scurlock | oom: barlow estate (2)

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oom: barlow estate (2)

He sleeps well enough, curled on his side (after he manages to fall asleep, of course, nerves in his belly twisting at him for a while after the drink and conversation) and wakes with the first sounds of someone moving around the bunkhouse.

It's Jim.

Doc gives the older hand a few minutes of head start before he hauls himself out of bed and begins getting ready for the day. He notices that Jim, and the rest of the boys, all wear their guns, so once he's dressed himself, he settles his at his hip.

It's not dawn, yet, not by a longshot, when he makes his way over to the stables and barn in order to check on his horse - and see if Jim wants a hand in getting things taken care of. Might as well offer, after all.

"Hey, Jim...don't forget t'mind your hat," he mentions, quietly, as he enters the barn. His own is hanging around his neck by the cord, where he'll keep it out of reach of the horse as best he can. "You need a hand with anything?"

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He laughs, honestly, along with him.

"Should've warned you, but I was goin' for the surprise an' all," he admits. "Teach 'em to be sneakin' 'round like that. You came clean up on 'em 'fore they even noticed you were there," he comments, to Samuel, pulling off his gloves momentarily to brush his hands clean against his pants, before he tugs the leather back on.

"You learn a thing or two, during a war," he comments offhandedly, leading the men back to the busted fence. He glances over at Jay as they go.

"You know what I mean?"

"Yes, sir," he agrees.

(There's a knowing look that passes between the two of them, in that glance.)

Walking back to the fence is easier, given that they're not trying to sneak among the tall grass the entire way.

It takes an hour or so for the three to finish up the fence to Samuel's liking. In the meantime, Tom came riding down, spooked by the gunfire and checking to make sure the boss was okay. John recounted, in no small detail, the entire account to him.

That earned Jay a modicum of respect.

When the fence was done, Tom returned to his work, and the three continued on their circuit.

"You a fan of Beethoven, Jay?" Samuel asks idly, as their horses walk side-by-side. He's chewing on a piece of jerky he pulled from his pack, after having offered the other two a piece.

He considers the question thoughtfully. "I'd say so, sir. I don't know all that much of his work, what with not gettin' a chance t'hear it all too often, but yeah. He's done some stuff for strings that m'more familiar with, compared t'his piano work."

Cortez is content to slowly walk along, given the heat of the day, and so is Jay. He's in no hurry, especially after having to piece that fence back together.

"You ever hear his Violin Sonata in A? 'Kreutzer', is what they call it," he asks, reproducing the French name with some skill.

"Honestly couldn't tell y'if I had, it's...been awhile. 'Kreutzer'," he echoes, quietly, trying to think on the subject. It's obvious that he's not as good with the French as Mr. Barlow is.

It's idle conversation as they ride along.

He shakes his head. "Adagio sostenuto," he murmurs, tipping his chin into a brief, welcome breeze. "Magnificent piece. Saw it performed once, in an opera house called the 'Tremont,' over on Galveston Island. Thought maybe you'd heard of it."

"Boss fiddles awful smart," John fills in, from Jay's other side.

"The big place on the island?" That gets an impressed whistle, out of him. "That must've been nice. I seen it 'fore, but never been in there, myself. Must've been a real fine show, place like that."

A glance at John, when he remarks.

"That so?" A small smile, before he looks back over at her father.

There's a ghost of a smile on Samuel's lips.

"My father bought me a violin when I was nine. I remember standin' in the window of our apartment, tryin' to figure out 'Baltimore Belle.' Momma did love it when I'd play."

"Mrs. Barlow used to love it, too," John says, quietly.

The smile on Samuel's face turns soft and sad.

"Yes, she did."

Jay ducks his head a little, eyes focused on the mane of his horse to give the older gentleman a bit of 'space'.

"Wish I'd learned t'play somethin'," he says. "Timin' jus'didn't work out all that well, probably why I kept t'books."

A beat.

"Where'd you grow up?"

"I was born in Lancashire, England," he says, keeping his eyes on the fence as he speaks. "But I lived in New York for most of my boyhood. We moved to Georgia when I was fifteen."

He chews thoughtfully on the last bit of his jerky, squinting through the late afternoon sun at his wheat as they ride alongside.

"Wasn't too long after that when things went to hell, so to say. War and famine."

"Yeah," he agrees. He knows very damn well about war and very damn well about famine. The blockades, the bread riots, trying to make things work with what little they had. Then Jacob had gotten killed, and he remembered them bringing the body home - he'd been close enough. Pa had been away with his regiment, but he'd come home for the funeral and they couldn't get him to eat for days...

Jay swallows down the sudden block in his throat and blinks a few times, nodding. "Yeah, it did," he repeats, ignoring the slight rasp to his voice before he clears his throat and swallows once more.

"So then y'came out here after the war," he adds, confirming the earlier story he'd been told.

He nods.

"Took a lead ball to the thigh, winter of '64. I was with the Willette troop up in Middle Boggy Depot, Oklahoma. Katie's mom, she was a nurse. Took me in for more'n a week."

Pause.

"Her momma and daddy had already been killed. See, her father married himself a Cheyenne Indian. ...She saw some things... well, bless her heart. Can't say I didn't fall in love with that girl the moment I saw them sad eyes of hers. Black as coal."

Dusty snorts in agitation when a small grouping of field mice dart from the wheat stalks to the fence on the other side of the lane, and Samuel hushes him calmly, stroking his long neck.

"Came back for her after I was discharged. My father wouldn't join the fight, for either side. Lynch mob took care of him, early on in the war. Mum got sick, and I was away... hell, I still regret that..."

A moment to collect himself.

"Was hard, marryin' a half-Indian, but we found a way. Brought her down here, showed her the land... it was the ugliest spit of property you ever did see, but she loved it instantly. It's been home, ever since."

His stomach twists a little and he reaches up to rest his free hand on his neck, rubbing softly at his skin. The leather touch of the glove is a welcome change from the phantom prickle of rough, twisted rope that's raking over his flesh.

He can still feel that rope around his neck.

"I hate lynch mobs."

He mutters it low, voice dark and quiet.

Then he shakes his head and lifts his eyes to the horizon, sweeping over the wheat field.

"I think when you're lookin' for a place to settle, don't matter so much to what it looks like when you get there, but what you know y'can make it into with hard work and some patience. As long as y'can see the finished product, ain't no harm in workin' to get it there."

It's low, but the muggy air catches his words and holds them, just long enough for Samuel and John both to sneak a glance at the boy from the corner of their eyes.

Neither say a word.

Samuel nods after a time, a small smile on his face. "She always did have eyes turned for the future. Saw flowers and fruit trees, when there was nothin' but weeds and dust."

And now, as they ride on through, thriving fields of corn and wheat and barley, pecan trees and apple, rabbit holes and bird's nests and all manner of life flourishing throughout every acre of the property. Some is fertile, tilled and worked with blood and sweat to get that way. Some is wild and ragged. But everything sings with a purely southern grace.

"She woulda loved to see this."

He's putting it all to memory, racking away details as they continue on along the fence-line.

There aren't many more spots that need fixing, which gives him the opportunity to notice the color of the leaves against the sky, sun filtering through. The way the corn cuts neat rows of green, solid and strong even in the hot Texas afternoon's heat. Catch a glimpse of a rabbit as it ducks down into a burrow - Cortez sidesteps hesitantly, a bit wary until he's calmed down with a quiet word - and feel the thick air against his chest.

The wheat ripples a little another hint of a breeze, that sky clear of clouds, and deeper than the ocean.

(It reminds him of her eyes.)

Once they've turned again, and are heading down the next section of fence, he speaks up.

"M'sure she's watchin', sir."

Another soft smile, and he turns his focus onto Jay for a small moment.

"Thank you, son."

By the time they finish their last repair, the sun is already dipping below the horizon. There are still men out in the fields, using the long summer day to the full to get their work done, but even they are finishing up to head in for a meal.

There are stains from sweat along the back of Samuel's shirt, and John is fanning himself with his hat, when the boss finally twists the last piece of barb into place and squints up at his men, breathing heavy.

He nods, once.

"Think that'll about do it for today. Let's get on back, before it turns dark."

He himself is covered in sweat along his spine, and sleep will definitely come easy once he retires to the bunkhouse that evening. Jay shifts on his heels to look at the fading light to the west, the colors that the sky is painted with, dust crunching lightly under his boots as he stands and moves to gather the tools up.

Jay wipes his forehead on his sleeve and nods. "Think we got it all," he agrees, as he returns odds and ends to the saddle bag on Cortez's side before he hauls himself back up into the saddle.

Again.

(He doesn't mind the hard day's work, not one bit.)

"Yeah, 'til tomorrow!" John snorts, but even his laughter sounds tired.

It was a long, hot day, and they're all starting to feel it. More so now than ever, when the promise of a good meal and a hot bath is only about a twenty minute ride away.

They make it in relative silence, sun painting the sky in reds and oranges as its last goodbye to the day. When they come up to the stables, Jim is waiting for them. He doesn't say a word, but there's some silent exchange between he and the boss, before he automatically gathers up Dusty's reins.

Samuel looks serious, as he picks up his pack and his rifle, letting Jim care for his horse tonight.

"It's dinnertime, boys," he says, low and even, to his men, before turning toward the farmhouse.

After a hell of a day, Cortez is looking forward to the prospect of a good drink of water and a feed in addition to getting brushed down. When they arrive at the stable, the silent exchange doesn't go unnoticed.

(It sets his nerves on end.)

With an order like that, he figures that Samuel means now, so Cortez gets placed into his stall with a bit of feed and some water. He'll deal with the tack himself, later, if Jim doesn't take care of it.

He's only a few minutes behind her father after quickly washing up his hands and face, ditching his hat on his bunk before he heads into the house.

There are quiet sounds coming from the kitchen and dining room, but nothing like the hubbub of the night previous.

Samuel has his Winchester resting against his shoulder, and his pack in his hand. As he steps through the threshold, he glances in at the men in the dining room before continuing on down the hall.

John is right behind him.

He rounds the corner to the study, sticking his head around the corner. And when he does so, he immediately sees the cause of Jim's earlier tension.

Katherine's head snaps up on her father's approach, blue eyes wide and alarmed. She straightens from where she had been kneeling, a bloodstained washcloth in her hands. Sitting in a chair by her side, is one of the Crocker's "hired help."

Samuel takes in the sight silently for a moment or two. Henry is in the room as well, but not a soul speaks.

"Joseph," Samuel says, soft and shocked. "...You look like hell."

"Mr. Barlow," replies the man, with a small, polite nod. His left eyebrow is split, the eye nearly swollen shut, and his clothes are dirty and old. "To tell you the truth, I feel like I've been there and back 'gain."

Jay is just a few steps behind Samuel, quietly making his way down the hall. He stays back, in the doorway, taking in the scene.

(It makes him mad but he says nothing, not yet.)

His eyes are focused on that split eyebrow. After a moment, he touches John lightly on the elbow to get his attention.

"I could stitch that cut," he whispers. He doesn't feel it's his place to speak up, in this situation, but he wants to make it known. John can tell Samuel if he feels it appropriate. "I gotta kit in my bag back out in the bunkhouse."

Samuel carefully sets his gun and pack in the corner of the room, tilting the weapon upright against a dark mahogany secretary.

It's obvious this room gets a lot of use. There's a desk straight across from the doorway, a picture window behind, and on the left- and right-hand walls there are shelves and shelves of books. You can see that violin propped on a stand in a far corner, and a few other personal effects. Right now, though, the focus is the battered man in the center of the room.

Samuel steps close to him and crouches, placing tender hands on the man's shoulders. "You know you can call me Samuel, Joseph," he encourages easily.

"I know, sir," the man nods.

"Now what's the trouble?"

While they speak in muted tones, John turns his attention to Jay and nods. "I'm sure the boss will appreciate knowin' that," he whispers, but it's clear by the look on his face that he won't be bringing it up until later.

"...I just couldn't," finishes Joseph, his voice choked and expression ashamed. "I wouldn't share her with him. It-it ain't right, she's my wife."

"Shh," Samuel soothes, rubbing the man's shoulder. "No, it ain't right. You did what you had to do. It's okay."

(Katherine has moved further into the corner of the room, hand over her mouth. The tears are flowing freely.)

"Don't matter. He took her anyway. I wasn't strong enough--"

"--You did what you had to do," Samuel emphasizes. "She knows that. Ain't no sense in getting killed over it. She'll be back, come morning."

The man crumbles then, head going into his hands, and all Samuel can do is offer a steadying hand while he sobs.

It's hard to watch.

she's my wife

Jay keeps his head down after nodding at John, but he sneaks a glance at Katherine, the tears streaking down across her cheeks. His heart hurts at the image, between her crying and the sobbing man in the room, and part of him is so pissed off he wants to ride out to that ranch in the dark and blow the son of a bitch away.

But you can't do that and you know it, Doc.

So he focuses on the hardwood floor instead.

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