Darby skipped along the sidewalk, happily about the business of the young and self-righteous. Mr. Brown saw the wild-locked boy enter the store.
"Hi, Darby," he called from behind the counter, adding up some figures in his journal.
"Hi, Mr. Brown, right nice day. You be going to the Harvest Dance?" Darby put on the charm that had often made him appear innocent and endearing.
"Yep, me and the missus."
"Could I have that list Wolf Stoddard dropped off. I take it you filled the order already?" Darby asked, intent on his mission.
"Yes, I have the items stacked in the back room. He said he wouldn't need them until Monday or Tuesday, when he planned on heading back to the ranch." Henry Brown started rummaging through some papers behind him and came up with the soft, well-handled list.
"Yes, sir, but he asked me to come and check over everything. Make sure he didn't miss anything or maybe you overlooked something. I know sometimes he don't make himself too clear when he gives instructions." Darby said with a knowing glance.
"Oh, I hadn't noticed, boy. He always seems right clear to me." Brown handed the crumpled paper to Darby.
"I'll just double-check. Put Wolf's mind at ease, if you don't mind."
"Sure, in the back along the far wall by the door. Wolf's supplies are all marked with WS chalked on the bundles, sacks and cases."
Darby went in back and started a big production of perusing the list, checking it against the items on the floor.... not even realizing he had the list upside down. He bided his time until another customer came in, someone no doubt important to Mr. Brown's business since the man left his haven behind the counter and gave him his personal attention.
That's the break Darby was waiting for. He pulled several sacks of potatoes, onions, corn, flour, sugar, coffee, cans of beans, and other items that were closest to the door right in front of it. When Mr. Brown moved out of his line of vision, Darby quietly opened the back door and pulled the items out into the back alley. A few had WS marked in chalk upon them, but it meant nothing to Darby. Moving quickly and quietly, Darby finished operation charity in no time. He even managed to snag a can of cocoa for Mr. Dawson.
He dusted his hands, straightened up in a dignified position of authority, and walked to the front of the store. "Seems in order, Mr. Brown, sir. Good job." Then having caught the black man's attention, he placed the list back on the counter and left.
Darby moved fast. Not having a horse to cart the items to Mr. Dawson and Mrs. Deets, Darby had to get them out of the alley, hide them, and then spend the rest of the day hauling them off to the intended recipients.
The happy smile of good deeds plastered on his face, Darby never felt one iota of guilt, except maybe the voice of Sophie in his head, "Darby, boy, you're going to get deep into stew. You play with fire, somewhere you're gonna be burning."
Wolf had lunch by himself. The lecture he had given Darby still playing over in his mind. Where in tarnation was the boy? He had warned him to be back at the hotel for the midday meal. He had lectured him severely about checking in with him and staying out of any further trouble, and the boy was defying him already. He regretted not warming the boy's bottom when he should have.
The rest of his day, sans Darby, was spent purchasing a milking cow and some laying hens. He told himself that if Darby's butt wasn't at the hotel for supper, he was going after him.
Wolf got tired of waiting. He entered the dining room, just in time to see Jim and Blair being seated in a corner alcove near the fireplace. The cool evenings were now making it a welcomed seating arrangement. They had beat the late Saturday dining crowd. There was still no sign of Darby.
Anger showing visibly on his face, Wolf joined his friends.
"I'm sorry for the delay, we seem to be one short."
Jim gave Blair a knowing glance. Blair smiled, finding the shenanigans of one Darby Cole hilarious. Jim shook his head. He had meant to comment to his friend, the ex-Marshal, that he didn't think he was handling his responsibilities too well. He knew for a fact that Darby needed supervision, it was just too soon in his parole to trust him with so much freedom.
Just then a shadow flashed across the front window, momentarily blocking the last vestiges of setting sunlight. The heavy pounding of boots in frantic flight, soon stopped as all the patrons in the dining room turned to see the wild-haired youth straighten up, fix his collar, and push down his locks.
Wolf grimaced, starting to rise. Jim Ellison put a restraining hand on his friend's arm. When he had Wolf's attention he shook his head, indicating now was not the time to dictate adherence to any rules.
"Mr. Ellison, Blair. Hi!" Darby said, grinning from ear-to-ear as though making it to the table were a prize in itself.... something to be mighty proud of.
"Where have you been?" The quiet question aborted any cheer. Darby blushed, then looked at Jim and Blair.
"I had things to do. I have friends in town. I'm sorry, I just lost track of time. No big deal." Wolf refused to turn away. He looked at the sweaty brow, the dirty shirt and hands, the unruly hair. He pulled away and saw the dusty boots and jean cuffs.
"Go wash your hands. We'll discuss this later." Darby started to open his mouth to protest, but Blair interceded.
"Come on, Darby, I could use a quick wash up, too." Then both young men left the room and walked towards the back where a well pump stood for patrons to do a quick wash.
"Tarnation, Jim, I don't know what to do. Words don't seem to get through to him."
"Wolf, you can't just let him run lose the way he has been. You're just inviting him to get into trouble. You have a responsibility to him and, I'm sorry to say, my friend, you are not holding your end up." The cold blue Ellison eyes wouldn't back down.
Wolf looked into his friend's face and turned a few shades of red himself. "I guess you're right. I'll talk to him."
"Seems the attitude he's carrying around when you confront him needs a lot more than words. Blair knows I won't tolerate any smart mouth from him, but then I don't get that much attitude from him."
Wolf didn't answer, knowing full well that his friend was right. He just didn't want to ruin the weekend.
"Well, that was just what we both needed," Blair said as the two young men rejoined their companions.
The rest of the meal was spent in easy camaraderie. The two older men spent a great deal of time talking about livestock purchases and the long winter due up ahead. Darby and Blair talked of the dance, the food, the girls, the music, and the next one Mr. Brady always threw in the spring. Darby's eyes were bright black dots against the wide-eyed backdrop of his whites. His attention was riveted on any predictions for the celebration and Wolf couldn't help but feel sorry for the lad. Darby missed his life in the saloon, that much was obvious. Being in town, among people, no doubt brought many pleasant memories to the front and he was just being himself.
After once again enjoying hot apple pie and ice cream all around, the men left the dining room. Jim and Blair decided to call it an early evening and excused themselves to return to their room, thanking Wolf for the great meal.
Darby started to race out the door, but was quickly pulled back by a hand on his shirt collar. "NO! Not again. You're going to your room, NOW!" Wolf punctuated the command by steering the struggling youth towards the stairs.
"Wolf, I need another bath. Please, just a bath. I won't be long." Wolf looked at the sweat that had streaked and caked dirt around the boy's collar and wrists. A bath did seem like a good idea, besides, Wolf could use one himself for the dance.
"Okay, I need one, too. But you stay with me. I don't want you out of my sight the rest of the evening, do I make myself clear?" He shook the collar slightly to accentuate the edict.
"Yes, sir." Darby said, grudgingly.
Darby never realized Wolf could be such fun. Side by side they sat in the last two rows. There were four baths in Bodine's Boarding and Bathhouse, each situated in a corner of the small room. Wolf laid back in the tub, bubbled up to his chin, knees popping up to the sides, and eyes closed. He had piled the suds on his head, put two large foamy circles on each ear and one on his chin. The warm, soapy water was relaxing him.
Towards the end of the long soak, Darby got out to reheat another bucket of water. Bringing the hot water back, Wolf lazily remarked, "Since you're out, how about pouring a little in my tub," never once opening his eyes. Darby noticed a cold bucket of water in the corner that someone had left, no doubt to rinse off, and forgotten about. He dumped the bucket on Wolf's soapy head.
Wolf sputtered and gasped as he ducked beneath the warm water to take off some of the shock of the rude awakening. Darby laughed as he stepped back. "OOPS! Wrong bucket," he said innocently.
Then, still laughing, he cautiously poured the whole of his bucket into Wolf's tub, warming the water immediately. Naked, he walked back to the coal-burner and started re-heating another bucket for himself, shaking as the evening chill tickled his wet flesh.
"You seem right familiar with bathhouses, boy. When I met you, I didn't think you and water were all that friendly." Wolf continued lounging back with his eyes closed.
"Me? I'll have you know, I took weekly baths at the saloon. Me and Mr. Baines, we were quite the pair on Sunday mornings. All the ladies would primp and fuss and we, men," Wolf noted the pride in Darby's voice, "made sure that was one fine, relaxing day for them."
"So, you and Mr. Baines were right friendly?" Wolf started fishing. With Darby being so relaxed it was a good time to get the boy to open up a bit about his past.
"Yeah, I liked Mr. Baines. Of course, I'm not sure he liked me as much as he led on." Darby finally filled his own bucket and added it to the tub. Then he climbed back in and oohed and awed a bit. "Nothing like a nice hot bath, Mama always said, to get the crust out of your cracks."
Wolf laughed. He somehow couldn't put the image of the beautiful aloof woman in the picture with that line, but wondered if she wasn't a different person with her young son.
"Why don't you think Mr. Baines liked you?" Wolf wanted the train to continue on the tracks before it lost all its steam.
"Well, my ma, she was beautiful, funny, wise, and a great singer and dancer. Mr. Baines owned the Crystal Cage. He always said he wanted Mama for a partner in the business, if she'd only marry him. Mama just didn't want to belong to anyone. She always said that people liked to own you so they could brand you." Darby paused and Wolf waited.
"Sometimes I think Mr. Baines wanted to brand mama as property of the Crystal Cage.... you know, sort of like a business investment."
"Did he treat you and your ma all right? He didn't beat you or her, did he?" Wolf asked, remembering the fevered warnings Darby frantically tried to impart on him, thinking it was his ma.
"No, no way, indeedy. Mama would have put a bullet clear through his head he tried that with her, but me, Mama would have aimed quite a bit lower and made Mr. Baines wish he were dead." Darby's voice seemed to hitch a bit towards the end, then quietly, almost in a whisper he said, "Mama loved me, that much I know."
Wolf didn't want him sitting there in past grief and old memories. He picked up the sponge he had been bathing with and threw it dead on target. Darby perked up and grabbed the wet object that splashed in his lap as it bounced off his forehead. He threw it back and the water fight that ensued had Mr. Bodine pounding on the door with threats of calling the sheriff. Both men dressed quickly and were still laughing as they made their way towards the hotel.
Tucker Lawless stirred beneath the blankets. It was cold. The fire had died long ago and the embers barely glowed with the remembered heat. He pulled the small bundle in closer to keep it warm and safe, but as a tear pricked his eye he realized it was also for comfort. Little Benjamin Caleb Lawless didn't deserve this. Six years old, never slept in a real bed or went to a proper school with other children his own age...taking his lessons, like Tuck had done, sitting at the kitchen table....Pa slapping the wooden ruler down hard on his small knuckles as he tried to cipher and print. Tucker remembered the dreaded lessons and although he was a fast learner, he encountered the stinging pain enough times to realize the terror the imminent encounters evoked. Ben had more trouble learning and he was getting to be a favorite recipient of Lazarus Lawless's wrath. At least Tuck had gotten him away before he felt the whip across his back. Tucker's own still bore the scars of those "lessons of God."
He closed his eyes trying to block out the last day, but memory tugged him back and he fell forward into the abyss.
Tuck heard his father's raging voice. He held the ax firmly in his grip; his own fear and anger whitening his knuckles.
"DAMN, demons. My wife gave me demons, not children."
Tucker shivered waiting for the call, but the one he heard sent a dreaded chill through his bones.
"Benjamin Caleb Lawless! Come here! COME HERE!"
Tucker moved into action, this was different than before. Sooner or later he knew his little brother would feel the horsewhip his pa used on his own back for every minor infraction he deemed offensive to God and mankind.
Tuck knew one thing, every time the whip scorched across his back, he swore he would never let Ben feel this kind of pain. Little Ben would never feel the burning hatred that went with every stroke of the leather whip. He would kill the man who brought them both into the world before he would allow that to happen.
When Tucker rounded the corner, the ax still gripped in his hand, he saw Ben slowly coming towards the barn, with his head bent low, hands behind his back.
"You pissed yourself, didn't you, boy?" Lazarus Lawless hissed. The tall, fair-headed man looked like an avenging angel. The buggy whip was behind his back, but the stinging end could be seen high above his shoulder.
"You think your ma has nothing better to do than wash your clothes, because you're still a baby. Maybe your ma should keep you running around here in diapers still, baby that you are." His father's voice became mocking and amused as he continued his diatribe.
"I'm sorry, Papa, I'm sorry!" Ben started to wail.
Tucker ran up to his father and placed himself between Ben and Lazarus. "He did it in his sleep, Papa. He didn't know he was doing it."
"Some children God cursed me with, more like the devil's own. One wears the mark of Lucifer on his cheek; the other pisses himself and is a dummie. I'll teach you to control yourself, boy. Come with me." Lazarus called for the young boy to follow him into the barn.
"Pleeeeeease, Papa, NO!" Ben screamed, as he still held his spot, bending forward from the waist in his plea, hoping for forgiveness he never even knew existed.
Tucker ran towards the shed. He quickly started digging in the earth. Several months ago, while gathering wood in the woods, he had found the gun. Perhaps some hunter had set it down and forgot where he had placed it, perhaps, the stage which often crossed this sector of the woods, had hit a bump and the gun had fallen off the scabbard or out of someone's baggage. Tuck didn't know why nor how, only that fate had given him protection. It was loaded and useable, that's all he knew or cared to know. He pulled the old box from the earth and opened it. The gun lay clean and deadly. He raced back to the barn.
Lazarus was still yelling for his recalcitrant son to come with him to the barn. Delay only meant more severe lashes, as Tuck knew from experience.
He once again positioned himself between Ben and his father. He raised the gun. "He ain't commin, Pa. It's over. You ain't taking the whip to him."
"You dare threaten me with a gun. YOU DARE!"
"I dare, Papa, I do more than dare. If you touch him or me, I'll kill you." The blue, crystal eyes were deadly in their resolve. Lazarus Lawless recognized the truth when he heard it, but he was damned attentive when he saw what he saw in his son's eyes. It was hard as steel and cold as a grave. He knew Lucifer meant it. The devil's own would gladly kill him.
"DAMNATION! God has cursed me with my offspring. GET OUT! BOTH OF YOU! Go as you are now and leave me. Never come back.... demon seed....demons."
Tuck put a protective hand in back and started ushering the boy to the side. "Ben, listen to me. Got get the sack near the loft ladder. Put all our stuff in it." When the boy didn't move, he said again, gently, "Go ahead, I won't let him hurt you."
When the small boy came out of the barn, he was pulling the large sack along behind him. Tuck went and hefted the bag across his shoulder, it wasn't all that heavy, and they didn't have much to call their own. "Anything else you want, Ben? We won't be coming back here, not ever."
"You're damn right never...BOY! NEVER! I don't ever want to see your faces again. MOTHER!" Lazarus called now directing his rage against the only other person he could. Tuck watched as the hard woman came out of the small cabin. The cabin Tuck and Ben only took their meals in and their lessons. They were not allowed in the house, the loft and straw were all the comforts of home that they knew. "A hard life teaches lessons to the soul," Ma often said. "Best you learn these things young."
Now the woman looked angrily at her two children. The disgust and contempt on her face was as much as Tuck expected. No love ever came out of her anymore than it came from the paternal side.
Fourteen-year-old Lucifer Tucker Lawless, named after the devil he was accused of being cursed by, also named for the matches that could pop into flame when struck, left his home with six-year-old Benjamin to try to find a new life.
The sun showed into the room in bright, golden patches. Wolf groaned and rolled over. The space next to him in the bed was empty. He laid a tired hand over his forehead, "Boy, you're asking to die young."
He slowly pulled himself from the bed. Last night had been fun. He and Darby had enjoyed themselves. After the bath and their expulsion from Bodines, they had returned to their room. Darby had kept Wolf up long past midnight. The boy was relaxed and witty and funny and totally amusing. He charmed Wolf with his stories of the ladies and incidents that had taken place at the saloon. Wolf could well understand the boy's place in things, he was a member of a huge family that seemed quite loving and giving, more so than normal families, he thought. He remembered his own strained relationships with his father.
Then the pounding could be heard below. Damn, doesn't he listen to me? It slowed half way up the stairs, and Wolf didn't doubt that Mr. Beasley had cautioned him about running. Wolf heard the quiet tiptoeing that didn't quite serve its purpose. The boy was obviously trying to get back before he woke up. Wolf, feeling a bit playful himself, crept up behind the door in his stocking feet.
The door slowly opened. When the visitor saw the empty bed, he pushed the door back full force and Wolf had to catch it before it broke his nose. A soft "Shit and damnation" came out before Wolf pushed the door back shut with a loud BANG!
Darby whirled taken off guard, he started to fall forward tripping on his own vane efforts to confront an attacker. Wolf reached out a hand to steady him.
"Wolf, oh man! You scared the sh...life out of me." Darby trailed off correcting the slip.
"Where have you been? I seem to be asking that question a lot these past few days and, quite frankly, I've about had my fill of it." Wolf now crossed his arms over his chest in a stern stance that demanded answers.
"Out and about. Getting some fresh air. I didn't go far. It's a beautiful morning, far too beautiful to be cooped up in here." Darby smiled appealingly and Wolf was beginning to doubt the sincerity plastered on the face before him. You're just upset you slept late, don't take it out on the boy. The reasoning worked and he changed directions.
"I told you, last night, I don't want you out of my sight today. Do you understand me, Darby?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. I surely do." Darby nodded the smile still in place. "How about breakfast? I'm so hungry I could eat a dozen stacks of those flapjacks."
"Well, you're gonna have to share," Wolf said smiling himself, as he sat down to put his boots on.
A strange feeling towards the boy was coming over him since last night. Wolf had realized some time ago that he was starting to care for the youth, like a good friend. However since last night and the time shared in the bathhouse, the light began to dawn on the thickheaded ex-Marshal.... he loved Darby Cole. He loved him as he loved his Uncle John, he loved him the way he would have a younger brother or maybe a son of his own.
Loving the lad was not the thing that perplexed Wolf Stoddard most, but the realization that he enjoyed the epiphany, that he fully understood and felt comfortable with his feelings. The loner, the hard-ass lawman who spent most of his life on the trail, now needed this boy in a way that went far deeper than friendship and companionship. He had become a family unit overnight, and he felt damn good about the whole thing.
Putting his arm around the boy, he and Darby headed down to breakfast.
The early part of Sunday went beautifully, as do all skies before a storm. The weather was mild, with only a small hint of winter in the brisk cool air. Darby had asked if he could pick up his date on the way to the dance with the buckboard. Wolf was surprised, but when Darby explained Mary Deets was his intended partner for the evening, Wolf agreed and was touched by the boy's kindness. All it did was make Wolf all the more secure in the knowledge that Darby was indeed a good boy. It was one more nail that popped out of the barn door and pretty soon it would be hanging by its hinges while all hell broke loose.
Tucker and Benjamin Lawless entered Main Street from the back alley. Holding Ben's hand he led the small boy down the sidewalk. The tattered clothes, filthy jackets, and smudged faces hardly brought them a second glance from the few citizens that passed them on their way to Sunday services. The smells of frying bacon, pancakes, and biscuits reached their noses.
"I'm hungry, Tuck. You promised me a treat today." The small dirty hand pushed across his nose and mouth, rubbing away the tears that threatened and the smells that tantalized.
"I told you, Ben, I'll take care of you. You just have to be patient. Now just do what I told you. You do remember what I told you, don't you?" Tuck now stopped and hunkered down in front of the dejected figure. Tucker Lawless stood five feet four, he had started growing rapidly this past few months, and his britches were almost above his boots. Little Ben hardly reached his elbow. He looked his younger brother directly in the eyes.
"Stealing's wrong, Tuck. Papa would whip us both." The small voice came out as a whine.
"Papa ain't gonna be whippin us ever again. I told you that," Tucker said rather harshly as he shook the small figure. Then feeling remorse he pulled the boy into his arms for a quick hug. "We're a team now, remember. I need you and you need me. Just do as I said. We'll be fine."
Ben rubbed his eyes with both fists and nodded his head. "Okay."
They entered Brown’s Mercantile. It wasn't due to be open long for the dance coming up, but Mr. Brown wanted people who needed supplies to have the opportunity to fill their orders on their trip into town and then go on to the dance. A small sign on the door passed this news on to strangers in town.
Ben walked up to the candy counter, looking longingly at the sweet treats in jars and under glass. Tuck moved slowly towards the back of the store. Ben started picking out candy as Mr. Brown waited patiently.
"Them licorice whips, please, a penny's worth. Then, ah..." Tuck smiled as he heard Ben do his stall job, "I think, ah...those sourballs, NO! not those..."
Tuck slipped near the back window and quietly he flicked the latch up, then put a small box of nails in front of the lock, acting as though he were looking for something.
As Tuck moved towards the front, he walked out of the store, with just a quick glance from the storeowner. He saw Ben glance his way, then toss the penny on the counter and race off with the licorice whip.
"Hey, boy!" Mr. Brown called, "I thought you wanted more candy."
Ben didn't look back but raced towards the alley. He ran blind, fear spurring him on, he turned quickly to look back sure Mr. Brown would be after him, surely on to their ruse. Suddenly he felt himself lifted in the air, "Whoa there, hold on." Higher he went, higher still. Then looking down he saw the face of a giant laughing up at him. Bright blue eyes, laughing face, round and clean and shining against the early afternoon light. He hung limp, the licorice whip trailing from his hands like a thread snipped off in flight.
"Jorgan, put the boy down." Ben looked around and down. There to his utter amazement an angel stood. Soft golden hair shining in the warm, morning sun, eyes the color of the sky, cheeks round and pink, and the smile, Ben never saw a woman smile like that.... not in his six years, that much was for sure.
He remembered a picture he had once seen in his Pa's Bible, it wasn't a page his Pa let him go to often. Papa believed in the harsher aspects of religion. However, his Pa had to go out to attend to some problem with the stock and after his gruff, "Mind you do your reading, boy, I'll be back in a short spell," Ben had soon turned the pages, fascinated by the colored etchings. True, most were of an angry, vengeful God calling his wrath down upon some poor sinner, but there was this one picture. It was a beautiful angel with golden hair talking to the Virgin Mary. Papa had said it was Gabriel come to tell Mary of the Baby Jesus' birth, but Ben had loved that picture. He wished all the pictures were that pretty, that pleasant to look at.
Now he looked down at the Angel Gabriel as surely as a giant was holding him up. Panic took him by the heels and he started to kick violently out, squirming in the giant's grasp, looking nervously around for Tuck.
Slowly he was lowered to the ground, "It's all right, I don't eat little boys." The voice was strange, it had a soft lilt to it. Ben had never heard an accent like this before. The stranger accented every word ever so gently.
The angel put her hands on Ben's shoulders, turning him around as she knelt down before him. "It's all right," she said softly, as she ran a gentle hand across Ben's forehead pushing back the dark curls from his face. "Where are your folks?"
Ben couldn't take his eyes off the blue eyes that bore into his own brown ones, but something over her shoulder caught his eye and he saw Tuck beckoning him in urgency. Ben pulled from her grasp and ran for his life, clopping heavily upon the wooden boards of the sidewalk.
Jorgan Mueller laughed, but not for long. Anna Gabriella Mueller Marks was no woman to trifle with. She raised herself to her full five feet six inch slender frame and braced her hands on her hips. Her stern look, not one whit diminishing the beauty of her face, soon had her brother backing away in what looked like mock fear. However, those that knew Anna well...and Jorgan surely did...knew his fear was genuine.
"Anna, you cannot pick up every stray that comes your way. There are wild things even Anna Mueller cannot tame."
"Surely you did not help matters, Jorgan." Anna spoke with the same Swedish/German accent that her brother exhibited. Both had come to America with their father, a well-renowned surgeon. After the death of their mother, Dr. Gunther Mueller wanted no part of his homeland, Germany. Little of his wife's family remained in Sweden, so he headed for America. Now he had a thriving practice in New York City.
"Me?" Jorgan said, pointing to his own massive chest, looking shocked by the accusation.
"I merely stopped the lad from running into you. See what I get for protecting my sister from being knocked on her backside."
Anna huffed, realizing she was getting no where with her frustrating brother. She raised her skirts and flounced off in the direction of Brown's Mercantile, Jorgan following behind like a well-trained and properly chastised dog.
Part 6 of Story Three