himself under their attention and then goes completely still. Nathan rests his hand on his forehead and Chris braces himself for the worst.
Nathan nods to himself and then looks at Chris. “His fever’s gone down. C’mon, let’s get him out of this puddle.” He reaches for Vin but Chris will have none of it. Together though, they pull the soaked sheet from Vin and make their way out onto dry land. Buck and JD wait for any sign that their help would be accepted while Josiah marches forward, unafraid, with a dry blanket that he places over Vin. Nathan lopes ahead to find that Ezra has already set up a basin of water, clean bandages and bottles of carbolic.
Chris strides in with Vin while the others peer into the small cabin from outside. Again, Vin’s stillness unnerves him more than his fevered talk. With great care he lays Vin back onto the bed and then wheels around in search of the one thing that might save him. “Where is it?” he demands, upending baskets of food, pushing aside folded blankets. “Where is it?!”
Mr. Larabee…” Ezra solicits.
“Where are his clothes, his…?” he pounds his chest with an open hand unable to name what he so desperately wants.
“They were ruined, Mr. Larabee. We burned - ”
“No!” He roughly pushes Ezra out of his way. “No. His coat and war bag, his…” and again he is unable to name it.
Buck enters and pulls out a chair by the window to reveal what’s left of Vin’s valuables. “Chris! Chris, here - ” Chris lunges at the war bag only to toss it aside when it fails to produce what he wants. Another pair of buckskins joins it. He rifles through the pockets of the buffalo hide jacket and while the harmonica and the spyglass that he finds there slow him down they do not stop his search. Finally, lost in a soft wad of colorful bandanas is the small medicine bag that Chanu gave Vin. It almost makes him smile.
What is it between men that can set them fiercely against each other only for one to bless the other with freedom and the other to place his strongest medicine around his pursuers neck? Indian ways, to be sure, but then that would make all Seven of them Indians, also.
Chris carefully straightens the leather thong that carries the medicine bag and quietly approaches Vin. Nathan, who has learned not to be distracted by Chris has already dressed Vin’s wound with a clean bandage. He moves aside as Chris slowly nears. Chris takes in the sight of Vin. Again, he sees that Vin is smaller than he imagined without all the layers of animal skins and bandanas to fool him. He is strong but not rough at all. Long muscles run close over bone as if he were bred to be a fast horse and turned up a man instead. Scars from past battles ironically give Chris hope that he might survive this, too. He is pale and sick from blood loss and still beautiful for all his familiarity.
Suddenly unsure, he kneels beside the bed and bows his head the way his own religion had taught him to do. “Vin, please,” he pleads and then remembers his desire not to make Vin suffer any longer. He places the medicine bag around Vin’s neck and then bows his head again and lets it rest in the crook of Vin’s neck. “It’s all right. You go on now and rest. You go on if you have to.” It’s the best he can do since there will always be a part of him that holds on to the people he loves.
He begins to cry. Not his usual commotion, full of rage but an aching pouring off of fear and dread. Resting one hand over the medicine bag and the other in the wet tangle of Vin’s hair he finds the small hard pebble of his true self that has kept its vigil in the low center of his body. It is the part of him that recognized Sarah and also the men in his home. It is the part of him that Adam smiled at.
Silence rules him now. His voice is useless. It is this resounding pure silence in himself that Vin will respond to as he has from the first. It is only when he is quiet and still in mind and body that this silence makes itself known as it will never interrupt him. And it is there that all his faith and love lies in wait. Without a sound, his face as untroubled as a newborns, he lets his tears soak Vin’s pillow until he sleeps.
Vin will live or die and meet his fate according to whatever elements he believes in. There is nothing left to do.
~7777777~
Another day dawns as Chris scratches his stubbled chin and wakes. Some kind soul has thrown a blanket over his back. Bury me where I fall , he thinks and opens his tired eyes. Vin’s hand is so near to his face that it blurs his vision. One long finger reaches out and scratches his chin. Startled completely awake he rears up to find Vin looking at him as if wondering what all the fuss is about. Nearly out of breath he slowly begins to notice that Vin’s hair is wet as if he has been taken down to the creek again. The sheets that he grips in his hands are damp and sour smelling. Chris reaches up and places his palm against Vin’s sweaty cheek. It’s warm but no longer burning with fever and while Vin’s eyes are still not completely focused they track Chris’s every move.
Josiah’s hands rest on Chris’s shoulders a moment before they reach under his arms and help lift him to his feet. His back and knees protest as does his pride but it’s impossible for him to feel anything but grateful. Vin has survived the night, his fever has broken and if the need arises he apparently has more than one friend who will pick him up off the floor.
Ezra pouring hot water into a basin breaks him from his reverie. He does not step outside as he did the day before. His grief having been replaced by hope allows him to help Buck find the last of his clean sheets and blankets. Smoothing out a bedroll he looks up to find Vin watching him still. He ducks his chin to hide his pleasure.
Nathan reaches for Vin and then steps aside when Chris hurries over. Slowly, and with great care, Chris slips his arms under Vin’s legs and back and lifts. As gentle as he is, Vin flinches from being moved at all.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Chris soothes. “I’m sorry,” and then sits him on the bedroll letting him rest against his shoulder. It’s a gift to have Vin alive within the circle of his arms.
JD brings over a cup of water and holds it for Vin when he sees that he can’t. Vin pulls at the water until it’s nearly gone. JD dares to smile at Chris before he asks, “More, Vin?”
“Let’s see how he holds this down,” Chris advises gently.
“OK,” JD agrees, and can’t help another smile.
Nathan nudges JD aside with a water basin and together he and Chris make short work of bathing Vin. His arms and legs are heavy, nearly dead weight. The simile chills Chris. “You were starting to smell like a cowboy there, Vin,” Chris teases in an effort to distract his own thoughts. Vin makes a raspy, exasperated sound which delights Chris.
Nathan waits until Vin is settled back into the remade bed before he changes his bandages. Vin accepts Nathan’s ministrations as stoically as possible. While he catches his breath he looks around the small room and takes in the sight of six men who are peering back at him. Ezra’s clothes are as rumpled as everyone else’s and all of them look in need of sleep.
Vin’s voice is torn and barely audible. “What are y’all doing here?”
There is a long, silent moment where Vin has everyone’s stunned attention. Ezra throws up his hands and turns to share a smile with Josiah. Buck looms forward and with affectionate exasperation exclaims, “We just came over to say ‘Howdy’,” and then raises his hand open hand to confirm his statement. “Howdy!”
“Buck…” Chris warns but a smile carries his voice.
Vin raises his fingers from his chest. “Howdy.” If he weren’t so tired he might try to figure out what his friends think is so funny but he can barely keep his eyes open until he finds Chris again.
Chris steps forward and leans over him and says in a quiet voice over the noise behind him, “Howdy, partner.” He places his rough palm over Vin’s forehead. “You rest now.” Vin blinks tiredly at him. “That’s it. Just sleep.” Vin finally gives in. “I’ll watch your back.”
Chris stands and swallows and chokes on his relief. Buck turns him and opens his arms. Chris rests his forehead on Buck’s shoulder and for a short while lets Buck wrap him in a warm hold.
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