A Place in the Sun by Vicki Conclusion

After Preston, it was Mills Falls.   Then Rockton.  Then it was a strange little place called Perfection.

I’m now in a one horse town with the fancy-soundin’ name of Ancaster Heights.  I can see how it’d be easy for all the towns to start blendin’ together in a man’s head.  ‘Specially if the man was the drinkin’ type.  I still ain’t had nothin’ stronger than sarsaparilla, and that’s the way I intend to keep it.  I need a clear head more than ever these days, since I started earnin’ my money at the poker tables.  

I know what you’re thinkin’.  But I ain’t about to become of them jack-a-dandy’s with the slick clothes and the slick hair and the even slicker attitude.  I can see more for my future than endless nights in smoky saloons, tryin’ not to gag at the overwhelming smell of cheap whiskey, flowery perfume and unwashed bodies.

I got bigger goals in life than that.  I just ain’t figured out quite what they are yet.

But a man can make a good chunk o’ money at the tables.  The time I spent watchin’ others win and lose back in Sweetwater has done me in good stead.  And I got a poker face like nobody’s business.  So I’ve been sittin’ in on the games in every town I come to.

The money?  I’ve been spendin’ only what I need to.  My room at a respectable hotel, and meals in the saloon.  Oh, I’ve splashed out once or twice like I did in Preston, and treated myself to a decent meal in a real restaurant.    But most of the money is socked away, for that future goal that I ain’t decided on yet.  It’s adding up quicker than I could’ve imagined.

I’ve had my fill of Ancaster Heights, though.  I’m discovering that it don’t take long for me to sour on each new town.  It ain’t that there’s anything wrong with the towns themselves.  It’s more that the longer I stay, the more I become “Wild Bill” in the eyes of the people that live there.  It’s almost like I ain’t a person at all.  I’m just an image, a symbol of the big bad gunslinger.  And the more I feel ‘em lookin’ at me like that, the more I start believin’ it myself.

So now I’m standin’ at the front desk of the hotel, waitin’ for the clerk to finish up with a squirrelly lookin’ fella with wiry hair and the biggest front teeth I ever seen.  I don’t mind waitin’ – I’m generally a patient person – but every time the door opens behind me, it sends a blast of crisp autumn air into the foyer.  After about the fourth or fifth time, my spine is feelin’ less like a spine and more like an icicle.  

“Sorry for the delay,” the harried clerk finally snaps as Squirrel Man steps out of the way.  I hand the clerk my key just as the door opens behind for what is gratefully the last time.

“Thank you for stayin’ at the Ancaster Heights Royal Vista Hotel, Mr. Hickok,“ the clerk recites in a bored monotone.  It’s all I can do not to laugh in his face.  As it is, I can’t hold back the snort.  It’s kind of embarrassing, that snort.  But Lord, the “Royal Vista”!  The old Sweetwater hotel is classier than this joint, and served better food to boot.

“Hickok?” a voice behind me squeaks out, and my frozen back stiffens slightly until recognition kicks in.  I got a big smile on my face as I turn and face the door.

“Well, butter my buns and call me a biscuit!”  William F. Cody yells out, closing the distance between us in two wide strides and crushing me into a massive bear hug.  “Hickok!  What the heck are you doin’ out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Just passin’ through,” I answer when I can breathe again.

Cody hasn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him.  All right, it ain’t been all that long, but there’s been so many changes in my life that it feels like Cody should’ve changed too.  He’s still got the same long straw-coloured hair; not even the Army could make him cut it.  And on account of bein’ a scout, he don’t have to wear a uniform.  So he’s still wearin’ his fringed buckskin jacket.  Matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without that jacket!  His blue eyes are sparklin’ with happiness at seein’ me again.

That’s all right.  I can’t seem to wipe the huge grin off my face either.  I never realized how much I missed him.  How much I miss all of ‘em.

It’s hard – harder than I ever thought it’d be.  Leavin’ my old life behind, I mean.  ‘Cause great as it is to see Cody again, he’s part of the life of “Jimmy Hickok”.  He ain’t got nothin’ to do with James and he surely don’t got nothin’ to do with “Wild Bill”.  

My eyes flick to his companions, hovering at the entranceway and watching the reunion with smiles on their faces.  I ain’t seen so much army blue gathered in one place since me and Emma paid that visit to Fort Reunion.

“Still scoutin’, Cody?” I ask rhetorically.

Cody wouldn’t know a rhetorical question if it bit him in the butt.

“Best decision I ever made,” Cody confirms.  Then he gets that look in his eye.  You know that look.  That “I got a brilliant idea and I should get a medal for thinking of something this spectacular” look.  Cody always tended to get that look pretty frequently.  And I guess that’s another thing that hasn’t changed.  Probably never will.  

“Cody, whatever you’re thinkin’ of—”

He holds up a hand to shush me, turning instead to his army cohorts.  “Corporal,” he calls out, “I got an idea involvin’ that ‘situation’ we were talkin’ about earlier.”

“Cody…” I try again.

“Quiet a minute, Hickok, and let a man think!”

I’d chuckle if that look didn’t have me so worried.

“This here’s my good friend Jimmy Hickok,” he introduces me to the Corporal who has stepped forward to join us.  “Me and Jimmy used to ride in the Express together.  I think I might’ve told you about him.”

The Corporal grins, the action transforming a stern countenance into somethin’ almost boyish.  I realize with a start that the man ain’t that much older than me and Cody.  He’s got ten years on us at most, but that’s only obvious when he smiles.  It almost seems like his freckles get brighter.  Get the man really happy, and they probably glow in the dark.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hickok,” the Corporal says, offering me his hand.  If he knows about “Wild Bill” or my reputation, he gives no sign.  “Mr. Cody has regaled us with many numerous stories of your exploits.”

I can only imagine what tall tales Cody’s been spreadin’ about us.  “Don’t believe everything you hear, Corporal.”

“Don’t worry, Hickok,” Cody butts in, “I only told ‘em the good stuff.  Stuff that could help us right about now.”

I give Cody a withering stare.  “Cody, your ideas usually end up gettin’ me shot at.”

The Corporal takes one look at Cody’s artfully hurt expression and starts to laugh.  “Well, Mr. Hickok,” he says, “I’ve come to admire Mr. Cody’s ingenuity.  Why don’t the two of you accompany me back to base and we’ll discuss this little inspiration he’s come up with?”

I must look dubious, ‘cause Cody launches into a string of reasons why I should change whatever plans I have and ride with them to their camp outside of town.  Finally I relent, if only to shut Cody up for awhile.  

I’m scoutin’ for the army.

I ain’t quite sure how this came about.  One moment Cody, me, and the Corporal were just talkin’ about the problems the army’s been havin’ lately with a bunch of slavers across the territory line.  I was actually a bit impressed that he was lettin’ me in on that kind of intelligence.  All the other soldiers I ever met gave new meaning to the term “closed-mouthed”, particularly the ones in charge.  But the Corporal wasn’t like that.    Oh, he was careful not to mention no names, but he still showed a lot of confidence in me early on.  Thinkin’ on it now, I reckon he must’ve known I’d end up signin’ on.

Not that I’ve officially joined the army.  I’m just helpin’ with this particular situation.  I figure, what the heck?  They’re payin’ me, though of course it ain’t near as much as I could earn at the poker tables.  But it’s honest work, and maybe I can do some good at the same time.  

So like I said, one moment we were talkin’.  I was able to give the Corporal and his officers a smattering of information on how the abolitionist cells are set up.  They were pleased about that.  The talkin’ went on for quite some time, and truth be told I’ve never been one for endless jawin’.  Seems like there’s too much talkin’ and not enough action in this world sometimes.  I don’t mind if I’m goin’ to get somethin’ decent out of it, like with Teaspoon.  But frankly, even listenin’ to Teaspoon took a lot of patience on my part.  If I never see the inside of a sweat lodge again, it’ll be too soon.

Somehow in all that gabbin’, I agreed to this scoutin’ expedition.  Me and Cody leave tomorrow morning.
 

Chapter Six

The bullet whizzes past my head to embed itself in the tree trunk behind me.  Ducking is as instinctual as breathin’, but I still got time to shoot Cody a glare that’d stop a charging buffalo in his tracks.  My best, the practically patented glare of death.  It slides off him like butter on warm bread.  I ain’t surprised.  This is Cody we’re talkin’ about.  

He’s grinnin’.  We’re pinned down by a cartload of liquored-up redneck slavers, and the danged fool is grinnin’ like he just won the turkey at the Christmas social.  Long as I live, I ain’t never goin’ to understand how that boy’s head works.

I bend my head to my Colt, reloadin’ easily and ignorin’ the sounds of battle goin’ on around me.  ‘Cause that’s just what it is – a full-fledged battle.  Now I know I sort of joined up for this army thing, but heck, I’m supposed to be a scout.   If I’d wanted to have got involved in somethin’ like this, I’d have enlisted.  I didn’t, ‘cause William Alonzo Hickok didn’t raise no fool.  Actually, now that I think of it, William probably did raise a fool.  But Teaspoon Hunter corrected them mistakes long ago.  Too bad his lessons didn’t stick with Cody.  And too bad I didn’t learn not to listen to Cody when his mouth starts flappin’. 

I ain’t even sure how we got to this point.  It was supposed to be a simple mission.  Talk to some of my abolitionist contacts, slip across the border to confirm their information on the slavers, then slip back out and report to the Corporal.  See what I mean?  I had more difficult assignments when I was with the Express.  Workin’ at the Wild Horse with Grace Rawlings comes to mind.  Not that I cared so much.  There were the fringe benefits after all, and I did do a mighty fine job of undercover work, if I do say so myself.  Compared to sneakin’ around the saloon, lyin’ to my friends, and endin’ up havin’ to shoot myself in the arm, this should have been a piece of cake!

You know what they say about best-laid plans.  We never figured on Ned Randall bein’ a traitor to the cause.  

I glance across the clearing to where Ned’s body lays face-down in the dirt.  I don’t know who put a bullet in him, and I wouldn’t say I’m glad he’s dead.  But I ain’t broke up about it neither.  Somebody like that – well, out here, you can lose a lot.  Your money, your home, heck, even your pride.  But a man’s word… it’s about the most important thing he’s got.  Lose that, and you might as well just bite your own bullet.  In Ned’s case, somebody else took care of that for him.

I take another quick look at Cody, but now he’s all business.  He fires a rapid shot, and the yelp of pain from behind the distant copse of trees is clearly audible.    

He grins again.  “Bullseye.”

“Dang it Cody, we can’t hold ‘em off forever!”  I don’t mean to yell, but his attitude’s just startin’ to tick me off.  He might have a death wish, but I sure as heck don’t want to go down with him.

“Says you,” he retorts before firing off another round.  He squints up into the glare of the sun, tryin’ to keep one eye on me and the other on the renegades.  “What’s the matter, Hickok?  You chicken?”

My fingers spasm inside my glove, itchin’ to reach out and grab those fancy fringes and shake.  I know if I had a mirror handy I’d see that my eyes had gone hard and cold.  It happens more and more often these days.  That worries me.  The way that my mind can just shut down.  No emotions, no feelings, no thoughts.  Just a cold pit in my stomach and dead eyes.  A detachment that’s terrifying.  

But this is Cody, and I ain’t about to kill him just ‘cause he ain’t got the brains that God gave a chipmunk.    

“Cody,” I grate out, “if we get out of this mess, you’re goin’ to pay for sayin’ that.”

He just scowls, ignorin’ the bullet that thumps into the ground a couple of feet in front of the boulder.  You’d almost think we was havin’ the conversation in the bunkhouse instead of in the middle of gun fight.   

“Well geez Louise, Hickok, what the heck’s the matter with you?  You got a high society ball to be at or somethin’?”

Catchin’ sight of two of the slavers tryin’ to edge their way along the gully, I take quick aim.  My shot knocks out one of ‘em, while Cody’s takes the second.  A quick volley ensures that none of the others get any fancy ideas, but it’s just like I said.  We aren’t goin’ to be able to hold ‘em off all day.  I’m already runnin’ low on ammunition.  

“Believe it or not,” I mutter as I dig into my pocket for the rest of my bullets, “I got plans for my life.  Plans that don’t include endin’ up in a pine box before I’m twenty.”

Cody snorts, obviously havin’ no idea how close he is to a pummelin’ that he’d remember for the rest of his days.  

“Really.  Well, we got some time.  Why don’t you fill me in your grand plans?  You’re goin’ to have a life of leisure, I’m sure.”

Does a flush come into my cheeks? Well, if it does, I can blame it on the sun that’s beatin’ down so hot and fierce it stings.  Grand plans, my hind end.  At this point, stayin’ alive sounds like a mighty fine plan and it’s just about the only one I need at the moment.  

“I ain’t a soldier, Cody.  This ain’t my war.”

“And that ain’t an answer.”  He’s about to say more, but then a gleam comes into his eye and he cuffs me good-naturedly on the shoulder instead.  With a smile splittin’ his face from ear to ear, he nudges me.  I turn my head just as the regiment crests the hill.  Reinforcements.

“Well Hickok, guess you’re goin’ to live after all.”

“Keep it up, Cody, and you ain’t.”

The rain has lessened to a light drizzle, but a bitter wind still gusts through the narrow streets of Roxborough.  It trickles down my back with fingers of ice, promptin’ me to tug my collar a little tighter at my neck.  Large standing puddles still dot the landscape, and mud squishes around my boots as I come to a stop outside the saloon.

The raucous rattle of the piano seeps out the batwing doors, the music muted enough to almost be tolerable.  Almost, if you don’t pay too much attention.  It’s just background noise to me anyway.  I’ve got other things on my mind.

Ignorin’ the rain that drips from the brim of my hat, I stare at the place where it happened.  It’s only a patch of sodden dirt to anybody else who passes by, not that anybody else IS passin’ by on a night like this.  But I can see more than the rain-soaked earth.  I can still see the blood.

I didn’t want to kill him.

I tuck my hands in my pockets and gaze at the ground, the scarlet of his blood washed away by the rain but still clear in my eyes.  

He had been young.  Not younger than me, but young enough.  His hand had been steady; there’d been no drinkin’ at the saloon to get his nerve up for this one.  And he had only goal in his mind: to kill Wild Bill.  To kill me.  

He never said why.  That’s what pulls at me.  He never said I’d killed one of his gang, or a friend, or his brother’s best friend’s dog.  He never said I hurt him in any way at all.   He just wanted to kill me.  For the notoriety.  For the press.  Hell, maybe for the thrill.  I don’t know.

I didn’t want to kill him.  But I didn’t have much of a choice once he called me out.  I tried talkin’ first, like I always do.  And talkin’ didn’t work, like it never does.  So I put aside my cards and joined him on the street.  And I killed him… like I always do.  

I turn my head up to the sun, which is still strugglin’ to pop out from behind the storm clouds.  I could use some of that light.  But the sun can’t seem to get through, and I know there ain’t nothin’ left for me now.  

When I left the Express, I thought I’d accepted my fate.  What a dirty word, fate.  I thought I understood that I couldn’t have a normal life.  But all along, I’ve been foolin’ myself.  I’ve been hopin’ for a better life, even when I know I can’t get one.  

Army life might be fine for Cody, but it ain’t for me.  I’ve had enough of gettin’ shot at to last a lifetime.  And no matter what other kind of job I take, there’s always the specter of Wild Bill at my back.  I can’t get away from him.  

I’m successful at the poker tables, more successful that I ever dreamed.  The money weighin’ down my pockets attests to that.  But like I say, Wild Bill haunts me.  Because when I play the tables, I’m Wild Bill.  I don’t want to be.  But the stories start flowin’ no matter what I do, gettin’ bigger and bigger with each retelling.  And it always ends the same.  I’m sick of it endin’ with the blood of a stranger spreadin’ out in front of me on a dusty street.  

A part of me wants to just give up.  No, not by lettin’ one of them strangers get the drop on me, if that’s what you’re thinkin’.  There’s just a part of me that wants to go home.  Give up pretendin’ that I can escape my destiny and return to Rock Creek.  Visit with Teaspoon again, even if it means spendin’ some time in that blasted sweat lodge.  Go huntin’ with Buck and get him to teach me that birdcall he always used to do.  Have supper with Kid and Lou.  Be with my family.  Love ‘em like I always did.

Of course, I know I can’t do that.  Sooner or later, another challenger with a chip on his shoulder would show up.  And the same endin’ would play out again, this time on the streets of Rock Creek, maybe with my family watchin’.  And how long would it take for one of them gunfighters to realize that they could get back at me a lot easier by killin’ off the people I love?

I guess most people want the same basic things out of life.  Happiness.  Love.  A home.  I had them things once, with the Express.  It hurts more than you can believe to know I’m never goin’ to have them again.

I keep tellin’ myself that “Jimmy” is gone and ain’t comin’ back; that I’ve got to be “James” now.  But who is “James” if not “Wild Bill”?  

The sun peeks out from behind the clouds for a brief moment, bathin’ my face in warmth.  The doors behind me swing open, and I turn to see one of the wranglers from the Triple R stumble out, clutchin’ his coat against the sudden chill.  He’s all duded up tonight, in a black suit and starched white shirt that looks more fittin’ for a funeral than a night at the Purple Orchid.  Why, he looks like…

I blink, open mouthed and stunned.

And suddenly the skies open up.  The wrangler yelps as a crash of thunder booms, scarin’ him so much he almost flies face first into the mud.  I laugh, and he shoots me a murderous look, but I just keep on laughin’. 

It ain’t him I’m laughin’ at, needless to say.  It’s me.  I’m laughin’ at me, ‘cause I suddenly got it all figured out.  I stand in the middle of that street, with the rain drenchin’ my clothes and seepin’ right through to my skin, and I laugh till I’m fit to burst.  The wrangler’s gaze changes from hostility to outright bewilderment as he considers whether I’m truly as insane as I look, and that just makes me laugh even more.  

There was one place where “James” didn’t equal “Wild Bill”, you see.   A place where I had a home, if I wanted it.  A place where I was happy.  And I’m goin’ to go back.  I never should have left in the first place.  

With a much lighter step, I head back to the hotel.  I’ve got plans to make.  Grand plans, one might say.
 

Chapter Seven

I step into the hotel foyer and shake myself like a wild dog, enjoyin’ the feel of the water sloshin’ off my skin.  For the first time in what seems like forever, I truly feel alive.  Invigorated and refreshed, I approach the desk with a grin on my face.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hickok,” the clerk say briskly, glancin’ up at my approach before returning his attention to his newspaper.

“Afternoon,” I nod my head in greeting, then come to a stop at the counter.  I cross my hands at my stomach and wait.  And wait.  And wait.   It takes a good two minutes for the clerk to finally notice that I ain’t goin’ nowhere.  Not that I blame him.  I’ve been here in Roxborough for three weeks and I’ve never once stopped at the desk.  Why would I?  It ain’t like anybody’s goin’ to write me a letter.  Nobody even knows I’m here.

“Uhhh…,” the clerk shuffles his paper aside, a look of astonishment on his face. He quickly schools his expression into its usual haughty arrogance.  Apparently this is the best hotel in Roxborough, and the desk clerk has always had delusions of grandeur. I can practically see the visions of him behind the desk at the New York Hilton dancin’ in his head.  “Can I help you with something, Mr. Hickok?”

“You can,” I answer in the same tone of voice.  Heck, I can do “classy”.  Unclasping my hands and leaning on the desk, I continue, “I’d like some writin’ paper, an inkwell and a stylus, please.”

The briefest flicker of surprise crosses his face before he replies with an exaggerated,   “Of course, Mr. Hickok.”  He pushed an inkwell and pen toward me before he dips behind the desk, comin’ up with a couple of sheets of hotel stationary.

I give the stationary a dubious glance.  True, I only need to write two letters, but I ain’t exactly got my own delusions of grandeur.  It’s goin’ to take a heck of a lot more than three sheets of paper before I’m satisfied enough to send ‘em out.  

I raise my eyes to the clerk.  “Some more paper, please.”

“Of course, sir.”  

I study the growing pile.  “Hmmm… a few more.”

To the man’s credit, he does a good job of keepin’ his eyebrows firmly planted, even though I can tell they want to go crawlin’ up his forehead.  Ten minutes later, I make my way upstairs to my room loaded down with half a ream of crisp hotel stationary.  

Better safe than sorry.

Crumplin’ up yet another wasted sheet of paper, I half-heartedly toss it in the general direction of the wastepaper basket.  I don’t have to look to know that it misses the mark entirely, joinin’ a whole bunch of its fellows on the floor near the window.  Frustrated, I hang my head in my hands.  Whoever thought writin’ a couple of simple letters would be this difficult?  Suddenly I have newfound respect for them speechwriters that Teaspoon used to quote around the dinner table.   How did they ever come up with the perfect way of sayin’ stuff?

I raise my head, a gleam in my eye.  Teaspoon didn’t just read us political speeches and mumbo-jumbo, though he always thought we’d learn something from that.  He also used to quote a heck of a lot of the “official documents” he got.  From Russell, Majors and Waddell… from the Army… heck, even from the politicians he used to know from his days at a Ranger.  I got the style right in my head… if only I could remember it!

Determined, I pick up the pen and dip it into the ink.  

Dear Mr. Marcus

We are sorry to let you know 

Nah, I can do better than that.  Another piece of paper bites the dust.  I grab a fresh sheet and start again.

Dear Mr. Marcus

We regret to inform you that an act of violence has taken the life of Wild Bill Hickok.  Though his

His what?  His WHAT?  I chew on the end of the stylus for a moment, tryin’ to think.  The first part is good.  Teaspoon-worthy, I’d say.  But geesh, what comes next?  I lean back in the chair, tryin’ to picture Teaspoon standin’ at the head of the table in the bunkhouse.  He’s got a letter in his hand, and he’s gesturin’ as he’s talks.  He always waved his hands around when he was readin’ something official soundin’.  

Well, the picture’s there, but it ain’t helpin’ none.  But then… another picture takes it’s place.  Cody, loungin’ in his bunk, writin’ another one of them stories for “True Tales of the West”.  And next to Cody on the bunk…

I push back from the desk, grinnin’ again.  I don’t even bother to lock my door before I head back down the lobby.  I ain’t goin’ to be gone more than a minute or two anyway.  

When I get back, I’m holdin’ the Holy Grail.  

A dictionary.  

I pick up the pen and start over, this time sure that I’ve got the supplies I need to make this the best soundin’ letter I can.  

Dear Mr. Marcus

We regret to inform you that an act of violence has taken the life of Wild Bill Hickok.  Though his exploits with a pistol were well known, it may comfort you to know that the legendary gunfighter did not pass on as the result of a gunfight.  It appears that Mr. Hickok was involved in a heated game of poker when he was shot in an unprovoked attack.  

It is our policy, when possible, to return those personal effects that are found on the deceased.  Enclosed please find the contents of Mr. Hickok’s coat pockets, as well as his weapons.  

We sympathize with your loss.  

H. Layton
Undertaker

I read the letter over a couple of times, makin’ sure that there ain’t no spellin’ errors or nothin’, then sign it with a flourish.   Folding it neatly, I place it on top of the pile of my “personal effects”.  That’s the real belongings I had in my pockets.  Got to make it look legitimate.  I even threw in fifty dollars, though it hurts like heck to hand JD Marcus my hard-earned cash.  The little card with the name and address of that fancy New York hotel he’s stayin’ at will go in the envelope with the letter.  ‘Cause that’s how the “undertaker” knew where to send the belongings to, of course.  See?  I’m thinkin’. 

I only hope that my instincts about JD Marcus are right on the money.  No matter what he might say about leavin’ the writing business, I’m droppin’ a top dollar story in his lap.  The letter and the personal effects might not be enough. But I’m thinkin’ that when he opens that package and my twin Colts tumble out, he’s practically goin’ to be salivatin’.  There ain’t no way Wild Bill would part with his prized guns.  At least I figure that’s what he’s goin’ to think.  I imagine the story of my demise will be at the printers within a week.  It better be.  Everything is countin’ on it.

Feelin’ mighty pleased with myself, I roll up my sleeves and get ready to tackle letter number two.  

Dear Teaspoon and family,

Now you’re probably wonderin’ why I ain’t writin’ a letter to Celinda as well.  I spent quite a lot of time thinkin’ about doin’ just that on the walk back to the hotel.  But it seems to me that she’d be better off not knowin’ all the details about my new life, and what I’m plannin’ to do.  I know it’s goin’ to hurt her when the news come out that I’m “dead”.  I just can’t see any way around it.  Her knowin’ the truth is just too risky, for both of us.

I set the dictionary aside as I pick up the pen.  There’s no need for fancy words now.  I could make myself sound all hoighty-toighty, but my family knows the real me.  I’m just goin’ to speak from my heart.  

Dear Teaspoon and family,

It seems so long since I left Rock Creek and all of you.  I’m sure you all know why I had to leave, no matter what I said at the time.  It didn’t matter how much I was told that I could make my own destiny.  I never really believed it.  I couldn’t risk the people I love getting caught in the crossfire because of Wild Bill.

But I believe it now.  I figured out how to make it work.  I’m going to make my own destiny… I’m going to take the reins of my life.  

When I left Rock Creek, I thought that “Jimmy Hickok” had to die. I couldn’t be that express rider no more.  What I didn’t understand was that we ALL had to die.  Jimmy, and James, and Wild Bill.  I’ve got to be a brand new person.  

I’m hoping that by the time you get this, JD Marcus’s new dime-novel will be on the shelves at Tompkins’ store.  Only my family will know the truth.  I’m starting a new life, and in order to do that, I have to become somebody else.  Jimmy/James/Wild Bill… that person has to be dead and buried.  

I hope you understand why I can’t tell you where I am going or who I am going to become.  Heck, I’m not even sure who I’ll become.  Except that I know I’m going to be a good man.  I know that sounds corny, but that’s all I want right now.  To be a good man.  I ain’t living by the gun no more.

Teaspoon… I would never have gotten to this point if it weren’t for you.  I think back on the kind of man I was and it makes me shudder.  All the good parts of me are there because you made them shine.  Thank you for that, and know that I always love you.

Buck… I know I wasn’t always the best friend to you, at least in the beginning.  It’s to your credit that you didn’t just kick me in the backside back then.  I learned a lot just by watching the way you shuffled the cards life dealt you.  Thanks for putting up with me, and for being there when I needed you.

Kid… What can I say to you, Kid?  Saying we didn’t often see eye to eye seems like a pretty big understatement.  But we’re family, and like Teaspoon always says, “family sticks together”.  I hope you’re happy, Kid.  Happier than a man has a right to be.  You deserve it.  

Lou… I never knew there was so many ways a woman could be a woman till I met you.  And things always seemed a little brighter when you were around.  Your love and respect helped me to keep “Jimmy” safe and “Wild Bill” at bay, at least for a while.  Have a good life with Kid.  Love him and keep him safe too.

I’m going to sign off here.  Even though we’ll never see each other again, I’ll be thinking of all of you often.  You are my family, and I love you.

Ride safe, 
Jimmy

I tip my chair back, staring at the wall.  I ain’t ashamed to say that I’m a little misty eyed.  Never figured I’d get so emotional sayin’ good-bye.  

My saddlebags are propped up against the dresser, and the final item I need is inside.  It’s about all I can manage to force myself to walk the three or four paces, bend, and undo the straps.  

I stare at the drawing for a long moment, lost in memories again.  Ike had so much talent.  We almost look like we’re ready to leap off the page.  But we look so young.  So naïve.  I don’t have that look in my eyes anymore.  I wish I did.  

My thumb caresses the pencil marks lightly as I walk back to the desk.  Givin’ up the drawing is almost the hardest thing of all.  I know I’ve got to leave all the links to my past behind… but it hurts.  I’ve just got to remember that I can carry all of ‘em with me in my heart.  That will have to be enough.

Carefully, I insert Ike’s pencil sketch into the envelope before I seal it.  

I’ll check out of the hotel in the mornin’.  By noon of the next day, I should be embarkin’ on my new life. 
 

Chapter Eight

I guess I’ve gotten more cynical than I thought.  It’s kind of shockin’ to discover that the promises people made in the past have actually been kept.  Because James Creek has changed, and unlike Emma’s place, it’s changed for the better.

The town itself is bustlin’ with business.  I recognize at least a dozen new stores and shops linin’ the main street, and several more on side streets that didn’t even exist last time I was here.  Another thing I wasn’t expectin’ – everybody seems to be gettin’ along just fine.  One thing a person learns about boomtowns – they get filled up mighty quick, and not with an element that decent folk are happy to see.  But everybody in this particular town is smilin’ and actin’ friendly.  I guess James Creek is the exception to the rule.  Despite the population tripling in six months, James Creek still has only one saloon.

I ain’t stoppin’ there, of course.  A cold sarsaparilla is awfully temptin’, but I don’t want to risk bein’ recognized just yet.  Instead I stand at the far end of town, a grin quirkin’ into place as I watch the people strollin’ down the boardwalk.  For every dusty cowboy, there’s two or three men in plain black suits and wide brimmed hats.  Much like that wrangler in the fancy suit I saw back in Roxborough, ‘cept these folks look much more comfortable in their choice of outerwear.  That’s understandable.  The Peacemakers got a heck of a lot more class.

I should be ridin’ out to the homestead.  I know that.  Truth be told, now that I’m here, I’m gettin’ kind of antsy about the whole idea.  Seems to me that I put together the whole proposition on a wing and a prayer, and I ain’t never been big on prayin’.  What if the Peacemakers don’t want me?  I can suddenly imagine myself limpin’ back to Rock Creek, tail between my legs.  Holy smokes, what if I had to live with Kid and Lou?  My pride couldn’t take it.  

I shake my head.  What am I thinkin’?  That ain’t goin’ to happen.  Leastways, I’m never goin’ to find out one way or the other by lollygatherin’ in town with my mouth hangin’ open.  Swingin’ easily onto the back of my chestnut mare, I spur her in the direction of the Peacemakers land.

It’s more beautiful than I remember it.  Bigger, too.

I expected the bigger part.  Alice had said that a hundred more of her people would be makin’ the exodus to the Nebraska Territory.  Jacob, Alice and the others were only the first vanguard, as it were.  Yet I really didn’t reckon on just what a difference an extra hundred people could make.

They’re everywhere!  Figures in dark clothing dot the landscape, all of them movin’ with a sense of purpose.  The vegetable patch has grown to a full blown field, crops swayin’ gently in the afternoon breeze.  Here and there, white capped heads can be seen bobbin’ amongst the leaves as the women move amongst the vines, pickin’ fruit or weeds as the case may be.  The men are more involved in the back breakin’ labour.  As I watch, a group of burly Peacemakers struggle to get their plow over a particularly ornery piece of ground.  I don’t got to be up close to know that the sweat’s pourin’ off them, that their muscles are strainin’ with effort… or that their willpower is all that’s keepin’ the curses inside.  Learnin’ to do that is goin’ to be one of my toughest lessons.

If they let me stay.

The church is built, of course.  It dominates the scenery, shinin’ like silver in the sun.  The large wooden cross at its apex seems to call to me, askin’ me to go inside and sit a spell.  The churches in Sweetwater and Rock Creek never pulled at me like that.  Maybe it’s got somethin’ to do with the atmosphere here.  All these people, all of ‘em devout, all of ‘em workin’ together to make a decent life for themselves.  All of ‘em strivin’ to… well, to be good.  It’s what I want.  Heck, it’s what I need.

So yeah, I expected it to be bigger.  The beautiful part?  Seems like I’d forgotten about that.  See, when you spend a lot of your time on the plains, you can tend to take it for granted.  The desert is the desert, and you don’t pay it no mind, except to make sure that you’ve got water in your canteen.  But now I’m lookin’ at it with a new set of eyes.

The endless sky is a blue deeper than a robin’s egg, seemin’ to float above me like a mighty river.  The clouds sail that river, bouncin’ on the waves, while the tan-coloured earth simmers below, heat cascadin’ from jagged rocks and fissures in the ground.  The mountains stand tall and proud, watchin’ over it all with the stern countenances of judge and jury.  Lookin’ at this wild and stark beauty, I can suddenly see God’s hand here.  Nothin’ so awe-inspiring could be accidental.  

“May we help you, outsider?”

The voice is reasonably pleasant, with just enough of an edge to let me know that the speaker is anxious about my sudden appearance in their not-so-little enclave.  My mouth is dry as I turn, tuggin’ unconsciously at the collar of my ill-fittin’ suit.  

I admit it, I’m missin’ my comfortable linen shirt and jacket, all nicely worn in after wearin’ ‘em almost day and night for over a year!  But those were Jimmy’s clothes… Wild Bill’s clothes.  I burned ‘em after I got this suit.  

I tried to get somethin’ in black, but the mercantile didn’t have much of a selection.  And I didn’t want to make no fuss, or give the storekeeper a reason to remember me.  So the suit I endin’ up buyin’ is light brown, and easily a size too small.  The trousers end a good inch or two higher than they should, and the collar and cuffs are far too tight.  I feel like I’m chokin’ in the danged thing.  All right, maybe some of that is nervousness.  Yeah, just some.  I ain’t entirely chicken, no matter what Cody might think.

I realize I’ve been standin’ there, gawkin’ at the speaker for a good ten seconds without sayin’ a blasted word.  For his part, he’s regardin’ me with a look that’s two parts curiousity and one part trepidation.  He tips his hat back on his head just a little as I finally clear my throat, but whatever I was goin’ to say is interrupted by another newcomer to the scene.

“Aah, but this is not an outsider, Thomas.  This is James.  He is frenka.”

Frenka.  Friend.  I grin and hold out my hand.  “Jacob.”

Jacob takes the hand, his grip cool and firm, the callouses of hard labour clearly evident.  He looks younger than I remember him.   That makes sense to me.  He’s still the leader of the Peacemakers, and he’s still got the responsibility for the well being of the community.  But now his people are here, with him, and I’m sure he’s good at… what did Teaspoon call it?  Delegation.  Yeah, I can see Jacob delegatin’ the heck out of this place.  

Besides, he don’t have Estes printin’ lies and callin’ the Peacemakers devil worshippers and such anymore.  From what I saw of the town, everybody was gettin’ on real good-natured, just like they promised.   So Jacob’s face is still worn by time, but his eyes sparkle with a light I never saw in them before.  Of course, that might be ‘cause he didn’t always approve of me sparkin’ Alice.

I push thoughts of Alice aside as Jacob released my hand and turns his attention elsewhere.  

“Thomas, please inform Mary that we will have a guest for the evening meal.”

As Thomas hurries toward the cluster of white-washed buildings in the distance, Jacob leads me to the base of a slender tree.  The sapling has taken a strong hold in the earth, its leaves already offerin’ a canopy of shade against the blisterin’ sun.  The well-worn boulders at the foot of the tree confirm that this is a popular spot.  I can imagine Jacob bringin’ the kids out here for a little “talk” if they’ve been misbehavin’.  And I can just as easily imagine a young couple sneakin’ out to sit on these boulders and watch the stars.  Bundling’s all well and good, but sometimes a man and his girl need to touch.  Just hold hands and look up at the sky and know that no matter how big and complicated everythin’ looks, they’ve got each other.  

“What brings you back to the Peacemakers, James?”

“Well, first off, I came to bring you this.”  My hand dips into the vest pocket of my suit, withdrawin’ a crisp white envelope.  

Jacob glances at me questioningly as he takes it from my hands and peeks inside.  His eyes widen, then narrow suspiciously.  “There must be…” he flits nimble fingers through the envelope, “several thousand dollars here, James.  Where did you get it?”

My chin comes up.  I want to say that I ain’t offended by the question, but I am.  I’ve never committed a dishonest act in my life, and I surely ain’t a thief.  I thought Jacob knew that about me.  

“I earned it,” I say, tryin’ to keep my voice even.  “I left the pony express and I’ve been—”

Jacob waves a hand, cuttin’ me off.  “If you say you earned it, I will believe you, James.  You owe me no explanation.”

I let out a breath, easin’ down from the irritation that was buildin’ inside.  He believes me, and aside from Teaspoon and the riders, I don’t think anybody’s ever taken me at my word before.  It’s a feelin’ I could get used to.

“No, Jacob, you should know,” I say, kind of surprised to hear the words poppin’ out of my mouth.  I certainly never planned to tell Jacob – or anybody else, for that matter – how I was spendin’ my time since leavin’ Rock Creek.  But before I know it, the whole story is tumblin’ out.   The nonstop search for decent work, the way I finally settled on workin’ the poker tables as a way to earn my livin’, and mostly the mind-numbin’ panic that wormed its way into my gut once I realized that I was never goin’ to be free of Wild Bill.  The terror that a gunslinger was all I was, and all I would ever be.  

He listened to it all patiently, never once interruptin’.  But the thing that I’m most grateful for is that he didn’t judge me.  Not at all.  He just let me spill my guts and when I was done, he laid his hand on top of mine.

Did I say his hand was calloused from hard work?  I guess it was, but at the moment it seemed like the softest thing I’d ever felt.  Gentle, and understandin’, and for a moment it felt like I was back in the old marshal’s office with Teaspoon.  

“And now you have returned to us.  The money will be well used here.  We have need of much in this new life we make for ourselves.  Books for the school; seeds for the crops.  Hymnals for the church you helped to provide.  I thank you for your generosity.  

“But to bring us this gift is not the only reason you have come.  Why are you here, James?”

“I want to stay,” I blurt out.  

“Indeed,” Jacob says gravely.  “You had professed such a wish before.”

I’m shakin’ my head before he’s even got the words out.  “I was different before.  I wasn’t ready.”  The words sound sad and pathetic even to me.  I can only look into his face and hope he understands what I’m tryin’ to say.  

“Everybody’s got this idea of who I am.  And it don’t matter that I ain’t that person.  If I keep doin’ what I’m doin’, I’m goin’ to become that person, don’t you see?  I don’t want to live by the gun no more.  I don’t want to hurt people.  I don’t want to hurt.”  I run my hand through my hair desperately, knockin’ my ugly new brown hat to the ground.  “I need this place, Jacob.  I need—”

“You’ve given up your guns.”

I glance to my hip, where Jacob’s gaze has wandered, then back to his stern eyes.  “Yes, sir.”

“Are you ready to become one in our faith, to abide by our laws, to live by our teachings?”

I gulp, rememberin’ the scene by the stream when Alice was about to take her place in the church.  Rememberin’ the attack by Marcus Scruggs and his gang of hooligans.  Rememberin’ the fear on Alice’s face.  

Honesty is the best policy.  “I ain’t ready to be baptized.”

Jacob nods.  “I admire your candor, James.  What about the rest?”

“Yes, sir.  I want to learn your teachings.  I want to live here, Jacob.”  I take a deep breath, let it out.  “I want to be a good man.”

Jacob rises, and I rise with him.   I imagine there’s a look of confusion on my face, because I sure as heck don’t know what he’s thinkin’.  He gazes out over the fields, the workin’ men and women, the church beckonin’ in the distance.  Then he looks back to me, and smiles.  

“You are a good man, James.  Now, don’t you think you should go see Alice?”

The schoolhouse is set close by the church, it’s wooden walls still untouched by paint or whitewash.  The scent of sawdust still hangs in the air as I make my way to the open doorway, my heart thuddin’ faster than a runaway stallion.  I rest my hand against the doorjamb, peekin’ inside.  Oh, I tell myself that it’s because I need to let my eyes adjust to the dimmer light in the building.  But deep inside, I know the real reason.  If the rampagin’ heartbeat didn’t give it away, then the knockin’ knees surely would.  I’ve never been this edgy in my life.  Facin’ down a quartet of ornery outlaws whacked out on loco weed would be easier than this!

Takin’ a deep breath, I study my dusty boots and try to reason with myself.  It ain’t like Alice has no idea of my feelings for her.  Heck, she felt the same way as I did.  And so some time has gone by.  That’s all right.  It’s not like feelings just disappear once you have ‘em.  They stick around for a long time.  Sometimes for too long.  But they don’t just die… not if they’re real.  

I know my feelings for Alice were real.  ARE real.  When I left James Creek, I tried to pocket ‘em away, believin’ that a good woman like Alice and a good group of people like the Peacemakers had no place in my life.  If I hadn’t had my “revelation”, I’d still be thinkin’ just that.  And the love I feel for Alice would still be hidin’ away inside, like a miser’s precious jewel.  Sure, I’d take it out on special occasions and shine it up, but nobody else would ever see it.    Nobody else would even suspect it was there.  

Now I’ve got the chance to set things right, and my danged legs are shakin’ so bad that I can’t even walk into the blasted school.  

“James?”

My head whips up, shock on my features.  Yeah, I knew she was in the school.  That’s why I walked over to the schoolhouse, after all.  But heck, I was supposed to have time to get my thoughts in order before she just up and startin’ talkin’ to me!  You’d think I’d have had this little scene all practiced out in my head, wouldn’t you?  After all, I had almost a week in between settin’ things in motion for Wild Bill’s “death” and makin’ my way to James Creek.  But I tell ya, there was always some reason to exclude this exact moment in my plans.  I ain’t yellow, but… oh, okay, when it comes to Alice, I’m yellow.  A man knows when to acknowledge his soft spot. I just really don’t want to mess this up.

She takes a couple of steps closer, letting her hand drift along the top of a dark wooden desk.  “It is you,” she says softly.

Her voice is like the chime of rich, pure bells on Christmas Eve.   I hear it, and my mind turns to thoughts of warmth.  Nestlin’ on the comforter of that big bed in the bundling room, tellin’ each other about our lives.  The comfort of knowin’ that I could tell her just about anythin’, and she’d still like me.  The security in knowin’ that she wasn’t about to toss me aside because of anythin’ from my past.  But mostly, her enchanting voice makes me think of love.  Can’t forget love.  It’s almost like I’d forgotten how sweet her voice was, how beautiful the timbre.  Yet as soon as I hear it, somethin’ inside me recognizes it.  Somethin’ in my soul cries out that it belongs to me.  It belongs with me.  

I ought to be sayin’ something, but I just stand there gapin’ as she makes her way along to the doorway, her eyes never leavin’ my face even as her hands continue to gather up wayward schoolbooks from the desks.  She’s only steps away when I finally close my mouth and realize I probably look like a hayseed hick.  Great way to make a good impression.  

I take a quick step forward, findin’ my manners at last.  I reach out to take the books from her arms, my fingers brushin’ along her hand, and the spark that was always there for us flares and burns.  Lookin’ into her eyes, I know she feels it too.

“It’s me,” I finally say.   As an openin’ line goes, it stinks.  But I’m flailin’ here.  There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t want to just be blurtin’ out everythin’ I’m feelin’.  I’ll send the poor girl runnin’ for the hills.

She lets me take the books, thank goodness, points to the cupboard where they belong, then leads the way back outside to the blindin’ sunlight.  

“You’ve changed.”

She means the clothes, of course.  But this is my chance.  The heck with leadin’ into things slowly.  I’m takin’ the bull by the horns and runnin’ with it.  

I glance down at my ridiculous outfit with a smile.  “In more ways than one.”  She nods, takin’ a few steps toward the main house, and my smile falters.   Her long black skirts stir up dust as I stand there, once again slack-jawed.  What the heck is wrong with me?

Comin’ to my senses, I rush forward, touchin’ her arm, callin’ her name.  She stops and turns, and it’s only then that I see the hope in them.  Is it hope?  I believe it is.

“James?”

I push the nervousness aside.  “It ain’t just the clothes that are different, Alice.  I’m different.  I’m not the man I was.  But more than that, I don’t want to be the man I was.”

“I see that your guns are gone.”

Non-judgmental, just like Jacob.  A statement of fact, not praise… and not condemnation either, had the guns still been in their places at my hips.  

I soldier on.  “I talked with Jacob.  I told him… I told him that I want to stay.”

I expect some kind of surprise in her eyes, but there’s just calm acceptance.  Guess she knew what I was plannin’ before I did.  

“Jacob says I can stay,” I continue, knowin’ that I’m talkin’ way too fast but unable to stop it.  “I want to learn to be like you.  I want…”  

I falter suddenly.  Oh, I know what I want.  For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I want.  But I just didn’t think things through, did I?  All fired up with my great plans and my big expectations and my new life.  Me, me, me.  I expected the place to change, but the people?  

Alice is a beautiful woman, a strong woman, a decisive woman.  How could I believe that she’d still be unspoken for?

She brushes at a wisp of hair that’s broken free from the confines of the cap.  The movement is graceful, delicate and utterly feminine, and I feel my knees goin’ weak again.  

“What do you want, James?” she asks gently.

Bull.  Horns.  Ain’t I supposed to be runnin’ with it, or somethin’?

I move forward, closin’ the distance between us, and run a finger gently along her cheek.  “I want you.”

She turns her face into my hand, nuzzlin’ into my palm, and all my fears melt away on the breeze.  But her eyes are serious as she gazes up at me.  “Are you sure?  This time, are you truly ready?”

I focused on my own hurt for so long, my need.  I never really understood how my leavin’ last time must have saddened Alice.  Lookin’ into her eyes, I make a promise to myself right then and there.  I’ll never hurt her again.

“I’m sure,” I whisper.  I want to shout it to the heavens, but all I can manage is a raspy croak.  There’s too many emotions cloggin’ up my throat, tryin’ to spill out.  “I’m sure.”

She smiles, and the force of it puts the midday brightness to shame.  

Good-bye, Jimmy Hickok.  Good-bye, Wild Bill.  

I’ve found my place in the sun.

.