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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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.

At some length, Samuel gets the man to calm down enough to where he isn't shaking so bad, and informs him that he will not only be taking supper with them, but he'll be staying the night as Samuel's own personal guest as well.

"Boss," John chances a few steps forward, placing a careful hand on Samuel's shoulder. "Jay says he's got the equipment t' stitch up Joseph's cut in the bunkhouse."

Samuel glances up at him, and nods, taking a moment to think things through. "All right. Tell 'im to go on and get his kit, an' get him taken care of. John, why don't you go fix him a plate, too. He can eat in here, while they're fixin' him up. Katherine--"

He turns over his other shoulder to look for his daughter. She's sitting in the corner, arms around her knees, face broken and crushed. Samuel's heart plummets when he sees her, and he outstretches an arm, beckoning her to him. She comes, almost instantly.

"Y'think you can get some water and fresh bandages, sweetheart?" he murmurs into her hair, keeping her in a close embrace. She nods, carefully. "Good girl."

With only another few words, they all break for their various tasks. Samuel follows Jay out of the study, and it should be noted that the rifle comes with him.

He's well aware of the fact that her father is behind him as he makes his way out of the main house - already moving once Samuel tells John to tell him to go, he doesn't have to be told twice - and his boots move quietly across the floorboards as he heads outside.

What surprises him is the sound of footsteps behind him, and he turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder.

Samuel's following him, rifle over his shoulder, and from the look in his eyes...

"Sir?"

His eyes are dark and cold.

"Go on, it's all right," he says simply, on his way to the stables.

"Sir, with all due respect," he protests, changing course to walk alongside the older man. Even if Samuel is the boss...

"You can't go over there without takin' someone with you. It'd be like walkin' into a shooting gallery."

"Son of a bitch," he mutters, and that appears to be all he has to say on the subject. His eyes are focused on that barn.

Soon enough, Jim sees him.

"Boss -- no."

"Don't disagree with you on that," he mutters, in response to her father's curse, but he continues to keep stride with the older man.

As best he can, anyway. Barlow's taller, so he has to take a few quick double-steps now and then to keep up right at his hip, trailing him like one of those hounds.

"Out of the way, Jim."

"Hell no."

Beat.

"Sir."

Samuel stops up short, eyes going from Jim, to Jay, to Jim again. "I'm going to teach that bloody bastard a lesson, once and for all--"

"No, you ain't, because if'n you do, you're not only gonna get yerself killed, but yer gonna get hellfire an' fury rained down on this farm!"

"He can't do that to a man!"

"No, but he does, an' once you're outta the way, he'll come after yours. Think about Katherine!"

Jim's hands are on Samuel's shoulders, and the man stops cold.

"They'll take it out of her flesh, Sam," Jim says quietly.

Jay would like to protest that there ain't a chance in hell that any of those boys or their father would ever get anywhere near Katherine, but now is definitely not the time for him to be interjecting.

Or speaking, for that matter.

So he stays quiet. Silent backup, in case Jim needs it.

(He doesn't think he will, given the way Samuel freezes when Jim mentions Katherine.

Then again, that could just be fuel to the fire.)

Edited 2009-01-17 03:09 (UTC)

"Tell me I'm wrong, boss."

The men fall silent, and for a long time no one moves.

Eventually, Samuel's shoulders slump, and with a resigned sigh he drags a heavy hand through his hair, knocking his hat off his head in the process.

"Fuck."

He feels so young, right now, that it's almost uncomfortable.

Jay looks down at the ground and then scuffs his foot against the dirt. "M'gonna get the kit an' head back in," he says quietly, before he backs up a few steps and then takes his leave, heading for the bunkhouse to rifle through his bag.

He checks the kit (assembled in the bar) and makes certain that anything that might be a bit too modern stays in his bag. The curved needle and finer thread are coming with him, however.

It only takes him a moment or two before he's heading back into the house, for the study again.

The two men continue to talk, long after Jay leaves them.

Inside the house, dinner is a rather somber affair.

Katherine is back in the study, continuing to clean the wound on Joseph's face, and a few other cuts on his hands and lip. She works slowly, giving him time to take careful bites from his plate of food.

(He eats like a man half-starved.)

He won't interrupt the man while he's eating, especially when he needs him to sit still as he can while he's working on stitching the cut up, but he does enter and set the small cloth pack down nearby.

A glance at the man's plate, and then he kneels down slightly, in front of him.

"Joseph? Can I git you anythin' else to eat or drink? I know they got plenty in the kitchen."

He shakes his head slowly, wincing a bit when Katherine hits a sensitive spot.

"The young Miss already asked me that. No, I'm alright," he says slowly, working on polishing off his potatoes.

Katherine's eyes very briefly skate to Jay, before returning to Joseph's face.

"Did my daddy leave?"

"No he didn't, Miss," he replies quietly. "He's out in the stables, talkin' with Jim."

He better not leave.

Jay does go to the kitchen himself, to wash his hands again, and he rolls up his sleeves to the elbows once he's finished. By the time he re-enters the study, Joseph is finished with his meal, plate cleared and set aside. As he approaches, the eyes the cut over the gentleman's eyebrow - it's a nice one.

"I'm gonna take care of that 'fore you," he tells him, as he pulls a chair closer and fetches his kit again, opening it to reveal a few various needles, threads, tweezers, a small pair of snips, a capped blade and some squares of cloth.

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