Beginning, Section II
Jump to new as of October 28, 2000
Jump to new as of January 22, 2001
Jump to new as of January 30, 2001
Author's Note: I would like to clarify--Katarina is supposed to be Catherine Morland, I just needed a Mexican synonym, and Katarina was the closest. Whether or not our own dear Katarina (the slowest writer on Earth) had anything to do with it, I leave entirely to you. =)
Darcy and his men dashed outside to return fire, followed by a few citizens.
"They haven't gone, then . . . " the toaster said with dismay.
"See the gun flashing?" Brandon asked Wentworth.
"No."
"I make it two of them," Darcy speculated.
"Three," Wentworth decided.
"That kid's gonna get his head blown off," Bingley shook his head as Tilney stood up and ran past on of the open arch village doorways in the city wall. There was a gunshot, and Tilney's hat was blown off. He snatched it up again and surveyed it for damages. Two bullet holes! Went straight through! He wiggled his finger through one as he grinned at Bingley, who just shook his head.
"Henry! Stay put!" Darcy ordered.
"Three?" Brandon asked Wentworth.
"Three."
"Colonel, can you see them?" Darcy asked. Wentworth and Brandon had a better viewpoint than he and Bingley.
"They're too far back in the trees!"
Bingley pointed a few yards ahead. "Go and try to make it up to those rocks. I'll cover you."
Darcy nodded and his men moved out.
"Henry, cover the back door," Will ordered as they made their way through the arch Tilney had just ran past, staying low.
Brandon had moved into position on the east wall of the city when three foolhardy boys came running up behind him. The enemy opened fire, and Brandon knocked the boys to the ground.
"Get back!" he whispered. "Get back! Go on! What's the matter with you, don't you hear so good? Huh? Get down and stay down!" he sighed and went back to his post. "Crazy kids, you might have been hurt!"
"So might you!" one insisted.
"It's not the same thing!" he growled. "This is my work." Not very glamorous work, but at least it's action. He sighed again. Action hadn't been enough lately.
"It is our work, too! Everyone tells us 'Hide! Get back! Stay out of sight!' But we're not afraid!"
"He's very brave! It's the truth!" spoke up what appeared to be the second oldest. The youngest remained silent.
"So is he," replied the eldest. "We all are! Every boy in the village!"
"We had a meeting and we drew straws and we got you," he was happily informed.
"You got me? What do you mean, you got me?" he asked angrily, turning from his post again.
"If you get killed, we take the right to avenge you."
"And we see to it that there's always fresh flowers on your grave."
"Well, that's a mighty big comfort." Colonel Brandon replied sarcastically as he re-aimed his barrel back into the hills.
"I told you he would appreciate that!" one said happily.
"Now don't be too disappointed if your plans don't work out." Are they planning on me dying? Glad to know they have such Goddamn confidence in us. I don't plan on getting killed. I still have to go home to Ma-- ... No, I don't have anyone to go home to. Marianne still loves Willoughby, that bastard! But . . . oh, how I wish I could ...
"We won't. If you stay alive, we'll be just as happy," replied the second one.
"Maybe even happier!"
" . . . Maybe," the little boy said doubtfully.
"Can you see them?" an amigo asked Bingley.
"No."
"Do . . . Do your hands sweat before a fight?"
"Every time," Bingley laughed.
"Funny. Hands sweat. Mouth is dry. You'd think it would be the other way around ... Does my talking annoy you?"
"Hmn-Nmnn." Poor guy is scared to death. Doesn't realize I am, too.
"It's because I'm . . . I'm frightened."
Bingley shifted his weight as he leaned against the tree in the dark. This is no time for a heart to heart. "Yeah, guess right about now you're wishing you'd given your crops to Calvera, huh?"
"Yes," he replied a little too quickly. " . . . and no. Yes when I think of what he might do, and no . . . when I remember the feeling in my chest as I saw him run away--from us! That . . . That's a feeling worth dying for. Have you ever felt something like that?"
Bingley had been listening attentively. He hadn't had that feeling since he left Jane. he hadn't had any feeling since Jane. The fights just weren't the same without Jane insisting that he be careful and not get himself hurt. Without Jane fussing over him and giving him that glowing angelic smile when they met again after a job. There's nothing in the world like one of Jane's smiles. "Not for a long, long time ... " He's got someone to fight for,, lucky man. "I . . . envy you."
"What are you doing here?" Henry hissed as Katarina crept up behind him.
"You shouldn't do things like you did!" she cried.
"Go back!" he barked.
"You mustn't take foolish chances!"
He sighed. "All right, I won't. Now go back," he turned back to facing the wilderness.
"Does it hurt?"
"What?" He froze as she touched his bruised cheek where she had slapped him the day before, then relaxed into the caress. What am I doing? "No," he shrugged her off.
"I'm sorry I did it. But I thought . . . You know what I thought ... "
"Yes, yes, I know," he said hastily. Thought we'd carry you off like savages!
"I wasn't afraid of you, it's my father. He says 'Stay away from those men. They are brutes. They are cruel.'"
She's going to get herself killed if she doesn't get the Hell out of here! "He's right! You know that? He's right! Go back home, now!"
She smiled at him and answered tenderly, "He's wrong."
Oh, Katarina! One part of his brain wanted to sweep her into his arms right then, but the other part of his brain overruled it. What are you doing? Enough! If you don't watch your post everyone in the village could get killed! "W-Well . . . go home anyway! Before he finds out you're here."
"He already knows," she replied happily. "He said he'd punish me for being so shameless ... But I don't care." The affection in her tone was apparent and didn't go past Henry's ears unnoticed, either.
"They got them! They got them all!"
"Bluff," Darce corrected as he threw his hat on the table.
"Do you think they'll try that again?" Bing asked.
"I doubt it. Although we're still out there ready to jump them."
"Miguel. Calvera didn't go," one informed the other.
"Did you think it would be that easy?" Miguel asked angrily.
"No."
"What do we do now?"
"Well, what do you say?" Darcy responded.
"Me?"
"Well, we work for you, you know."
"What else is there to do but wait? It's Calvera's move."
"Right. Now you'd better replace the guards. They must be tired."
"If you were Calvera . . . "
"Yes?"
"You'd go away, wouldn't you? If you paid the price we make him pay, you would go ... "
"Yes I would, only ... "
"Only what?"
"Only I'm not Calvera."
"Food, woman!" Henry ordered Katarina.
"They'll be hungry," Bing said as he entered from washing up.
"That was--That was the greatest-- " Henry began as Wentworth entered the house.
"New hat for ya, sonny," he tossed the sombrero on the table as he sat down.
"Hey! How do I look, huh?" Henry tried it on in the mirror on the wall.
"Big improvement," Wentworth laughed.
"Know what? They'll make up a song about me in this hat. Villages like this, they make up a song about every big thing that happens. Sing them for years."
"Think it's worth it?" Darcy asked, sliding into his chair and propping his feet on the table.
"Don't you?"
"It's only a matter of knowing how to shoot a gun. Nothing great about that."
"Hey, how can you talk like this? Your gun has got you everything you have. Isn't that true?" Henry admonished. "Hmm? Well, isn't it true?"
"Yeah, sure. Everything," Bing said seriously. "After awhile you can call bartenders and fair dealers by their first name--maybe two hundred of 'em. Rented rooms you live in--five hundred. Meals you eat in hash houses--a thousand. Home, none; wife, none; kids . . . none . . . Prospects? Zero. S'pose I left anything out?"
"Yep," Darce sighed. "Places you're tied down to--none; people with a hold on you, none; men you step aside for, none."
"Insults swallowed, none," Johnnie spoke up. "Enemies, none."
"No enemies?" Darcy asked.
" . . . Alive," Edward replied. I'll never understand how I'm always convinced to go after a guy, and when I get there he's already dead. It's a blessing for me, but they still insist on giving me the credit. Oh, I hope none of this fool business has reached Elinor. Would she believe the rumors?
"That's the kind of arithmetic I like!" Henry laughed.
"So did I at your age," Darcy dampered him. "Now take these and give them to someone who knows how to use them," he gestured to the pile of guns on the table.
"While you're at it, why don't you ask Calvera what he has in mind for the night?" Wentworth suggested half-heartedly.
"Yes, do that. And I'll write a song for you myself," Darcy promised.
No one noticed the pause as Henry doffed his sombrero and the gleam that came to his eye as he left the house with the guns.
"That's three!"
"Fernando in the plaza."
"That's four."
"Jorge in the pass where they got caught by that cursed net!"
"Manuel. Five and six!"
"Emillio going over the wall."
"Seven."
"Roberto by the fountain."
"Eight."
"Gregorio near the fountain."
Everyone stared at the newcomer wearing a sombrero and chaps. He spoke up to ease the tension. "That's nine!"
"Nine. Fortuno by the water trench. Rico in the fields where they smashed him to pieces!"
"That's . . . ten and eleven. Go on," the new man leaned against a tree.
"Talk! Talk! Talk! They were all dead weight--forget about them! There's still plenty of us here to make them pay," Calvera stood and leaned against the other side of the small tree Henry was on and held out his cigar for him to light.
I'm dead! I'm dead! He's gonna know! Henry, calm down. Breathe! Light the cigar. Act natural! Oh, he's gonna kill me!
Calvera had them! The whole family! Mrs. Dashwood, Margaret, Marianne--wait! Where's Elinor? Where is she?! The three women parted and there was Elinor, laying on the floor unconscious. Calvera was pointing his gun at them.
"No! No, don't do it! Let them go! NO!"
Two men burst into the room with candles. "It's all right! You're all right! You had a dream. Just a bad dream."
Edward awoke and found himself standing in the middle of his room, the blankets twisted around his ankles on the floor.
"Have no fear," one said as Edward sat down at the table.
"Have no fear," he spat, more to himself than anyone else. "My very words. Ten thousand times a day."
"Senior, don't punish yourself."
"A man who has fought so many times. You must have great courage."
"Till the day you lose your nerve. You feel it. And you wait. Wait for the bullet in the gun that is faster than yours."
"Senior, don't."
"And the lies you tell to fool yourself. No enemies! Alive," he quoted himself. "I have lost count of my enemies."
"But you are with friends, now."
"Yes. Coming here to hide. The deserter. Hidin' out in the middle of a battlefield." Edward got sick of watching the three flies circling a crumb on the table. He swiped at them and they all disappeared. He opened his clenched fist, and there crawled one of the insects. "One. There was a time when I would have caught all three."
"We know what fear is. We live with it all our lives."
"Only the dead are without fear."
Only the dead . . . These people say the darndest things to comfort.
"Hugo! Bed!"
"In ten minutes we'll pretend we're asleep and then we'll be back on duty. All right, Juan?"
"Yes," Juan replied. "But not you, Pablo," he patted the back of one of the three kids surrounding him.
"You're too young," his older brother taunted. "Come on!" the three kids ran inside as Darcy exited.
"Colonel Juan Brandon. You've been adopted."
"Yeah, it's my real name," Juan stretched his long legs and replaced his hat. "Mexican on one side, British on the other, and . . . me right in the middle."
"Now watch carefully. Here we go." Moving two at a time, in three swift movements, Johnnie had all the three cups facing upward. "See? All three right side up. Think you can do it?"
"Of course!" a civilian replied. "That's very easy!"
"Would you care to make a friendly wager? A little bet?"
"Senior, you know we have no money."
"Well, it doesn't have to be money. What ever you happen to have hidden away. Buried where Calvera can't find it," he said conspiratorially. "Like jewels."
"Jewels?"
Bing and Darce exchanged looks. Johnnie still didn't believe that they were doing charity work.
"Yeah. They tell me a lot of precious stones have been dug out of the mountains. Opals. Emeralds. Sapphires."
"Oh, yes, yes! That's very true!"
"There's no denying it," the one to his left replied.
"Well, then!" He shoved the cups in front of his new friend who made a valiant attempt. "No, no, you've got it all wrong. When you finish they should all be right side up like this," he redid the trick for them.
"Let me try it again, huh?"
"Uh, about those precious stones. Where are they found?"
"As you say, Senior," he said distractedly, absorbed by the cups. "In the mountains."
"All right, but where in the mountains?"
"That I couldn't tell you," he said slowly. "Ha! I got it!"
"Never mind that, why can't you tell me?" Johnnie pushed the cups out of the way angrily.
"Because. I have never found any precious stones."
"Wait!" the one to his right interrupted. "You mean Aztec treasure buried in the hills from when the Spaniards came?"
"Yeah, that's exactly what I mean!" Johnnie said eagerly. "Aztec treasure! You've found some around here?"
"Would to God we had! I would not be sitting here! I'd be living in a big city in a palace!"
Willoughby groaned. "Well then, tell me this. How come Calvera keeps hanging around here?"
"Calvera! Ha! We've seen the end of him! He'll be gone in the morning," the other said as Tilney walked in.
"No, he will not! He won't go anywhere," Henry grabbed the pitcher of water from the counter.
"Why do you say that?" one asked as he brought him a cup.
"Calvera isn't worried about food for winter. He's worried about the food his men haven't eaten for the last three days. Price of corn is going up. They're starving."
"How do you know?!" he asked before he'd give him the cup.
"Starving and broke."
"How do you know?!" he insisted.
"Oh, I've been up there," he tossed his sombrero onto the table, and Fred glanced up from his cards. "Well, we'd better be ready for them, because they've got a die hard wind."
"If they do win-- " one civilian began.
"They won't win!" another interrupted.
"Are you God that you can say for sure?"
"We're surrounded. Out numbered. What are we to do?"
"Keep on fighting!" Darcy barked.
"You want to see us killed off one by one? That is not what you were hired for!"
"Once you start, there's no stopping! You understood that, and I told him!" one of the original three shouted.
"I don't care! Go away! All of you! Get on your horses and go!"
"Let Calvera have the food!"
"Give him what he wants! At least we'll be alive!"
"Quiet! Listen to me!"
"No! It is easy for them to say fight! They have no sons, no daughters, no wives! Go! Now, before it's too late!"
Will felt a pang at those words. No sons, no daughters, no wives ... "Is that what you want?" Darcy said sharply, standing up. "Answer me! Who's for going on and who's for giving up? I want to know now!"
There was a pause as most of the civilians and all of Darcy's men moved to stand behind him.
"Don't be fools! You'll turn our village into a graveyard! Tell them to go. It's the only thing for them to do."
"I'll tell what I can do," Darcy shot back. "I can kill the first man who so much as whispers about giving up! The very first man, so help me, I'll blow his head off!"
There was no answer as a few more moved to stand behind the leader.
One of the original three addressed the cowards. "We started this fight and we're going to finish it. With or without you."
"I'm not saying we bit off more than we can chew, but I do say this--we oughtta have a serious talk right now along the lines of what we're gonna do," Bing straddled a chair as all of the cowboys, minus Henry, regrouped to discuss the matter at hand.
"We start acting like we had some good sense. Now we figured to raise the ante just enough to make Calvera play somewhere else. Well, we figured wrong," Johnnie replied.
"We didn't figure on being the only game in town," Fred spoke up.
"Well, a man can't call them all," Brandon reasoned.
"I didn't say he could, all I'm saying is sometimes you bend with the breeze . . . or you break," Bingley was looking steadily into the eyes of his best friend. Going into this would be suicide. If there's one thing I've learned from this podunk town it's that I belong home, now. Getting killed would kinda botch that up, Darcy.
"Do you want to go?" Darcy asked just as steadily.
"Well there comes a time to turn Mother's picture to the wall and get out! The village will be no worse off than it was when we came!" Johnnie answered for him.
"You forget one thing--we took a contract," Darcy turned his attention to Willoughby.
"It's not the kind any court would enforce," Bingley pointed out.
"That's just the kind you've got to keep," Darcy said vehemently.
"That's a noble thought. But the way things are right now? I don't know."
"The odds are too high!" Willoughby was still talking in gambling terms.
"Much too high!" Darcy agreed.
"Do we go?" Johnnie asked hopefully.
"No," Will replied quickly. "We lower the odds."
"Right up into the hills. Past the men on guard, and right into their camp," while the other six men were discussing the plan of action, Henry had been . . . otherwise engaged. "I smoked a cigar with them. We discussed a few things. We . . . you know . . . till all of a sudden there was Calvera, himself! Right beside me!" He sidled up to a tree to demonstrate for Katarina, who was looking at him with one thing apparent in her eyes.
"When I brought back the news, you should have seen the look I got from Fred! And from Darcy! They have seen a thing or two in their time and done them, too! They're not men you can impress easily, oh no! But when they looked at me . . . I knew I was one of them at last ... "
Katarina moved closer still to Henry.
"Well. You'd better take a look at me, too. Am I the kind of man who'd live in a place like this? Digging my life away out in the fields? Me a farmer? A peasant?"
Katarina slid her hand slowly up his arm to his shoulder.
"You know what I saying, huh? Where ever they go--Darce, Bing, Wen, the others . . . I go with them."
Her other hand rested on his chest.
"And if you think you, or anything you do . . . could make me change my mind, forget it. I want you to understand that . . . I want you to understand that-- " Katarina looked at him adoringly. " . . . this ... " he finished his sentence in silence as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her soundly. Wowee . . . " . . . It'll get you nothing but this ... " He pulled her the rest of the way to him and kissed her again. And again. And again.
"We're going to hit Calvera. Maybe drive off some of his horses. But then if he attacks, we'll be on foot," Darcy and the others were going over the course of action with the leaders of the village.
"I'll go with you--I know everyone," an amigo offered.
"No, you stay. You're in charge here."
"You can count on me."
"I know I can."
"They've left to hit the village," a villager pointed out as they reached Calvera's deserted camp.
"No. We'd have heard shots," Darcy contradicted.
"They've gone." Bing felt the ashes of the fire. Slightly warm.
The men had no other option than to ride back to the village. They weren't expecting the welcome party, though.
"Buenas nochas," as the seven rode their horses to the stables, Calvera opened the shutters of a home and greeted them. The windows in the surrounding houses opened as well, revealing gun barrels.
They were surrounded.
Calvera exited the house and sat at table outside. "You'll be dead. All of you. Like that." he tried to snap his fingers, but failed. "If that's what you want."
"Do we have a choice?" Darcy asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course. Sit down. Let's talk. Things are turned around now, huh? You're wondering how. Your friends--they don't like you too much anymore. You force them to make too many decisions. With me--only one decision. Do what I say. You should not be surprised. My good friend Solterro, he arranged for me to come in. Comprende? Well, anyway! To business! I could kill you all, you agree?" There was a very long silence as Calvera studied the close-mouthed men. "Well, you don't disagree. Anyway, I don't want to kill you."
"Why so generous?"
"Practical! They hear about it up north, maybe some friends of yours make more trouble for me. I'm a man who never wants no trouble. We have a saying here: a thief who steals from a thief is pardoned for one hundred years. Okay, what does that leave? Only one thing: I pardon you. You ride on."
"Just like that," Darcy snapped his fingers.
"Just like--!" Calvera didn't know how to snap his fingers. He got flustered, but maintained his good will. "I make it easy for you! You want food? Give them food. Water? All right, water. Horses? Saddled and waiting. Guns? The guns--the gun belts you take off and put here, now."
"What happens to these people?"
"What happens to these people will happen to them whether I kill you first or not. Just a little gesture, eh? Show these people who the real boss is. When you go, I give you the guns back. I know you will use those guns against me. Only a crazy man make the same mistake twice."
The men began putting their guns on the table, starting with Darcy.
"What I don't understand is why men like you took the job in the first place, hmm? Why, huh?"
"I wonder myself," Will said.
"No, come on, come on, tell me why."
Bingley stood in front of him, taking off his guns. "Like a fella I once knew back home, one day he took off all his clothes and jumped in a mess of cactus--I asked him the same question, why?"
"And?"
"He said it seemed to be a good idea at the time," he said very deliberately.
The rest of the men placed their guns on the table one by one. Henry, the last, glanced at Darcy as he laid down his belt. What does the fool think he's going to do with one gun? Does he want to get us all killed? Darcy angrily pulled the hidden gun from Henry's clothes and whacked him across the face with the butt.
Calvera grinned. "Good! Go get your clothes, your saddlebags...anything you want--take it. Your friends in there owe you at least that much. Santos! Pick up the carbons. Solo--the guns."
Later, as everyone was packing dejectedly, heads hung, Bingley entered Darcy's room rather unexpectedly.
"You know, the first time I took a job as a hired gun a fella told me, 'Bing, you can't afford to care.' There's your problem."
"One thing I don't need is somebody telling me my problems," Darcy stamped out his cigar.
"Like I said before, that's your problem. You've been involved in this village and the people in it."
"Don't you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?" Will asked wearily.
"The reason I understand your problem so well...is that I walk the same track myself." Bingley has finally captured his friend's attention. Darcy looked up quickly with question in his eyes. "Yeah. First day we got here I started thinking. Maybe I could put my gun away, settle down, and get a little land. Raise some cattle. Things that these people know about me? The credit wouldn't work against me. Just didn't want you to think you were the only sucker in town." Bingley turned to leave. "You know, Darce...I know you still think about her. I still think about her, too. Those Bennet women are sure hard to forget."
For the first time in my life, I'm on a team with seven of the best gunman in the West. And we lose. To a bunch of Mexican bandits! What a joke. I suppose we're supposed to be happy we're still alive. But defeat? Bah! Aw, what are we good for, anyway? We don't do anything. We kill people, that's all. Used to pity the farmers, when all along they had everything I've wanted. Ah, d**n it all! D**n it all to Hell!
Three boys surrounded the grouchy cowpoke packing his saddle bags.
"Can we go with you, Juan?"
"No."
"You like us, don't you?"
"I guess so."
"You're one of us, aren't ya?"
"Yeah, I'm one of us all right," he said gruffly. Do they have to keep reminding me I grew up in one of these blasted border towns?
"Take us with you, please?!"
"No!"
"We're ashamed to live here! Our fathers are...cowards. . . "
Juan glared at the child for an instant before throwing him over his knee and giving him the spanking of his life.
"Don't you ever say that about your fathers, because they are not cowards!" He paused for a moment. "You think I am brave because I carry a gun? Well your fathers are much braver because they carry responsibility! For you, your brothers, your sisters, and your mothers! And this responsibility is like a big rock that weighs a ton. It bends them and twists them until finally is buries them under the ground. And there's no body that says they have to do this. They do because they love and because they want to.
"I have never had this kind of courage. Running a farm. Working like a mule every day with no guarantee will ever come of it.... This is bravery!" When he continued it was more to himself than the wayward boys. "That's why I never even started anything like that. That's why I never will!"
An hour later, at the gate of the town...
"You'll do much better on the other side of the border. There you can steal cattle. Hold up trains. All you have to face is jail...marshal...Once I rob a bank in Texas. Your government get after me with a whole army! Whole army! One little bank. It's clear to me--in Texas, only Texans can rob banks! Ha, ha!" Calvera's little joke didn't receive even a snicker--not even from his men. "Adios!" he barked.
Dawn...
After riding all night, the henchmen drop the guns and the seven hired guns are free.
"I could have told you they'd sell us out! Farmers...Farmers! All they care about is their precious crops and their miserable dirt they dig in. I hate 'em. I hate 'em all," Tilney grumbled as he dismounted and snatched up his gun. God knows what they'll do to Katarina. Poor girl. She can't look after herself, and her pa's awful mad at her for sneaking off. She's liable to get hurt with Calvera's men in town--they thought we'd-- !!! They can't do that to Katarina! That poor girl!
"Sure you hate them," Darcy sighed, claiming his as well. "Because you come from a village just like that one. You yourself are a farmer." I can't just start this and then leave them to be killed or starve to death. I've never left anything unfinished in my life, if I could help it.
"Yes. Yes, I'm one of them. But who made us the way we are, hmm? Men with guns. Men like Calvera and...men like you. Now me. So what do you expect us to be?"
There was a pause as Wen slid from the saddle and buckled his gun belt. "Nobody throws me my own guns and says run. Nobody." No way in Hell am I letting someone defeat me who hasn't even fought me properly.
There are men down there who feel the same way about their wives as I do about Jane. I can't let Calvera take it over simply because we're outgunned and outmanned. "Took me a long, long time to learn this outfit...but now I belong back in that border town sleeping on white sheets," Bing grabbed his gun and loaded a few shells. "Gonna ride back to that village."
"You're crazy, all of ya!" Johnnie protested. "They won't lift a finger to help. Think of the odds!"
I wouldn't have let it happen to my old town, I can't let it happen to somebody else's. Besides, those fool boys will probably get themselves killed talking back to Calvera. "Johnnie, nobody's asking you to go back," Brandon jumped off his horse and seized his sling and ammo.
"Ride on, Johnnie. It's all right," Darcy said, not turning around.
"Bet your sweet life I will," Johnnie said grabbing his gun. "Come on, Edward. They wanna get killed? Let 'em."
"Go ahead, Ed. You don't owe anything to anybody," William finished buckling his gun belt with his back to the men.
If he had turned around he would have seen Ed leaning against his saddle horn, looking as if a sudden realization had swept over him. "Except to myself." If I don't do it now, I'd be a coward the rest of my life.
"You're crazy! All of ya! Come on, let's go," Johnnie shouted to his horse, steering it away from the village. "Yah! Yah!"
The six men remaining mounted and set off back down the mountain, their jaws set stubbornly, and their eyes filled with grim determination.
The six men began to sneak into position. Bingley was at the stables; a man glimpsed him, and Charlie fired the first shot. They know we're here, now. Won't be long before the action starts.
Might as well take them by surprise while I still can! Henry was peering through a window of a hut. Katarina was serving a few gunmen breakfast in the smallest portions imaginable. If they lay a hand on her, I swear I'll-- Just as he was thinking that, one of the henchmen grabbed Katarina and tried to pull her into his lap. Without thinking, Henry barged through the front door, fired three quick shots at the three henchmen, and ran out the back door.
Wentworth was standing behind one of the barricades they had erected, still undiscovered, slyly shooting Calvera's men when they least expected it, as they headed off to fight Darcy or Bingley or someone else they could see.
Bingley was still in the stables, shooting from every vantage point.
Darcy had been moving from spot to spot all over the town square. He knew Wentworth was picking them off one by one as they went after him, so he tried to lead them into better positions.
Bingley was climbing out of one of the stables to go after the men he saw heading for the forest, only to be shot in the leg. As he fell back he fired two shots at the men running away and hit both. He clambered to his knees and managed to knick the man who had shot him, but not kill him.
Colonel Brandon was having a heyday picking them off from his spot on the roof. Unfortunately, he didn't see the one coming up behind him.
But that man failed to notice the horse hooves coming up behind him at a steady pace.
"Don't worry, Brandon! I've got him!"
"Johnnie!" He came back!!
There were two simultaneous shots. Calvera's man fell back into the trough, and Johnnie fell off his horse.
Darcy and Bingley saw what happened and dragged Willoughby into a nearby house Darcy had emptied out moments ago.
"Darce," he gasped.
"Yes, Johnnie?" he responded, laying Willoughby's heavy body on the floor gently.
"I hate to die a sucker. We didn't come here just to keep an eye on corn and chili peppers, did we? There was really something else all the time, wasn't there?" he begged.
Darcy paused, then smiled sadly at his friend. "Yes, Johnnie. You had it pegged right all along."
"I knew it!" Johnnie began choking on the blood gurgling in his throat in his excitement. "What was it?"
"Gold."
"Ohhhh . . . sounds beautiful." he relaxed. "How much?"
"At least a half a million."
"How much a piece?"
"About seventy thousand."
Men were now trying to kick through the barred door.
"Well, I'll be d**ned." Johnnie didn't have the energy to cough one last time. His breath caught in his chest, his lungs filling with blood, and he finally let his head roll to the side as he dreamed of all the gold his buddies would share.
Calvera's men were still trying to come through the door, but Darcy looked through the window. Calvera himself! He shot through the glass and hit him in the chest, as Bingley shot holes through the door. Sunlight steamed through the bullet holes in the wood of the door onto the peaceful face of Johnnie.
Darcy took one last look at his friend, thinking of his last words. "Maybe you won't be."
I have to go. I have to do it. This is my last chance to prove myself. May God have mercy on our souls! With a shout of pure adrenaline, Edward kicked the door down and disposed of the five inhabitants with four shots. Shaking, he peered around the door frame looking for other men to mark. He had done it. He had done it and he would continue to do it until the whole bloody mess was over with.
Citizens began pouring from their homes with chairs, shovels, axes, plates, knives, anything they could lay their hands on.
Henry, who hadn't had time to reload his gun in all of the confusion, was fighting fist to fist one of Calvera's men. Katarina spotted his losing battle from her window and dashed outside, breaking a chair over his head.
"Katarina!" Henry shouted in surprise, then collected himself and shot the man coming up behind her with the dead man's pistol.
"Henry, you came back!"
"Yes, now get back in the house! Go! Shoo!"
"No! I want to fight! I can help!"
"For the last time, get back in that house before you get yourself killed!"
She refused to move, so Henry picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder, and ran to the house across the street, only to see another henchman mounting Henry's horse. He hastily set her down in the doorway, and ran after the fleer. He tripped up the horse so that it fell onto it's rider and punched the man for good measure as he pulled the horse back up, then mounted it himself.
Darcy was exiting the house; the action was dying down. Calvera had propped himself against the support beam of the porch--he was not yet dead. Darcy drew his gun instantly, but soon realized that Calvera was no longer a threat.
"You came back. To a place like this . . . "
Darcy made no answer, standing tall above him.
"Why? Why?! A man like you. Why?!"
Will placed his gun in his belt as Calvera drew his last breath.
"Juan! Juan!" Three eager little boys ran up behind Colonel Brandon.
"No! Now get back! Come on! Get back!" With one swoop of his arm, he knocked down all three of them, but at the same time, exposed enough of his body from behind the barricade to give the others a good aim.
"Juan! We didn't mean to do it! We didn't mean to do it!"
Brandon was lying on his stomach, hand covering the bleeding shoulder, looking at the decaying battle. "See? I told you. See your fathers?" There was a moment of silence as he gathered his strength. "What's my name?" he demanded gruffly.
"Juan!"
"Juan!"
"Juan!" they each cried.
I'm one of them. "You're d*mn right."
Three little boys began howling as their friend's head slumped to the ground.
Everyone stepped out into the square as the last of the men rode off into the hills. The escapees numbered not more than ten. Calvera was dead. The war was over. The village had won.
Darcy stepped down from the porch and surveyed the damage. There were about nine dead civilians that he could see. Two of the three amigos that had first sought him out were among them. But he saw no wounded women--nor children, for that matter.
"War is never pretty," Wentworth approached him. "Not even when they dress you up in fancy coats and uniforms and call you a soldier. I haven't decided what's worse--soldier or hired gun. Soldiers are pardoned by the government for their killings, but only you can pardon yourself. Doesn't matter a G-dd*mn bit what the President thinks. Either way, you lose."
Two weeks later . . .
"You could stay, you know. They wouldn't be sorry to have you stay."
"They won't be sorry to see us go, either."
"Yes," he admitted. "The fighting is over, your work is done. For them each season has its tasks. If there were a season for gratitude, they'd show it."
"We didn't get any more than we expected, George," Bingley spoke up from the saddle.
"Only the farmers have won. They remain forever. They are like the land itself. You Magnificent Seven, you helped rid them of Calvera the way a strong wind helps rid them of locusts. You're like the wind--blowing over the land . . . and passing on . . . . Vio con Dios."
"Adios."
Six men astride horses paused at the top of a hill overlooking the border town, one looking especially woeful.
"Adios," Darcy laughed.
Tilney's head jerked up in surprise, but he grinned. "Adios."
The five remaining watched as he tore down the hill at break neck speed, only slowing once he had gotten to Katarina's house. She was sitting outside, shucking corn with her back to the street.
"The old man was right," Darcy said. "Only the farmers have won. We lost. We'll always lose."
Henry slowly ascended the porch steps. Katarina froze as she sensed his presence. She dropped her corn and whirled around to see Henry grinning like a fool, unbuckling his gun belt and slinging it over his shoulder. He hadn't used his gun for long, but it was enough-- he was hanging it up for good.
The men in the distance chuckled as she ran into his arms, each feeling keenly the desire to be Henry at that moment.
"You know, Darce," Bingley cleared his throat. "We don't have to lose."
"I think we all know it's about time we traded in our saddle blankets for linen sheets," Wentworth spoke up. "Not because we're saps, but because . . . because the whole d*mn country is being 'civilized.'"
"Not to say we aren't saps, though, because we certainly are," Edward grinned.
"Oh, no, of course not," Brandon agreed. "But just maybe being a sap isn't that bad after all . . . . "
"Maybe not."
Darcy, who had been previously studying his saddle horn very closely, cleared his throat, suddenly entering the conversation. "You know, Bing . . . I was . . . wrong. She . . . Jane always loved ya."
Bingley glanced up at his friend with surprise, but then smiled. "I know."
Darcy's eyebrows almost shot off of his forehead.
"I think I always knew."
Edward and Jonathan glanced at each other.
"Yep," Brandon answered the unasked question.
"All right, then," Ed cleared his throat, too, and sat up straighter in the saddle.
Wen pulled his reigns taut. "Let's go!"
Five horses were suddenly kicked into a full-blown gallop.
"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhaaaaawwwww!!!!!" echoed through the mountains as five men, formerly hired guns, rode off into the sunset, anticipating with joy what would happen when they finally arrived home.
"Where are you headed, Wen?" Darcy asked. The other four men had been discussing their plans animatedly thus far, but Fred had remained silent.
"The coast of New Jersey. Her family is there every year 'round this time."
"Jersey!" the cowboys cried in despair.
"The crowded cities?"
"The smell!"
"No room to breathe!"
"A bunch of sissified men parading around in the latest fashions while you're in that getup?"
Wen couldn't help but grin. "If Anne will have me, we'll move back out West. At least to Illinois. Get a ranch or a farm. Something on the old Mississippi."
The best friends halted where their journeys separated, already having parted with Wen, Ed, and Brandon.
"I'll see you at Netherfield by Thanksgiving, Darcy. Agreed?"
"I'll be there!"
"Where are you headed, now?"
"Home! I have some business to attend to before I go back to the Bennets."
"Me, too. I'm going to finish building that extension to Netherfield Ranch I've always been talking about just how I think Jane will like it, while I'm waiting for you!"
"We're in this together, Bing. Don't go jumping the gun!"
"I'll be in Denver overseeing everything or at the Ranch building, don't worry. Take care, Darce. See you at Thanksgiving!"
"You too, Bing," Darcy pulled in the slack reigns. "Yah!"
"So, when are you going to ask her?" Brandon questioned as casually as possible over lunch.
"I-I-I . . . I wish to be established before I offer myself to her."
"You are established--you're a bloody Ferrars! You may not have an occupation, but you have the means to support her. Stop whining and go!"
"Al-Al-Alright," Edward replied gloomily. "I'll go."
"You'd think someone had just forced ya to go back to Georgia."
After a slight misunderstanding was cleared up between the Dashwoods and Edward concerning his marital status, Elinor ran outside sobbing with relief, and Edward, at a loss as to what to do, started back to Delaford Ranch. Except that after about two minutes of riding, he came to his senses and galloped back in search of his run-a-way lady love.
"Elinor, please," Edward softly walked up behind her and placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder. She sniffled and his heart ached to wipe her tears away. He gave in to the urge, though her back was still to him. "Elinor . . . I . . . met Lucy when I was too young to know any better. If . . . If I had gone into a profession, I never would have been so foolish. What I did at the Norland Plantation was very wrong, but I convinced myself that you thought of me only as a friend, and it was my heart alone that was at stake. I . . . I don't expect you to forgive me, El. I . . . I just wanted to tell you that . . . that my heart has always been, and will always be . . . yours."
Elinor had maintained her silent, shaking posture until that moment, when she finally turned to face him, searching his eyes for truth.
Edward lovingly wiped away a few tears on her cheek with his thumb. "Please marry me, El," he begged in a deep, husky voice.
The expression on her face was one of relief and delight and love. He hoped he could always keep her feeling that way. Their life together would certainly be magnificent. "Yes! Oh, Edward! Yes!" Elinor was in his arms and she loved him. Nothing else in the world mattered as he planted kisses on the top of her auburn head, working his way down to her lips.
"What does it feel like, being an old married man?"
"Feels pretty fine, old man. You know, if there's one thing I learned from that border town, Brandon, it's that you've gotta take risks, or you'll never forgive yourself," he hinted, with a lack of subtlety.
"Yeah," the Colonel replied half-heartedly.
"You know, Marianne is staying the month with us, so she'll be here for awhile. Why don't you come home with me? Have supper with us? El and I are going for a ride around the perimeter to make sure everything is in order and see how the new church is coming along. Marianne won't want to do that and she'll get rather bored staying at the house all by herself for about two hours. You should keep her company. Talk to her. We all know how you both like to tickle the ivories, maybe she could show you a few new tunes."
"I get the point, Ed."
"All right, all right. Where's your horse?"
"In the corral."
"Well, then? Go get him, man! You've waited too many years already--do you want to be too old to hold your children?"
"Children?!"
On Fred's first day in New Jersey he procured a few suits that were most uncomfortable, but less conspicuous than his duds. He set up lodging with old friends of his family, and proceeded to discreetly ask around about Anne Elliot. Was she in town? Was she single? Did she turn many heads? Had she had any offers? Was she well? Had she married?
It was only his second day in the city when he discovered all of the answers in person.
He was escorting the two daughters of his friend about the town, acting the part of a good guest as they gave him a tour, since he had been away so long. They had been watching the fleet come in as it started to drizzle, and the women wished to take refuge in a nearby shop down the road. It was then that he spied Anne standing before the very store on the walk with a gentleman and two women, evidently arguing a point.
She should not be out in this weather; she shall catch her death! Even when she's frustrated, she's beautiful . . . .
To Wentworth's dismay and pleasure she entered the shop as the two women entered the carriage and the man--William Elliot! he knew he had recognized him--bustled away.
He presently entered the shop with the two young women, mortified at how it must look to Anne, who busied themselves with looking at laces until the rain subsided. Fred could not help but stare at the beautiful woman before him. How he had missed her and longed for her! Oh, for her to grant him a smile--just one--just for a moment!
Their eyes locked and their meeting was now inevitable. Common manners dictated that they must greet each other, and Wentworth, not wanting to send the wrong impression by merely bowing, moved closer to speak with the woman he so truly adored.
He soon understood the situation outside--the women had been arguing over who should walk, each being equally complacent and amiable. But in the end, Anne had won. Anne always won. It was one of the things Fred admired most about her. He was more than willing to lose to her every single day for the rest of his life.
Wen cautiously offered to be of assistance--to call a carriage.
"I am very much obliged to you, but I am not going with them. The carriage would not accommodate so many. I walk: I prefer walking," she explained hesitantly.
"But it rains." Frederick tried to mask his utter concern for her health.
"Oh! very little. Nothing that I regard."
She thinks of nothing as a hardship, whereas some women would throw fits if they had to walk in the rain. But not my Anne. No, indeed.
"Though I came only yesterday, I have equipped myself properly for New Jersey already, you see;" Wen informed her as he wielded his umbrella, "I wish you would make use of it, if you are determined to walk; though I think it would be more prudent to let me get you a carriage."
She declined eloquently as she absently took the umbrella from him, insisting that, "I am only waiting for Mr. Elliot. He will be here in a moment, I am sure."
And indeed, at that moment he arrived, causing Wentworth to scowl menacingly, then fix his eyes on Anne.
Have I any hope, Anne? Grant me one bit of assurance!
As Mr. Elliot took her arm in a familiar way, Anne glanced back with a smile to Frederick, handing him the umbrella. Wen stood, rooted to the floor in the shop near the door.
As soon as Anne was out of earshot, the young ladies Captain Wentworth was accompanying began singing her praises loudly, and thoughts of the eager William Elliot--the biggest pantywaist this side of the Rockies--boiled in his mind.
Jonathan saw Elinor and Edward off, then paced in front of their ranch house for the next fifteen minutes, Marianne's piano playing driving him insane with desire, his thoughts running this general course: I can't . . . I must! I love her! But she doesn't love me! Well, that might not be true, but she never did before, why would it change? I'm an old man! But if I don't try I'll never know! He snatched a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and looked over Shelly's verse once more.
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle.
Why not I with thine?--
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?
Why didn't I just stick with "She Walks in Beauty..."? Why did I have to make it complicated?
Running over the lines once more, he stuffed it back in his pocket and knocked cautiously at the door.
The heavenly piano music seeping through the door reached the next movement, and was ended by a few rippling chords. Marianne was never one to leave a song unfinished. She had been playing "Pachebel's Cannon", which was a good sign--it meant she was in a calm mood. If she had been playing Beethoven's 5th Symphony, Brandon would have prolonged his entrance until she moved to something . . . more . . . placid.
The door was opened presently.
"Good evening, Jonathan. Come in, won't you?" she greeted warmly as he stepped inside and doffed his hat.
After five minutes of strained non-sensical proprieties, Brandon, being on his best behavior, finally--figuratively, of course, bit the bullet.
"Marianne . . . " The fountains mingle o'er the ocean . . . . "There's something I would . . . I would like to share something with you, if I may. I . . . " No--The fountains mingle by the ocean . . . . "I have had something weighing on my mind for some time now, which I would like to speak to you . . . about." No! The fountains mingle in? the river? No!! With! The fountains mingle with the sliver--River!
"Of course, Jonathan! You should have come to me, directly--I will always help you!"
"That's what I'm hoping," Jonathan mumbled.
"Pardon?" Marianne asked, catching only the mush of the ground together words.
"Nothing," he hastily replied. He collected his thoughts for a moment, looking pensively at the fire as Marianne waited patiently. Once he had quickly and successfully recited the poem in his mind correctly, he glanced at the lady sitting in the chaise next to him, and apprehensively knelt in front of her. He almost lost courage as her brow furrowed momentarily, but continued stalwartly.
"M-Marianne . . . The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet devotion;" he coughed. "E-Emotion . . . Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle. Why not thine be mine?--Why not I with thine?-- See the mountains kiss high leaven--Heaven And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its mother;--brother;"
Thankfully, Marianne did rescue him. She understood his purpose. As encouragement, she took his hands in hers and held them to her heart, softly reciting the words with him.
"And the sunlight clasps the earth And the moonbeams kiss the sea: What are all these kissings worth If thou kiss not me?"
"Marianne-- " Brandon whispered. "I fear I've waited too long, already. I love you too much to put it off any longer--I shall go mad without you . . . Please . . . Please marry me."
The beautiful Marianne slid to her knees so that they were facing each other, hands entwined between them. She straightened her posture as much as possible to be the few inches taller and met his lips with surprising tenderness and passion.
They still remained with hands clasped between their bodies, lips joined, kneeling in front of the fire, when Edward and Elinor returned from their survey of their new homestead.
Elinor had tactfully opened the door without a sound so as not to intrude, if anything were happening, but Edward, figuring that his friend had gotten the task completed some hour and a half ago, made no fuss over being silent. Finding them thus, in front of the fire, he involuntarily uttered, "Good God! It took this long? Elinor, we should have ridden down to Brandon's corral and made sure everything was in order there, too."
"Edward!" Elinor made no hesitation in chastising her husband with a gentle nudge in the ribs.
"Ouch! Okay, we can go do it now. It will take extra time to saddle up the horses and brush them down again, anyway."
The newly betrothed couple had scrambled to their feet upon the entrance of their family, but had not opened their mouths until now.
"No, no--don't go," Brandon laughed. "As you may well suspect, Marianne and I are going to be married."
Over the years that Edward had known Brandon, he had seen him smile often. But those smiles could never hold a candle to the current grin on his face. He was positively beaming. The joy radiating from the couple was so brilliant that it outshone the blaze behind them.
The home was filled with laughter and tears as family members hugged new family members and congratulated each other, heartily.
Darcy had been riding hard for two days and nights and was extremely saddle weary, but gradually scenery had become familiar, again, and he had become more alert. His excitement was mounting, and as he passed a boundary divider and caught sight of an ancient maple tree in the distance, one could see him visibly brighten as he urged his horse into a full gallop. Only two more miles to go!
In a few more miles, he veered onto a shaded, grassy lane that led to the top of a hill, on which a sprawling ranch house was situated very comfortably. Pausing at the bottom of the hill to take everything in--the perfect condition of his home, the cattle grazing in the pasture to the left . . . He was seized by an irrepressible urge, and instead of riding up to the steps of his luxurious home, he rode to the right, reigning in when he reached his goal, and prepared to dismount.
Weeelllllllll . . . Eldorado needs to cool off, too! He grinned as he scratched his horse's neck, then rode him straight into the lake, even out to the middle, where El had to swim. Riding clear to the other side, and giving Eldorado his lead, letting him wander, graze, drink, swim, whatever he wanted to do, Will remained in the water, jumping, tearing off the articles of clothing that were hindrances, and giving the horse his hat to wear. For the next half hour he swam from one end of the lake to the other and back again, over and over, enjoying the feeling of the cool, clean water, on his hot, travel worn skin.
After his relaxing dip, he bathed in the sunshine with a piece of grass between his teeth, talking to trusty old Eldorado, who was grazing next to him.
"It's going to be a new start, Eldorado," he sighed. "I was stuffy and hard-nosed before--Elizabeth was absolutely right. But I tell ya, El. Those months on the road, just wanderin', being completely alone . . . well, except for you of course . . . at first it's great. The independence, being completely self-reliant, not being tied down to any place . . . . You get jobs--start to get recognized for your abilities. Bigger odds of losing out. The excitement and the action are . . . unlike anything else in the world! But then one day you get a job with roots. And everything changes. You remember your own roots, and if you stay there long enough, you begin to want your old roots back. Happens to the best of us. Look at Wen! Best knifeman this side of the world, and he's off and gone to New Jersey! Stuffy old New Jersey full of cities and rude people who wouldn't know a deer from a buffalo." William sighed and rolled over. "Yep--it's good to be home, El."
He eventually began reassembling himself, but the noon day sun beating down on him was just too tempting--Will had only gotten his shirt on and half way buttoned before he jumped back in the lake for another half hour, before his hunger pains drove him out again, half-mad for one of his housekeeper's sandwiches.
Leading his horse to the corral, on the other side of the house, looking at the scenery, and whistling any random tune that popped into his head, Darce failed to notice the one and only Elizabeth Bennet, strolling across the lawn. She failed to notice him, as well, which led to them being much to close to each other, when they finally spotted the other, to run and hide.
"Lizzie Beth!"
"Willia--Mr. Darcy!"
Great Scott, did I just call her Lizzie Beth? Did she just call me William? No. Almost! Is that a good sign? Be on your best behavior! Lord, look at me. Wet as a duck, with grass in my teeth! So much for making good impressions!
What he was unaware of, was that Elizabeth had been completely taken off guard mostly by his casual appearance, and not his merely being there. She had never seen him so relaxed and happy! It was such a magnificent change, that she thought him more than twice as handsome as when she first met him. The thought of what he must think of her, intruding into his home, drove her to scour the ground with her eyes most studiously.
Darcy seemed likewise interested in his boots, which he had failed to put on, as they were still dripping wet.
"We have been touring the countryside," Elizabeth explained.
"Ah, yes. H-Have . . . " Darce lost his train of thought and changed the subject. "You have been well?"
"Yes," she tugged on her bonnet ribbon.
"And your family? They are well?"
"Yes." The stupidness of not attempting her own half of the conversation overtook her, and she continued, "I am here with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. My aunt grew up in Lambton, near here."
"Yes, Lambton. I've been there," Darcy replied awkwardly, glancing at her flushed face and falling in love all over again. There was a moment of excruciatingly painful silence. "Your-Your family is all well?"
"Yes."
The uncomfortableness of presenting himself in his present dripping state came to mind again. "You must excuse me for a moment."
"O-of course. . . . "
It was all William could do not to run into the house. He would have, too, if he hadn't realized he was still holding Eldorado's bridle. Upon reaching the front porch, the ridiculousness of taking a horse onto one's front stoop foremost in his mind, he slapped the horse's hindquarters and sent him off in the direction of the corral.
Upon closing the door as casually as possible, he bellowed, "Mrs. Reynolds, I'm home early!" as he tore up the stairs to his own bedroom, desperately hoping that his clothes hadn't been eaten by moths. Mrs. Reynolds was always to be relied on, though, and as he hastily buttoned the cuffs of a fresh shirt and pulled on an old pair of boots, the old housekeeper knocked on the door.
"Master Darcy? You're home already?"
"Yes, yes!" he shouted. "I have to get ready! Where's a tie?!"
Mrs. Reynolds prepared to fish an old tie out of the closet. "There's quite a nice lady outside, Master Darcy. An acquaintance of yours, I believe. She seemed a very nice sort, Master Darcy."
"Damn the tie, I'm going outside!"
Darcy ran down the stairs, took two deep breaths at the front door, and exited his home to see Elizabeth's uncle getting in their buggy.
"Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, Miss . . . Elizabeth, you aren't leaving already, are you? You haven't seen the grounds yet, I believe. Let me show you round to the river. Mr. Gardiner, do you fish?" the words came out of his mouth in an unstoppable stream, and upon reflection, he wasn't even aware he had uttered them.
"Indeed I do, sir!" Mr. Gardiner said, eagerly climbing down from the carriage.
"Let me show you, then. Are you staying near here?"
"We've been visiting Mrs. Gardiner's hometown of Lambton-- "
"Lambton!" he replied more calmly. "I used to run to and from there as a boy to climb the maple tree. Of course there were plenty of other trees nearer by, but this one has perfect branches. Low the ground, thick, sturdy limbs, and soft bark."
"By the old church!" Mrs. Gardiner interjected.
"Yes, that's it."
"The tree must be ancient. My oldest brother broke his arm climbing that tree. It never stopped him or the other six of us from climbing it afterward, even though our mother threw a fit every time she learned we'd been up it."
"Will you be staying long?"
"We plan to lodge in Lambton for a week, traveling here and there to renew old acquaintances and see some of the prettier views that can be afforded."
"Oh, then you've come to see the bluff on the north border of the property-- have you?"
"Yes, Mr. Darcy. A pretty piece of land, that is."
"One of my favorites. If you have any spare time while you're here, come fishing. No need to send notice--I keep tackle and poles in the shed by the bend. You're more than welcome to them. I haven't been home until very recently," That's an understatement! "but when I left, the river was chalk full of trout."
"Thank you, Mr. Darcy!"
"Just Darcy, if you don't mind." The river came into view and Mr. Darcy dropped back in step with Elizabeth and engaged her in a much easier inquiry than their previous discourse.
After Elizabeth and her relatives had departed, Darce analyzed every possible word uttered and every possible meaning of every possible word uttered. He continued on his own tour of his grounds in deep thought, never taking in the splendor of the piece of nature that belonged to him, unlike Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
A trying time later . . .
Anne was conversing with Captain Harville on the consistency of men and women, defending her sex. Did she realize what she was doing to him? Wen pushed the letter aside and grabbed a new sheet of paper. He had to do something! Their discussion was unbearable--her defense acute. But he had to let her know! He hardly knew what he was about as he began scribbling away, still listening intently to their conversation.
I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you be such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me that I am not too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to New Jersey. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in . . .
He could not go on. It was time to leave. There was so much to say, though! He hastily scrawled FW across the bottom, then quickly scribbled:
I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter you father's house this evening, or never.
Folding it and unintelligibly writing Miss A. Elliot on the front, he slipped it under the ink pot, intentionally left his gloves on the desk, and proceeded out with his friend. Three minutes later, barely able to breathe, Wen returned to claim his gloves, caught Anne's eye, and slyly showed her the letter, sweeping out of the room, knowing that his fate had just been decided, though he could not yet know the verdict.
Fred paced the street outside the building after making his excuses to his friend. Up and down, across and back. He never made the second loop though, for just as he was crossing the street back to the house, Anne came through the door on the arm of Captain Harville. Her face was taught. Pale. Cautiously, Fred proceeded towards them, and was employed by Harville to escort Anne home, in his place. She was feeling poorly. He complied, and soon Anne was on his arm--Harville out of sight.
"Anne, I . . . " his tortured voice whispered. "Have you . . . ?" he could not finish.
"Yes," was her instantaneous reply. The look in her eyes expressed her every emotion, and Fred clasped the hand the was resting on his arm tightly, as they proceeded down the busy lane, deep in conversation.
"Howdy, Mrs. Bennet. Miss Bennet. Ladies." Charles doffed his hat and sat stiffly in the offered chair by the jittery Mrs. Bennet. His tie was choking him and he fidgeted with it as he looked nervously from one friendly face to the other, finally forcing himself to look Jane in the eye.
"You have been away a long time, Mr. Bingley," Mrs. Bennet began civilly, yet shrilly.
"Yes, the fellows and I were helping out a border town that had trouble with some bandits."
Jane blanched slightly. Bing was still staring at her. If it had been possible, Charlie would have thought she had only grown more beautiful in the months that he had been away. But she had always been perfect.
"Oh, how dangerous! Why, you might have been killed!" Mrs. Bennet began fanning herself.
"Wasn't much, ma'am," he looked down at the hat in his hand.
"Mamma, why are you winking at me?" Kitty asked innocently after a moment of silence.
"Winking? Why would I wink at you? But now that you mention it, come with me, silly child. I have something I need to speak to you of. You too, Mary."
The two girls obediently rose and followed their mother out of the room.
Bingley was left in the parlor with his Jane . . . and Lizzy. He truly admired Elizabeth, but at the moment he wished her miles away. She seemed aware of it, and moved from her place next to Jane to the end of the sofa, and faced the window.
"I--I w-- " Bing was saved from saying anything embarrassing in front of Lizzy by the clumsy entrance of their servant, Hill.
"Miss Lizzy, your mother . . . wishes to--to speak with you."
"I-- " she began to protest.
"Right away, Miss."
Elizabeth sighed, cast a wistful glance at her sister, and set aside her embroidery, following Hill out the door, without forgetting a cheeky grin towards Mr. Bingley on her way out, who returned it, finally relaxing.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Charles sighed and looked at Jane, who seemed about to burst into tears.
"Miss Bennet . . . "
"Mr. Bingley. Welcome home," Jane rushed in a whisper, trying to maintain her countenance.
"Jane," Charles began gently.
She gasped at his use of her Christian name and the hand that had bridged the space between them, and was making its way towards her own fingers.
"Jane, I thought of nothing but you while I was away."
She couldn't reply.
"Why did you go to the border town?" she finally mumbled.
"A few villagers made their way into Texas, met up with Darce, and begged him to round up some men to help them."
"Oh? I . . . I didn't know you had been with Mr. Darcy."
"I hadn't. We'd met up by chance earlier that day."
"And . . . and who went along? Not just you and Mr. Darcy?"
"No, no. Had some of the finest guns west of the Mississippi on out team. Seven of us. It was magnificent."
"Was anyone hurt?" Jane asked worriedly.
Charles nodded solemnly, remembering the jovial rake. "Johnnie Willoughby died saving Jon Brandon's life. Brandon was shot u-- " he changed his words, realizing Jane had a look of alarm on her face. "Brandon was injured in the shoulder and the leg. Fred Wentworth was scraped up a bit. Ed Ferrars was grazed; Henry Tilney and Darce were fine, though . . . . "
"And you?" Jane looked into his eyes with her own, large, worried, brown ones. "Were you hurt?"
"A little. Nothing much."
"What was it?"
"Oh, I had a bullet lodged in my leg. But everything's all healed up, now. It was fine before we left the town."
"How long were you there?"
"About a week of preparations and fighting, then another two weeks to celebrate and heal."
Silence. "You have been building on to Netherfield Ranch. Why would you do that if you will be heading out on the range again, soon?"
"Who told you I was going back out there?"
"Well, I assumed-- "
"Today will decide whether I'll be staying."
"Oh."
"Do you like the new addition?"
"It is very beautiful. If I had a ran-- Yes, it's lovely."
"Jane, I . . . I don't want to talk about my house or that border town down South anymore. I . . . I want to tell you something. Ask you something."
She couldn't respond.
"Jane, I'll never forgive myself for leaving you and running off for these past months. But . . . But I realized something when I was in that village-- "
"I thought you didn't want to speak of the border town, anymore," Jane was apparently as surprised as Charles was at the words that escaped her mouth. She clapped a hand over her mouth. "I--I am sorry, Charles . . . . "
Bing drew her hand from her lips and softly kissed her fingertips. "Please don't apologize. We've both changed much over the past six months, Jane. I was going to say . . . That I realized something during this last fight. I realized that . . . that I didn't want to . . . to sleep in the rain on the hard trail with my boots in the fire, eating fish every morning for breakfast, anymore. That I didn't want to hurt anymore people." He kissed her palm, "That I wanted to sleep on white linen sheets in a soft bed in my home. And most of all," he folded her fingers over her palm. "That I didn't, under any circumstances, anymore," he moved to sit beside her on the sofa. "No matter how much I like my horse," Charles brought his face closer to hers and grinned. "I don't want him to be my only companion, anymore."
"You mean you're not . . . you're not going to fight anymore?"
"Never again, Jane," he pressed his forehead against hers, and she closed her eyes. "I'm trading in my saddle blanket for those white linen sheets."
"I don't own any white linen sheets," Jane whispered. She was so confused, she couldn't think, much less control the words that came out of her mouth. Charles was so close, so intoxicating, but she didn't want to get her hopes up, again. She didn't want to lose him, again.
"I can fix that." Charles interrupted her thoughts and her mind went blank as his lips pressed against hers, and, much to her surprise, she felt her own lips responding happily.
When they parted, Charles suddenly grinned, and jumped up from the couch, then kneeled in front of her, clasping her hands to his heart.
"Miss Jane Francis Bennet, will you please marry me?"
The color rushed back into Jane's face and she laughed. "Yes."
Charles stood up, still holding her hands. "Jane, will you marry me?" The freedom of finally saying it!
She giggled again, "Yes!" as she kissed his own hands.
Charles pulled his Jane, his Jane, to a standing position, and, hands clasped between them, faces inches apart, asked in wonder and awe, "Will you marry me?"
"Yes," Jane whispered back, as Charles kissed her again.
It was thus occupied that Elizabeth found them not thirty seconds later.
"Oh! I beg your pardon," she began to duck out the door, again.
"No, Lizzy! Wait!" Jane called her sister back into the room, laughing.
Jane and Charles looked at each other Charles headed immediately for the door. Elizabeth had always know Charles to be a happy person, but the smile he had on his face as he closed the door behind him would have cracked a looking glass.
"It is very fine out this morning. Shall we take a walk into town?" Bing suggested anxiously, offering Jane his arm as he addressed the other occupants in the room, praying that Mrs. Bennet would not deign to join them.
"Yes, indeed," Wills promptly responded, standing and offering Elizabeth his own arm.
"Yes, go, go!" Mrs. Bennet shooed them away, but not before ruining any hopes Darce may have had in gaining Elizabeth all to himself. "And take Kitty with you! Mind the dirt, now, the rain has made the roads soft."
The party left, and after much strained small talk, Kitty begged to be off to the Lucas's. Both Elizabeth and William gave a silent sigh of relief as she departed down the lane, but remained in awkward silence for a few minutes more, walking with their hands behind their backs, eyes studying the ground.
They began speaking at the same time.
"Mr. Darcy, I wa-- "
"Elizabe-- "
"Please, continue," Wills prompted.
"I want to thank you on behalf of my family for everything that you have done for my sister Lydia. I know you made Wickham marry her. I-- Lydia accidentally told Jane and I, and then I persuaded my aunt to finish the story. If the rest of my family knew, I know they would thank you, themselves. We are forever-- "
Fitzwilliam had been busy during the month that Bingley took to redecorate his home, yes, but he had never intended for Elizabeth to discover his work. "I wish you had not known. But if you must thank me, Elizabeth . . . Please, speak only for yourself. I promise you, whatever I did, you were ever present in my thoughts."
"I-- "
"Elizabeth, if your feelings have changed none since I insulted you at Rosings, please tell me. I know you would not lie to me if you did not care. My feelings have remained constant."
"I . . . Fitzwilliam, I apologize for everything I said that wretched day. I was terribly wrong . . . and . . . and I find that my feelings on that particular day are quite the opposite of what I . . . what I feel now."
Only then did they cease walking. Wills quickly turned to look at her, his face filled with fear, yet full of hope. "Dearest Lizzie Beth, do you . . . ? Could you find it in your heart to-- " he held one of her trembling hands in firm grip.
Not until then had Elizabeth realized his passion, his . . . his love for her. She quickly reassured him. "I already do."
Will's face cleared instantly and he breathed deeply. Without thinking, he knelt down in his new suit in the middle of the muddy lane.
"Fitzwilliam, your clothes!" Elizabeth had been far from oblivious to his fine appearance that day.
"D*mn the clothes! Elizabeth Bennet, will you marry me?"
A weight lifted from her heart, and she felt lighter than air as she started laughing aloud. "Indeed," she calmed herself, but could not repress her grin. "Indeed, Fitzwilliam Darcy, I believe I will marry you!"
"And gladly?" he grinned.
"Joyously!" she tugged on his hands so that he would stand.
It was now Darcy's turn to laugh, and he did, with relief and joy and giddiness, as did his love. The newly betrothed couple was still giggling when Darcy finally wrapped his arms around his Lizzy's waist and kissed her soundly.
Unaccustomed to being mauled in public by the high and mighty Mr. Darcy, she pulled back. "What will people think?" she gasped.
"And when have you ever cared for what others thought?"
Elizabeth grinned. "You are right again, William. How foolish of me." This time his kiss was met with equal, if not exceeding, ardor.
With special thanks to Theresa for being kind enough to translate this into Spanish for me.
"Una carta! Una carta!" "A letter! A letter!" a little boy ran down the only street of the town waving a white envelope in the air. It was the first time in his life that mail had been delivered to the small border town, and he was going to deliver it!
"Para quien es?" "Who is it for?" people shouted from their windows. "Como llego aqui?" "How did it get here?"
"De quien es?" "Who is it from?" others shouted from their doors. "Quien lo traye?" "Who brought it?"
The lanky ten year old didn't answer; he continued running until he reached the outskirts of town and a newly erected house.
"Una carta! Una carta!" "A letter! A letter!" he yelled as he jumped up the front steps, the entire village straggling behind.
A weary, but happy and beautiful, young woman with long dark, curly hair, wearing a lovely shawl of the finest material around her shoulders--a gift from her doting husband, no doubt, and her hands resting comfortably on her swollen belly, slowly exited the house.
"Que es esto, Louis?" "What is it, Louis?" she asked, taking the yellowed envelope from the young boy. She recognized her husband's name on the paper and called inside, "Henry! Hay una carta para ti!" "Henry! A letter for you!"
Her young husband quickly exited the home he had built with his own hands and sat on the porch swing, urging his wife to do the same, as he turned the paper over worriedly in his hands. Mail in a town like this one almost guaranteed bad news of some sort.
"Louis, quien traye esto?" "Louis, who brought this?"
"Un hombre en caballo, vestido en traje Americano." "A man on horseback wearing American clothes."
Henry raised his eyebrows, and finally tore it open. As he read the brief message, a smile washed over his face.
He stood up as George strolled calmly over to him, and announced, "Nuestros amigos regresan." "Our friends return."
George smiled as he read the brief note.
Henry--Look to the hills--the Magnificent Seven ride again in double saddles at day break.
The End.