This is the story Nancy and Monica bought in the TS gen auction awhile back. Thank you ladies for all the letters written!
Thank you to my wonderful betas, Melanie and BCW. They saved you all from
many booboos. All remaining mistakes are mine and I would appreciate them
being pointed out to me. I hate mistakes. I'm anal that way.
So comments are welcomed at: klair@postmark.net
Heart Whispers
Wyoming Territory, spring, 1875
The door flew open suddenly, slamming into the wall behind it.
A curly-headed nine-year-old boy moved quickly ahead of his disheveled, visibly
angry, father who stormed in on his heels. In a flash, the rancher grabbed a chair
away from the table with one hand, and his plaintive son by an arm with the other.
In a movement that had become fluid from much practice, he sat the chair in the far
corner by the bookcase and plopped his protesting boy down on the seat.
"But it was only a joke!" Blair said, for what seemed the hundredth time.
"It wasn't funny," Jim said sternly.
"You sit there until I say otherwise," the irate father dictated.
"It was only a gopher snake." An audible pout crept into Blair's voice.
"Sit," the rancher clipped off.
"I didn't mean any harm," the child whined, squirming about on the hated chair to
turn doleful eyes to his father.
Shaking his finger firmly, the rancher said with a clenched jaw, "Boy, you're lucky
you're not sitting on a very sore backside. Don't push it." He left his son to ponder
his misdeed with a slam of the door.
Jim retraced his steps to the outhouse, shirttail still out and braces down, slapping
his legs as he walked. "Danged imp," he muttered under his breath, remembering
his shock at seeing a snake slithering through a knothole in the outhouse wall.
He'd jumped up and out of there as if he were on fire, only to find Blair rolling on
the ground in unbridled mirth at his predicament. Well, an hour of sitting in the
corner should change his tune, Jim thought.
He closed the door, confident he could complete his business in peace. A petulant
voice carried from the cabin as he got comfortable again. "I was only joking!"
All was forgiven and forgotten by the evening. While not appreciating being the
victim of his son's prank, Jim knew it was only a manifestation of Blair's
enthusiasm for the return of spring. The mountain winters were hard on the boy.
Blair never seemed to be warm enough, although he didn't complain much about
it.
Most of the snow had melted and fresh blades of grass sprang up through the
remnants. The roads would be passable again. Time for a trip to town to restock
and have the schoolmarm, Miss Sheila, assess the work Blair had done over the
long months of being cooped up in the cabin.
The bored and knowledge-hungry child had read every article in their encyclopedia
set at least twice, and every book and magazine they owned at least three times. The
journal that Jim had given him to record his many questions was full, even the
inside covers had been written in. While some had answers scrawled next to them,
most questions remained unanswered. One would think at the price he paid for
their little library such questions as, "How do birds stay in the air when they aren't
flapping their wings?" and "Why do ants always follow each other?" could be found
somewhere in those pages.
Maybe they should go all the way to Cheyenne to see what the stores there had to
offer in the way of reading material. He needed to check on his accounts, anyway.
Ellison kept some money in the local bank in Cascade, and some cash in a safe on
the ranch, but most of his money was in investments overseen by his bank in
Cheyenne. He wasn't wealthy, by any means, but had always put some of his
earnings away for his old age. Usually he conducted business via correspondence,
but an in-person visit from time to time never hurt.
He also wanted to look into purchasing lumber and such to add a room on to their
cabin. Nothing fancy, that wasn't his style, just sturdy, seasoned wood, windows, a
bed, another dresser -- and bookcases. Maybe a pot-bellied stove to keep the addition
warm.
Jim fell asleep easily that night, his plans made. They'd leave in four days for
Cascade to see the schoolmarm, then on to Cheyenne to check on his investments
and buy building supplies. He made a mental note to go to town by way of the
Choate ranch. He wanted to ask Paddy to keep an eye on his spread while they were
away. Nemo! his tired mind shouted. The rancher groaned into his pillow. Asking
his neighbor to keep Blair's dog until they returned was not something he looked
forward to, but he knew Blair wouldn't leave the little dog behind, otherwise. In exchange he could always consent to doing some shopping in Cheyenne for Chu
Wa, the Choate's cook and keeper. The tiny, ancient Chinese man could probably
come up with a few things he desired, but couldn't get in Cascade. Plans revised to
his satisfaction, Jim Ellison slept like the dead until dawn.
~~~
The tall rancher shifted again on the undersized bench seat in Miss Sheila's
classroom, trying without success to find a comfortable position. The one-room
structure had two rows of desks with hardwood seats, a large chalkboard mounted
on the wall facing them, Miss Sheila's desk between, an American flag in one corner
and a large pot-bellied stove at the back of the room. Along the windowed side
walls were low bookcases, half-empty, and displays of student projects.
The pert, red-haired schoolteacher put down the sheaf of papers she had been
studying, fixing the anxious father with sad eyes. "Mr. Ellison, I'm afraid there is
very little else I can do for Blair."
"What?" He rose to his feet immediately and approached the teacher's desk. "I
don't understand. Blair's a very bright boy. I make sure he does his schoolwork.
You've been more than pleased with his progress so far. I thought his essay on
medicinal plants of the area was one of his best. What's the problem?"
Smiling indulgently at the perplexed man, she rose and gracefully moved to the
front of her desk. Leaning back on its edge, her hands bracing her, Miss Sheila
Erwin began to explain her reasons as if she were talking to a slow child. "The
problem is not with Blair, but with what I can do for him here. Blair is bright, one
of the brightest children I've ever taught. He's only nine and already he's past the
sixth McGuffy reader, has almost exhausted my arithmetic knowledge, and writes with imagination and style - although his spelling and penmanship need work.
With a more formal, in-depth education he could do great things,
Mr. Ellison."
"What do you propose?"
The schoolteacher took a moment to reach behind her to lift a piece of paper off the
desk. Offering him the sheet, she began, "I've prepared a list of several well
respected eastern boarding schools--", only to have Mr. Ellison turn to leave with a
disgusted look on his face. Never one to back down from a challenge, she followed
him towards the door, all the while continuing to make her case. "Just think about
it, Mr. Ellison. I say this in the boy's best interest. He loves to learn. If Blair doesn't
keep being challenged then I fear he will lose interest and end up just another near
do-well riding drag on a cow herd. Is that what you want for your son, Mr. Ellison?"
Reaching the doorway, Ellison paused on the steps and turned back to her, his eyes
blue ice. "I know what's best for Blair."
"Do you?" she snipped, forcefully shoving the list into his jacket pocket. She
matched his cold countenance. "Or do you only see what's best for yourself? Good
day, Mr. Ellison." The little redhead went back into her schoolhouse, slamming the
door shut behind her.
**
Jim moved about their hotel room at the Cascade Palace gathering their things to
repack into their valises. How the boy could get his things spread over almost every
surface of the small room in only a two day span of time was beyond him. The
nine-year-old terror in question sat bathing himself in a washtub set up by the
room's coal furnace. Blair and Darryl must have found every mud puddle in
Cascade.
"Why we going to Cheyenne?" Blair asked as he soaped up his dirty curls.
"I have some business to conduct there."
"What kind of business?" A thick lather on his head, Blair proceeded to made
shapes from the sudsy curls. "Someone want to buy our horses?"
"Banking and errands." Jim crossed the room to make double-sure the dresser was
empty, giving his son "the look". "Don't forget to wash behind your ears."
Blair rolled his eyes, but fished the wash rag out of the dirty, soapy water to comply.
"Do they have bookstores in Cheyenne?"
"They might." Jim snapped his valise shut before picking up the remaining pail of
warm water. "Ready for a rinse?"
"Yes." Blair quickly covered his eyes with the folded washcloth as his father poured
the water over his head. "Can we go to any bookstores they have?" he asked, while
Jim squeezed the excess water from his hair.
"Yes, Little Bit. We can do that. Now hurry up, dry off and get your nightshirt on
before you catch a chill."
**
Jim tossed and turned in the narrow hotel bed across the room from where Blair
slept soundly in his own bed, situated closer to the pot-bellied stove. This fitful
sleep was plagued by visions of Blair leaving him, Blair being taken from him, and
Blair miserable as a broken-down wrangler, blaming Jim for his troubles. Then the
scenes changed. He was in a jungle that looked familiar. Through the thick foliage,
he glimpsed a stone building. He moved the fronds aside and approached the temple to find a big, black cat lounging on its steps. He stood nonplused as the cat
metamorphasized into the shaman, Gray Wolf.
"Why am I here?" Jim asked the old man.
"Where is the young one?"
Without hesitation Jim answered, "Sleeping. Safe."
Gray Wolf nodded knowingly. "You are here for yourself."
"I'm not sure. I -- I may have to send Blair away."
"His path --"
Jim silenced the elder with an impatient wave. "We've been over that before. He's
too young to make that kind of choice yet. He needs time to grow. Maybe if he went
to a good school he would have a chance for something different."
"You cannot choose his path for him, Watchman. He must choose for himself."
"Isn't that what you're trying to do?" Jim asked, his anger rising. "Make me keep
him here with me so you can influence him? Blair deserves a chance to make the
most of his life. The schoolmarm is right, I am being selfish keeping him with me.
Blair's traveled before. Going away to school would be an adventure to him. He
could get a proper education instead of the patchwork job I can get him here."
In the pause that followed Jim's rant, Gray Wolf quietly asked, "What do you fear?"
"Excuse me?"
"What do you fear?"
Caught totally off guard by this change in subject, Jim answered with the first thing
that came to mind. "That my son will not reach his full potential if he stays on the
ranch with me."
"We shall see, Watchman. We shall see." The shaman turned towards the temple
and the image vanished. Jim woke with a start back in his hotel room. Only the
sound of Blair's even, soft breathing quieted the man, and he fell back into a restless
sleep.
**
Jim stared out the window of the Cheyenne-bound train, chewing on his dilemma.
His father had planned out his life from the time he was born. He would take over
the family farm, after serving a distinguished turn in the military, and make a good
marriage that would advance his family's standings in society. And he had tried so
hard to be what he was supposed to be, only to come up short in his father's eyes.
He wouldn't do that to Blair. His son would choose his own path, and if that path
stayed along his, so much the better. He would always be proud of Blair and be there
for him. But the thought of only seeing the boy during all too brief holiday visits, if
he came home at all, left a heavy feeling in his stomach. They had only a couple
years together. Was it so wrong to want to be part of his son's life at least for a few more years? He wanted to witness first hand his imp-of-a-son grow into a fine,
prosperous man. Was that really selfish? He turned from the window when a
small, warm hand rested on his cheek.
"Papa? Are you okay, or were you having a spell?"
"I'm fine, son." Jim smiled at the frowning child and ruffled Blair's curls in an
attempt to turn that frown into a smile. "I was just thinking about how we're going
to find all those things on Chu Wa's list." The ancient had many more items than
just the "few things" Jim had imagined.
"Can I have one of the cookies he gave us for the trip?"
"It's 'May I have' and yes, you may." That brought a smile to the boy's face. The
rancher watched as Blair carefully opened the waxpaper-lined tin the old man had
given them. "You can have two, and pass that over here when you're done."
Blair beamed, two oatmeal cookies in his fist as he passed the tin to Jim. What had
he been thinking? It would be heartless to take Blair away from the only home he
knew, from all his friends and "adopted" family like the Choates and the Banks.
No. It would be wrong to send him away, Jim thought, as he absently fingered the
letters of inquiry he'd written to three of the boarding schools on Miss Sheila's list. He'd fretted over nothing. Blair was staying home, where he belonged.
Feeling better than he had since his discussion with the schoolmarm, Jim helped
himself to two cookies and spent the remainder of the trip listening to Blair extract
from the conductor and porter all they knew about trains and train travel. Damn,
that boy was sharp as a tack!
**
Holding his father's hand tightly, Blair stood in the lobby of the Western gaping at
the plush accouterments of the lobby. It'd been a long time since he'd been in a
hotel as nice. The lavish furnishings made the Cascade Palace look like a flop
house!
Jim let go of his hand and patted his shoulder while saying, "Now you keep out of
trouble, Little Bit, while I register us at the desk."
Blair watched his father walk over to a long marble-topped walnut counter.
Looking around the lobby, he strolled slowly about the room, touching everything
that took his fancy: The rich, velvet sofa and matching curtains, the cool China vase
and the ferns in it, the paneling along the lower half of the wall.
He followed an intricately patterned carpet into the dining room and looked up in
time to keep from bashing into a well-dressed man who stood in front of him. The
gentleman and several others were listening to a man speaking with a resonating
voice opposite him. Blair peeked around the gentleman's side to get a better look.
As tall as his father, or taller, the speaker's swarthy skin, thick drooping mustache
and hideous scar on the left cheek gave him a gypsy-like appearance. It was the rich
voice and dark, dancing eyes that drew the boy into the topic of the impromptu
lecture about a man called a sentinel.
"Oh, come now, Burton. You don't really expect us to believe such nonsense?" the
man Blair stood behind scoffed when Burton paused in his speech. The others in
the audience rumbled their agreement.
"Mister?" Blair asked, stepping forward. "Can he tell if it's going to rain just by
sniffing the air? And can he--"
"Boy, don't be so impertinent," one of the crowd scolded.
Blair didn't even turn to his detractor, but kept eye contact with the speaker. "Well,
does he?"
"I didn't see him do it, but I imagine he could," Burton replied, fixing the child with
a curious expression. "All his senses where heightened, he was quite remarkable."
"My papa--"
"Blair!" All of men turned at the sharply uttered name. From the way the boy
whipped his head around and smiled at this newcomer's approach, they knew who
the little inquisitor was now.
"Papa! This is Mr. Burton. He's--" Whatever Blair was going to say got cut off
when his father reached through the crowd and pulled him roughly to his side.
"I'm sorry, gentleman, for my son's behavior. We'll be going now. Come along,
Blair."
"But, Papa, he--" The yank on his arm, propelling him from the room, startled him.
"Ow, you're hurting my arm."
"I'm sorry, Little Bit," Jim apologized absently as he tried to rub the hurt away. "I
don't want you talking to those men."
"But why?"
"Because I said so," the rancher grumbled while leading them up the stairs to their
hotel room.
"That's no answer," Jim heard Blair mumble sulkily under his breath.
"No, it's not, but it's the only one you're getting for now." He ushered Blair into
their room and shut the door.
"But what did I do wrong? Mr. Burton was talking about people like you. He--"
"No." Blair's eyes went wide at the sternest in his father's voice. Jim softened it
immediately and knelt down in front of the sullen child. "They may have
heightened senses, but that doesn't mean we're the same."
Blair looked away. "I don't see what's wrong with talking to him."
Hand under the boy's chin, Jim drew him back so they were eye-to-eye. "We don't
know Mr. Burton and he doesn't know us. For all we know, he's just telling tall
tales. I think it's better if we keep our distance from him. Is that clear?"
Taking a moment to think about it, Blair reluctantly agreed with a, "Yes, Papa."
**
"Please?" Blair begged sweetly.
"Just wait until I shave and finish dressing." Jim slapped his razor against the strop
to bring the blade to a nice sharp edge.
"But I could get the paper and your coffee and bring it back here. It's just downstairs.
Please?"
"All right," Jim said. The boy could hardly contain his excitement about exploring
the city. He'd been bouncing around the room since sunrise. "But be careful. . .and
use a tray," Jim ordered as the door slammed. One of these days, he mused while he
began to lather his cheeks, that boy's going to learn to shut a door properly. Some
soap foam sloshed onto his hand and as he wiped it up with his fingers the
watchman stopped to feel the odd sensation of the foam.
**
The Englishman felt holes boring through the newspaper in his hands. Moving it
down so he could peer over the top, he was not surprised at seeing the curly-headed
little boy who had barged into his conversation the other day. When he tried to
stare coldly back at the youngster, the boy's gaze never wavered. It startled him
when the boy glared back, a slight pout to his features. The boy had gumption . . .
pluck. He could respect that.
"Mister? Did you really meet a sentinel or was that just a made-up story?"
Burton set the newspaper down in careful, deliberate moves. "Young man, are you
implying that I am dishonest?"
The boy's eyes widened and he shook his head. "No, sir. It's just that sometimes
grown-ups like to tell stories, too."
"I see. I assure you, I gave a true account of what I encountered."
"How did it work?" his young inquisitor asked intently.
"How did what work?"
"His senses. Did he have help or it was just him?"
The old man smiled indulgently, recognizing a kindred spirit.
"Sit down, child, and I'll tell you of my travels with the sentinel and his guide."
When Blair settled in the chair opposite him, mumbling something about "keeping
his distance", Burton began. "It was during my service as British consul in Brazil, 10
years ago. We made several explorations into the jungle. . ."
Finished with his account, Burton sat back with satisfaction at his audience's wide
eyed appearance. The boy had interrupted regularly throughout the telling with
well-thought-out questions.
"Wow," Blair said breathlessly as he sat back in his seat. Quickly, he sat up straight
and scooted from his chair. "I gotta tell Papa about this." He hurriedly left the table,
then remembered his manners and walked back to the stunned adult he left in his
wake. Blair held out his hand to the gentleman. "Thank you very much, Mr.
Burton," he said as the two shook hands. Blair kept his grip firm as his father had instructed him. "Please excuse me. I have to go." Etiquette attended to, Blair
scampered back to his hotel room, snagging a newspaper on his way.
The slam of the door and a loud, "Papa! Guess what?!" brought Jim back from the
"spell" the soap had drawn him into. He washed the dried lather from his face
before turning his attention to his winded, but very excited, son. The boy was
talking a mile a minute.
"Whoa, slow down, Little Bit." Jim sat on the armchair in their plush room and
drew Blair over to him. Holding his son between his thighs and keeping a gentle
grip on the boy's upper arms, Jim said calmly, "Take a breath. That's it. Let it out.
Now tell me what's going on."
"I talked to him. And I kept my distance, just like you said. And he said it was all
true and he told me about it and I believe him and he's real smart and I got your
paper." Pausing to draw another breath, the rancher put a halting hand up before he
could continue.
"Wait. Wait a minute. You talked to who?"
"Mr. Burton."
"Blair. . ."
"I kept my distance like you said. I sat on the other side of the table."
It was the innocent cock of the head and the truly perplexed expression on Blair's
face that forestalled the scolding on Jim's lips. He sighed heavily and rubbed his
forehead. "What am I going to do with you?"
"I got you the paper," the boy said softly, extending the folded newspaper out to his
father. "Sorry I forgot the coffee."
"Blair. . ."
"Mr. Burton says that people with five enhanced senses are called 'sentinels'. They
guard their tribe. Help them find game. The spells you have he calls 'zoneouts'."
"Well, it beats having 'spells'," Jim muttered, feeling a headache coming on. "Blair,
I don't want you talking with this man by yourself anymore. Is that clear?"
"But, Papa. . ."
"Is that clear?" The sternly asked question nipping the boy's whining in the bud.
"Yes, Papa."
Enfolding his frowning son in a tight hug, Jim kissed the top of the boy's curls.
"Good. There's no telling what could happen if my senses became public
knowledge. Do you understand?" Jim gently patted his son's back after Blair
nodded against his chest. "All right then, let's go eat breakfast and see how many
items we can get ticked off Chu Wa's list?"
**
After meeting with his banker first thing after breakfast, Jim and Blair were free to
attend to errands.
Chinatown was a mystery until Jim produced Chu Wa's list, written in Chinese, and
then they were treated like dignitaries. Blair soaked in everything he saw, fascinated
by the foreign customs, committing as much to memory as he could to ask Chu Wa
and Justin about it all when they got home. They had to have help toting all the
packages back to their hotel. Jim hoped the little ancient would be pleased with the
purchases because there was no way he was ever going to do this again. The exotic
"I'm hungry," Blair said, after depositing his load of parcels in the corner where Jim
had stacked his. The boy turned a charming smile on the rancher. "Can we eat in
Chinatown?"
"No." Jim poured water from the pitcher into the basin and splashed his face and
neck with the cool liquid. Patting himself dry he motioned for Blair to do the same.
"Wash up and we'll eat downstairs."
"'Kay." Blair pouted just a bit as he did as he was told, his mouth watering at the
remembered tantalizing food smells encountered on their errand run.
Handing Blair's jacket to the boy as he ushered him out the door, Jim said, "You can
have sarsaparilla with your lunch, and if you eat it all then you can have a dessert."
The pout on Blair's face was immediately replaced by a wide grin.
They both enjoyed their lunch of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, biscuits and
green beans. Jim sipped his coffee while Blair ate his cake. The boy tried to eat the
white cake with white coconut-topped frosting in small bites, remembering he had
to be on his best behavior while in public, but the cake was so good that the pieces he
sliced off with his fork kept getting bigger and bigger, making very large mouthfuls.
Blair almost gagged trying to clear his mouth of the largest forkful yet as he noticed
Mr. Burton approaching their table. He grabbed his glass of sarsaparilla and drank
greedily, trying to swallow the chunk of cake as Mr. Burton introduced himself to
his father.
"Good day, Sir. We have not been formally introduced. I am Richard Burton,
currently with the English Consul in Trieste, Italy. I am on holiday exploring this
wonderful, wild country of yours."
Jim rose and the two men shook hands. To the untrained eye, Jim looked calm and
nonchalant, but Blair could tell from the tightness of his father's jaw and posture
that the rancher was anything but.
"Hello. I'm Jim Ellison and this is my son Blair. I own a horse ranch to the west of
here. We're in town on business. Enjoy your stay in our country."
Jim sat back down and picked up his coffee cup, only to be interrupted in bringing it
to his lips by Burton's continuing the conversation.
"I had a delightful talk with your son this morning. Quite a bright young man you
have there."
"Yes, he is."
Jim shot a quick look at Blair who had finally succeeded in clearing his mouth of
cake. The boy burped and blushed. "Scuse me. Mr. Burton could you tell me some
more stories 'bout your adventures?"
"Blair, Mr. Burton is a busy man. I'm sure he has other things to do."
"Actually, Mr. Ellison, I'd be delighted to share my experiences with such an
attentive audience as your son."
The pleading look from Blair was all it took. "Have a seat, Mr. Burton. We can only
stay until we finish eating. I've got some errands to run and we return to Cascade
tomorrow."
Blair played with the remaining cake on his plate, determined to make it last so he
could hear many more stories of faraway places. "We're going to all the bookstores
in Cheyenne," he chirped.
Burton's laughter came from deep in his chest. "Then your errand will be short
indeed. If it's books you are after then the libraries of Europe are where you should
go."
The exuberant look on Blair's face placed a lead weight in Jim's heart. He hadn't
seen such joy on the boy's face since letting him keep Nemo.
"Have you been to all the libraries there?" Blair asked in awe.
"No, but I have been to many. During my time at Oxford my happiest hours were
sitting amidst stacks of books in the library, absorbing as much as I could."
"Wow. I'd like to do that some day. I want to be an explorer and see the world
when I grow up."
"We need to go now, Blair," Jim said as he rose to his feet, Burton following his
action. Jim grabbed his hat from the table and motioned for Blair to get up. "It was
nice meeting you, Mr. Burton."
"Likewise, Mr. Ellison." After shaking hands with the father, Burton turned to the
son and shook his hand, as well. "It was a pleasure, young man."
Jim ushered Blair out of the dining hall and into the street.
"Papa," Blair said in a quiet voice pitched so only his father could hear, "that was
rude."
The rancher flushed red from neck to forehead. He hurried Blair down the street,
the boy taking two steps to his one. "If we're going to look for books on top of the
other errands we need to get done then we don't have time for visiting." The words
sounded lame to his own ears, and Jim slowed their pace. He couldn't bring himself
to look at Blair. He didn't want to see the incredulous look he imagined would greet
him. The schoolmarm's words echoed in his head along with those of his spirit
"Oh! Look!"
Blair's cry and tug on his hand pulled the rancher from his funk. The boy prodded
him over to a shop window, pointing excitedly at the books displayed. They went
inside and came out over an hour later. Blair carried several small, book-size
packages, and Jim carried a wallet about twenty dollars lighter.
The rest of the day went much the same. There were many new additions to the
Ellison family library. Fortunately, Jim had also purchased a large cherrywood
bookcase and other furnishings for the planned expansion to their home. Blair was
almost as interested in the mill they went to for the lumber as he was in the stores
they scoured for reading material. There wasn't one thing left undone on their list
when they returned to their hotel in the early evening hours. After a quiet supper
and an hour of Jim reading Jules Verne's, From the Earth To the Moon out loud,
Blair fell into a contented sleep.
Jim wished he could do the same, but the rancher tossed and turned all night long.
At six-thirty the next morning, he dragged himself out of bed and splashed frigid
water from the basin on his face. That helped clear the cobwebs from his head, but
what he really needed was coffee - and lots of it. Dressing quietly, Jim crossed the
room to stand over Blair's bed.
The boy looked so angelic asleep. Jim smiled warmly, knowing what energy lay
inside the sleeping little boy, just waiting to burst forth and seize the day when Blair
awakened. He was growing up so fast. Too fast. When the sleeper turned to his
other side, the covers loosened, uncovering a thin shoulder. Jim tucked the
blankets securely around his child and moved a stray curl from Blair's forehead. He
resisted the urge to kiss Blair's temple, not wanting to wake the boy.
Jim wrote a quick note letting Blair know he had gone down to the dining room for
coffee, and to join him there when he woke up. Putting on his coat, Jim took out
the letters of inquiry he still had tucked inside. He stared at the addresses of the
faraway schools, Blair's words of wanting to be an explorer ringing in his head.
Replacing the letters in his coat pocket, Jim slipped from the room, grimly adding
posting the letters to his list of errands. He would face his fears and put what
Arriving at the dining room, Jim looked around for an empty table. Finding none,
he approached a small table just to the left of the entryway with a gentleman hidden
behind the newspaper he was reading. Even obscured from full view, Jim knew
who sat there. Putting his pride to the side, Jim approached the table.
"Excuse me, Mr. Burton, it seems to be a full house this morning. Mind if I join
you?"
Putting his paper aside, Burton motioned to the seat across from him. "Please, Mr.
Ellison, have a seat."
Any further words between the two were interrupted as the waitress came and took
Jim's order for coffee. After receiving a cup of the steaming brew, Jim fumbled for
something to say. Burton beat him to it.
"Forgive me for being forward, sir, but is everything all right? Is your son not
well?"
"Blair's fine. Why?"
"I expected to see him with you."
"He's still sleeping. We had a big day yesterday. Thank you for asking, though."
"He's a bright little fellow. I enjoyed talking with him yesterday."
Jim gave in to a small smile of pride. "Yes, he is." The rancher fidgeted for a
moment, not accustomed to being in the position of owing an apology. "I'm sorry
we had to go so abruptly. We only have this morning to wrap up errands. I'd like
to head home on the noon train."
"I understand. Did you find any books for the boy? A mind like that needs to be
nourished with knowledge."
"Yes, we pretty much cleaned this town out of reading material."
"With your permission, I'd like to give him one of the books I wrote about my
travels. It focuses on my experiences in South America and my encounter with a
tribe's sentinel. He seemed quite taken with the topic."
"That would be fine. Thank you." Before another awkward silence could fall
between them, Jim asked what was on his mind. "I was wondering if I could get
your opinion on a matter concerning Blair's schooling."
"Certainly, sir."
Jim removed the letters from his pocket, displaying them on the table. "I'm
thinking about sending Blair to boarding school. He only studies on his own now
and --"
"And he should remain doing so, Mr. Ellison."
"I thought you got a lot from your time at Oxford?"
"It was the worst year of my young life. I loathed it. The only times of any real
learning were when I sat in the library, or under a tree, and taught myself. A horrid
place, boarding school. I got myself expelled at the end of the first term and joined
the army in India. My advice, Mr. Ellison, is to keep your son home. Feed him all
the books and experiences you can, and let his own curiosity provide the path to his
studies. If I had children that is what I would do."
"I don't know. I've been told there are some good schools in the east. My
memories of West Point are pretty good. Blair would benefit from a more regular
education. A good boarding school may be the thing that gets him into a good
college."
"Or turn him away from bettering himself entirely. I learned in spite of my formal
education, not because of it. I taught myself twenty-nine different languages, and six
dialects, Mr. Ellison. I've survived and prospered in my career, not because of my
education, but because I can think on my feet and have an excellent memory for
details." Burton tapped the envelopes on the table. "Put those letters in the rubbish heap where they belong and keep your son at home. That's my advice."
"Thank you, Mr. Burton. I'll think over what you've said." Jim finished off his
coffee and stood. "Now, please excuse me, but I'd better go see what's keeping
Blair."
"Think carefully, sir. I'd hate to see such a spirit as Blair's broken by an arcane
school system."
Jim climbed the stairs more resolved than ever to keep Blair at home. Sheila Erwin
could think what she wanted. He let his hearing scan the room ahead of him,
determining if a little lazybones was out of bed yet. Not hearing any signs of life
coming from the room, Jim quickly unlocked the door and entered. Blair's bed was
empty. His nightshirt lay in a heap on the floor and his clothes were gone. Jim
spotted a note on his bed. It had been written on the flip side of his.
I am taking the next train home. I am not going to boarding school!!
Blair
P.S. If you don't want me to live with you then I'll live with Uncle
Paddy.
**
Squinting at the rays of light leaking in around the curtain shades, Blair grudgingly
let go of his dreams and greeted the day. Stretching and yawning, he stumbled from
bed only to go wide-eyed at realizing he was in an empty room. Spying the note on
his father's well-made bed, he read it.
Blair,
Decided to let you sleep a little longer. I'm in the dining room having coffee.
Papa
Dressing as fast as he could, he paid a quick visit to the water closet before hurrying
down the stairs. He stopped halfway through the lobby when he spied his father
talking to - Mr. Burton! Blair slowly walked forward until his father's words
reached his ears, "-- good schools in the east. My memories of West Point are pretty
good. Blair would benefit from a more regular education. A good boarding school
may be the thing that gets him into a good college."
Shocked by what he'd heard, Blair turned and raced back up the stairs to their room.
Blair stomped around the room in a snit, muttering to himself. "He promised. He
promised! And now he wants to send me away. It's not fair!" He wasn't willing to
give up the first permanent home he could remember for anything -- not even if it
meant incurring his adopted father's wrath. Who would feed Nemo? Exercise his
horse, Ceylon? And most importantly, who would take care of Papa? That settled
it. "I'm not going!" he ranted to himself, grabbing his knapsack from under the bed
and stuffing some of his things inside. "I'm going home."
Packed to his satisfaction, Blair wrote a quick note on the back of his father's and
exited the hotel by the back stairway. He walked briskly down the boardwalk in the
direction he thought the train station was. After almost thirty minutes of walking,
he hadn't come to the station.
"Excuse me, sir," he asked a merchant who was sweeping the walk in front of his
store. "Could you tell which way is the train station?"
The man didn't even pause in his work. "It's at the other end of town, sonny."
"Which way?"
With an impatient gesture, the merchant pointed across the street. "Go down to the
corner and take a right then a left. Keep walking. You can't miss it."
"Thank you, sir." Blair tipped his hat and set off.
After almost twenty minutes of walking, he reached a seedy livery stable at the edge
of town. The train station was nowhere in sight. Blair sat down on a hay bale,
sighing heavily. This wasn't working out the way he'd planned.
"Hey, kid," a scruffy looking, dirty-blond-haired youth said. "What's in the bag?"
"Nothing. Just my clothes and stuff." Blair held his knapsack close to his body and
slid off the bale. He made to leave, but the older boy pulled him back. "Hey! Let me
go!"
"You're trespassin' on my pa's property. I should call the law."
"I was just resting on a hay bale!"
Blair struggled in the older boy's grip and managed to land a solid kick to his ankle.
When the young punk yelled in pain and loosened his grip, Blair ran. Before he
could get more than a few steps, Blair felt arms grabbing at him from behind,
pulling him to the ground. After a brief tussle, Blair found himself on his back, the
bully sitting on his stomach.
"My, oh, my, what do we have here?" the teen snickered, revealing yellowed teeth,
after spying Blair's mother's locket poking out between buttonholes. He pulled it
from Blair's neck, breaking the chain.
"Give that back!"
"Naw. I think I'll keep it. Payment for the trouble you've caused me."
"You can't do that. It's mine!"
The teen got up and Blair stood up to face him, but the bigger boy shoved him away.
"Get lost, kid."
"Not until you give that back!"
"Here now!" a deep adult voice thundered. "What the blazes is the ruckus out
here!" The bully quickly tucked his new prize into his pants and turned to face a
huge man stomping out of the stable.
"This kid's making trouble, Pa. I asked him to leave, but he won't."
"That's a lie! He stole my mama's locket! I want it back!"
"That's not true, Pa." The boy turned his pockets inside out. "See? I don't got
nuthin'."
"Boy, you better git before I take a switch to you. I don't like troublemakers."
Blair's eyes went wide. "But he's lying! It's in his pan--"
"Boy! Now I warned you," the giant thundered, making a grab for Blair. All he got
hold of was air as Blair ran down the street as fast as he could.
He ran through streets and alleys until his chest hurt. Collapsing by a stack of
barrels in an alleyway, he sobbed out his anger and frustration.
**
"Excuse me," Jim said anxiously as he trotted up the train station steps onto the
platform. He made a beeline for the first station employee he saw, a short, heavy
set, balding man toting heavy luggage. "Have you seen a little boy about so high?
Nine years old with curly brown hair?"
The man put his burden down before addressing the agitated father. "No, sir, I
haven't, but you might ask inside." He pointed to the little waiting room and ticket
office.
In long strides, Jim reached the office and rang the little bell insistently.
"Keep your shirt on! I'm coming," came the muffled, grumpy response from the
backroom. An elderly man with a definite stoop in his shoulders and droopy
handlebar mustache appeared a few moments later. He fixed Jim with a scowl.
"Where's the fire, sonny?"
Ignoring the comment, Jim said, "I'm looking for my son. He said he was coming
here." Jim gave a description of Blair to the curmudgeonly old man.
"Nope. Haven't seen your youngster."
"I'm not a nursemaid, sonny. I have work to do."
It took all of Ellison's willpower not to reach through the ticket window to shake
the old man until his teeth rattled. Instead, he took some coins from his pocket.
"Like I said, keep him here."
"My pleasure, mister." The old man smiled, showing his yellowed teeth spaced
with gaps.
Jim headed back towards the hotel wondering where in the blazes Blair could have
gone. He retraced his steps, asking merchants he met along the way if they'd seen a
curly-headed nine-year-old boy. After grilling the hotel desk clerk, Jim went back to
the room. The wall outside the room's windows was a straight drop to the alleyway
behind the hotel. That ruled out the window as a means of leaving the room. Blair
was no fool, he'd take the stairs, the rancher reasoned. Understanding dawned and
Jim left the room hurriedly, this time taking the back stairs.
Standing at the bottom of the staircase that emptied into the back alley, Jim
wondered what to do next. Which way did Blair go? Frustrated, he sat on the third
step, elbows on knees and head in hands.
"Why do you sit here, Watchman?"
The voice of his spirit guide coming from his right side brought Jim's head up.
"Blair's missing." Jim stood, facing the elderly Indian. "I'm going to look for him,
but Cheyenne's a much bigger town than Cascade. It's been over an hour. He could
be anywhere by now."
The old man scowled. "You waste your gift, watchman."
"I don't understand."
"That is very clear." On those words Gray Wolf was gone, replaced by the image of a
large black cat - Jim had learned from Blair's books that it was a special type of
jaguar, a panther. The cat looked at Jim. The spirit guide's voice spoke in his mind.
'Follow me, Watchman.'
The panther sprinted out of the alley, Jim in hot pursuit. From the unconcerned
looks from the people he passed, Jim gathered he was the only one who saw the
black cat loping down the street. Jim had to walk quickly to keep up. The rancher
lost track of time as he concentrated on keeping the panther in sight. When the cat
turned a corner, Jim abruptly stopped. Gray Wolf was gone. He saw only an old
livery stable across the way, a boy he took to be about fifteen shoveling manure out front.
Wondering where that blessed cat had gone to, Jim almost missed it. The sun
glinted off something on the boy's chest and, without even thinking, Jim honed in
on it, using his heightened sight to zoom in. What he saw made his blood rage, and
he stormed across the street.
"Boy." The youth started and turned, eyes going wide at the sight of Jim stalking
toward him. Raw anger radiated off the rancher. Frozen to the spot, he barely
flinched when the angry man grabbed the locket around his neck and pulled it over
his head. "Where'd you get this?"
"I . . I found it."
The wild, frantic beat of the boy's heart reached Jim's ears. He'd heard the same
when Blair tried to stretch the truth. "Where?"
"In the yard."
Jim could smell sweat and fear. He stepped right up to the lying youth so the boy
had to crane his neck to look up. "Where's the boy you took it from?"
"I didn't steal anything. I found it."
"What's going on out here now?"
Judging by the slight resemblance between this new comer and the boy, Jim assumed
the burly man walking from the stable to be the boy's father.
"Mister," Jim began gruffly, still looking at the boy, "I want to know what my son's
locket was doing around your boy's neck."
The bully retreated from Jim and turned to his father, pleading, "I found it, Pa.
Honest!"
Jim ignored the lie and fixed the stableman with an icy glare. "Did you see a boy this
morning? Curly hair, blue eyes, nine years old?"
Rubbing the back of his head, trying to remember, the father answered testily.
"Yeah, there was a kid here earlier, stirring up trouble. Sounds like him."
"Where is he now?" Jim asked, casually walking closer to the agitated man.
"How should I know? He's--"
"Sir," Jim said tersely as he pinned the uncooperative man against a corral post,
"before I turn your boy in to the sheriff for stealing, tell me which way my son
went."
"Too late. Where?"
"Down that way." The man pointed toward the opposite street. "That's all I know."
Jim released the man and stalked off in the direction indicated, not sparing the man
or boy another glance. As the watchman continued his quest, he heard a quick
exchange between father and son before tuning it all out.
"Pa, I didn't--"
"Ah, shut up, Andy. Now get in the barn. I'm gonna tan you good for bringing
trouble on me."
Stopping when the street he traveled intersected another, Jim felt his frustration
rising again. He muttered under his breath, "All right, Gray Wolf, which way
now?" Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a streak of black. Running
towards the vision, Jim came to an alley. He stopped and caught his breath, bringing
air deeply into his lungs . . .and something else. He inhaled and loosened the cinch
on his sense of smell, picking up traces of a scent he knew better than any other.
Blair. It seemed to be coming from a stack of barrels halfway down the alleyway.
Jim charged towards the spot, frowning deeply when his son wasn't there. But the
few strands of hair found on the barrels confirmed that Blair had been. Looking
around, he spied some cloth caught on the building at the opposite end of the alley.
It matched the fabric of Blair's jacket. Familiar, exotic smells and noises took Jim's
focus from the cloth. Scanning the street he found himself on, he tightened his
senses back down, lest he be overwhelmed. He was back in the streets of
Chinatown.
He spied a shop across the street that he and Blair had bought spices and herbs for
Chu Wa from the other day. When he stepped into the store, the merchant on the
other side of the counter almost dropped the jar he held. The middle-aged man
began to gesture wildly to him, speaking quickly in broken English as he came
around to meet the rancher. Jim never had a chance to speak as the man began
hustling him down the street, the rancher only understanding the words, "son" and "train".
**
Blair wiped his tears on his shirtsleeve and his runny nose, too. There was no time
for this self-pity, he had to get to the train station. Getting to his feet, Blair made his
way out of the alley. A smile came to his face for the first time that day. He knew
where he was! Relief replaced his earlier despair and Blair scampered across the
street to a familiar shop.
**
Lee Tuan puttered around his apothecary in the early morning hours readying his
store for business. He smiled to himself. It had been good to hear from his friend,
Chu Wa. It had been too many years. Lee Tuan hoped he liked the 'little extras' he
had placed in the bundle he'd given to the big rancher. Yes, Chu Wa was a good
friend.
Suddenly, the tiny silver bell over his door jingled. Looking up, Lee Tuan saw
nothing at first. Frowning, the middle-aged man hastened around the counter.
Maybe it was old Mrs. Poe and she was having difficulty. As he rounded the sturdy
wood he saw a small boy.
**
"Excuse me, sir," Blair politely said, stepping up to the counter, speaking one of the
few phrases of Chinese he had learned from Chu Wa. The merchant they had
bought herbs and such from the other day came around the counter, surprise and
concern all over his face. "I need help. I can't find the train station and I have to get
home."
The man ushered Blair into the backroom, clucking over him while motioning to
the wash-basin. Catching a glimpse of himself in the little mirror above the stand,
Blair understood his benefactor's concern. He looked a sight. His clothes were dirt
covered. Tear tracks and dust made a mess of his face. He washed gladly while the
man brushed his coat free of dirt. When Blair's stomach made a loud growling
sound, the merchant escorted him to the living quarters above his little shop, sitting
Blair at a small table before placing a bowl of hot soup in front of him. The hungry
child needed no more encouragement. He ate.
"Oh!" Blair exclaimed as he finished his second bowl full of soup and noticed the
time displayed on the clock by the door. "It's almost noon!" Panic began to take
over again. "Please, sir. I must get to the train station. I need to catch the noon
train. There won't be another train that stops in Cascade for days. Can you take me
there?"
The merchant motioned for Blair to follow him. They went to the shop next door
where his benefactor talked to who Blair took to be the proprietor. After a few
words were exchanged, the neighbor called to the backroom and a boy who looked to
be in his late teens appeared. After brief instructions were given to him, the elder
boy led Blair from the shop.
Blair and his escort hurried down the street that now was alive with activity. They
scampered along, dodging people and wagons, taking an occasional alley to bypass a
particularly choked street. All the twists and turns had Blair completely turned
around, he kept close by the lanky teenager, afraid of becoming hopelessly lost
should they become separated. He heard a train whistle coming from somewhere
close by. They were almost there! The whistle sounded again as the station came in to view. Blair's heart sank when he saw the train was moving, departing the
station without him. Leaving his escort behind with a quick thank you of, "xie-xie",
he ran to the station.
"Please!" he called breathlessly to the back-end of the caboose as it pulled out of the
station. "Wait!" Blair ran to the end of the platform, panting hard, watching the
train chug farther and farther away. He had to get to that train.
Spying the ticket office, he approached the counter. "Sir, I need to get on that train,"
he said to the man behind the window.
The elderly gentleman didn't even look up from his work as he replied. "Then you
better run, sonny, because that train's gone."
"Can't you call it back?"
"Nope. Now, skedattle. I have work to do."
"When's the next train that stops in Cascade?"
"Not until noon the day after tomorrow."
"Oh. How much is a ticket?"
"$4.35."
"Oh." Blair thought a minute. "Can I get a ticket and pay for it at the other end?"
The elderly gentleman fixed Blair with a curmudgeonly glare. "Sonny, you're
wasting my time. All tickets are paid for at the point of departure. Now get along
before I take a stick to you for asking such foolish questions."
Blair sulked away. He only had twelve cents in his pocket. He needed money. Lots
of it. An idea popped into his head, and he smiled.
"Excuse me, sir," he said to a porter. "Can you tell me where the telegraph office
is?" The man pointed to a building just across the street, and Blair trotted over to it.
He approached the desk where a freckled, redheaded man in his early twenties sat
pushing papers around. "Sir? I need to send a telegraph to Cascade to my Uncle Paddy."
The young man stopped what he was doing and gave Blair an appraising look before
smiling. "I'm going to need more information than that to send it."
A few minutes later they had constructed a brief message that only cost a nickel to
send.
TO: Patrick Choate, Chelsea Ranch, Cascade, Wyoming c/o Simon Banks, Sheriff
STOP
Help!STOP Send five dollars for train fare home.STOP Missed train.STOP
Blair END
Blair watched his message being sent before exiting the office to find a place to wait
until a response came. The telegraph operator kindly invited him to stay with him,
but Blair needed some time to himself to think. Events had happened so fast, he
wanted some time to sort things out.
He found a quiet, shady spot on the ground opposite the telegraph office and began
his review of the day. His father was going to send him away! That thought
renewed the ache in his heart. He wasn't going to go. When he got home, he
would do everything he could to convince his father that it was a mistake to send
him to boarding school. He would promise to study harder at his lessons, do his
chores better and even. . . yes, even not make a fuss about bathing. Why, his hair
would stay combed and his belongings put away. Blair promised in his head to
clean up after his dog better, too. He'd promise anything, do anything to stay on the
ranch.
Of course, he had to get home first. He had messed that up pretty badly so far. Papa
would have some choice words about missing the train. Blair conceded to himself
that his plan had some flaws. Drawing shapes in the dirt with his finger, Blair began
constructing an explanation of his actions that his father would buy.
**
Jim allowed himself to be led back through town by the Chinese youth, who smelled
faintly of his son. Blair had been with this young man recently. How long ago, he
couldn't tell, but he couldn't be that far behind the boy. Soon the teen was shooing
him up the steps of the train station. When they entered the office, Jim stopped
abruptly when a scent assaulted his high-tuned nose. Blair. In two strides, Jim
stood at the ticket window, turning down his hearing before pounding on the bell.
"Keep your shirt on!" came a shout from the back. "I'm coming."
The ticket clerk came out of the backroom, mumbling irritatedly under his breath.
He scowled when he saw who had taken him from his work. "You again."
"My son was here. Where is he now?" Jim asked coldly.
"Oh, that was your boy? You need to teach him some respect. Why in my day--"
"Where is he?" Jim asked, flatly.
"Don't know. He left when I wouldn't stop the train for him. If you ask me, boys
today--"
"I didn't. How long ago did he leave?"
"Oh, about 10 minutes ago, or so. I told you, sonny, I'm no nursemaid."
Giving the old man an icy glare, Jim stormed out of the office. He thanked his
escort - the boy wouldn't accept the money Jim offered him for his kindness - before
sitting down heavily on one of the platform benches. Blair kept staying just a step
out of reach. He could be anywhere by now. That brought back a memory of the
past fall. . .
"Here, Nemo! Come on, girl!" Blair called his dog again, but there was still no little
dog in sight. Not even a yip. He turned to his father, sitting in a chair on the porch,
working saddle soap into a pair of chaps. "Papa, she's not coming. She could be
hurt. Will you help me find her?"
"I wouldn't worry too much about her, Little Bit. She's just probably found
something interesting to explore."
Jim put the leather to the side. "There are a lot of sounds out there, son. It's not
that easy."
"Why? Can't you just listen for 'Nemo' sounds?"
"I'll try." Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He closed his eyes and
listened to the sounds coming from the yard and near-by woods. "I hear many
animals, Little Bit."
"Do you hear the horses?"
"Can you kinda block them out. You know, put them to the side?"
After a moment, Jim said, "Done."
"Really? That's great. Now do the same for the other animals."
After a few more moments, Jim opened his eyes and began walking towards the
creek, Blair on his heels. A short hike downstream found the little terrier-like dog
digging into an animal burrow. Blair picked his dog up and carried her home,
scolding her for not coming when called. . .
Jim sighed. Why not? True there were many more sounds around him here, but
just maybe . . .
The watchman closed his eyes and began his catalog and elimination of various
sounds. Voices not Blair's were rejected. All animal and wagon noise, gone.
Finally, he was left with heartbeats. He searched through them, his own beating
faster when the one he looked for pounded loudly in his ears.
Jim opened his eyes and remained focused on that sound. He tracked it around to
the front of the station. Standing on the high walk, he pinpointed it. Jim walked a
few steps then looked down to the street below, spying the top of a familiar curly
head. On instinct, he reached down with both hands and grabbed the boy by the
arms, hauling him up to the walk.
**
Blair's brainstorming came to an abrupt end when he felt himself grabbed and lifted.
So surprised by the action, he didn't have time to struggle before being set down. As
soon as his feet touched the wood, though, he began to try to pull away. He drew
back his right leg, ready to land a swift kick to his assailant's ankle, when a voice
penetrated through his panicked brain.
"Blair! Blair, stop! It's me. Little Bit, that's enough. Settle down."
"Papa?" he asked, looking up into the worried face of his father. Anything more he
wanted to say could wait as his father lifted him into a firm embrace. Blair wrapped
his arms around his father's neck, letting himself be soothed by the rancher's
murmured reassurances.
Both let the anxiety of the day fade as the warmth of the hug restored their calm.
After many minutes, Jim held Blair away a bit so they could look each other in the
face.
"What the Sam Hill do you think you were doing?" Jim began sternly, before
holding up a hand. "Never mind. Don't answer that yet. Let's just go back to the
hotel, clean up, and eat. I don't know about you, but I could eat a bear."
"No," Blair said, stubbornly. "I want to go home. Now."
Jim set the defiant boy down, keeping a hand on top of either shoulder. "Boy, you
have led me a merry chase through this town. I'm tired, hungry and in no mood
for any lip from you. We've missed today's train and will have to wait another day.
Now--"
"Oh, no! The telegram!" Blair wailed.
With no more warning than that, Blair tore from Jim's grip and ran across the street
to the telegraph office. Jim followed in hot pursuit. Almost fifteen minutes later,
after sending a message canceling the first, as they headed back to the hotel, Jim
made a mental note to always have Blair carry at least ten dollars - hidden of course- as a safety measure while they were in any large town.
Reaching their room, Jim ordered Blair to change his shirt and pants before they
went down to the dining room for a late lunch. The rancher washed up in the basin
and changed his shirt, as well. Neither had said any more about the morning's
adventure on their way to the hotel. Blair sulked and Jim fumed, each to himself.
Before they went downstairs, Jim fished an item out of his jacket pocket and handed
it to Blair.
"Here. I'm guessing you want this back. The chain is broken, but maybe we can get
that fixed before we leave since we have more time."
Blair took the locket from his father's hand. "How did you? I mean, he took it from
me and I thought . . .thank you." The boy slipped the beloved keepsake in his shirt
pocket over his heart before throwing his arms around the rancher's middle.
"Please don't send me away, Papa. I don't want to go to boarding school."
"I think we need to clear that up right now. I'm not sending you away anywhere.
Yes, I thought about it, for your own good, but I've changed my mind." He gave the
boy a little shake and a half smile. "You'll stay out of trouble better if you're where I
can keep an eye on you."
"But I heard you talking to Mr. Burton. You said--"
"I know what I said. Apparently, you didn't stick around long enough in your
eavesdropping to hear the rest. I'm afraid you're stuck with me until you're grown up."
"You're not sending me to boarding school?"
"Not unless you want to go."
"No. I want to stay. I'm . . .I'm sorry I doubted you."
"We need to have a long, serious talk about what happened this morning, but later.
It can wait, my stomach can't. Come on, let's go eat." Jim ruffled his son's hair as
they headed out the door.
As they entered the lobby and passed by the front desk, the Ellison's were intercepted
by Mr. Burton.
"Ah! Mr. Ellison, I was just leaving this for you." The Englishman offered the
rancher the item in his hands. "This is the book I told you about. With your
permission, I've some others I'd like to send."
"Thank you, Mr. Burton. I'm sure Blair will get a great deal from them. What do
you say, son?"
"Thank you, sir." Blair took the book with reverence and proceeded to leaf through
the pages.
A low growl grabbed the rancher's attention away from the book. A panther sat on
its haunches in the doorway to the dining room. Jim swore it bore an amused
expression on its muzzle. All right, Old Man, I understand now, Jim thought to
himself, you don't have to be smug about it. The cat roared before vanishing. Jim
turned back to the Englishman. "Mr. Burton, would you join us for supper?"
"I would be delighted, Mr. Ellison."
Both men turned to Blair when he gasped with excitement, pointing to a photo
plate of a half naked, painted warrior holding a spear. "Look, Papa! A sentinel!"
Jim looked over the boy's shoulder. "So it is."
The end, or only the beginning?
A brief note regarding Sir Richard Burton. The only thing not true about the man
that I've written in this story is the fact that he's in the US in 1874 (Burton traveled
to the US in 1860), and that he discovered sentinels (I'm afraid that's just a made up
story
Too long? Try this one then: Richard Burton, By Charnan Simon. 126 pages. It's a
biography written for young adults. I found the timeline in the back very useful, but
it is a rather white-washed account of the man's life.
By Klair
A soft, cool breeze blew through the open windows of the small, snug, tidy cabin Jim
Ellison and his son Blair called home. Everything was orderly and in its place. Jim
Ellison would have it no other way.
"But--"
scents and sounds that assaulted him in the narrow, crowded street and alleys
threatened to overload his senses. His pounding headache only started to dim as
they approached their lodging.
guide. Was he being selfish? What did he fear?
was best for Blair first - even if it meant them being parted.
Papa,
Jim closed his eyes and turned his face to the heavens, asking for patience. He
thought they had settled this running off business long ago. Exhaling through his
nose loudly, Jim collected his anger and put it away. The boy couldn't have gone
very far. Storming back down the stairs, Jim exited the hotel and hurried towards
the train station.
Hurry and dress so we can have breakfast before finishing our business in town.
A heavy sigh escaped the now very alarmed father. "Well, if you do, keep him
here."
"Now, hold on, mister. We don't want any trouble."
"But she's been gone a long time. Can't you listen for her?"
"Yes."