You can rest easy, now, Vin.
He ain't dyin'. He's still pretty damn' sick
- but he ain't dyin'.
"You don't have ta stay, Josiah …
" you said to me at the beginnin', although I could tell you
could use the company.
So I stayed. And I've been sittin' here the
longest time, watchin' you watchin' Chris, willing the man to heal,
hopin' against hope that this damn' pneumonia ain't goin' to take
our friend from us.
Stupidest thing I ever saw, Vin - Chris Larabee, a man I always reckoned
would meet his Maker carryin' a bullet, laid flat on his ass by somethin'
as simple as gettin' soaked in a ten-minute downpour.
Truly stupid.
Mind you, it didn't help that he'd spent the
rest of the night in a bottle of whisky, put there by the fact we'd
had to bury a family - Ma, Pa, and two little ones, caught in a flash
flood - turnin' into the Chris Larabee only Buck knows well, the same
Chris Larabee that gave Buck a split lip a minute later when he tried
his damnedest to get Chris to go change his wet clothes. Chris didn't
even say anythin'. He just hit him. When Buck backed off, JD lookin'
all wide-eyed because Chris hit Buck for what amounted to no reason
at all, I saw the hopelessness in Chris' eyes, eyes that were flat
and hard with self-hatred. A man in purgatory, if ever I saw one.
Chris didn't need to die that night. He was already in that terrible
place, and had been for three years, God help him.
"Now hold on there, Chris," I'd said,
"Ease on up a minute - Buck's just worried about you - "
Next thing I know there's a gun pointed at
me. Right here, at my chest. Rock steady too, despite the whisky.
"Just back off, Preacher Man!" I
could hardly hear him, his voice was that low - nothin' but a whisper
really. But I knew he'd kill me, then and there, if I pushed it. Don't
know how I knew; I just did. I could see Ezra out of the corner of
my eye, that famous poker face of his just tense with shock. Takes
a lot to shock Ezra, but watchin' Chris just - and only just - hold
back from shootin' holes in me took the wind right out of him.
But just then I saw the saloon doors swing
open, and there you were, rain still drippin' from that old coat you
like to wear, and I'm pretty sure I could smell that damn' coat from
where I was standin' - Ez does have a point about it, son ….
Those cornflower-blue eyes of yours looked
at Chris, then looked at me, and you never turned a hair. In you walked
then, and came to stand beside a dumb ol' preacher man who'd opened
his big mouth once too often, and you looked Chris square in those
lifeless eyes … and smiled.
"You gonna shoot me too, cowboy?"
That was it.
That's all you said, and for a long moment
I sincerely thought Larabee hadn't heard you. Seemed a lifetime until
he eased the hammer back down on that Peacemaker of his, and I let
my breath back out, not realising until then how close I'd come to
losing everything.
"Vin?" For the first time I saw something
in Chris' eyes other than pain. Sadness. A sadness that was eatin'
the man whole, eatin' him from the inside out like some kind of foul
parasite.
Chris had seemed kinda worn out then, and you
caught him as he fell, your scrawny little frame hoisting Larabee
over a shoulder and carrying his sorry ass to bed, Bucklin followin'
on behind as though the punch that bloodied him had never happened.
Wasn't until mornin' that we realised he was
sick. Larabee was really sick, and Nathan told us he'd got a bad dose
of pneumonia.
And there was Buck, carryin' Chris like a frail
child wrapped in a blanket, the man shiverin' and coughin' his insides
up, headin' across the street to Nathan's clinic, and you, Vin Tanner,
trailin' behind like a lost calf.
There was Nathan and Buck, fussin' around like
a couple of ol' Momma hens, cleaning him up and keepin' him safe and
warm. JD just kind of hovered, somethin' the kid does to perfection,
worryin' enough for the whole six of us. Ezra? Well, Ez just watched
from the doorway, those green eyes takin' it all in, lookin' for all
the world as though he was takin' bets with the Devil as to who was
gonna win the race for Chris' soul. But I just knew Ezra had no intention
of losin' that particular bet - Larabee would stay with his brothers
if Ezra P. Standish had anythin' to do with it. And me - well, I just
did what I could, carryin' blankets, washin' that sick man down to
try and stop the fever, doin' whatever Nathan needed me to do. Most
of the time I wasn't much use for anythin' else, 'cause right then
prayin' wasn't what Chris needed - he needed us, his family.
But you?
You just draped your bony behind in that rickety
ol' chair of Nate's, hauled out that goddamn harmonica, and began
to play those long, sad notes through it, soundin' like the wind up
in those high, lonely places you love so much.
And so it began, this vigil of yours.
A long, hard vigil, one of pain, and fever,
and hurt, watchin' over a man that half the time didn't want to live,
even when he was fit and well.
I stayed close, tryin' to look out for both
of you, tryin' to make sure Nate didn't end up havin' two patients
instead of one. And in the deep of the night, when Chris' fever took
a hold, you'd turn to me with a look that took the breath right out
of my chest.
It was a look of blind, pure faith, Vin.
A faith I never had, and me a man supposed
to have a shortcut to God, if you believe some folks. I've spent my
whole life questionin' every damn' thing, wonderin', doubtin' all
I see that purports to be Faith. But in you, Vin Tanner … hell,
I saw the true meanin' of the word.
Faith.
It was that faith that brought Chris Larabee
back to us, after long, hard, strugglin' days, brought the Brotherhood
back together, made us complete once more.
And all the while you said nary a word …
you just watched, and waited, and sang your wordless, silent song
that echoed from your very heart, a song that only Chris could hear.
It was you that brought him back, son, you
that kept him safe and whole, and we were glad of it. Even Buck, a
man who knew Chris' heart was broke and whose own big heart had broken
alongside him all those years ago.
So just you keep watchin', boy. You and your
quiet ways and slow smile. You just carry on makin' us One again.
You just carry on makin' us a Brotherhood once
more, a family - because that's all we are, son.
A family.
Feedback welcome at MASKS2003@hotmail.com
