CHAPTER 12
Coming To Terms
Even
Camaraderie
Milk Cows & Meadows
Rosie Ward
GIDEON awoke to the easy rhythm of a horse and the warm afternoon sun on his face. Both were enormously comforting and reminiscent of better times. Then he opened his eyes and discovered that the arm bracing him belonged to a stranger. Every instinct reared up and—
“Whoa. Easy, Gov.”
Aspen Rivers. Gideon did not exactly relax, but he did stop contemplating the many ways to murder everyone within reach.
“Take a deep breath,” Aspen suggested.
“Why?” said Gideon.
“Will you listen to me for once? Breathe.”
Gideon did so.
“Good. Now do you think you could let go?”
Gideon probed his awareness for the location of his hands. One of them seemed to be grasping a fair amount of Aspen’s hair. With a muttered apology, Gideon untangled his fingers.
“No problem.” They rode on some and then Aspen said, “You want to tell me about it?”
“’What?”
“Oh,” Aspen replied lazily, “I don’t know. About the gun, or knocking Ember out cold, or what in tarnation you thought you were doing.”
“Wadda ya mean?” said Gideon, stalling for time until he could clear the fog out of his head.
“You know, if you really want to set me off, you’re on the right path.”
“Don’t look like I’m in no kind-a position for that sort of thing,” Gideon hedged.
“You’re right there. So start talking.”
“Can’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“Simon pure. Honest.”
“Honesty,” Aspen remarked blandly, “now there’s an idea. I don’t believe you’ve tried that one yet.”
“Would you?” Gideon challenged.
“Honesty versus being pummeled within an inch of my life? Personally, I’d go for telling the truth. Quickly too.”
This was probably sound advice. Gideon probably should have taken it. Instead, he applied his elbow to Aspen’s ribs and leapt to the ground in a stumbling run. Two point four seconds later, he was yanked up and flopped over Aspen’s horse like a gunny sack.
“Not exactly unexpected, sunshine,” said Aspen. “You must like riding this way, although I can’t imagine why.”
At which point, Gideon proceeded to demonstrate an impressive breadth of off-color linguistic aptitude. Considering the circumstances, Aspen ignored the flood. In Gideon’s position, he would have been rather annoyed too. He did wonder where Gideon learned such talk. Had no one taught this contumacious, pugnacious– Aspen stopped himself. It was true, so entirely true, however enumerating the various traits that made Gov aggravating only made Aspen want to hit him in hopes, likely vain hopes, of knocking some sense into him.
Truth be told, Aspen had been sorely tempted to knock Gideon flat, but some lessons were too well ingrained to ignore. As a boy, he had become so frustrated with Fort that he hit his little brother, who even then had not been so little, and Pa had expressed his very definite feelings on the matter. It was a day Aspen would never forget. It wasn’t the fighting, it was fighting with your brother that went hard.
The ever-present breeze stirred the subtle perfume of mountain soil, pine needles and stillness. The sunlight had a smell too, thought to describe it would have been impossible. It had a close relationship with red dirt, and waxy scrub brush and, least describable of all, a cessation of time.
Ten miles or so in the distance, playing hide-and-seek between the trees, sat Littleton. It had no real name but, since Caswell Crossing had grown, whenever a body said they were headed for town the next question was ‘Big town or little town?’ hence, Littleton. It was practically a misnomer and definitely overgenerous.
Gideon watched the upside-down image of Henry following along behind them. With heartfelt passion he wished himself in the saddle and far away from Littleton, the Rolling Rivers, and most especially Aspen Rivers. He tried to lever himself up, but Aspen’s hand against his shoulder blades pinned him down. The miles drifted by and he began to feel a vein of foolishness seam through his anger until it was more aptly called frustration and he more aptly felt ridiculous. He braced his elbows against Aspen’s horse and put his chin in his hands. He did not need this, he really didn’t.
On the basis someone had to make a start, and being wise enough to know it would not be Gov, Aspen ventured reconciliation.
“You forgot our understanding,” he said.
Gideon remained resolutely mute.
Aspen tapped him on the back, a gentle knocking on a closed door.
“Look you,” Gideon argued, “I done tooked the opp’tunity as offered. I din’t shot nobody or nothin’.”
“And trying that again will get you clobbered.” Aspen wasn’t threatening, merely stating in clear and absolute terms what the future would hold. “Come a little my way, Gov. Wouldn’t you look out for a brother?”
Gideon scowled. With every step he was being carried farther away. It was ‘back’ to Aspen, but ‘away’ to Gideon– away from the tattered remains of a future that had never promised much color but did run long on hard work. Well, that at least hadn’t changed despite all of Tarlston’s efforts.
“If’n I had me a brother, I’d take up for ‘im,” Gideon muttered. With some heat he added, “But if’n you were in my place, you’d a-done the same.”
Surprisingly, Gideon heard a chuckle.
“Probably,” said Aspen. “And if you were in my position what would you be doing right now?”
Gideon kept shut because, were in Aspen’s position, he would make darned sure the fool who crossed him never tried it again.
“That’s what I thought,” said Aspen. “So about the gun?”
Gideon twisted awkwardly around. “What gun?”
“The one you would have pulled if you’d had it.”
“If’n I din’t a-had it, how could I’ve pulled it?”
“Next you’ll tell me you don’t remember a thing.” Aspen saw chagrin mixed with a trace of guilt dart across Gideon’s face. “Hey, you really don’t remember, do you?”
Gideon went back to propping his chin on his hands. It kept the blood from rushing to his head and gave Aspen less to read. There were some things a fellow should not have to discuss.
“What do you remember?” Aspen inquired.
“Takin’ a bath,” Gideon sulked.
“Glad to hear I made an impression. What else?”
There had been. . . episodes. . . before. Until now, the men Gideon had tangled with never bothered to ask for an explanation of their unfortunate circumstances. From what he had been told, they hadn’t been in a much of a state to ask anything.
Reckon this gent’s a first there, ain’t he?
Shutup.
“Come on, Gov. Talk.”
Gideon knew that inflection. It usually came right before being persuaded by means mischievous or devious to go along with whatever was being demanded. He hadn’t heard it in a long time.
“No,” he refused flatly.
“Three seconds.”
Gideon kept shut.
“Two,” said Aspen.
How much room d’ya fig’r we have here?
“One,” Aspen latched onto Gideon as if to tumble him head first to the ground.
“I don’t never rec’llect nothin’,” Gideon confessed, “Simon pure.”
Now there was something Aspen could believe. “Keep talking,” he coaxed.
Gideon stammered nothing remarkably coherent. There had to be something he could say without actually saying what he did not want to say.
“I swear, Gov, pulling teeth would be easier. Spit it out.”
“I telled ya, I dunno. ‘Me’ sort-a takes a walk an’ somethin’ else takes over. But it don’t never last.”
A startled bird flew up from a scrub oak, its wings making a staccato ft-t-t-t. Gi
deon knew how the little guy felt. He wouldn’t have minded a pair of wings himself.
“What happened the last time?”
“I done knocked a fellah out cold,” said Gideon.
“Why?” Aspen said, clearly determined to excavate every ounce of truth he could pry loose.
“‘Seemed better’n lettin’ ‘im beat my bunkmate senseless,” Gideon replied, with obvious contempt for the unconscious malefactor.
“Who was he?”
“Some tie hack.”
“You picked a fight with a lumberjack?”
“Weren’t me as started nothin’.”
“You just finished it?” Aspen asked doubtfully.
“Now you’re a-catchin’ on,’ Gideon agreed.
“So. . . do you know when a spell is coming on?”
“Nope.”
“And you don’t recall anything?”
Gideon never recalled a single detail about any of his spells and this time was no different. A bit before, a bit after, but nothing during. ‘Firestorms’ he had heard them called. It was as good a name as any. He’d seen a saloon once after he finished with it— fire would have been kinder.
“Way I hear it,” said Gideon, “I got me a habit-a standin’ up for folks. Reckon I’m just nice that a-way.”
“You mean you blow up on some people to protect other people?”
“That’s how the wagon rolls, ain't it?” said Gideon, world traveler and cynic extraordinaire.
Aspen tipped his head, considering the proposition. The idea almost made sense, if you twisted it around and read it backwards. Most people lashed out from pure bruised ego or self-defense. Gideon lashed out to defend others, only nobody had been around this time. So who was he protecting?
“So, what you’re telling me,” said Aspen, “in your round-about and back to front way, is that you’re still after someone for the Harris place, yes?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“That don’t mean—” Gideon levered himself to confront Aspen head-on and grunted as he was shoved back down.
“The more you bluster, the more I know I’m on the right track.”
“Ain’t,” Gideon denied.
“Just because you don’t talk about it doesn’t mean we don’t know about it.”
Anyone who could dedicate themselves to a cause, to the exclusion of all else, for the amount of time that must have been required to track down Nelson, was not likely to give up simply because his target had been shipped across the country. Moreover, Gideon had a tendency to say ‘they’ and ‘them’ rather than ‘he’, a pattern that made certain suggestions to the attentive listener. Not seeing any use in stirring Gideon up, Aspen left it for the time being.
“Tell me,” he said, getting back to the lesson at hand, “are you familiar with Newton’s third law? No? Basically, our esteemed Newton says that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. For your purposes this means actions have consequences. And if you ever lay a hand on anyone in this family again, there will be consequences. Now, promise me you’ll behave and I shall let you up from your ignoble position.”
“Where d’ya get such talk?” Gideon half complained, half marveled.
“Books,” Aspen confessed. “Too many books some say. Now what say you?”
Gideon did not appreciate having to say uncle. Then again, had anyone crossed him, he would have something to say alright.
In clear, small words too, not them fancy things Aspen trots out.
“You an’ that judge, you’re both fancy talkers. Whatall’s pred-lekshun?”
“Predilection,” Aspen pronounced carefully, “means a leaning towards something. Though Judge Forsythe might have better said ‘proclivity’.”
“Why?” Gideon asked, taking the bait.
“Because that means a leaning towards something you ought to leave alone, which suits you far better.”
“You’re right funny, you are,” Gideon groused, fishing a coarse strand of horse hair from his mouth.
“Well?”
Gideon made to lever himself up, but Aspen planted a restraining hand on his back.
“Eh-eh, promise?”
“Reckon,” Gideon sighed.
How we gonna bust out without a-bustin’ noboy’s lip?
Beats the bejazers outta me, but we sure as blazes ain’t a-stayin’.