Challenged to Write at least 11 Stories: 1 for each character in this list: Teaspon, Rachel, Sam, Emma, Tompkins, Ike, Buck, Lou, Jimmy, Cody There were 33 songs to choose from, all of the songs are in the Statler Brothers famous four part harmony. This is Ellie's second set of 11 stories! Character Title Summary Kid Making Memories Kid and Lou reunite three years after he left to fight for the Confedracy, and make special memories; sequel to Ellie's "Kid: Almost Persuaded" and prequel to "Jimmy: It Should Have Been Me" Harmony stories. Lou Have a Little Faith Lou pushes Kid to have a little faith in himself when her husband, blinded in the war, returns home with her. Buck If It Makes Any Difference Finding out about a connection between himself and Teaspoon shakes Buck's view of himself. Teaspoon Burning Bridges Teaspoon struggles to explain his past to his grandson, and to rebuild bridges he burnt down years before. Emily You'll Be Back Every Night in My Dreams Emily reflects on her life since losing Ike. Cody The Dreamer Cody asks for help in realizing his greatest dream. Jimmy Too Many Rivers Jimmy thinks there's too much water under the bridge to make his marriage work. Tompkins I Was There Tompkins is reminded of his own past prejudices. Jimmy I'd Rather Be Sorry Kid and Lou try to make amends with Jimmy; is it too late? Rachel Funny, Familiar, Forgotten Feelings The wedding of her daughter brings back memories for Rachel. Kid My Past is Looking Brighter All the Time Conclusion of the 22-part Harmony storyline; an elderly Kid and Lou look back at their lives together. Making Memories **NOTE: The link found in this story will take you to the TYR EXPRESSions ADULT fan fic site. DO NOT click on this link if you are under the age of 18 or do not want to read a story with adult content. Making Memories Have a Little Faith Fall 1864 Lou and Kid stood by the sink, cleaning up from breakfast. She washed the dishes and Kid dried them as she placed them in his hands. Inside their new home, Kid had quickly learned where everything was kept, and though he could not see, he had learned to put away the dishes in their proper places. As she wiped out the sink with a dishtowel, he eagerly asked her, "So we're done now? Can we go out to the barn and do the morning chores? Remember Teaspoon and Buck aren't here today so I should get an early start. Can you walk me out there now?" She had planned this moment, asked Buck and Teaspoon to tell Kid they would not be home to pitch in with the chores. They had told her that Kid could walk out to the barn by himself with his walking stick, and that once in the barn he had been doing most of the work unassisted for some time now. But he had not been willing to go outside alone up to now, and preferred to wait until Buck and Teaspoon came to get him and bring him to the barn, where the three of them usually did the mucking out and grooming of the horses together. Trying to make her voice convincing, she murmured, "Kid? I'm sorry, but I don't think I can go out there just now. I'm so tired," she whimpered a little. "I want to go lie down for a nap, can't Katy and the others wait a while?" "Are you feeling all right?" he said, his face concerned. She went toward the stairs, telling him, "Yes, Kid, but I'm exhausted. I couldn't sleep much last night, the baby is getting too big. Can't I lie down for a little bit? Maybe you could head out there yourself?" Kid looked a little hesitant. "Are you sure you'll be all right in here by yourself if I do?" he asked. "Yes, but I think I need a good long nap, Kid, I can't go out and stand in the barn or muck out stalls right now." "No, you shouldn't. Go on up and rest, it's okay," Kid said. She went to the door leading up to the bedroom, crossing her fingers. She had faith in Kid, he would be all right if he just took a chance and tried. But as she peeked through the doorway from the stairs, she saw he was feeling his way to a chair. Her heart sank. She had hoped he would take the opportunity to go out to the barn and do the chores alone. She turned and walked up the stairs, dispirited. After about ten minutes, though, she heard the bell on the door tinkle as someone opened and shut it. Rushing to the window, she was thrilled to see her husband walking slowly toward the barn, tapping his cane. She had known he wouldn't let Katy stand in dirty straw all morning. She threw on a shawl and followed him at a distance. He reached the barn door and felt for the latch, opening the door and going in. She had slipped in quietly and stood in the far corner of the barn silently, watching him as he greeted Katy first, patting her. He then slowly but surely mucked out the stalls and fed and watered the horses, all by himself, his self-satisfied expression growing by the minute. One by one he led the horses out to the paddock and turned them out for a run. Lou's heart felt like it was bursting with happiness at the sight of his pride in himself. The job took at least three times as long as it would have taken Kid before he was blinded, but nonetheless Lou knew the important thing was for Kid to feel capable and independent again. Lou was surprised that Kid had not turned Katy out to pasture before all the other horses. But she was shocked when Kid returned from putting the last horse in the paddock, and took a saddle down from the wall, walking toward Katy carrying it. Kid had ridden Katy a little bit since coming home, but had been depressed by the experience of being led around at a walk by Teaspoon or herself. He had insisted he'd rather not ride than be led around like a little boy on his first pony. She watched in amazement as Kid managed to saddle and bridle the spirited mare, who seemed somehow to know her master was blind, and cooperatively seemed to stick her head into the bridle for Kid when he raised it to her. Kid took his stick and led Katy out of the barn and toward the corral. She was a little frightened, and considered stopping Kid, but realized that it would be devastating to his pride if she did. She kept her mouth shut and silently followed. Despite the size of her belly, Lou nimbly hopped up on the side of the corral to watch as her husband set his stick by the corral door and mounted a docile Katy. Kid clucked to Katy, who started at a walk around the corral, with Kid's mouth silently counting her steps as she circled. He trailed one hand around the top of the corral fence, and Lou leaned back when he passed her. After several passes, Kid put his heels to Katy and she progressed to a trot, then to Lou's horror, a gallop around the corral. Kid looked thrilled atop his favorite horse, but Lou was terrified when the mare stumbled and she and Kid toppled to the sawdust in the corral. She stifled a gasp, as he rose and dusted himself off, calling to Katy and remounting without hesitation. "You okay, girl?" he murmured to Katy, and seemed satisfied that her gait was fine. He continued around the corral, and called out to Lou impishly. "How about you, Lou? You okay too?" She laughed. "How long have you known I was watching?" He shot back, "Heard you just now when we took that tumble. Impressed?" "Very," she assented. "Well, don't be too jealous. You'll have that baby soon, and then you can ride again too. Maybe we can go for some rides together outside this corral; wouldn't that be great?" Kid smugly smiled and she was overwhelmed again with pride in him as she watched. He looked almost like the boy she'd fallen in love with years ago before the war had changed both of them so, as he rode around on Katy's back again. Lou smiled and called out goodbye to him as she climbed down and headed back into the house. She was glad she had put a little faith in him, and that he had not let her down. Or more importantly, he hadn't let himself down. To be Continued in "Buck: If It Makes Any Difference" If It Makes Any Difference August 1865 Buck decided it was time to tell Teaspoon about his and Rachel's engagement. To his surprise, the cagey older man chuckled at the pair, and winked at Buck. "Thought there might be a little more going on over in the old way station than you two were lettin' on. Seemed a mite odd that the two of you preferred sitting alone in your two houses across the way from one another, over seeing anybody else." Buck chuckled. "Well, it wasn't my choice to keep it secret, Teaspoon. Rachel wanted to keep it quiet, because of her working at the school and all. But the school year's over, and once we're married Rachel won't be going back to work there. Anyway, we think it's time we stopped worrying what others think and make it official." "Sounds like a plan," Teaspoon agreed. "She's a fine woman, son, and you're a lucky fella. Now just work hard on getting along, and you two will be just fine." Rachel hugged her old friend, as he whispered, "And it'll be wonderful having you around the ranch once you two are married, young lady." As Rachel wiped away a few stray tears, Teaspoon returned to rummaging around in a large box full of memorabilia. Buck curiously asked, "What is it you're looking for, anyway, Teaspoon?" "A little something I tucked away a long time ago, and I'd like to pass on to my little Josephine. Ah, here it is." He pulled out a beautiful Indian bracelet, of shimmering turquoise beads. I made this for my little girl 'afore my second wife ran off, back to your people, Buck. I never got the chance to give it to her, but now Josephine is old enough and she can wear it in honor of her sister." Teaspoon's old eyes had a faraway look, as he glanced at a drawing he had also pulled from the box. "Friend of mine drew this picture of Winona and little Tsomah before my fool stupidity drove them off. It's all I have left of them." "Can I see the picture, Teaspoon?" Buck said, his voice oddly strained. "Sure thing, son." Teaspoon handed the picture to Buck. It showed a beautiful Kiowa maiden, holding a baby with dark blonde hair and jet black eyes in her lap. "Winona named her Tsomah, on account of that means "yellow hair" in Kiowa. Guess I don't have to tell you that. Back afore I was so gray, I was a fair-haired boy m'self, if I do say so." Buck turned, enraged, on Teaspoon. "It's a lie," he said, low and shaking. "You aren't her father. You can't be." Teaspoon looked confused. "I don't know what you're so upset about, Buck. Fact is, I was Winona's first and only, up until she left me anyway. I know I was her baby's father, never had no reason to doubt it." Buck leveled his gaze at Teaspoon. "My mother's name was Tsomah. My grandmother was named Winona. But my grandfather was Running Buck, like me. He was the chief of our tribe, a great warrior. He was my grandmother's husband, not you." "Well, son," Teaspoon stumbled. "Maybe, maybe your ma and grandma were some other ladies with the same names. Seems possible," he started. Buck looked again at the picture, his face crumbling as his entire world shattered around him. "No," he whispered. "That's my grandmother." He looked at Teaspoon. "That means," he swallowed. "It means you're my grandfather, not Chief Running Buck." Teaspoon's face was a mass of shifting emotions; first excitement over finding a grandson; then, he realized that meant his daughter, Tsomah, had been the mother Buck had told him was raped and later murdered by white men. His face fell, as this sunk in. In his mind, Tsomah was still alive somewhere, still a tiny little Indian maiden. "Your mother … was my Tsomah?" he said weakly. Buck looked furious now. "Considering that you were never there for her, I wouldn't call her yours, but seems like you sired her, if that's what you mean." Buck's own mind was racing back, to his mother. She had been a little fairer-skinned than some of the other women. Her hair was definitely not as dark, more of a chestnut color as he remembered now, probably darkened from a lighter hue when she was a baby, but still different from the other women in the village. He wondered if she had known that she was only half Kiowa, if Winona had ever told her. He wondered if his "brother" Red Bear had known when Red Bear's father married Tsomah. Rachel, unmoving and shocked, stared open-mouthed at Teaspoon and Buck from the corner of the room. "Did your ma ever have any other children, Buck?" Teaspoon asked now. "So now you're interested, I guess," Buck sniped. "Nice of you to ask. Yes, she and her second husband had three girls. Their names meant Little Fawn, Prairie Flower, and Sun Dancer. Grandmother and mother, and all my little sisters were killed, probably after getting raped, when white men attacked and burned our village down when the men and boys were away on a hunt." Teaspoon sat down heavily in his chair, tears in his eyes, trying to process what Buck was saying. "Why did my grandmother leave you?" Buck asked, abruptly. "I wasn't true to her," Teaspoon admitted dully. "She divorced me and went back to her people." "That's a polite way of saying you couldn't keep it in your pants; and if you had, maybe my mother wouldn't have died at the hands of your people," Buck accused, forgetting, for the moment, that Teaspoon's announcement meant that his and Teaspoon's people were one and the same. Teaspoon winced, and the tears started flowing freely now, his hands shaking holding the treasured picture. Rachel, pitying the old man, protested, "Buck, that's harsh; your grandfather didn't have anything to do with what happened to your family." "He's no grandfather to me, not even a friend anymore," Buck shouted as he stormed out of the house, and raced to his horse. He had to get away, somewhere that he could figure out what this meant. * * * * *** * *** September 1865 Lou McCloud, five months pregnant with her second child, stood behind Rachel weaving flowers into the older woman's abundant blonde curls, and smiling to herself. "Seems like an eternity since you did this for me, Rachel, so much has changed since then. I admit I was surprised at one of the changes, never suspected there was anything going on between you and Buck. You're a sly one, all right." Rachel smiled at Lou in the mirror, pressing the hand Lou laid on her shoulder. "You pulled your share of surprises yourself, honey. Running off to war, for one. We were worried sick about you." "Well, we're home again safe and sound, that's what counts," Lou said, rubbing her rounded belly contentedly. "Yes. . . only thing that would make things better now is if Teaspoon and Buck could make their peace," sighed Rachel. "I'd give anything if he were here today to see us married." She shook her head, and tried to smile. "But that might take some time and doing, it looks like." Lou smiled sympathetically. "I reckon so, Rachel. Let's get you into that dress, your hair is perfect. Turn around, I'll lace you up." Lou pulled the strings of the corset tightly. "Lou, take it easy, I'm feeling a little queasy today," Rachel gasped. "Sorry, Rachel, but I have to get you down to 21 inches if you're going to fit in that dress. Hmm." Lou took the measuring tape and readjusted it around Rachel's waist. "Seems like I need to pull a little more, Rachel." She grabbed the strings and pulled with all her might. Rachel protested, "Lou, surely that's enough . . . I can't even breathe." She was turning pale, but Lou shook her head again, holding up the tape. "Rachel, I'm telling you you're not even close. Have you put on weight since this dress was fitted last week? How can that be?" Lou puzzled. Lou, examining the tape, was shocked when she turned to see Rachel's face go ashen as she tumbled to the floor in a faint. She opened the door and screamed for Buck to get the doctor, before rushing back to her friend and trying desperately to revive her. She loosened the straining corset strings and wiped Rachel's pale face with a wet handkerchief, as Buck came in with the doctor several minutes later. Dr. Owens smiled sarcastically. "And what's this? A nervous bride with wedding day jitters?" "Don't be an idiot," said Lou, irritated at the doctor's patronizing attitude. "She's obviously sick." "We'll see about that," muttered the young doctor. "Step outside a minute," he directed Lou and Buck, who reluctantly filed into the hall. Long minutes later, the pair, standing with their ears pressed against the door, were startled by Rachel's voice. "I'M WHAT!" she was shouting. "BUCK!" Buck and Lou burst into the room. They saw Rachel in the bed, the doctor washing his hands in a basin nearby. "Mr. Cross, congratulations. Looks like you two are going to be parents, in about six months, I'd say." Lou squealed with excitement in the doorway at the news that Rachel was expecting a baby not long after Lou's own second child was due. But Rachel and Buck stood staring at each other silently. Dr. Owens looked confused. "Well, this is good news, isn't it? After all, you are getting married today. Unless . . . unless you're not the fa-" Buck took a murderous look at the doctor, grabbed him by the shirt, and propelled him toward the door. "Send me your bill, doctor, and get out," Buck snapped. A confused Lou followed the doctor out silently. Lou's initial excitement that she and her best friend would be going through their pregnancies close together, was dampened by the couple's odd reaction. They don't seem happy about it, she thought incredulously. Her heart heavy, she plodded down the stairs. I hope they are going to be okay, she thought dismally. "Is this why you said you'd marry me, Rachel? Because we had an accident?" Rachel sat dumbfounded for a moment, and then burst into tears. "Buck, I didn't know until this exact minute, I swear it. I honestly thought I was going through the change, I never dreamed this would happen." At the sight of her crying, Buck was remorseful. "I'm sorry, honey," he soothed, putting his arms around her. "Buck, I know we didn't plan on this, but I'm glad about it. Please say you'll try to be glad too, or I don't know what I'll do," she cried wildly. Buck automatically reassured the hysterical woman, but his mind was racing in a thousand directions. He knew he loved Rachel, but had assumed that at her age, children were out of the question. He had resigned himself to that, and hadn't pictured children in the future. This was totally unexpected. What was more, he was facing parenthood with a woman twice his age. Old enough to have been his own mother, as she had said. And on top of it, he was still reeling with the shock of learning the truth about Teaspoon and his grandmother. About himself. He had thought he was a grandson of a Kiowa chief, a proud Indian brave. Now he had learned he was nothing of the sort. The child Rachel carried would barely be Kiowa at all. What was left of his own Kiowa heritage? What could he pass on to this child, who was for all purposes that mattered, white? He felt stifled, surrounded by his new white family; like he had lost his identity as Running Buck and did not know who he was anymore. But he buried his fears deep inside himself; he could not burden Rachel with this now. She needed him, and he would be there for her. He helped her into a looser-fitting dress and they left for the chapel to be married. **************** Buck led the new stallion the ranch had purchased to breed with their stock of mares into the corral and turned him loose to run off some excess energy. He watched for a minute and then, glancing around the barn, spotted Kid working busily by the woodpile. Idly he headed over. Kid was chopping wood, using a system he had rigged for himself. He set the wood on a chopping block between two heavy nails driven into the block to keep it positioned. He then could expertly split the wood with his axe, feel around the block for the split wood, and stack it nearby. Like most things Kid did around the ranch, it took longer for him to split wood than it would a sighted man. But what Kid lost in speed he made up in persistence and dogged determination, Buck knew. He approached his friend, watching a moment before making his presence known. "Hey, Kid." Kid stopped a moment, smiled, and nodded, before taking another swing and splitting the log in two. As he reached down to take a half-log and set it up to quarter it, Kid added, "How's that new stallion look?" "Looks mighty good, Kid. Should get some good stock out of him." Kid nodded and continued splitting wood, as Buck stood silently. Kid mentioned, "Well, I hear from Lou that congratulations are in order. You're going to be joining me and Teaspoon in the world of new fatherhood soon. That's great news." Buck knew that no one could have been happier or prouder than Kid when Lou gave birth to his first child, Noah McCloud. He remembered Kid's shining face when he ran his work-hardened but sensitive fingers over the tiny baby's face. "What's he look like, Lou?" Kid had whispered, awestruck. A tired but radiant Lou had hoarsely answered. "He looks just like you, Kid. Big blue eyes, same color hair. He's his daddy all over again in miniature." It was true, too, Buck had noted, looking over the happy family. Kid had a son who was exactly like himself. Kid knew who he was, no doubts about that; and knew who and what his son was. They were two of a kind. At Buck's silence, Kid pushed the axe into the chopping block and started gathering up the scattered split wood to stack it. Buck knew better than to offer to help with any of Kid's chores, and stood by watching. "Buck, is something wrong? You don't seem too excited about your news, if you don't mind my saying so." Buck sighed. "Tell the truth, Kid, I'm a little torn." Kid stopped and inclined his head toward Buck. "Why, Buck? Would think any man would be happy to know his wife was carrying his child." "It's just a lot to handle all at once. Finding out about Teaspoon, this baby, getting married, all in a couple of weeks. I just need some time to figure it all out." Kid looked perplexed. "But those are all good things, aren't they? Teaspoon's been like a father to you, now you know he really is your grandpa. Your wife is expecting a new baby. You went from being alone in the world to having more family than you can shake a stick at. So what's the problem?" "I know what you're saying, Kid. But I thought I knew who I was a month ago. Now I find out I was wrong all along about that. Rachel having the baby, well, that was a bit unexpected in itself. Now here I am, one day a Kiowa brave, the next, I don't know who I am. I went from being a half-breed to being mostly white myself. And the baby Rachel's carrying will be hardly Indian at all." Kid smothered a smile. "I never was much of a hand at math, Buck. This all is a little complicated to me . . . let's see. You're upset because you're only a quarter Indian, not a half; and that your child will be only an eighth Indian. That it?" It sounded ridiculous when put into words. But still, "I just never pictured myself ending up like this, Kid. With Teaspoon for a grandpa, a white wife, a white child. How can I fit in to my own family? I feel like an outsider in my own life. And what about the baby? He'll always be the one with the Kiowa for a father, unless I give up who I am entirely. I can't do that, Kid, but the white world won't ever accept my child if I don't." "Maybe there are some folks who will feel that way, Buck, but if you being Indian or not makes any difference to them, then they ain't people whose opinions you should care about. And if it makes any difference to you what color your child is, your own flesh and blood, then maybe you're the one with the problem." Kid turned back to the woodpile, stacking the wood carefully as he spoke. "I learned a few things while I was fightin' a while back. Time was the color of a man's uniform made a difference as to whether I would have to kill him or not. Didn't matter who that man was, what he was. And yeah, there's folks who think it makes a difference what color a man's skin is. But fact is, it's what's inside that matters. Teaspoon being your grandfather, doesn't make you less of a Kiowa, Buck. Doesn't change what you learned growing up in the village, what your ma and Red Bear and the rest of your tribe taught you. And it doesn't change who you are, either." Finishing the pile, Kid turned toward Buck. "And no matter if your son is white or red skinned, Buck. You're his father just the same, and you'll love him just the same." Buck stared at Kid's unseeing ice blue eyes. "You know for a blind man, you sure can see things pretty clearly, Kid," he said, softly. "I got less distractions now, Buck. Maybe being in a war, away from my wife, and then getting a second chance at life, I can see what's important a little better than I used to. You got a lot to be thankful for. Don't waste your time fretting over things you can't control, okay? And make your peace with Teaspoon. He's making himself sick over this, you know." Buck nodded, and resolved to be more thankful, more grateful for his blessings. A lifetime of being told his color was all that mattered about him, was hard to forget; but he was determined not to let others' prejudices taint his life. He headed off slowly toward Teaspoon and Polly's house, to face Teaspoon and set things right again. Epilogue March 1866 Buck paced nervously in the kitchen of his and Rachel's ranch house, as Lou quietly nursed her second baby, newborn Emmaline, in the corner, a blanket thrown over her shoulder. Teaspoon played checkers with his nearly four year old daughter Jo with his hands. His dear friend Rachel was upstairs giving birth to his great-grandchild, though, so his mind was not on the game but on his prayers, and little Jo laughed triumphantly. "I beat you again, Daddy!" "That you did, sweetheart," he told the little moppet. Her freckled face grinned back at him, as she pushed back her unruly brown curls from her forehead and set up the board for yet another game. Kid sat on the porch with Buck, placidly polishing tack while Buck paced back and forth. "You're going to wear out the floorboards in a minute, Buck. Sit down, it could be a while," Kid advised. At that moment, the sound of a baby's cry from an upstairs window reached them. Buck ran to the door and up the stairs, where he waited to see his wife and baby. Opening the door, Buck saw a bundle in her arms. Tired Rachel looked more beautiful than ever in his adoring eyes. She smiled up at him and told him, "it's a girl. Little Tsomah, after your mother." Buck moved the blanket aside and gazed down at his daughter, her hair golden-yellow like her mother's, fitting her Kiowa name perfectly; and her eyes black as night, like his. Baby Tsomah gazed up at him solemnly and any doubts that lingered in his mind vanished like the mists at dawn. Burning Bridges September 1865 Three-year-old Jo Hunter's eyes shone proudly as her Daddy fastened a bracelet of turquoise beads on her tiny wrist, wrapping it around twice to secure it. "Teaspoon, she's too young for such a valuable bracelet," Polly protested. "She'll only break or lose it, you must know that. Put it away for another few years." Jo's eyes widened in alarm. "No, Daddy said it's mine!" she said, clutching the lovely thing to herself. "Now, Mama, she knows this is a very special bracelet, and to be very careful with it. Right, Josephine?" Seeing that it was necessary, Jo vehemently agreed. "There ya go, Polly," Teaspoon said, proudly. "Jo will take good care of it. Now, how about you and me go do a little fishing down at the pond today, Sweet Pea?" Giggling, Jo ran to get her tiny fishing pole and soon the unlikely pair was stretched out side by side on the bank of the pond, fishing poles in the water. Teaspoon looked at his little girl with a bittersweet feeling in his heart. He was grateful that he finally had a chance to be a parent to one of his children after all these years. But the sight of the little bracelet on her tiny arm brought him back to another time, when his own foolishness had destroyed his marriage and family. The afternoon was unseasonably warm, and little Jo was drowsy. Soon, she dropped off to sleep, and Teaspoon slipped the fishing pole from her hand and propped it against a tree. He set his own pole next to it, and stared out over the pond, brooding. So many mistakes, he thought heavily. My life is littered with them . . . maybe I don't deserve to be happy now, after how I acted in the past. Buck sure doesn't think so. The discovery that he had a grandson had been tainted by the knowledge that his long-lost daughter Tsomah had such a hard and short life. And Buck, Tsomah's son, had gone from being a close friend to an angry stranger. He wondered what would happen now, with Buck refusing even to speak to him any more than was absolutely necessary. He didn't even invite me to his wedding to Rachel, and I had to hear from Rachel that she's expecting. Buck wouldn't even come over to tell me with her. Teaspoon sighed. He knew the hostility Buck felt toward him was hard on all of them, Rachel, Kid and Lou. They had agreed to run this ranch as equal partners, but Buck dealt only with Kid and Lou, never Teaspoon if he could help it, for a few weeks now. Much as he regretted it, he wondered. If Buck was going to continue on this way, would it be better to ask Kid and Buck to buy out his share of the ranch and move on? How could they run a business when two of the partners weren't on speaking terms? But what worried and upset him the most was losing his good friend Buck, and his equally special friend Rachel into the bargain. Though Rachel had made clear she held no grudge with him, he knew she had to remain loyal to Buck. He longed to set things right with his grandson but had no idea how to do that when Buck refused to listen. Buck seemed bound and determined to burn any bridges between them, and Teaspoon did not know how to cross over the divide. "Teaspoon?" He was startled from his reverie by the voice of his grandson. The young man stood before him, looking down somberly. "Polly said I'd find you two out here. I hoped we could talk some, maybe." Teaspoon glanced at Jo. She was passed out cold, and he knew the little girl well enough to see she would remain sleeping for some time. "Now's as good as any, Buck, but let's keep it down so's she can keep resting, okay? She don't need to hear most of this." Buck looked at little Jo, seeing her with new eyes. This tiny girl was his aunt, he thought wryly. My mother's sister. The thought of his mother made his head swim again, remembering how kind and gentle she was. She never became hardened or bitter, even after all the shame and humiliation she had to endure at the hands of the white rapist who had fathered him. His heart seemed to be physically sore, as he thought about the way his life had begun and hers had finally ended, with violation by white men. And now he learned that he was practically one of them himself, not the person he had believed himself to be. He almost turned and walked away again, but Teaspoon's hopeful, pleading face held him back. Teaspoon might have been wrong in his marriage with my grandmother, might have been a poor excuse for a husband. But he isn't a murderer or a rapist. Not like my father, Buck thought, renewed shame washing over him at the recollection. He realized suddenly that he was unfairly laying blame on Teaspoon for what other white men, including his father, had done to his mother. He should know after living with Ike, Teaspoon, and the rest of the riders, that not all white men were that way. He looked at Teaspoon silently for a moment. He's the same person he was before I knew he was married to my grandmother, he reminded himself. Teaspoon cleared his throat, anxiously. "Reckon you might want to ask me some questions, Buck. I'll be glad to answer best as I can. Just starting off, you should know I thought the world of your grandma. Winona was a fine woman. Too good for me as I was back then, that's for sure. I couldn't blame her for leavin'." Teaspoon recalled that night, sadly. He was a young man, in his prime, and had met Winona when he had been taken in by her tribe after falling ill on the trail. They had fallen in love and married in her village. When they first met, she barely spoke any English. He spoke little Kiowa. Yet they had been happy enough, especially while they were living in her village, an isolated little world, together . But time had come to return to his own life, and he had taken her back with him, pregnant, to live in the white man's world. Winona, left to her own devices most of the time, chafed under life in the unfamiliar culture, and soon became totally wrapped up in their baby, Tsomah. Meanwhile, domestic life was wearing on Teaspoon as well. Their marriage became strained, as he began to feel neglected while she tended to their child. Life on the road was lonely for a man in his twenties, who was frankly used to indulging his urges whenever he felt like it. He'd slipped a few times when he'd been away for a while, then found it was easier and easier to justify his actions. He had a woman near the Ranger's station and carried on a regular affair with her when he was stationed there away from Winona. Each time he visited his clandestine lover, he swore it would be the last time. And time and time again he let himself slip back to her. Finally, he got careless. He returned home straight from Agnes' arms one day. His wife had stood up when he passed by her chair silently, heading toward the bedroom as she nursed Tsomah. Putting the baby in a basket by the chair, she had reached out and stopped him. To his surprise, she had drawn close and smelled his coat. Too late, he realized. Agnes was a lady of the evening by trade, though their affair was not "professional". Her house was drenched in perfume and cigar smoke. Tsomah looked at him, enraged. "Who?" she spat. "Who is she?" "Don't rightly know what you mean," Teaspoon had muttered. His wife had screamed at him, "Don't lie to me. You were with another woman tonight. With a whore. You dared come from her to me? You dared? Do you know who I am?" He'd flushed with guilt and annoyance. Stung with shame, he answered sarcastically. "Yeah, I heard you mention a few times, you're the daughter of a Kiowa chief. Let me tell you, where we are now, that don't count for much. Maybe you coulda been less of an Indian princess and more of a wife these last few months, so's I wouldn'ta needed to go elsewhere." He wished the words back as soon as he spoke them, but it was too late. They hung in the air and she drew back as if he had struck her physically. He couldn't remember ever seeing anyone, woman or man, more enraged; she flew at him shrieking in her native Kiowa, and he had to restrain her, holding her arms, as she clawed for her freedom. Baby Tsomah wailed in the corner at the din, until finally a sobbing Winona wrenched herself free. Panting, she had stood glaring at him, over the racket of the screeching baby. Finally, she turned and picked the child up, heading for the door. Over her shoulder, she had hurled, "You can go back to your whore, then, if she's what you need. I'm taking Tsomah home." His pleas for her to reconsider, not to take their child, fell on deaf ears. She left and a few weeks later, a brave from her tribe arrived with the three horses he had paid her father as the bride-price. He knew what that meant; that their marriage contract was now severed. He never saw Winona or his daughter again. Buck sat listening to the tale with a somber face. "And you never tried to find your daughter? You just let her go?" Teaspoon sighed heavily. "I was a young man in my twenties, Buck. A Texas Ranger. How was I to take care of a little baby girl alone? She was better off with Winona, and Winona and I had burned our bridges. Time went on, I tried to find her tribe, but never could." Buck nodded slowly. "The tribe moved out of Texas sometime after then. Suppose it would have been hard for you to locate them. What ever happened to the woman you cheated on my grandmother with, anyway?" "Kept up seeing her off and on for a long time… finally married her. My fifth wife. She left me too, after we lost our twin girls. Figured it was a punishment on me for how things started between us, while I wasn't free to be with anybody else." Teaspoon looked out across the water, shame and regret etched across his face. "Buck, I know there's no excuse for what I done. But you have to know I regretted it ever since. I'd give anything to make it up to Winona, to Tsomah." "It's too late for that." Teaspoon sat staring at the water. "I know." After a pause, he asked, "But is it too late for us, Buck? Can I have a chance to be a grandpa to you? To try to set things as they shoulda been if I hadn't been such a damn fool? I've changed a lot since those days, Buck. I'm asking you for a chance, for forgiveness. Please, son." Buck turned slowly and met Teaspoon's gaze, pausing for long moments before answering. "I can't condone what you did, how you treated my grandmother, Teaspoon. But that was a long time ago. I'm willing to move on from here if you are." Teaspoon's face lit up. "That's all I'm askin' for, Buck. Just a chance to build back those bridges I burned in the past. I won't let you down again, son." To Be Continued in "Emily: You'll Be Back Every Night In My Dreams". You'll Be Back Every Night in My Dreams 1866, Omaha Emma backed into Emily's room carrying a bowl of broth on a tray. It was all the girl could force down, with her throat hoarse from coughing. Emma set down the tray next to Emily's bed, stifling a sigh. Looking at Emily, she knew the end was not far off. As sad as Emma would be to lose her, she felt a sense of relief that the young woman's suffering would soon be over. Emily's eyes were darkened and hollow, her cheeks gaunt, as she lay looking out the window aimlessly. Her breath was shallow and raspy, and it was with difficulty that she greeted Emma fondly. "You up for a little supper, honey?" Emma asked softly. Emily shook her head weakly. "No thanks, Emma." Her eyes took on that far-off look they so often did now. "I'm not hungry. I was just lying here thinking is all. About old days with my pa. About Ike. Everything that happened after I met him." Her eyes clouded over. "If Ike and I hadn't met, Ike would be alive. But Isaac wouldn't have come into the world either." She looked over to Emma. "That year … I fell in love, had my baby. But I lost my father and Ike too. It was the hardest and worst . . . and most wonderful year of my life all at the same time. Imagine that." "Seems like the good and the bad come wrapped up together sometimes in this world. The pain and the happiness," Emma agreed. Looking at her girl, Emma thought how true that was. Emily and her son Isaac had come into her life, given her purpose, and she'd come to love them both with all her heart; but there was always that hidden sting of knowing that Emily would never live to see her next birthday. Emily spoke with effort. "At first, after Ike died and I realized I was pregnant and alone, I thought that being with him like I was, had been a mistake. Once I had Isaac, though, I couldn't feel like that about it anymore. It's been so hard, Emma. Working and going without so I could provide for Isaac best I could with no pa." She looked down a moment, her pale face flushing a little bit. "Lots of the other women judged me, having a baby with no husband. But those women who threw their stones at me. . . I know their husbands never loved them any more than Ike loved me. I know what we did wasn't right in the eyes of the world, but I wouldn't change that part of it, even if I had the chance." Emma smiled kindly at the young girl, smoothing her light brown hair back with one hand. "Emma?" Emily said, sounding weaker than ever. She looked up at Emma with her whole heart in her eyes. "I know how much you loved Ike. How much you love Isaac. I want him to think of you and Sam as parents." Her eyes filled with tears. "But can you promise me to tell him about me and Ike? How much we loved each other, and how much I loved him? Don't let him forget about us, please. Keep us alive for him." Tears forming in her eyes, Emma nodded. "You'll always be his mother, Emily. I can never take your place," she started. Emily shook her head. "You'll be his mama once I'm gone, Emma. There's room in his heart for both of us. I'm just asking you to make sure to save a little piece of his heart for Ike and me." "I promise, Emily." "Look in the drawer over there, please . . . there's a picture Ike drew of the two of us one afternoon." Emma took the sketch out of the drawer. Simple as it was, Ike and Emily as they were years ago leaped out of the page, looking young and happy and in love. Emily was dressed in boy's clothes with cropped hair, and there was Ike in his bandana, his arm draped around her. She turned and handed it to Emily, who looked at it fondly, then turned paler and handed it back to Emma. Sam came in tapping at the door. "Little fella here needs a kiss good night from his mama, before he goes to sleep tonight." "Come on in, Peanut," Emily smiled, holding her arms out weakly. The little fellow padded across the floor and leaned over to hug her gently and kiss her. Young as he was, he knew to be as gentle as he could with his sick mother. "I'll take him to bed and read him a few stories, Emma," Sam offered, taking the little boy by the hand and leading him out, as Emily looked after him, struggling to hide her tears. "I think I'd like to go to sleep a while too, Emma." Emily looked out the window again. She knew she was dying, but wasn't afraid. She truly believed that once God called her home, she would see Ike and her parents again. But until then, she had to content herself with her dreams of Ike. Every night since he died, she had met him there, and now those dreams were her only relief from her sickness and pain. The girl drifted off peacefully into another happy dream of her only love, a dream where her suffering melted into nothingness. Continued in "Cody: The Dreamer" The Dreamer The din of the saloon was near deafening, and Cody had to nearly shout to be heard over it. "So what do you say, Jimmy? It'll be just like the old days. Will ya join up with me?" Cody yelled, lifting his drink. Jimmy grinned at his old friend. "Don't rightly know, Cody. You're the showman, not me. I'd like to oblige you for old time's sake, but I ain't exactly an actor." Cody shook his head, setting his glass down. "You won't have to act, Jimmy. Just play yourself, act out some of your old gunfights and maybe take a staged Pony Express run for the folks, that kind of thing. I don't want actors, I want authenticity." Jimmy smothered a grin at his friend's high-faluting language. "Doesn't sound all that authentic to me, 'Buffalo Bill'. Where'd you come up with that moniker anyway?" "Well, 'Wild Bill' was already taken, even though your name ain't even Bill. But that ain't the point. I'm telling you, you get in on the ground floor on this one, and you won't be sorry. This show is going to make us famous." "I'm famous enough, thanks, and it ain't ever been nothing but trouble for me." "That was different, Jimmy. You could be famous for good reasons, not on account of those tall tales the dime novelists spun about ya. In fact, it could undo a lot of the damage that got done, if we set it up right." Jimmy shook his head. "Cody, folks will always believe what they want to. And that usually means believin' the worst." He finished off his drink and ordered another one. "What's your wife think about all this?" Cody flushed. His marriage was a strained one, a disappointment to the romantic young man. "Problem with Louisa is, she hasn't got any vision," Cody muttered. "I see. I guess she doesn't think folks will pay money to see a show about a lot of cowboys and Indians and buffalo either?" Cody spoke eagerly. "If that's what's worryin' ya, Jimmy, put your mind at rest. I been all over the East last year or two. Folks are ready for this kinda show. They're craving excitement, adventure. They can kind of live that out by coming to a show like I've got in mind." "You mean they can live an adventure without actually being in any danger? Seems kind of silly to me. Like a lot of grownups playing make believe and paying money for it to boot." Cody grinned. "Most folks don't have the stomach for the real danger, Jimmy. But they dream of the excitement just the same. Stuck in their dead end jobs, doin' the same blamed thing day in and day out. A show like mine gives them a taste of something different from what they're used to, lifts 'em up out of that rut, if only for a few hours. And yeah, they'll pay money for it, if it helps them have something they can dream about while going about their ordinary lives." Jimmy looked at Cody's glowing face as he talked about this crazy dream of his. Somehow, he was convinced. Cody always had been a showman and dreamer; if anybody could pull off a thing like this, he could. And as an old friend, he was willing to help him get his dream off the ground. "All right, Cody. One season. I'll sign on for one season, no crazy costumes and I ain't doing anything stupid. And you owe me." Cody beamed. Even as he shook Jimmy's hand, his mind was racing, dreaming bigger and better dreams, dreams that he would make true for thousands of other dreamers like himself. To be continued in "Jimmy: Too Many Rivers" Too Many Rivers Summer 1876, Deadwood I wish I could come back to you love I know that you want me to But too much waters run under this old bridge And there's too many rivers between me and you. And when you try to put love back together There's always a few little pieces you can't find. There's too many long nights I've turned and I've tossed And there's too many rivers to cross... It was late; the saloon was nearly empty. Jimmy rubbed his eyes; the sight in them was fading now, glaucoma, the docs told him. Someday not too far from now, he'd be blind, they said. He grimaced at the irony of it. He'd spent half his life guilt ridden over blinding an old friend in the war. Now he was on the way to finding out what Kid had been living with all these long years because of him. But the big difference was, Jimmy didn't know what he would do with himself when that day came. Not much call for a blind lawman, for a gunslinger who can't see to shoot. Jimmy dreaded the day that was coming to him, but kept up appearances, living off his old reputation, making a living off cards when he could. His luck at the card table was better than his luck in life or love, fortunately. Jimmy sighed, walking up the steps to his lonely room above the saloon. There were plenty of women who'd gladly have gone along with him for the night, but he had no interest tonight. None of them held a candle to the wife he loved but had driven away, or the woman from his past who haunted him to this day. Agnes, his wife, was a remarkable woman. He recognized that, and truly loved her, felt he didn't deserve her. She had wanted to get married for years, but he'd put her off time and again. Finally, he'd given in rather than lose her, and had married her. Even in his own heart he wasn't quite sure why he hesitated in promising himself to her. Not until a few weeks ago. Jimmy had pushed his forbidden feelings for his friend's wife down into the deepest recesses of his heart years ago. He had some letters from her over the years, letters he had burned after reading them once, but he still remembered every word. He knew she was happy with Kid, had a large family now. Knew that she was doing what she loved, raising children and horses. He was glad to know it. But he never once answered her letters. Jimmy wanted no part of friendship with Lou, he was too afraid of the feelings it would dredge up to see her again. He preferred to put distance between them, time, and hope to forget. He thought he'd done it, or he would never have married Agnes at last. But the heart can fool itself . . . he would never forget the look on his wife Agnes' face when the word he'd called out, "Lou," echoed in their bedroom that last night they were together. Agnes' gray-green eyes had widened with shock, and she had pushed him away, grabbed her clothes, and dressed rapidly. "Agnes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Let me make it up to you," he had attempted, watching her. "Forgive me." She had stopped for a moment, staring at him incredulously. "You can't make it up to me, Jimmy," she had said sadly, pinning up her dark hair. "Not this. And there's nothing to forgive. I made a mistake, forcing this when I should have figured out you never stopped loving her. Even if you didn't realize it yourself." She started flinging his clothes into a carpetbag. "I want you to go, Jimmy. Come back to me when I can be the only one in your heart," she had told him, somberly. He knew Agnes well enough to know that she was hoping he would beg her to let him stay. But he didn't. Much as he loved her, he couldn't help how he felt, how that little corner of his heart would always belong to another. He wouldn't lie about it anymore, not to her, not to himself. Lying on the bed, alone, he pulled a small case from his pocket. His wife's lovely face shone up at him from a picture he kept there. How he wished he could go back to her, live with her, feel only what she wanted him to feel. But he slowly pulled up the picture, revealing an older one underneath, one he had cherished for thirteen years. There had been a photographer's booth set up at the circus the one time he and Lou had gone out together. Lou had posed for a picture. The next week, he had gone back to the photographer's studio in town and picked it up, without telling her. Between the ordeal she underwent at her kidnapper's hands, and the wine she'd had that night, he doubted she even remembered it was taken. He'd kept it all these years, a secret treasure, since the day he decided he would never tell her the truth. No, Agnes, I can't go back to you yet. Maybe never. Too much has gone bad between us, too much separates us now. Until I know how to do what you want, cut a piece of my soul and cast it from me, it just can't be. Continued in "Tompkins: I Was There". I Was There Early June 1876, Rock Creek Bill Tompkins, glancing at the clock, noted that school was letting out soon. Time to fill the ol' candy jars,, he thought gleefully. He lifted the lids on the glass jars and filled them brimful with penny candies in a rainbow of different colors. Replacing the lids, he placed them on the counter expectantly, as the bell rang dismissing the schoolchildren. A crowd of children pushed their way into the store, among them ten year old Tsomah Cross, Buck and Rachel's girl. She was a tall, striking girl with honey-colored skin, glittering black eyes, and a long mane of straight, thick hair the color of ripe wheat. The little schoolboys were already taking notice, and there were two main contenders for her favor: eleven year olds Noah McCloud and Jeff Clark. Noah hustled his way to the counter among the children, slapping his nickel down on the counter. "Five cents' worth, Mr. Tompkins. Whatever kind Tsomah wants." Jeff, Noah's best friend and rival, scowled. "You bought her candy yesterday, Noah, give somebody else a chance." Tsomah was closely examining the pile of dime novels that Tompkins kept in stock for the youngsters, much to their parents' and teacher's dismay; she seemed oblivious to the dispute between her two friends. Wiping the counter, Tompkins grinned slyly. "Well, boys, there's no rule against both of y'all buying the little lady some candy," he said, picking up the two nickels and sliding them into his register with a clatter. Tsomah, still oblivious, walked by the register with her nose in a flimsy paperbacked novel. She absently placed a dime on the counter as she passed. "Thanks Mr. Tompkins," she mumbled, heading for the door. "Well, boys, seems the little lady doesn't feel like candy today. What'll be your pleasure?" Jeff sighed. "I'll take five cents worth of peppermints, Mr. Tompkins," he said glumly. "Me too," echoed Noah. "Excellent choice, boys," Tompkins chuckled, filling two small bags with red and white striped peppermint sticks. Turning to hand them to the boys, he nodded to Jeff. "Get any word from your pa lately, Jeff?" He knew the boy's father was away in Montana Territory with the Army, and that there had been some unrest among the Indians there of late. Jeff, speaking around a peppermint stick wedged in his mouth, nodded. "We got a letter from him a few days ago, he says he's doing fine." "Glad to hear it, Jeff," Tompkins said approvingly. "What about your folks, Noah? Usually I see your ma in here buying provisions for the week on Fridays." "Since this is the last week of school, Pa and Ma thought they'd take us to see Uncle Cody in his Wild West Show once school's out. We'll be gone for about a month. Likely she isn't going to be in this week, Mr. Tompkins." "Well, now that should be a fun trip for y'all," Tompkins said agreeably. He nodded kindly to the boys, a sign that it was time to move along, and they obliged, walking out with mouths full of candy. ************************************ June 30, 1876 Tompkins leaned his elbows on the counter, somberly reading of the news from Montana Territory. General Custer had miscalculated badly at Little Big Horn, leading to severe loss of troops. Looking up, he saw his daughter Jenny entering the store. "Afternoon, Pa," she said softly, as she picked up an apron and tied it on, heading behind the counter. She was married now, but worked for him several days a week, especially on busy days. "Afternoon, Jenny," he said, smiling a little, then returning to his paper. She noted the story he was reading over his shoulder. "Hear tell Simon Clark got killed at the Little Big Horn. They got word today," he said. "Poor Mrs. Clark, left with that little boy to raise on her own." "It's a shame about Jeff Clark's father," Jenny said. "But those tribes are only trying to maintain their way of life, to fight being herded onto reservations like so much cattle. We'd do the same in their place." "I reckon," Tompkins muttered. As the door opened to admit a customer, he noted that the children were playing pretty noisily today. Shrieking, it sounded like. He sighed and rattled his paper irritably. Lousy kids, he thought. Time was young folks were expected to stay home and do their chores, not hang around the street creating a ruckus. Mrs. White asked him to take down a bolt of woolen fabric for her to examine, and as he did so he heard the noise from the children outside seem to increase; it was now coming from the alley between his store and the next building. He thought he heard screaming now. Concerned, he asked Jenny to help Mrs. White and went around the building, prepared to send the young hooligans packing. Tompkins was totally unprepared for the sight that met his eyes. A crowd of local children, most of them he'd known since they were babies, were surrounding Tsomah Cross in the alley, shrieking and taunting, and little Jeff Clark was the loudest of the lot, screaming, purple with rage, in her face. His voice rose above the other children's high-pitched taunts, mocking her. "Stop crying, you dirty half-breed! Go back to the reservation where you belong, why don't you? With the rest of the savages who killed my pa!" Meanwhile, the mob of children spun out of control, scraping up mud and flinging it at the girl cringing in the corner of the alley. Tompkins, frozen for a heartbeat, suddenly came to his senses. He waded into the fray, pulling children by the ears or arms, shouting at them. "That's enough! Get home before I have the law on the lot of ya!" Most of the children, dazed, ran off at the sight of an adult; but Jeff was beyond listening, and had picked up a small stone to fling it at Tsomah, huddled in the corner with her apron over her head, weeping. Tompkins leaped toward the child, snatching the stone from his hand and shaking the boy by the shoulders. "Jeff," he shouted. "I said that's enough!" The boy stared back, tears streaming from his face, for an instant before twisting free and running out of the alley at full tilt. Tompkins turned uncertainly toward the shivering girl, who sat with her hands over her head, silent now. Her dress was covered in the mud the children had thrown at her, her head was bowed in humiliation. "Tsomah?" Tompkins ventured. Awkwardly, the large man lumbered over and crouched in front of her. "Did they hurt you someplace? Do you need to go to the doctor?" She shook her head furiously, still refusing to look up. He was reluctant just to leave the child like this, and he quietly asked her, "How about if you come on into the store, let Jenny get you cleaned up, and then she can walk you home?" The girl raised her beautiful eyes to him. Her face was dirty and streaked with tears. "Why did they do it, Mr. Tompkins? I thought they were my friends, especially Jeff," she said, her voice breaking. Tompkins sighed, looking down. How to explain hate, unfairness, to this sheltered little girl? He shook his head. "Jeff's pa got killed at the Little Big Horn, Tsomah," he started. "I know. I tried to tell him how sorry I was about his pa. He … he went crazy," she wept. "He started yelling all kinds of terrible things. Like he blamed me for some reason. But what did I do wrong?" "Nothing, Tsomah. Jeff is in a lot of pain right now. He's trying to make some sense of why his pa died. He's hurt and angry, and he needed something to turn that pain and anger on. You happened along at the wrong time, is all. It ain't your fault." "But the others? They were my friends yesterday, now they hate me for no reason." He shook his head. "Tsomah, when folks are scared, ignorant, they can get swept up in the moment and do things they ordinarily wouldn't. This thing in Montana's got folks worked up, upset. They get blinded by hate." He looked down, shamed. "I reckon I know what Jeff is feeling right now. He's hurting, and he thinks hurting you will make some of his own pain go away. But it doesn't. Hating like he's starting to do, well, it hurts the person doing the hating just as much as those you turn that hate on. Makes you small, keeps you angry, unhappy. I know where Jeff is because I was there once myself." Fiddling with his hands in his apron pockets, he admitted, "Time was I judged your pa unfairly because of the color of his skin. Was easier to keep hating, judging folks, than to let go of the anger and get to know folks for who they were, not what they looked like. Took some doing but I got past that, learned to respect your pa for the kind of man he is. Hopefully, you won't have to wait as long as your pa did for that respect." She wiped her eyes on the apron, somberly. The little girl had been protected by her extended ranch family, both in school and out, her whole life. She was unprepared in some ways to deal with the stark realities of life, Tompkins saw. "It'd mean a lot to me, Tsomah, if you let me help you any way I can in the meantime. I owe your pa that much." Tsomah nodded, weakly, not really understanding. She stood and walked, shakily, to the store where Jenny quickly embraced the young girl and drew her to the back to help her clean up. Tompkins sighed, pulling off his apron and heading to the door. He knew that one other young person needed help too. He needed to find and help Jeff, like he himself had been helped, to learn how to get past the bitterness and anger. Like he told Tsomah, he knew all about it because he had been there. Continued in "Jimmy: I'd Rather Be Sorry" I'd Rather Be Sorry August 2, 1876, Deadwood Louise McCloud looked nervously around the town where she and her husband had just arrived. They had made a side trip to Deadwood, in Black Hills Dakota Territory, hoping to track down an old friend they had lost touch with in the war. She had heard Deadwood was lawless, dangerous, and looking around she had no reason to doubt it. It was probably no place for a woman and Kid, who'd been blinded years before, to be wandering around any more than necessary. Guiding her husband by the arm, she approached the marshal's office, where she found the marshal asleep in his chair. Clearing her throat, she got his attention finally and Kid asked where they could find James Butler Hickok. The Marshal looked the pair up and down. They were well but not flashily dressed, obviously upstanding citizens. He wondered what the hell they wanted in Deadwood, with Hickok of all people. It was none of his business, though, and he shrugged noncommittally. "I'm sure you'll find him at Nuttal & Mann's Saloon playing poker," he answered languidly. Down the street on the right. He always plays in the back corner, back to the wall." Walking along the filthy streets, Louise looked around her and wondered why Jimmy chose to live in a place like this. The streets were mainly full of saloons and brothels, with half-dressed women spilling out windows, calling to the passersby. She held on to Kid's arm and guided him carefully, grateful that Kid had tucked his cane under his arm and was walking serenely and confidently. He did not appear to be blind at casual glance, and she had no doubt that would be for the best in this town. Soon as they talked with Jimmy, she would get the two of them out of here, she thought as a nearby saloon window was shattered by a man being thrown out into the street. Pushing open the doors to the saloon, Louise glanced toward the back corner. Not seeing Jimmy immediately, she scanned the room. She caught sight of him with his back to the second exit to the saloon. She remembered, suddenly, back in the early Express days, that Jimmy had once gone to work for a madam named Grace. It had been part of an elaborate ruse Teaspoon had cooked up to get information about a criminal plot Grace was involved in. His flashy, elaborate outfit today reminded her of that long ago time. Even his hair and moustache were elegantly groomed and manicured. He looked very little like the outdoorsy Jimmy in his plain clothes that she remembered. She stood a minute looking at him. He had a nearly empty bottle of whiskey beside him, and she realized that he seemed to have some trouble seeing; he held the cards close to him, squinting, when he examined them. She whispered, low to Kid as she watched their old friend; since he was blinded so many years ago, she had gotten in the habit of making precise observations about their surroundings and describing them to Kid in detail. Kid nodded, barely perceptibly, at her comments. She drew closer, Kid beside her, and spoke. "Hello, Jimmy." Jimmy looked up at her, without recognition at first. Then it dawned, but his face remained poker-straight. Laying his hand on the table, he joked, "Looks like that cleans you out, McCall," to an irate man seated opposite him. "Don't worry, here's a couple bits to buy yourself some breakfast tomorrow," Jimmy said sarcastically, flipping a coin to the man. McCall leapt up furious, but Jimmy, fast as ever, pulled his old Colt from under the table and pointed it at McCall. "Don't try it, McCall," he said, expressionless. The man looked back at Jimmy, his face twisted with anger. But he backed down and left the saloon. "Jimmy, maybe you'd better get out of here, he might come back and make trouble," said another man at the table. "Nah, Charlie. McCall's too much of a coward to take me on," Jimmy said. Looking up, he introduced Louise and Kid to his friend. "Mr. and Mrs. Kid McCloud, may I present Colorado Charlie Utter." "Pleased to meet you folks." The man to Jimmy's right shuffled and dealt the cards for another hand of poker. "Have a seat and take a load off, Kid, Louise," Jimmy said. "You're making me nervous standing there, and you're blocking my view of the front exit." Louise and Kid sat down in two empty chairs next to Jimmy's. "Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Jimmy asked, studying his hand of cards. "We were headed past town, and thought we'd stop in and say hello, Jimmy," Kid said. "Well, you said it. Anything else?" The couple touched hands under the table. They had been afraid of this, that Jimmy would close himself off from them. They expected it, after he had ignored all Louise's letters all these years. "I guess not, Jimmy," Louise said slowly. "I tried to write you a lot of times. Wasn't sure if you got my letters, so we thought we'd try to see you." "I got em," Jimmy said, throwing down two cards. "I know all about your ranch, what a great job you two and Teaspoon and Buck are doing with it. I know that you two have seven children now. Know all their names, from Noah on down to baby Anna." "If you got our letters and read them, why didn't you ever answer?" Louise asked, low. "Did we do something to make you angry? Is it . . . is it because of what I said to you that day near Richmond, Jimmy? Because I've tried to apologize for that a hundred times," she pleaded, tears in her eyes. Kid clutched her hand supportively. Jimmy looked up at Kid for a moment, so out of place here in this hellhole, the noise and smoke of the saloon all around him. But Kid seemed unaffected by it. He sat quietly, listening, but spoke up after a moment of silence. "Louise asked you why you didn't want to keep in touch, Jimmy. If we did something wrong, let us know what it is." Jimmy laid down his cards again, and won another pot. He took up the cards to deal the next hand. "It ain't you two," he said. "It's on account of me. I didn't figure I deserved two friends like you, after what I did to you, Kid." Jimmy's immobile face flickered a moment, thinking of that awful day when he had taken his friend's sight during the war in a tragic miscalculation. Kid looked perplexed. "But that was an accident, Jimmy." Jimmy sighed. "I know, Kid. But accidents got a way of following me around," he said. "Lost another good friend that way a little ways back. Mike Williams. . . shot him in the head. Another accident," he said thickly, reaching for the bottle. "Not to mention all the men I've killed in gunfights and brawls. There's too many folks who would drop me in a heartbeat if they got the chance." He downed a shot and picked up his cards again. "You two are better off keeping your distance, it's safer for you. I couldn't take it if anything else happened to you on account of me." He looked up from his cards into Louise's eyes for a moment. God, she's even more beautiful now than she was twelve years ago, he thought, his heart pounding. Her teary eyes met his. "Jimmy, please. Leave this horrible place, come back to the ranch with us and rest up. You need to be with people who care about you. Where's your wife, Jimmy?" she said hoarsely. Jimmy smiled bitterly, dealing out cards in turn to the seated players. "Someplace else," he muttered. Agnes was a good woman, he thought, looking at Louise. But she could never take your place in my heart. No one could. He'd called out Louise's name the last time he'd made love to his wife. Twelve years had gone by and that little face, or more precisely the spirit that shone out of it, still haunted him. Agnes had been furious and left him to cool down. Another good person, too good for him, that he'd hurt. He had yet to figure how to make it up to her. Or if she was better off where she was, safe from his enemies. He downed another shot. Kid spoke up, impatiently. "Jimmy, come on. This ain't no life for you. Come on back and stay with us and the kids for a while, see Teaspoon and Buck and Rachel. They all miss you too." Jimmy looked furiously at Kid for a second, then dropped his gaze guiltily again at the sight of Kid's empty eyes staring through him. This man had been like a brother to him, still was, but he couldn't face him. Between the feelings he had for Kid's wife, and the guilt over blinding him all those years ago, it was too much. "How can you care about what happens to me? After what I stole from you? Why the hell didn't you pull that damn trigger that day, and kill me? Why did you let me ruin your life?" "You didn't ruin my life," Kid said, more softly now. "I've had a great life, and I'm thankful every day for it." He was thinking about his brood of beloved children at home; about the ranch and his friends, about the woman who'd stood by his side all these years. He shook his head in disbelief. "I know you're sorry about what happened that day, but I'm not. Hell, I'd rather be sorry I lost my eyes than sorry I killed you. You were like a brother to me, Jimmy." Jimmy took two cards for the dealer. "And I'd rather be sorry I lost you two as friends, than sorry I caused you any more trouble or pain. So go on back to your great lives, and forget you ever knew Wild Bill Hickok." Louise stood slowly. Leaning over, she whispered in his ear, "Jimmy, just remember, you always have a home with us if you want it." Jimmy shook his head, furiously. "No, Lou. I can't ever have a life like that. It's too late for me. Just go home with Kid." She nodded, sadly, before leaning in again. She whispered, "We both love you, Jimmy, always," and turned to walk out the front exit. He called out after her, and she turned around to see him standing at the card table, looking after them. "Lou?" "Yeah, Jimmy?" "You too." She blinked back tears, knowing what he meant. He continued. "Take care of each other for me. If you ever are in trouble, either of you, let me know." She nodded, speechless, Kid slipping an arm around her. Jimmy sat back down, and Louise turned back at the front exit to look back at him one last time. He forced a grin again, laying down his cards and laughing hollowly, "Well look at that, boys. Aces and eights," even as the side door behind him flew open with a sudden flash of gunpowder. Continued in "Rachel: Funny, Familiar, Forgotten Feelings" Funny, Familiar, Forgotten Feelings 1884, Rock Creek Rachel Cross and Lou McCloud sat in the Rock Creek dress shop together, waiting for the curtain to the fitting room to open. Glancing at each other, they impulsively clasped hands. Each knew the other well enough to know what her best friend was thinking. They had been best friends, after all, for over twenty years, without a cross word between them, not since the very beginning. Having stood up as matrons of honor at one another's weddings, the wedding today was bringing back many funny, familiar, forgotten feelings. And now their most cherished wish was about to come true. Emmaline McCloud burst from the dressing room first, a tiny brunette with wide brown eyes, in a pretty pink bridesmaid's dress. The eighteen-year old was nearly bursting with excitement herself, at the preparations for the wedding in which she was to be maid of honor. Josephine Hunter was close behind in a matching dress, her face aglow as well. "How's she doing, Emmaline?" Lou asked, smiling at her daughter. "Wait until you see, Mama. Aunt Rachel, she is perfect." Rachel smiled, tears in her eyes. Brushing them aside, she muttered, "And just in time, too. The wedding is in a few hours, after all." They had all been worried when the final fitting a few days ago had revealed a dressmaker's error, and were told that the dress would not be ready until the very morning of the wedding. But the proud mother gasped when the curtain parted and a beautiful girl with golden hair and deep brown eyes, draped in a shimmering white cloud of lace, emerged. "Tsomah," Rachel choked. There were no words for her feelings at this moment, watching her little girl become a bride. The bell over the door on the dress shop tinkled merrily, and a handsome man in his early forties, his black hair streaked with gray, stuck his head in. "You ladies ready yet?" "Daddy," Tsomah said, eagerly. "Yes, I'm ready." "Not yet," both Lou and Buck said at the same time, before looking at each other quizzically. They both had small boxes in their hands. "You first, then, Lou, I guess," Buck said. Lou smiled at Rachel and approached the tall girl she loved as much as her own children. "Tsomah, I want you to have these today. Your mother gave them to me the day before I married Kid; they belonged to her mother before her. They should go to you now," Lou said softly, holding out a pair of cameo earrings. Rachel pressed a hand to her misting eyes, as Tsomah, thrilled, had hugged her Aunt Louise and run into the dressing room to put the earrings on. Turning to Louise, Rachel whispered, "But Lou. I gave them to you that day . . . to keep, you needn't have done this. I told you that day, I didn't know if I ever would have a daughter, but that I wanted you to have them because . . . well, you know why." Lou smiled, pressing Rachel's hand. "The day Tsomah was born I made up my mind she would have those again, Rachel. And don't forget, she's marrying my Noah today. Nothing would make me happier than to see her wearing those earrings I wore when I married Noah's father." Tsomah emerged, the beautiful old earrings dangling from her ears. Buck approached his only child and looked at her with shining eyes. He was remembering her birth, her childhood. He couldn't believe he ever had doubted whether it was best for her to come into the world. It broke his heart to see his little girl turning into a woman and leaving home forever, even if it was to marry his dear friends' son. Buck cleared his throat. "Now, Tsomah," he started. "If you aren't sure, it's not too late to change your mind and come on home. It never will be too late for you to come home if you want to." "Buck!" reproved Rachel. "You're giving her away today, face facts, sweetheart." "Maybe I don't want to give her away. I wish I could keep her my little girl always," Buck said softly, tears in his eyes. He was thinking of when he walked her to school for the first time, so many years ago. She had insisted on carrying her little lunch pail and books herself, walking proudly beside her father, the most important man in her life. Now it was another man who would have that place. "I'll always be your little girl," Tsomah said, crying. "Now don't you start," Rachel said, struggling not to cry. "If you two start up, then I will, and then we'll all be standing here crying like a lot of fools. Buck, give her what you brought for her, please." Buck looked at Josephine and handed the box to her. "You should be the one to give this to your niece, honey," he said softly. "It was yours after all." Josephine took the box and opened it, holding a bracelet of turquoise beads aloft. Tsomah gasped at the beautiful gift, that she had seen on Josephine's wrist every day since she could remember. "Your turquoise bracelet, Jo?" she said, puzzled. "But Great Grandpa Teaspoon gave that to you so long ago." Josephine shook her head, "No, honey. My father gave this to me, but it was meant for your grandmother Tsomah first. You should have it now," she said, fastening it on Tsomah's slender, tanned wrist. Tsomah looked at the bracelet and back at Josephine. "I'll wear it today, for my 'something borrowed, something blue.' But Great Grandpa made it and gave it to you, and I know how much it means to you. I want you to keep it to remember your father by." The bell on the door jingled yet again and Kid McCloud stood in the doorway, walking stick in hand. "You folks almost ready? Noah's getting a little nervous back at the church, the wedding was supposed to start a half hour ago." Kid thought back to the day he married Lou and how nervous he was. His son was really handling it a lot better than he did, he reflected. "Tell him I'll be there directly," Tsomah said, picking up her bouquet. Kid, Lou and Rachel walked to the church, where Noah, so much like his father at that age, stood nervously waiting beside his younger brother Jeremiah at the altar. The last person seated, Rachel waited nervously beside her husband's "Grandma" Polly Hunter, thinking back to her own wedding day. Smiling, she remembered that it had been full of surprises, including learning for the first time that she was expecting Tsomah. She looked across the aisle at Louise and Kid, and reflected on how things had changed since their wedding day as well. Funny, she thought. Today, we will become a 'real' family. As Lou looked back, tears in her eyes, Rachel amended her thoughts. But then, we already were. Conclusion in "Kid: My Past Is Looking Brighter All the Time" My Past is Looking Brighter All the Time September 1939, Rock Creek Claire and Noah McCloud came up the steps of the old ranch house behind their daughter, fourteen year old tomboy Susan McCloud. The little girl rang the bell, excitedly, calling for her Great Grandma Lou and Great Grandpa Mac. The couple's many children and grandchildren took turns coming over every day so that they would never be alone, and to take care of the housework and cooking. But, like every day when the doorbell rang, a squeal of delight was heard from inside and the sound of shuffling little old feet approached the door as quickly as their owner could move them. "Morning, Sugarbear!" shouted the tiny woman in her nineties who opened the door, holding her arms out for her great granddaughter, who hugged her gently but firmly. "Come on in and sit a spell," Grandma Lou said, slipping her arm into her brown-eyed great-granddaughter's. Claire eyed her grandmother-in-law discreetly. She adored the little old lady, and was always on the lookout for any signs of decline. Grandma Lou looked twenty years younger than she really was. She was wearing a pretty, a pale blue silk blouse and sweater, but as usual she also wore a pair of neatly pressed women's slacks, and her snowy hair was bobbed with soft finger waves by her ears. Few women of Grandma's age had adopted the new fashion of wearing pants, but Grandma had been delighted when they became available and almost always wore them these days. Grandma Lou pushed her spectacles up on her nose and opened the door to the parlor, where Grandpa Mac was engrossed in a newspaper held close to his face. The kindly old fellow wore coke-bottle thick glasses to read the fine print in the newspaper; but Claire knew how thrilled he was to be able to read at all after spending most of his adult life in darkness. He had never been specific about the details, but they knew he had lost his sight while fighting for the Confederacy in the War Between the States nearly seventy-five years ago. As long as she lived, Claire would never forget the old man's courage in undergoing risky surgery to remove scar tissue from his eyes five years ago. "But Kid, you're 90 years old. It's crazy for you to take the risk, anything could happen. I wish you wouldn't do it," Grandma Lou had protested when the subject first came up. Grandpa Mac had stubbornly insisted. "Dr. Jones says there's a chance I could see again, Lou. I want to go for it. Look at it this way . . . how many years do I really have left anyway? It's worth the risk to see you again, to see the children, before I go. I'm willing to take that risk." "If . . . if that's how you feel about it, Kid. I won't stop you," said Grandma Lou, her face strained. Grandpa couldn't see her face, though, and slowly tapped his way up the stairs. When the door closed, Grandma had turned and buried her face in her hands. "But I'm not willing," she said softly, turning to Claire and Noah with dampened eyes. "If there are complications . . . if something happens, I won't know what to do without him," she wept. But Grandpa had his heart set on it, and the family all gathered in a waiting room at the hospital for the results of the operation a few weeks later. A kindly nurse had come out and told them Grandpa Mac was coming out of the anesthesia well and that he was asking for his family. They were only allowed in three at a time; so Grandma Lou, Claire and Noah had gone in to see the patient. Just outside the door, Grandma Lou had stopped, closing her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest in that odd stance she often adopted. She was breathing deeply, her head bowed. "Grandma?" Noah had said, worried. "You feeling okay?" She looked up at Noah. "I'm just praying he can see at least a little," she said. "He'll be so disappointed if he can't. He's so built up with hoping." The pretty little old lady had hung her head in shame. "But I ain't looking forward to him seeing me again." Claire, astonished, had exclaimed, "But why not, Grandma? You're the one thing he wants to see most of all, he told me so!" "He's going to be mighty let down," muttered Grandma. "I looked a lot different the last time he saw me." Noah had rolled his eyes in amusement. "Okay Grandma. I'm sure Grandpa knows you don't look twenty anymore. Let's stop the nonsense and get in there, okay?" But Claire, looking at Grandma's hesitant eyes, had pressed her arm sympathetically. Grandma knew that in Grandpa's mind's eye, she was still young and beautiful as she had been in the old pictures Claire had seen. She was understandably reluctant to replace that image of herself in his mind. They had gone in arm in arm to wait by Grandpa's bedside together. Grandpa Mac had groggily opened his eyes with the family and doctor watching. Grandma had sat down by his head, holding his hand gently. When his eyes met hers, he had smiled. "Lou," he whispered, hoarsely. "I'm right here, Kid," she whispered back, leaning close. He had looked at her as if he could never look enough. "You look exactly like I pictured," he said, reaching up to stroke her snow-white hair gently. "Still so beautiful." Grandma had leaned in and embraced him, as Claire and Noah had tearfully looked on. Grandpa Mac looked up from his newspaper, smiling at them. "Hello, Claire, Noah. Come on in, Grandma Lou is getting us a snack." He glanced back at the paper, shaking his head. "This Polish invasion they're writing about has me worried. That German Chancellor is a dangerous fella. Can't see this headin' anywhere good." Before they could answer, Grandma Lou came in carrying a box of cookies and a stack of small plates, with Susan close behind with a tea tray. Grandma looked at Grandpa quizzically, not quite comprehending his last words. Dear little Grandma, thought Claire fondly, watching her. Still so spry . . . but her mind's slipping a little. Time was, when Grandma Lou followed the news as closely as anyone. In fact, she had scandalized the town in her seventies by chaining herself to a ballot box agitating for recognition of women's right to vote, and had been thrilled when finally, in 1920, the 19th Amendment had been passed recognizing and protecting that right. At her first opportunity and every election since, she had been in line bright and early to exercise her right to vote, and had remained sharp as a tack until up to a few months ago, when her memory had started becoming erratic. "Guess what time it is, Great Grandma?" Susan said kindly. "Time for your favorite Western," she said, turning on the radio. Grandma Lou delightedly curled up on a small sofa next to the radio, with Susan cuddled up next to her with a handful of cookies, to listen. "Not the Lone Ranger, please," Grandpa Mac muttered to himself irritably. He hated the serial westerns his beloved wife was devoted to these days, and would much rather listen to the news. But watching her happily listening to the show with Susan, his face softened. I'm lucky to have her with me at all, he thought gratefully. And she's happy and feeling well, that's all that matters. Kid reflected on how Lou's mind was still sharp enough in some ways, but she had little attention for serious news anymore, and her memory was slipping. She remembered the happier times from her childhood through the first few decades of their marriage with startling clarity, but there were big gaps in her memory now. This was hard for him sometimes, since all these years they had remained sweethearts and best friends, and he missed the spirited debates they used to have before she became so childlike. Her husband fondly stroked her hair as he passed by, and she looked up adoringly at him. "I don't know how he's going to get out of this mess this time," she remarked, before nibbling on a cookie. Grandpa murmured gently, "I don't know, Lou. Hopefully he'll think of something, he always has before, hasn't he?" "That's so, he has," she agreed, listening attentively. Grandpa settled into his chair, and the family chatted for a while. The conversation turned to the recent political events, and before long Grandpa was in deep discussion with his grandchildren. They failed to notice that Grandma had started listening to their conversation during a commercial break in her show. Suddenly, Grandma stood, shaking. "You say there may be a war?" she said tremblingly, her little hands twisting together. "But Noah won't have to go fight, will he?" Claire looked at Noah sympathetically. Grandma meant Noah Sr., they knew. He had been a West Point graduate and lifetime career officer. He was killed in the Great War several years back, breaking Grandma's heart. These days, perhaps mercifully, she seemed to have blocked the memory that her oldest son was dead. Grandpa got up and guided his quivering wife back to the couch next to him. "No, sweetheart, Noah won't have to go to any war again. I promise." She looked up at him, gratefully, as he wiped the tears from her eyes. They all knew that if they told Grandma Lou that Noah Sr. was dead, it would be like she was hearing it all over again for the first time; but that a few moments later the information would be lost again. There was no sense in telling her the truth, they knew. Awkwardly, they searched for something to say to break the silence. Susan rescued the situation. "Mom, why don't we go in the kitchen and get some dinner on? Dad, looked to me like the hedges could use some clipping, too." The three melted into other parts of the property while Grandpa held and comforted Grandma. After a few minutes, Lou drowsily rested her head on Kid's shoulder. I was upset about something, but what was it? She thought fuzzily. "The Lone Ranger" came back from commercial, and she sat up, listening. "I love this show," she said, looking up at Kid. "Doesn't it remind you of the old riding days?" Kid didn't think so, but went along with it good-naturedly. "Sure, Lou. Those were good times, weren't they," he said wistfully. Seemed like the world was getting into some serious trouble nowadays, he thought. "Things were simpler then, somehow, more hopeful," he said almost to himself. "I don't know, Kid. We had a wonderful life back then, but these are good times too, I think," she answered him. He looked at her, looked into the big brown eyes that had changed so little in all these years. She had some memory problems, true; but what of it? She seemed to remember the good things fine, and the memories of the painful times had softened. To her, the past was looking brighter and brighter all the time. And she was still here, after all these years, by his side. He pressed his lips to her forehead, clinging to her gratefully. How lucky we've been, he realized. How lucky we still are. THE END With many thanks to Kathleen and Shannon! Email Ellie HOME