Post by qohart on Feb 14, 2009 18:08:00 GMT -8
Thank you to Apple and Pet. Without their help, encouragement and writing/editing skills, this story would still be a thought.
As usual, I don’t own the characters, I just love them.
The Night of the Soul’s Fire[b/]
by Cris Hart
He sat in the swing on the front porch, the gentle swaying of it as he rocked back and forth, easing his mind. It was the early evening of a mid August day and, for once, the humidity was low, the temperature warm and comforting, instead of hot and oppressive. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and let the memories come forward.
He was a child, traveling through Europe with his parents and the Shakespearean Company they worked for. He remembered the hours of studying with his father and the other men of the company, lessons in mathematics, literature and music filling his time between rehearsals. He also remembered the nights during the performances, playing in the streets and alleyways with the children of the towns they stopped in.
He learned the languages quickly and the trades of the urchins even more quickly. Madrid, where he learned to fence, Paris, where he learned to fight, Rome, where he learned to gamble, Krakow, where he learned to steal, and St. Petersburg, where he honed all these learned skills and was caught for the first time by the police who dragged him back to the theatre by the collar and presented him to his parents, black eyed and bloody nosed. He’d confessed everything, all the scalawag ways he’d picked up over the years while his parents were otherwise occupied with rehearsals and performances. His backside had been warmed that evening before plans had been made to immediately take him home to the United States.
The earliest memory he had of this house and the swing, were from his tenth year. Left in the charge of his aunt while his parents traveled with an American troupe, he’d been in a fight the first day at school and knew when his father found out he would be punished. Hadn’t he just recently confessed similar transgressions and promised to change?
His aunt had already done her part by spanking him as though he were a baby and he’d sulked on the swing for hours before being sent to bed. The memory now brought a smile to his lips. He should have been smarter and accepted his aunt’s spanking with grace instead of trying to complain to his parents upon their return. The tanning he’d gotten from his father far outweighed the humiliation of his aunt’s few slaps to his backside.
This was the swing where, a few years later, he’d told his father about the new girl at school, Lily, whom he liked. Now tall and lanky, he’d overcome his childhood roughhouse ways and mastered a new art. Always unfailingly polite, he’d developed a charming personality to go with it and was generally well liked. He’d replaced using quick fists with using his equally quick mind and tongue to sidestep arguments and defuse situations that would lead to fisticuffs. There had still been occasional fights and he bore the scar from one on his forehead. However, they were now a rare thing.
He’d asked his father’s advice on how to approach Lily to ask her to the upcoming Founder’s Day picnic. He’d been flabbergasted when his father had explained the facts of life to him in answer. He already knew that. He’d seen stallions covering mares, and even little children knew what the dogs around town were doing. That was common knowledge and not what he wanted to know. He wanted to know about the feelings this girl brought out in him. He wanted to know how to ask her to the picnic so she’d say yes.
He’d sat in the swing confused and disheartened, still not knowing how to ask the pretty new girl to the picnic. Then his mother had come out and given him the answer he sought. She’d calmly explained to him the proper way to ask the girl out, how to speak to her, how to treat her gently, politely, like he’d always been taught. Like a gentleman.
And now his memories jumped forward to his 41st year, to a night much like this one, a few months before he’d officially become James West’s partner.
He could almost hear the slight creak of the screen door opening. This was a strong and poignant memory and he relived it in his mind as though it were taking place now.
His mother joined him on the swing as he stopped its momentum so she could sit next to him. Automatically and with great love, his arm went around her thin shoulders and drew her close.
“Everyone has left,” she said to her son.
“I know. I just saw Miss Mara and her husband David to their carriage. They have a long trip ahead of them. It was good of them to come,” he answered quietly.
“She’s your father’s best friend’s only child and she loved your father very much,” his mother sighed.
“Mmm,” he commented absently.
They sat in silence a while, as he rocked the swing slowly, his long legs pushing it back and forth.
“I miss him already,” she began to cry softly and buried her face in her son’s shoulder as the sadness took her over. “Oh, Artemus, what will I do?” she sobbed quietly.
“I know, mama, I’ll miss papa too. And you’ll be all right, I promise. I’ve asked Aunt Mae to come and stay with you,” he comforted, speaking softly into his mother’s fine white hair. He felt her nod her assent and kissed the top of her head as a lump of emotion silenced him.
After a while, the quiet of the evening soothed both their hearts just enough for them to sit comfortably together as the sun began to set. The air was so soft it felt like a caress and was disturbed only by the call of a jay in the distance and the whirring of the katydids in the trees.
He rose and took his mother’s hand. “Do you want to come inside?” he asked.
“No, I think I’d like to sit a little longer, Artemus. Will you stay with me?” she asked him forcing a small smile.
Artie shook his head. “I think you need to have a few minutes alone. Besides, I expect there are a lot of dishes waiting to be done, ma’am. I’ll take care of them and start a fresh pot of coffee. You just relax,” Artemus replied kissing his mother’s hand and smiling back at her.
And now he came to the present, four years later, as he heard the screen door creak open then close softly.
James West found his partner seated, head back, eyes closed, the swing moving rhythmically, slowly, a small smile curling his partner’s lips upward.
“Artie,” Jim called quietly, sitting on the parson’s bench under the window.
“I’m awake, Jim,” Artie answered not opening his eyes. His memories had brought back unbidden tears as he’d remembered the day he’d buried his father. He needed to take a moment to get his emotions under control.
Jim watched his friend, not wanting to disturb whatever mood had him at that moment. He leaned back and just listened to the sounds of the world of the sun as they silenced for the night, while the sounds of the moon’s world crept in. The bird’s chirping gave way to the chirruping of the crickets and the peeping of tree toads. The katydids continued whirring day and night. The quiet peacefulness lulled and enveloped the agents, as comforting as a blanket. Finally Jim broke their reverie.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a hushed tone. It almost seemed wrong to speak in a louder voice.
Artie drew in a deep breath and turned his deep brown eyes to his partner. “Fine, Jim,” he answered simply, the smile still playing at his lips.
“What were you thinking about?” Jim wondered if it was too personal a question.
“Ah, just memories.” Artie patted the porch swing with both hands, “This swing holds a lot of memories for me,” he replied and fell silent again.
“It was good of your mother and aunt to let me stay here on our break,” Jim changed tact when Artie did not expound. “She sure was surprised to see you,” he grinned.
“She was, wasn’t she,” Artie’s smile became as broad a grin as Jim’s.
Artie seemed reticent to actually converse. His smile faded as he turned to look out over the 16 acres of wooded land that made up his childhood home.
“I really need to make more of an effort to come out here when we’re in town, Jim,” Artie mused aloud.
“You come out when we’re not tied up on a case,” Jim told him studying the curious mood his friend seemed to be in.
“Not really. You know I don’t, I know I don’t. If I have any spare time, I more often than not call on a woman for dinner or the theatre,” Artie’s eyes narrowed, his expression serious. He was still staring off at a distant spot. “Selfish,” he murmured mostly to himself and shook his head slightly.
“That is not a word I would ever use to describe you, Artie,” Jim answered seriously.
Artie looked at him and gave him a quick smile. “That’s because you’re my friend.” Then turning serious again, “But it really is selfish of me. I’m not going to have my mother for a lot longer you know. She’s not a young woman. And look at this porch. It’s in dire need of a few new floorboards and a coat of paint. In fact the whole house could use some work,” Artie observed, waving an encompassing arm.
“Well, we’re here now, Artie, and I know for a fact you’re pretty handy with hammer and nails and paint,” Jim grinned at him, “And I’m no slouch either. We can knock out these repairs and painting in a day or two.”
Now it was Artemus who studied his partner a moment. “You’d do that for me? Help me get the place in shape? I mean we only have three days off you know. And it’s been a while since you’ve had the opportunity to have three days to yourself,” Artie asked earnestly.
Jim leaned over and patted his friend’s knee. “What are friends for, Artie?” he asked still smiling. “I like your mother. She’s made me feel welcome every time I’ve been here.” Jim stood and opened the screen door to the house then turned back to his partner, “Besides, one day we may be doing the same for my parents,” he winked then disappeared into the house.
“Thanks, Jim,” Artie replied knowing Jim did not hear him and also knowing Jim would think it unnecessary. He sat a few minutes longer, planning how best to complete the tasks over the next few days.
WWWWWWWWWW
After a quick breakfast the next morning, the agents made a trip into town to purchase the supplies they needed then set to work.
They started by cutting and pulling up small trees and brush that had encroached the dooryard and around the house. The heat and humidity of August in the Washington area had returned full force so that by mid morning both men’s shirts clung to their hot, perspired bodies. They repaired shutters, patched the roof, and just after the noon hour, began to paint the house, Jim working at the back, Artemus at the front. By now both had stripped out of their shirts, uncomfortable in the drenched cloth. Their good-natured banter flew between them and helped pass the time between one task and the next.
“Boys,” Sara Gordon called to them from the porch, “would you like some lemonade?” she held a tray with a pitcher and two glasses. She was joined by her maiden sister, Mae Wicks, who held a tray of sandwiches.
“I would,” Jim called eagerly from his position at the back of the house. He slid down the ladder without using the rungs and walked toward the front of the house, wiping his brow with his forearm.
“Be right down,” Artemus agreed and carefully climbed down onto the porch roof then took a second ladder down to ground level.
The men, glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration, stepped up onto the porch and gratefully accepted the cool beverage. They downed them quickly and Sara refilled their glasses.
“Now you two sit a minute and have some lunch,” Mae insisted in her best stern voice.
“Yes, Aunt Mae,” Artemus smiled planting a kiss on his aunt’s cheek and picking up a sandwich.
“Yes, Aunt Mae,” Jim mimicked taking a sandwich and leaning in to give her a friendly peck.
“Oh, you two. Get away from me,” Mae feigned disgust, “Hot, sweaty boys,” she mumbled as she put the plate on the low table in front of the bench under the window, where her nephew and his friend sat munching their sandwiches, and went back into the house.
Sara put the pitcher on the table as well and sat on the swing. She fanned herself with the small tray that had held the pitcher, not looking toward the two bare chested men and sighed audibly. Artemus silently rose and retrieved their shirts from the post at the bottom of the porch steps. He tossed Jim’s to him and pushed his arms into the sleeves of his own. They pulled the shirts closed but did not button them.
“Sorry,” Artie murmured apologetically to his mother.
Sara turned from her gazing toward the road at the end of her property and smiled at the men sitting on her porch. Her son and his best friend, both handsome and considerate gentlemen. “I appreciate all your hard work,” she told them gratefully, “But why?” she asked.
“It was Artie’s idea,” Jim said swallowing the last bite of his sandwich, “I’m just helping.”
“It needed to be done, mama, and I don’t get out here often enough,” Artie answered.
“So it’s guilt?” Sara teased, raising her eyebrows.
Artemus choked on the bite of food in his mouth and washed it down with a swallow of lemonade. “No,” he stated emphatically, then reconsidered, “Well, yes and no.” How does she do that! How is it she can still reduce me to an indecisive schoolboy? he thought.
“Well, which is it? Yes or no?” Sara smiled knowing what her son was feeling and enjoying the teasing.
Jim sat back and watched the exchange with a smile. It was not often he had the opportunity to see his silver tongued partner flustering over words. He picked up another sandwich and bit into it.
“It’s both, mama. It does need to be done and I do feel guilty for not getting back here as often as I could,” Artie explained reddening and looking down at his hands.
“I know you’re busy, son, and I know you have a life of your own. You needn’t feel guilty,” Sara let him off the hook. She’d just meant to tease him, not make him uncomfortable.
“That’s all as it may be, but I should come visit more often when we’re in town,” Artie answered. He looked up at his mother and saw the twinkle in her eyes. “Aw! That’s not fair!” he cried as he understood she was not serious.
“I just wanted to tease you, Artemus. I know it’s difficult to do all the things you intend to do.”
From behind the screen door, Mae harrumphed, “We all know which road is paved with good intentions.”
“Mae,” Sara warned her sister.
“Well, its true, Sara. Artemus is your only child and he should visit more often. Face it, we’re getting on in years and can’t maintain the house alone,” Mae insisted.
“Mae, stop it,” Sara said sternly, “I won’t have you making Artemus feel bad when he only has two more days to visit. I think it’s very nice of him and James to help us out like this.”
“Mama, Aunt Mae, please don’t fight. Not over this. I’m sure you can find plenty of other things to argue about,” Artie shot a look at his aunt that was both playful and a warning for her to stop upsetting his mother. “I wanted to do this, mama, and I can’t get back often enough to keep up the place. But I’m going to see to it that you have help,” Artie had picked up another sandwich but now made a face and put it back down. He stood and went back down the steps.
Jim frowned slightly. He hadn’t realized how badly his friend felt about this. He made a mental note to talk to him later. He had nothing to feel guilty about. They had very little time to visit their families, or for much of a personal life of any kind for that matter.
“Well, back to work,” he said pleasantly to Artie’s mother with a bright smile as he rose.
But Sara looked upset. “James, I’d like to speak to you after dinner tonight, if that’s all right,” she said softly.
“I’d be glad to,” Jim assured her and left the porch, peeling out of his shirt again.
“Mae,” Sara called as she gathered up the remains of the lunch, “We have to talk. Right away, please.”
WWWWWWWWW
After supper, Artie volunteered to clean up the kitchen. Mae agreed and offered to dry the dishes as he washed. Genial barbs flew between the two as they set to the task.
Jim followed Sara out onto the front porch. Sara turned to face him.
“Will you take a walk with me?” she asked pleasantly.
“Of course,” Jim answered and offered his arm.
Sara smiled brightly and took it, leading him into the dooryard then down the gently sloping drive toward the road.
“James, I know you are Artemus’ best friend in the world. I want to ask you something,” Sara began.
“Anything,” Jim replied.
“Is he happy?” she asked simply.
The answer came quickly and honestly, “Yes he is. Why do you ask?”
Sara did not answer his question. Instead she continued, “I mean in his life, not just his work. Is he happy with his life?”
Again the answer was the same, “Yes,” Jim told her then stopped walking. He stepped in front of Sara and looked down at her. “Why do you ask? Do you think he’s not? Has he said something to make you think that?” Jim’s stance told her he would not allow her to not answer his questions.
“No, he hasn’t said anything,” Sara answered and stepped around Jim to continue walking, forcing Jim to follow. “It’s just that he is 45 and not yet married. I just want to be sure he’s not lonely, I guess,” she said softly. “In those matters, he’s always kept his own counsel, well at least since he was 12,” she glanced over at Jim flashing him a smile.
“I don’t think Artie’s lonely, Mrs. Gordon. He has many friends, female included. I think of him as a brother, and I’m sure I’d know if he was lonely. He enjoys his work and his life,” Jim answered seriously. “Is there some reason you have a concern?” he ventured carefully.
Sara stopped and hugged herself as though she was chilled even though the night was warm. “He’s going to be alone, very soon,” she told Jim looking him directly in the eyes.
“What do you mean?” Jim asked feeling his heart skip a beat.
“I have cancer,” she stated bluntly, “I’m dying,” Sara replied, releasing a breath she had not realized she was holding.
“What?” Jim was incredulous. “I’m so sorry. How long have you known?”
“I found out just a few months ago,” Sara responded.
“When?” Jim had to ask.
“Just a few months, certainly less than a year,” she stated evenly.
“Does Artie know?” Jim asked quietly, positive he knew what the answer would be.
Sara shook her head. “Not yet,” she said just as quietly, “I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t know if I should tell him. What do you think I should do?” she implored.
Jim was stunned. He had no idea how to answer and told her so.
“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t think I’m the one to tell you what to do,” he said feeling frustrated and so very sad. Sad for Sara who knew she was dying and for Artie who did not. He also felt sad for Mae who was losing her sister and would be left to the kindness of a beloved nephew.
“You are Artemus’ best friend,” Sara repeated, “You told me you think of him as your brother. That tells me you care a great deal about him and at this point in his life, you know him better than anyone. That’s why I wanted to talk to you before deciding,” Sara was shaking now but not from cold. It was nervousness and fear.
“I have to think about this, Mrs. Gordon. There is no easy answer,” Jim offered. It sounded weak, even to his own ears, but he honestly did not know how to advise her. “Artie is sure to be devastated by your death whether he knows in advance or not.”
Sara winced at that. “He’s a strong man, a good man, I know that. And I know he will survive without me. But he is a man who feels deeply and is affected by what happens to those he holds dear. That’s why I was asking if he is happy or lonely. If he has the support and help of friends, I can convince myself he will be all right and I can have at least that bit of peace before I go,” she said wistfully. Then, smiling up at him, she took Jim’s arm and led him back toward the house. “I thank you for listening to an old woman. If you come up with any words of wisdom, all I ask is that you share your thoughts with me.”
The rest of the walk back to the house was in silence. At the porch, Sara turned and looked out at her land. “It’s beautiful here,” she sighed and ascended the steps with Jim. “Please don’t say anything to Artemus,” she asked Jim.
“Don’t say anything to Artemus about what?” Artie asked from the deep shadows of the porch where he sat on the swing.
Sara startled at the sound of his voice. “Artemus, it’s not polite to eavesdrop,” she said more harshly than she intended.
Artemus stood and came to them. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was sitting here on the porch minding my own business. Can I help it if you spoke in front of me?” he smiled through feigned indignance.
Sara burst into frustrated tears and hurried into the house. Artemus watched his mother’s retreating back a frown creasing his brow in confusion.
“I didn’t mean to make her cry. My God, I’ve never done that before in my life,” he sounded shocked.
“It wasn’t that, Artie,” Jim told his partner soberly.
“Was it whatever you’re not supposed to tell me? Is that what’s put her in tears so easily?” Artemus wanted to know.
“Artie, I promised,” Jim started.
“No you didn’t. You didn’t answer at all because I interrupted. Now what’s going on?” Artie demanded.
“Don’t you pick on him, Artemus Gordon!” Mae admonished her nephew coming onto the porch, “He didn’t make your mother cry.”
“Aunt Mae,” Artie stared from his aunt to Jim and back again, “Do you know what this is all about?”
Mae did not answer. “What did I say? Mother has never been so sensitive as to cry when we’ve disagreed on something even if my tone wasn’t the best,” Artie tried to understand. Again he got no response from either. He chuffed out a small nervous laugh and tugged at his left ear. “Look, you’re both scaring me a little.” When he was met with the same silence, he barked, “Will someone please tell me what it is that you’re not supposed to tell me?”
Mae lost her temper, “Your mother is dying!” she spat out knowing she was being unreasonably cruel but could not stop.
“That’s not funny!” Artemus whirled toward his aunt his face twisted with fury.
Mae’s face was stony and she did not flinch from him. Artie turned toward Jim who was looking down, suddenly finding the floorboards extremely interesting. Without another word, Artemus stormed into the house, the screen door flung open so hard it nearly pulled off the hinges. They heard him call to his mother as he took the stairs to her room two at a time.
“I didn’t mean to say anything,” Mae told Jim, suddenly calm. “Especially not like that.”
“I know,” Jim answered. “I’m sorry, Miss Wicks, for you and Mrs. Gordon. It’s a horrible situation all the way around.”
“Its better it’s out in the open. I told Sara she had to tell her son, but she didn’t want him to suffer,” Mae answered sorrowfully. She put her hand on Jim’s shoulder and squeezed lightly, “I’m glad Artemus has you as his friend. Help him through this, James.”
“Of course I will,” he answered softly, “I promise.” He felt terrible and could not imagine what the conversation upstairs was going to be like.
WWWWWWWWWWW
“Mama,” Artemus entered his mother’s bedroom without knocking.
“Since when do you enter my room without knocking, young man,” Sara tried to sound stern.
“I’m sorry,” Artemus apologized quickly and came to sit on the edge of her bed. “Is it true? Is what Aunt Mae said true?”
Sara had been lying with her back to the door but now turned to face her son. “What did she say?” she demanded.
“She said you’re dying,” he answered bluntly, still unable to believe and absurdly hoping it was a viscous prank.
Sara sat up and moved to sit next to her son. She hooked her arm in his and held his gaze with tear filled eyes. “Yes it’s true,” Sara said with quiet resignation.
Artemus looked and felt as though he’d been slapped. “No,” he shook his head.
“Yes,” Sara countered softly. “And it will be all right,” she added in a small voice.
“No,” Artemus repeated, “It’s not possible.”
“I’m so sorry, dear. I didn’t want you to hear it this way,” Sara started.
“Mama,” Artemus took her hands in his and pulled them to his face, kissed them, “Please, tell me. How? Why?”
Sara saw the tears welling in her son’s eyes and it nearly broke her heart. “Do you remember when you were just a little boy and your grandmother died,” she asked.
“Yes,” Artie admitted, shaking his head in confusion, “Cancer of some kind. Female troubles, everyone said,” he recalled.
“Well, I have the same thing,” Sara answered simply trying to lessen the blow.
“But you’re my mother, and with the exception of a very few years with Aunt Mae, you’ve always been here raise me,” Artemus shook his head morosely. How absurd he thought that sounded.
“But you’re grown now,” Sara tried for a small smile.
“I know I’m grown, that’s not what I mean. I mean,” once again Artemus Gordon found himself fumbling for words, “What will I do now?” he asked quietly.
“I asked you that very question a number of years ago when your dear father died and you told me I’d be all right. And so will you, my dear, dear son,” Sara extricated one hand from his and caressed his cheek.
“How long?” he asked kissing the palm of the hand he still held.
“Not long. A few months, maybe a year,” Sara told him.
And now his tears fell, unstopped, unashamedly. He bent his head and let them come, as he felt empty inside. His stomach knotted as he wept.
Sara leaned closer to him, wrapped an arm around him and rubbed his back between the shoulder blades as she’d done when he was a child. Then, like a child, he buried his face in her shoulder, hugged her tightly and wept some more. She spoke in low tones, trying to console and comfort him. Finally, he regained his composure.
“I cried too when the doctor told me, and then some more when I told Mae,” she murmured softly. “I’m through crying and I don’t want you to either. Let’s spend tomorrow happy,” Sara suggested, “We’ll go on a picnic by the lake.”
“I have to finish the porch,” Artemus raised his head as he answered, feeling foolish for even bringing it up.
“That won’t take long will it?” Sara asked. He shook his head. “We’ll go as soon as you’re done. Now, please ask your aunt to come up for a minute,” she instructed thumbing away the last of the tears that clung to his lashes.
Artemus gave her another long hug. “I love you, mama,” he whispered.
“I love you too, son” Sara whispered back.
WWWWWWWWW
“Aunt Mae,” Artemus said going out on the porch where his aunt still stood with Jim. He took her in his arms and hugged her, “I’m so sorry,” he said gently, “I love you, Aunt Mae,” and he shed a few silent tears he did not think he had then broke the embrace. “Mother wants to see you upstairs,” he told her.
“Oh, fine. I guess I’m in for it now,” his aunt muttered as she went to her sister.
“Are you ok?” Jim asked placing a strong hand on his friend’s shoulder.
In response, Artie shook his head then darted from the porch into the stand of trees beyond the dooryard and threw up. His stomach wanted to be empty, needed to be empty, how else could it twist itself into a tighter knot than already existed there? Finally, he leaned back against the trunk of a large oak tree and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. When he opened his eyes, Jim was there with a glass of water. Silently Artie took a sip, and rinsed his mouth, then took another sip and swallowed it.
“Thanks, Jim,” he said gratefully, handing the glass back.
“Are you ok?” Jim asked again.
“No. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ok again,” his friend answered, barely above a whisper. He drew in several deep breaths trying to stop the hammering of his heart. “Why did she tell you and not me?” he asked. There was no reproach, no anger in his tone.
“She didn’t know if she should tell you. She wanted to know if you were happy, if you were lonely. She asked my opinion,” Jim answered directly.
“What did you say?” Artie wanted to know. He still leaned against the tree, now looking up through the branches at the stars.
“I told her I thought you were happy, with your work, with your life, and that you had many friends, and I didn’t think you were lonely,” Jim replied honestly. “That’s right, isn’t it?” he asked suddenly needing to hear it from Artie’s own lips.
“I was happy, yes, Jim,” Artie looked at his friend, saw the sympathy in his eyes, and patted his arm. “Now,” he said taking a step away from the tree and paused, “This is the worst day of my life.” Artie began to walk away, away from the house, away from Jim, away from the bitter reality that had hit him like a sledgehammer. He stopped and said quietly over his shoulder, “We’re going on a picnic by the lake tomorrow after we finish the porch. My mother wants to spend our last day together, happy.” Then he headed down the drive, shoulders slumped, head down.
‘Last day together?’ He sounds so certain and so sad. I’m sorry, Artie, Jim thought. “Artie?” Jim called, but his friend just waved a hand and continued walking.
WWWWWWWWWWW
It was well after midnight when Artie finally returned to the house. One lamp was lit in the parlor, which he extinguished before climbing silently up the stairs. He and Jim were sharing his old room and he undressed quietly and eased into the bed so he would not wake his partner. If Jim was at all disturbed, he gave no indication. Artemus lay on his back, staring at the ceiling until the sky began to turn pink.
Jim had awakened when Artie came into the room. He kept his breathing even, knowing his partner would not want to talk just yet, and eventually he fell back to sleep. He woke again when Artie slid stealthily and silently from the bed before sun up. Jim kept still, listening to Artie get ready for the day. When his friend slipped quietly from the room, Jim rose, shaved and dressed then went downstairs to find him.
Artie was not in the kitchen. Jim started a pot of coffee and went in search of his partner. He didn’t have far to go, Artie was outside painting the porch.
“What are you doing out here so early?” Artie asked as Jim came out the door.
“I might ask you the same question,” Jim quipped back.
“I want to get this done early, so we have the whole day free,” Artie answered continuing painting.
“Coffee’s on. Would you like some?” Jim asked.
“Yes, please. Then can you help me? We’ll replace the floorboards when mama and Aunt Mae wake up. Ok?” Artie asked his friend.
“Sure. Let me just get the coffee. Be right back,” Jim disappeared into the house for a few minutes, returning with two steaming cups of coffee.
Artie came down from the ladder and accepted one of the cups. He sipped at it and noticed Jim was watching him.
“What?” he asked.
“Last night, where did you go?” Jim asked bluntly.
“I needed to be alone for a while, Jim. I needed to sort this out in my mind. I just walked,” Artie told him with a shrug of his shoulder.
“Last night, you said today would be your last day with your mother. You don’t know that, Artie. You didn’t really mean that, did you?” Jim asked cautiously.
Artie took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Of course, I don’t know it for a certainty. But it feels like it. It feels…right, do you understand?”
“I think so. Your mother wants life to be as normal as possible. That’s why she wasn’t sure she should tell you at all. Can you do that? I mean, act like everything is normal?” Jim queried.
“I’m an actor, remember? It will be the greatest performance of my life, but I think I can do that. For my mother, I’d do anything,” Artie replied thoughtfully. Taking a deep breath he continued, “Actually, last night’s walk was really so I could get my mind around this. I won’t have to do much acting, I spilled a lot more tears and I think I’ve calmed myself enough to be normal without having to act.” He swallowed the last of the brew and set the cup down, “So, let’s get this done. Will you start with the railings while I finish the outside?”
Together they finished the painting and pulled up the floorboards that needed to be replaced. The ladies of the house announced that breakfast was ready and two eager men followed them into the kitchen, washing at the sink, and joined them at the table.
After the porch was finished, Jim went to hitch the horses to the buggy while Artie brought out the basket for their picnic. The day promised to be a hot one. Sara and Aunt Mae joined them in the relative cool interior of the barn.
“Are we ready?” Sara asked brightly.
Jim helped Aunt Mae into the back seat and joined her then Artie helped his mother into the front seat and took the driver’s position. The hour’s ride to the lake was spent reminiscing. Sara and Mae told stories from Artie’s youth, some of which made him groan, but most of which made them all laugh.
Mae told the story of Artemus fighting at school. “When he got home with that note from the teacher, well I put his trousers down and paddled that little behind of his,” she retold.
“Aunt Mae!” Artie cried embarrassed at her graphic description.
“Then, the lippy little thing had the nerve to whine to his parents about the licking he got from me instead of expressing remorse about his behavior. Well, his father took him out to the barn, put his britches down and gave him a tanning like he’d never gotten before,” Mae concluded.
“Or since,” Artie added facetiously rubbing his backside in remembrance.
They had just finished laughing again, when Sara asked Artie if he remembered when he’d asked his father about asking a girl from class to the Founder’s Day picnic.
“What was her name?” Sara asked, “You were so smitten.”
“Lily Fortune, and I was smitten. All I wanted to know was how to ask her to the picnic,” Artie began to laugh at the memory, “and papa launched into a lecture about making love, oh excuse me mama, Aunt Mae, I meant to say,” he paused, beginning to blush, “Well you get the idea.”
“And did you already know the facts of life, Arte?” Jim teased.
“Watch it, Jim,” Artie growled. “Let’s just say, papa didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already seen the animals do.”
“And then he told me what he’d told you and I had to come out and set you straight. Honestly, he might have left you with the impression that that was what you were supposed to do,” Sara exclaimed.
“I knew better than that, mama. Now that[b/] would have gained me a tanning for sure,” Artie laughed.
“I remember a time when you were 16, Artemus,” Mae began, “and I found you in the barn,” she got no further because Artie interrupted.
“Don’t tell that story, Aunt Mae! For goodness sakes!” Artie cried aghast.
“What was he doing in the barn, Miss Wicks,” Jim asked. This promised to be ammunition for future teasing.
“He and that Lily Fortune,” Mae began again.
“Aunt Mae!” Artie warned emphatically.
“Have I heard this story, Artemus?” his mother asked looking at him sideways.
“If you haven’t, you surely won’t now!” he asserted, “Next topic, please,” he begged.
“If you weren’t doing anything wrong, you shouldn’t mind me telling the story,” Mae insisted, needling.
“Fine, fine, fine. Lily and I were kissing in the barn and Aunt Mae caught us. She chased Lil out with the broom and, as I recall, landed a few good whacks to my backside in the bargain. Ok? End of story,” Artemus blurted out.
“And your pants?” Mae asked slyly.
“Oh, for the love of…” Artemus muttered, “You tore my pants smacking me with that broom!” He turned to his mother, “It’s not what you think,” he said quickly, “Aunt Mae tried to make it lurid then and she’s still trying to now, but it wasn’t like that!”
“I know, son, I stitched up the back pocket of those pants, remember? There couldn’t have been much that Lily wanted back there anyway,” his mother smiled sweetly and glanced down and behind him.
“You knew?” Artie cried surprised, “All these years you knew?”
“Of course, dear. I left you in Mae’s care. Do you honestly believe she didn’t tell me everything that went on with my son?” Sara giggled.
“I’m going to remember all of these tricks when I’m a father, you wait and see,” he suddenly felt like he’d said something wrong. His mother would never be able to wait and see. Aunt Mae glossed over his self-perceived gaff by launching into another story.
They reached the lake with everyone in good spirits and laughing. Artie spread a picnic cloth under a large old sugar maple with low, wide spread branches that provided a large patch of shade. Jim took the earthen jug containing lemonade down to the lake and wedged it between the rocks in the cool water to keep it chilled.
One hour later, after a lively game of quoits completed with Jim the winner, the agents helped the ladies situate themselves comfortably under the tree. Jim and Artie shucked their jackets, loosened their collars and turned up their sleeves. The women handed them two tea towels and began to set out their picnic as Jim and Artie went down to the shore. They quickly rinsed their hands and faces, then wet the tea towels and returned them to Mrs. Gordon and Aunt Mae. The women quickly used the cool wet cloths to wipe heat and grime from themselves.
Jim leaned against the tree while Artie stretched himself out next to the picnic cloth propped on his elbows. Jim watched Artemus as he watched his mother intently. Artie’s expression changed from a happy smile to a wistful gaze and was just beginning to take on a deep sadness when Jim leaned over and nudged his shoulder.
“Let’s go get that lemonade,” Jim grinned down at him.
“Ok,” Artie answered and took Jim’s offered hand to pull himself up. “Be right back, mama,” he said as he followed his friend toward the water.
“We’ll be ready here in a couple of minutes,” Sara called to their retreating forms. She paused in unwrapping a plate of cold chicken to watch them.
Jim stood at the edge of the lake where a stream tumbled into it.
“What’s the matter,” Artie asked, “Forget where you put the jug?” he teased.
“Nope,” came the one word reply. Then Jim pointed to where the jug was lodged between two stones.
Artie scrutinized his partner who stood stock still. “Are you going to get it?” he ventured hesitantly.
Jim shook his head silently.
Artie could not fathom what had gripped his friend but assumed he’d hear about it soon enough. He stepped carefully around Jim to get closer to the jug.
As he started to lean forward, Jim pushed him lightly.
Regaining his balance quickly, Artie turned his head toward Jim. “Stop it, Jim,” he warned affably.
He leaned forward and again Jim gave Artie a little push, slightly harder than the last one.
Artie almost tumbled into the water but again recovered. He straightened and looked sideways at his friend. “What’s with into you? Do NOT push me into the water, Jim, or I swear, you’ll be sorry,” he smiled.
Jim grinned back wickedly and suddenly gave Artie a real push. Balanced precariously on the stones near the stream’s mouth, Artie flailed his arms trying to regain his balance. Jim began to laugh out loud. His laughter was suddenly cut off when two large hands grabbed the front of his shirt and he found himself tumbling into the lake with his partner.
As usual, I don’t own the characters, I just love them.
The Night of the Soul’s Fire[b/]
by Cris Hart
He sat in the swing on the front porch, the gentle swaying of it as he rocked back and forth, easing his mind. It was the early evening of a mid August day and, for once, the humidity was low, the temperature warm and comforting, instead of hot and oppressive. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and let the memories come forward.
He was a child, traveling through Europe with his parents and the Shakespearean Company they worked for. He remembered the hours of studying with his father and the other men of the company, lessons in mathematics, literature and music filling his time between rehearsals. He also remembered the nights during the performances, playing in the streets and alleyways with the children of the towns they stopped in.
He learned the languages quickly and the trades of the urchins even more quickly. Madrid, where he learned to fence, Paris, where he learned to fight, Rome, where he learned to gamble, Krakow, where he learned to steal, and St. Petersburg, where he honed all these learned skills and was caught for the first time by the police who dragged him back to the theatre by the collar and presented him to his parents, black eyed and bloody nosed. He’d confessed everything, all the scalawag ways he’d picked up over the years while his parents were otherwise occupied with rehearsals and performances. His backside had been warmed that evening before plans had been made to immediately take him home to the United States.
The earliest memory he had of this house and the swing, were from his tenth year. Left in the charge of his aunt while his parents traveled with an American troupe, he’d been in a fight the first day at school and knew when his father found out he would be punished. Hadn’t he just recently confessed similar transgressions and promised to change?
His aunt had already done her part by spanking him as though he were a baby and he’d sulked on the swing for hours before being sent to bed. The memory now brought a smile to his lips. He should have been smarter and accepted his aunt’s spanking with grace instead of trying to complain to his parents upon their return. The tanning he’d gotten from his father far outweighed the humiliation of his aunt’s few slaps to his backside.
This was the swing where, a few years later, he’d told his father about the new girl at school, Lily, whom he liked. Now tall and lanky, he’d overcome his childhood roughhouse ways and mastered a new art. Always unfailingly polite, he’d developed a charming personality to go with it and was generally well liked. He’d replaced using quick fists with using his equally quick mind and tongue to sidestep arguments and defuse situations that would lead to fisticuffs. There had still been occasional fights and he bore the scar from one on his forehead. However, they were now a rare thing.
He’d asked his father’s advice on how to approach Lily to ask her to the upcoming Founder’s Day picnic. He’d been flabbergasted when his father had explained the facts of life to him in answer. He already knew that. He’d seen stallions covering mares, and even little children knew what the dogs around town were doing. That was common knowledge and not what he wanted to know. He wanted to know about the feelings this girl brought out in him. He wanted to know how to ask her to the picnic so she’d say yes.
He’d sat in the swing confused and disheartened, still not knowing how to ask the pretty new girl to the picnic. Then his mother had come out and given him the answer he sought. She’d calmly explained to him the proper way to ask the girl out, how to speak to her, how to treat her gently, politely, like he’d always been taught. Like a gentleman.
And now his memories jumped forward to his 41st year, to a night much like this one, a few months before he’d officially become James West’s partner.
He could almost hear the slight creak of the screen door opening. This was a strong and poignant memory and he relived it in his mind as though it were taking place now.
His mother joined him on the swing as he stopped its momentum so she could sit next to him. Automatically and with great love, his arm went around her thin shoulders and drew her close.
“Everyone has left,” she said to her son.
“I know. I just saw Miss Mara and her husband David to their carriage. They have a long trip ahead of them. It was good of them to come,” he answered quietly.
“She’s your father’s best friend’s only child and she loved your father very much,” his mother sighed.
“Mmm,” he commented absently.
They sat in silence a while, as he rocked the swing slowly, his long legs pushing it back and forth.
“I miss him already,” she began to cry softly and buried her face in her son’s shoulder as the sadness took her over. “Oh, Artemus, what will I do?” she sobbed quietly.
“I know, mama, I’ll miss papa too. And you’ll be all right, I promise. I’ve asked Aunt Mae to come and stay with you,” he comforted, speaking softly into his mother’s fine white hair. He felt her nod her assent and kissed the top of her head as a lump of emotion silenced him.
After a while, the quiet of the evening soothed both their hearts just enough for them to sit comfortably together as the sun began to set. The air was so soft it felt like a caress and was disturbed only by the call of a jay in the distance and the whirring of the katydids in the trees.
He rose and took his mother’s hand. “Do you want to come inside?” he asked.
“No, I think I’d like to sit a little longer, Artemus. Will you stay with me?” she asked him forcing a small smile.
Artie shook his head. “I think you need to have a few minutes alone. Besides, I expect there are a lot of dishes waiting to be done, ma’am. I’ll take care of them and start a fresh pot of coffee. You just relax,” Artemus replied kissing his mother’s hand and smiling back at her.
And now he came to the present, four years later, as he heard the screen door creak open then close softly.
James West found his partner seated, head back, eyes closed, the swing moving rhythmically, slowly, a small smile curling his partner’s lips upward.
“Artie,” Jim called quietly, sitting on the parson’s bench under the window.
“I’m awake, Jim,” Artie answered not opening his eyes. His memories had brought back unbidden tears as he’d remembered the day he’d buried his father. He needed to take a moment to get his emotions under control.
Jim watched his friend, not wanting to disturb whatever mood had him at that moment. He leaned back and just listened to the sounds of the world of the sun as they silenced for the night, while the sounds of the moon’s world crept in. The bird’s chirping gave way to the chirruping of the crickets and the peeping of tree toads. The katydids continued whirring day and night. The quiet peacefulness lulled and enveloped the agents, as comforting as a blanket. Finally Jim broke their reverie.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a hushed tone. It almost seemed wrong to speak in a louder voice.
Artie drew in a deep breath and turned his deep brown eyes to his partner. “Fine, Jim,” he answered simply, the smile still playing at his lips.
“What were you thinking about?” Jim wondered if it was too personal a question.
“Ah, just memories.” Artie patted the porch swing with both hands, “This swing holds a lot of memories for me,” he replied and fell silent again.
“It was good of your mother and aunt to let me stay here on our break,” Jim changed tact when Artie did not expound. “She sure was surprised to see you,” he grinned.
“She was, wasn’t she,” Artie’s smile became as broad a grin as Jim’s.
Artie seemed reticent to actually converse. His smile faded as he turned to look out over the 16 acres of wooded land that made up his childhood home.
“I really need to make more of an effort to come out here when we’re in town, Jim,” Artie mused aloud.
“You come out when we’re not tied up on a case,” Jim told him studying the curious mood his friend seemed to be in.
“Not really. You know I don’t, I know I don’t. If I have any spare time, I more often than not call on a woman for dinner or the theatre,” Artie’s eyes narrowed, his expression serious. He was still staring off at a distant spot. “Selfish,” he murmured mostly to himself and shook his head slightly.
“That is not a word I would ever use to describe you, Artie,” Jim answered seriously.
Artie looked at him and gave him a quick smile. “That’s because you’re my friend.” Then turning serious again, “But it really is selfish of me. I’m not going to have my mother for a lot longer you know. She’s not a young woman. And look at this porch. It’s in dire need of a few new floorboards and a coat of paint. In fact the whole house could use some work,” Artie observed, waving an encompassing arm.
“Well, we’re here now, Artie, and I know for a fact you’re pretty handy with hammer and nails and paint,” Jim grinned at him, “And I’m no slouch either. We can knock out these repairs and painting in a day or two.”
Now it was Artemus who studied his partner a moment. “You’d do that for me? Help me get the place in shape? I mean we only have three days off you know. And it’s been a while since you’ve had the opportunity to have three days to yourself,” Artie asked earnestly.
Jim leaned over and patted his friend’s knee. “What are friends for, Artie?” he asked still smiling. “I like your mother. She’s made me feel welcome every time I’ve been here.” Jim stood and opened the screen door to the house then turned back to his partner, “Besides, one day we may be doing the same for my parents,” he winked then disappeared into the house.
“Thanks, Jim,” Artie replied knowing Jim did not hear him and also knowing Jim would think it unnecessary. He sat a few minutes longer, planning how best to complete the tasks over the next few days.
WWWWWWWWWW
After a quick breakfast the next morning, the agents made a trip into town to purchase the supplies they needed then set to work.
They started by cutting and pulling up small trees and brush that had encroached the dooryard and around the house. The heat and humidity of August in the Washington area had returned full force so that by mid morning both men’s shirts clung to their hot, perspired bodies. They repaired shutters, patched the roof, and just after the noon hour, began to paint the house, Jim working at the back, Artemus at the front. By now both had stripped out of their shirts, uncomfortable in the drenched cloth. Their good-natured banter flew between them and helped pass the time between one task and the next.
“Boys,” Sara Gordon called to them from the porch, “would you like some lemonade?” she held a tray with a pitcher and two glasses. She was joined by her maiden sister, Mae Wicks, who held a tray of sandwiches.
“I would,” Jim called eagerly from his position at the back of the house. He slid down the ladder without using the rungs and walked toward the front of the house, wiping his brow with his forearm.
“Be right down,” Artemus agreed and carefully climbed down onto the porch roof then took a second ladder down to ground level.
The men, glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration, stepped up onto the porch and gratefully accepted the cool beverage. They downed them quickly and Sara refilled their glasses.
“Now you two sit a minute and have some lunch,” Mae insisted in her best stern voice.
“Yes, Aunt Mae,” Artemus smiled planting a kiss on his aunt’s cheek and picking up a sandwich.
“Yes, Aunt Mae,” Jim mimicked taking a sandwich and leaning in to give her a friendly peck.
“Oh, you two. Get away from me,” Mae feigned disgust, “Hot, sweaty boys,” she mumbled as she put the plate on the low table in front of the bench under the window, where her nephew and his friend sat munching their sandwiches, and went back into the house.
Sara put the pitcher on the table as well and sat on the swing. She fanned herself with the small tray that had held the pitcher, not looking toward the two bare chested men and sighed audibly. Artemus silently rose and retrieved their shirts from the post at the bottom of the porch steps. He tossed Jim’s to him and pushed his arms into the sleeves of his own. They pulled the shirts closed but did not button them.
“Sorry,” Artie murmured apologetically to his mother.
Sara turned from her gazing toward the road at the end of her property and smiled at the men sitting on her porch. Her son and his best friend, both handsome and considerate gentlemen. “I appreciate all your hard work,” she told them gratefully, “But why?” she asked.
“It was Artie’s idea,” Jim said swallowing the last bite of his sandwich, “I’m just helping.”
“It needed to be done, mama, and I don’t get out here often enough,” Artie answered.
“So it’s guilt?” Sara teased, raising her eyebrows.
Artemus choked on the bite of food in his mouth and washed it down with a swallow of lemonade. “No,” he stated emphatically, then reconsidered, “Well, yes and no.” How does she do that! How is it she can still reduce me to an indecisive schoolboy? he thought.
“Well, which is it? Yes or no?” Sara smiled knowing what her son was feeling and enjoying the teasing.
Jim sat back and watched the exchange with a smile. It was not often he had the opportunity to see his silver tongued partner flustering over words. He picked up another sandwich and bit into it.
“It’s both, mama. It does need to be done and I do feel guilty for not getting back here as often as I could,” Artie explained reddening and looking down at his hands.
“I know you’re busy, son, and I know you have a life of your own. You needn’t feel guilty,” Sara let him off the hook. She’d just meant to tease him, not make him uncomfortable.
“That’s all as it may be, but I should come visit more often when we’re in town,” Artie answered. He looked up at his mother and saw the twinkle in her eyes. “Aw! That’s not fair!” he cried as he understood she was not serious.
“I just wanted to tease you, Artemus. I know it’s difficult to do all the things you intend to do.”
From behind the screen door, Mae harrumphed, “We all know which road is paved with good intentions.”
“Mae,” Sara warned her sister.
“Well, its true, Sara. Artemus is your only child and he should visit more often. Face it, we’re getting on in years and can’t maintain the house alone,” Mae insisted.
“Mae, stop it,” Sara said sternly, “I won’t have you making Artemus feel bad when he only has two more days to visit. I think it’s very nice of him and James to help us out like this.”
“Mama, Aunt Mae, please don’t fight. Not over this. I’m sure you can find plenty of other things to argue about,” Artie shot a look at his aunt that was both playful and a warning for her to stop upsetting his mother. “I wanted to do this, mama, and I can’t get back often enough to keep up the place. But I’m going to see to it that you have help,” Artie had picked up another sandwich but now made a face and put it back down. He stood and went back down the steps.
Jim frowned slightly. He hadn’t realized how badly his friend felt about this. He made a mental note to talk to him later. He had nothing to feel guilty about. They had very little time to visit their families, or for much of a personal life of any kind for that matter.
“Well, back to work,” he said pleasantly to Artie’s mother with a bright smile as he rose.
But Sara looked upset. “James, I’d like to speak to you after dinner tonight, if that’s all right,” she said softly.
“I’d be glad to,” Jim assured her and left the porch, peeling out of his shirt again.
“Mae,” Sara called as she gathered up the remains of the lunch, “We have to talk. Right away, please.”
WWWWWWWWW
After supper, Artie volunteered to clean up the kitchen. Mae agreed and offered to dry the dishes as he washed. Genial barbs flew between the two as they set to the task.
Jim followed Sara out onto the front porch. Sara turned to face him.
“Will you take a walk with me?” she asked pleasantly.
“Of course,” Jim answered and offered his arm.
Sara smiled brightly and took it, leading him into the dooryard then down the gently sloping drive toward the road.
“James, I know you are Artemus’ best friend in the world. I want to ask you something,” Sara began.
“Anything,” Jim replied.
“Is he happy?” she asked simply.
The answer came quickly and honestly, “Yes he is. Why do you ask?”
Sara did not answer his question. Instead she continued, “I mean in his life, not just his work. Is he happy with his life?”
Again the answer was the same, “Yes,” Jim told her then stopped walking. He stepped in front of Sara and looked down at her. “Why do you ask? Do you think he’s not? Has he said something to make you think that?” Jim’s stance told her he would not allow her to not answer his questions.
“No, he hasn’t said anything,” Sara answered and stepped around Jim to continue walking, forcing Jim to follow. “It’s just that he is 45 and not yet married. I just want to be sure he’s not lonely, I guess,” she said softly. “In those matters, he’s always kept his own counsel, well at least since he was 12,” she glanced over at Jim flashing him a smile.
“I don’t think Artie’s lonely, Mrs. Gordon. He has many friends, female included. I think of him as a brother, and I’m sure I’d know if he was lonely. He enjoys his work and his life,” Jim answered seriously. “Is there some reason you have a concern?” he ventured carefully.
Sara stopped and hugged herself as though she was chilled even though the night was warm. “He’s going to be alone, very soon,” she told Jim looking him directly in the eyes.
“What do you mean?” Jim asked feeling his heart skip a beat.
“I have cancer,” she stated bluntly, “I’m dying,” Sara replied, releasing a breath she had not realized she was holding.
“What?” Jim was incredulous. “I’m so sorry. How long have you known?”
“I found out just a few months ago,” Sara responded.
“When?” Jim had to ask.
“Just a few months, certainly less than a year,” she stated evenly.
“Does Artie know?” Jim asked quietly, positive he knew what the answer would be.
Sara shook her head. “Not yet,” she said just as quietly, “I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t know if I should tell him. What do you think I should do?” she implored.
Jim was stunned. He had no idea how to answer and told her so.
“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t think I’m the one to tell you what to do,” he said feeling frustrated and so very sad. Sad for Sara who knew she was dying and for Artie who did not. He also felt sad for Mae who was losing her sister and would be left to the kindness of a beloved nephew.
“You are Artemus’ best friend,” Sara repeated, “You told me you think of him as your brother. That tells me you care a great deal about him and at this point in his life, you know him better than anyone. That’s why I wanted to talk to you before deciding,” Sara was shaking now but not from cold. It was nervousness and fear.
“I have to think about this, Mrs. Gordon. There is no easy answer,” Jim offered. It sounded weak, even to his own ears, but he honestly did not know how to advise her. “Artie is sure to be devastated by your death whether he knows in advance or not.”
Sara winced at that. “He’s a strong man, a good man, I know that. And I know he will survive without me. But he is a man who feels deeply and is affected by what happens to those he holds dear. That’s why I was asking if he is happy or lonely. If he has the support and help of friends, I can convince myself he will be all right and I can have at least that bit of peace before I go,” she said wistfully. Then, smiling up at him, she took Jim’s arm and led him back toward the house. “I thank you for listening to an old woman. If you come up with any words of wisdom, all I ask is that you share your thoughts with me.”
The rest of the walk back to the house was in silence. At the porch, Sara turned and looked out at her land. “It’s beautiful here,” she sighed and ascended the steps with Jim. “Please don’t say anything to Artemus,” she asked Jim.
“Don’t say anything to Artemus about what?” Artie asked from the deep shadows of the porch where he sat on the swing.
Sara startled at the sound of his voice. “Artemus, it’s not polite to eavesdrop,” she said more harshly than she intended.
Artemus stood and came to them. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was sitting here on the porch minding my own business. Can I help it if you spoke in front of me?” he smiled through feigned indignance.
Sara burst into frustrated tears and hurried into the house. Artemus watched his mother’s retreating back a frown creasing his brow in confusion.
“I didn’t mean to make her cry. My God, I’ve never done that before in my life,” he sounded shocked.
“It wasn’t that, Artie,” Jim told his partner soberly.
“Was it whatever you’re not supposed to tell me? Is that what’s put her in tears so easily?” Artemus wanted to know.
“Artie, I promised,” Jim started.
“No you didn’t. You didn’t answer at all because I interrupted. Now what’s going on?” Artie demanded.
“Don’t you pick on him, Artemus Gordon!” Mae admonished her nephew coming onto the porch, “He didn’t make your mother cry.”
“Aunt Mae,” Artie stared from his aunt to Jim and back again, “Do you know what this is all about?”
Mae did not answer. “What did I say? Mother has never been so sensitive as to cry when we’ve disagreed on something even if my tone wasn’t the best,” Artie tried to understand. Again he got no response from either. He chuffed out a small nervous laugh and tugged at his left ear. “Look, you’re both scaring me a little.” When he was met with the same silence, he barked, “Will someone please tell me what it is that you’re not supposed to tell me?”
Mae lost her temper, “Your mother is dying!” she spat out knowing she was being unreasonably cruel but could not stop.
“That’s not funny!” Artemus whirled toward his aunt his face twisted with fury.
Mae’s face was stony and she did not flinch from him. Artie turned toward Jim who was looking down, suddenly finding the floorboards extremely interesting. Without another word, Artemus stormed into the house, the screen door flung open so hard it nearly pulled off the hinges. They heard him call to his mother as he took the stairs to her room two at a time.
“I didn’t mean to say anything,” Mae told Jim, suddenly calm. “Especially not like that.”
“I know,” Jim answered. “I’m sorry, Miss Wicks, for you and Mrs. Gordon. It’s a horrible situation all the way around.”
“Its better it’s out in the open. I told Sara she had to tell her son, but she didn’t want him to suffer,” Mae answered sorrowfully. She put her hand on Jim’s shoulder and squeezed lightly, “I’m glad Artemus has you as his friend. Help him through this, James.”
“Of course I will,” he answered softly, “I promise.” He felt terrible and could not imagine what the conversation upstairs was going to be like.
WWWWWWWWWWW
“Mama,” Artemus entered his mother’s bedroom without knocking.
“Since when do you enter my room without knocking, young man,” Sara tried to sound stern.
“I’m sorry,” Artemus apologized quickly and came to sit on the edge of her bed. “Is it true? Is what Aunt Mae said true?”
Sara had been lying with her back to the door but now turned to face her son. “What did she say?” she demanded.
“She said you’re dying,” he answered bluntly, still unable to believe and absurdly hoping it was a viscous prank.
Sara sat up and moved to sit next to her son. She hooked her arm in his and held his gaze with tear filled eyes. “Yes it’s true,” Sara said with quiet resignation.
Artemus looked and felt as though he’d been slapped. “No,” he shook his head.
“Yes,” Sara countered softly. “And it will be all right,” she added in a small voice.
“No,” Artemus repeated, “It’s not possible.”
“I’m so sorry, dear. I didn’t want you to hear it this way,” Sara started.
“Mama,” Artemus took her hands in his and pulled them to his face, kissed them, “Please, tell me. How? Why?”
Sara saw the tears welling in her son’s eyes and it nearly broke her heart. “Do you remember when you were just a little boy and your grandmother died,” she asked.
“Yes,” Artie admitted, shaking his head in confusion, “Cancer of some kind. Female troubles, everyone said,” he recalled.
“Well, I have the same thing,” Sara answered simply trying to lessen the blow.
“But you’re my mother, and with the exception of a very few years with Aunt Mae, you’ve always been here raise me,” Artemus shook his head morosely. How absurd he thought that sounded.
“But you’re grown now,” Sara tried for a small smile.
“I know I’m grown, that’s not what I mean. I mean,” once again Artemus Gordon found himself fumbling for words, “What will I do now?” he asked quietly.
“I asked you that very question a number of years ago when your dear father died and you told me I’d be all right. And so will you, my dear, dear son,” Sara extricated one hand from his and caressed his cheek.
“How long?” he asked kissing the palm of the hand he still held.
“Not long. A few months, maybe a year,” Sara told him.
And now his tears fell, unstopped, unashamedly. He bent his head and let them come, as he felt empty inside. His stomach knotted as he wept.
Sara leaned closer to him, wrapped an arm around him and rubbed his back between the shoulder blades as she’d done when he was a child. Then, like a child, he buried his face in her shoulder, hugged her tightly and wept some more. She spoke in low tones, trying to console and comfort him. Finally, he regained his composure.
“I cried too when the doctor told me, and then some more when I told Mae,” she murmured softly. “I’m through crying and I don’t want you to either. Let’s spend tomorrow happy,” Sara suggested, “We’ll go on a picnic by the lake.”
“I have to finish the porch,” Artemus raised his head as he answered, feeling foolish for even bringing it up.
“That won’t take long will it?” Sara asked. He shook his head. “We’ll go as soon as you’re done. Now, please ask your aunt to come up for a minute,” she instructed thumbing away the last of the tears that clung to his lashes.
Artemus gave her another long hug. “I love you, mama,” he whispered.
“I love you too, son” Sara whispered back.
WWWWWWWWW
“Aunt Mae,” Artemus said going out on the porch where his aunt still stood with Jim. He took her in his arms and hugged her, “I’m so sorry,” he said gently, “I love you, Aunt Mae,” and he shed a few silent tears he did not think he had then broke the embrace. “Mother wants to see you upstairs,” he told her.
“Oh, fine. I guess I’m in for it now,” his aunt muttered as she went to her sister.
“Are you ok?” Jim asked placing a strong hand on his friend’s shoulder.
In response, Artie shook his head then darted from the porch into the stand of trees beyond the dooryard and threw up. His stomach wanted to be empty, needed to be empty, how else could it twist itself into a tighter knot than already existed there? Finally, he leaned back against the trunk of a large oak tree and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. When he opened his eyes, Jim was there with a glass of water. Silently Artie took a sip, and rinsed his mouth, then took another sip and swallowed it.
“Thanks, Jim,” he said gratefully, handing the glass back.
“Are you ok?” Jim asked again.
“No. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ok again,” his friend answered, barely above a whisper. He drew in several deep breaths trying to stop the hammering of his heart. “Why did she tell you and not me?” he asked. There was no reproach, no anger in his tone.
“She didn’t know if she should tell you. She wanted to know if you were happy, if you were lonely. She asked my opinion,” Jim answered directly.
“What did you say?” Artie wanted to know. He still leaned against the tree, now looking up through the branches at the stars.
“I told her I thought you were happy, with your work, with your life, and that you had many friends, and I didn’t think you were lonely,” Jim replied honestly. “That’s right, isn’t it?” he asked suddenly needing to hear it from Artie’s own lips.
“I was happy, yes, Jim,” Artie looked at his friend, saw the sympathy in his eyes, and patted his arm. “Now,” he said taking a step away from the tree and paused, “This is the worst day of my life.” Artie began to walk away, away from the house, away from Jim, away from the bitter reality that had hit him like a sledgehammer. He stopped and said quietly over his shoulder, “We’re going on a picnic by the lake tomorrow after we finish the porch. My mother wants to spend our last day together, happy.” Then he headed down the drive, shoulders slumped, head down.
‘Last day together?’ He sounds so certain and so sad. I’m sorry, Artie, Jim thought. “Artie?” Jim called, but his friend just waved a hand and continued walking.
WWWWWWWWWWW
It was well after midnight when Artie finally returned to the house. One lamp was lit in the parlor, which he extinguished before climbing silently up the stairs. He and Jim were sharing his old room and he undressed quietly and eased into the bed so he would not wake his partner. If Jim was at all disturbed, he gave no indication. Artemus lay on his back, staring at the ceiling until the sky began to turn pink.
Jim had awakened when Artie came into the room. He kept his breathing even, knowing his partner would not want to talk just yet, and eventually he fell back to sleep. He woke again when Artie slid stealthily and silently from the bed before sun up. Jim kept still, listening to Artie get ready for the day. When his friend slipped quietly from the room, Jim rose, shaved and dressed then went downstairs to find him.
Artie was not in the kitchen. Jim started a pot of coffee and went in search of his partner. He didn’t have far to go, Artie was outside painting the porch.
“What are you doing out here so early?” Artie asked as Jim came out the door.
“I might ask you the same question,” Jim quipped back.
“I want to get this done early, so we have the whole day free,” Artie answered continuing painting.
“Coffee’s on. Would you like some?” Jim asked.
“Yes, please. Then can you help me? We’ll replace the floorboards when mama and Aunt Mae wake up. Ok?” Artie asked his friend.
“Sure. Let me just get the coffee. Be right back,” Jim disappeared into the house for a few minutes, returning with two steaming cups of coffee.
Artie came down from the ladder and accepted one of the cups. He sipped at it and noticed Jim was watching him.
“What?” he asked.
“Last night, where did you go?” Jim asked bluntly.
“I needed to be alone for a while, Jim. I needed to sort this out in my mind. I just walked,” Artie told him with a shrug of his shoulder.
“Last night, you said today would be your last day with your mother. You don’t know that, Artie. You didn’t really mean that, did you?” Jim asked cautiously.
Artie took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Of course, I don’t know it for a certainty. But it feels like it. It feels…right, do you understand?”
“I think so. Your mother wants life to be as normal as possible. That’s why she wasn’t sure she should tell you at all. Can you do that? I mean, act like everything is normal?” Jim queried.
“I’m an actor, remember? It will be the greatest performance of my life, but I think I can do that. For my mother, I’d do anything,” Artie replied thoughtfully. Taking a deep breath he continued, “Actually, last night’s walk was really so I could get my mind around this. I won’t have to do much acting, I spilled a lot more tears and I think I’ve calmed myself enough to be normal without having to act.” He swallowed the last of the brew and set the cup down, “So, let’s get this done. Will you start with the railings while I finish the outside?”
Together they finished the painting and pulled up the floorboards that needed to be replaced. The ladies of the house announced that breakfast was ready and two eager men followed them into the kitchen, washing at the sink, and joined them at the table.
After the porch was finished, Jim went to hitch the horses to the buggy while Artie brought out the basket for their picnic. The day promised to be a hot one. Sara and Aunt Mae joined them in the relative cool interior of the barn.
“Are we ready?” Sara asked brightly.
Jim helped Aunt Mae into the back seat and joined her then Artie helped his mother into the front seat and took the driver’s position. The hour’s ride to the lake was spent reminiscing. Sara and Mae told stories from Artie’s youth, some of which made him groan, but most of which made them all laugh.
Mae told the story of Artemus fighting at school. “When he got home with that note from the teacher, well I put his trousers down and paddled that little behind of his,” she retold.
“Aunt Mae!” Artie cried embarrassed at her graphic description.
“Then, the lippy little thing had the nerve to whine to his parents about the licking he got from me instead of expressing remorse about his behavior. Well, his father took him out to the barn, put his britches down and gave him a tanning like he’d never gotten before,” Mae concluded.
“Or since,” Artie added facetiously rubbing his backside in remembrance.
They had just finished laughing again, when Sara asked Artie if he remembered when he’d asked his father about asking a girl from class to the Founder’s Day picnic.
“What was her name?” Sara asked, “You were so smitten.”
“Lily Fortune, and I was smitten. All I wanted to know was how to ask her to the picnic,” Artie began to laugh at the memory, “and papa launched into a lecture about making love, oh excuse me mama, Aunt Mae, I meant to say,” he paused, beginning to blush, “Well you get the idea.”
“And did you already know the facts of life, Arte?” Jim teased.
“Watch it, Jim,” Artie growled. “Let’s just say, papa didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already seen the animals do.”
“And then he told me what he’d told you and I had to come out and set you straight. Honestly, he might have left you with the impression that that was what you were supposed to do,” Sara exclaimed.
“I knew better than that, mama. Now that[b/] would have gained me a tanning for sure,” Artie laughed.
“I remember a time when you were 16, Artemus,” Mae began, “and I found you in the barn,” she got no further because Artie interrupted.
“Don’t tell that story, Aunt Mae! For goodness sakes!” Artie cried aghast.
“What was he doing in the barn, Miss Wicks,” Jim asked. This promised to be ammunition for future teasing.
“He and that Lily Fortune,” Mae began again.
“Aunt Mae!” Artie warned emphatically.
“Have I heard this story, Artemus?” his mother asked looking at him sideways.
“If you haven’t, you surely won’t now!” he asserted, “Next topic, please,” he begged.
“If you weren’t doing anything wrong, you shouldn’t mind me telling the story,” Mae insisted, needling.
“Fine, fine, fine. Lily and I were kissing in the barn and Aunt Mae caught us. She chased Lil out with the broom and, as I recall, landed a few good whacks to my backside in the bargain. Ok? End of story,” Artemus blurted out.
“And your pants?” Mae asked slyly.
“Oh, for the love of…” Artemus muttered, “You tore my pants smacking me with that broom!” He turned to his mother, “It’s not what you think,” he said quickly, “Aunt Mae tried to make it lurid then and she’s still trying to now, but it wasn’t like that!”
“I know, son, I stitched up the back pocket of those pants, remember? There couldn’t have been much that Lily wanted back there anyway,” his mother smiled sweetly and glanced down and behind him.
“You knew?” Artie cried surprised, “All these years you knew?”
“Of course, dear. I left you in Mae’s care. Do you honestly believe she didn’t tell me everything that went on with my son?” Sara giggled.
“I’m going to remember all of these tricks when I’m a father, you wait and see,” he suddenly felt like he’d said something wrong. His mother would never be able to wait and see. Aunt Mae glossed over his self-perceived gaff by launching into another story.
They reached the lake with everyone in good spirits and laughing. Artie spread a picnic cloth under a large old sugar maple with low, wide spread branches that provided a large patch of shade. Jim took the earthen jug containing lemonade down to the lake and wedged it between the rocks in the cool water to keep it chilled.
One hour later, after a lively game of quoits completed with Jim the winner, the agents helped the ladies situate themselves comfortably under the tree. Jim and Artie shucked their jackets, loosened their collars and turned up their sleeves. The women handed them two tea towels and began to set out their picnic as Jim and Artie went down to the shore. They quickly rinsed their hands and faces, then wet the tea towels and returned them to Mrs. Gordon and Aunt Mae. The women quickly used the cool wet cloths to wipe heat and grime from themselves.
Jim leaned against the tree while Artie stretched himself out next to the picnic cloth propped on his elbows. Jim watched Artemus as he watched his mother intently. Artie’s expression changed from a happy smile to a wistful gaze and was just beginning to take on a deep sadness when Jim leaned over and nudged his shoulder.
“Let’s go get that lemonade,” Jim grinned down at him.
“Ok,” Artie answered and took Jim’s offered hand to pull himself up. “Be right back, mama,” he said as he followed his friend toward the water.
“We’ll be ready here in a couple of minutes,” Sara called to their retreating forms. She paused in unwrapping a plate of cold chicken to watch them.
Jim stood at the edge of the lake where a stream tumbled into it.
“What’s the matter,” Artie asked, “Forget where you put the jug?” he teased.
“Nope,” came the one word reply. Then Jim pointed to where the jug was lodged between two stones.
Artie scrutinized his partner who stood stock still. “Are you going to get it?” he ventured hesitantly.
Jim shook his head silently.
Artie could not fathom what had gripped his friend but assumed he’d hear about it soon enough. He stepped carefully around Jim to get closer to the jug.
As he started to lean forward, Jim pushed him lightly.
Regaining his balance quickly, Artie turned his head toward Jim. “Stop it, Jim,” he warned affably.
He leaned forward and again Jim gave Artie a little push, slightly harder than the last one.
Artie almost tumbled into the water but again recovered. He straightened and looked sideways at his friend. “What’s with into you? Do NOT push me into the water, Jim, or I swear, you’ll be sorry,” he smiled.
Jim grinned back wickedly and suddenly gave Artie a real push. Balanced precariously on the stones near the stream’s mouth, Artie flailed his arms trying to regain his balance. Jim began to laugh out loud. His laughter was suddenly cut off when two large hands grabbed the front of his shirt and he found himself tumbling into the lake with his partner.