scurlock | oom: green lake, texas

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oom: green lake, texas

The final half hour of the ride into town feels like it takes just a few seconds - not long enough to get his nerves under control - but it isn't long until he's riding into Green Lake with the late afternoon sun. He hadn't pushed the paint too hard, not knowing the conditioning of the horse all that well, yet. Plus, he'd wanted to take his time in making sure that he didn't get there too early.

His plan, as it was, stood simple. Try to blend in - which he knew would be difficult, in a small town - and eventually find a way to figure out where the Barlow ranch was. From what Katherine had told him, she'd grown up somewhere in the county so it would be within riding distance. Hopefully he'd be able to get directions.

And maybe she would be there. The annual Independence Day picnic seemed as if it wasn't some fresh idea for a party they threw together the year she brought him to visit. Tradition and heritage were important.

So were first impressions.

He took the main road, that the stage line used, on his way into own. It was obvious as he neared it that there was indeed a picnic going on. Things looked a little bit different, but he'd expected that. Then again, he looked different too.

This was not the well to-do teacher from New York City stopping in for a visit, this was the soft spoken, slightly worn 'round the edges cowboy who was looking for work and a place to shack up for the night. With a tired horse, and promise of a bit of relaxation on the holiday, it seemed as if Green Lake would fit the bill quite nicely.

Doc leads the paint into town, and tips his hat politely to each person he passes, until he finds a rail with a water trough at it and guides the horse to it. He dismounts the horse easily and ties him to the rail, letting him drink while he tries to figure out just how to go about this, brushing his shirt off to rid it of some of the dust.

Texas in July is warm, which is why his coat is tied to the saddle and his pack, and he could use for a cold drink himself...

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He has been keeping an eye on the Barlows, which is why he's able to keep from smacking the younger Walker boy upside the head at his comment about scalping natives. He holds his tongue, though his head is full of words for the ignorant little brat.

I'd like to see you try and scalp one, you slimy little tenderfooted prick, you would have gotten nowhere near Chavez 'fore you had a knife stickin' in your spine. I'd like to see you try, Walker.

Instead, he just nods. "Rough county," he says, and has another drink of tea.

It's a very long moment, to be sure, before Doc Hawthorn comes up behind them, placing two gentle hands on each man's back.

"Ah, forgive me, boys. I had a bit of business to tend to, over by the contest booths," he smiles good-humoredly. "Things have been well in my absence?"

Charles Jr. grins, and in the back of his mouth you can just see a glint of gold.

"Just dandy, Doc."

His eyes stay focused on 'Jay.'

"Yes, sir," Doc replies, with a polite and confident nod of his head. "Mayor Walker was kind enough to tell me a bit 'bout Green Lake and some of the folk that live 'round these parts. And then Mr. Walker and I were discussin' workin' as a line rider and such."

Pleasant, normal conversation of course.

Of course.

"Splendid. Now, listen, I know you was worried about that paint of yours, getting him fed and stabled for the evening. Things here will continue on well past sundown. They light fireworks over the lake, and there's dancing and singing.

"You mind lingering a bit? Or I could escort you back to where you'll be staying tonight, git you set up a bit before coming back for the end of the party?"

He glances back in the direction of the horse, as if debating in his head. It doesn't matter to him which they choose...

"It doesn't matter to me, Dr. Hawthorn, but I'm not quite certain how my horse'll handle the idea of fireworks. He can be a bit jumpy from time t'time. If it's not too much of an inconvenience, I think I'd like to get him stabled 'fore it gets too dark, might be easier for all involved."

"No inconvenience, whatsoever," Dr. Hawthorn assures, nodding his head. He turns to Charles Walker Jr. "Would you please excuse us for a moment?"

Charles grins, nodding once to 'Jay.' "Don't mind a bit. Real pleasure, Jay. Doc."

The men part ways, and Doc Hawthorn leads 'Jay' up the broad way to his house, after they stop to retrieve his horse and effects.

Doc chooses to lead the horse and walk on foot alongside the Doctor, rather than ride and have to look down while speaking with the gentleman as they make their way up along the road to his place.

Once the animal is safely tucked away in an empty stall, tack removed, fed, and watered, Doc fetches his coat - a shorter, thigh length, rather than the long duster - and shrugs it onto his shoulders before he and Hawthorn set back out to head down the road to the festivities.

"I do appreciate the kindness, Dr. Hawthorn," he tells the older gentleman, as they walk. "It ain't all too often you can find a place to stay, folks to open their homes, in some of these smaller towns 'long the road."

From his tone, one might gather that there have been nights spent sleeping on the ground under the stairs, and it's obvious that 'Jay' is very grateful for a stable for his horse and bed for his body.

The good doctor gathers as much, nodding his head as they walk along. His eyes are on the ground at his feet, posture relaxed and both hands pocketed.

"I know it all too well, son. But Millicent and I, we don't have any children of our own to take care of. No family close by. We like to do for others, whenever we can," he says, turning to 'Jay' and smiling softly.

The square is full again by the time they get back, folk square dancing and line dancing and dancing in pairs, music lively and jovial, faces pink and happy.

There's food to be had, which Dr. Hawthorn is insistent 'Jay' look into.

And out on the dance floor, a young, teenaged girl with golden hair and bright blue eyes, smile radiant and laughter singing, spins and steps with a grace all her own.

For the most part, he keeps to himself. He doesn't want to attract attention, and there are certain people he wants to avoid entirely, but during the course of the evening he finds himself eating a solid meal, and having plenty of conversation with various people.

If he does seem tired, well, he has spent the last two days (and as far as most of them know, who knows how long in Galveston working in the stockyards at the port) in the saddle and is here to enjoy a relaxing evening in fine company.

But from time to time, he watches her, that natural grace and playful nature - she's so much more free, like this, a little bit wild but still full of composure - and her spirit untamed.

She knows she could have the world...

It makes him smile.

Could have it, and does have it, as far as many are concerned. Not least of which, that middle-aged gentleman she rode into town with, who steps forward at a slow song and pulls her into a dance.

She beams up at him, but positively refuses to stand on his feet. And he laughs.

'Jay' also isn't the only one who's been watching her. At fifteen, she's already positively beautiful, and many boys and men alike follow her with their eyes.

One such man happens to be Mayor Walker, who has also noticed 'Jay's returning gaze. He elbows his son lightly, encouraging him to the dance floor, and at the next song Charles Walker Jr. approaches, and requests Mr. Barlow's permission to dance with Katherine.

Which he gives.

That isn't surprising.

Doc is settled somewhere with a view of the dancefloor, and he watches the two of them dance, and also watches several other couples dance, for a spell, never lingering too long on the young girl. It wouldn't be proper. And as much as part of him wants to request to cut in, on the young Charles Walker, he knows that if he's going to be sticking around Green Lake, he'll need to not offend his father.

Which is why, instead of dancing, or moving for the floor, he simply smiles and claps politely once the band has finished their song.

He takes the change in the people on the floor as an excuse to step away from the crowd for a moment, moving a few steps towards the lakeshore and looking up at the dark Texas sky overhead, music and laughter filling his ears as the band picks up a new tune.

It isn't long at all before the sky erupts in color, bright and vivid, rockets singing into the air before they explode and burst forth long tendrils of shimmering light.

There's 'oohing' and 'ahhing' and plenty of clapping, as the band pauses and the townsfolk watch, and silently Dr. Hawthorn comes up on Doc's right side, face turned heavenward and hands clasped loosely behind his back.

He doesn't say anything. He simply stands, and watches the display.

"Been a long time since I seen fireworks," he says, quietly, but his eyes are still focused on the sky. He knew Hawthorn was there from the moment he walked up and stood beside him, silent or not. There are some things an outlaw just knows.

And even if this isn't the outlaw, those habits don't just die off.

His hands are tucked into his coat pockets, and he rocks slightly on his heels, thinking.

Doc Hawthorn doesn't turn to regard him, or move at all, really. But after a time, his voice can be heard.

"It's a good memory?"

He hopes so, at least. The boy is looking rather pensive.

"Ohh, Doc!" cries Katherine, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms loosely around his middle. "Isn't it lovely? Just look at all those colors!"

The doctor adjusts his arm around her, smiling with a fondness you only see in those who enjoy spending time with children, when they cannot have those of their own.

Katherine's focus is on the lights overhead, and not the young man to her left, and after a time she moves on to find a better vantage point.

"Yes, sir. It is, actually," Doc does smile at bit at that, and moreso when Katherine runs up behind the Doctor himself and exclaims cheerfully in regards to the firework display.

She really is happy, here.

When she moves around the older man and heads off a short distance down the shoreline, he keeps her in his gaze, but does keep his main focus on the colors in the sky.

He does not want Hawthorn to think he's all about Katherine, for certain.

"Back 'fore I left home," he continues, in regards to the memory. "Hometown had a few fireworks one year for the New Year, but nothin' like this," he says, motioning out at the lake with a hand that comes free of his pocket.

Even he can't deny the slight childish awe in his eyes at the sight, if Hawthorn looks, he'll be able to see it.

He does indeed take a quick glance.

"And where is home?" he asks gently.

There are a thousand options that spring into his head at the question (Lincoln, New York, Liberty, Tallapoosa, St. Louis, New Orleans, Jackson, I don't have one, Mobile, Las Cruces, and half a dozen others that flit across his brain) but he narrows it down within a heartbeat.

He needs something that can account for that soft velvet drawl that he can't hide from his voice, no matter how much red desert dust he's inhaled into those lungs, and he wants to keep it something he knows well enough to describe. It was the last place that truly felt like home, (besides Lincoln, but it hurts to think about the Tunstall bunk house and dinners 'round the table with the boys so he can't use that) so he glances over at the man and responds.

"New Orleans, sir. Well, just outside the city proper, t'be honest, but that's where we went to pick up the post."

Dr. Hawthorn nods and smiles, soaking in this information but not questioning the young man further on it. He left home for a reason, after all, and the steel edge to those mossy eyes tells him it hasn't been an altogether pleasant journey since. Proper etiquette and good grooming is enough to know it's just not polite to talk about a traveler's home.

"I imagine you must have had quite the new years fandangos in a place such as New Orleans. Must have been quite the affair."

The older man's voice is soft like the crunch of tree bark underfoot.

"The wife and I will probably head home, shortly after the show," he adds, nodding to the tapering lights still soaring overhead.

"It was," he agrees. "Steamboats on the river, there's always travelers comin' and goin', and well, to a kid seein' all those folk and all that fuss, plus fireworks? It's a very good memory," he says fondly.

He turns his attention from the sparks and fire overhead to nod at Hawthorn.

"I reckon I'll join you. It's been a long day in the saddle comin' south from Galveston and I could use the rest, if I'm bein' completely honest with myself."

Another nod -- a doctor's agreement, and a host's concession -- before he turns his gaze back to the sky. There really is no need for too many words. Those will come later, and with greater frequency, once Millicent joins the discussions.

There's time for a bit of mingling after the display has ended, which is precisely what the men do. The Hawthorn's have to say their goodbyes to the Barlows, after all.

And Mayor Walker, too, makes a point of shaking 'Jay's hand, and once again welcoming him to the community.

(We'll forget the way his grip was just a smidgen on the tight side.)

When all is said and done, the three begin the trek back to the house, and the real conversation begins.

It's a very good thing that the Hawthorns have offered their home up for 'Jay' to stay in while he's in Green Lake, and the Mayor was right about the couple taking very good care of their guest. They make certain that he's well settled and comfortable before they turn in for the evening, after their conversation has been finished, and the horses checked on in the barn for the evening - which Doc insists on taking care of, since the Doctor and his wife are being so kind as to give him a place to stay.

The next morning, he's up early, after having slept more than he actually thought he would, given his nerves. The sunlight finds him out in the stable, again, for the morning feeding of the animals.

Eventually, the trio ends up at the table, where Millicent has prepared quite the hearty breakfast. And her cooking is indeed, heavenly.

"So I was wonderin'," he comments, between a few bites of food. "If maybe there was somethin' ya'll needed help with 'round here, so that I could pay you back for your kindness, or...well, if a fella like myself was lookin' for work 'round the area, where he might be able to find it?"

The couple exchange looks briefly, before Mrs. Hawthorn is quick to politely decline the offer.

"I think you helpin' out around the stables this mornin' and last eve should be plenty to pay for your room an' board for just one night," she says, her soft voice sweet and breezy.

The doctor nods, wiping his hands on a cloth napkin, as he leans back in his chair. "You're settled with us, son. No need to worry 'bout that. Now, if it's pocket cash you're lookin' for, well I imagine I might be able to scrounge up a chore or two, but we don't want for much here, just the two of us. Might have better luck with one of the outlyin' ranches."

Pause, as he rocks slightly on the chair's back legs.

"Not an awful lot for cattle 'round these parts. Eh... what kinda work you lookin' for?"

"Well sir, I reckon so long as it's honest I don't mind what it is. I've had my fair share of working cattle," he studies the table for a second. "But I've worked fall crop before, and know my way 'round sheep and goats well 'nough to get by."

Even if it's just because the Dirty Underwear gang had a knack for cutting sheep, that don't matter.

He studies his hands a bit. "And to be honest with you, Dr. Hawthorn, so long as s'a man who'll treat his hires fair, I'd do just 'bout near anything."

That steely edge in his eyes is there for a reason, after all. Long days with little respect for his time and effort.

(Even if it wasn't in a Galveston stockyard but instead in the hot deserts of New Mexico.)

Edited 2009-01-10 18:17 (UTC)

Doc Hawthorn nods slowly, eyes focused and intent on his young guest. You can see the doctor's edge to his steady gaze: invasive; unfaltering; thorough; and deep. He's taking in every feature of 'Jay' now, for the first time, as if preparing a diagnosis.

"Reckon Samuel could do to give him some work, love," Millicent murmurs, as she starts to gather empty plates.

"Yeah," Doc agrees, scratching his cheek absently.

There's a moment's careful consideration.

"Tell you what. Good friend of mine lives up Heyser way, 'bout five miles northeasterly, outta town. Now, I don't know if he's lookin' for workers, this late in the year, but--"

He shrugs gently, leaning back in to polish off his plate before Millicent can do away with it.

"He's a good man, always has room in his bunks for good workers. Pays 'em fair, plus three square and a good clean bed. Lotta horse work, goats and pigs, some fowl. Few crops, too."

Doc's finished with his meal, plate cleared (Katherine would be proud of him) and he carefully hands the plate and his silverware to the woman when she moves to collect it, murmuring a polite 'thank you, ma'am' as she does so.

But his attention is on the doctor, of course.

"We got plenty of horses through the stockyard, lot of them fiesty mustangs from out west gettin' shipped to folk east. I know horses. Heyser, you said?"

He knows he rode past it on the way into Green Lake. Five miles or so northeast.

oom: green lake, texas

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