"I can't believe I let the boys talk me into doing this." Chris Larabee stood scowling in the doorway of Ezra Standish's rented room. The gambler was being occupied in the saloon by the rest of the seven, while Chris had somehow found himself here. About to invade his friend's privacy in the name of Christmas. They had all decided to chip in and purchase a fancy new coat for Ezra, but they needed to get his exact measurements. So they had volunteered Chris to sneak into his room and liberate one of his old coats for them to use.
"Bah. Humbug." Chris muttered. Then he sighed. "Might as well get it over with, I suppose." Stepping reluctantly into the room, he headed over to the small, shabby armoire in the corner and opened it. Reaching in quickly, he grabbed the first thing his hand came into contact with. It was Ezra's tan coat. One he didn't wear very often. Good. It would do. Now he could get the hell out of here. Chris really didn't like this. It didn't feel right being in Ezra's room, going through his stuff without him knowing about it. Even if it was in a good cause.
He slung the article of clothing over his arm, cursing as a bundle of what looked like letters fell out of a pocket. He reached down to pick the letters up, intending to put them back, when a familiar name caught his eye.
My Dear Mrs. Travis. Mary,Mere gold could never rival the color of your hair...
Chris frowned. What was Ezra doing with these...these love letters? To Mary? He could feel the faint stirrings of jealousy, urging him to read further. To study his apparent rival. Find his weaknesses. He hesitated, caught between his conscience and his all too human curiosity.
The sound of voices outside the door made him jump guiltily. Making a sudden decision, he stuffed the bundle of letters into the pocket of his black duster and left the room, resolutely ignoring the prickle of conscience he felt.
Chris dropped Ezra's coat off at the tailor's, with curt instructions to notify Vin or Josiah when he was through with it. Let one of them return the damn thing.
He was headed towards the livery stable when he ran into Mary Travis coming out of the telegraph office.
"Hello, Mr. Larabee. Chris. I just heard from the judge and he should be arriving within a few days." She paused, obviously expecting some response. Chris just stared at her. Wondering.
"Chris?" Mary sounded a bit concerned.
"Yeah. Thanks." Tipping his hat in an abrupt gesture, Chris pushed past her without another word, leaving a rather bewildered Mary Travis behind.
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My Dear Mary,
I fear this is an exercise in futility, writing love letters to a woman who will never read them. Never hold them in delicate hands as she smiles over them. Never clutch them to her breast in delight or shed a tear over the fragile emotions expressed within. It is not only futile, but rather ridiculous really.
You deserve a better man than one who can at best be labelled ridiculous and at worst... well I have been called many things. Coward. Cheat. Selfish. Shallow. Most of them are true to one extent or another.
But you make me long to be different. To be someone else. Someone who would be a match for you in strength and spirit. Someone like Chris.
I greatly fear that the only thing I can honestly say I am your equal in is your wardrobe. Yes. A splendid recommendation, don't you think? Who needs honor or courage when you have fashion sense?
You may perhaps begin to understand why these letters will never be read by anyone but their unfortunate author.
I remain forever yours,
Ezra
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My Darling Sweet Mary,
Rather flowery, don't you think? But it seems love not only makes me ridiculous, it makes me sentimental and maudlin, as well.
That's correct. I said love. As in I, Ezra Standish, love you, Mary Travis. I never thought I would succumb to such a messy, painful emotion. I have tried never to do so. And until I met you, I thought I had succeeded rather well. What do they say? Pride goeth before a fall?
And I fall a bit further every day. Further in love. Further in despair. Each time I see you with Chris. So perfect together. I can see the attraction between the two of you. I only wish I could hate both of you for it. But I cannot. I can only wonder if he cares for you as I do. And hope that he does. For your sake. And wish that he would not. For my sake.
But I saw the two of you together this morning. Your hair shone in the sunlight and you were smiling up at him with laughter in your beautiful eyes. How could he not love you? And I am neither vain enough nor foolish enough to cherish the idea that you could prefer my attentions over those of our illustrious leader. He has earned the right. I have not. Nor will I ever. It would take a thousand lifetimes. Not the paltry one we are given.
But there is always the night. And the dreams they bring. Perhaps I can stretch those enough to cover a lifetime.
Ezra
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My Dear Mary,
I no longer know what to say. I have written paens of praise to your beauty, odes to the many virtues you possess. Pride. Honor. Courage. Intelligence. Loyalty. I have even detailed your flaws, such as they are. Stubbornness. Possessor of certain unbecoming predjudices. I have always known you were not perfect. Nor would I wish for you to be. I cannot imagine anything more dull. So what is left to say?
I could say again that you are the cool breeze on a hot summer day. The gold at the end of the rainbow. The ray of light that brings hope into my darkness. But I would merely be repeating myself. I have said all I can. Only one thing remains.
May you find the happiness, joy and laughter you so richly deserve. Chris Larabee is a good man. A better man than I. There. Now I can retire my pen and write no more. These letters have served what purpose they can.
Love Always,
Ezra
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A better man. Chris turned the phrase over and over in his mind, examining it from all angles. And they all led to the same conclusion. Mary did deserve a better man. A better man than Chris Larabee. She deserved one who would love her fully, with no reservations. No ghosts haunting him. Someone like Ezra.
Chris was attracted to Mary. He even loved her a little bit. But it wasn't the soul searing, bone deep emotion he'd felt for Sarah. It wasn't even close. And that wasn't fair. Not to him. And certainly not to her. But the gambler was a different story. A story of love and longing that permeated every word he'd written. A story that deserved to have a chance for a proper ending. A happy ending.
Chris set the letter down on the table in front of him. He leaned back in his chair and thought about Mary. Thought about Ezra. Thought about the two of them together. Somewhere along the way, the twinge of jealousy had evaporated. Washed away by the simple beauty of Ezra's words. Perhaps he shouldn't be the only one to see them. There was someone else who had far more right than he.
Getting to his feet, Chris gathered up the letters and went outside to saddle his horse. He had a package to deliver in town.
"What on earth?" Mary frowned as she stared down at the awkwardly tied bundle sitting on her desk. It bore her name in large letters, but gave no indication of the sender. She debated whether to open it now or save it for later. She was tired and hungry and Billy still needed a bath. But curiosity won out. Opening the package, she pulled out what appeared to be a letter.
My Dear Mary, she read.
Mary Travis slowly put down the last letter in the bundle. Her heart was beating rapidly and she felt warm, even though darkness had long since fallen and the room was rather chilly. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry or scream or whether she should be angry, upset, flattered or happy. A little
of each, perhaps?
She sat there for a few moments, hands clenched in her lap, immobile. What should she do? Almost of its own volition, a hand crept out and picked up a letter.
"My Darling Mary..." she read again.
The End
