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Entry tags:
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...
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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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.
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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"And where is home?" he asks gently.
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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."
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"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.
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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."
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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.
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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?"
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"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?"
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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.)
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"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."
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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.
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"Yeah, thereabouts. Name's Barlow -- Samuel Barlow. Mighta seen him 'round the picnic. His girl -- Katherine -- was the cute little thing with the blonde hair."
There's a fondness in his eyes as he speaks, and as he pauses to draw a hand through his thinning hair (forehead already exposed and shiny), he smiles faintly.
"You head on up the broad way 'til you hit the church, then turn on the northbound road heading to Victoria county. It'll take you a few hours, but eventually you'll come upon a barb fence, barley fields and the like. Head through the gate, 'bout half a mile or so you'll see a white farmhouse, arbor around the front door. That's the place. If Sam ain't around, well you can ask for Henry or Jim. They're the steward and stable master, respectively. They can probably help you out."
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Then he nods. His memory is sharp. It has to be.
"She was the young lady I saw run up to you with that fine blue ribbon," he recalls.
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"She was at that," he nods.
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He knows they'll say yes. But it wouldn't be proper to just assume that.
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He then stands from the table, craning his neck to try and see into the kitchen. "In fact, why don't you take a little somethin' with you for the ride. Millicent? We got any of that pork an' jam left?"
By the looks of things, the Hawthorn's aren't going to accept a polite decline.
But 'Jay' should know that already, given their hospitality hasn't changed much in the last six years.
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And it is sincere. He honestly does appreciate it. Between the cost of the train ticket south, board for two nights in hotels, and most importantly, the cost of that paint horse, he's feeling a bit strapped again.