Who Am I Now?
Ezra didn’t say a word as he slit the ancient layers of tape. This was the one box that had not been opened in more than twenty-five years. It had been packed up two days after is father’s funeral, after the reading of the will, and he hadn’t opened since. Not a word was spoken as Ezra slowly opened the flaps of the box.
Carefully, Ezra lifted the by now familiar paper wrapped rectangle from the top of the box, trying hard to hide how nervous he felt. After a few minutes though, Ezra was still standing with the concealed painting in his hands, trying to make himself unwrap it and look at it.
Still looking at the object in his hands, Ezra was startled when a warm, calloused hand landed on his arm. Looking up he found himself staring into the understanding eyes of Buck Wilmington.
“You want me to put it up for you, Ez?” Buck asked gently, finally understanding why Ezra was so reluctant about this. He had noticed that the paper around the other paintings had only been four or five years old. But the paper in Ezra’s hands right now had to be at least twenty years old it was so brittle and yellowed.
Ezra breathed a slight sigh of relief and nodded, handing over the painting without a word. It seemed his fears regarding Buck and JD had been unnecessary.
Buck gently took the painting from his grip, and as Ezra had done earlier, the mustached man carefully unwrapped it, keeping his body between it and everyone else.
After a couple of seconds the dark haired man began to smile widely, as he reached up to hang the painting.
“Buck?” Josiah asked impatiently. He could tell that Buck was smiling, but the wait was killing him. The backlash from this could be catastrophic.
The tall man didn’t answer, just looked over at the worried expression on Ezra’s face and smiled even more.
“No problems, Pard.” Buck said as he stepped back to reveal the painting. “You’re definitely one of the Seven!”
The painting was definitely Ezra, dressed in a red gambler’s coat leaning with one thumb hooked in his gun belt against a whitewashed stone wall.
“Looks good, Ezra,” Chris commented. “The look definitely suits you. And if you two are anything alike, he was probably a bit of a conman too.”
Ezra smiled as he gazed at the painting, long clouded memorizes stirring faintly in the back of his mind. “You have no idea, Chris.”
